Disclaimer: Look, I'm seating myself in this fandom too! (I get a round-round-round-round-round, from town to town) I've had this in my head for a few years, ever since I read Peter Benchley's Jaws during a particularly long flight. Alas, I don't own the rights to the creation of the storyline and its characters, only Mr. Benchley does – may he rest in peace. I don't even own the naked woman on the cover of my 1975 copy. –By the way, this is based more on the first movie than book, although I am taking details from the latter as well. – Enjoy.
J
The sun flitted in through the windows, illuminating the dust and furniture strategically placed within the room to maximize Feng Shui. Beside the window was a nightstand, hosting a lamp with a crooked shade, a stack of books some four or five tall, two framed photos, and the bedside phone. The alarm clock had been casually knocked off its perch in the night, due to some strenuous activities which had worn out the lumps beneath the comforter.
Although it was nearly the fourth of July, the small town of Pemaquid Point, Maine was going through a rough patch of cold mornings. A fog was rolling lazily in from the Atlantic and socking in the harbor town, bringing with it a chill not uncommon for the time of year. The residents knew it would burn off by seven thirty, but were content to move slowly as the weather influenced.
The phone on the side table rang, causing a disappointed moan to rise up from the bed. It was on the third ring that a female arm reached out from the blue and white plaid covering in order to yank the earpiece up off the holder; that same arm then casually fell with a thunk, hitting the lump beside it. There was a hiss of pain mixed in with a gah, and another, more masculine hand took the accursed phone.
"Yeah?" his voice was rough with sleep, which could be heard both by his companion and the bastard that had called at – oh, right, they had knocked the clock off the nightstand again.
"Is this Matt Hooper?" a male and only slightly frantic voice echoed on the other line, and Matt sent a sideways glance at his bedfellow. She always seemed to know when the call was for him.
"Yeah." He repeated, and could hear the exhale of relief on the other end.
"Thank God. I called the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute looking for a specialist and they gave me this number." He started, and the young man on the receiving had to roll his eyes. He was on vacation, and the Institute gave out the number. That was nice of them. "I'm Chief Brody of the Amity police department, and I'm sorry for calling you so early, but I have a problem on my hands. I've had one confirmed death and one missing person that I think might be shark related. I was hoping to get your expert advice here on what we're dealing with and what we should do."
The body next to him rolled over, and Matt found himself staring into the bright, vivid grey eyes of his girlfriend Maggie. She had repositioned herself so one hand was underneath the pillow, splayed out as if she were going up to bat at a softball game. The other rested casually over her slowly rising and falling – naked – breast. His morning wood grew a little bit stiffer.
"Amity, is that near Martha's Vineyard?" he found himself asking, surprised he could think at all as she pulled her lips in to wet them.
"Yeah, yeah, in Rhode Island. Mr. Hooper, I think we have a serious problem growing on our hands and you're the only one qualified to handle it."
Never had Matt Hooped felt more like the weight of the world was jumping down on his shoulders. This guy Brody must be in real trouble – or at least thinks he is.
"Alright Chief Brody, I'll be down as soon as I can."
"Thank you Mr. Hooper. Thank you." And with that the other line was gone.
Handing the phone back to her, she returned it to the cradle before meeting his eyes again, this time disappointment could be seen brewing in them.
"So soon?" she asked quietly and he nodded, not being able to vocally confirm what she hated hearing the most. But then, it was always like this: they would manage to convince the Institute to give them the same week off, and three days into the vacation the phone would ring, calling one of them back. And in less than a week, he would be gone for eighteen months on the Aurora, and she would be reduced to hearing his voice over the radio – if she was lucky.
Without a word he rolled over to his side of the bed and all but fell out – an action usually met with a light laugh but today all he got was silence. Looking over at her, he found she was leaning down to pick up the clock. He was granted a nice view of her elegant back, which he appreciated every second of. As he was about to comment on it, she turned and spoke.
"My mother called again yesterday, wanting to know when we would get married." That was not the thing he wanted to hear again this morning, but somewhere in the recesses of his mind he recognized that she was just trying to get revenge for having their time together cut short.
"Did you tell her that this is the 70s, and people don't have to marry to live with one another?" he shot back while reaching for his glasses before digging around for some clothes and his expedition bag. He could hear her sit up, and when he turned back again he was awarded the sight of those glorious, naked, exquisite breasts. She didn't frown, but her expression was far from a smile.
"We're doing more than just living together, aren't we Matt?" to his amazement her voice was soft, and though he knew she had this tender female side, she only rarely ever showed it. Before he could answer – or try to anyway; he actually had the feeling he would sputter out an answer that would be quite wrong and end up with him sleeping on the couch when he got back – she cut him off with a fling of the covers and a sigh.
"She just wants to make sure I'm taken care of. I did after all leave my psychology major for you." That caught him off guard, but her smile cancelled out any negative connotations, and he grinned right back.
It was well-known among both family and friends, and the favored story of the Biology department.
Maggie had be studying psychology at Yale, and Matt marine biology. They would have no reason to meet, let alone know each other - but meet her he did when he spotted her in the campus canteen. She had been reading one of the thick psyche books, her third cup of java and an untouched pastry beside her. Chewing on a pencil end, she would write down notes on a pad every now and again, but for the most part she just sat reading.
He had come in to get a quick mug and then be out the door for an examine he had to study for, shirt untucked and blonde hair askew. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and was developing that rugged look all the girls found handsome – although the thick curls of his hair just made him look like a blonde Jew so the effect was lost. His own textbook was wedged beneath his arm as he thanked the coffee schlepper and was about to be on his way when he saw her.
The moment he moved to sit at her table was the first time she looked up, smiling pleasantly and rearranging her clutter so he had room. They made casual small talk, what's your major, my brother was in that fraternity, the weather is awfully warm for this time of year. She told him about Freud and some of his ridiculous theories, and he told her about sharks.
At this point they were both more interested in sharks.
The pair became fast friends, yet it was a surprise to all but those closest to her when Maggie suddenly switched majors and cut off all her hair. She said it was easier to dive without long and heavy locks soaking up half the ocean, to which Matt agreed with an additive of saying she looked better with the short boy hair.
They had been together ever since, which is why her mother was hounding her for a wedding, and why his dad wouldn't shut up about grandkids (David gave us grandchildren, why can't you?). When the rest of her friends were settling down and having children, she was gathering water samples and swimming with deadly fish – hell even her older brothers had moved into nice family routines. And here she was, being the black sheep of the clan again. But she had Matt, and was happier with him and his sharks than she ever would have been with Freud and his suppositions.
In the back of her mind, she would like to be married to Matt Hooper, though she wouldn't want to live the life of her brothers and sorority sisters. She'd much rather travel and see the world with all its magnificent ocean life. But she knew him well enough now that she recognized it would take a massive force or an act of God to get him to propose.
"I'm sorry Maggie, but I have to go." Was what pulled her out of her memories and back into the real world.
"It's okay Matt, I understand." With a smile, she accepted his farewell kiss, and watched him walk out the bedroom door. Minutes later, she heard the front door slam shut, and he was gone. With a sigh, she got up to make herself some breakfast.
Just because he had to go back to work didn't mean her vacation had to be a total bust as well.
*O*
He had barely been gone a day and a half when Maggie - after settling into her lonely routine –received her own call from the Institute. Or rather it was from Charlie, a fellow researcher who had been sentenced to desk duty for mouthing off to their boss one too many times – naturally he was a friend she and Matt had made through their mutual rebellion to authority. He called about noon just as she had come in from sitting on the rocky beach, watching a lovely young couple play with their black Labrador.
Truthfully she was glad for the call and the distraction from jealousy it brought with it.
"Jesus Maggs, you're a hard woman to get a hold of." Was the very first thing she heard after offering a quick hello. She laughed, propping the earpiece on her shoulder as she attempted to reach her Pepsi Cola can; why had she set it on the other end of the counter? They really should make those phone cords longer . . .
"Sorry Charlie, I was out enjoying my vacation. What can I do for you?" steadying herself on one counter, she lifted her bare foot and stretched as if she were a ballerina, attempting to use her toes to pull the elusive can into arms reach. Charlie gave a dramatic sigh, and she could hear the shuffling of papers as he fiddled around in the Cubicle of Shame.
"I hate to do this to you, but we might have a situation." He paused, and she waited, leg suspended in the air, phone on her shoulder and toes just barely touching the can.
"Yes Charlie?"
"Well, we got one call yesterday from this guy Vaughn, who says he's the Mayor of this little place called Amity, where Matt is – claims the shark that's been killing people was neutralized. Then we get a call from Matt this morning saying they still have a shark problem."
Success! She had to hold in her squeal of self accomplishment as she sipped her carbonated beverage in thought.
"Obviously they still have a shark problem then. Matt's the professional, not Mr. Vaughn. Has the Naughty Desk fried your brain that much man?" Maggie heard him chuckle, but knew it was forced. She could practically see him shifting nervously, undoing the top buttons of his shirt as if to give easier access to making his point.
"Maggie, he kept repeating how big this shark is – at least a twenty footer. I think Matt's gonna need your help on this one." For the first time in all the years they've known each other, Charlie sounded nervous. It made Maggie feel uncomfortable to imagine that the most confident cock she knew was afraid.
"Why not send George or one of the boys? Surely you fellas are closer to Amity then I am." She reasoned, pacing the kitchen with all the room the cord would allow. She quickly found herself wrapped up in the twisted wiring, and had to untangle herself.
"No one knows Matty better than you doll – it's like you two share a brainwave and operate on a different frequency than us normal people. I would feel a lot better about this if you were down there with him. You know how he doesn't think things through when he gets excited, and with what I've heard, things could get real bad real fast. I just want to avoid the total shit storm that follows him whenever you're not around." His speech finished, Maggie's silence on the other end spoke loud enough to say he needed to play his last card.
"You can do this of your own free will, or I can just say Dean expects you down on that island by seven o'clock tonight. It's your choice."
She sighed raggedly into the mouth piece, trying to emphasize her reluctance as much as possible. Did the Institute hate them so much that every chance it got, it would squelch their happiness? Or did fate just delight in pissing on her smile? Whatever, she would deal with this, and then ban sex in their household for a week for making her leave her vacation home early.
"So where the hell is Amity, anyway?"
*O*
Amity was in fact a generally small town on an island just south of Martha's Vineyard and Cape Cod – a vacation destination with a winter population of 1,000 and a summer at 10,000. The current number of heads – men, women, children and some dogs included – was last totaled at 9,750; the summer was in full swing. That of course became blatantly obvious to Maggie when she rode into the small town at a quarter to eight that same night, and had to book a motel room – the seediest motel in town, and even they only had one room left.
A single, smoking with no mini bar and one towel.
She was definitely banning sex when this was done.
The morning had brought with it several ferries full of excited tourists, a crowded beach, and foot patrols connected to the boats via radios. Maggie had gone around on foot, looking for a uniformed officer so she could get a better understanding of what was currently planned, of what they knew. She finally found one: a skinny, nervous looking man with dark hair and chewed down fingernails. He was probably about her age, maybe a bit older but not by much. He held a radio up to his lips, answering the disembodied voices every now and again.
"Excuse me, officer?" she asked politely, smirking only slightly at the jump of his shoulders. He turned to address her, brown eyes alight with an anticipation she understood all too well.
"I'm looking for someone, and was hoping you might be able to help me." She continued, readjusting the strap of the bag on her shoulder, mimicking his shift of the policeman's hat. He shook his head, and a voice she figured would come from him emerged from his chapped lips.
"Sorry ma'am but I can't help you. I'm on official business right now and can't leave for anything." And then he took on an almost heroic pose, forcing her to hold back a laugh as she held out a hand.
"That's kind of why I'm here. I'm Maggie Lewis, a colleague of Matt Hooper; the Institute sent me down here to give him a hand. Do you know where he is?" a look of dawning understanding came over his face, followed by a goofy smile as he took her hand and shook it vigorously.
"Oh! I'm sorry Ms. Lewis, I didn't know he was expecting help. Mr. Hooper is out on the water now, do you want me to call him in?" he had just lifted the radio to his lips, but didn't get a chance to speak before Maggie stopped him with a shake of her head.
"No, no, that's alright. He's probably doing more good out there then he would back on land. Tell you what, I'll be in the estuary gather water samples. If you see him, can you let him know that I'm here and that's where I'll be?"
He nodded again, the brim of his hat flapping in the morning sun.
"Thank you, Officer . . ."
"Hendricks, Lenny Hendricks."
"Thank you Officer Hendricks."
And with that, she left him smiling while making her way to the quiet pond, watching the folks sitting restlessly on the sandy beach. If Matt was right about his shark theory, the beach would be the safest place for all the tourists. As she wove through the throngs of people, she felt a lurch in her stomach when first three, then five, then fifty swimmers converged in the water.
But over at the pond, things were quiet. A few sunbathers lounged in the sand, basking in the warmth like salamanders on stones. One woman sat on an old wooden chair, an easel before her as she painted the horizon. Two boats gently bobbed up and down in the water, the small forms of their sailors sticking dark dots on deck.
Taking off her shoes and stripping to her swimsuit, Maggie scaled down the warm rocks and slipped into the cool water. She unloaded her pack, which contained everything from PH strips to test tubes to a Bunsen Burner. Matt affectionately called it a Lab Bag, because everything one might need from a lab would probably be found within. The silver chain which carried the tooth of a Mako - a gift from Matt for their first anniversary – glimmered in the sun as she bent down to test the acidity of the water.
The water chilled her hands as she paused to feel it skim through her fingers. It was nice, tranquil almost as she slid back into her work routine. Five minutes, ten, fifteen, she stood in the water filling containers with water samples, the current lifting her every now and again. If there was a change in the water, even something as small as higher PH levels or different bacteria, the whole ecosystem would be affected – which could possibly explain why a foreign shark would be swimming the waters.
"Sh-Shark! The shark! He's going into the pond! The shark's in the estuary!" a woman suddenly started shouting, and Maggie whipped her head this way and that to see if she could spot it. The water samples floated forgotten beside her.
She couldn't find the telltale dorsal fin, but there was an unusual wake moving into the pond. Suddenly there were bystanders crying out hysterically as the boats flipped over – followed by a very distinct scream of a man in agony. There were younger boys too, shouting more in surprise and panic than pain. For a brief moment her fear blinded her into thinking that those on the water were just doing the whole boys will be boys foolishness; however the thrashing convinced her otherwise.
"Swim to the beach!" she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth to further amplify her voice. Several of the boys from the sailboat were paddling towards the shore as fast as they could, though she could clearly see with a sinking heart that the man in the little red rowboat was gone.
"Michael! Where's Michael!" She could hear one boy shout when they were within range. Beyond the splashing the boys caused in their panic, she could see something bobbing in the water. A motionless lump moving with the current's ebb and flow.
Without a moment's hesitation she dove in, making her way as fast as possible to the figure. Left arm, then right, left, right, left, right, breathe. Left, right, left, right, left, right, breathe. Her mind blocked out the world around her, the shouting and the screams, and focused only on moving her arms, breathing, and reaching the boy before the shark did.
For it was a little boy, she realized quickly. A little boy with brown hair and pale skin. Someone's child, and she'd be damned if this mess became ten times worse while she was less than ten feet from him. Almost there . . .
For an instant it was as if she were back in Pemaquid, trying to reach her soda can with her foot as she became entangled within the phone cord. This little boy was the can, her body the foot, and the ocean water the cord. Only this was ten times worse, for he wasn't a can.
He was a son.
Success!
This time she did give a cry of triumph when her cold hands clamped around his colder arm. Hoisting him by the armpits, Maggie gripped him for all she was worth, swimming sideways as she made for the beach. By this time she could see the crowd forming on the sand. The boys she swam past were back in the water and already halfway to her – something she was grateful for. Her adrenaline was wearing off and the water drag of the boy was making him four times heavier.
"Michael! Michael!" the mixed shouts of women and children filled her ears, and as her feet finally touched the sandy, rocky bottom she began to wonder why the shark had left them be. Was it because the boy hadn't been struggling like a seal? Though he had been floating placidly in the water, she had splashed like nobody's business. Perhaps it had been filled by the other man? Unlikely.
No, for some unknown reason the shark had let them live.
The group of boys took the one from her grasp and dragged him the rest of the way to shore as she stumbled like a drunk. The wet sand tripped her a few times, but she managed to collapse on the warm beach next to the boy – he was unconscious and clearly going into shock but he hadn't been bitten. A dark haired man clad in police uniform was bent over the smaller form, and she could clearly see the family resemblance.
"Thank you." He muttered under his heavy breath, and she nodded, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible. Any other words were lost as a blonde woman threw herself upon the boy, and the policeman stated Michael – his name was Michael – was going into shock.
It was only after the boy had been taken to the hospital with his parents and the boats were being towed in that she found Matt. Or rather, she surmised, he found her as he stormed up the beach, hair flying crazily in the salty breeze beneath his cap. To preoccupy her attention, she moved back into the water to recollect her samples. She was probably the only one with the balls to get wet right about then.
Matt charged her, but stopped just short of the tide line.
"What the hell are you doing here Maggie? And what the hell was that?" his voice was angrier than she first thought it would be, and she turned to meet his stare, trying to stop the wind from blowing her frizzed hair into her eyes.
"Someone had to get that boy back to the beach, Matt." Her words were careful, tight with a testing edge. He sighed, pulling off his cap to run a hand through his own hair before carefully stepping down the rocks and into the water. He paid no attention to the water logging of his converse shoes and jean pants.
"But why are you here?" he asked more softly this time, skimming his hand down her sun-warmed arm.
"You called the Institute, and freaked Charlie out. So naturally Charlie sent me to help you." Her voice was calm and pressing, as if stating the obvious. He in turn sighed again, taking an unoccupied hand to run down his face, scratching at his beard absentmindedly.
"Ok, ok, that I understand. But why did they call you? Surely George or one of the boys would have been closer, and a more logical choice." He spoke gently, and without her consent Maggie was suddenly reminded of Freud and his theory of penis envy. Suppressing her agreement that that's what she thought too, she let the indignity wash over her.
"I can do this job just as good as they can." She took a step back, just out of his reach, and felt a fleeting moment of satisfaction at the look of fear on his face.
"Maggie -"
"No Matt Hooper. You can take that male supremacy and shove it up your ass. The fact is that the Institute didn't call George or Brent or Sam. They called me; they called me because I'm the best one to help you. Besides, I'm here now and no amount of moaning and groaning is going to get me to leave."
Her hands had moved to fists, which then suctioned to her hips in a defiant sort of way. A scowl took over her features, tightening around her lips and imbedding lines about her eyes. Matt stopped then, a charming smile blooming underneath his beard as he moved towards her again. This time slower, like he was approaching a wounded animal.
"Have I ever told you that you are absolutely gorgeous when you're pissed at me?"
That just about did it. Her scowl changed smoothly into a smirk as she released her hips and crossed her arms over her chest. He almost could have laughed at how susceptible she could be to flattery.
"Once or twice."
This time he did laugh, and she allowed him to take her hand, but wouldn't let him kiss her. She was still mad, although at what they both were unsure of. Without asking he bent to help her collect the forgotten jars of samples, climbing out of the water much to the surf's displeasure.
With the dissipation of excitement, the crowd on the beach too thinned until there were only a few stranglers left, gossiping over what they hadn't seen but claimed happened. Who did and didn't die, and why they weren't surprised it ended in the way it had.
"Do you have a hotel room?" he asked casually, and this time she laughed too with a nod at his tone and the wiggle of his eyebrows.
"A single in a seedy little Don't Tell Motel; I'm exaggerating, it might actually be the Eisner Roadside Inn. But it was late so I can't be sure. Why?" Matt at least had the presence of mind to look guilty as he offered to shoulder her pack – a request she denied but did take his hand in hers.
"Well, I was in such a rush since the moment I arrived; I haven't had too much time to sleep. I, uh, well never actually got a room anywhere." She laughed again as she pulled him towards her old Ford, tossing her pack in the back as Matt slipped into the driver's seat. Even after the gravity of the day, the cab of that Ford still held the same atmosphere as when they were much younger. She was still in just her bathing suit, and he let his hand rest on her thigh, caressing it softly. Every few strokes his fingers would reach the apex of her legs, and he would fondler her; her legs spreading a little more each time.
Her own frisky hand worked its way across the seat and onto his own groin, but she didn't dare slip below the zipper of his jeans. Maggie knew his way with people and chances were good that the folks in high places of the little island were less than thrilled with his presence. The last thing they needed was to be pulled over by the chief of police, fingering each other like horny teenagers while there was a rampaging killer shark on the loose. So she resigned herself to wait until they reach her hotel room, getting groped through her suit while she messaged him through his pants. Giving him breathy directions to the Eisner Roadside Inn.
*O*
They tumbled into her sad little room at a little past two o'clock that afternoon, and Maggie could tell he wasn't lying when he had told her he hadn't slept much. His very being exuded exhaustion more than anything else, but he was still awake enough to reach for her as soon as she shut and locked the door, the pack dropping at her feet. He groaned as he kissed her, as if he had been starved for her touch for far longer than a man should go. He all but devoured her mouth, his beard scratching her own smooth cheeks as his lips moved hungrily on hers.
Reaching up she worked the straps of her suit down her arms and sighed as he shrugged himself out of his shoes and jeans. Chaotically they stripped, fumbling with frivolous layers as they moved towards the bed. The instant his boxers were down he was in her, moving and thrusting and groaning as she bit his lips and clawed at the bedding. His weight was comfortable on her, and as odd as it sounded she loved this kind of sex – the sleep deprived, mentally and physically exhausted, mindless but completely connected banging.
Matt didn't last long – never did in this state and she never expected him to – shortly after they began he was gasping his release and thrashing into her more violently than usual. She was a little surprised that she forgot to strap him with a condom; she was generally very good at remembering that oh so little but oh so important part of their lives.
The concern, however, left her mind when she felt him slow his movements to a stop and collapsed on top of her. Within a few minutes he was snoring gently on her breast, and she sighed contentedly while taking off his cap and stroking his curly head. Most would pat her hand with pity if they had seen what just happened – she didn't even orgasm and in her social circles it was all about the woman's sexual revolution. But this was one moment they probably wouldn't understand.
Matt was a wonderful lover, attentive to her body and always up for almost anything. But this, this time wasn't for her. It was for him, because something was obviously weighing heavily on his mind; and as much as he would deny it, he was developing insomnia whenever he had to sleep without her. She could only imagine what the upcoming eighteen months would be like for the pair of them.
Because little did he know, she was coming down with the same disorder.
He didn't sleep nearly as long as she would have liked, awake some twenty minutes after the deed, stretching and kissing her collar bone simultaneously. They were quiet, basking and absorbing the room as it was, before he sighed and rubbed his face. Scratching at his beard, he rolled onto his back and pulled her onto his chest; his way of apologizing for such a short ride.
"The shark just made things personal." Was the first thing he whispered, setting his gaze out the window thanks to the blinds the pair wisely forgot to close. Maggie took a small dose of comfort in the fact that at least this time they didn't have an audience.
"How do you mean?" she asked, scratching his chest with her short nails before rubbing his nipple.
"The kid you pulled out of the pond is the police chief's son." Maggie mimicked his tired sigh, tangling her feet with his above the sheets and blanket.
"Shit."
"Yeah, shit."
They shared a strained look, and a sort of laugh before she untangled herself and moved for her duffle bag in search of clothing. Matt sighed at her departure but didn't argue, instead rolled off the bedcovers and pulled up his underwear. Maggie caught him bending over and threw his pants at his head, but their mirth was short-lived when a knock sounded on the door.
Eyes wide, she skirted her half-dressed ass into the bathroom while Matt opened the door while zipping his jeans. There was no surprise on his face when he found Martin Brody was on the other side, hand raised to knock again and police jeep parked behind him.
"Uh, did I catch you at a bad time?" he asked carefully, brown orbs moving beyond Matt to the bathroom door, where Maggie cautious emerged covered with jeans and a tank top. No bra, but she hoped the chief of police wouldn't notice.
"Not at all. I'm Maggie Lewis, Matt's colleague from the Institute – you must be Chief Brody. It's a pleasure to meet you." Moving forward she took his hand warmly, smiling in an effort to ease the awkward tension. Brody returned the greeting, feeling a bit more comfortable as Matt moved to slip his shirt over his head.
"Yeah, I'm Martin Brody, it's good to meet you too. Listen Matt, I got Vaughn to sign off on Quint hunting the shark. I want you to come with us, make it a three man crew."
There was a moment of suspended time, where no one moved but rather eyed each other. None wanted to make the first move, and with every second that passed their muscles became more tight and tense. In the end it was Maggie who broke the spell, sighing dramatically while picking up her expedition pack and tossing it onto the bed.
"I'll phone the boys, get the equipment down here."
J