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chapter eleven

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inside out, upside-down twisting beside myself
stop that now - you're as close as it gets without touching me
oh no, don't make it harder than it already is
mmm, i feel a weakness coming on
-Imogen Heap, "The Walk"

xx

April 7, 2003
4:50 pm

Samantha's head was spinning; she had never been so anxious for a Monday to be over.

Outside it was freezing, no signs of April anywhere as late snowstorm blew through the city. She smiled in spite of herself, in spite of the fact that it freezing outside, that it was Monday and that her weekend off had -- well, her weekend off hadn't would be the more correct term.

But all things considered, it hadn't been a terrible weekend. Their missing girls had been found essentially unharmed, she had officially ended things with Kellar, and, oh yeah, she had a date that evening.

Maybe not a date, she reminded herself. He just said he wanted to get to know you better. Just ignore the fact that he's the Deputy Director's son and a United States Senator. He's just a guy - a nice guy - and you deserve someone who is unattached - at least in the matrimonial sense.

Samantha willed the second hand of her watch to move faster, recalling the sensation that coursed through her body when their eyes locked on Saturday.

"It's you," came his soft reply.

She swallowed, wondering if her mind - or her heart - happened to be playing tricks on her. "I -- Tell Kelsey I say 'thanks' and that it's beautiful."

"I will," he said. He moved his hand over the picture to where her stick figure was. "Sam -"

He sounded uncertain as he shortened her name for the first time.

"Sam."

He repeated it with more confidence in his voice, and she noted how naturally it flowed from his lips this time.

"I know what I said earlier -- I just wanted you to know that I meant it. I'd really like to get to know you better, if you still want --?"

"That would be nice," she said carefully, considering Naomi's advice. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well," he said, his boyish smile and the sparkle in his eyes full of possibility, "I've rearranged things so that I could stay in New York until Tuesday..."

And before she knew it, they had decided she would bring dinner by his home at 7:30 on Monday night. Samantha was glad they had gone with a less obtrusive, less public meeting place. Given his status, the fact that she worked for the Bureau, and his nieces' recent kidnapping, it would make everything a little bit easier. This - whatever this was - it wasn't anyone else's business but theirs.

"Nice to have a quiet day at the office, isn't it?" Vivian's voice broke her train of thought.

"Yeah, after this weekend."

"I heard Homicide caught the copycat," Viv continued, and Sam could sense an ulterior motive.

"Uh, yeah. He was pretty sloppy, it didn't take long for him to screw up and get caught."

Samantha rose from her seat, casting a glance at the contents of her desk. She picked up her remaining case reports and threw her purse over her shoulder.

"You heading out, too?" Vivian asked.

"Nothing left to do here," Sam answered casually.

The two women waved at Danny and Naomi, who were deep in conversation at the conference table and did not really take notice.

Finding themselves alone when they reached the elevator, Sam stepped forward and pressed the button for the parking garage level. She felt Vivian's intense gaze on her, and wondered why her colleague was suddenly so intent on studying her.

"You know, Sam, it's okay to move on. It's okay to be happy," Viv said finally.

Sam tried to fight the excitement that had settled over her. She had a feeling she was only beginning to realize how 'okay' it really was.

And that realization terrified her.

xx

7:20 pm

Martin paced around his living room, as he had been for practically the past hour. There were only so many times he could watch the ESPN scores/updates ticker run across the bottom of his television before he had the entire thing memorized, and Martin had passed that point about four full runs ago.

Martin cast a glance outside as the snow continued to fall. He had seriously considered giving her a call and offering to send a car to pick her up. But he knew that probably wouldn't fly with someone like her. Samantha was independent; he knew that instinctively.

He was glad when his cell phone rang, distracting him from his endless pacing.

"Hey, Becca," he greeted his sister. "Did you get in okay?"

"Yeah, I did... So, Caro told me you were fending for your own dinner tonight. Anything I should know?" She asked suggestively.

"No, not really," he answered. "I just need to do some catch up research for the Everett Foundation Hearings on Wednesday."

"Okay," Rebecca said with a tone of voice that told him she didn't believe him for a second. "Well, I'll let you get back to dealing with your important business, but give me a call later if you want to talk."

"Sure, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Martin loved his sisters, but he did not want to give either one of them any ammunition before it was time. He wasn't anxious to jinx things with Samantha. He couldn't deny his attraction to her, didn't want to deny it, but he wasn't even sure this evening qualified as a date.

This was just two adults having dinner, hopefully getting to know each other a little bit better. That was it. He would just ignore the somersaults his heart did every time they were in the same room, and wait for divine inspiration to intervene on his behalf.

Or, that's what he was telling himself.

But those thoughts flew from his mind the second he heard his doorbell ring.

xx

7:35 pm

Samantha took a deep breath, clutching the paper bags with take out to her chest before pressing her gloved index finger to the doorbell.

"Hey," he said as he opened the door and ushered her inside. He smiled at her, but sounded about as nervous as she felt when he spoke. "It's still really coming down out there. You didn't have any trouble getting here?"

He brushed at the wet flakes that had fallen on her shoulders before taking her coat from her. In spite of her own nerves, she felt suddenly warm and comfortable inside at the contact - it felt surprisingly natural.

"No trouble at all. It was a nice drive once my car heater decided to work properly," she offered him a half-smile as he hung her coat and scarf in the front closet. She took a moment to study his appearance, deciding it was a shame that he couldn't dress like that in Congress. His jeans and navy flannel shirt were extremely flattering - not that he didn't look good in his normal suits.

"So," he said, turning around, "that smells pretty good."

She waved the paper bags in front of him. "Sal's," she replied. "It's this little Italian place about three blocks from my apartment. I know you said you'd eat anything, but I got a couple of options just in case..."

Her nerves suddenly returned in full force. When they'd planned this, he had actually offered to cook or to take her out. Though they had finally decided that she would bring dinner, and he'd told her he didn't care what it was -- that he'd missed eating at the 'real' New York restaurants. Which she had assumed meant the more casual places as opposed to just the haute cuisine establishments. But then she started to explain her dinner selection, and her doubts started to creep up on her again.

Martin gave a small laugh, though, and she was reassured. "When I said 'anything,' I really did mean 'anything' Sam. You have so much to learn about me."

She raised an eyebrow playfully and he motioned for her to follow him.

A lot to learn, indeed, she thought to herself.

xx

7:45 pm

Martin led Sam through the living room and into the kitchen, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest when he got the chance to fully take in her appearance as she placed the food on his table. She wore dark jeans and a pale pink sweater that fit just snugly enough to show off her figure. Her hair fell gently around her face, framing it.

After setting the table, deciding on drinks, and properly divvying up the dinner selections (he casually suggested that they split the dishes so that he would have a chance to try everything), Martin sat down across from Sam at his kitchen table feeling completely content.

"So," she said, looking up from the ravioli in front of her.

"So," he grinned at her. "Tell me a little bit more about yourself."

"And why should I go first?" She teased, although he could sense a degree of caution in her voice, as though she was holding back until she could gage the situation.

"Well," he didn't want to scare her off, "I'm at a disadvantage here. You already know a lot of basic facts about me. I mean, you've met almost my entire family at this point, and I know nothing."

He saw her face soften as she consented.

"So, start with your family. What are they like?"

She didn't answer right away, and he worried that he had already hit a sore spot for her. When she spoke a few seconds later, his fears were not assuaged.

"I have an older sister. Her name's Lindsey, and last I knew she was living in Chicago..."

"That's where Becca and her husband Scott live," he offered before carefully probing for more information. "Is Lindsey married?"

"I, uh, I have no idea," she said. "My family -- it's just me, my mom, and Lindsey. We're not close the way yours is."

Martin felt an instant sadness wash over him with on several levels. He couldn't imagine not being close to his family. Okay, well maybe his parents, but his sisters, their families, and his aunt and uncle -- they could drive him crazy, but they were his ultimate support network. In his line of work, it was nice knowing he had a few people he could implicitly trust. Furthermore, he thought he heard a twinge of regret in her voice. To hazard a guess, he supposed that they had been close at one time and that something had happened to pull them apart.

"So, how are Kelsey and Bridget holding up?" Sam finally asked. Martin recognized the aversion technique, and silently made a note to ask her more at a later date if he ever got the chance.

"They're doing a lot better," he replied. "Neither one of them is sleeping through the night on their own, but Caro knows a great child psychologist, and we think they'll be fine eventually." He paused for a moment. "Everyone is really grateful for what you did."

She smiled shyly at him. "It's all part of the job. But believe me, it's one of the good parts." He looked at her inquisitively, and she continued. "You want to bring everyone home safely."

Their eyes met across the table, and he understood exactly what she was trying to tell him. And he would forever be grateful that she had been instrumental in bringing his nieces back home to them.

An hour and a half later, they still sat at the kitchen table with empty take-out boxes strewn in front of them. The food had lived up to Sam's rave reviews, but the conversation had turned out to be even better. Though Martin had plenty of experience drawing out information from men on Capital Hill, he quickly found that discovering new things about Samantha was a far more rewarding task.

He learned that she was from Kenosha, Wisconsin, that she had majored in French and Sociology at Wisconsin-Madison, and that she had added the Sociology major on a whim because her roommate had told her the intro professor was cute. She blushed a little when she'd told him that, and he'd tried not to smirk too widely.

He also inadvertently discovered that she would bite her bottom lip when she was deep in thought and that her beautiful brown eyes would dart from side to side when she was nervous or embarrassed about something.

Not wanting the evening to be over just yet, he cleared the table and suggested a glass of wine and whatever happened to be on TV that evening.

His heart skipped a beat when she agreed easily.

xx

9:10 pm

"Sounds good," Sam agreed, secretly glad he had offered to prolong the evening.

She helped him throw away what little was left of dinner. For a man who looked as trim and fit as he did, he could definitely put it away. She watched surreptitiously as he took out two glasses and filled them with wine, then walked in step with him to the living room.

They sat together on his large sofa, close but not touching, and Sam found herself acutely aware of the small distance between them. His arm brushed casually against her thing as he leaned forward to pick up the remote.

"SportsCenter, eh?" She teased as he flipped the television on.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wanted to watch 'La Boheme' on PBS last night, but I had to go to the symphony." Martin retorted, and she immediately picked up on his ER reference.

"The Breakfast Club episode," she offered a lopsided smile. "At least now we know you have impeccable taste in television."

He turned to face her, very serious all of a sudden.

"I'd like to think I have impeccable taste in more than just television."

xx

11:00 pm

Martin rested contentedly as the end credits rolled.

They had settled - after a few minutes teasing on his part - on To Have or Have Not, much to Sam's playful indignation. But sometime between the time when she'd admitted her mother's obsession with Bogart and the time when the snowfall outside gently came to a halt, her head had come to rest on his side and his arm had wrapped itself carefully around her shoulders.

"Hey, Slim," he said softly, aware that it was getting late and she still had to drive back in to the city.

"Hey, Steve," she answered, looking up at him. He felt her proximity acutely, and knew that if he leaned down just a bit further, he could kiss her.

But just seconds later, the moment was gone. The credits finished rolling and the soft blare of the television was no longer quite as soft. Martin sighed and silently cursed at his remote control before clicking the 'off' button.

"I, uh, I should probably get going," Sam said, rising from his embrace. He missed the heat of her body instantaneously.

"Yeah, I guess so," he tried not to sound too disappointed. "Here, I'll walk you out."

He guided his hand along her lower back and led her back out into the front foyer. His hands lingered maybe longer than they should as he helped her maneuver back into her coat, and then she turned to face him as she went to adjust her scarf.

She stopped suddenly though, their bodies standing flush together so that their breaths mingled and echoed in the quiet of the foyer.

"What are we doing, Martin?" she asked him.

I have no idea, he said silently. I have absolutely no idea.

He didn't recall giving her a verbal answer. The only thing he was aware of in the seconds that followed was the way her lips suddenly brushed against his -- or his against hers. He didn't know which.

It was soft and gentle and sweet, and he felt suddenly empty inside when the brief contact ended.

So his hands fell from her back to her slender hips, where he pulled her flush against his body and brushed his lips against hers again. This time, though, their lips lingered. He felt her relax against him as he caressed her hips through her coat. He wanted to remember everything about this moment -- her arms on his chest, her hands massaging his shoulders, her lips parting easily to allow his tongue access. Her shallow panting breaths as they reluctantly pulled apart.

Her eyes looking up at him, silently repeating her question from minutes earlier.

Martin still didn't have an answer, at least not an eloquent one, so he simply brushed an errant lock of hair from her face and enjoyed the sensation of being near her.

And when he shut the door behind her, he found his home suddenly lonely in a way that it hadn't been just hours before. So he picked up his phone, dialed her home number, and waited for her voice mail to pick up.

"Hey, Slim..."

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