Not that this is a song-fic, but if you'd like a soundtrack to this chapter, I wrote it listening to Paul Simon's "Something So Right", which is a great expression of the general befuddlement of men.
Thanks for continuing to read.
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See how elastic our prejudices grow when once love comes to bend them."
―Herman Melville,Moby-Dick
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Poker night with the guys. It feels good. Therapeutic. And it's going to feel even better at the end of the night, when he's cleaned out all of Jerry's cash and possibly Ollie's as well.
He hasn't been to one of these in a while. He and McNally have been … monopolizing each other's time. Sometimes at his place, sometimes at hers, but generally speaking, they've been turning up at work in yesterday's clothes more often than not. They've both taken to keeping at least a couple changes of unmentionables in their lockers. Just in case.
It's not like he hasn't been in this place a time or two before, when it's all new and intoxicating and he can't get enough of her. He recognizes it for what it is, and he's riding the wave, hoping he never comes down but knowing that inevitably, gravity will assert itself.
When he's in the moment with her, though … Sam isn't a man to toss around the word 'joy' lightly. But joy, it is.
Even the parts where he finds himself baking cupcakes with her. Even being dragged out of bed at midnight to put on a paper party hat and stand on her father's doorstep. Even that.
Domestic. The perfect boyfriend. For as long as he can fake it. If it makes her happy, if it generates that smile of hers, totally worth it.
And he feels equal parts awe, and gratitude, and relief, that she isn't faking. She actually wants to be with him.
One thing about McNally, there's zero subterfuge to her. She gives with her whole body and soul. It's a model of generosity that he's trying to learn from.
If their relationship is the worst-kept secret in the squad by now, he no longer cares. Though, okay, it gives him pause when Noelle calls him out on the "twinkle in his eye and spring in his step", as she put it, and accuses him of being in love.
It's not a word that he has dared to apply to the situation just yet. Joy, yes. Love ….
Love? Well, that's heavy. And he doesn't want to feel heavy just yet. He's feeling lighter than he has in years. Maybe ever.
She's just … something else. Something new.
But there are moments when he gets these little internal panic attacks.
He figures it's a remnant from the Brennan thing. Not that he ever told her about what exactly happened in that farmhouse. Not that he ever explained about the nightmares. They're sort of under control, and really, what would be the point? She would only take on a major case of guilt. He just doesn't want her to feel that way about it. Doesn't want to drag her into the dark little closet where his monsters lurk. Best just to keep it under wraps.
But every now and then, the whole thing gets a little claustrophobic. McNally, she can be a little … intense. Sometimes it's like he's got one of the mounted unit's Belgian-cross beasts with the dinner-plate hooves, standing on his chest. Needs to escape, needs to decompress. Hence the early morning departures. He's got various excuses: needs to get a run in before work, promised to shoot some hoops with Jerry, has to run home and pick up something. And it isn't till he's out the door that he feels like he can inhale again.
He's trying to find a balance. And it's a struggle. As good as this new chapter of his life is, he doesn't want to obliterate everything that made Sam who he was up until now. There are times when he feels like he's losing himself.
So when McNally mentions that she'd been neglecting her friends, he encourages her to plan a girls' night out. Practically pushes her out the door. And with a certain sense of triumph, he heads to the Friday night poker game from which he'd been absent for some time now.
He's hailed like Spartacus back from the wars, or something. With a certain amount of sarcasm. And smirking.
He intends to wipe those smirks right off Ollie and Jerry's sorry faces by the end of the night, but the cards aren't really cooperating. He's actually down $30 by 9:30 when Oliver fires his empty beer bottle into the blue box in the corner with a practised arm, and shoves his chair back. "My brothers, I appreciate the cash infusion. Or Izzy's orthodontist does. But I gotta get myself home before Zoe locks me out again."
Sam's eyebrows climb towards his hairline. Seriously, nine thirty? There's whipped, and then there's … well, Ollie. "Are you kidding me? I haven't even gotten started kicking your ass, Shaw."
But there's Jerry, gathering up the bowls of peanuts and cheezies and heading to the kitchen with them. Jesus, him too?
"Jerry …. buddy," Sam implores. "C'mon, whatever happened to a decent guy's night? You're shutting us down at this hour?" It's not the thirty bucks. He really, really doesn't want to quit playing yet … and he doesn't really want to go home to an empty house tonight either. McNally will be out dancing with Nash and Peck and likely Epstein, honourary girlfriend that he is, till the wee hours, he's sure, and he'd already told himself a night off from their … recreations … was healthy, a good thing for both of them.
But Jerry shakes his head. "Sorry, Sammy, got plans. I'm meeting up with Traci at the club in a bit." Okay, Jerry's always been more of a dancer than Sam. No wonder he's still in his Saturday Night Fever suit. Sam just hadn't really registered that Barber and Nash had become such a … a thing. When had that happened?
He can't resist razzing Jerry a bit about it. "What, am I the only single guy in the room these days? The only one not on a short leash? Christ, Barber." If there's a hint of bitterness in his tone, he hadn't meant for it to be there, but that's how it's coming out.
But Jerry's letting it roll off. He just smiles benevolently. "I tell you what, Sammy, I'm going to take every minute with that woman that I can."
Over his shoulder, from the kitchen, he adds, "And I'm putting a ring on her finger, first chance I get."
If Sam's eyebrows were north of their usual position before, they rocketed another notch skyward at this admission. This was Jerry, whose divorce had been such a trainwreck that Sam figured it had permanently cured him of the whole notion of matrimony. It's not like he hadn't known he and Nash were seeing each other, but he'd assumed they were fuckbuddies. He'd had no idea it was that kind of serious. But apparently he's the only one who's been wandering around clueless, because Shaw doesn't look in the least surprised. He's just nodding in approval.
Sam suddenly feels like some sort of endangered species about to be stuffed and mounted in a glass case. Oliver doesn't really count, of course. He and Zoe had been together since high school, and were married and pumping out kids before Ollie even left the academy. Sam can't begin to imagine him single. But Jerry …. Hell, the whole damn station was pairing up; even stalwart Noelle had hooked up with Best. And he realizes, as the eyebrows descend and his forehead creases with the processing of it all, that he's still identifying himself as the lone wolf.
And really, is he? And does he still want to be?
Shaw, shrugging on his coat, is watching the gears turn in Sam's head with gentle amusement. He slaps him on the shoulder. "Whatcha looking so terrified about, Sammy? It's called growing up."
For Sam, who's been feeling like it's all been a bit too much normal, it's something he's going to have to chew on.