Samnesia - Chapter 4 - Expectations

Warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, very mild smut, mentions of stalking.

Then

Sam stirred the pot of Mediterranean tomato and pepper sauce carefully to avoid spilling, then checked the texture of the pasta boiling nearby.

Relax, Sam, it's all going to plan.

Taking a calming breath, he scanned Brooke's kitchen. He'd somehow managed to make a mess on every available surface.

Sam hadn't been able to get away to see Brooke all week until tonight. He made sure the bunker was stocked with milk and toilet paper and that there were no pressing matters before he left. All he wanted was a solid few uninterrupted hours to spend with Brooke.

He'd called her just before four o'clock, already en route to her house, to ask where she was. Since it was a Wednesday afternoon, he assumed (hoped) she was at work.

Brooke had stepped out of a meeting to take his call, but she promised it would be wrapped up soon and she would be home just after six. Maybe luck was on his side after all. He headed to the grocery store to purchase the ingredients to make dinner, then to the liquor store to pick up a bottle of red wine to complement the dish.

She had teased him about randomly showing up on her doorstep during one of their conversations and casually dropped the location of where she hid her spare key, just in case he ever decided to do it again when she wasn't home, as he'd look suspicious just sitting in his car at the curb. It had been a not-so-subtle hint to tell him she wanted to see him again, and she welcomed his random visits. So today, he let himself in and got to work.

As Sam began cleaning up the mess he'd made, he wondered what Brooke's reaction would be. Would she be surprised? Happy? Flattered? Would she reward him with one of her kisses that made him lose all his senses?

At 5:40, he changed out of his sauce-splattered blue plaid and into the clean white shirt he'd brought with him. He checked to make sure it smelled fresh, knowing the pleasure Dean took in ironing his shirts using beer.

Not long after he'd changed, Sam heard Brooke pull into the driveway. Her music blared through the open windows for a second before she shut off the engine. He smoothed down his already immaculate hair and nervously dusted off his perfectly white dress shirt to make sure no food residue had found a way to ruin it. He wanted the night to be perfect, or at least as close to perfect as it could be, though he'd admit he would settle for perfect to mean uninterrupted.

The jangle of her keys in the front door brought him to the present.

"No, Emily, for the fourth time, I am not coming out tonight…"

A sudden wave of insecurity hit him. Had he overstepped his bounds, letting himself into her house and using her kitchen without permission? Maybe he didn't know her well enough to be in her home without her.

He heard her keys drop in the dish she kept by the front door. "Why does it matter that it's Wednesday night?" she asked, chuckling.

Sam placed the almost overflowing bowls on the pre-set table. He vacillated for a moment, unsure how to best present himself - by the table holding the wine or closer to the door to greet her with a kiss? He walked toward the door, but her voice grew louder, so he changed direction to stand in the middle of the room.

"You just want a wingwoman that you'll ditch as soon as someone flashes you a flirty grin… That is not me calling you a slut."

Finally, Brooke appeared in the doorway. She froze, mouth agape while her eyes drifted from his face down his body, and he was glad he'd had the foresight to bring a clean shirt.

"Hey," Sam mouthed with a slight wave, not wanting to interrupt her phone call.

It seemed to pull her out of her stupor, and she mumbled into the phone, "I'll - um - I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow." Without giving Emily enough time to respond, she ended the call and discarded her phone on the countertop.

He couldn't read her expression. Was she happily surprised or shocked beyond words? She pulled her focus from him, and it seemed as if her eyes roamed the room in slow motion.

"Is this okay?" he asked with a wince.

She only nodded, but a soft smile lit her eyes when she took in the prepared table. "Wow…Sam. It's more than okay. It looks amazing. Smells even better."

His stomach flipped happily, and he let out a relieved breath. Sam quickly walked to her chair, pulled it out, and gestured for her to take a seat. She followed his instruction, pausing to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "This is probably the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't tasted it," he laughed, kissing her again.

Sam poured the wine and motioned for Brooke to dig in. She obliged, scooping a moderate amount onto her fork before popping it in her mouth. Her eyes drifted shut, and she hummed appreciatively. It was borderline pornographic, and Sam couldn't help but chuckle. The alternative was to forget the dinner he'd labored over for the last hour and take her upstairs to pry more of the same from her using other methods.

"Oh, my god," she groaned, meeting his eyes, "it tastes better than it smells."

Feeling triumphant, Sam raised his glass. "To no interruptions."

She laughed, raising her own. "That a promise?"

"It fuckin' better be," he confirmed, gently clinking his glass to hers.

Brooke pushed her empty bowl to the side and leaned forward. "So, Sam, tell me, how many women have you cooked for?"

Sam's smile faltered, and he looked away. He'd known this conversation was inevitable. The lighter skin tone around her left ring finger had not gone unnoticed the first night they met. He assumed she had a story of her own to tell. Sam thought it was a classy move on her part to want to talk about it in person. Discussing something as significant as past relationships in text messages or via phone calls wasn't the best idea. It was easy for things to get misinterpreted.

Brooke knew she'd struck a sore spot, and her tone was apologetic. "You don't-"

Sam interrupted with a reassuring smile. "Not including you, two."

Jess and Amelia, the only two significant relationships he'd had in his life. The memories gave him pause. What was he doing here? What was he doing with Brooke? It wasn't right. He knew it wasn't, knew that simply being around her was an invitation for some unforeseen trouble. Experience had taught him it would end badly.

Regardless, he didn't want to stop seeing her. He liked her, enjoyed her company, and quickly found himself counting the minutes between every call or text. He couldn't hide his disappointment whenever a different name appeared on his phone. Dean had questioned him about it a few times (expecting someone else?), but Sam would shake it off with a small, tight smile.

Brooke was a break from his crazy world, an escape he wasn't ready to give up. If he were honest, he wasn't sure he ever would be. Why should he have to? Why shouldn't Sam be selfish for a while? Enjoy a small piece of a normal life, if only momentarily.

He knew why. Because it couldn't last, and whether it would end with him having to break her heart or him having to bury her was yet to be seen. Was his respite worth those possibilities?

Sam didn't want to discuss Jess or Amelia. Not because he wanted to hide the impact they had on him but because he wouldn't be able to convey the effect they had on him and skip over the supernatural parts, which Brooke was still unaware of. She must have been able to see his reluctance to share from his slumped posture because she gave him an understanding smile.

"How about you?" Sam asked, mirroring her pose, arms folded on the table, leaning in.

"How many women have I cooked for?" joked Brooke, breaking the tension a bit. "Oh, zero. I can't cook worth a damn. I could literally burn water."

Sam chuckled, watching Brooke finish her last mouthful of wine. Her thumb absentmindedly stroked the spot her ring used to occupy. When her eyes met his again, she flashed a quick smile. "You noticed, huh?"

He nodded softly. "Yeah, I noticed."

Sam waited for a beat. She seemed to struggle with a decision. He saw it in the furrow of her brow.

"You don't have to tell me if you're not ready."

She shook her head, relaxing somewhat now that she knew he wasn't pressuring her to reveal all.

"It's a tale as old as time," she started sheepishly. "Fell in love with my older brother's best friend, pined after him for a few years before he noticed me, got engaged. Two months before we were set to walk down the aisle, he confessed he'd been cheating, and she was pregnant." She gave him a theatrical grin and pointed at herself. "Douchebag magnet, remember?"

Sam gave the performance a reserved chuckle. He liked that she could make a joke about it. She had clearly moved on, but it couldn't help but be a sore spot, so he kept his reaction respectful.

"What does that say about me?" he asked.

Brooke laughed, her eyes bright as she teased, "I don't know you all that well yet, but if you are a douchebag, you're doing an excellent job at hiding it." They both laughed, but she soon fixed him with a semi-serious look. "But something tells me that's not what you're hiding…"

"Fair enough," he agreed after a moment, sipping at his wine. It was an invitation, but not one he was ready to accept.

They settled into a thoughtful silence. He knew by the nervous twitch of her thumb rubbing at a ring no longer there that she'd worn it for a long time and hadn't taken it off until very recently.

"It wasn't that long ago, right? The break-up?"

"Six months." She lifted her eyes to his to gauge his reaction. "Does that put you off?" Brooke asked nervously. "I mean, I'm new to this whole dating thing, so I get it if it puts you off. Not that I think that this is a date date or that we're dating," she quickly interjected when Sam slid his hand across the table and placed it atop hers to silence her anxious rambling.

"It doesn't put me off one bit," he told her sincerely. "And this is a date if you want it to be."

Calmed by his gentleness and sincerity, she smiled. "Yes, I'd like it to be a date."

"Good." His grin grew until it reached his eyes, and she laced her fingers with his. "No pressure, no expectations. We can go as slow as you need to. Let's just keep doing what we're doing and see what happens."

"Sounds good to me." She grinned mischievously, "Although I do expect you to make this for me again. It was delicious."

Sam laughed along with her. "Making demands already. I can tell you're going to be trouble."

Then

Brooke hadn't been able to tear her eyes from Sam all night. She had not been expecting to walk into the earlier domestic scene, the aroma of delicious food and the bottle of red wine sitting on her rarely used dining table. In addition, Sam looked the most handsome she'd ever seen him in a crisp white shirt. She was having trouble focusing. With the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his prominently muscled arms pulled the shirt taught around his biceps every time he moved, and her eyes had wandered on their own accord.

The image in her mind alone would have been enough to distract her, but she was tucked securely under his arm on the couch, her head resting on his broad shoulder, breathing in the scent of his spicy cologne and natural scent. She found it impossible to concentrate on the television.

Or maybe her lack of focus was from the bottle of wine they had shared over dinner or how the more time she spent with him, the more she found to like about him. Each encounter would tick another one of her metaphorical boxes. He was gradually proving to be the full package: intelligent, handsome, funny, kind, knew his way around the kitchen, easy to talk to, and had she mentioned inferno hot?

Her fingers swirled lazy patterns on the exposed skin of his arm, which draped over her. She changed direction, using the tip of her long nails to trace a slow circle, and felt the goosebumps pepper his flesh under her touch.

She smiled, proud that her simple touch had produced such a reaction. She couldn't see his face, but she knew he'd closed his eyes by the long, slow breath he released. She was still grinning when she felt Sam's light touch under her chin, lifting her face toward him. He wet his lips. Her eyes traced the slope of his strong jawline and the angle of his nose before settling on his kaleidoscope eyes. She closed the distance between them in a blink, crushing her mouth to his.

Sam allowed Brooke to lead, to set the leisurely pace of the passionate kiss, but he was clearly forlorn when she pulled away.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, standing briefly to straddle his lap. She smiled as his hands came to her waist. Fingers entwined in his hair, she gripped a handful and kissed him again, moaning into his mouth.

The moan seemed to ignite Sam's own passion, and his hands slid up her thighs. He dug his fingers into the denim that covered her ass, and then his calloused fingers slid up under her shirt to stroke the skin of her arched back. Brooke felt him swell beneath her, his semi-hard erection pushing against her core. She shivered against the brush of his hand as it traveled over her skin, his touch now the one to cause goosebumps. She broke for breath as he gently squeezed her lace-clad breast. He didn't waste a moment, allowing her to replenish her oxygen as he buried his head in her neck, leaving a trail of hot-breathed kisses on her skin.

He nibbled the curve of her shoulder, and the sensation made her sigh his name. That was all he needed to make him completely hard. She swirled her hips and ground down on him, needing the friction against her arousal.

"Fuck, Brooke," he growled breathlessly against her throat, kissing his way back to her lips.

Brooke hastily began unfastening his shirt. Sam slid his large hands up her sides, pushing her t-shirt up as he traveled. She paused her task, stopping at the third button to assist Sam in pulling her shirt over her head.

She returned to her mission of undressing him. The fourth button of his shirt popped open, but Sam stopped her. Her eyes found his, lust blown, the gold-flecked green of his iris all but disappeared as he admired her. A blush broke out across her cheeks, and the heat tinged the tops of her ears before he spoke.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, just as the chime of the doorbell made them both freeze, only a hair's breadth from connecting.

Brooke scowled, "I swear if that's Emily…"

A swift kiss from Sam cut off her threat. "Hold that thought," he suggested.

Brooke flopped down onto the couch, and let out a half sigh, half growl, pouting at the ill-timed knock at the door. She swore the universe was against them. Whenever they had a moment alone, something came up.

"For the record, I'd like it stated this interruption is not my fault for a change," he pointed out as he left the room.

She pulled her shirt back on, panting to catch her breath. Her tripping heart gradually found its normal rhythm. Sam returned carrying a large bouquet of yellow and amber lilies, his previously lustful expression replaced by slight confusion.

"Got an admirer I should be aware of?" he joked, partly serious as he plucked the card from amongst the flowers. "There's no name, just, 'I miss you'," he read aloud, looking to Brooke for an explanation.

Her features crumbled into a hard set of anger, and she stomped across the room, snatching the flowers from Sam as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. She strode directly to the trash can and slammed her foot on the pedal. The lid flew up, and she stuffed the flowers in, punching them down to make sure they wouldn't stop the lid from closing. Her breath heaved, now from anger and not arousal, as she gripped the edge of the countertop to stop herself from screaming under her breath.

"Hey, hey," coaxed Sam tugging on her elbow, a request for her to turn around.

Her reaction probably seemed dramatic to him, and she was unable to meet his eyes. Embarrassment and worry kept her gaze fixed on a spot behind him when she'd calmed herself. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you apologizing for receiving flowers?"

Brooke ran her hands through her hair, sighing loudly, unsure how much to tell him. She didn't want to scare him off. Drama and complications were not the best way to begin a relationship. She tried to step around him, away from his expectant yet sympathetic stare, but he prevented her departure.

"Brooke," his tone demanded attention she wasn't ready to give, "look at me."

She steeled herself with a breath and lifted her eyes to his, prepared to see anger, or at the very least annoyance, reflected back at her, but she found only concern.

"Tell me what's going on?"

She forced a tight smile. "It's my ex. Ever since I met you, he's been… The flowers aren't the first thing he's done, and I'm just sick of it."

Anger flashed across Sam's face. "What's he done?"

"Mainly calls. Heavy breathing or just hanging up, a few cryptic texts from an unknown number. I've been ignoring it, not answering or responding, but now the flowers…" She paused. She didn't want her emotions to take over, but she was close to tears and felt the bubble threatening to rise in her chest. Even before telling Sam, the whole ordeal had begun to wear her down. She'd long since lost patience for the theatrics, and now it was ruining her time with Sam. She'd had enough.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I know this isn't exactly…" Brooke hated that she sounded flustered and emotional.

Words seemed to fail her, though she rushed to get them out because she was afraid Sam would walk away and she'd never see him again. As soon as it occurred to her that could very well be his reaction, she realized how much it scared her. The idea of it all ending before it had really begun upset her.

"Look, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to call it quits and never-"

"Don't finish that sentence." Sam's palms under her jaw kept her eyes fixed on him when she tried to shy away and lower her head. His lips molded to hers in a firm, tender kiss. "I've never been a quitter, and I'm not about to start now. I'm not going anywh-"

His phone seemed to have other ideas as it sprang to life in the living room, cutting off his promise.

Brooke sighed heavily, and a rueful smile curled her lips, knowing precisely what the ringing phone implied. "You meant metaphorically, not literally, right?"

"I meant both. I can ignore it," he decided, leaning in and kissing her again. She responded to his touch, running her palms up his torso and lacing her hands behind his neck.

The ringing stopped.

Sam slipped his hands from her waist to the back of her thighs, his grip tightened, and he spoke roughly, "Up."

She pushed off the floor to give Sam the leverage he needed to hoist her onto the countertop without breaking their deepening kiss.

The phone demanded attention again.

She was the one to pull back, a gentle hand on Sam's chest to push him away. "As much as I'd like to continue this, you need to answer it."

"It can wait," Sam told her, leaning in again.

She locked her elbow to keep him at bay. "Sam, I want you, I really do. But I want all of you," she explained, smiling up at him. "I may not have known you that long, but I know if you don't answer, it will play on your mind. You won't be focusing. And I'd want your full attention."

"You're right," he agreed, dropping his head and releasing a defeated sigh. "Our first time should be all about us, no distractions or interruptions." She kissed him in agreement. He groaned against her mouth, and she wanted to take it further just as much as he obviously did. Then, he reluctantly released her, "I promise we'll finish what we started next time."

"Damn right, we will."

Then

Three days had dragged by since Sam had made Brooke dinner and came so close to taking the next step in their relationship before they were, yet again, interrupted. Sam had been busy and only able to send Brooke a few messages in the free time he had found before sleep took him. Though he had been occupied, she hadn't left his mind, and three days felt like weeks.

His eagerness to see her made his foot push a little too hard on the accelerator of the pale blue Mustang, the needle hovering above the speed limit, but he didn't pay it any mind. He blamed Dean for his tardiness; back at the bunker, he had kept Sam talking. Sam couldn't have told anyone what the conversation had been about had they asked. He'd indulged Dean for ten minutes before realizing Dean was purposely delaying him for no reason other than to fuck with him. He'd known Sam was desperate to leave and just wanted to tease him.

The irritated scowl remained a permanent feature as he raced the clock toward the diner, and it only smoothed into a broad gleeful smile when he pulled into the parking lot and saw Brooke stepping out of her Audi.

Her smile beamed as bright as the early morning sun, "Morning," she greeted, meeting him at the front of his car.

It had been too long since he'd seen her, and all he'd thought about was what would have happened had they not been so rudely interrupted. So instead of returning her greeting, he quickly closed the distance between them. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he dipped his head to kiss her, drawing her warm body against him. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she leaned into him, rising to the tips of her toes. The kiss was a combination of a greeting and a testimony to how much he had missed her. It was so powerful that Sam deepened it when she sighed into him, her body practically melting in his arms.

He wished she had let him pick her up from her house instead of having him meet her at the diner because then the unhurried and attentive kiss would have happened at her front door, and he could have shown her that the harmonious way their mouths moved could extend beyond just a passionate kiss.

Brooke had been the one to insist on meeting there. After a night of drinking, Emily had crashed at her place, and Brooke had told Sam she didn't want to afford Emily the opportunity to interrogate Sam or invite herself to join them. She wanted him all to herself. Sam agreed with the last part. He didn't want to spend their time together entertaining friends or making small talk with other people. He wanted her all to himself.

The notion of being alone with her, and the pressure of her body against his, aroused him. He couldn't wait, and he felt his cock stir as his thoughts turned vividly sordid.

The rumble of the Impala penetrated Sam's one-track mind, and all steamy ideas of what he wanted to do to Brooke vanished with Dean cutting off the engine after he'd parked. Sam unwillingly released Brooke from his grasp with a disgruntled groan.

She chuckled, and a somewhat indignant frown knitted her brow. "Not the response I expected."

Sam laughed, shaking his head, his eyes apologizing as he explained, "That wasn't meant for you." He jerked his head in the direction of Dean, who stepped out of the Impala with a big grin. Sam huffed irritably. "It's because of him."

"Sammy!" said Dean, his tone suggesting it was a completely random and unexpected coincidence.

Brooke chuckled at Sam's obvious annoyance before turning her attention to their intruder. "Dean, right?" she said, offering her hand.

Dean looked surprised for a second before plastering on a grin. "So he has told you about me."

"She knows all about you." Sam sighed, accepting the morning and afternoon delight he had envisioned would not turn out as expected. "Brooke, meet Dean, my annoying older brother."

"Older, better-looking brother," Dean corrected, shaking Brooke's hand firmly.

"You forgot, cockier," added Brooke, flashing her own grin.

"Touché, sweetheart."

Brooke snickered, shaking her head but seemingly amused by the elder Winchester. Sam, however, was not. "Dean, what're you doing here?"

"Well, I came for some pie, but it looks like I might have found something sweeter." He threw his arm around Brooke's neck and guided her toward the diner entrance. "Are you really on a date with this dork? Let me tell you some things about Sammy here…"

"So, I guess you're joining us," Sam said grimly as he followed behind. Brooke glanced over her shoulder at him, laughing, and he apologized with a silent "Sorry."

Dean gazed across the table at Sam and Brooke, a smug, stupid grin glued to his lips as he took them in. Brooke sat close to Sam. His arm was slung over her shoulder, and she absently played with his hand while they read their menus. Sam kept glancing up at Dean, and the pleasure he so clearly took at the discomfort his presence caused Sam was more than apparent in the sparkle of his eyes.

Sam knew Dean wouldn't reveal any secrets. He knew better than to say anything without first understanding what lies Sam had told Brooke. Still, it didn't make for a pleasant experience, and he knew Dean would do his utmost to embarrass him.

"What can I get you guys?" Chloe, the waitress, asked once they were all settled, and she had filled their mugs with steaming coffee. "Usual for you, Brooke?"

Brooke grinned fondly at the pretty blonde waitress. "Extra syrup, please."

"Gentlemen?" asked Chloe, making a note on her pad. "It's on the house, so go crazy."

Both brothers frowned. It was an offer they had received before, but usually, after they had saved someone's life.

"Well damn, and I hadn't even started flirting. I know I'm good lookin', but this has to be some sort of record," said Dean. He winked at Chloe but then turned his attention to Brooke, who answered the unasked question.

"I come from a long line of cops. When my Mom was a beat cop, she saved Chloe's Dad. He owns the joint."

"No Daltons," she pointed at Brooke, "or their friends," she pointed at Sam and Dean, "will ever spend a penny here," confirmed Chloe.

Dean faked an approving nod looking at Sam, the position of his raised brow questioning if Sam had already been aware of that small detail. Sam averted his gaze, and he sighed at the thought of the conversation that was to come when he next found himself alone with Dean.

"I'll take the oatmeal and fruit salad, please."

Dean requested a large stack, extra bacon, and a side of toast. After Chloe rushed off with their order, he leaned across the table. "So, how did you two crazy kids meet?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sam's eye roll reached his hairline, knowing exactly where his brother's mind was wandering. He wanted to hear a sordid escapade.

Brooke returned Dean's smirk. "We hooked up in the back seat of your car." She half twisted her body to talk to Sam, her brow creased. "Did you ever get the stains out of the leather?"

Sam snorted a laugh, covering his mouth to stop himself from spraying the table with coffee. Sam had told Brooke the car belonged to Dean the night they met. He had explained the car was like Dean's baby, and he would kill anyone who mistreated her. Brooke had seen an opportunity, and she'd taken it without hesitation. Sam was proud of her.

Dean's smile vanished. His lips pursed, and he glared at Sam.

"She's joking," Sam assured Dean, and his lips twitched to hide his grin.

"Technically, we did meet in the back seat," Brooke pointed out, chuckling. "Which Sam can explain while I use the restroom."

Sam slipped from the booth to let Brooke out, then waited until she was out of earshot. "Come on, let's hear it," Sam sighed.

Dean shook his head at his little brother, reluctant to burst his happy bubble but knowing it needed to be said, too. "Honestly, man, she seems nice. She's funny, hot, though she must have something wrong with her if she's here with you," he added, but the levity was short-lived, and he gave Sam a look that fell somewhere between sympathy and pity. "We've both been down this road, but if you want to take a crack at it again, go for it. Have fun, and enjoy it while you can. She's obviously the reason you've been grinning like an idiot these last few weeks."

Sam waited for Dean to continue. It hadn't been the lecture he was expecting, and he knew there was more. "But…"

"But, 'a long line of cops'…seriously, dude?" he scowled, perplexed. "You're not stupid. You've got to see the issue there."

"I see it."

"You see it, but you're…what? Ignoring it? Pretending you're not the brainy college guy we both know you are?"

"Brooke's not a cop."

"No," agreed Dean. "But what do you think is the first thing her family will do when Daddy's Little Girl introduces her new boyfriend?"

Dean had a point, and it hadn't been lost on Sam. He'd thought about it, too. When the time came, there would be nothing to stop Brooke's parents or brother, whom he knew were all police officers, from running a check on Samuel Campbell. Any database they used would result in nothing, but that would be enough. Finding out the person he claimed to be didn't exist would bring up questions he couldn't answer. Or, more importantly, was unwilling to answer.

The last thing he wanted, despite how much he cared about her, or in fact, because of how much he cared, was to drag her into the world of evil in which he lived. The life he was leading - or pretending to lead - when he was with her was, after all, a fabrication. He was a tourist in her world, and he didn't want her, under any circumstances, to visit his.

But he still had time before any of that became an issue. He still had miles before he needed to cross the bridge that led to the inevitable end. And in the meantime, he would make the most of it. He wouldn't leave Brooke until he absolutely had to.

"We're a long way from meeting families," concluded Sam. "This is the first date we've had outside her house."

"Sam, you dirty dog," Dean grinned proudly, raising his hand, expecting a high five. Sam left him hanging, and Dean's smile dropped. "Please tell me that's what you meant."

Sam shrugged, he didn't want to share details of his sex life or the lack thereof, but he knew Dean wouldn't let it go. "We're taking it slow."

Dean waggled his ring finger. "On account of her divorce?"

"She was engaged. He cheated. She's never been married. I may not be a cop, but I did all the checks on her." Sam rushed his hushed confession, seeing Brooke emerge from the bathroom.

He wasn't proud of the fact he'd checked up on her, but it was necessary in his line of work. He could never be too careful.

The playful atmosphere that had graced the trio before Brooke's trip to the restroom had evaporated. Dean's devil-may-care attitude was still in full effect but was recognizably hollow, Sam was more subdued, and he could tell Brooke had noticed.

"Everything okay?" she whispered to Sam while Dean flirted with Chloe as she filled his coffee.

He nodded robotically and managed a tight smile. "Yeah, fine."

She didn't seem to believe him but didn't push the issue. She turned to Dean instead, her voice bright as if to ease the sudden tension. "So, what do you do for a living?"

Instead of answering, Dean took a long sip of coffee and threw a prompting glance to Sam, who cleared his throat and answered for him. "We're partners."

"Really?" she said, giving Dean an appraising look. "Sorry, you just don't seem the type to do that line of work."

Despite not knowing what line of work he was supposedly in, Dean challenged her with a playful grin. "And what type would you say I am, sweetheart?"

"It's just that…Well, you don't strike me as very subtle. Or responsible, no offense. I would think being a private investigator requires a certain degree of both."

Sam laughed loudly. "She's known you for all of five minutes, and she's already sussed you out."

"I'm totally subtle," Dean objected overloudly, waving away the accusation with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, causing Sam to roll his eyes. "Besides, Sammy's all about responsibility. If I tried to take any, he'd bitch that I was doing it wrong and take it back. It works out," he shrugged, taking another unconcerned sip of his coffee.

"He works behind the scenes," Sam assured her. "He doesn't have much interaction with the clients."

"Hey, I'm great at interrogation. For example," Dean started, his expression falling serious as he paused to get into character. He cleared his throat and gave Brooke a crooked smile that she was sure he used to get his way with women, and she had no doubt that it rarely failed. His tone was deep even when he asked her, "So, Ms. Dalton, what are your intentions with my brother?"

It was quite the performance. Brooke leaned across the table, drawing closer to him as if to tell him a secret, her voice just above a whisper. "Oh, I have nothing but bad intentions," she admitted with a devilish grin. "If you hadn't shown up, I was actually going to kidnap him for the weekend and turn him into my very own sex slave."

Dean's cocky smirk faltered as he appraised her, as if seeing her in a new light, but then rallied again in admiration. "Damn, Sammy, I like this one. You can keep her."

Then

Brooke waved over the roof of her car, watching Dean slide behind the wheel of the Impala. "It was nice to meet you, Dean."

"You too," he agreed, winking at her. "Sorry, I have to ruin your sex slave plans."

Dean had taken a call as they exited the diner before breaking the news, genuinely apologetic, that he and Sam were both needed for a last-minute job. She shrugged off the apology. It wasn't anyone's fault. Dean turned the key in the ignition, and the car growled to life as Sam dipped to lean into the open window. Brook wasn't sure whether the engine was a purposeful means of drowning out their conversation or not. Regardless, she couldn't hear it.

She turned her back on them, resting her butt against the driver's side of her car, arms folded across her chest. The stubborn set of her lips reflected back at her in the window of Sam's car. She didn't want to be defensive but felt she had to be.

Sam had lied to her; it didn't take a genius to figure it out. He had answered twice for Dean, and she'd realized Sam had to answer because Dean didn't know what he was supposed to say. At every opportunity, Dean had steered the conversation away from himself.

The brothers were both good at it. She'd give them that, answering questions without actually saying anything, seamlessly changing the subject, but Brooke knew the tricks, too. It was law enforcement 101. She'd learned how to spot the tells from her parents and brother over the years.

Sam may have had a valid, reasonable explanation for all of it, but she wasn't sure she cared. She'd wasted twelve years of her life with a man she loved, a man she wanted to marry and grow old with, who claimed to want the same things. He had lied to her. For the last year and a half of their relationship, he had made a fool of her and hurt her in one of the worst possible ways. She refused to sit back and let it happen again.

Brooke had never been a pushover, had never been one to take things lying down. She faced life head-on and told the truth as she saw it; consequences be damned. Sam Campbell would not be an exception to that rule.

The Impala's horn brought her out of her aggravated reflection, and she watched as Dean drove away, throwing a peace sign out of the open window. Sam's hands smoothed across her stomach and around her back as they watched Dean disappear in the distance.

Her eyes drifted up to Sam and his apologetic smile. If she dared to stare too long, her resolve would fade under his soft gaze and large, warm hands. He bent to capture her lips, but her palm flat against his chest stopped him.

"Everything okay?"

She pushed a bit harder against him, and he took a half step back so she could look up at him when she spoke. She took a deep breath, refusing to let his dimples or hands distract her. "Sam, I know this is all still new. We're still getting to know each other, but I need to ask you something."

"Okay," he nodded slowly, his tone cautious. "Ask me."

"I need you to not lie to me. I'm asking you to never lie to me."

He chewed his bottom lip. His smile disappeared, and he looked down at his boots. "I haven't–"

"Please, don't deny it." She took a deep breath, praying he wouldn't. If he did, that would be the end. She'd walk away, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. "I know we said no expectations or pressure, but I can't - I won't tolerate being lied to. And I don't think I'm asking too much when I ask you not to."

Sam huffed an uncomfortable laugh. "Not even a white lie?"

She appreciated him trying to lighten the mood, but he seemed to understand the gravity of her request, and his expression turned somber when she didn't return his small smile.

"I mean it, Sam. I like you a lot, and I really want to see where this goes. But I get one hint of a lie, and I'm done. I'll be gone. I won't hang around for you to make a fool of me."

She hated to paint Sam with the same brush as her ex, to imply there was no trust between them when he'd given her no reason to distrust him. All she really had was a feeling, a suspicion he'd been withholding the truth. But if being overcautious saved her from another heartbreak, she could deal with it. It would be worth it in the end.

Brooke waited a moment, gaze unfaltering to show how serious she was, and he held her eyes and nodded. She was glad he hadn't done the cliche thing and told her he'd never hurt her. It was a bullshit promise that no one could ever keep.

"I'm not asking you to tell me everything," she said. "I understand if you don't want to tell me stuff. I'm sure you have your reasons. If I ask you something you don't want to answer or can't for whatever reason, plead the fifth. I won't ask any more questions or hold a grudge. Just say, 'I plead the fifth', and I'll let it go."

"Plead the fifth. Okay, I got it." Sam hesitantly pulled her back into him. She didn't resist, and he delivered a kiss filled with the promise he'd spoken. "Wait," he said abruptly as if just then coming to a realization, "are you saying you think I'm a criminal?"

Brooke chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Well, you are slowly stealing my heart, so maybe.

It was way too cheesy to say out loud, so she didn't. "I was thinking more double-o-seven, a James Bond-type gig."

Sam laughed and stole another kiss when his phone chimed in his pocket. They pulled apart reluctantly. "I have to go," Sam sighed.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I promise, next time I see you, I'm turning it off, and you will have my undivided attention."

"I like the sound of that."