Comfort through Trials - Green eyed

Archive: If you want it, take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Rating: R (language and sexual situations)

Spoilers: Galileo

Author's Notes: Sequel to "Comfort through Trials - Imagining Things".
This is part of a series I am working on.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, I just borrow them to play with.

An adult version of this story exists. If you're interested in reading
it, please email me at lynnjepsen@j... with an age statement and an
email address.

My ribs hurt. Every last inch of them, even the ones that aren't broken,
and I feel so foolish. I'm a grown woman, and Sam seems to think I can't
cross a street by myself. He actually had Cathy pick up lunch and a few
books for me when she came to get his tux. I suppose that means he's
going to some function tonight. Great, just what I want. Another reminder
of how he's married to his job, and I quit mine.

She gave me this weird look when she came in, and finally said, "Well,
that's why." That's why what? Is Sam acting weird? He should be fine, I
mean, wouldn't it take a while it he was going to.... to get sick? The
scary part is I just don't know.

I suppose I'll need another job though, and a place to stay. I mean,
Sam's apartment literally is a hole in the wall, and both of us can't
stay here, even if he wanted me to. Oh my, did I just decide to stay in
DC? I think I did. That does limit the job opportunities though. I mean,
I'm a big girl, but there are some situations I just don't want to
repeat. I've seen him though, and although I did manage to walk in front
of a moving vehicle, I did not have a nervous breakdown, which means I
must have gotten over most of the.... baggage.

I'm not sure how much that is worth though. I mean, I'm not sure how wise
it would be to work for Leo, or President Bartlett for that matter. Don't
the President and VP's offices communicate? Somehow, I think I might need
some more support if I had to deal with that. I jump a bit as the phone
rings, and untwist the quilt from around my legs in order to reach for
the phone. "Hello?" It's Paul. That means, one, he's back from St.
Petersburg, and two, he's talked to Sam. My, Sam must be feeling brave

I know Paul just well enough calm him down, convince him not to visit,
and get off the phone in under an hour. That's good time. My brother
always was more of an artist, and an emotional one at that, than an
intellectual. He almost cries when I tell him about the accident. Okay
Paulie, too much empathy. I'm a big girl. You know that.

After I extricate myself from that call, my stomach grumbles. It's
already six o'clock and I haven't eaten since Cathy stopped by around
eleven. I'm halfway to the kitchen when the phone rings again. Heaven
help me if that's Paul again. No, worse, it's Josh. "Hey kiddo!" Alright,
did the pod people come to earth and take Josh? "I was just
thinking....." Do you do that often Josh? Think I mean. Okay, so the
postage stamp thing he's complaining about probably freed up a lot of
brain cells tonight, but he agrees with me that this apartment is too
small for Sam and I.

He apparently also thinks we need to revisit times past, because he's
offering me his spare bedroom, the one I stayed in while he was
recovering, except he's also offering to clean up his living room and den
so that I can have room to work. You know, the offer doesn't sound half
bad, at least until Sam and I have a chance to figure out what we're
doing. I probably shouldn't agree to anything while I'm on narcotics, but
you know, the painkillers aren't that strong and I really do think I'm in
my right mind.

He really shouldn't be lifting anything, but I'm not supposed to either,
at least until my ribs heal. I guess that means I'll have to hire movers.
You know, I think that's a fair trade for Josh and I not knocking
ourselves out. He says his goodbye quickly. The President has returned
and he's being summoned. I hope that means Sam will be home soon.

This time, I'm actually going to make it to the kitchen. Sam must not
have had an appetite for a while, because the only food in the kitchen is
leftovers from the takeout Josh and I ordered all weekend. I finally
decided on the remaining half of a club sandwich after convincing myself
that Josh doesn't have cooties.

I make it through about three bites before deciding that painkillers and
food don't mix so well right now. Not that I care. I'm starving, but I'm
going to have to eat sitting down, rather than standing in front of the
fridge checking out the photos of Sam's nieces and nephews. They are cute
though. I could certainly go for a small version of Sam... if not
tomorrow, then someday.

By the time I finish eating, Sam's key is in the door. I'm not sure what
that look is when he glances at the couch and I'm not there, but a half
second later he spots me at the table, or what passes for a table. It's
more like a large TV tray with folding chairs, but you get the drift.
Forget all about club sandwiches, because he's got his arms around me
now, and he's kissing me. He tastes like scotch, which he hates, and
avocados, which remind him of Southern California and home.

He brushes his hands over my ribs, so gently, that for the first time
today, they don't hurt, and then lifts me up into his arms. It's one of
those moments when I don't doubt what we are at all, as opposed to the
rest of the day, when I debate about boyfriend versus friend versus
fiance. We used to know what we were doing, and I'd like to figure it out
again. Soon.

He walks through the apartment and I start kissing his neck. He stops,
and leans against the wall without settling me down. This is not working.
If he's carrying me around, I can't do much, now can I? Wiggling out of
his arms, I back off a bit to slide the jacket off his shoulders. He's
got this bad habit of the phone ringing at inopportune times, and I'm not
about to let him answer it tonight. It might be selfish, but after
everything that's happened this weekend, I want to make sure my Sam is
still my Sam.

His shirt and tie follow his jacket to the floor, and before I know it,
he's trying to figure out exactly how my nightgown unties. Men. You'd
think the didn't know how clothes worked. When he speaks me name, the
word is nothing more than a low rumble through his chest, and I start to
kiss the skin I've just exposed. "If I knew I'd get this kind of
treatment, I would have snuck away from Mal and come home during the
concert." Okay, back that up just a bit. Josh said the President dragged
him to the Icelandic Symphony or something, so tell me where Leo's
daughter comes in.

He must not notice that I am very unpleased by that comment, or, you
know, perhaps a teensy bit jealous, because he's triumphant now that he's
managed to untie my nightgown. He kisses me, and I don't kiss him back.
It takes him a minute, but he steps back the half step to the wall, and
looks me in the eyes. "What did I do?" Okay, so Sam has an overdeveloped
guilt complex, but this time, it actually is him that I'm annoyed with.
"Did I hurt your ribs? Lisa?" How can a grown man make a face that makes
me feel like such a...... well, bitch seems overused in this town,
actually it used to be the nameplate on my door.... but that's what I
feel like. He's not having some torrid affair with Leo's daughter. He
can't hide anything like that, not from me. I knew all about the Laurie
thing before Josh ever called me. Just because I left DC doesn't mean I
stopped knowing people.

"Lisa, did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I just...." Oh, Sam, don't make me feel
worse about being jealous. Before he can finish the apology, I'm kissing
him, and I'm not teasing this time. It doesn't take a lot of
encouragement for him to finish with my nightgown. I can't help it, I
have to say it. "Don't you think you're a bit overdressed for this?" He
looks down, and starts to laugh. Not loudly, but just enough. He uses one
hand to take off his cummerbund and shoes, but he has to untangle his
other hand from my hair in order to pull his undershirt over his head.
We're doing better but he's still overdressed. What? So now he decides he
wants to take a shower. Oh, well, as long as I'm included in that
invitation, it's fine by me.


You know what? My ribs hurt right now, and I'm not sure if it's because
of the bit of strenuous exercise I got, or if I forgot a dose of
painkiller at some point, but I don't care. I'm tired, and Sam's warm, so
I think I'm just going to snuggle up a little closer, and sleep it off.
Tomorrow, I'm going to have to start a job search, and arrange to move in
with Josh. I just have to keep telling myself, it's just until Sam and I
figure out what we're doing. Although whatever we're doing, we seem to be
doing it rather well.

Oh no. He's snoring now, not loudly, but just enough. I think it's from
the stress. He does that when he gets tense. Shaking my head, I sleepily
rub his neck, and he must relax a little because he stops snoring. Okay,
now my paranoia's kicking in, because I check to see if he's still
breathing before resting my cheek on his chest. Not a perfect pillow, but
pretty damn close.

G'night Sam. I love you.



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