A/N: It's the "confrontation of feelings" chapter! Yay! Emotions!
Sam put off calling Rich for as long as she could. In fact, she put it off until they were a week into the new year and she grew exasperated with trying to hide in the various nooks and crannies at Apple Corps. Hesitantly, she dialed the number on the paper slip that had been around the cup. She sincerely hoped Mrs. Starkey wouldn't pick up because she knew she'd slam the phone down in fear and never try to call again.
To her mingled relief and dread, Rich picked up. "Starkey household, Richard speaking." Sam almost stammered that she had the wrong number, but she made herself talk.
"Hi Rich, it's Sam."
She heard him breath in sharply. "Oh, hi Sam. How are you?"
"Not bad, yourself?"
"Little knackered, if I'm being honest. Too many late nights at the studio."
"Yeah, you guys have been doing some late nights recently."
"Yeah."
Sam could stand the pointless banter designed to avoid the subject they needed to talk about no longer. "I actually called to talk about Christmas Eve," she blurted out, cheeks still flaming red at the memory. Rich paused for a long time, so long Sam wondered whether he'd hung up on her.
But finally, he spoke, "'Spose we do need to talk about that, huh?" His voice was uncomfortable and stiff.
"As much as we need to talk about, I honestly have no idea what to say," Sam confessed hopelessly, slumping against the wall. Maybe this had all been a big waste of time. Liz peeped around the doorway just then and pointed at the phone excitedly. Sam rolled her eyes and waved her away. She sighed and retreated, but Sam knew she'd still be listening.
"Me either, but we can't very well just leave it as is," Rich replied.
"No, I know. But what can I say? I definitely have feelings for you, but you're already in a relationship. And you have two beautiful kids. I can't interfere with that. I can't ruin that for you."
"Look Sam, you won't be ruining my life if somehow this ends up going farther. It's already sorta falling to pieces and you're the first thing good thing that's come along in a long time."
Sam licked her lips nervously. She could tell he felt it was the truth. "And your wife? What about her?" She just had to ask: just to make sure.
"Our relationship's been having problems for awhile now. Sometimes, I think the only reason we stay together is for the sake of our sons' childhoods." He sounded so sure of himself, why was she having such difficulties then?
"Rich, you're making this sound so straightforward and easy, so black and white. It's not, though, and I don't know what to say or do anymore," Sam said, choking a little as her voice broke. She was having so many conflicting emotions it was a wonder her heart and head weren't exploding.
His voice was gentle and quiet. "This is a hard discussion to have over the phone, Sam. I don't think it's really working for either of us. I'll come over and we can talk it out, okay? Things like these are easier face-to-face."
"No Rich, w—" Sam received an earful of dial tone by way of an answer to her protest. "Shit," she whispered, slowly setting the phone down. "Him, here. Oh bloody hell." Her voice had steadily risen and Liz came back in concern.
"Sam, what is it?" she asked. "You've gone stark white."
"Rich—Ringo," she corrected herself. Rich was a term of endearment. She would only use his stage name. Somehow, she thought it would help her distance herself from the situation emotionally. "He's coming here."
Liz frowned. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"No!" Sam exclaimed.
"Why not?"
"Because I have no idea what's going to happen, that's why! And I'm bloody well terrified! There, I said it. Liz, I'm goddamn scared of what might happen."
"Sam, what's the worst that'll come of this? Tell me, 'cause all I see is a potentially awkward conversation happening. It's not like you'll end up shagging on the floor, not if you don't want me to see or hear it."
Sam flushed bright red. "Liz, must you always jump to the worst-case scenario? I'm not worried about that—well, I am, but it's not my main concern. I'm worried about seeing him again. If I see him again, I will not be able to say no to him no matter how loud my mind is screaming at me to do so."
Liz looked at Sam with sympathy, putting her hands on her shoulders gently. "Maybe it's because your heart is speaking louder than your mind. And it's saying, 'go to him, you idiot. You'll not find someone like him again. They don'y make men like that anymore.'"
She smiled hesitantly at her friend, opening her mouth to thank her, but she got interrupted by the doorbell ringing in a way suggesting the ringer's hand was trembling. "That'll be him," she whispered, more to herself than anything else. Liz gave her an encouraging look, shooing her out of the room toward the door.
Slowly, she walked toward the door, heart seemingly intent on beating out of her chest and beating her to the door. Her hand trembled around the doorknob, nervously rotating it and pulling the door open. Rich stood in the doorway, rubbing a finger across his mustache repeatedly.
Sam cleared her throat. "Um, hi Rich," she said.
"Hi Sam." They stood there for several long seconds, Sam forgetting to let him in, until Rich spoke again. "May I come in?"
Remembering how cold it was, Sam flushed and leapt aside. "Oh, sorry! Of course, come on in."
He stepped over the threshold, eyes taking in the tiny flat with the drawing notebooks stacked here and there, a canvas set up by the window, paintings and drawings on the walls, and the pair of blue eyes peering around the corner of the kitchen. "It's not very much, but it's home, I guess," Sam said in embarrassment.
He shook his head, still staring at the paintings. "I like it a lot. It's unique and kinda cosy feeling."
"Thanks." Sam motioned for him to sit down in an armchair across the one she sat in, burying herself in the comfortable piece of furniture and drawing her knees up to her chest. Liz popped in, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. She made a great show of setting it down and making it just right until Sam fixed her with a pointed look.
"Okay! I'm going," she sighed, waving a dramatic hand in their general direction as she exited the room.
"Sam, I know you're scared right now," Ringo said gently, setting his cup back in the saucer and putting it aside after a few moments. "You've got a real fear of the unknown and I guess I sorta get why. But, I've never really felt like this about a woman until now."
"And how many women have you told that?" Sam made a weak joke, twisting one of her curls around her finger repeatedly. He gave her a look, standing up, crossing the room, and crouching down in front of her chair.
"Maybe a few, but I've never meant it this much," he murmured.
"Rich, I'm honestly still at a loss for words."
"Then don't say anything. You don't have to have the answer for everything in the world."
"No, but I get the feeling this would work better if I did."
"Not necessarily," Rich traced his tongue across his lips, reaching out to take Sam's hand. "I know I've got a family, but right now all that's good about it is my kids. They say Bob Dylan's got a song for every situation you could possibly imagine, and I think I've found my answer to you in one of them."
"Rich—"
"Just ignore the lack of guitar and passable singing, yeah?" Sam's mouth opened in wonder as Rich took her hand between both of his and pressed it to the left side of his chest, right over his heart. She could feel the pattering beat of his nervous heart, the slightly choppy breaths, and the deep vibrations of his voice as he sang. In that moment, she felt all of her inhibitions begin to melt away, like a pat of butter slowly sliding off a hot pancake.
When the rain is blowin' in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.
When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue
I'd go crawlin' down the avenue
No, there's nothin' that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
The storms are raging on the rollin' sea
And on the highway of regrets
The winds of change are blowing wild and free
You ain't seen nothin' like me yet.
I could make you happy, make your dreams come true
There's nothing that I would not do
Go to the ends of the Earth for you
To make you feel my love.
When he finished, he gave her a sheepish look. "Cor, think I'm turning into Paul with all this mushy business."
Sam's brain took an utterly unrelated tangent and she found herself asking, "Why don't you sing more? On the albums I mean." She clapped her free hand—Rich had yet to let go of her other one—in mortification. "Oh God, sorry. That was insensitive—" Rich cut her off, chuckling.
"No, don't worry about it. Actually, I don't really know why I don't sing very much. 'Spose it's because I don't write much music, and our resident songwriters can't often be bothered to churn out a song for me to sing." He shrugged. "Anyway, any particular thoughts now?"
"Firstly, you should sing more. I like your voice. And secondly," she took a long deep breath. "Every instinct I've got is telling me this is wrong, but I'm saying 'fuck instinct' because my heart outvotes any instincts I might have." For the second time ever, Sam shut her brain down and leaned in to kiss Richard Starkey full on the lips. He met her halfway, stroking her hair away from her face tenderly as their lips touched. His mouth was warm and tasted like tea, biscuits, and cigarettes. Feeling just a hint bold, she moved her mouth gently against his. He responded by leaning deeper into the kiss and moving both of his hands to cradle her face.
Sam linked her arms around his neck and held on like he was a lifeline, kissing him until it felt like her whole mind, heart, and soul belonged solely to him. Finally, she broke away to breathe and rested her forehead on his, opening her eyes at last to see his soulful blue eyes watching her closely. She laughed quietly, moving over so they could sort of share the chair.
"Something funny?" he inquired, kissing her cheek.
She shook her head. "Less 'ha-ha' funny than it is sort of, 'that's strange' funny. Do you know that your eyes have been haunting that painting over there for the past few weeks?" She pointed to the painting of the window pane still sitting on the easel.
"My eyes have been haunting your painting?" he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.
"You're making me feel stupid!" she protested, shoving at his shoulder. "Every time I looked out the window, I could see your eyes staring back at me. I guess it was my subconscious nudging me in the right direction, yeah?"
"Probably was," he replied. After a moment, he spoke again. "Sam?"
"Hm?"
"This chair is quite comfortable..."
"I'm sensing a 'but' in your tone."
"Well, it's just that I'm wondering if it was really created with the thought of two people sitting in it at the same time? Because it doesn't feel like it."
She started to laugh and realized how uncomfortable it was to be wedged into the armchair. "Oh, sorry!I hadn't... sorry!" She stood up and went over to the couch instead.
Rich stood up and flexed his arms thoughtfully. "No harm done, I don't think. My limbs appear to be functioning mostly properly." He sat down beside her and tucked an arm around her shoulders. "I told Mo I was going to the studio today. She won't expect me home for another couple of hours at least. D'you want to stay here, or go somewhere? I've got all the time in the world."
Sam stiffened at the mention of his wife. It was so easy to forget there were several rather large complicating factors in their relationships. "I feel so strange, like I'm sneaking around like an escaped criminal or something."
Rich kissed her cheek delicately. "Sam, the only crime you've committed is stealing my heart. And you know, I don't think I want it back either."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Oh, good." She grinned cheekily. "I wasn't planning on giving it back any time soon."
"I wouldn't mind if you kept it forever, only..."
"Only, what?"
"Only I get to keep yours in return."
They sat on the couch for a long while without speaking, only sneaking the occasional kiss here and there. Sam snuggled deeply into Rich's side, listening to the steady in and out of his breathing like the rush of an ocean tide." She had nearly lulled herself to sleep when he broke the silence and it surprised her a little.
"Would you draw me something?" The question was halting, as though he didn't know quite how to best phrase it.
"Sorry?" Sam twisted to look him in the eye.
"Could you draw something for me?" he repeated. "I don't especially care what, I'd just like to have a piece of your artwork with me when I can't be around you."
Sam tried to bring her mind back to functioning properly. Ringo Starr asked her to draw something for him. No, this was Rich. He was Ringo Starr on stage, but he was plain, simple, wonderful Rich to her. "Um, sure," she said, getting to her feet to find a sketchpad and materials. She sat down across from him and studied the way he looked out the window with pensive eyes before she put her pencil to the paper.
Slowly, the soft scratching of the drawing implement shaped Rich's face, the slightly mussed hair, the neatly trimmed mustache, the kind features, the somewhat large nose, and the beautiful, big blue eyes. He watched her intently, eyes flickering from her face to her hand shaping the drawing.
The drawing was a close-up of Rich's face staring slightly to the side, a faraway look in his eyes and a hand resting under his chin. Any definition past just a little of his neck and wrist faded away into the background. She wasn't sure what possessed her to draw him, but she couldn't imagine drawing anything—or anyone—else at that particular moment.
When she finished it, she handed it to him nervously, awaiting his appraisal. He stared at it for several moments, seemingly at a loss for words. "Well?"
"It's... I can't think of any words to describe how much I love it, Sam," he said, kissing her lips gently, eyes still on the picture. "Why aren't you a famous artist right now? Y'know, living in New York in a posh flat, smoking with one of those extension things, going to a different artist's party every night?"
Sam laughed. "Because I've been to New York and told I've got a long way to go before I'm good enough. And I didn't like it there. Too noisy. I never got the hang of smoking with one of those things and the parties are dead boring, which I found out when I got dragged along to one when I was there. You sit around and eat caviar, which is positively disgusting."
"Well, I'm sort of glad you didn't stay there," he whispered.
"Why is that?"
"'Cause I never would've met you if you had."
A/N: *collective aww-ing* Review? :)