What did you just say
"What 's this?"
He knew instantly from the tone Mercedes used and her posture that she was in the 'hell to the no' mood. But somehow that just didn't stop him from being the idiot he was:
"My sock, isn't it obvious?"
That did it. He watched as she narrowed her eyes, the now dangled sock gripped firmly in her hands, pursing her lips:
"What did you just say?"
And if that wasn't much of a forewarning, he just had to add:
"It's my sock, what's the big deal, it's only a sock Cedes."
Now he had done it, he saw her eyes widen and he was sure the dark brown had flashed orange before she went ahead and let it rip:
"You did not just say that! It is not just a sock, Sam. But it's your damn filthy sock. Does my bed look like your Bin? You do this everyti..."
He had cut across her, bad move. But there was no stopping him now. He had even placed his xbox controller down so he was looking directly at her:
"My bed? My bed, since when did 'our' bed, becomes just yours? May be I left my sock on 'our' bed. But at least I acknowledge that we're a WE Mercedes."
Her mouth was open but that did not mean she was speechless:
"What are you talking about? Sam I have told you time and time again that I hate the smell, it's unclean and not on. You know it. Oh and IF this is OUR bed, then maybe you should start respecting it and not leaving your filth all over the place. Would it seriously kill you to pick up after yourself?"
He wasn't really sure where it had come from but she had opened up a whole can of worms and this time he was not going to back down:
"No it wouldn't, but it clearly kills you to share. I mean seriously how freakin' hard is it for you to clear a drawer out for me. You don't have that many panties. I would know. If I had somewhere to put my socks you wouldn't see them on OUR bed."
She was now shaking in fury, oh hell to the no, he was not going to lump this on her.
"A drawer HUH, it's a DIRTY sock Sam, it doesn't get tossed into the drawer when you're done with it. Normal people do a thing called washing: it's not that difficult. Even you could figure it out."
He knew it, she was evading the real issue here. To paraphrase that beautiful woman stood in front of him clenching her fists, oh Hell to the No was he going to let her get away with it this time:
"Seriously, Mercedes, does me having a drawer here really bug you that much? Huh, what is so wrong with me wanting to move in with the woman that I love, why can't you ju..."
This time she cut him off, but instead of the bellowing he expected, she spoke softly, whispering almost.
"what did you just say?"
Her fists now unclenched, her eyes wide searching his face.
"why does it bug y..."
She cut across him again but this time there was more of an insistence in her voice, as if she was longing for him to repeat something that he had just said.
He knew then what it was; he had felt it for a long time he just hadn't quite known how to say it. At first he thought he would say it following a big romantic gesture, but then the whole sock thing had completely thrown him off guard. And now they were stood here.
She was waiting, his face had softened. She noticed his chest was now puffing in pride as he strode his way across to her-he managed it in four simple strides.
As he approached her, Sam noticed Mercedes. He really noticed her. He cupped her face and spoke, deliberately, emphasising each word, in an almost intense whisper:
"I Love you, Miss Mercedes Jones."
He had barely finished his words, before he heard her respond:
"I Love you Sam. You don't know how long I have wanted to say that."
He grinned, producing his infamous lopsided grin, as he pulled her closer to his chest, resting his head on top of hers: he did know. He knew how long she had wanted to say it, because if she was anything like him-which he knew Cedes was, then she too had been holding in her feelings for a long time.