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He had been laying there for a while. The ceiling still swam in his vision and he swam too. The waves that had once been nausea had transformed into something a lot more pleasant and a lot less chunky. He was floating in the dark recesses of the ceiling, the wooden beams almost stroking his body. He couldn't quite describe it although he kept trying to quantify it in his mind. It was almost like a waking dream, but some how a lot more real.

It was real, the ceiling was really stroking him now, back and forth across his chest. Straight lines back and forth on top of his shirt. Even widths apart he realized. The wood was very thorough. Like it was following a pattern on his being.

The deep bass faded to nothing. He blinked, his eyelids containing blirriant frame exprosions, that exploded out of his optic nerves. As his eyes opened the wood seemed to be a solid object once more and several feet above him.

The rhythmic stroking continued though much to his surprise.

The music changed tempo again, upbeat male and pop, medium fast, no heavy bass.

He could still hear Carly dancing, he sock feet making a pleasant swish swash as she moved on the hard wood floor a good five feet from where him and Sam lay.

Sam!

She was still there. He looked over with great difficulty at the lioness. She was perfect, eyes glazed over as she ran her hand along the lines of his shirt. That's who was doing it! He knew the rafters weren't that gentle. He hadn't suspected her hands could be that soft though. It was nice. Just light brushing, not poking or jabbing or pinching.

A start contrast to the softness on his chest was the off tingling feeling in his arm. He let his eyes wander to his shoulder and follow it till it disappeared underneath the girl beside him. She wasn't heavy exactly he mused, she was just laying on it in such away that it just inhibited the blood flow. He didn't really want to move it though, because really? When would the next time he would get a chance to have his arm around Samantha Puckett? They'd be dead soon anyway.

He chocked suddenly, he'd almost forgotten. Sam blinked sluggishly and looked up at him. He was sure his face would give him away if she looked at it too long so he did the only thing he knew how to do. In one motion he half rolled onto his side and using his already under her arm and pulled her to his chest hugging her to him.

Both her hands were between them. The were small he remembered, but they felt large. He wanted to look at them, but he had to compose himself. Before he could though she'd uttered a muffled something. Pressed into his shirt like that, he couldn't hear a word she was saying.

With composure born of distraction he let her fall back a bit so he could hear her.

"Huh?" He was articulate.

She looked at him blue eyes almost sucking him in, "I said: I really hate stripes."

"Yeah?" He countered wittily.

"Yeah nub."

"Oh,"He needed to talk to someone about the script. His lines were all mixed up. He considered an addendum to his last line, "What do you want me to do about it?"

She thought about it for a moment. Her eyelids only raised to half mast, only half dragged him in, small portholes surrounded by a sea of Sam.

"Take it off," she suggested in her third best commanding voice. It was a strong suggestion, but he didn't think it would get ripped off him if he didn't comply, or at least that's what the panel of Sam experts said. They thought he should do it though.

While he conferred, the slowest ripping ever commenced, he didn't even realize it at first but she had lifted his shirt with one of her hands and the second slid silently in between the fabric and his skin. It wasn't until the very tips of her fingers brushed the topmost of his abs did he realize what was happening.

HE doubled up like he was shot. That tickled! He let go of her and tried to back away, wiggling his body like a snake covered in ants. Her hand still clung to his shirt as he wrestled his arm out from under her. The blanket they were laying on bunched and coiled about him, dragging Sam along for the ride.

After a dozen seconds of frantic activity he pushed himself up onto an arm, yes wide and puffing like he had run up the Shays stairs again. He looked franticly around the room for safety in a brunette body. She was farther away mentally then physically. The back of her hoodie was just visible as she delved into the world of the stage curtain.

He looked back at Sam, still gripping his ugly striped shirt. She met his eyes and lifted it an inch more. His abs burned where she had touched them. He didn't know why, but he wanted to burn all over like that. Her right eyebrow arched.

He didn't know what that meant. Girls were weird like that. Speaking with their hair. If he was ever to get her to understand he would have to talk her language.

He slowly raised his right eyebrow.

Hers lowered, a good sign. Well her brow lowered, her hand raised higher.

That wasn't the right response! He raised both eye brows fast twice in an attempt to scare her off with his, no! Get away you!

He didn't think it translated well into girl. She'd reached over with her second hand and raised the cloth to where it was trapped underneath his arms. She tugged it up into his armpits and smiled. Almost reflexively he raised his arms above his head and as they lifted the shirt got pulled over.

Stunned he held his arms half up, elbows bent as her eyes worked their way over his bare chest.

Mission: Hair Communication, failed.