Title: Sleeping at nights 

Author: Thereelali@hotmail.com 

Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will. 

Summary: Mallory's POV after Galileo 

Warnings/Spoilers: Sam/Mallory, Galileo 

Archiving: Yes, as long as you tell me where. 

Notes:

 

Sleeping at Nights 

By Ali Cherry

I groan as I rolled over, scrunching my pillow beneath my head. The whole thing with Sam has my head spinning, my heart racing and my stomach doing more gymnastics than the Russian's, well, gymnastic team.

It's just an itch, I tell myself. Its just cause I never scratched that itch Abbey claimed I had. I'm getting plenty of scratching now. It's just... Sam never has to touch me before I'm turned on. Just the sound of his voice makes me weak in the knees, makes me want to rip off his suit and find the nearest flat surface.

I should have known this would happen. No matter how insane the meeting is with Sam, I always spend the night wishing he were next to me, that this time the itch would have been scratched.

I'm sick, that's all there is to it. I need to go to Samaholics anonymous. There has to be a club. Or maybe it should just be jilted lovers of the senior staff, cause I'm sure we could like rent the Kennedy Center for our meetings.

I keep telling myself that Sam was the one who never called, never made time for the relationship. I didn't either. He made it clear, and I made it clear to him, that I was dictating the terms of the relationship. I didn't call after the date. I didn't make it clear.

Who am I kidding? He was an idiot for not calling me about the picture. It was a call girl for heaven's sake, like I wouldn't care? Sheesh.

But damn it, with just a few words he made it right, that and I think the fact that he's felt guilty for a while. Forgiving his must have been that... And the fact he put on his oh-shit-I-have-to-tell-the-President-this face. It gets me every time because if the president has to be brought in, than it's an emergency.

I move my legs trying to get comfortable. I can't believe I said Richard was terribly bright. I'm talking to the man that writes speeches for the President. He argued a position opposite to his own beliefs and did it well.

Granted Sam can be an idiot and a klutz, but I am dating the only professional hockey player that can't skate, so I don't think I can talk.

"She looks pretty good." I can still hear the phrase now. Pretty good to Sam is like a blindingly good comment; just cause well words are his thing, but only for other people. Words fail him when it's just him.

I wonder if it's a psychological thing. Never mind, pluming the depths of Sam's mind is best left to a large panel of psychologists.

I just wish I hadn't baited him. "How much money is it going to cost to try them?" It was so easy, and gave me a great feeling, but now, I wish I hadn' t, cause the shivers are racing up my body, and my stomach's doing that whole flip thing.

GOD DAMMIT! I roll over again, pulling the pillow over my head and readjusting the blankets.

I should have never seen Sam again; it would have made it a lot easier to sleep at nights.

The end.

 

 

 

 

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