Samnesia - Chapter 6 - Calm The Chaos

Warnings: angst, stalking, fluff, mentions of past cheating.

Then

An overzealous bird tweeted a happy song outside Brooke's bedroom window. The sound seemed so close that it could have been sitting on her pillow. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness, she wished the window was open so she could throw something at it.

That was, until she felt Sam's warm, heavy arm draped lazily over her waist. Maybe she had been hasty with her new musical friend. The delightful trill now reflected her mood.

She scooted backward, contouring her body to Sam's. He hummed happily and curved his body to lock her in closer to his chest. As he lazily kissed her shoulder, a sleep-roughened, "Morning, baby," vibrated over her skin.

"I like it when your voice is the first one I hear."

He nuzzled her neck in reply, the tickle of his beard sending a warm shiver down her body that pooled in her center. Her skin danced with pleasant goosebumps, and the memory of the night before throbbed between her legs. Eight days had been too long to be apart, and Sam had taken the time to show her how much he'd missed her. He demonstrated on the kitchen table, the stairs (hence the bruise on the small of her back), and the bed that she'd been on his mind for the achingly long time he'd been gone this time. The broken plates were still strewn across the kitchen floor. Satisfied he'd more than documented the level of his longing, they'd fallen asleep after the fourth round. The mess they'd left in their wake had been forgotten. She should really clean up before…

Her gaze shot to the clock on the nightstand, and she scrambled out of bed. "Shit!"

Sam chuckled as she swept around the room like a whirlwind to grab clean clothes, and he propped himself up on his elbow to watch her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm late," said Brooke, hastily turning her uncooperative sweater inside out and then the right way round to pull it over her head. "I was supposed to meet my family for breakfast half an hour ago."

The last syllable still hung on her tongue when her phone vibrated on the nightstand, a late reminder she'd been expected elsewhere. Sam caught the phone before it shook off the edge.

"It's Emily."

"Put it on speaker phone," she said as she sat by his feet to pull on her socks.

"Brooke?"

"I know, I know. I overslept. I'm on my way. I'll be-"

Emily cut her off, "Overslept. Right, right. With Sam?"

"Yes, with Sam!" Brooke confirmed, shaking her head. She swore all that woman thought about was sex. "Just stall a little longer for me, please."

"Too late," chirped Emily. "We're all on the way over to you. Got bored of waiting for the birthday girl."

"Shit."

"You've got maybe fifteen minutes, probably less with the way Brett drives."

Brooke sarcastically thanked a laughing Emily for the awfully timed heads-up before motioning for Sam to end the call.

An apology was already on her lips to tell Sam how profusely sorry she was for the bombardment of questions he'd be sure to receive when her family arrived. A hopeful blush highlighted her cheeks, and she felt the burn as it crept higher. Granted, it wasn't the ideal circumstance for Sam to meet her family, but it was the cards they had been dealt. Brooke had met his brother, maybe it was time he met hers. She lifted her gaze from her socked feet and looked at him.

Sam stared at her, a small crease in his brow conveying an emotion she'd not seen on him before. "Why didn't you tell me it's your birthday?"

It sounded to be more of an accusation than a question. He was hurt because she hadn't told him. "I, um…it's no big deal," she answered with a slight shrug, "I didn't want to put any pressure on you. Make you feel like you had to be here."

She crossed the room to the window in an effort to avoid Sam's hurt gaze and pulled back the curtain, squinting as she let the sunlight pour in and surveying the street below for signs of her family's arrival.

"If you want to make a break for it…" she started just as she heard the rustle of the blankets. She turned, expecting to see Sam putting on his clothes, but he strode with purpose toward her.

He cupped her face in his big hands, holding her head steady, his eyes boring into hers. "I never feel like I have to be here," he said, sounding almost desperate for her to understand. "I want to be here. All the time, as much as possible. I want my voice to be the first thing you hear every day." Sam waited for her to process his words before he pulled her to his lips.

Sam skimmed his tongue against her bottom lip, but Brooke pulled back with a disappointed groan before he could deepen the kiss.

"I need to go clean up the kitchen."

Sam snorted a laugh, only now appearing to remember the mess they had made. "Sorry," he grinned, not sorry at all.

She reluctantly stepped out of his grasp and pulled a pair of gray sweatpants from her dresser drawer. "If you don't want to be waterboarded by my brother, I suggest you make a run for it."

Brett, her older brother, had never needed to be, but that didn't stop him from being overly protective of her when it came to the men she dated. She had dated a few guys in high school to whom he had given the big brother don't-hurt-her-or-I'll-kill-you speech, but then she had dated his best friend Chris for twelve years. He was the one person he hadn't felt he needed to give the speech to, but it turned out he may have been the one who needed it the most.

Brooke and Brett's relationship had been somewhat strained in the immediate aftermath of the breakup. Brett felt partly responsible for not noticing the signs sooner, for not protecting her from the heartache, and Brooke had been upset that Brett still planned to include Chris in his wedding plans. They had slowly repaired their relationship once Brett stopped blaming himself and Brooke came to terms with the fact that Brett and Chris had been friends long before she and Chris dated; since kindergarten, if fact, and that in many ways, Chris was considered family, too. However, Brett had made it abundantly clear he would not go easy on any other men she dated.

Sam scoffed, "As tempting as the torture sounds, I have to go shoping to buy a birthday gift."

"No, you don't, Sam," she whined. That had been another reason she hadn't told him. She didn't want him to feel obligated to buy her something. They hadn't been dating long, and it didn't warrant purchasing gifts.

She stood in front of him as he took a seat on the edge of the bed pulling on his socks. She ran her hands through his hair, and a cheeky grin danced on her lips, "You gave me multiple gifts last night. I don't need anything else." She kissed him quickly. "Except maybe a repeat performance."

Sam chuckled, his playful grin matching hers, "Just give me a call when your family are gone, and I'll be happy to give you an encore."

Brooke left Sam to get dressed, then made quick work of putting the kitchen back to an acceptable state. "Sam, come on," she called up to him, "you're running out of time."

Sam appeared at the top of the stairs. His foot hovered above the first step, and as if on cue, the sound of car doors closing filtered in from outside. They stared at one another, frozen like deer caught in the headlights.

"It's up to you," Brooke said. "You can hide or meet them."

Without a word, he chose to hide, spinning on his heels and rushing out of sight.

"Chicken!" Brooke taunted as she walked to open the door before anyone had a chance to ring the bell.

Her mom Brianna, Brett, Brett's fiance Olivia, Nikki, Cara, and Emily walked past her in single file, kissing her cheek, wishing her a happy birthday, and hugging her in turn. Brooke followed the crowd into the living room, and all eyes were on her.

"What happened to you?" Brett asked, "You're never late."

"I overslept. Forgot to set the alarm."

"Something keep you up?" Emily teased.

Brooke fought the smile that crept to her face, clearing her throat to hide the threat of a giddy laugh at the memory of the night before. Emily knew how bad she was at lying to her family, particularly to her mother and brother, who were police officers trained to spot it. Sure enough, her response to the question was not lost on her brother.

"What's the smirk for?" asked Brett, suspicious.

"Nothing, I'm-"

The doorbell interrupted her stammering explanation, and she took the opportunity to escape. Though, as soon as she pulled the door open, she wished she hadn't. A large bouquet of deep red roses lowered to reveal the smiling face of her ex-fiance, Chris. His too-tight grin would have been comical, something straight out of one of those cheesy reality dating shows, if his presence hadn't been so unexpected.

"Hey, Bee," Chris sighed loudly. He seemed to relax after he'd spoken, like that had been the hardest part. His smile smoothed into one more genuine and familiar.

She hadn't seen the smile or the unfaithful man it belonged to for months, not since he confessed to impregnating another woman while they were engaged before making a sharp exit out of town.

Maybe she was better at lying than she gave herself credit for because she surprised herself at how flat and even her voice remained. "Chris, what're you doing here?"

They would have been wed by now if he hadn't cheated. How she remained calm baffled her. Maybe she was dreaming? That had to be it. After the sex-fueled evening she had had with Sam, she was still tucked up tight in his embrace.

Sam!

The morning had just taken a nosedive off a very tall cliff, and Brooke felt like she was free-falling. Her ex-fiance was staring back at her with an optimistic smile, and her new boyfriend was hiding upstairs.

Brett startled her when he spoke behind her, "I asked him to come."

She whipped her head around to glare at her brother so fast she cracked her neck. Brett shrugged off the death glare. "You two will have to spend an entire weekend together in a couple of months. I thought you should talk."

The weekend Brett was referring to was his wedding. Chris would serve as his best man and Brooke was one of Olivia's three bridesmaids. It made sense. He wanted them to see each other before the big day, to get any heated discussions out of the way, but why had he chosen today of all days?

Brett held his palms high as if reading her mind. "I didn't suggest today."

Chris stepped forward, thrusting the flowers into the hands Brooke had clenched over her stomach. "I wanted to come today. I've spent every birthday with you since you were like seven. Wasn't going to miss one." He leaned over the threshold and kissed her cheek. "Happy Birthday, Bee."

Brooke glared, dumbstruck, gradually growing angrier as his kiss dried on her cheek. How dare he! He had no goddamn right to be there. Before she could find any words, he walked around her into the living room to a chorus of greetings.

She hadn't even known Chris was back in town. He left shortly after his confession, and she hadn't seen or spoken to him since. Her family's lack of surprise at his presence made it clear they knew he was back. She dropped the bouquet she hadn't realized she had accepted from him on the porch and closed the door, shutting them outside.

This can't be happening.

She stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. Chris hugged Cara, who gave him a tight smile when they parted and exchanged glances with her wife. For her part, Olivia seemed to be subtly inching toward the sofa to avoid the same fate. Brianna took drink requests in an apparent effort to loosen the tension. The motions might be stiff and awkward now, considering the circumstances, but the scene was still an all too familiar one.

And it was all wrong. It should be Sam here, hugging her loved ones, shaking her brother's hand, and kissing her mother on the cheek. If it had been, would the scene have been mended? Would her friend's smiles have been sincere? The embraces warm and the occasion happy?

She hadn't quite realized until that moment how much she really wanted Sam to be part of her family. It was disconcerting and added yet another unwelcome layer of discomfort to an already unbearable situation.

Chris turned to face her, wearing a small, expectant smile she'd seen so many times before, but now it seemed tainted, snake-like. He wanted something, something he knew he shouldn't ask for, but the charming, unassuming smile had always worked before. "Can we go out back and talk?"

"No," she told him defiantly. "No, we can't talk. Which you should already know from my lack of response to all your other attempts."

"Other attempts?"

Brooke growled, frustrated that he had the audacity to deny it. "The hang-ups, the heavy breathing calls, flowers, chocolates, the cryptic texts, notes on my car. I got them all, and I ignored them for a reason. I didn't reach out because I've said all I need to say to you."

Chris looked genuinely confused. "Brooke. I haven't done any of that."

She knew him well enough to recognize his sincerity. Even when he'd cheated, he hadn't lied to her face about it, he'd just been exceedingly careful not to have to. He'd known she'd spot blatant dishonesty. His confusion spread to her.

She had been certain Chris was behind it all. Who else could it be?

He elaborated, "I was going to call last week when I got back into town. I didn't because I wanted to see you, talk to you face to face. You know me, Brooke," he reminded her almost tenderly. "I'm not one to pussyfoot around. I bring flowers to your door and face you. I swear. I haven't done any of those things."

She believed him. He had never been one to shy away from confrontation. He faced things head-on. She hadn't needed to discover his infidelity through gossip or third parties because he'd confessed it to her directly when he realized he couldn't escape the consequences. It had been something she admired about him once upon a time.

Brett put a hand on her shoulder, concern flooding his sometimes brutish features when she turned her gaze to him. "Bee, what the hell is going on?"

Her mother's soft and tender voice echoed from the kitchen door, "Honey, what you just described is serious stalker behavior."

Chris rushed across the room to her. "Is someone stalking you?"

The question seemed to suck the air out of the room. The atmosphere became thick and charged. Brooke spaced out, her mind hit overdrive, and a thousand thoughts and questions swirled around like a leaf caught on the wind.

The calls at all hours of the night regularly disturbed her sleep, unable to turn her phone off or block unknown numbers due to the nature of her job. At least once a week, she'd return home to a bouquet of lilies, sometimes accompanied by chocolates, on her doorstep. Printed notes on her car outside her office always read some version of 'I miss you' or 'give me a chance'. She hadn't been afraid, just increasingly tired and annoyed. But the revelation that it wasn't who she thought it was scared her. She'd have bet money on the culprit being, Chris, trying to win her back. So who the hell could the offender be? She sure as hell hadn't imagined all the shit that had happened. And whoever it was knew where she lived and worked. They had her phone number.

Heavy footfall on the stairs brought her back to the room. She turned to see Sam jump down the last two steps and then make his way over to her ignoring the seven other sets of eyes that followed him to her side. She'd confided in him about it all. He'd been present for some of it, so he understood how much the actions of who they thought was her ex had affected her.

"You okay?" asked Sam, unease evident on his face.

"Yeah."

Her tight smile and tone fooled no one. She relaxed as he pulled her into his arms. Being close to him, wrapped up in the safety of his embrace, she momentarily forgot they had an audience.

Brett cleared his throat, "Um…Bee?"

Brooke untangled herself from Sam's arms, looking sheepishly at her brother. He grinned at her red-cheeked embarrassment.

"You want to introduce us?"

"Brett, Mom, this is Sam," Brooke began. Brett shook Sam's hand as she continued. "Sam, my mom Brianna, Brett, and um…Chris. You've met the girls."

Sam waved at the room in a general greeting, and Chris jutted out his chin when Sam's eyes fell on him.

"Well, just when I thought things couldn't get any more awkward," Emily said, not quite as under her breath as she may have intended.

"We can deal with the awkwardness later," Brianna said, taking Brooke's elbow to try and lead her to the couch. "Right now, you need to tell us exactly what's been going on."

Brooke snatched her arm from her mother's grasp and planted her feet. "Don't do that, don't treat me like a victim."

"Bee, Mom's right," Brett started, only to be interrupted by the doorbell.

"I'll get it," Sam offered.

"Brett, it's nothing. You're all worrying about nothing," she insisted before he could restart his lecture.

Brett continued his speech regardless as he followed her into the kitchen. "Bee, it's not nothing. You need to tell me everything that has happened, no detail is too small."

"I know the drill, Brett," she said, "but right now, all I can focus on is Chris sitting in my living room, apparently invited by you."

"I didn't invite him here," he said, her tone making him defensive, "and I was going to talk to you about it, but I wanted to do it face to face, but you never have time lately. Which I'm guessing is because of Sam."

From his expression, he seemed to be unsure how he felt about either Sam or the fact his little sister was dating him. She sighed, ready to defend herself but Brett continued.

"And nice try at changing the subject. Someone is actively stalking you, and it sounds serious."

"He's right," Sam informed her, entering the room, "it is serious. These were on the porch, addressed to me." He held a handful of photos and a brown envelope toward her. Brett took them before she could reach for them.

Brooke fixed her eyes on Sam and swallowed hard seeing the worry creasing his brow. "You might want to sit down," he suggested pointing toward the table. The unsettled gleam in his eyes made her follow his request without protest. He sat beside her, putting a reassuring hand on her knee.

"Shit, Brooke! Why didn't you tell us?" Brett chided angrily without looking up from the photos.

"Tell you what? I don't even know what the hell you're looking at!" she said, snatching the photos from him.

The envelope on top had a printed message: "Sam, she's mine." She put it aside and flicked through the photos. Her first kiss with Sam outside her house, her legs wrapped around his waist; the two of them outside the diner the morning Dean showed up; Brooke walking to her car outside a grocery store; sitting in a bar with Emily.

"What the hell!" she exclaimed, flicking faster.

"It gets worse," Sam warned.

She found the photo he referred to, and a wave of sickness passed through her as she stared at a photo of herself sleeping alone in her bed. The angle proved it had been taken from her bedroom door. She dropped the pile to the table as if they were about to catch fire and scald her.

"Okay, maybe it is serious," she concluded, her fear-filled eyes locked on Sam's.

Then

Sam followed a somber-looking Brooke into her house. He observed her worriedly as she toed off her sneakers without unlacing them and threw her keys haphazardly onto the small table behind the door. She hadn't spoken a word since they had left the police station. She'd spent the day explaining in detail all the things that had happened to her: phone calls, notes, flowers, and the most recent photos. He'd stayed by her side, held her hand when her emotions threatened to take over, kissed her passionately, and maybe inappropriately when she successfully and stubbornly defended him from being questioned as a suspect.

Sam discarded his boots beside her sneakers but didn't rush to follow her into the kitchen because he knew where the evening was headed. Her distant demeanor on the ride home, her body angled away from him, chewing her fingers as she stared out of the window, had spelled it out loud and clear.

He leaned his shoulder against the frame of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, watching her pour more than a third of vodka into the crystal tumbler before throwing it back in a breathless swig, then repeating the process three times before she finally turned to face him.

Her brown irises swam behind tears, they shimmered as she drew in a breath, and then those tears spilled over, cascading down her cheeks in a seemingly unstoppable flurry.

Sam couldn't take it any longer. He wanted to take away every negative thought and fight off all the adverse emotions she was wrestling with. He wanted to be the antidote to her fear. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He stole her air as his lips forcibly pressed against hers.

She kissed him greedily, seeming desperate to imprint everything about it into her memory. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the aroma of his coconut shampoo. It filled both their noses when her hands ran through his hair, the salty hint of dried sweat on his skin. Her body was too rigid. It wasn't the response he'd become accustomed to, and he hated her reluctance to relax into him. She held back in a way she had never before, and he felt it, though he knew why. She was kissing him goodbye.

He persevered for a few minutes in the hope he could change her mind, show her in the way he held her and kissed her, that it didn't have to mean goodbye. He broke away, resting his forehead against hers, breathlessly pleading, "Don't say what you're about to say."

He waited a moment, willing her to deny it, to tell him he was wrong. When she didn't reply, he pulled away, hands cupping her face to hold her head steady so he could look her in the eye. Silent tears flowed freely, and she offered no more than a heaved breath.

"You're breaking up with me, right?"

Silence.

"Brooke, tell me I'm wrong."

She found her voice, strained and full of anguish. "I wish I could." She breathed in and out slowly, then stood a little taller and sniffed back the flow of tears. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I just threw a shit ton of drama into the mix, and that's not what you signed up for. No pressure or expectations, remember? I thought everyone was just blowing the whole thing out of proportion, but the more questions they asked, the looks on their faces… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared."

"You don't have to be. I'm right here."

"For now. But what happens next time your phone rings?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Sam, I'm not going to ask you to choose, but I won't become a burden on you, either, or put you in danger. Who knows what this weirdo is capable of?" She physically shook off the dark thought and stepped around him. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, leaving her hands laced behind her neck. Her breath shook with unshed tears as she exhaled. "I just think we should quit while we're ahead. Your life is pretty chaotic already. You don't need me causing you problems, too."

"Do I get a say in any of this?"

"No," she said, slipping onto a dining chair and hiding her face behind her hands.

"No?" he asked, perplexed. "I don't want this, just so we're clear. I don't want this to end. I want you, Brooke. I can deal with the rest. Whatever it is, whatever happens, I want to be here with you." He sat in the chair next to her and dragged it close. Their knees touched as he pulled her hands from her face and caged them in his own to prevent her from hiding again.

"You're right, my life is chaotic, but you calm the chaos for me. Brooke, I love being here with you. I really don't know what I would do if I didn't have you to talk to, or look forward to seeing. I'd be lost if I didn't have you to come home to."

"Home?" the word came out as a breathy sigh from Brooke's lips.

Sam felt his cheek warm, shying away from her eyes for a second. However, he didn't need to contemplate his words for long before he gained the confidence to look at her again. "Yeah, home. I feel at home here when I'm with you. So let me calm the chaos in your life, please."

He watched her search his face. For what, he wasn't sure, but her eyes darted back and forth, perhaps gauging his sincerity… until his shrill ringtone broke the moment, and Brooke grimaced as if the sound hurt her ears.

"See," she said, forlorn and heavy, "you have to leave."

He stretched his leg straight to pluck the phone from his pocket while he shook his head, "No, I don't. It's gonna be Dean telling me he's here or can't find your place." Sam gave her a soft smile before answering the call. "Hey… yeah, that's the place, 219, black Audi on the drive."

He ended the call as the Impala engine penetrated the otherwise silent house. Brooke gawked at him, mouth hanging open slightly, confusion evident in the pull of her brow. "I called Dean when we were at the station to ask him to bring some of my stuff here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying for as long as you need me to."

Sam felt a fizzle of nerves collect in his stomach for the long, tense moment it took Brooke to process. He'd invited himself to move in with her. Though his intentions were in the right place, it was still a big step, and he should have discussed the idea with her first. But all he'd been thinking about was keeping her safe. "Or at least until you get sick of me and chuck me out."

Her mouth slowly spread into a large grin. "Yeah, I wouldn't hold your breath waiting for that to happen," said Brooke, leaning in to kiss him.