A/N hello all you out there in... wherever people go when they don't live at my house... anyways. First Fanfiction, flames welcome but only constructive flames. CONSTRUCTIVE! Yes. ahem anyway... here you go, my version of what happened after "bait".

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and as I am in no way associated with Jerry Bruckheimer, I never will own them. sob

"Hey Martin?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna share a cab?"

"Thanks, but I live uptown."

"I know."

Martin held the door open for Samantha, and she stepped into the cab, shifting herself towards the further side to let Martin slide in beside her. He closed the door behind him and Samantha gave the driver the address of her apartment building.

Sam looked at the man sitting next to her in the cab. Her mind swirled with thoughts of when Martin came to the office, of Jack, of when she started calling Martin "Marty" and he – accidentally – called her Sam (and she set things straight), and the hurt look in Martin's eyes when he found that just about everybody except him knew about her affair with Jack. Her thoughts then drifted to a few hours ago, at the muggy dockside, when Martin – no, Marty – had heroically saved her life. Not that she couldn't have done it herself, of course.

Or could she have? Would she even be alive without Martin?

Martin stared at the beautiful Samantha, one of the reasons he had stayed in New York at the Bureau despite everybody's apparent prejudice towards white collar crime and his parentage. That wasn't his fault. Son of Victor Fitzgerald. God, he wanted that title off his back.

Martin looked at Samantha until she turned to look at him, and he shifted his eyes down, embarrassed. Mentally kicking himself and desperately wanting to physically, he glanced back up at Sam and was surprised to find that she had not looked away.

Doing anything to break the somewhat nerve wracking silence, Martin opened his mouth to fill the cab with small talk but found himself cut off.

"Thank you" came Sam's voice, startling Martin and relieving him of the pressure of speaking first and trying not to spill his feelings towards Sam out all over the place.

"For what?" asked Martin, knowing what Sam meant but feigning innocence, just to hear her explain it herself.

"Well, I guess, for being there for me – in more ways than one. When I was shot, when I was almost shot again..." a nervous giggle escaped from Samantha's throat. Nervous? She had no need to be nervous. This was Martin here. Then again, that was a perfectly good reason to be nervous. "How", she continued, "How did you know to be there, at the docks, right at that time?" 'What', she thought to herself, 'what if you weren't?'

Martin thought about this. He replied "I really don't know", which was a lie. He had been watching out for Sam ever since the group had split up to search for the kidnappers who had run. Actually, he had been watching out for Sam since she began to show her weak side to him, which he knew she had not wanted him to see.

"Well thank you anyway", laughed Samantha. Not the answer she'd expected from ready-for-anything Martin.

He looked at Sam for some time in silence, his eyes smiling the way only Sam could make them, and he leaned in to her and softly replied "You're welcome".

With Martin leaning in to whisper these last words, Sam took advantage of the situation. She looked up, her hand somehow finding its way behind Martin's back, and placed her lips softly on Martin's. She could feel his pulse quicken through his shirt, and realized her other hand was on his chest, making its way up to his face. She smiled inwardly at this and offered no resistance when Martin pressed himself to Sam tighter, shifting in his taxi seat, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Feeling Sam beside him was thrill enough for Martin before, and now, with her in a New York taxi bound for her apartment, he almost couldn't believe it. It had been almost two years now and he had finally made his move. 'Well, technically, Sam made her move, not me', thought Martin to himself as he pulled tighter to the blonde finally returning his affection. 'After all, she broke the ice and it's her apartment we're bound for.'

Deep inside, Martin had always belittled himself – thinking he couldn't get a job himself with "daddy dearest" around, thinking he was too dependant – and the first few months at the Bureau didn't help his situation. Especially when he fell for Samantha, and she shunned, even lashed out at him. He thought this was all part of the prejudice game. He never thought she blocked him because of Jack.

Jack.

'Jack is just a memory – our affair is just an unhappy memory' thought Sam, shifting in her seat yet again to be closer to Martin. Though it seemed nearly impossible to get any closer she tried, eager to take him in – his feel, his scent, his taste – everything. He was so full of passion and affection, and only for her. This had never been the case with Jack. Stolen glances, careful cover-ups, curious stares, and worst of all the threat of being caught. At the time it seemed right, but now she could see it was horribly, bitterly wrong. She was a home wrecker. Her relationship with Jack would never had worked, even if he hadn't called an end to it, and she was now regretful that it had even begun.

As Sam and Martin's inner soliloquies left them pondering their pasts, the grimy New York taxi cab ground to a halt outside of Sam's apartment.

"This the one, lady?" snarled the unkempt driver, snapping both passengers to their wits.

"Yeah, this is it", groaned Sam, reluctantly withdrawing from her reverie. As she opened her pocketbook for the $7.50 fare, she felt Martin's gentle but firm hand stop hers as he offered the scruffy driver a 10 dollar bill.

"Martin, you don't have to..."

"Sam, c'mon, chivalry isn't dead", replied Martin jokingly.

"Never said it was", replied the now slightly indignant federal agent, fixing her hair from her... latest taxi ride.

Martin and Sam strolled to the doors of the apartment building, arms around each others' waists. As they reached the doors, Martin opened one for Sam, but being stubborn as she was (and still slightly miffed for the chivalry bit – she did not need anybody's help or assistance!) she snubbed Martin's door and opened her own. Martin shrugged and followed her into the yellow-lit lobby.

After pressing the up button on the wall next to the elevator, Sam became aware of how rude she had just been to Martin. After all, he had just been trying to help her, it was his nature. She turned to Martin sheepishly, in half apology, and touched his arm warmly. He seemed to understand, and the sparkle of life behind his eyes was visible again. Relieved, Sam pecked Martin sweetly on the lips before the elevator doors opened onto and old, sour looking lady with too many shopping bags for her own good. Martin offered assistance to the lady, who bitterly refused to be helped. Sam glanced over at Martin, who seemed pretty good natured about the old lady, but she couldn't help casting a disappointed look in his direction as she came to the same conclusion Martin had: they'd have to hold off in the elevator, or at least until the old lady and her bags left them in solitude.

"What floor, Sam—antha?" asked Martin, catching himself before he used the pet name Sam abhorred.

"9" replied Sam, glancing at the row of lit buttons on the wall. Just her luck. The old woman, standing between her and Martin, was bound for the tenth floor – she'd get off the elevator after them. They'd have to hold off in the elevator altogether, or risk a phone call from the superintendent on behalf of the old lady. "And it's okay, Marty, to call me Sam", she finished, using Martin's own abbreviated name jokingly.

Smiling knowingly across the small elevator, Martin caught a reproachful look from Sam which he then mirrored, suggesting something along the lines of "we'll just have to wait". Damn.

After an excruciating nine floors, Sam and Martin carefully edged around the old lady and her bags into the cooler hallway air.

"905" said Samantha, indicating her apartment number. "This way."

'What am I doing?' she thought, 'I'm actually bringing Martin to my apartment? I can't believe I couldn't stand this guy almost two years ago... so much has changed...'

Sam started digging through her purse for her keys, standing facing her door, back to Martin. He came up behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist, leaning his face into her neck and breathing in her scent. Standing waiting for the door to be opened, Martin tried to grasp all that had happened in the last twenty four hours between him and the girl in front of him.

Last night, Martin had been in bed, alone, dreaming of Samantha and wishing their friendship was... more than that. This morning they had still been friends. This evening, just a few short hours ago, Martin had saved her life and tonight – well, tonight would go how it would, just beyond the door in front of him.

A/N so, you like? Lisa I know, you probably have no idea what's going on... please R&R, and like I said flames welcome. Next chappy already written but I won't bother posting if people don't like this. Arrivedeurci!