Samnesia - Chapter 2 - The Cheek

Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, language, stood up.

Then

Sam lost himself in vivid daydreams about Brooke more than once during the following week. Was she working? Or was she bikini-clad on a white sandy beach, sipping a fruity cocktail with one of those ridiculous little umbrellas? He fought it as long as he could, but curiosity won. By day four, he had searched for her on social media. He had seen a letter in her kitchen with her last name, and it hadn't taken him long to find her public Instagram account.

She had uploaded three photos since Sam had met her. The first was of her on a plane, headphones around her neck, with the caption: "ready to take off for a week of hard work and maybe some play😜." The second photo was of her with her head leaning in close to an attractive blonde woman who was tagged emily3509 and had the caption: "can't stay mad at this one for long! #SheDitchesMeAlot #FriendsSinceChildhood." That had given Sam a chuckle. Clearly, Emily was the reason he had met Brooke. He'd made a mental note to thank her if the chance ever presented itself.

The latest photo had been uploaded the night before. Ten freshly tanned people sat around a large table filled with colorful, amazing-looking food, their drinks held high. Brooke sat closest to the camera, sporting a huge, proud grin on her sun-kissed face. The caption read: "Love my team. Hard work pays off. #FeelingGrateful."

By the time Saturday rolled around, he had given up trying to convince himself that he wasn't eager to see her in person again. Before he left the bunker, Sam checked Brooke's Instagram for an update. There had been no new photos. He spent the better half of the drive to her house wondering what she might be doing just then.

This is stupid, Sam. What are you doing? She won't be there. It's Saturday night. She'll be out with her friends, getting hit on by another douchebag. Or maybe a nice guy for a change.

He wasn't sure which possibility bothered him more. Despite his internal monologue, he drove toward Brooke's house. Maybe she was home. She had been due back from her trip late the previous night, so maybe she was relaxing on her couch, enjoying the comforts of home after being away.

Sam thought if he showed up unannounced and empty-handed, that would be rude, so he had brought the entire series of Game Of Thrones. She had mentioned she hadn't seen it but always meant to get around to watching it. He planned to offer to buy a pizza if she hadn't already eaten dinner, and they could get started on the box set.

Her car was in the driveway when he arrived, and there was a soft glow coming from the living room window when he parked at the curb, but Sam's third knock on the front door went unanswered. He listened intently and couldn't hear the hum of a television or people talking.

See, dude, she's out! She has a social life, friends. A normal life.

He scolded himself for not asking for her number the previous week. He could have called her or dropped her a text. As he strolled back down the path toward his car, he loaded Instagram on his phone.

An approaching car pulled his attention from the loading application, and Sam looked up to see an Uber stop a few feet behind his car. Time seemed to slow as a silvery stiletto emerged from it, flashing under the glare of the street light as it hit the pavement. Sam practically held his breath as he ran his eyes the length of the leg that wore it, which seemed like it would never end…until it did, in black satin shorts. The pizza box Brooke juggled as she climbed from the backseat looked out of place against the metallic camisole and smart dinner jacket she wore. By the time she glanced up to see him on her sidewalk, her pale brown eyes rimmed in a warm, smokey eyeshadow, Sam could barely form the words to greet her.

"Hey, Sam," she said, tucking a meticulous auburn curl behind her ear. She sounded shocked but happy to see him too.

"Hey," he cleared his throat, dragging his eyes from her figure to her face. "Hi, I knocked, but…" He pointed toward the house and chuckled nervously. He didn't need to tell her he had knocked and she wasn't there. She knew that."You look amazing," he grinned instead, focusing on her eyes to prevent his from traveling downward again.

She chuckled, shyly averting her gaze from his awestruck one. "Not amazing enough to not get stood up, apparently."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "Seriously! I waited thirty minutes. No phone call or text, so I left. Figured I'd eat this entire pizza and watch some Netflix. Care to join me?"

"Depends," Sam smirked playfully. He gestured toward the pizza box. "Pineapple or no pineapple?"

Brooke narrowed her eyes. "Will my answer affect our friendship?"

Sam nodded, feigning seriousness. "Irreversibly."

"Okay, well, the answer is yes, there is pineapple on it," she told him, walking past Sam and toward her front door. She paused halfway there and turned back to him to ask, "Can we still be friends?"

Sam grinned, stepping up to take the box from her so she could find her keys in her clutch. "I think we can definitely be friends."

Sam sat across from Brooke at her kitchen table, eating the fruit-topped pizza and drinking a cold beer. It was an expensive brand that Sam wasn't quite used to, and it was a tad on the sweet side, but it tasted good and paired well with the sweetness on the pizza, though he suspected that the pleasant company would have made even the shittiest beer taste great. He sipped it, grinning while Brooke recounted a few tales from her trip. She insisted with a smile that there was indeed work accomplished as well as play, though all her stories seemed to focus on the latter.

She had Sam rolling with her animated recap of her forty-minute misadventure of being unable to get into her room one drunken night. Eventually, after complaining to the front desk that her key would not work - because obviously, it was the equipment's fault and not the inebriated lady trying to use it - she was told she had been trying to enter the wrong room on the wrong floor. They had received complaints about it.

Sam was still wiping tears of laughter from his eyes when her phone rang from across the room. Although the call had interrupted them, he didn't mind. It meant she had to stand up to retrieve it, and it gave him the opportunity to check her out again. He couldn't prevent his gaze from lingering on her long, tanned legs as she leaned against the countertop and dug the offending device from her purse.

Brooke scoffed at the screen before turning it to show Sam the caller ID. The name Deacon flashed back at him as it continued to ring.

"Let me guess, Mr. Stood You Up?"

"Yep," she said, popping the P at the end of the word. She declined the call. "He's only an hour and a half late."

Her phone immediately sprang to life again. Sam smiled reluctantly. "You can answer if you want to. Maybe he has a good reason for not showing up."

She shook her head. "I don't have the patience for games or excuses. I don't owe him anything. Except maybe a thank you," she said, declining the second call and rejoining Sam at the table.

"A thank you?"

"Well, if he hadn't stood me up, I would have missed you. Or if he hadn't asked for the date in the first place, you'd have shown up here, and I'd have been in my favorite fluffy pajamas with pizza grease on my chin," she chuckled.

"I mean, you do look amazing, but what you just described…damn, now that's a look!"

They laughed together, and Brooke took a swig of her drink. The white gold jewelry on her right middle finger shifted, and he saw the fresh tan line beneath it. He finished the rest of his beer, wondering what other tan lines she had.

Changing gave Brooke a moment to compose herself. Seeing Sam standing on the sidewalk when she got home had filled her with giddy butterflies, especially considering that her week in Hawaii had been made all the more pleasant by daydreams about her tall, handsome knight in shining armor. Or rather, knight in a sleek black car.

While she'd enjoyed the pristine beaches, she hadn't been able to help herself imagining what Sam would look like in nothing but a pair of board shorts, his long hair slicked back by ocean water as he emerged from the waves beside her. Now, the star of those daydreams was downstairs waiting for her, and Brook couldn't keep the goofy grin from her face. She hadn't expected to ever see him again. She thought the memory of being rescued by the attractive giant would resurface in years to come and bring a smile to her face, nothing more.

But not only had he materialized to help her eat her consolation pizza, he'd also brought a box set of a seventy-three-episode-long show. So, Brooke had to assume he wanted to spend significantly more time with her. It wasn't as if they could watch it all in one sitting. There would have to be more nights filled with comfort food, pleasant company, and who knew what else…

Calm down, Brooke. You're getting ahead of yourself, she chided as she slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. She checked herself in the mirror to be sure her makeup hadn't smudged, but she decided against taking it off. The only thing left to do was to wipe the persistent grin from her face and try not to bound down the stairs like an excited kid on Christmas.

Sam had taken up residence on the end of the couch. Two open beers sat on coasters on the coffee table beside a bowl overflowing with sweet-smelling popcorn. "You ready to go down this rabbit hole?" Sam asked with a chuckle while Brooke settled in beside him.

"I most certainly am."

Three episodes in, and Sam's phone chimed for the seventh time. He'd replied to every message ("we need toilet paper", "grab some milk"), all trivial stuff that could have waited… until Dean thought he'd found a case. Sam wasn't ready to tell Dean about Brooke, so he avoided answering the question as to his whereabouts.

But then Dean called, and Sam excused himself to the back porch to talk privately. Dean asked him where he was, but Sam barely heard the question, too busy admiring Brooke through the window. She had offered to pause the show when he stood to take the call, but he had declined. He had seen it and didn't want to disrupt her enjoyment. Sam gazed at Brooke through the backdoor. The captivated look on her face made him break into a happy grin. She was too cute. Her legs were tucked underneath her, and she chewed her bottom lip, leaning forward to get closer to the medieval fantasy drama unfolding on the screen.

He was distracted long enough for Dean to have to repeat his question and then couldn't formulate a lie quickly enough. He stumbled and stuttered over an answer before letting out a defeated sigh and settling on, "I'm on my way back. I just went for a drive."

Dean's gruff voice pulled him from his admiration, "Grab some milk and toilet paper."

Sam bit back a curse. He had wanted a night, just one night, to relax. He'd wanted to escape for a while, and if that escape meant he could spend time with a kind, friendly, beautiful woman, he wasn't going to complain. But now that had been interrupted.

He raked a hand down his face. "Yeah, okay."

Sam took a deep breath and could feel regret seep into his apologetic smile as he walked back into the house. Brooke pulled her attention from the show and paused it upon seeing his downcast expression.

"Everything okay?" Her tone suggested she knew the answer.

"I'm really sorry, but I have to go. Work." He shook his phone by a way of explanation.

Sam saw the disappointment flash across her face before she fixed it with an understanding smile, but still, he felt bad. He was cutting their night short, a night that had held so many possibilites.

She forced a smile to her lips and rose to her feet. "No need to be sorry. I get it."

"Promise you aren't mad that I'm leaving?" Sam asked as he crossed the threshold of the front door, turning to face her once more. "I'd hate to be added to the Douche Bag List with Mr. Stood You Up."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but you're definitely higher on the scoreboard than him. Believe me, I understand work responsibilities."

He chuckled gruffly. He guessed she did, being a boss herself. He took a step closer and dipped to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Sam," she grinned up at him as he pulled back.

"Goodnight, Brooke."

He groaned inwardly as he walked down her path. He heard the click of the door as she closed it, then when he heard the locks being engaged, he allowed himself to shake his head.

The cheek, Sam? The cheek? Really? You kissed her cheek! What is she, your sister?

He was a mile from her house when he realized he had forgotten to ask for her number. Again. "Shit!"

Smooth, Sam. Real smooth.

Now

Brooke's tense, tired muscles relaxed significantly under the relentless flow of the water in the bunker's shower. Dean had bragged about the water pressure (Best you'll ever get. I promise you'll want to stay just for the shower), and he wasn't wrong.

However, the amazing water pressure wasn't enough to quiet the apprehension of being naked and vulnerable in the bathroom. The gun was still in her possession. It sat atop her folded clothes on the bench directly in front of the stall she was in. She glanced at it occasionally, afraid it would disappear if she looked away long enough. She could hear the small voice in the back of her mind grow louder that it may well be an unnecessary precaution.

She didn't rush, using the time alone to think things over. It wasn't until her fingers pruned and the heat dropped a few degrees that she realized how long she had been there and pulled herself away from the massaging spray of water.

Sam's tour of the bunker, eating pineapple pizza, and drinking a few beers with the guys had eased some of her anxiety, and she didn't feel she was in any immediate danger, but some doubt remained. Had she given in to Sam's gentle nature too soon? Perhaps a mixture of intrigue over the handsome stranger and the desire to hear more stories of how they supposedly knew one another kept her from running for the exit. Maybe it was all part of Sam's bigger plan: playing the role of a nice guy to give her a false sense of security. Was he biding his time until he showed his true colors and hurt her? Or worse, killed her.

Answerless questions and scenarios raced through her mind, and she practically ran from the shower room to the bedroom Sam had said would be hers for the duration of her stay. Like it was some kind of vacation. She slammed the door closed behind her, engaged the lock, and leaned against it, her haste and adrenaline making her heart pound

If he wanted to hurt you, he could have. They both could have easily overpowered you, drugged your food or drinks. Rationalizing her predicament helped to calm her.

Changes in the room began to register over her panicked thoughts. Her phone was charging on the dresser. A black t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts was laid out on the bed, and the small, hand drawn map of the bunker placed on top of the clothes bought a small chuckle. During the tour, she had commented she had a terrible sense of direction and was sure to get lost navigating the labyrinth that was the bunker.

See? Why would he give you a form of communication and a map with the exits on it if he was planning to hurt you?

The map was a thoughtful gesture, not the action of a psychotic killer planning to murder her in her sleep. Checking the other side of the map, Sam's elegant handwriting requested: 'Make yourself at home. I programmed my number into your phone. Call me if you can't find me.' Her smile grew before she could stop it. Her gut told there was no danger here, but she was still going to be cautious.

Brooke sat on the bed, towel drying her hair, and stared across the room at her phone. It seemed to mock her for her indecision. Was she to believe Tommy, the funny, sweet (albeit intense) guy she recently met, or the tall, handsome man who abducted her from her home, spouting fairytales of meetings in the back seats of classic cars?

She groaned aloud.

Brooke twisted the ring on her middle finger anxiously. It had been a gift from her brother, Brett, and she often fiddled with it when she felt in need of some brotherly support. He had always been cool in a crisis, and she knew she could rely on him to make sense of the screwed up situation she'd found herself in. But she also knew his protective brother mode would be activated the second she explained, and then the cop in him would swing into action.

Was she ready to be rescued? Did she need to be rescued? No. Not right now at least. She could figure this out on her own, and if she couldn't, then she'd call Brett for help.

"Okay," she sighed into the silent room. "Let's think this through logically."

Tommy was a new addition to her life, and she didn't know much about him yet. She'd met him in a bar on a night out with Emily, and despite what Sam would apparently have her believe, he'd been a total gentleman. It had taken them a few months of crossed wires and conflicting schedules to arrange a follow up date, but even though he was more intense than she usually prefered, they'd been getting on fairly well. She couldn't deny he sometimes made her uncomfortable, though. A few times, she'd gotten the feeling he was trying his utmost to bite his tongue or fight the urge to get angry. She'd thought about breaking it off with him, but something that she couldn't quite put her finger on always stopped her from doing so before she made the call or sent the message.

Then there was Sam. He'd kidnapped her, though the way he told it, that was their second first meeting. It seemed implausible on the surface, but he had proof of their 'life' together. He had photos of them together, he knew about her family, he was familiar with items in her house and events that had happened to her and her friends. Even though it felt like the less rational option, she did believe him, or at least, she believed that he believed that they knew one another.

So there was only one thing left to do.

"Now or never, Brooke," she said, forcing herself to her feet and across the room to her phone on the dresser. Brett was on the night shift. The fact that it was almost four AM meant he would answer her call if he wasn't busy. She had a lie prepared, but her thumb hovered over his name on the screen. The thought of lying to her brother gave her pause.

Sam had allowed her her cellphone and encouraged her to call her brother and best friends. No, he wasn't allowing her. That wasn't the right term. She believed Sam when he told her she could leave whenever she wanted to, that he wouldn't force her to stay.

"Fuck," she sighed as she hit the call button and listened to the line ring twice.

"What's up, Baby Bee?" Her brother's friendly and familiar voice comforted her so much, it caused tears to pool in her eyes. She only just realized how overwhelmed she'd been. "How you doing?"

"Hey, Big Bee." She cleared her throat and fixed on a smile that he could hear in her voice. "I'm good. I'm just calling to let you know I've taken off for a while. Didn't want you to worry when I don't show up for breakfast tomorrow." She spoke quickly before she could run out of courage.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She thumbed the ring he gave her, guilt increasing with each rotation. "Just needed to take a minute, y'know? With all the Chris stuff, I just had to get away."

It hadn't been a complete lie, her ex-fiance resurfacing had stirred up some feelings she needed to work through. Though, that seemed to be the least of her problems right now. Did Sam know about Chris? If they had, in fact, been dating as Sam claimed, her history with Chris would have come up. She made a mental note to broach the subject when the opportunity arose.

"I get it, but you'll be back for the wedding, right?"

The slight panic in his tone made her breath hitch. He sounded so worried, and for a moment, she considered telling him the truth. Brett wasn't just family, he was a cop. He could have a trace on her phone in minutes, find her location and save her from her abductor.

But if she were honest with herself, as weird a vacation as it would be, the break would be good for her…if she didn't end up murdered and on the ten o'clock news.

She shook her head to dislodge that thought. She'd grown up around law enforcement, it wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself. If she'd been truly fearful, she'd have tried to leave already.

"Bee?" Brett asked after her prolonged silence.

"Sorry. Spaced out for a second," she chuckled, puffing out a nervous breath. "I'm not going to miss my big brother's wedding, now am I? I'll be back in a week or so. Plenty of time."

"Okay, well, call me if you need anything."

"Love you, Big Bee."

"Love you too, Baby Bee."

Brooke heaved a sigh of relief. The biggest hurdle had been cleared, all that was left was to follow through with the rest of her loved ones.

She typed a message to her closest friends in their chat group, explaining her abrupt disappearance using the same lie she had fed to Brett. Then she watched the cursor blink back at her in the text box under Tommy's name. What did she say to him? She was supposed to be going on her fifth date with Tommy tomorrow, she needed to tell him something.

The cursor flashed expectantly. "Screw it," she decided aloud.

Brooke to Tommy: I'm taking a last minute vacation. Need some time alone. I'll call you when I'm back. X

Sent changed to delivered a few seconds after. Satisfied he'd receive her cancellation, she shut off her phone.

Brooke lay in bed, utterly exhausted. She thought she'd sleep; it had been a long, stressful day, even before Sam brought her here. The shower had eased some of her tension, but the unfamiliar room, the mattress and pillows that didn't belong to her, and the odd noises that made it sound like someone or something was in the walls (though she knew it was the pipes sending water around the large, old building) left her unable to close her eyes. Sleep, she realized, was an impossibility, so after an hour and a half of trying to force her eyes to stay closed, she gave up.

The meticulously drawn map helped her find her way to the kitchen. She sought a slumber that could only be achieved by a drink that burned when it hit her throat and warmed her from the inside.

Brooke searched the cabinets high and low, shuffling the contents in search of hard liquor, but huffed a defeated sigh, dropping from her tiptoes after a fruitless search of the last cupboard. When she turned, chewing her lip and wondering where it might be hidden, she discovered Sam leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest, wearing an amused smirk.

"Hey," she smiled shyly at having been caught rummaging. "I was looking for vodka or whiskey."

Sam pointed back over his shoulder. "We keep the good stuff in the library."

She nodded, but words didn't follow. She glimpsed her own bare feet when she averted her eyes and was reminded she was wearing only his t-shirt and boxers. They were both too big for her, and she almost wished she'd changed into her own clothes before leaving her room. She felt exposed, but curiously, not in a necessarily bad way.

"Were you enjoying the view?" she asked as a nervous reflex, but instead of easing her discomfort, it made her even more self-conscious, as Sam responded by grinning, and his eyes traveled down her body. When he wet his lips, Brooke knew that he probably hadn't even realized he'd done it until she blushed and looked away.

"Sorry, I shouldn't-"

He cleared his throat, nervous and apologetic, and pulled his eyes from her figure.

"It's okay," she assured him with a half smile, surprised to realize that, despite the situation, it actually was okay. He didn't appear placated though, and if everything he had said was true, this must have been hard for him. Considering the things he had told her and the photos he kept of them…to be intimate with someone and them not remember must have been so difficult.

The thought of being intimate with him warmed her cheeks, and she coughed out a small, self-conscious laugh.

"I guess it's nothing you haven't seen before. We did…" she pointed back and forth between them, "…y'know. At least, I assume we must have, 'cause if we didn't, then I'm a damn fool," she concluded, now taking her turn to ogle him.

God, she really must have been sleep deprived. But there was something about Sam, the way he carried himself, that made her trust him despite the abduction. He exuded kindness, and it left her at ease and put a foreign yet familiar feeling in her gut.

Sam laughed, unfolded his arms as he walked down the few steps into the room, and closed the distance between them. A slight blush highlighted his cheeks, too. "Yeah, we did."

Brooke was thankful he seemed to find their whole exchange just as awkward as she did. She knew she wasn't thinking clearly but didn't feel much like playing it safe.

"Was I slut and give it up on the first night?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she groaned at herself. She'd never slept with someone she'd just met. Why would Sam have been an exception?

Sam shook his head, smirking at her embarrassment. "No. Although I wish I had made a move on you the first night. Our timing always seemed to be off. Until it wasn't. In the beginning, we got interrupted…a lot." His pretty green eyes widened in emphasis. "It took me, like, over a week to remember to ask for your number."

She giggled at his exasperated expression. "Well, lead the way to the good stuff, and let's continue the saga."

Then

Brooke jogged around the corner at the end of her street. Her over indulgence in Hawaii had caught up with her, and she felt sluggish. Her pace was definitely slower than usual, but it didn't bother her. Running had never been something she did to keep in shape. She enjoyed the finer things in life, rich foods and expensive wines, and the exercise kept her from feeling guilty, but Brooke also had a fast paced job and an active social life. The road at her feet never called her in early or kept her out late. It was there for her when she needed it, gave her a chance to clear her mind and find herself back on level ground. A slower pace was fine by her. It gave her more time to be present with her mind, body, and the road.

The day's mental clearing was being hampered by thoughts of Sam, though. He'd left so abruptly Saturday night, she hadn't been sure what to make of the whole thing. She more than understood work commitments, but she felt there was something more than Sam had revealed. He'd shown up unannounced, flirted with her, but then kissed her cheek. He hadn't asked for her phone number, which would have meant he could call her anytime he wanted to. Maybe he had needed another escape, and that was all it was. He wasn't interested in anything other than having somewhere to hide out for a while. Perhaps Brooke had read into it more than she should have.

The last hundred yards to her door snuck up on her, and she made the most of them with a mad dash but skidded to a stop part way up her path, shocked to see Sam on her porch wearing a dazzling smile.

"Hey," Brooke grinned, her stomach fluttering. Maybe she wasn't reading too much into it after all.

"Hey," he parroted, walking down the three steps to meet her. "I felt bad about running out on you the other night. I wanted to take you to breakfast."

As swoon-worthy as the offer was, she'd have to disappoint them both.

"I would have loved that, but I don't have time. I need to shower and get to work."

"Oh, okay." Sam was crestfallen but nodded.

"But how about this? I'll shower, and you can make me breakfast?"

His smile stretched wide across his face, dimples making him look five years younger. "Deal."

"This is becoming a thing, you turning up out of the blue."

"Yeah," Sam chuckled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, "it would be so much easier if I had your number."

Brooke threw her head back, laughing with him. "Is that your way of finally asking for my number?"

"You picked up on that? I thought I was being very subtle," he joked, handing her his phone.

She happily took it and added in her info. "You want to check it? Make sure I didn't give you a fake?" she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Sam laughed, "Even if you did, it's fine, I know where you live."