Chapter Twenty Six

Damn but she was tired of running away. The word "loser" should not apply to her. She, Samantha Puckett, was not a coward or a quitter. There had to be some way to get through to Spencer. Her eyes were drawn to the portrait of Sam in the Garden and she moved slowly over to stand in front of it. The painting held special meaning for her; it proved that Spencer could envision her as an adult. She knew he could see that Sam. He was an artist – a sculptor. Didn't he want to be the one to bring that Sam to life? And then she knew. The way to get through to Spencer was to speak to him in a language that he understood.

She gathered supplies and moved swiftly to the studio. Plopping down cross-legged on the floor, she opened the sketch book and started to draw. She might not have Spencer's technical expertise, but she did have some measure of natural ability, and a whole boatload of motivation. The Garden of the Epiphany began to grow up under her hand, not a tended and pruned garden, but a wild and untamed one. Sam was on a mission.

Spencer tore through the apartment like a whirling dervish, intent on finding her before she disappeared, maybe for the last time. How much angst could you lay at one woman's feet before she wrote you off as a lost cause? With the capitulation of Good Spencer, he finally felt whole again, and there was one thing he knew for certain. He didn't want to become Sam's lost cause. He moved anxiously from one room to the next, sending a silent prayer of gratitude towards the sky when he saw the light beneath the studio door. He entered cautiously, expecting to find, well, a hot mess. He wasn't certain he knew how to handle a hot mess, but he was for sure going to give it his best shot.

He stopped just inside the doorway, shaking his head in confusion. As he had done so many times before where Sam was involved, he had to do a double take. There was no ranting or raving, no screaming or shouting, no cursing, no crying, no tantrums or pouting. Only Sam hard at work, a faint smile on her face – and of the hot mess, he found not a trace. [A/N: Sorry! Getting late & getting punchy; just couldn't resist!]

Spencer moved closer to see what exactly she was doing. She didn't look upset anymore, but for all he knew, she could be writing a Dear John letter. PLEASE don't be writing a Dear John letter! No, it definitely wasn't a letter. Sam was sketching something.

"You're going to hurt your back," he said without thinking, and moved to sit down behind her so that she could lean against him. She did not comment, just continued with her drawing. He observed in silence for some time, waiting for the general theme to emerge. He recognized the garden, although Sam's version was … different. Playful pixies peeked out from behind tangles of wild blooms. She had just begun to sketch the outlines of two human figures; their hands were joined and they wore faerie crowns of ivy and wildflowers. Quite suddenly she turned to look at him. "Will you help me? I'm not so good at drawing real people."

Slowly he reached around to guide her hand. "What are the people supposed to look like?" he asked quietly, although he already knew.

"They should look like two people who see that the world is an amazing and magical place. They should look like two people who will always be young, because they appreciate life and love and the human spirit. They should look like two people who know their own hearts and minds, and are not afraid."

He nodded thoughtfully. She always surprised him.

"I can't reach very well." Without asking, he picked her up and settled her in his lap. "Look what happens when you use shading here, like this…" His hand closed over hers. Two heads bent over the picture, dark and light. The muses were silent; Spencer felt oddly free. He was at peace in this moment with Sam.

The hour grew later and Sam dropped the pencil with a sigh. "I'm tired," she said simply.

Spencer smoothed a stray curl and smiled. "Then sleep… will you come back to bed Samantha?" She did not answer at once, and the room grew so quiet, he imagined he could hear his own heartbeat. Definitely he could feel it, trying to beat out of his chest.

Sam rose and he sprang from the floor like a jack in the box. She turned to look at him, and their eyes locked. "Will you stay?" she asked quietly.

He held his hand out to her in answer, and she reached to take it. Those good for nothing muses could at least have cued the music before they left! [A/N: Just a Kiss / Lady Antebellum!] Pulling her close, Spencer finally did what he should have done long ago. He kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss, tender and sweet. A kiss that said I treasure you, cherish you, hold you in my heart. Sam was moved to tears.

She allowed herself to be led back to what she suddenly began thinking of as "their room." She allowed herself to be tucked into "their bed," but this time was different. This time she didn't curl up alone on the edge. This time he slipped in beside her and closed his arms around her. Holding her close he whispered, "Goodnight Sam. I love you."

"I love you too…" and all was right in the world.

From far away he thought he heard the sound of glasses clinking in a toast.