|
Disclaimer:
The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Jerry
Bruckheimer Films, CBS, etc. No infringments of these copyrights are intended,
and are used here without permission. It was with a very resigned sigh that Martin opened the apartment door of his ex-girlfriend's apartment. He juggled his gym bag, two slushies, two bags of snacks and drinks, a pizza, and Samantha's keys. She stood helplessly staring down over the railing at the floor below in her midtown brownstone. She made occasional "Ooo" sounds when someone would enter but otherwise was relatively calm. When he finally wrestled everything through the doorway, he called for her. Obediently, she followed inside and closed the door behind herself. He made his way to the kitchen, noticing that her apartment had barely changed at all since his last visit a year ago. It provoked a twinge of sadness, but he quickly overcame it as she grabbed impatiently for her slushie and slurping loudly. He arched an eyebrow at her but she paid him no mind and wandered into the living room. As he pulled a few slices of pizza from the box and cracked open a can of Coke, he heard some banging from the next room. Carrying his food, he walked into the living room to see Samantha absently smacking a CD jewel case against her entertainment cabinet with a rythym as she searched for the PLAY button. She tapped it triumphantly as the music began to swell. Martin took a seat on her sofa and flipped on the TV to a channel he wouldn't need to hear. FOX Sports seemed like a good idea. He vaguely noticed Sam swaying out of the corner of his eye. She was enjoying herself, so why interfere? The benefits outweighed the detriments. Here he was: home early from work, sitting on a comfortable sofa, eating delicious pizza and relaxing watching sports as a beautiful (albeit stoned) woman danced around him. Surely she would tire herself out eventually. And her choice of music wasn't even as terrible as it was usually. After about half an hour, the sports news began to recycle itself and Sam's music was beginning to get irritating, especially since it had been the same song over and over. Martin drained the last drops from his Coke and turned to look at her. She smiled at him briefly as she swayed. Her eyes flitted to the pizza crust beyond. Licking her lips, she hopped over the back of her sofa, and plopped herself next to him, eyes never leaving the leftovers. "Any left?" "Some. Hungry?" "Nope," she said and moved closer to him. He quickly moved away from her but it didn't dissuade her advances. Finally he was pressed between the armrest and her warm body. She was content to just sit and watch the TV. She made no further effort to touch him. There was a tingle in his fingers as he realized that the position they were in was causing his arm to fall asleep. Pulling himself free of her, he draped his arm casually around the back of the sofa. She seemed to take it as a hint and curled up next to him. "You're so warm," she drawled, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder. With his other hand, he flicked through the channels until some TV drama came on. Twenty minutes into the show, Sam began to shift restlessly. Glancing down, he saw her run a hand over her face and pinch the bridge of her nose. "My head is killing me. I need an aspirin," she growled, mostly to herself. Martin let out a small chuckle. "I don't think so. That's what you got you into this mess to begin with." She didn't say anything for a while. Then she abruptly shifted and stared at him, studying his presence. Then she let out a long exhale and pulled back from him, biting her lip. "Oh shit." Her voice was just above a whisper and she was refusing to meet his eyes. Instead she stared at the coffee table in front of her, nervously tapping her fingertips against her thighs. "Shit, shit, shit." Rubbing another hand over her face, she finally glanced back up at him. "You're here." "I am," he responded to her blunt statement. For a moment, she skewed her mouth in thought, her eyes darting around the room until finally coming back to him. "Um. Okay." She didn't say to him anything afterwards. She grabbed a half-empty bottle of water, and took a sip. She shook her head slowly and placed the drink back on the table. Then she looked at her watch. "Crap." Standing quickly, she walked over to the stereo and hit the STOP button forcefully. Martin knew that the drugs were wearing off. He wished Jack had mentioned something about what to expect. She looked anxious now, and her agitation did nothing to calm Martin's nerves. She hadn't been the only one to experience an emotional roller coaster over the last couple hours. And he did it sober. He watched as she just stood in front of her stereo, staring blankly at it, probably anything to resist looking at him. He stood up from the comfortable cushions and wandered into her kitchen, grabbing a few slices of pizza, a Gatorade, and some muffins. He took the snacks into her bedroom and placed them on the side-table that had so often held his cell phone. Being in her bedroom again brought mixed feelings to the surface, much like the rest of the day had done. He had glimpses of the sex they used to have, the hours they lay together in the dark, and the arguments that arose near the end of their relationship. Most of it happened in this room. He realized that he was probably spending too much time in here and Sam was going to become curious about what he was doing. Walking out of her room, she was still looking at her CD player, biting on her bottom lip, with the slightest hint of tears in her eyes. She wanted to cry. He could always tell, even if no tears were threatening to fall. She looked up at him as he came beside her, almost begging him to hold her. Then her expression hardened as it had so many other times. Her body language switched to blaring the message, "Back off." He kept an arm's length away from her. "You should go to bed. I left some snacks and stuff in there in case you get hungry." She glared at him for a brief moment. "It's 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Martin." "I know what time it is. You look tired. You should get some rest." "I don't need you to baby-sit me, no matter what Jack thinks," she snapped. Martin wondered how much of his conversation with their boss she had heard. He certainly hadn't expected her to retain any of it. She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed out a breath that betrayed how tired she really was. Her mood shifted again. "But I wouldn't mind if you stayed for a while," she said, sounding exhausted. "Okay, I can do that," he said, relieved that she wasn't flipping out on him for following orders. "How about you crawl into bed and get warm. Want anything? Tea?" She nodded tentatively, and moved towards the bedroom, releasing another long sigh as his last question hit her. "Stop babying me. I took E; I didn't lose my legs." She moved into her room and closed the door behind herself. Martin wandered back to the sofa, taking a long drag of his melted slushie. In a couple minutes, the door clicked open, and she stepped out clad in pajamas. She noticed him relaxing on her sofa like so many times before and a familiar feeling of warmth crept through her. She liked this scene. She liked having company. Houseplants are nice to look at but offer little in terms of tangible conversation. If the pounding in her head and the anxiousness in her body would just dissipate, she was sure she would enjoy the scene even more. "Martin?" Her voice was soft and unsure. He turned to look back at her. "Could you come sit with me a while? I need to talk." He offered a small smile, the same smile that guaranteed he was going to listen and was only glad to help. Part of her remembered that look fondly. The other part of her still held resentment for the promise that smile held and the utter disappointment that when she had finally been ready, he didn't want to give her any more chances. She felt as if this was that chance, a year too late, but in front of her now nonetheless. She turned on her heels and walked quickly towards her bed. He followed slowly behind her, still hesitant about the situation. She noticed his demeanor and crawled under her comforter, patting the bed beside her. "Come sit." He noticed her choice of words and his mind relaxed. Sit. Not lie down. That was better, less intimate. "You sure you don't want anything?" he asked, trying to stall. "Martin." Her voice was low and held a trace of a warning. "I'm not asking you to have rough, hot sex with me. Just sit down, please." She studied him. "Keep your shoes on too if you're that weirded-out." Looking down, he noticed he did still have his shoes on. Grimacing with the suggestion she made, he deliberately kicked them off into a corner, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves as well. He cautiously climbed up beside her, resting his head against the large brown headboard. He gazed up at the ceiling that he had seen too many times. When she yawned, his attention was focused back on her. She fluffed her pillows before lying down, yanking the blankets up under her arm. She didn't offer any ideas as to what her plans for discussion had been. "So," he started slowly, "What do you want to talk about?" For a moment, she appeared puzzled by the question, until rolling her eyes. "Way to make it awkward." "Hey, you're the one who said she wanted to talk and then says nothing." "I was getting comfortable, if you don't mind," she scowled. He was about to retort with an equally snarky comment, but the small smile on her face stopped him short. Letting out a brief chuckle, he yawned. The circumstances he found himself in were not what he wanted. He had the idea that baby-sitting Sam would consist of putting her to bed and watching TV for the rest of the day until crashing on her sofa for a long, well-deserved rest. Sitting on her bed, feeling only the nervous twisting of his stomach after the exhausting emotional turmoil of the day was not in the plan. And now she wanted to "talk", whatever that really meant. "I'm sorry about today," she finally said. "What about today?" he asked, playing ignorant. "Hey, you know what I'm talking about. Everything at the office. The whole... You know, drug thing. I shouldn't have taken those pills from that agent. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Martin snorted in response. "You kissed me in front of everyone, then you ranted about our sex life in front of all our colleagues. And then you confessed your undying love for me, for everyone. Although to be fair, you confessed your love for just about everything within a 5-mile radius." "I said I'm sorry." There was something in her voice that made him look down at her. She was lying on her side, face towards him but staring blankly at his thigh. She sounded distant and miserable. He regretted his words and licked his lips, trying to formulate a better reply. "I know. It's okay. It's not that big a deal. I mean, you might be the recipient of quite a few stares, and a lot of whispering, come tomorrow morning, but otherwise, it's not that important." "Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel better," she grumbled. "I'm trying here." There was a sniffle from her. "It's so embarrassing. I don't even think I can show my face there ever again." "Come on, the quicker you return, the better it'll be. The longer you stay away, the greater the mystery." The moment was broken by the shrill ringing of his cell phone. Reaching into his pocket, he flipped it open, expecting the other caller. "Hey Jack." Sam knew what the call was about: the effects of E and what to expect on the come down. She knew them too, although knowing them did little to lessen their effects. Martin grunted a few affirmative responses and said goodbye, flipping the phone closed. He tossed it beside the plate of cold pizza on her bedside table. "How are you feeling?" She shrugged. "Bad." He had no idea how to respond. The whole situation was so far out of his experience that he felt that his presence was useless. She could handle it on her own. Everyone else seemed to know more about ecstasy than he did. "Well, I'm going to let you get some sleep then." He moved to rise but she grabbed for his hand, stalling his progress. "I asked you sit with me." It sounded as if she was trying to hold back tears as her voice cracked. He settled back down as she let his hand go. "Okay, okay." "Why are you so desperate to get away from me?" she asked, sounding very suspicious of his motives. "Honestly?" "No, Martin. Lie to me. Of course honestly." He took a deep breath and refused to meet her curious gaze. "You are really, really good at putting me through the ringer and today has just been completely exhausting for me. Everything you said, everything you did. It's put me in a really awkward position and I'm trying to bring things back to normal as quickly as possible." "What's so great about normal?" Sam asked herself aloud, a mark of disdain clear in her tone. He didn't have an immediate answer, wondering if her question was rhetorical. He had always just taken the assumption for granted. When he didn't respond, she continued. "You always wanted us - me - to be normal. The dates, the family functions, the supportive friends. I don't work like that." He shook his head sadly, pursing his lips together. "That wasn't my goal. I just wanted you to be comfortable, to be proud of our relationship." Sensing her reaction, he plowed on before she could interrupt. "I didn't want a ticker-tape parade. I just wanted you to stop acting like it was a dirty secret. You always seemed so ashamed." "Did it ever occur to you that I actually was ashamed?" she asked as her voice broke. Still, no tears fell. "That I felt really fucking guilty the entire time we were together, and ever time that you pushed, it only made it worse? If it wasn't for my past with Jack, I wouldn't have had to hide. It was my fault you were unhappy." Martin sighed, unsure if this was the right time for this conversation. When they had broken up, after the day he dumped her at the office, he had come over later to explain it. What resulted was a very shallow explanation of things she had already suspected. He had never apologized and neither had she. He had grown accustomed to the following weeks of frosty 'Good morning's and quick farewells. "If it wasn't for your past with Jack, we wouldn't have even gotten together," he said, the resentment all too evident with his emphasis. "If it wasn't for him, you wouldn't have started crying at the office, I wouldn't have seen you, we wouldn't have talked, and if it wasn't for him leaving, you would have never offered me to share that cab ride." She shook her head. "You don't know that." "Yes I do." "You wanted normal! I couldn't give you that. I don't know how to do normal. I don't want the 2.2 kids, white-picket fence garbage. You knew that. You wanted me to be this normal girlfriend who holds your hand in public and accompanies you to family dinner." It was his turn to shake his head at her declaration. "I didn't want a 'normal girlfriend', Sam. Just you. You talk like I'm some pre-teen girl with these unrealistic, romantic fantasies. You were my friend for two years beforehand. I knew what to expect with you. I just wanted you to be less stubborn, that's all. I never asked for anything else." She stayed silent for a few minutes, digesting the words he had just said. It certainly wasn't helping to alleviate her depressed mood, learning that the entire failure of the relationship fell solely on her shoulders. She should start keeping a tally sheet of how many relationships in her life she had ruined. She wanted to protest that she wasn't stubborn, that he was to blame for something. Anything. Nothing came to mind. She grimaced as she wiped the heel of her palm over her damp eyes. Samantha Spade was not supposed to cry over men. She had already broken that credo twice in the last couple years. Now it seemed like the third time was a charm, after all. Inviting him in to talk certainly had not been a particularly good idea given their respective moods. Martin noticed the movement but said nothing. Dealing with her was mentally exhausting, especially as the angel and the devil on his shoulders constantly fought in the battleground of his conscience. He was torn between just getting as far away from her as possible and pulling her to him. He chose to do neither. Sitting and staring vacantly at her bedroom walls seemed like the safer option. "You never gave me a chance," she finally murmured. "I gave you a hundred chances," he corrected. "I tried so hard." She let out an indignant huff. "You think I didn't? When I told you that you wanted me to fight harder, you lied and said it shouldn't have to be a fight. You did, though, because that's what normal people do. They fight for what they want. I said that because I thought it was what you wanted to hear." "You've never fought, let alone fought harder." "How can you say that? You don't know the first thing about me." He couldn't suppress the contempt in his laugh. "Oh, is this where we get into the 'You don't know me at all!' argument. I'll save you the trouble. I know you, Samantha. You only fight at work. You never fight in relationships. You let Jack walk all over you and then back to his wife. You let me walk away without a second glance. You purposely choose unavailable men to keep yourself from feeling anything. Then when you do, I know that you run away. I know that you have commitment issues. I know you hide away every single one of the good things in your life in little tiny compartments inside your mind because you don't think you're worthy of feeling good things. I know you're avoidant and squirrelly and scared as hell on the inside most of the time, and especially when you appear most confident. Now, tell me what I've got wrong." He finished with a long sigh. She didn't want to continue the conversation but felt a strange compulsion to drag it out further. "Then you know that I'm uncomfortable and, yes, a little scared by happy or at least functional families. Why do you think I find married men so attractive? But when I looked - look - at you I see a potential happy family and it's frightening. I don't think you really understand that. I wasn't lying when I told you that you make me happy and that's pretty unknown territory for me." "You still haven't pointed out where I'm wrong, how I've misjudged you." "Stop it," she said softly, once again wiping her hand across her cheek. "As soon as I finally took the invitation, you dumped me." Pausing briefly, Martin wondered if he should even continue this. Sam obviously was in a state of mind that wasn't exactly conducive to deep, philosophical arguments. "Because I knew that you would just find some other way to get out of it. I'd buy the plane tickets, and then 'something' would come up. One of a million excuses. And the cycle would just go on and on...and on." She had no response. He told the truth. Even when she had agreed to accompany him to D.C., she had been tossing around ideas about how to get out of it. Finally, Martin shifted, putting his legs over the side of the bed. This time she didn't reach out to stop him. He balanced on the edge of her bed for a moment, mulling something over in his head, before standing and looking down on her. He picked up his cell phone and stuffed it in his pocket. "Get some rest," he said glumly. "I'll be in the other room." And he turned away, leaving her alone in the midday light of her New York apartment. She turned her face into the pillow and squeezed the tears out until she felt tired enough to sleep.
The apartment was dark except for the eerie blue glow from the TV. She wasn't sure she wanted to see him yet. She took a detour to the washroom and was slightly disappointed when she emerged and nothing had changed. Some unrealistic part of her brain had hoped he would be gone by the time she came out again. Gathering what little resolve she had left, she tiptoed over to the sofa and peeked over the edge. He was there, asleep in a wife-beater and ratty Quantico sweatpants. His work clothes hung near the door, his white shirt watching over her like a ghost. The entire scenario made her paranoid and anxious. Well, everything except the soft breathing of the man on the couch. She was about to turn back to her bedroom when her body decided to move the other direction. She crept towards her sofa, and lowered herself onto it, near his feet. He must have felt the dip, because his eyes opened and squinted at her. "Hey." His voice was raspy with sleep and he rubbed his eyes slowly. "Is everything okay?" he asked, sitting up a little. "Everything? No," she said with a slight chuckle. "My head kills and I generally feel like shit." She impatiently pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, fidgeting under his scrutiny. He yawned slowly and stretched his arms behind his head for a moment. "Look," she began, softer, "I'm sorry." He shook his head, waving off her apology. "You didn't expect another agent to dose you. It's okay." "Not about that." She laughed again. "Well, I guess that was pretty damn stupid too. I mean, they looked like aspirin, I swear. And we've worked with that agent before on a few cases. I'm guessing it was probably evidence or something that got mixed up with his toiletries or something." She realized she was rambling. "But that's not what I was thinking about." He sat up completely, tenting his fingers, resting his forehead on his thumbs as he tried to think of a response. Instead of answering her, he glanced at the clock. 10:25 PM and he was still dead tired. It was especially not the time to start dragging all the skeletons from the closet. She ran a hand over her face. "Anyway..." "I'm sorry, too," he said finally. She revealed a tight smile and rose from the sofa, wincing as the ache rippled though her body. She rubbed the back of her neck for a few seconds for emphasis, and maybe a little empathy. "I wish I had some pot," she grumbled to herself as she walked towards her bedroom. He let out a light chuckle before lying back down on the sofa. "Goodnight," she said a little louder. "Night, Sam," he responded and yawned again, getting comfortable. He listened until he heard her door close.
On the fourth day after the ecstasy incident, the familiar sound of Sam's footsteps echoed around as she entered the bullpen. Vivian and Elena were already out in the field, following a few leads on their latest case. Martin was nowhere to be seen. Danny sat restlessly at his desk, typing in phone numbers and pulling up DMV records, trying to match anything up. Jack strolled into the bullpen as soon as he saw her hanging her jacket over the back of her seat. "I thought I told you to take a vacation," he said with a smirk, handing her a fresh mug of coffee. "Thanks," she murmured and took a long sip. "When do I ever listen to you, Jack?" she replied smarmily, letting a laugh escape. "When you want to keep your job." He was joking. The light-hearted banter eased her nerves slightly and she couldn't repress the smile. "You okay now?" She nodded, taking another drink of coffee. "Better." "Good. We've got Walter Harcourt. Retired Naval ROTC engineer. Danny can fill you in on the details, but IRS is sending up any records they've got, and I want you to look for abnormalities and patterns. This guy fell off his rocker about 6 years ago so piecing his life together is going to be tricky. See if you can pull up any other financial records and cross-reference." He paused for a moment, allowing his instructions to sink in. "Glad to be back now?" "For desk duty? You know it." She opened the databases on her computer, typing in the name. Hitting PRINT she turned back to Jack. "Where's Martin?" "With the ROTC liaison. He should be back soon. Then he can help you go through the records." She nodded again. She offered Jack another smile. "Thanks again for everything," she said softly. He gave her shoulder a squeeze of reassurance. "No problem. Just keep busy for a while and I'll check in on you guys in a little while. See if anything's come up." "'Kay," she mumbled as Jack walked back to his office. Sam sat at her desk, staring at the progress bar on her screen. 50%. 56%. 61%. Danny finally tore himself away from his screen and turned to her, trying to keep the obvious smirk off his face. "How you feeling?" he asked. Her head shot around to glare at him before her gaze softened. "Fine. How are you?" "I'm super. Thanks for asking. I've got something for you." He began rummaging through the piles of paper on his desk. Her eyes narrowed knowing that Danny rarely ever got her a useful gift. Danny continued to search for whatever object he intended to give her as Martin sauntered into the bullpen. He tossed a file folder on his desk with an exasperated sigh. Glancing over, he saw that Sam had finally returned to work and was already working hard on her coffee. He approached her casually, as if they hadn't had any enlightening and cathartic conversations 4 days ago. "How was your time off?" She looked up at him, a faint trace of sadness lacing her features. "Lonely. Quiet." He nodded, pressing together a tense smile. "Quiet here too, especially without your incessant love-in." She shook her head, noticing the progress bar on her computer. 98%. Good. She reached over to check the printer, anything to distract herself from his presence. Unwilling to ease her discomfort, he perched on the edge of her desk and stared around the office. "A-ha!" A victorious sound came from the direction of Danny's desk as he swung around to offer Sam her present. It was even wrapped in old newspaper, more specifically, the cartoons page. She grimaced as the ink smeared on her fingertips but began to open the package anyway. Before even unwrapping it, she knew it was a movie. The size and weight alone were enough to determine that. She puffed out a slow breath and gave Danny a glare of warning. She stared at the gift for a moment in confusion. "SpongeBob?" "SquarePants," Danny concluded. He chuckled for a moment and Martin grinned too. "I was going to get you Trainspotting but it's kind of a downer. I've heard the kids these days eat this cartoon up...Like brownies." The insinuation sunk in. She whipped the gift at her teammate, trying to keep the smile off her face. "I will shoot you one day, I swear." "Oh come on, Sam," he protested, "It's like the perfect date movie for you! You can invite Marty here over, and watch..." He paused, his eyes skimming over the DVD case, "A sponge and a starfish run around with, uh, David Hasselhoff. Nothing could be more romantic. And see," he said adamantly pointing to the back of DVD case, "It says here 'The country needs SpongeBob SquarePants.' It's your duty as a federal officer." He tossed the apparently offensive gift back at her. It landed with a slap on her desktop. She merely glared at it for a few moments before looking up at Danny again. "I am not a stoner." She was insistent. "Well then you are a fantastic actress," Danny exclaimed and turned back to his computer, remembering that they all had a job to do. Sam pulled the stack of sheets from printer tray with a quiet groan, dreading the work that was to follow. Martin noticed the way she rolled her head around, attempting to work out the leftover kinks and aches. Martin rose from her desk and attempted to return to his desk, but he hesitated. She was focused again on her work. She was really good at pretended he didn't exist. Finally, he tired of just watching her. "Want some help with those?" She looked up, surprised to see him still standing there. "Nothing from the liaison?" Shaking his head, he reached out for a stack of her print-outs and flipped through them as he spoke. "Nothing that we didn't already know. Discharged 6 years ago, etc, etc. Nothing that points to why he cracked up, or where he is now. He never kept in touch with anyone else from his unit, apparently." "Agent Spade?" a voice called out as a young man wheeled in two boxes of IRS and Social Security records. Sam nodded and motioned for the boxes to be left at the conference table. He offered nothing else except a knowing smile to her and she tried desperately not to roll her eyes. Did everyone know about the incident? "Thanks," she said brusquely as he walked away. Martin smiled down at her. "See, it's not so bad. And plus, you really helped Viv out on what to get you for Christmas this year." She cocked her head to the side, questioning. "A fondue set." She laughed lightly, and grabbed the remaining stack of print-outs, once again attempting to crack her neck. Martin placed his papers down on her desk. He cracked his knuckles briefly and she scowled. "You know I hate when you do that," she frowned. "Especially right near my ears." Martin ignored her complaints and slid his fingers tentatively against her neck. "Even when I follow it up with this?" he asked as he worked out the knots in her neck with a smooth, kneading motion. She let out a relaxed sigh, not particularly caring if Danny, or anyone else, chose to glance in her direction. Considering the utter embarrassment that was her office drug trip, the little things seemed inconsequential. After a minute or so, Martin pulled back and reached for the pile of work on her desk. He said nothing but gave her a small, shy smile like he used to, before they had decided to sleep together. He moved away and took a seat at the conference table, pulling out a fat folder stuffed with old expense reports. Sam wandered over to sit across from him, occasionally glancing up to see how he was coming along. She scanned the lists of credit card itineraries and settled into the routine of work. He
gazed at her quickly, catching her eyes. They shared another small exchange
of comfortable smiles. It was with some incredulity that she realized
things were normal again. They were back to normal. End. |