Post Death and Doughnuts. (S26E18).
Bouquets, Doughnuts and Bubble Bath.
She closed her locker door with a resounding clang; zipping up her fleece top and settling herself on the nearest stool, incidentally beside Zoe, and as she pulled one leg up atop the stool and rested her back against the wall closing her eyes and allowing exhaustion to grace her delicate features.
Fleetingly he wondered why he was still there, but then as Noel produced flowers and she said his name, he glanced across the room at the sole reason he was standing watching his colleagues joke and eat doughnuts. He realised that Sam and pink bouquet of flowers were approaching him and from the corner of his eyes he noted their colleagues lost in an internal battle of where to look. Then she called him grumpy.
She used to call him grumpy; he was about to protest until he realised that those in the room had no idea of the significance, and he merely agree.
As Big Mac suggested the pub and everyone seemed to be in agreement, moving to collect belongings and head for the door; he wondered if Sam, with her head resting in her arms and eyes closed, was asleep. His question was answered by Tess, who seemed alone in her decision in not going to the pub, exception being himself and, of course, Sam.
"Hey…" He watched as Tess shook her awake, whispering. Groggily Sam appeared to raise her head to look at the older woman, who simply continued to speak on her way out the door: "…remember to go home tonight, you need a decent sleep. Night." She acknowledged him to in her goodnight, as she turned and offered him a small smile, to which he nodded and muttered a 'goodnight' in response.
He turned his attention back to his wife when Tess left the room, she fumbled about in her locker, retrieving her coat and bag, and lifted the flowers from the counter as she made her way out the door. He took this as his sign to leave and caught her by the main entrance; she was simply stood, flowers in her arms, looking as though her muscles ached, breathing in the fresh air.
"Can I drop you off?" He turned to face his estranged wife who looked like she'd like nothing more than to sit down and go sleep right there.
"Um…" Frowning slightly at her reluctance to answer, he opened his month as if to reassure her that it would be okay; but she got there first: "…if you don't mind." He shook his head in response and walked towards his car, her at his heels.
The car journey occurred in total silence; him focussed on the road ahead, and Sam seemed to have fallen into a slumber, her head resting gently against the passenger seat. He touched her arm gently, so as not to startle her, when he pulled up outside her flat, rousing her from her rest. She looked so peaceful that to see the immediate distress at the traumas of the day back on her face was like a pang to the heart.
She got out the car in silence, wordlessly he followed her, taking the flowers when she handed them to him to begin her latest rummage through the bag that contained for too many thing for it all to be necessary. Eventually, keys produced, she unlocked the door, leaving it open for him to follow her.
Without even putting the light on, she fell into the comfort of her sofa, pulling a shawl he vaguely recognised around herself as she did so. Thus leaving him to find the kitchen, and sort out her flowers; something he did with relative ease. Creeping by her, he didn't disturb as he made his way towards the bathroom.
Once there, he was assaulted by a smell he could only describe as Sam; he glanced around recognising the various products that packed the shelves, yet he struggled to remember a time where she'd actually used them. Turning the hot tap on, he pulled at the first bottle on the shelve, it was pink and didn't seem very Sam like at all, reading the bottle intensively and doing just as it asked, he let the water run before turning on the cold tap - to ensure the water was not too warm.
He made his way back through to the living room, and gently knelt down touching her cheek softly as he tucked a piece of her long hair, which throughout the day had gradually become loosened from it's confines, behind her ear. When she stirred in her sleep, his hand shot away from her face as though burnt.
She opened her eyes and mumbled his name softly, he noted the confusion etched across her pale face as she awoke to find him watching her: "You can't sleep here." He tried to be sympathetic yet forceful and he wasn't entirely sure how it came across but she did sit up, rearranging her shawl to wrap it around her body again. "I, um, ran a bath. Thought you looked like you were hurting from sleeping in that chair." She looked up at him, yet in the darkness of the room, lit only by the street lights, he couldn't read her expression.
"Did you?" Her voice was quiet, as if she couldn't understand what he was trying to tell her.
"I put that…" He trailed off trying to think of what the bottle he had used said, however, he came up with nothing and chose to improvise. "…stuff in it, it was pink." He noticed them her small smile, the smile that lit up her entire face.
"Did you?" Though this time as she said the words, she did not keep the amusement from her voice. She reached across to touch his arm, but changed her mind half way there and instead she leant forward and brushed her lips across his cheek softly. "Thank you."
Somewhat startled he stood and offered her a hand to pull her to her feet before pushing her in the direction of the bath that was waiting for her. She kept her hand in his until he reached the front door, where he turned to her: "I'll lock you in. Now, don't fall asleep in the bath and drown." She smiled in reply, her eyes twinkling. She was already closing the bathroom door behind herself, when he called out softly: "Sleep well, Samantha."
He pushed the keys through the letterbox, after he locked the door behind himself. Allowing for one last look at the door behind which was his emotionally and physically exhausted wife and he wondered briefly if she would be okay, before he retreated to the car returning to his houseboat and Dervla.
When he returned from Dervla's final walk of the day, around quarter past eleven, his attention was grabbed almost immediately by the red flashing light on his answering machine; he wasn't particularly fond of the contraption and besides no one who ever phoned him found it urgent enough to leave a message. The one time he thought the answer phone might come to use was when Sam was in Afghanistan, in fact that was the reason he bought it; yet it never. Which was a whole other story of relief.
Carefully, almost cautiously he pressed the play button and stepped back - as though it may blow up - and waited. After barely a few seconds he heard the timid voice of a sleepy Sam, something he had not heard in quite some time: "It's me. Are you walking Dervla? Um, you said I'd to let you know I didn't drown; so I didn't fall asleep and drown. I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and listen, thanks, you know for today. And my bath. So, um, night."
He was startled from the trance his wife's voice - clear as if she was standing right next to him - had enveloped him in, when the machine began to speak in a voice which did not belong to Sam, asking him about deleting the message. That, however, seemed all too complicated and he resolved to hit the play button again, letting Sam's voice sound down the hallway as he headed towards the kitchen.