When Did This Happen?

Author's Note: I wrote this in September of last year, but never really felt like posting it. Probably because most of the people on this fansite are a lot younger than Sam and may not get the true horror/humor of this story (sadly, I understand it very well). I'm not sure why I changed my mind, but here it is. I was going to put the Genre as Horror/Hurt/Comfort/Humor, but I didn't want to give the wrong impression. Enjoy! Oh, and Sam and Andy are together in this story... I know! Amazing! It makes very little difference to the story, but I thought I'd throw it out there!


Sam let the water of the shower flow down over his head, welcoming the heat. He turned his back to the spray and winced as he gave his shoulder a roll. He must have hit his shoulder a bit harder than normal when he chased down and tackled the fleeing purse-snatcher earlier that day.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and loosely wrapped a towel low around his hips. He walked over to the locker room sinks. He rolled his shoulder again, wincing.

He leaned against the counter and sighed, staring at himself absently in the mirror. After a moment, he frowned and leaned closer. "What the..?"

Oliver walked up at that moment to wash his hands. "What's up, brother?"

Sam ignored him for a second, turning his face slowly back and forth. Without looking at Oliver, he asked, in a serious voice, "Ollie, when did I get old?"

"What are you talking about?" Oliver laughed, shaking the water off his hands. He smirked and added, "You've been old for decades."

"Seriously," Sam said, sparing him an irritated look. "Look at me! When did I get crow's feet around my eyes? And I even have lines on my dimples." He turned to face Oliver. "I took down that purse-snatcher today, and my body hurts!" He shook his head, slightly shell shocked. "I'm getting old, Oliver. I am getting old!"

Oliver grinned again, turning to lean back against the counter drying his hands on a paper towel. "You realize you are just giving me more ammo, right?"

Sam growled and turned back to the mirror. "You are an ass, Ollie."

"Takes one to know one," he answered childishly, with a laugh. Then he shook his head. "I could tease you about this, but I see it's really bugging you. You are what... turning 40 in a month?"

The color drained from Sam's face and he stared at himself in the mirror again. "40? Really?"

"40 isn't so bad," Oliver said, smirking at the horror on Sam's face. "I'm 42, remember." He gave Sam a friendly punch on the shoulder before saying, "Sammy, 99% of guys turning 40 would love to be in the shape you are in."

"That's the thing, I don't feel 40. I feel 26, maybe 27 on a bad day."

"You feel the same age as Epstein and Diaz?" Oliver snorted.

"Okay, maybe not," Sam allowed, grinning in spite of himself. "Maybe an experienced, seasoned 28." He took a deep breath and let it out. "I just don't know where the time has gone. And when did I get all these lines on my face!"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Sam," Oliver assured him, pushing off the counter. "While I may think you are as ugly as sin, you obviously aren't too old or ugly yet." He tossed the paper towel he'd been using into the garbage..

"Gee thanks, buddy," Sam said.

"I have only one thing to say to you, brother," Oliver grinned. "McNally doesn't seem to have a problem with how you look or how old you are, so I wouldn't worry about it." With that statement he clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder, chuckling as Sam winced, and then turned and walked away, happily whistling to himself.

Sam turned back to the mirror, staring back at the image in front of him. Despite himself, a grin slowly worked it's way onto his face. An image of his young, sexy partner/girlfriend flashed through his mind. He pushed off the counter and resolutely turned away from the mirror. It lied anyways. It was a great day to be a seasoned 28 year old... with a sore shoulder.