It was his love of crime movies that saved him. Darrell's mother hated his lifelong obsession with mobster movies, but he knew it would come in handy one day. It infuriated his mother, after all, she prided herself on being an Italian American, and she hated that her son "played into stereotypes" but Darrell didn't care. His love of these movies had taught him a lot. After a week of hunting for a date for Sam that met his specifications, one just fell into his lap like the horse head in the bed! Well, not literally. He didn't want Chester anywhere near his lap, or a bloody horse head in his bed. Now, his cousin, well, she could get in his personal space if she wanted. Ally was a nice girl.

Ally had told him that his cousin was new to town, and well, could he show him around? Darrell had agreed, faster than he should have. That night, he was kicking himself. He was saddled with some kid from New Jersey, who apparently drove a Camaro with racing stripes. Darrell knew that the only reason a guy put stripes on his car was to make his car seem bigger, or faster. Anyway, he knew right away that they meant he was compensating for a small... Darrell shook his head. He was not going to spend his afternoon thinking about Chester's size.

What he lacked in one area, he certainly made up for with a big mouth. Sam had made him watch this Doris Day movie, once, and Doris Day had told some guy that he'd had the highest hopes and the lowest mind she'd ever seen. Well, Chester was kind of like that. He, in the two weeks he'd been around, had talked such smack about girls and cars and Jersey that even Darrell wanted to lock him in the trunk of his racing striped green camaro. He barely restrained himself from fantasizing about that Camara being in the opening scene of Goodfellas. You know, now that he thought about it, Chester was like a cross between Jimmy Two Times and Joe Pesci's character, the one who just talked and talked and talked. He paused, thinking, Tommy DeVito! That was it, Tommy DeVito, he was the one who did the clown scene. Right, well, Chester was sort of like them in that he never shut up and he always seemed to be saying the same things over and over. He was going to "pick up a chick, pick up a chick..."

Chester was absolutely perfect, in that he was so imperfect. Looking back on the evening his plan had come to be, he'd was lucky to have escaped with a bruised hand. He'd engineered it so perfectly, with more precision than his mother ran her monthly bingo night. He'd approached Chester and simply told him he had a friend he was looking to help out when Chester said he was looking for some fun. In retrospect, he was glad he hadn't said exactly how she needed help, sort of like how Cookie Monster never said now when a sometimes food was okay to be eaten. Probably, Darrell reasoned, in the blue monster's mind, sometimes was all the time, just like it was alway five o'clock somewhere. He was also glad he hadn't said he was the one who was going to be having all the fun, not Chester.

So, he'd set it all up perfectly. Chester was to meet Sam at River Bend at five o'clock on Friday night. So what if he'd blackmailed Sam into going? A little blackmail was good for her soul. Blackmail kept people honest. If she didn't want it to hang over her head, she simply should not have left her sketch pad hanging about. It seemed she'd been sneaking out to see that horse of hers, and getting close enough to draw his herd. Well, if she didn't want Jake laying into her about it, she should be more sneaky, shouldn't she? Really, all this blackmail was a lesson to her.

But it hadn't worked out that way. God must have been laughing as they all ended up at Three Ponies for one reason or another. The first few minutes of the visit was awkward in the extreme. Sam hadn't realized that they weren't all going to the movie, and neither had Jake. Luke had stood on the porch with his arms crossed, like Sam was his own little girl or something. He sort of looked like Robert DeNiro when he played Al Capone, all smiles, with steel and blood in his eyes should Sam be hurt. Jake, for his part, was no better. In fact, he was acting really strange. Like, he was being nice, just like a guy was before he did a hit on his former poker buddy. His body language, though, was screaming his resistance, and Sam was folding herself slightly into his personal space, not that she noticed it.

Darrell was dreading this moment. Dreading ir, and half hoping that Jake would say something. Something that would make this stop. His stomach hurt. This wasn't right. Some guy Sam didn't even know was taking her to see a movie she probably wouldn't enjoy. He was regretting his machinations. Chester wasn't a nice guy, not really, and he didn't have any respect for anybody. Where was Jake's brain? The whole point of the set up was for him to stop it. Why wasn't he getting all protective and telling Chester to get lost? Sam kept saying that sure, she'd be glad to help Ally, but there was a forced politeness in her eyes. No one seemed to know that it was him who'd set this up and he felt sick, for doing it, and for pushing it on Ally.

Damn, Jake was even walking her to the car. He was walking her, slowly with an assessing gaze. His brain shorted. Nowhere did the idea that Jake would be walking her to some other guy's car come into his planning. But there he was, doing it. He was opening the door, watching her slide into the low passenger seat. Finally, Max spoke. "Have fun!" and Luke scowled at Chester.

Jake called out, just as the car was started. Darrell nearly started dancing. Score! He'd done it! All of his hard work! He could celebrate! Soon, they'd be settled down and doing things they were supposed to do, and he wouldn't have to play Emma anymore and everything would be as smooth as a baby's bottom, or as sharp as Al Capone's razor, even though the barber had knicked him. And it was a real cut, too, not fake blood. Just like that, this was the real moment, and just think, he'd orchestrated it. His hopes were raised even more when Jake said, "Wait."

Just that. Just one word. Just wait. But, Darrell noticed, Sam turned slightly to look at him. Her eyes had widened, and Mr. Ely was clearly staring, poised to move. Jake's voice had turned cold. Mr. Ely came out onto the porch, as Jake spoke. Jake's voice was low, commanding. In any other situation, Sam would have kicked him over it, but there was a level of urgency that scared Darrell and evidently, caused Sam to listen without question. What had made him say "Sam, get out of the car." like that? She hesitated for a second as undid her seatbelt. He began again. "Sam. Now."

She opened the door. "Jake..."

The car was shut off and Chester got out, too, rounding the car. "Hey, man, what's your problem?" Darrell could see what would happen next in his mind. The moment felt like an old Western. One new man, generally a crook, riding into town and threatening the schoolmarm while the cowboy she loved but could never tame defended her honor, only to ride into the sunset moments later. He could hear the Western music floating over the breezeless air and as everyone waited for Jake to reply, time froze. Wait, that sound was just Mr. Ely's radio. He was actually inside for once. Darrell had often wondered if he actually lived in his house, he was always outside or in the barn. He was taken from his thoughts, and listening to the song, when he heard Jake's boots shift two steps to the left, towards the back of the car.

Jake nodded to Chester. "You've got a brake light out in the back there."

Darrell could see Jake's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly when Chester replied, "I'll have to get it fixed, then, sometime soon. I got a friend in Jersey who does real good work. He helped me to fix her up. " Darrell grinned. When a guy said he had a friend who did the work on his car, usually he meant a mechanic he'd paid. Time would tell just how Chester meant it.

"Right." Jake nearly spat the word. Darrell could tell he was angry. Why was he so angry about a break light? He continued, "I will fix it for you."

"You sure, Jake?" Sam asked.

Jake just turned towards the outbuilding that served as their workspace. He motioned for Chester to bring the car into the converted garage they used. Once that was completed, Jake shook his head. Sam stood by Jake's side as they walked towards the garage that held extra feed, tools, and two garage bays for their workspace. Not a word was exchanged as they entered, Darrell flanking his friends through the side door. Jake walked quickly to the closet that held their tools, and got what he needed. "Darrell, would you get the bulb?"Sam asked.

He turned towards the closet to find Jake carrying the package that held the spare parts from the last camaro they'd restored. Luckily, or not so luckily for Jake, the headlights hadn't changed in the intervening years between their model and Chester's. Jake set to work as Sam shuffled over to the record player. "What do you want to hear, Jake?"

"It's your turn, Brat." He pulled out some tools as he spoke, and Darrell noted his expression was more relaxed.

She nodded. "Grandpa sent us some records. Do you mind Sam Cooke, Chester?" She turned towards the old player, and leafed through a milk crate sitting next to it on a shelf.

"Who?" Chester asked, "Was he on TRL?"

"No." Sam declared.

"I'm just surprised you have TV and stuff up here. I thought it would be crazy rural." Chester declared.

Sam grew sarcastic. "Yeah, we even have the internet, isn't that great?"

Jake snorted as the record began to play, handing Darrell the cover to the light. Darrell placed on a table as Chester addressed Sam. "Is that what your family calls you, Sam? Or, Brat. Rather."

She spoke as Darrell nearly laughed out loud. "No, you see..." She glanced at Jake for help. He shrugged. She continued. "It's a...thing." And boy, was it. Darrell thought it was funny. You could always tell how Jake was thinking about Sam depending on what he called her. When he was really happy, or really angry, she was "Brat." When he was furious, and he would call her a pest, only to have this look in his eyes, once he'd said it, like that was the one word he couldn't bring himself to use to describe her, and now that he had, he'd regretted it. In every discussion they'd had about her and the word pest had come up, Jake had backpeddled. But even Darrell didn't know the full story there. He wasn't above getting it one day, though.

"Brat, it suits you, I think." Chester continued.

Jake popped the hood of the car with a bang. He motioned Darrell over. "The idiot is leaking something."

"Really?" Yeah, he was. His brains would be leaking all over the floor if he didn't stop looking at Sam like she was the last brownie in a call center break room at 3:45 in the afternoon.

"Radiator fluid, I think." Jake looked over the interior of the car, and nodded, muttering a curse.

"Jacob Ely!" Darrell mocked. His friend rarely...what did this mean?

"He was going to put her in this car." Jake spat. Why was Jake so upset about the car? What did it have to with anything? The car wasn't unsafe, not really, he just needed a tune up.

Chester called, "Hey man, thanks for doing this. I appreciate it."

Jake moved over to fix the bulb, leaving the hood up. "I'm not doing this for you."

"Still, I gotta say, dude. The guys at school were wrong about you." Chester confessed.

Sam interjected, "What do you mean?" She was sitting in her customary spot, a comfy chair rescued from the attic. It was sitting on a small rug, in an area of the garage that was hers. Often, she painted in that space, given that Max had allowed her free reign of the easel in the area, as well as the art supplies and little kitchenette. She was sitting sideways, the side of her body towards the car. She had stolen Jake's hat and had placed it on her head at a jaunty angle. Jake loved that hat, but Darrell wondered if the reason he never sniped at Sam about taking it was that he liked to see Sam in that hat. The guy frankly looked naked, exposed, without it. He rarely saw him without his hat, or a baseball cap. The light was low, in here, though, and he'd probably removed it to see better. Though, Jake had grinned widely when they'd watched Smokey and the Bandit. The Bandit had told Frog that he only took his hat off for two things. Darrell still wondered if Sam and Jake were up to things.

Chester confessed with bravado, as though he'd made friends with someone everyone hated. "They said he can be a real jerk. Some of the guys actually warned me off you, Sam. They said Jake...Well, since that's not the case, let's just say they're operating under a big misconception. Boy, will I be glad to correct them. But then again, maybe not." He gaze flitted over Sam. "You might take up with another guy once they realize you're really single. One of them told me Jake had threatened to disembowel him, but really, he must have made that up."

Darrell snorted. The guy hadn't made it up at all. Disembowelment was the very least Jake had threatened guys at school with. He hadn't had to do it much, as most guys had the sense God gave idiots like his cousin Wendell, who was some kind of musical genius who couldn't do anything else but his music and work at the Halloween store and somehow his mother said he was a genius. She often wondered why Darrell wasn't more like him, out loud and in public, too. He must be some kind of genius, Darrell guessed, as he'd flunked out of community college and refused to help his mother will the bills. Even Wendell, it must be said, when he'd been to visit, had had the sense to keep away from Sam. It seemed Chester was an even bigger idiot that cousin Wendell.

Sam replied and sat up straight, the hat falling into her lap, "Oh." Jake was going to get it later.

As they worked on fixing the light, Darrell heard Chester ask, "So, Samantha. Did you see last night's episode of Hunter?"

Sam said,"I don't watch much TV."

"Oh, that's a real shame."

She replied, "Hm."

Chester said, "What do you do for fun around here, anyway?" He scoffed, "There's nothing up here. Not even a decent mall..."

He could see Sam tense, "Well, there's a lot to do, what with the ranches, and the horses. And of course, church and school."

"Yeah." Chester wasn't convinced. "I mean, you don't even have a Chinese place in Alkali. Do you all just sit around and watch paint dry?"

Jake tensed. They all worked their behinds off, and had fun, too. Darrell wanted to go Henry Hill on Chester's pretty boy face when he said, "I guess you gotta make your own fun, huh, Sam?"

Jake snapped, "Chester!"

"Yeah, buddy?"

Darrell nearly laughed. Jake wasn't this guy's buddy. Not even close. Jake continued, "You've got major problems with your wiring in here. How did you put it in?"

Chester replied, "Well, my guy..." He continued forcefully, "It had to be moved to put the wiring in for the speakers. See, I can make the headlights dance to the music."

Darrell scowled. That was illegal in most every state in the union. Except maybe Florida. Wendell lived in Florida, so it was clear that the place was strange. It was like, the north of the south. Apparently, it wasn't as warm and fuzzy as the rest of the south. Darrell didn't know. He'd just been glad to be served at this tiny bar in Daytona Beach, though he'd woken up $75 bucks poorer with a sunburn. While Darrell was angry at Chester's foolishness, Jake vibrated with fury. His hands were tight on the wrench, and he was clearly counting to ten.

Chester continued to speak, "Yeah, you should see it when Nelly comes on." He paused, "You do know who Nelly is, right?"

Darrell had had enough of guys like Chester. They come up here acting like they're hot shit because they hang out at some coffee shop in SoHo on a random Tuesday or that they were gangsta or something because they were low jeans or something. He bet the guy had no survival skills, nothing to offer a girl, no skills to make his way in the world. From they way Jake replied, he could tell his friend agreed. Jake replied, "Yeah, we even know who 2 Pac is..."

Chester whistled low, "Wow, never pegged you as a rap fan, Jake."

He shook his head, "I'm not."

"You don't know what you're missing, buddy." And he rambled on about some rapper and some concert, and some stuff Darrell didn't even care about. Why were they fixing this kid's car? At that moment, Sam's cell phone rang, cutting off Chester's diatribe. Sam answered and replied, "That's fine, Brynna. I'm at Three Ponies..."

There was a pause. "Why don't you bring him here? Oh, Okay. Hang on, I'll ask Jake."

Before she could, though, his idiot friend nodded. "He says that's fine. See you soon."

A few moments later, in which the headlight had been taken farther apart simply because it was all messed up, and Chester kept talking, and Sam turned on Queen, a knock came on the side door. Darrell grinned as Sam turned away from the iPod speaker to open the door. She'd turned on Queen to calm Jake down. He'd been muttering and tossing his tools as he'd found larger and larger issues with the car.

The next time Darrell looked up, Sam was standing by the door with a baby on her chest, a blanket with tiny bears on it thrown over the baby's back. She was rocking her body back and forth. Why did they always blue bears on boy baby clothes? Bears weren't cuddly and fun, they were dangerous, wild animals who could maul a baby with one claw. Darrell thought it was sort of like how mother's did their baby rooms up in Noah's Ark fussing over the cute little animals. Did they forget the whole story was about a horrible flood? Essentially, he reckoned, they were surrounding their kids with the world's best crime story, one that wiped out the entire world. And then those same mothers complained when their sons grew up to think Casino was one of the best movies ever? Well, that was her bingo playing self's problem, now wasn't it?

Sam was talking, "Hey, Codster, how was your day? Huh, buddy? Did you...play with your toys?" She continued talking as though the kid was going to reply. Darrell really had no idea how old the baby was, but he clearly wasn't verbal enough to reply. He was able, he soon discovered, to point to his face, and all the people he knew.

As Sam talked to the baby, dancing with him around her rug in what looked like a living room in the open space far away from the car, Darrell noticed two things at the same moment. Standing next to him, Jake watched her move and talk to the baby as though the world began and ended with her. Darrell shook his head. His friend wanted her so badly, he was practically twitching by not going over to her. He also heard Chester speak, "Hey, let me have him." The idiot had tried to remove the baby from Sam's arms without permission. She'd stepped back forcefully, her arms tightening around the baby. Jake took action, crossing the room into Chester's space. His tall friend towered over the other guy. "Don't touch them."

Darrell wondered if in that moment he really be dragging a body into the desert tonight. The garage was closed, they could just make like they were going out, like Chester had left. Sam could take the baby inside, though he doubted that she would be left behind. He would do it, too, because friends did that stuff for each other. Though, if the kid got blood on his boots, Jake was buying him a new pair. He'd thought Jake looked angry when he'd coughed as Chester had gotten into Sam's personal space, but now he looked positively feral. His hand came down on Chester's shoulder and he practically pulled him away from the crying baby.

Sam was shushing the kid, or doing whatever it is that mothers teach their daughters to do to quiet crying babies, but it was to no avail. Why did boys never learn that, Darrell wondered. Sam turned round and round slowly, her feet crossing, as she rubbed the tiny back. "You can go back to sleep, yeah?"

But still, the baby cried. Sam sighed. Jake took the baby and hopped about. Darrell would have laughed if his ears weren't ringing. There was this big guy, who two minutes had looked capable of murder, and here he was cradling a tiny baby like he was made of glass. Maybe they were, though. Didn't his mother tell him one time baby's bones were different? And didn't glass harden? Maybe it calcified into real bone or something? He didn't know. Jake spoke slowly, "I think he's hungry, Sam."

"Yeah." She sighed, "He's not going to like me much." She frowned. Still, she pulled a bottle out of the bag and prepared it somehow. Wait, didn't she need boiling water? "Hey, Codes, you hungry?" Darrell went over to help finish up the car. He knew as well as anybody that Jake was playing with the baby now. Once, he'd blown off going to a rodeo just to watch the kid sleep or something. Who did that? It wasn't even his baby. Why did he think the baby was so cool? It wasn't as if he could talk or anything.

Chester spoke loudly, "You have a cute kid, Sam." Somehow, he looked even more interested in Sam. The fool probably thought being a teen mother meant a girl was a slut or something. In Darrell's experience, nothing was further from the truth. The girls had someone more important to look after, to think about. His own mother had been a teen mom, and so he knew better than anyone, the struggles she'd faced. He should hit him just for that. Nobody talked about his mama, no matter how indirectly. Wait, why did the kid think Cody was Sam's baby? He didn't look a thing like Jake.

"My brother is a cute kid." She put Chester in his place soundly.

"Your brother?" Chester asked. "How'd you end up with a brother?"

"Yeah, my dad and stepmother..." she paused. Darrell knew that if the freak hadn't been there, she'd have made a sarcastic remark about how one got a brother. Wait, did she say stepmom? Oh, that's right. He remembered. Her mom had died...in a car accident. A car accident. Suddenly, Darrell needed to sit down. He needed his notebook. He needed to make notes. It made sense, but he wished he could add it to his chart. Why Jake never let anyone else drive if Sam was in the car, why he complained if she drove in the snow, why he was fixing this punk's car. As much as Sam complained about Jake butting his nose in, to Darrell these facts were the onion in the meatballs, the marbling in the prosciutto.

Jake loved Sam. Darrell had known that, just like he'd known The Godfather III sucked. But what had him reeling like a movie tape is the how. He loved Sam like...like...well, there was no movie in his brain that could describe this. He loved her like...

He loved her like the pastor was always talking about. He put her needs...ahead of his own. It was why he loved Cody. He loved the baby because Sam did. Jake loved Sam sacrificially, in the sense that he...Memories hit him. Woah. This was big. What the heck did he do, with this information? He could make jokes about getting them married, but he never understood. Never knew why Jake cared about what Sam thought, what she needed, what she wanted, until now. He was fixing the car so that Sam would be safe, even though Darrell would bet that he was being slow about it on purpose. He wouldn't even put it past Jake to bust the light in order to get his way, though it was likely he hadn't. Still, as long as he could fix it, what was the harm if he had?

He was jerked from his thoughts faster than a felon squealed when facing the death sentence or a stay at state pen. Those places weren't club fed, he'd heard. "...missed the movie..." Chester was talking. What else was new? He knew that over the evening, they'd tuned him out as best they could. "I can't believe it's a 40 minute drive to a decent theater. And it's not even IMAX."

Sam hmm'd as she placed the baby in the swing in the corner. Cody was a bit too big for it, it looked, but didn't babies love those things? The low click click of the swing contrasted the iPod playing softly. "I can't go." She fixed the blanket over the kid.

"Why not?" Chester demanded. "I got Twilight tickets." He grinned. He'd told Darrell after he'd done it, so Darrell couldn't tell him that Sam hated those films. He'd said, "chicks love them..." and Darrell had groaned.

"If you want to watch anti-feminist trash, go ahead, but you'll be going alone." Sam declared.

"Hey, woah now, baby doll. Aren't you...Team Jacob or something?" Chester asked. Jake's face contorted, and Sam gasped.

The moment slowed, as though Darrell was being transported back in time. He was standing in the hallway, talking to Rider after his detention. Nothing bad had happened. Mrs. Ely had laughed, but told him sternly to keep his matchmaking to after school hours. She'd then asked him to help take down bulletin board decorations and change them. Rider didn't need to know that, though, and as he was reading him the riot act, his goal had slipped out. Rider had said, "Why you trying so hard? She's totally Team Jacob, you know." Darrell had grinned, catching the joke. It was no secret that Sam hated Twilight, but Chester didn't know that. Once, someone had made some crack at school, and Sam had gone totally insane on the guy, chewing him out about how that Jacob was a discredit to the name. He smiled, as he remembered her impassioned argument.

She was standing in the hallway with Jen. He didn't remember what Deetz had said, but Darrell recalled her reply. She turned around in the nearly deserted hallway and seethed, "Shove it, Deetz. For your information, that character is a predator and the books aren't good examples for girls and..."

Deetz had closed his locker and leaned on the one next to her. "Sam..."

"It's true! For example, Jacob forces his kiss on Bella..."

Deetz looked chastened as he cut her off, "Okay, but listen. Your Jake works on cars, he is Native American, he is always telling you not to do stuff, he's got this strange connection with those horses of yours..." He paused, "Come on, Sammy, you're totally Team Jacob."

She had nearly screamed, Darrell recalled, hiding as he was around the corner with Rider at his own locker. "Okay, first off, you idiot, that Jacob works on motorcycles. It's totally different. Secondly, Jake isn't Quileute, which is a completely different culture." She enunciated.

Jen added, "You really should stop thinking of all First Nation and Native American peoples as having one culture."

Deetz chuckled, "You're not denying he tells you what to do or that he's magic with horses."

Sam shook her head. "I can't." She frowned, "But I can tell you, Greg, he supports my work with the horses, more than I can tell you. What's more is that, unlike that Bella, I know better than to listen to him when he gets silly. He's always let me decide...things, Greg."

"Come on! You're just like that Bella chick." Deetz exclaimed, and Darrell heard Sam's sharp intake of breath. "You even like his hair."

Sam gulped. "Please." She continued in the same chiding tone. Darrell could hear her her shaking her head. "Twilight is the most anti-feminist piece to be written in ages. People put stock in the relationships, forgetting that Bella has no choices, other than the two men who coddle her like she's some child, some object. The movie turns the power of the female body into this weak vessel with no choices, and no agency. Bella is manipulated and she manipulates." Sam declared. "I chose Jake. I choose him, Greg. Never once have I ever...used him, or played with his feelings...even though we're friends..." She trailed off and repeated more strongly, "We're just friends, Greg. That's all.."

Jen was standing there in shock as Sam picked up her bag and began to walk away. She shut her mouth quickly and caught up. Deetz called, "You sure you're just friends, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "And because you're my friend, too, I won't tell Jake about this conversation..."

Jen called back, "But that doesn't mean I can't tell him..."

Darrell had waited until they'd disappeared and rounded the corner, and howled with laughter at the stricken expression on Deetz's face.

The present wasn't so funny. Sam was lecturing Chester, and Jake was standing there, hand the hood of the car, grinning widely. Sam was waving her arms, relaying how problematic Twilight was for young girls. Sure, for older ones, it was a romance novel, she supposed, bent on filling a trope. If an adult wanted to read it, why not? But to tell girls that that sort of relationship was healthy, was wrong. Darrell didn't think she knew how often she was complimenting and building up Jake as though he were some sort of ideal guy, but Chester did. Darrell wondered how she could think his friend, his grumpy, quiet, friend could be better than some dude millions of girls idolized as a paragon.

Chester gaped at Sam. Darrell thought he looked a little bit like Henry Hill when Tommy DeVito laid into him at the cafe. He finally said, "So you're going...to go out with me some other time?"

Sam frowned, "No."

Darrell could have cheered. The car was finished, the idiot could get out of here, he had more information about Sam and Jake. It was glorious. He just needed his notebook and then he'd be a made man. Suddenly, there was a gasp. "Why not?

Sam rattled off a list. "For one thing, you sat there all evening while everyone else worked. For another, you never asked my opinion before you touched my iPod, nor about the movie. Finally, you were rude to my family."

Chester stepped forward towards Sam, speaking, "Back in Jersey I..." He began to rant about how cool he was, and how many girls loved him. Darrell smirked. There was no truth in his bluffing.

Jake, in his hurry to round the car, slammed the hood with some force, right on top of Darrell's left hand. He shouted with pain. The entire room stopped, and the baby started screaming. At least the kid had empathy for his pain. Maybe he was as smart as Jake and Sam insisted. Darrell let loose a string of invectives as Jake looked over his hand. "It's not broken."

Sam came over with the baby and nodded when Jake asked for her opinion. "We'll get you some ice. And do you have to swear so much?"

Yes, he decided, his love of mafia movies had come in handy. They had taught him to be crafty, to plan, to stand with his friends, and to act like a menefreghista when his hand hurt. And well, they also taught him that when all else failed, he could go home to his Mama. And he would, too, just as soon as Chester got lost.

menefreghista- One who does not give a fuck. In this case, it's masculine and singular. Someone actually asked the Italian professor about this word, once.

Points if you got the movie references, and the 2 Pac reference. Super points if you get the "And do you have to swear so much..." reference.

Also, before the twihards hate me, please realize that Sam is in a tenuous position. Think of all the teasing that she must have faced. I have no problem with people reading Twilight, of course, but please realize that the best relationships are built on respect. I also have huge issues with the presentations of race and gender in the books, but I couldn't resist someone making the comparison. I wanted Darrell to do it, but even he couldn't do it to Sam's face. And anyway, I think Jake Ely is ten times the fictional man Jacob is, werewolf or not, in terms of hero qualities.

I wrote this one shot mainly because I'm so sick of urban people coming around and being like, "You haz internets! I'm sooo bored..." Right around that time, I walk away or just completely play stupid about the city. "You don't me to tell me you have buildings with more than one house in 'em, now do ya?"

Please use your internet to review. Next one shot will be Darrell trying to measure love.