Samnesia - Chapter 5 - Confessions

Warnings: slow burn, fluff, angst, injury description.

A/N: On account of FFNet's policy I had to delete a large portion of this chapter as it included smut, in order to post. It should still make sense but the full version is on AO3 and Tumblr. Let me know if want the link.

Now

The hustle and bustle of the dinnertime rush in the restaurant was the only sound for a few minutes. A contemplative silence filled the space between them after Sam finished telling Brooke about the first time he cooked for her and the first time she met Dean. Sitting across from her, he could pretend it was like any other date they'd had.

Brooke had spent the day working, and Sam and Dean had researched. They'd all taken a break at lunch to eat sandwiches, but when the clock struck five, Brooke shut down her computer and suggested, very cautiously, they all go out to dinner. She said she needed to see the sun and was beginning to feel claustrophobic, but Sam suspected it was a test. She wanted to know if he would really let her leave. Dean told them to go on without him, that he'd grab something on his way back from the errand he needed to run. The errand was going to double-check her house for hex bags and sulfur, though Sam hadn't told Brooke that minor detail.

She seemed to relax with each course that was served. The more he talked, the more she ignored the people around them and stopped looking around like she wanted to scream for help. By the time they'd finished dessert, she was completely relaxed.

Sam chanced a glance up at her when he felt the silence had gone on too long. Her eyes were focused on her wine glass. Her fingers absently ran up and down the stem while she seemed lost in her thoughts. He'd seen her wear that look before, the one that told him she wanted to ask him a question but didn't want to put him in a position where he would have to lie to her.

"Ask me," Sam coaxed, "whatever it is, you can ask me. I just told you that I promised never to lie to you."

"But you did plead the fifth, right? I know you said I gave you the option, but…"

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, deciding how best to answer. "I did a few times, yeah. But it's only because-"

Brooke's hand slid over the top of his to cut him off. "You don't have to explain, Sam. I think I have an idea why you had to, and I'm not going to take back what I said."

"Even though you don't remember saying it?"

She chuckled, nodding her head. "I trust you when you say I did."

She pulled her hand back, and Sam observed her as her thumb stroked her left ring finger as if to twist the piece of jewelry that was no longer there. It was a nervous habit. He'd seen her do it a few times. Her strokes froze, and Sam met her eyes to find her gazing back at him. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, shying away from his eyes at being caught in the act.

"I, um… I hacked my own phone. Which sounds totally weird saying it out loud." She laughed with a note of self-consciousness but sat up straighter in her chair. "I found all the messages we exchanged. Whoever tried to delete all traces of you did a good job, but I'm better."

Sam couldn't hide his excitement. Even if he hadn't leaned his elbows on the table to get closer to her, the eagerness in his voice would have betrayed him. "So you really believe me?"

"I'm eighty percent there," she confessed. "If someone went to all these lengths to make me forget you, someone else could have gone to the same lengths to make me believe your story."

Sam smiled wistfully but dropped his head to look at his hands. She believed him but didn't at the same time. He couldn't blame her. Still, it didn't hurt any less.

Her hand covered his, and he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Eighty percent is a definite improvement on the zero percent yesterday. And I know it's only been a day, but I can see why I was…" She took a deep breath and corrected herself, "…why I would be happy with you."

He grinned, and a slight blush tinged his cheeks. "So what's on your mind? What're you not asking me?"

She puffed a tiny laugh. "This is going to sound dumb…or not," she shrugged. "I've forgotten who you are, right? I can remember every other aspect of my life, even the last few months you said we were together. You're just missing from it."

"Right," said Sam, intrigued.

"But I haven't suffered any injuries or mental breakdown, as far as I'm aware. So, it's not medical or physical," she kept her eyes on him to gauge his reaction. "I think it's something else. I don't know what, but I think maybe you do. That whatever it is, that's why you had to plead the fifth all the time."

His eyes fell from hers. "I think I would have told you eventually," he said, realizing as he said it that it would have been inevitable unless one of them had broken things off. "Perhaps I was just waiting for the right time."

She smiled reassuringly. "But now isn't the time." She drank the last of her wine. "Can we save the heavy stuff for tomorrow?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she told him firmly. "I want to hear more of the Brooke and Sam story."

"Well, I'm more than happy to continue telling you, but um…" Sam shuffled forward in his seat, leaning across the table to ensure she heard his whispered words, "…the next part of the story requires a little privacy."

Brooke raised her brow. "Oh, we're getting to the juicy parts." She rubbed her hands together, making Sam laugh. "Well, let's get out of here, and you can tell me in the car on the way back."

Then

The rusted hinges on the old blue mustang creaked in protest as Sam pulled the door shut. He sympathized; he felt old and rusted, too. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror and sighed wearily, adjusting it so he could access his face closer. He already knew the bruises were there, but he winced, remembering the blows that caused them all the same.

The four-day-old bruise under his left eye covered half of his cheek, and a small cut in the center - courtesy of the shifter's gaudy ring - looked angry and red around the edges. Large purple bruises littered his abdomen, more evidence of the blows he'd taken to the ribs. Thankfully, none of them were broken, but he still felt the bite of pain when he breathed too deeply. He'd got off lightly, all things considered. He'd had worse, just not in the time he'd been dating Brooke.

Almost two weeks had passed since he'd last seen her. He'd been counting the hours like a lovestruck teenager. Each day that passed only increased his craving to kiss her, leaving him that much more desperate. He yearned to lay his head in her lap and fall asleep as she ran her manicured nails through his hair. He longed to touch her unblemished skin and breath in her comforting scent.

Sam had been at the bunker for four days and could have easily sated his craving for Brooke days ago, but he'd put it off. He didn't want to lie to her. His bruises were too fresh and visible for her not to question him, and he knew she would ask what happened. He'd respect her wishes and wouldn't lie to her if she asked, but the truth wasn't an option, either. Sam couldn't, or rather wouldn't, tell her the real reason he was black and blue. He wasn't ready to share that secret just yet.

Brooke had kept her word and allowed him to plead the fifth. She had asked what kind of case he was working on that had kept him away for so long, and he had replied with, 'I plead the fifth'. Her response had been to change the subject. She simply asked him to wrap it up as quickly as he could because she missed him.

His thumb hovered over her name on his phone. A small part of him hoped she wouldn't answer if only to give him an extra day for the bruises to fade or a chance for Cas to show up and heal him. Maybe she was asleep. Just after ten thirty on a Thursday night, there was a chance. Only, she'd answered his late calls before, her voice husky from sleep. The image drew a smile to his lips, and his thumb hit her name without another moment's hesitation.

It rang four times before she answered with a cheerful, "Hi, babe."

The smile he heard in her voice brought his own to a full-on grin, and the small part of him that wanted an extra day away from her disappeared with the two simple words.

"HEY, SAM!" her friends chorused dreamily in the background.

He laughed while Brooke chuckled. He adored the fact that her friends instantly knew it was him on the other end despite Brooke using a pet name. "The girls say hi, too," she told him, just in case he missed it.

"I heard. Tell them I say hi back." He waited for her to relay his message, then asked, "Are you too busy to talk?"

"Never too busy for you, babe."

A thrill of excitement and a pang of guilt washed through him. He'd regularly been too busy for her, sent her calls to voicemail, or took hours to reply to texts, but she always made time for him and never complained about his lack of communication.

"I wanted to come over. If it's not too late? I know you have work tomorrow."

"I'm over at Emily's, but I can be home in like half an hour."

"Okay, great. I'll be there within the hour."

Sam jogged toward the door that had become a beacon of bliss. He'd only had good experiences once he'd passed through it, and he doubted tonight would be any different. The notion that Brooke was so close that he could touch her once he was past that door made his stride longer and quicker.

"Hey, it's me," he called out once he crossed the threshold.

"In here," she replied from the kitchen.

He shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his boots, leaving them behind the front door before continuing his eager jog toward the kitchen. The warm, cotton-fresh aroma of clean clothes filled his nose as he entered to see Brooke exiting the laundry room with a basket full of folded clothes on her hip. The homey smell and seeing her perform such a mundane, ordinary task took his breath away. It was such a contrast to the blood and violence he'd dealt with the days before, and at that moment, he recognized how much he cherished being with her. Being around Brooke gave him a sense of being home.

Sam crossed the small space and snaked his arms around her waist while she was turned to close the door, releasing his held breath in the kiss he placed on her neck. Brooke hummed delightedly and pushed her back into him, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," he smiled softly. His eyes fell shut to soak in the warmth of her skin, and he breathed in the smell of her fruity shampoo and summer blossom perfume.

He squeezed her waist and felt her tilt her head to allow him the room he needed to place another kiss just under her ear. Sam focused his other senses. Her scent and warmth overwhelmed him. He finally registered the fabric of her sleep shorts where his hands rested on her hips, and his cheek brushed against the old fraying material of the t-shirt she favored when going to bed.

"You tired?" he asked, just above a whisper.

"A little," she mumbled, turning around in his arms.

He swallowed a thick, nervous breath, afraid of her reaction to the bruises still decorating his face and body. She inhaled sharply, not quite a gasp but near enough. Concern creased her brow as she scanned his face. She used a light touch on his cheek to turn his head to assess it properly.

"What…" She cleared her throat as if to swallow the question before she corrected herself. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little tired; it's been a long couple of weeks," he replied. It was a simple but true answer.

Sam could tell she wanted to ask for more, but her teeth sunk into her bottom lip to stop any further questions from escaping. Maybe she'd question him later, but for now, she seemed just as happy to see him, bruises included, as he was to see her. It was evident in her coy smile and quick kiss.

Sam smiled softly. She trusted him. The short but truthful answer had been enough for her.

"I was going to invite you upstairs, but if you aren't up to it…" she said, eyeing his bruises with concern.

Sam didn't reply except to take the laundry basket from her. "Lead the way," he said softly.

He followed her up the stairs and placed the basket in the corner of the room, stepping around the bed to help remove the decorative cushions that matched the duvet when he saw her begin to pull them off. This was not how he'd envisioned this encounter - and he'd envisioned it several different ways. It seemed right for it to be this relaxed, though. Almost familiar, as if they'd gone up to bed together a dozen times, when in fact, this was the first. But he was hesitant to get undressed. He knew when he removed his shirt that she'd see the extent of his bruising and all the scars from past hunts, and his damaged face would seem trivial in comparison.

Sam wanted to know Brooke better. He wanted to be with her as much as he could, while he could. It was a small step, not knowing where it would land him, but he removed his t-shirt while she was focused on neatly piling the cushions, then stood tall and waited for her to face him again. Her brown eyes wandered over his body, wide and sorrowful as they processed each imperfection.

"Sam, are you sure you're okay?" she asked with a slight tremble in her voice.

He assured her with a tight smile and soft tone, "I'm fine, really."

She made her way closer to him with a slight scowl. His reassurance hadn't quite convinced her. "Do they hurt?"

"Sure, a little," he shrugged, "but I can handle it."

Brooke laughed, "Alright, tough guy." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly traced her fingertips down the nastiest bruise adorning his ribcage.

"Are you going to ask?"

"No, I asked you never to lie to me, remember?" Her gaze switched from her fingers to his eyes, "And you'd have to lie to explain these, right?"

Sam's sigh was heavy and laced with regret. He nodded his head just once.

"Then I don't need to know," concluded Brooke.

He hated and adored, in equal measure, how understanding she was. He disliked that it made him want to tell her the truth even more. He was toeing a dangerous line. He didn't want to burden her with the realities of his world, but it was eating him up to keep secrets from her. He loved that she'd never put him in the position to make him betray her trust.

Sam combed his fingers through the back of her hair and pulled her into him to kiss her pillowy lips. Her hands wrapped around his waist, and she moaned, barely audible, against him. If it hadn't been for the vibrations against his lips, Sam might have missed it.

He felt her hands travel up his side, then she hesitated, hovering just above his skin before she broke away to look up at him timidly. Her hands rested on his hips as her eyes took inventory of his wounds again.

"You can touch them," said Sam. "You're not going to hurt me."

Brooke tentatively brushed her fingertips over the edges of a mark above his left hip bone, her touch featherlight and shy. "Does it hurt if I touch you here?" she asked.

"No."

She spread her palm flat against his chest and felt the pulse of his heart as it started to beat faster.

"Here?"

Sam shook his head no as he played with her brunette tresses, enjoying the glossy texture.

Her hand smoothed down his torso. "How about here?"

"Nope."

Both her hands met over the defined muscles of his stomach. "Here?"

A small, knowing smile crept to his mouth as he realized what she was doing. "You're doing the exact opposite of hurting me," he confessed, dipping down to kiss her lightly.

The blush that stained her cheeks when he pulled back made his heart thud. "So, you're okay to…"

He wet his lips and laughed softly. He found her slight embarrassment endearing. "What do you have in mind?"

Brooke shied away from his gaze and cleared her throat. "You're tired. We should sleep."

Sam reached for her face, tipping her head to look up at him again. "I'm never too tired for you, Brooke," he told her sincerely. Her blush grew a shade deeper, and Sam leaned down to claim her mouth. He gently placed his hands on the back of her thighs and lifted her with ease, so her legs framed his waist. The motion hurt a tad more than he expected, but he didn't mind.

She pulled back and looked down between their bodies with worry. "Sam, you're injured."

He chuckled and kissed her lips quickly, "Stop worrying about me."

"I don't want to hurt-"

He cut off her protest with a hard kiss and gently laid her down on the bed. He stood back up to full height and started unbuttoning his jeans. He watched Brooke prop herself up on her elbows, leaning back to take him in. When he bent to push his jeans down his legs, she sat up to give herself enough room to pull her shirt over her head.

He drank in her bare breasts as he straightened again and observed her nipples harden as the chill in the air reached them. Sam quickly climbed over her, kissing her passionately and eagerly. She gasped against his lips and ran her fingers through his hair, tugging a little once she had a good handful.

He grew more aroused as he ground down on top of her. The friction of her sleep shorts rubbed against him, and he couldn't stop himself.

She mewled, "Oh god, Sam," and bucked her hips to meet his thrust. Sam growled and lowered his mouth to her neck, biting and sucking on the skin in turn. Her chest heaved as her breaths became labored, and the soft skin of her breasts lightly brushed his chest as he peppered her neck with lustful kisses.

Her delicate fingertips brushed down his chest and danced along the waistband of his boxers, and he wondered if she was as nervous as he felt. He was keen to impress her and wanted to make her feel good. Better than good, he wanted to make her toes curl, make her need him even when he was still buried inside her, and none of that was a secret he intended to keep.

Now

The silence of the bunker seemed to mock Sam as he dragged himself through the corridors. At times, the silence had been stifling, or the vast corridors reminded him of the emptiness he felt, and it had driven him - literally and metaphorically - to Brooke. Now, he didn't need to flee or rush away to be with her. She was there, on the other side of the door he found himself frozen in front of, yet it felt as if she were oceans away.

He braced his hands on either side of the door, staring down at his feet, and drew deep breaths, hoping the courage he needed would flow along with the air. He had bad news to deliver, which seemed to be all he had of late. The latest lead to find the cause of Brooke's 'Samnesia,' as she had nicknamed it, had resulted in nothing but a black eye for Sam and the demon blade in the heart of the Crossroads Demon he had summoned for questioning.

Dean had humored Sam, acting as backup and accompanying him to the crossroad, though they both knew it was unlikely that Brooke had made a deal to forget Sam. She shouldn't even know that was an option. The scope of the amnesia had made it a suspicion, though. Because it wasn't just Brooke, a few careful inquiries by her to her friends and family proved none of them could remember Sam, either, and few other things were capable of an effect that powerful and wide-reaching. Sam had had to at least rule it out for certain, had to check off all possibilities, and Dean had to be there to make sure Sam didn't do something reckless. Though there had been no addition to the ever-expanding 'Sam did a bad thing' list, they had argued on the ride home.

"You have to tell her, man. I know you don't want to-"

"I'm not going to drag her into the shit heap that is our lives, Dean!"

"Look around, Sammy!" said Dean, and the confines of the Impala made his voice sound even deeper. "She's already in it!"

They both chose to stare at the road ahead, giving each other a minute to collect themselves.

"Tell her or let her go. I'm sorry, but I don't see any other way." Dean regarded him for a long moment. Sam felt his eyes on him as he stared into the cloud-filled sky.

"Sam," Dean prompted.

"What?" snapped Sam, keeping his focus on the asphalt beyond the window.

"Look at me," Dean demanded. Sam gradually dragged his defeated and forlorn gaze to meet Dean's. His brother's tone was laced with sympathy as he asked, "Are you in love with her?"

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek and turned his gaze back outside.

"All the more reason to tell her the truth, Sam," Dean sighed somewhat sadly. "So she knows exactly what she is getting herself into. Or what she's already in." Sam gave Dean a curious look, and Dean shrugged. "I mean, that's where it was heading before, right? And she's stuck around after you knocked her out and fed her some wild-ass tales. I'm just saying, even if she doesn't remember, she feels something."

Sam hated to admit it, but Dean was right. He felt he'd known it was inevitable that he'd have to tell her the truth the moment he brought her to the bunker. He told himself he'd only delayed the conversation for Brooke's benefit, but that had been a lie. He hadn't been ready. He still wasn't sure he was ready now.

Didn't Brooke losing her memory of them mean he'd already lost her? What if this final, necessary confession was what broke the camel's back? When she knew what he'd been hiding, wouldn't she leave? And not just the things he'd hidden before, but also now after he'd asked her to trust him.

And she had trusted him. She'd trusted him with her life. Why else would she not have run away at the first chance she got? Would the revelation of demons, monsters, ghouls, ghosts, witches, and all things that stalked the night be the end?

Over the years, he'd seen all sorts of reactions to the truth: panic, crying, fear, laughter, disbelief, understanding, empathy, and even relief. But he had no idea how Brooke would respond. That scared him almost as much as the thought that she'd walk away - which she'd have every right to do - and he'd never see her again. And he didn't want that because that would mean he wouldn't be able to fix whatever was wrong. And he was also certain he'd be unable to move on if she did.

The fear of her leaving him was still knotted in his chest as he stood outside her door, and he had to cough to regain his breath. He knew she'd have heard him, so he knocked before he lost his nerve. Brook replied for him to enter almost instantly.

She greeted him with a welcoming smile, though it faded to a concerned frown the moment she saw his blackening eye.

Sam attempted to give her a reassuring smile, hearing her sharp intake of breath, but it fell flat. "I'm okay," he lied.

Physically, it may have been true. His eye didn't hurt, but he was far from okay. He was about to do the one thing he'd never wanted to do, and he felt sick at the prospect of ruining her happy, normal civilian life.

"We need to, um…can we talk?"

He held her gaze as long as he could, surveying her while she registered the seriousness of his tone. Without a word, she lifted her computer from her lap and set it on the nightstand before dragging herself to the bed's end, putting her feet firmly on the floor.

Brooke gazed at him expectantly, her mouth twitching at the corners, and it reminded Sam that he was the one that had to do the talking. He began to pace back and forth in the small space the room offered. He didn't know what to do with himself. Sit beside her? Stay standing? Would that be too intimidating? A large imposing man looming over her while he told her about all the things that went bump in the night? Should he pull the chair from under the table and sit directly across from her?

Brooke must have understood his hesitation, or else his pacing made her dizzy because she stood up and took his hand to guide him back to sit beside her.

She folded a leg underneath herself and turned her body toward him. "Let me guess; it's time for the heavy stuff."

Sam puffed a humorless laugh through his nose. Though she'd guessed correctly, it had been an understatement. He played with his fingers nervously, any excuse not to have to meet her eye. "There's never an easy way to tell someone this, or if there is, I haven't found it yet."

Do it, Sam, just rip the band-aid off.

His gaze drifted up, but he couldn't hold her eye, not until he was done, at least. Instead, he twisted to mimic her pose and spoke very carefully.

"Monsters are real."

Afraid of seeing trepidation on her face or seeing the moment she decided he was, in fact, bat shit crazy and ran from the room screaming, he continued his spiel. He needed to get it out, but he chose to stare at a spot on the beige rug to the left of her.

"All the scary stuff your parents told you was only in the movies - demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters - all of it; it's all real."

He waited a long moment, his whole body tense. His chest heaved, and the twisting knots of anxiety threatened to cut off his air supply. Before he found the courage to raise his gaze to gauge her reaction, she used a gentle finger under his chin to pull his worried eyes up.

She gifted him a small, meaningful smile, her voice timid when she confessed, "I know."

Relief coursed through him momentarily before confusion took over. He scanned her expression, looking for the hint of a lie or some form of explanation. "How?"

She chuckled, scarlet cheeks deepening before she spoke. "Dean, let slip your last name the first morning I was here. As soon as I was alone, I googled you." She waited for a heartbeat for the news to register. "Tell me, Sam Winchester," she started, smirking, "have you ever googled yourself?"

Sam groaned. He could only imagine the information she'd uncovered; news articles, FBI's most wanted lists, Carver Edlund, Becky Rosen's fan club. The list was embarrassingly endless. "I don't think I want to know what you found."

Brooke laughed. "Some of it was very interesting," she explained wide-eyed. "Federal manhunts, murder sprees, rock star aliases; there was a lot. Most of it probably should have made me get the hell out of here and call Brett." Sam winced at the thought, but she continued. "Something made me keep digging, though. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe I just didn't want to believe all those things about you. Then I came across an interesting, albeit weird, series of books, which led me to some enthusiastic fans of said books. Can I just say that the discovery of fanfiction has taught me a lot about kinks I never knew existed? And don't even get me started on ships."

Sam groaned again, but the fact that Brooke's fingers played with his lax hand that dangled off the edge of his knee was encouraging. Fanfiction aside, the other stuff was pretty serious. He was relieved she wasn't more scared of him now than when he'd kidnapped her. "So you've known for, what, three days? Why didn't you say something before?"

She shrugged slightly. Now, she seemed reluctant to meet his eyes. "Honestly, I wasn't sure I believed any of it. Not fully anyway, and I wanted to see if you would tell me."

She'd admitted to testing his honesty, but he didn't blame her. It wasn't an ideal situation, and they were both navigating new territory. He'd have done the same if the situation were reversed.

"And what do you believe now?"

Her fingers clasped his like she needed to hold on to him to really decide what she thought. "I believe you," said Brooke, but Sam could see she felt foolish for doing so. She glanced at him and quickly dropped her eyes when she saw him staring intently back at her. "Which, honestly, that kinda scares me more than the knowledge of monsters and vampires being out there," she said, shrugging off her revelation. The gesture seemed to give her the confidence to face him again.

She may not have known Sam, but he knew her better than she realized, and he knew her nonchalant attitude was a mask to hide something deeper. His brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are going to have to explain the CCTV footage of you and Dean shooting people if you want me to truly believe you're not a serial killer," she said, not lightly but with enough disbelief that Sam wasn't too worried. "Ironically, if you hadn't come in here talking about monsters unprompted, I'd probably be planning my escape. Even so, it scares me that I don't really know you, but somehow I trust you." She gave a nervous laugh, meeting his intense stare once again. "You could tell me the sky is green and the grass is blue, and I think I'd believe you."

Sam wet his lips unconsciously, and his stomach turned in on itself as she moved in. Her lips brushed against his and stole the air between them. He'd spent more time than he'd like to admit staring at her mouth since she'd been at the bunker, remembering all the times they'd been locked in a passionate kiss or wrapped around him, but his memory hadn't done it justice. The soft, supple warmth of her mouth was so much better than he remembered.

Sam allowed her entry when her tongue requested permission, gliding gently over his bottom lip. His hands found the small of her back, and he moaned into her mouth when she straightened to get closer. She used a tight grip around his neck as leverage to pull herself over to straddle him.

Memory and instinct took over, and he became completely hard before she'd settled into his lap. Hungry fingers scrambled to find the hem of her t-shirt, and she broke the kiss to pull it over her head.

The disconnection jump-started Sam's brain, and he froze, body rigid as his fingers dug into her hips to hold her at bay when she tried to reconnect their lips.

"Wait," said Sam. "I can't. I'm sorry, I can't do this," he told her earnestly. "I want to…god, I can't tell you how much I want to." He sighed, annoyed that, even though the insatiable ache to feel her touch had haunted him for weeks, he couldn't accept it, not like that. "I'm probably going to regret saying this, but we have to stop."

She nodded, but disappointment flashed in her eyes, and her body slumped at his rejection. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- it kinda felt," she shrugged, and Sam waited for her to find the words. "Natural, I guess. Familiar somehow," her brow creased with a sort of confusion. "It's almost like deja vu, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Sorry."

"No! Shit. Brooke, it's not you…" He raked a hand down his face as she lifted herself out of his lap. 'It's not you, it's me' had been what he wanted to say, but it sounded ridiculous. It was neither of them. "Brooke, I'm sorry, I just…"

She stood and hastily pulled her shirt back on. "Sam, stop."

"It means something different to me than it does to you, and I can't be with you, not like that, if it doesn't-"

Her finger on his lips halted his explanation. "I get it," said Brooke genuinely. "To me, it would be our first time, but it's not for you."

Heavy-hearted, he nodded and took her finger from his mouth to place a featherlight kiss on her palm. Then he used his grasp to pull her to stand between his legs and held her in place with his hands on her hips. "I'm sorry," he said, gazing up at her.

"Stop apologizing," she said. She smiled down at him, pushing a wayward chunk of his hair from his face. Tentatively, she dipped her head, and Sam watched as her eyes darted from his to his mouth and back again, searching for any sign of rejection. Though, to be sure, she asked anyway. "Can I kiss you?"

He answered by closing the gap and kissing her. When the urge to allow his hands to roam became too much to ignore, he pulled away, resting his head against hers to catch his breath, not completely ready to break the connection. Sam lingered with his eyes closed. He whispered, "I hate this. It's all my fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"I never should have left you. After we found out about the stalking, I should have stayed."