A/N This chapter was revised as of 12/19/2011 1:40 am.
Sorry for the delay in writing this. My betas (Wynefred, Celeste301 and CasXxGrippedXxMeXxTight) know how hard I worked on this chapter. My thanks to all three of them for their feedback.
A note for my readers: I made a change in the last line Sarah says to Sam in Chapter 9. This was necessary because I realized when writing this chapter that whether a player is solids or stripes depends not on personal choice, but on which ball he or she sinks after the rack is broken. So Sarah's line as I had it before did not make sense for her character.
Chapter 12: The Knight and His Lady
Sam stood next to Sarah at the pool table, like a knight errant, having successfully vanquished the rogue threatening his lady, awaiting his fair maiden's word. His whole body was still, his eyes pleading, as he waited for her answer to the question he'd been longing to ask all night. Both of their families were watching, but he wasn't aware of anyone but Sarah. All he could see was her deep blue eyes and her long, curly red hair that he longed to run his fingers through. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he exhaled in a sudden, surprised gust as her answer, "Who could say no to those eyes," made him grin with relief. He felt like she was dubbing him when she handed him the cue stick.
He didn't quite hear her next words, and she had to repeat them.
"What?" he said.
"Come on, let's shoot to see who gets the break shot." She grinned.
"Sure," he said.
The two of them stood at the head rail, Sam on the right and Sarah on the left. The green cloth of the pool table stretched before them like a field of battle, the knight and the lady in competition. They each placed a ball directly in front of them, a few inches from the head rail, and aimed carefully, each of them watching the other surreptitiously. It was a game of skill and strength. The balls had to roll right down the entire table length, bounce off the opposite rail, and come back down the table to rest as close to the head rail as possible. The one whose ball was closest to the head rail would get to make the break shot.
Sarah made her shot, but was distracted by Sam's face in her peripheral vision, his curly brown bangs hanging over his forehead. She longed to push them aside. When she finished, the ball rested a mere three centimeters from the edge. A good shot, but really, she could do better. Sam's shot was a just a little bit closer to the head rail.
"Not bad," Sam said. He was trying not to look too impressed, but he thought he was failing dismally.
"Not bad yourself," she teased. "Do you do this often?"
"I've had a little bit of practice," he said.
Suddenly she noticed John and Harry, standing by the side of the pool table, waiting expectantly. She touched Sam's hand. "I think your dad wants to talk to you."
Sam looked at his dad, bracing for another argument. He was surprised when Dad simply said, "Well this has been... unexpected, and I still have a lot to say to you boys but if this whole business is over, I've got a meeting I'd like to get to." Sam started to answer, but Dad and Harry were already moving away from the pool table. Preoccupied with the next hunt already, thought Sam, but he found it hard to muster up any anger. When his dad left, his shoulders sagged unconsciously, the tension leaving his body.
"That's better," said Sarah. "I swear, that man winds you up like a clock."
He opened his mouth to deny it, but then shut it. She was right. He decided to ignore the comment and move on.
He was starting to rack the balls when Sarah grabbed his hand. "Oh my God, Sam... would you look at that!" she whispered, pointing to Dean and Beth, who were kissing, open-mouthed. The heated kiss went on for at least two minutes while Sam and Sarah stared, mesmerized. Fran, squished between Dean and Beth like a pretzel, groaned. Sam and Sarah let out long, low whistles.
"Nice going, Dean!" Sam called. He saw the confusion on Dean's face. He could almost hear the curse words under his brother's breath. This was priceless... Dean had actually forgotten where he was. Sam gleefully added this to the long list of ammunition to use against his brother.
But Sarah's next words sent his soaring mood plummeting to the ground.
"So, Beth," Sarah teased, "you and Hot Stuff, huh?"
"Hot stuff?" Sam sputtered. How come Dean got to be "HotStuff"?
Sarah noticed Sam's reaction. She would have laughed at how much he resembled a pouty child if it wasn't so damn cute on him.
"Hot Stuff?" Dean raised his shoulders and tossed his head like a preening peacock. Sam's scowl, directed at Dean, made Sarah smile. It was bad of her, but she rather enjoyed making the guy she liked jealous. And besides which, she thought, he's adorable when he broods. Let him stew a minute more.
Beth smirked. "Don't get a swelled head now... it'll slow you down on the hunt."
The hunt? Sam stared at Dean. He told her about the hunt?
Sarah frowned, confused. "The hunt?" she asked... "Never mind, I don't want to know." She turned to Sam. Time to put him out of his misery. "Only 'cause he thinks he's God's gift to women, Tall Guy," she said.
His answering smirk made her insides practically melt. "Oh," said Sam, "Yeah, you should see him in front of a mirror." Dean scowled, while Sarah bit back a chuckle. Score one for Sam, she thought.
Then Dean suggested taking Beth somewhere more private, which became an offer to drive her and Fran home. Go, Beth, thought Sarah, but her older sister was being too damn stubborn for her own good. "No, that's okay," she said. "I can drive myself. Sarah, please go tell the others it's time to leave."
Oh no, thought Sarah, I am not leaving now. "Do we have to go so soon, Beth? I mean, Sam and I just started playing..." Please, sis, I just met this guy... and we're really hitting it off... She gave Beth her best puppy-dog look.
Sam backed her up. "It would be a shame to have to cut it short," said Sam, "And no offense, but you could probably use a little help with Fran."
In the end, Sarah wasn't sure if it was the combined strength of the arguments from her, Sam and Dean, or her silent plea to her sister that did the trick. But Beth surrendered the car keys, and she, Dean and Fran left, leaving Sam and Sarah blessedly alone.
Sam sighed... "Finally," he said. "Alone at last."
He looked at her and their eyes caught. And suddenly it hit them. There were no distractions, no siblings to tease or fight with, no thieves to catch or challenge... just them, the pool table, and the need to communicate. Both of them had so much they wanted to ask.. but neither could think of how to start the conversation.
The silence stretched on as Sam racked the balls, trying to set them as tight as possible. He lifted the rack out carefully. "There," he said, "Is that tight enough for you?" He looked at her and his eyes rested for a moment on her chest, in that form-fitting sweater dress. Maybe it was the word "rack". Am I channeling Dean tonight? he thought.
He usually didn't pay so much attention to the physical details of the women he met. But he couldn't help but take in everything about Sarah. She came up to his shoulder, maybe about four inches shorter than Dean. More than her hair, her deep blue eyes, the way she leaned against the pool table and studied those balls so intensely, the way her shirt was pressing against her breasts...
She checked the balls and nodded. "Sure." Then she noticed where his eyes were. "A little distracted, Sam?" She laughed.
He blushed, probably the 14th time he'd blushed that night. With an almost herculean effort, he tore his eyes away. "No... that is," he stuttered. "Uh... You know, I must have gone through 419 pickup lines in my head tonight, and now that I'm with you, I can't remember a single one of them."
She grinned. "Really? Four hundred and nineteen?" she asked as he aimed carefully for the break.
"Well, okay, maybe 200."
"Two hundred?" she said.
He shot her a smile. "Okay, you got me. More like 50."
He broke the rack and balls scattered, lined up in a giant swirl, like a whirlpool. He studied the balls carefully. What should he try for? The 3-ball was a relatively easy in, in the center pocket by the foot rail. And taking solids looked like a better position... but should he take the stripes just because they were harder? And then he thought of Sarah. No, he decided, she probably wouldn't take that well.
He made the 3-ball easily.
"You know," she said, moving over to stand next to him, "that's probably the best pickup line you've used all night."
"Did it work?"
"Have I run away yet?" She squinted at the table, assessing the field of play. The problem was that no matter which of her balls she shot at, she was in danger of hitting one of his... "You've put me in quite a position... If I'm not careful, I'll pocket some of yours as well."
"Too hard for you, Sarah?" he teased.
She stuck out her tongue at him. "Yuk it up, just don't choke on my smoke."
He laughed. "I knew you were up for a challenge."
"Actually, Sam, I'd like to thank you."
"For what?" He looked at her, puzzled. Her eyes were shining with something like admiration.
"For not doing something dorky and stupidly overprotective... like taking the harder position just cause I'm a woman."
Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. Good call, he thought. He shook his head. "Why would I do that?" he said. "I've seen you play pool. I need all the breaks I can get." The wry admission in his voice made her laugh.
"So why pool?" he asked, as he aimed for the 5-ball, which was a few inches from the foot rail. This should be another fairly clear shot, for the corner pocket this time. "How'd you get so good?"
It was her voice that did him in, or maybe his overconfidence at what should have been an easy shot. He kept trying to look at her as he was aiming. He liked to watch her talk; her expressive face was more riveting than the game they were playing.
"It was a matter of survival," she said. Her face was serious but her eyes were laughing at him.
"Survival?" he asked. He made the shot, but his surprise at her answer ruined his aim. The angle was off, and the ball hit the foot rail instead, bouncing back maybe an inch and a half.
"Yeah, I guess you do need every break you can get," she laughed. He wrinkled his nose at her. "Survival?" he prompted.
He waited patiently while she surveyed the table. He wondered if she saw it as he saw a scene in the middle of a hunt - like a chess match, where he had to see several moves ahead sometimes, to find the quickest and safest road to victory.
"9-ball in the corner pocket," she said, moving to the head rail side again. She hit the 9-ball at just the right angle off of his 7-ball so that it rolled into the corner pocket. The 7-ball spun and came to a stop barely a half inch away from the center pocket on that side of the table. She looked at him and blew on the cue stick like it was a smoking gun. "Watch my smoke, baby," she said.
"Hey, don't cry victory yet, Sarah. You've just given me an easy hole for the 7," he pointed out.
"But," she said, "it's still my turn." While she was lining up her next shot, the 12-ball in the side pocket, she said, "There I was, the geek in a family with four boy-crazy sisters... They would come and hang out here at O'Shaunassy's all the time... It's like a second home to us, what with my dad gone for so long..." She stopped, surprised at what she was telling him.
He nodded. "I take it this isn't your average, run-of-the-mill bar..."
"Does it seem that way to you?"
"No... And Harry and Molly... they're special..."
"You noticed, huh? Well, I had to find something to do here. It was definitely survival." Sarah looked up for a minute and saw Sam staring at the bar walls. He noticed their brown paneled wood, with the glowing, creamy white wall sconces attached every few feet. The sconces cast a pretty glow, and their curved, brass fixtures seemed more at home in the 19th century. The ceiling light fixtures were also creamy white, the opaque glass bowls set almost flush with the ceiling, a sharp contrast to the deer antlers curved around the bowls. The crowd, also, seemed tame compared to other bars he'd been in, and the place had a magical feeling that he hadn't really noticed earlier.
"Sam?" she asked, wondering what other world he'd stepped into. She put down her cue stick for a moment.
He shook his head, pulling out of his musings. "I'm just trying to imagine you growing up in this place," he said. "I wish I'd had some place so... safe."
"Why?" she wondered. "Surely you have a place you call home?" She didn't like the look of desperate wistfulness that was creeping into his eyes. She felt as if there was a deep well of longing inside of him, hidden and normally suppressed, that was bubbling to the surface.
He laughed, and there was a touch of sadness in it. "My family... we're on the road a lot," he said. "The closest I have to a home is the car my brother drives."
She decided that he looked entirely too sad. "Hey," she said, "What kind of car is it?"
He stared at her like she was crazy. "A 1967 Chevy Impala."
"Hmm... old car, probably pretty big, right?"
"Yeah."
"Wide carriage? Soft leather seats? Good heating system? Probably pretty comfortable for a tall guy like you."
He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. So?"
"Don't you see?" She waved her hands around as if sketching a picture of the Impala in the air. "It's like your protection, your haven against the elements. I bet you and your brother played lots of games on the road... plenty of good memories in that Impala."
Suddenly, his sadness lifted like a banner flying in the breeze and he laughed. "You are incredible," he said. "And this has been one strange night..."
"You're telling me? I still have the imprint of your butt from when you fell on top of me..."
She sighed, a bit wistful... Of course she didn't like being knocked down, but the physical contact had been... engaging, she decided. Engaging? Is that what you call it?
He wondered what could have caused that sigh.
"So," he said, "are you going to make that shot?"
She focused in on the pool table, setting up her shot again, but visions of Sam's ass pressed against her threw her aim off slightly. She got her ball in, but hit one of his as well, and pushed it into the side pocket.
"Ah," he said, "My turn, I believe." He took his cue stick and walked next to her for a different view of the table... an excuse to be a little closer to her. She was so quiet at the moment... "A penny for your thoughts?" he asked.
"Something's been bothering me all night," she said, turning back to him.
"What's that?" He looked over at her, cue stick in her right hand, leaning against the table next to him, gazing up into his soft brown eyes.
"You're obviously not comfortable with the bar scene, let alone pickup lines. Why were you running a hit-on-women marathon?"
He laughed. "You are blunt, lady."
"So I've been told... but I think you're avoiding the question."
"You really want to know?"
"Yes..."
He looked away from her, towards the floor. "You won't like it."
"Try me..." she said.
"Well, my brother... he does this sort of thing all the time... you know..."
"Picking up women in bars?"
"Anywhere, really... He's very good at it."
"Ah... " she laughed. "Peer pressure... So let me guess, your brother was teasing you, and told you he bet you couldn't pick up a woman at a bar."
He stared at her. "What are you, psychic?"
"You're forgetting," she said, "I have four older sisters."
"You're not upset?"
"I could be," she mused, "but actually, in his own, twisted way, I think it's kind of sweet. Dean obviously cares a lot about you. I bet he really wanted you to succeed."
Sam smiled. "Maybe... He certainly didn't seem disappointed about losing, only at the idea of being caught by Dad."
"So we really should thank Dean," she said.
"And Fran," Sam said. "If she hadn't been chasing me..."
"And Fran." Sarah shook her head and chuckled. "Poor Fran... Though I wanted to punch her lights out earlier."
"You did?"
"I had to watch her put her hands all over you... she even got to hug you first!"
He smiled at how annoyed she sounded. "So," he said, "I take it you wanted to hug me?" His voice got deeper, more flirtatious, even as his face reddened unconsciously. She thought he looked supremely huggable. She put down the cue stick and closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him. He was muscular in a wiry way, and she liked the feel of his firm chest, the sound of his heartbeat as her head lay against him. The top of her head came up to his shoulder, and she felt secure and safe in his arms, which had circled hers, his cue stick slipping from his grip and dropping to the floor.
She felt a liquid warmth building in her, spreading from her breasts where they were pressed against Sam's waist. She could feel every part of him against her, even through the plaid shirt and jeans he was wearing. It was as if she was storing a memory of his body in her mind, imprinting the feel of him on her soul. And then she felt a certain private part of his grow rigid against her stomach.
He pulled away quickly. She looked up at him in confusion, expecting to see distaste, even scorn, in his eyes. Instead, she saw a strong passion that he was struggling to control.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to push you."
"You didn't push me," he said. "I just..."
She laughed, a bit breathless. "I don't even have the excuse of being drunk. I haven't had a single beer all night. Underage, and Harry won't serve."
She was looking down at the pool table, now, and Sam could see she was embarrassed. "Hey," he said, "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong... I was just... surprised."
She continued to look down.
He lifted her chin, tilting her head up so she was looking at him. "Sarah," he said gently, "I'm sorry I pulled away. I just... haven't had much experience with women."
Her wide-eyed expression showed her disbelief.
"I was shocked," he said, "at the strength of my feelings."
"Really?"
"Really," he said, and was gratified to see the sparkle in her eyes return.
"Feelings, huh?"
She reached up and brushed that stubborn tendril of hair that kept creeping into his eyes off of his forehead. A small jolt of electricity ran through her fingertips. Startled, she pulled her hand away but wished she could continue the touch.
She stared at her hand and chuckled. "There's a study that says that the average volume of alcohol in bar patrons is .06 percent. But I know you didn't drink that much. So we can't blame your feelings on the beer."
He let go of her chin and took her hand. "You read that study?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, why?" She looked at him, a little afraid he'd make fun of her reading habits.
"No one I know ever does. They tell me I'm nuts to be reading all that 'crazy geek stuff'."
"Oh, I know... I get that all the time."
Sarah looked at Sam and wondered how it was that she had finally met someone who understood the place apart in which she'd always been?
"But some of these studies are just pointless." She giggled. "I mean, really - what do they think happens in bars?"
"I know. Hmm... People come to bars to... drink? What a revelation!" Sam laughed. "To think I'd meet a girl who knows about the Halderman Alcohol study."
"This is too unreal to be true!" she said. "Don't you feel like we're in the middle of some kind of fictional story ourselves?"
"What story do you think we're in?" Sam wondered.
"Well, until you did your Sir Galahad routine, I would have said we were in a Three Stooges movie... But then I changed my mind."
"My Sir Galahad routine?"
"Yes... When you went all courtly on me, I decided this was a medieval romance, with you cast in the role of the knight determined to win the heart of his lady."
He ran his fingers of his left hand down the back of his hair, a nervous habit when a conversation became a bit too uncomfortable. He shook his head. "You've got me all wrong, Sarah. I'm no knight in shining armor. But you're perfect in the role of the princess."
She tilted her head as she looked up at him. "Okay, if you're not the knight, what role would you cast yourself in?"
"A pretender to knighthood... a bumbling fool dressed for the part... and the princess will probably kick him out as soon as she realizes who he really is beneath the facade."
She caught her breath and looked at Sam incredulously. "Do you really believe that?"
He didn't say a word. She took both of his hands in hers and said, "We have to do something about that low self-esteem of yours, Tall Guy. Do you know what I was thinking all night?"
He shook his head.
"I kept noticing you. And every time I was trying to focus on the pool game with Snark, something would happen and my eyes would be pulled over to you. And I kept thinking..." She stopped. Do I really want to tell him this?she thought.
"What?" he prompted, at her obvious discomfort. He squeezed her hand.
"I kept thinking, 'Damn, I wish that Tall Guy would come over and talk to me.'"
"Really?" he asked, his eyes wide.
"Really."
"Well, I wish I had... It would probably have saved me a lot of embarrassment." He licked his lips nervously. "The whole night, I wanted to come over to you. But you were standing by the pool table, looking so beautiful... and the fact that Snark was there... it intimidated me."
Her eyes widened. "I'm beautiful?" She seemed a bit incredulous and she shook her head a bit. "Speaking of pool games, Sam... I believe it's your turn..."
With four balls pocketed, two of his and two of hers, the table was starting to look a little emptier. But Sam wasn't even paying attention to the game. He just kept looking at Sarah, holding her hand.
"Why can't you believe you're beautiful? Surely other men have told you..."
"Oh, I know I'm pretty. But... most guys, they don't want a woman who thinks. They get scared away. I'm more like... I don't know... the plain youngest daughter whose sisters outshine her." When she said this, she looked down at the table again, as if afraid to look in his eyes and see the truth.
"Look at me, Sarah." She didn't move. Sam took her face in his hands and tilted her head up so she was forced to look in his eyes. "I think you're beautiful... more than any other woman I've met."
She shook her head. "No..."
He nodded emphatically. "Yes." And to prove it, and because it was something he had wanted to do all evening but hadn't had the nerve, he bent down and covered her mouth with his. The kiss began slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid she would pull away. But the lady met him halfway, responding with a passion that astounded them both. She melted in his arms, the pool game forgotten. The kiss turned harder, Sam's lips almost bruising on hers, but neither of them minded. They were shivering with a need born from finding in one another a kindred spirit, a partnership of wit and wonder, and an electric feeling of belonging that suffused their bodies. Neither had thought to find another who understood the world of thoughts and dreams, that special, lonely, kingdom in which they had grown. Victorious at last, the knight claimed his lady, and at least for now, none would tear them apart.
X X X
A/N Hope you liked this! There is one more chapter coming, the epilogue… Stay tuned.
