Summary: Samantha can't help worrying about Martin… Post-ep fic for "The Friendly Skies"
Notes: Spoilers for "The Friendly Skies" and a reference to "Maple Street," I think. I wrote this long ago, back in the good old days of when there was still only potential for something to happen between Martin and Sam on the show. :p I made up the name "The Hut."
Sam took the elevator to the lobby. She was to meet Keller there, and then go have drinks with him. As the doors opened, she saw him waiting for her. He always had been punctual, she remembered fondly.
"Hey," he greeted with a smile. "Ready to go?"
"You bet. Where are we going?"
"The Hut. It's new."
She nodded, following him out to the curb. She didn't particularly care where they went, so long as the place served stiff drinks. It had been a tough case. Sam had been hoping to find Linda Schmidt alive, and she hadn't liked the way this case had turned out any more than Martin had.
Martin…
He had been pretty upset. Maybe she should have tried harder to get him to join her and Keller.
"Hey, 'Georgia,' you listening? We're here."
While she had been lost in thought, Keller had hailed a cab, and they had already arrived at the bar. She smiled up at him. "Don't call me that. I've already been called that once today."
"Really? By who?"
"Martin."
"Oh, him. Right. Danny told me he was new."
"Yeah. He's been with us six months now." She paused, remembering the conversation she had had with Fitzgerald just before leaving the office. "I feel sorry for him." The last sentence was drowned out as Eric opened the door for her and loud dance music came through from the club.
"What?" Keller yelled over the noise.
She shook her head. "Nothing!" she shouted back, knowing it was futile to have a conversation here.
Still, she couldn't dismiss the pity and guilt she felt as easily. She had let Martin down, though not on purpose. She hadn't known he would ask her out for a drink, but it was clear that he had needed to talk to someone, and he had chosen her to be that someone. And instead of talking things out with him, instead of sharing her years of experience with the rookie, she was sitting on a barstool next to her ex-boyfriend.
"Samantha! What do you want to drink?" Keller asked.
Spade found the bartender staring at her. She flushed, but it was too dark to see. "I'll have a martini!"
The bartender nodded, making their drinks while Keller looked at her closely. "You okay? You seem preoccupied."
She hesitated for a moment. "I just remembered I needed to do something tonight. It's important." She stood up.
"What about your drink?"
"You have it," she offered. "I'll see you later." She paid her tab, and left before Keller could think of a suitable objection.
Sam hailed a cab and went back to the office. If Martin wasn't there, she'd go to the house address in his file. Taking the elevator up, she looked around the office, but no one was there. She checked Fitzgerald's personal information, and then got back into the cab waiting outside for her.
Samantha knocked on the door to her co-worker's apartment, marveling at its class. Not that she was surprised Martin could afford it. He was Victor Fitzgerald's son. She didn't have any more time to dwell on her thoughts, however, for the door opened and there he was.
He looked surprised to see her. "Samantha? I thought you were with Keller."
"I was, but I think it's better if I'm with you right now. Can I come in?"
"Sure." He stepped back, allowing her entrance into his tastefully decorated apartment.
"I wish I could afford a place this nice," she commented, unreservedly looking around the place.
"Did you want something?" Martin was a little annoyed at the money remark. He knew full well who he was and what privileges that gave him. He didn't need people bringing it up all the time.
"I wanted to talk to you about the case."
"I thought we already did."
"That wasn't good enough. I owe you more than saying, 'We did our jobs.' I know how difficult a case like Linda Schmidt's can get. Even when you think it can't faze you anymore, another one comes along that just rips your heart out."
He nodded understandingly. "Annie Miller."
Sam felt tears prick her eyes at the mention of the name. "Yeah."
Martin reacted quickly to her expression. "So, I guess this is where we have that drink."
"I guess so," she echoed. "What do you have?"
"Beer."
"Sounds perfect."
He went to the fridge, pulled out two bottles, handed her one of them. They opened their bottles and sat down at the kitchen table.
Sam took a drink to steel herself before meeting Martin's gaze, his blue eyes filled with what he wanted to say.
"So," she began, "where do you want to start?"