An Unchanged Soul
Chapter Thirteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


Sam wiggled a finger through the hole in his bar
towel.  It looked like a normal finger, felt like a
normal finger - even the fingernail was a bit
ragged and dirty underneath, though he imagined he
picked up all sorts of grime from the bar,
especially the night before cleaning day.  But that
wasn't the point of his inspection, and he damned
well knew it.  No use kidding himself; ever since
Sunday night, he'd been bothered by the sight of
that slit in his sweatshirt.  His *favorite*
sweatshirt that he'd had to throw away because he
couldn't rid it of blood stains.

He'd decided Monday morning he was imagining things
as far as the tear in the shirt was concerned.  It
had been an old, moth-eaten shirt, and he supposed
the knife might have nicked it some.  The guy
pulling on it had probably turned a little thing
into a big hole, which wouldn't have taken much
effort, seeing as the shirt was probably going on
fifteen years old.  But still, he found himself
pondering the whole scene over and over.  He could
still see the guy's face plain as day, still hear
him apologize in a shaky voice.  What kind of
bandit apologized before robbing you blind?  Not
the kind he'd ever come across, though he had to
admit he'd never come across one so deadly before. 
He'd been acquainted with men who lied, cheated and
stole from their own mothers - but none of them
would harm a flea aside from the occasional barroom
brawl.

No, he wasn't scared of the guy - but he'd sure as
hell like to talk to him.  Something about the way
the guy looked at him made him antsy, like he
should know the fellow.

"Works better if you don't make the holes bigger. 
Holes tend to ruin the towel's purpose, lad."

Sam glanced up at Mike with a grin, crunching the
towel in his hand.  "Good idea."

"What's up with you tonight, lad?  You've been
mighty quiet.  For that matter, you've been pretty
mum the whole week.  Chauncy's taken to chewing
*my* ear off about baseball."  Mike slid a beer
down the bar past Sam.  "And I'm not much of a
baseball fan.  If he'd talk boxing, maybe."

"I promise I'll take Chauncy off your hands
tonight, Mike."  He moved away, determined to do
his job like Mike wanted.  Until Mike surprised him
by clamping a hand on his arm.

"That's not what I meant, Sam.  This isn't like you
- last Saturday night, you worked the baar like a
pro.  Is it the run-in with the guy last Sunday
afternoon?  Is that what's buggin' you?"

Mike looked at him with genuine concern, but Sam
couldn't bring himself to lay his worries on his
boss.  Mike risked a lot with the Scully family by
literally hiring a man off the street.  And Sam
wanted nothing more than to prove his worth - to
Fox and to Mike.  That meant just doing his job,
period.  No use bringing personal business into it.

"I'm okay, Mike," he assured him.

But Mike Scully wasn't easily deterred.  "Because
if that's what's bothering you, you're not alone. 
Emma hasn't been the same since Sunday, either."

Sam perked up at that, hoping that maybe Emma's
problems were related to the kiss, not the robbery
attempt.  It sure would make *him* feel better
about the weak feeling he got every time she came
near.  Which wasn't often enough for his tastes, as
he hadn't seen her since Sunday.  And even then,
when she'd shown up for work tonight she hadn't
even looked his way, preferring to switch with
Jenny and work the opposite side of the room.  "She
hasn't?"

"Mighty quiet as well.  Of course, I think the
goings-on last Sunday scared her more than she'd
like to admit."

"Scared the hell out of me."  He met Mike's serious
look with one of his own, as a sudden thought
occurred to him.  "She wasn't really hurt, was she? 
Is that why she hasn't been around?  She had to see
a doctor, didn't she?"

"Whoa, boy, take it easy.  Emma's fine."  Mike
looked out over the room at his daughter.  "No, I
think she's finally been shaken out of that little
world she lives in, and she's fightin' back the
only way she knows how."

Sam felt the statement directed toward him as Mike
looked at Emma.  He wasn't a fool; he knew Mike
suspected something going on between them but was
too tactful to come right out and say it.

"By pretending nothing's changed," Sam murmured,
following Mike's lead as he watched Emma laugh and
joke with the customers.

"Bingo.  You know, you're pretty smart for an Army
man.  Never met a grunt as quick on the uptake as
you."

He faced Mike with a laugh, daring to tease the
older man.  "Spoken by a true Navy man.  I'll thank
you to take your Scully sea legs and leave me to my
work."

"Be diligent, lad," Mike said in parting.  "In
slinging beer *and* changing the world."  He left
with a whistle to tend his spot by the door.  Sam
heard his bellow of greeting with a distant mind. 
One very much on the woman who'd become his world
in a very, very short time.

Diligent.  Another ten-dollar word for a very
impatient Sam.


**********


"Here now, this makes two weekends in a row!  I'm
beginning to feel special!"

Scully leaned as far as she could over the bar to
accept Mike's hello kiss.  Behind her, Mulder
stretched a hand in Mike's direction.  "Emma
invited us to dinner, Uncle Mike," she said.  "She
didn't tell you?"

"Bah - that girl has her head in the sand these
days.  I'm surprised she remembered to show up
tonight."  He passed a firm look Emma's way before
facing Scully once more.  "Not that I'm not glad to
see the two of you.  I just wish she'd let me know
these things so I can hold the best table in the
house for you."

"We can sit anywhere, Mike," Mulder said.  "Sam
here?"

"Sure, sure.  He's at the other end of the bar, as
usual.  Right good worker he is, Mulder.  None
better."

Scully felt a kiss brush her hair below her hat. 
"I'll meet you at the table, okay?  I just want to
tell Sam hello."

"Okay." She gave the hand on her shoulder a
squeeze, then watched him walk away before leaning
in to whisper to Mike, "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure, darlin'.  Let me take you to a table so you
can sit."


**********


"So, the week's gone okay?"

Mulder couldn't deny he'd been on pins and needles
just about every night, expecting another phone
call like the one Sam made Sunday.  Except this
time, it would have been Mike.  Or worse, the
police, telling him his brother had finally met up
with the knife he couldn't handle.

"Week's been good."  Sam wiped at the bar, avoiding
Mulder's stare.  "Pay's not much, but I'm having a
great time here.  I like working for Mike, and I
like the customers.  They're all good people."

"They are," Mulder agreed, looking over his
shoulder to find Scully seated at a table with
Mike.  "And you?  How are you?"

Sam's eyes snapped up.  "I'm not drinking, if
that's what you're asking."

"That's not what I'm asking."  If Sam was back to
his old ways, he'd know it.  Scully would have
heard about it through the family grapevine. 
Besides, something in his brother's somber look
told him the opposite - Sam had more on his mind
than the need for booze.  "I'm asking if you're
okay, that's all."

"I'm fine."

As many times as Mulder had heard the same from his
wife, when it just wasn't true, he knew Sam was
giving him the same lie.  But a bar full of people
was not the place to poke into Sam's business. 
With a sigh, Mulder tapped the bar.  "Look, I have
your discharge papers in my office.  Come by one
day this week and we'll go get some lunch.  My
treat."

He saw Sam sag a bit, sure he was about to refuse. 
But Sam cracked a little smile and replied, "Sure. 
I could always use a free meal."

"I'll tell the front desk to be on the lookout for
you, say Wednesday?"

"I'll have to ask Mike."

"Just give me a call at home one evening, let me
know what day is good for you."

"Sure thing."

"And Sam?"  Mulder paused in the act of turning.

"Yeah?"

"You're doing good.  Just wanted you to know that."

Sam's smile became broader.  It made Mulder shiver
with remembrance of old times and happier days. 
Maybe those times were back.

"Thanks, Smokey.  Now go on before Mike steals Dana
away from you."


**********


"I don't know, Uncle Mike... she's just not
herself."

Scully, without giving away too many details, had
told her uncle of Emma's behavior yesterday
afternoon, wanting his opinion on the matter.  He'd
nodded and hummed with agreement several times, as
if he suspected the same thing.

"I know she isn't," he said, "and I don't think the
robbery is the reason, though it may have shaken
her up a bit.  You can't really tell with my girl,
she's so strong.  It takes a lot to make her
crack."

From the corner of her eye, Scully saw Mulder
talking to Sam.  His stiff back relaxed when Sam
smiled, and she knew her time with Uncle Mike was
coming to an end.  "Then what is it?  Is it Sam?"

Mike's eyes twinkled.  "You've hit the nail on the
head, love.  At least, that's what I think."

For all that she'd told Emma she was relenting in
her suspicion of Sam, she still couldn't shake the
feeling there was more to him than they all knew. 
She hesitated in telling Mike so, he was so taken
with Mulder's brother.  But she couldn't let it
pass without comment.  "Are you sure Sam's right
for her?  Sounds to me like she's not too keen on
the idea.  She won't even give him the time of day,
from the way she speaks of him."

"Oh, she's given him more than the time of day,
Dana me darlin'."

Mike's wink alerted her to something she wasn't
privy to - he never was all that good at keeping
secrets.  But he excelled at helping along a
budding romance, something he'd done for her and
Mulder once upon a time.  This time, however, she
had him beat.  "You're talking about the kiss?"

Mike fairly split a cheek with his puffy frown. 
"She told you?"

"She did.  And she thinks *you* didn't see it, so
keep it under your hat, Uncle Mike."

"Like I'd tease the girl about it."

Scully stared him down.

"All right, I won't say a thing," he relented. 
"But it's encouraging, don't you think?"

"Encouraging is not the word I'd use," Scully
muttered, remembering Emma's sadness at the
prospect of falling for Sam.

"What's that?"

"Here comes Mulder," she said, spying her husband's
approach.  "Listen Uncle Mike, don't push her.  I
don't think she knows what she wants right now, and
throwing her at Sam won't do any good."

Mike took her hand.  "I know that, Dana.  I promise
not to meddle."  He glanced at Sam.  "With either
side of the coin."

"Good."  It was the best she could hope for, now
that she'd had confirmation of the burgeoning
relationship.  Emma wasn't one to be forced into
any situation, and all Scully wanted was for her
cousin to be happy.

"Conspiring against me?"  Mulder's voice drifted
over them.  "Or for me?"

Mike stood, giving Mulder a hearty slap on the
back.  "Always for you, lad.  Always."  With a
smile, he left them alone.

As Mulder sat across from her, Scully gave him a
smile, feeling better now that she'd talked to
Mike.  Of course, just being in Mulder's presence
lightened her spirits.  He looked at her sometimes
like she was the finest of things, and a woman
could ask for no more than that.  She hoped Emma
enjoyed the same love one day... even if it was
with someone like Sam Mulder.

Who, she admitted to herself, she still didn't
totally trust.


**********


The hours passed in a whirl of one drink after
another, and still she hadn't said one word to him,
though she'd chatted it up practically all evening
with Fox and Dana.  He wasn't stupid; he knew she'd
used them to avoid the ultimate confrontation she
knew would come.  But he smiled when he saw his
brother and sister-in-law finally leave, knowing it
was just a matter of time until he could get Emma
alone.

As it was approaching eleven o'clock, Sam noticed
the crowd had thinned considerably.  The pub closed
at midnight and the wind outside had changed,
signaling the approach of another bout of winter
weather.  Many of the patrons, fearing a good
soaking by the coming rain, were trickling out in
an effort to beat the storm home.  It wasn't
supposed to snow, but the changeable climate of the
Chesapeake Bay area had never been easy to predict
or tame.  Sam waited, knowing exactly what tack
Emma would use to break free of his dogged
determination to speak to her.  He wasn't
disappointed.

"Da, I think I'll go home early, if that's all
right with you," she said softly to her father at
the other end of the bar, though Sam heard it
clearly over the now quieter din of the sparse
crowd.  "Weather's turning, and I want to make it
home before it hits.  People are saying a storm's
coming."

"I'd drive you home, darlin', but I need to give
Doris a lift home," Sam heard him say.  Doris was
the head cook in the kitchen, a rotund woman with
eyes only for Mike, though Sam knew his boss was
too polite to hurt the woman with a rejection.  "Go
on and take my car, I'll grab a taxi for me and
Doris."

"That's okay, Da.  I'll call a taxi for myself." 
She nodded at the phone while untying her apron,
silently asking her father to pass her the
receiver.

Sam saw his chance and took it, ignoring Mike's
raised eyebrow as he stepped forward.  "I can take
Emma home, Mike.  Then bring back the car for you."

"No!"  She just about had the quickest denials in
the world, Sam thought.  But it wasn't getting her
anywhere, not anymore.  He was determined.  "I
mean, I have the taxi company on the line already. 
They're on the way."  She looked down and barked
brisk instructions into the phone line.

Well, if she thought *that* little trick was
putting him off the scent, she was wrong.  "Can I
take my break now, Mike?  I haven't had one all
night."

"Sure, lad.  Even if we close at midnight, you
still have another hour's work ahead of you, don't
you?"

Sam nodded, totally in agreement - and totally in
sync with Mike's machinations around Emma's
determination to give Sam the slip.  He purposely
avoided the look Emma gave him, the one eerily like
a rabbit about to dart under cover, instead walking
the length of the bar to make for the kitchen.

Already winding down, the kitchen was a beehive of
cleaning activity.  Doris, up to her elbows in
dirty dishes and issuing orders, gave him a big
smile.  One he returned with a few words inquiring
as to her health.  She beamed, her ruddy cheeks
practically glowing as she wished him luck.  Did
everyone in the pub know he had it bad for Emma? 
Apparently so, though they were all nice enough to
do no more than throw a few knowing looks his way. 
He wondered if Emma enjoyed the same scrutiny, then
quickly decided she didn't.  Emma wouldn't stand
for teasing or gossip, and they all knew it.

He paused at the door that led to the back alley,
softly cursing as he realized his coat was
upstairs.  No matter - he wasn't losing the chance
to talk to her, even if he had to stand the cold in
shirt sleeves for a while.

It was very dark in the alley, with only a lone
light above the door.  Passing under it quickly, he
sought the safety of darkness as he crept along the
alley wall.  Poking his nose around the edge, he
almost smiled at his genius.

There she was, huddled in her coat on the front
step of the pub.  Like he figured, she hadn't even
waited inside for the taxi.  Damn, he was good. 
Now, to get her away from the door...

Leaning back against the wall, he let out a loud
curse.  "Son-of-a-bitch!"

As expected, she came running.  "Sam?"  She looked
at the way he favored his right hand, holding it as
if it pained him.  "What's the matter?"

"I think I sprained it trying to..."

The rabbit, still skittish, moved closer to the
trap.  "Trying to what?"

"Damn."  He turned it to and fro as he leaned in
with narrowed eyes.  "I can't see.  It's too dark."

Oh, but the rabbit had more smarts than he'd
remembered, as it twitched its nose on the scent of
danger.  "Come around to the front.  We'll go back
in the bar and have a look."  Emma slowly backed
away, all the while eyeing him with caution.

But he was quick to snap the trap shut, as he
reached out a hand to grab her coat.  In seconds,
he had her pinned against the alley wall, albeit in
a very furious squirm.  He felt her knee come up,
as she didn't even bother sputtering out a warning.

"No you don't," he said, putting his feet between
hers, effectively taking care of that threat as he
kept her hands down with his.  "Will you just
listen to me?"

"I'll scream!"

"Then I'll just have to kiss you to shut you up,"
he warned, keeping her in a light hold.  He didn't
want to do this to her, but he had no choice.  As
soon as she calmed down, he was going to let her
go.  All the closeness was not helping his mind's
rule over his body, which wanted nothing more than
to close what little distance remained between
them.

The fight within her ebbed, though she looked up at
him with scorching anger, her lips pursed over sure
curses.

"Will you promise to just listen to me for a
minute?" he asked, already loosening his hold.

Nose up in the air, she bit out, "You have until
the taxi arrives.  No longer."  With a haughty
sniff, she added, "And you can just forget about
tomorrow night.  I wouldn't walk to the corner with
you after this little stunt."

That he already knew, but he played it cool. 
"That's all I wanted to talk to you about, Emma. 
But you've been avoiding me all night."  He let her
go at last, and his body breathed a sigh of relief. 
Or was it a scream of disappointment?  "I was going
to tell you maybe it wasn't such a good idea for us
to go out together."

"You were?"

He shivered as he rubbed at the tired muscles of
his neck, half-turning to face the street.  "I
think that's your taxi."

"It'll wait." He almost smiled at the way her tune
changed from swing - and he literally meant
*swing*, as in a punch to his face - to sedate,
chamber music in an instant.  "What do you mean, it
isn't a good idea?"

"Well, after that kiss, I mean... I figure you
wouldn't want to have anything to do with me,
Emma."  Nothing worked better than the truth, even
if it was delivered with an overdone, sympathy-
inspiring sadness.  "It really meant nothing to
me..."  Like hell it didn't.  Okay, so he stretched
the 'truth' a bit.  "I mean, it meant something,
just not what I wanted from you now."

For a second, she looked almost... disappointed? 
No, that couldn't be.  Must have been a trick of
the shadows.

"Then would you mind telling me what you want from
me so we can be done with this?"  She straightened
her coat and gloves with sudden impatience,
glancing at the idling cab on the corner.

"Just like you said - friendship.  I'm sorry if the
kiss ruined all that for us, Emma.  I really just
want to be your friend."  Oh, he was in it hip deep
now.  "And I totally understand if you don't want
to go to dinner with me tomorrow night.  I suppose
I can ask one of the girls from the kitchen."

A sly, knowing look came over her face as she
crossed her arms.  "Oh, I get it."

"Get what?"

"You can't make me jealous, Sam."

Geez, she was one sharp cookie.  "What if I told
you I'd take Lydia instead?"

Lydia was one of the more overt girls in the
kitchen, a busty blond with bad teeth but a
hankering for a good time.  All week, she'd been
using every opportunity to rub that generous bosom
against him.  He'd taken to eating behind the bar,
it had gotten so bad.  Speaking of bad - man, he
must have it bad for Emma if he turned down such an
easy target.

"Have at it," she said, though her face hardened a
bit.  "She's perfect for you."

"Nah, no can do."

"Why not?"

Two could play that game.  "Because that would make
it too easy for you.  I owe you, Emma.  One dinner
and a movie.  I never welch on a bet."

"I release you from any and all obligation."  She
glanced over his shoulder at the waiting taxicab. 
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to catch a cab."

"Coward."  He'd been longing to say it since day
one, the first time she'd ducked away from him in
the hospital.  Designed to piss her off once and
for all, or prod her to face up to facts and accept
his suit, the word produced results either way.  He
waited for what seemed like an eternity, as she
stopped dead in her tracks, mere feet from escape.

He held his breath, something he always seemed to
be doing around Emma.  One of these days he was
liable to pass out from lack of oxygen.

She turned, her legs wrapped in steamy exhaust from
the waiting cab, her eyes narrowing to mere slits. 
"What did you call me?"

At least it got a serious response, even if it was
bordering on anger.  "I called you a coward."

She threw up her hands, her purse dangling in the
growing wind.  "What *is* it with people today?"

"What?"  She'd lost him, big time.  He stood
stupefied, feeling the first drops of rain splatter
against his shirt.

"First Dana, now you.  I am *not* a coward!"  She
interrupted his sure answer with an even more
vehement, "And don't you dare say 'prove it'!  I
don't have to prove anything to you, Sam Mulder! 
To you or anybody else!"

He bit his lip at her sudden tirade.  He'd pushed
her too far.  Emma could take a bit of needling
like anyone else, but her pride eventually won out
in the end.  Looked like he was at a dead end.  At
his silence, she reached for the door handle,
swinging it open with all the strength she could
muster.

"I like you, Emma.  I just want to spend some time
with you," he said softly.  He couldn't remember
ever saying that to a woman.  "Is that so wrong?"

With her back to him, he could barely hear her
answer.  The way it was delivered, in a choked
whisper, made him long to cover her with his rain-
soaked body.  To take away her pain and replace it
with happiness.

"It's wrong when you don't mean it."

She thought he didn't mean any of what he was
saying?  That he didn't want to be with her?  Was
he that much of a gigolo in her eyes?

"No, you're wrong, Emma," he replied, his voice
hoarse with fury of his own.  "You don't think I
need someone?  You don't think I just want to go
out with a beautiful woman and watch her laugh all
night long and know that she's with *me* and no one
else -"

She turned, her face hopeful and so damned lovely
it made him sputter to a stop.  "You think I'm
beautiful?"

A fist to the stomach wouldn't have had the power
to steal his breath like the sight of her face at
that moment did.  

"Christ, Emma - you're so pretty it makes me ache
just looking at you."  He stepped forward, babbling
like an idiot.  He'd never had to sweet talk a
woman before, and he felt damned foolish doing it. 
But it didn't stop him from revealing more of
himself than he ever had before.

"Don't swear."  The warning was delivered with
trembling lips, and he lost it to the avalanche of
frustration.

"Damn it, Emma, I'm spilling my guts here.  Give me
a break!"

"Go on then.  Let's see what you got, slugger."

He clammed up immediately, his mind drawing a blank
as she stood with a raised eyebrow.  One second
passed, then two, and he hung his head, his foot
kicking at the small puddle forming on the
sidewalk.  "Your hair."

Way to go, moron, he chastised himself.  That
wasn't exactly Shakespeare material.

"What about my hair?"

This was it - make it or break it time.  Two outs
in the bottom of the ninth, and he held the bat in
his hand.  He stepped forward, swallowing down the
big lump of fear in his throat.

"Your hair... God, I just want to bury myself in it
and never come up for air."

"Really?"

"Really."

The cabbie's voice intruded.  "Lady, you gettin' in
or not?"

Emma turned her head.  "Oh, hush up and start the
meter."  Then she faced Sam again, the liquid
depths of her eyes alight with anticipation. 
"Anything else?"

With relief, he realized Emma was just as
susceptible to compliments as the next woman, as
her eyes sparkled with happiness.  Of course, she
wasn't exactly falling all over him with grateful
kisses.  He didn't expect her to melt at his feet,
though that burgeoning smile was promising.

"Your smile, Emma," he continued, making his voice
soft and sure.  "Your smile makes me want to kiss
you again and again."

A slight frown pinched her forehead.  "I think we
should leave off the kissing talk for now."

He understood her avoidance of that subject; she
still regretted pouncing on him last Sunday.  As if
that were anything to regret, he thought.  He'd
never had a sweeter kiss in his life.  But he went
along with her wishes... for now.

"Your eyes bring me to my knees, whether you're
angry as hell at me or looking at me like you are
now."

"And how is that?"

"Like you want me to kiss you."  So, his resolve
lasted all of one moment.  Big deal.  She couldn't
expect him to forget how hot that kiss was, now
could she?  Damn, but he wanted to do it again.

"No kissing talk, Sam."

Mere inches from her now, he shivered in the rain,
ignoring her protest.  "I *know* you want me to
kiss you again.  Don't deny it.  I know you want to
spend time with me, to come out to dinner with me. 
But you won't let yourself.  And it beats the hell
out of me why you won't."  His hands came up to cup
her face.  "*I* mean it, Emma.  I mean every word. 
You just don't want to hear it."

Water dripped from the brim of her hat like tears,
splashing on his shoes as she dropped her chin.  He
cursed softly, finally realizing she was never
going to give in and admit they deserved a chance. 
He turned and made for the door of the pub.

"Sam?"

Hand outstretched for the door, he closed his eyes,
wondering if he should just keep going.  Emma was
definitely worth all the trouble, but he didn't
know if he could take all the see-sawing much
longer.  And if he said, "What?", he was guaranteed
another rollercoaster ride... wait a minute.  He
*had* answered her, damn his stupid tongue.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow evening around six,
okay?"

He tamped down the surge of happiness, for once
thinking with a clear head.  His pride had just
taken a severe beating, and he wanted no part of
her acceptance if it was based on friendly
sympathy.  "Don't pity me, Emma.  If you don't want
to do this, just say so."

"I like you too, Sam.  I would very much like to
spend tomorrow evening with you."

Slowly, he faced her, seeking the truth of her
words as he looked at her face.  No more dancing
around the issue, in his mind.  If they did this,
they were set on a path to something more than
friendship.  He made sure she knew that.  "As
friends?  No, thank you.  I've had enough of
friendship with you, Emma."

"I can't just jump into something... more, Sam. 
Can't you see that?"

He did; Emma wasn't like other girls he'd known. 
Hell, he'd never had to put forth so much effort
with a woman, which spoke of her uniqueness. 
"We're not jumping into anything, Emma.  We're
walking into it with our eyes wide open.  Agreed?"

"As long as we walk nice and slow.  Do you agree to
that?"

"Yes."  He would take it as slow as she wanted,
though it was liable to kill him.  One step at a
time, beginning with something he very much wanted
to do, as he walked back to her.  "May I kiss you
good night?"

She sighed, her lips curling into a pretty pout. 
"Must you always bring kissing into it?"

"I must.  It's something I like to do very much,
Emma.  Something I like to do with you."  He
grinned at her, loving the way she fought at every
turn.  Well, now that he'd claimed a small victory,
he could put up with a bit of obstinance, he
decided.

"All right then," she said on a deep exhale. 
"Tonight or tomorrow night?"

Leave it to Emma to hash out details, he thought. 
"Tonight."

She offered her lips with closed eyes.  Oh no, he
thought.  He wasn't wasting tomorrow night's kiss
on a little peck tonight.  He bent and brushed his
lips over the downy softness of her cheek,
lingering no more than necessary.

Her eyes popped open.  "That's it?"

"That's it."  He almost laughed at her
disappointment.  "Of course, I can try again if you
want."

"No, no, that was... nice," she said in a whisper,
the scent of her wafting up between them.  He
caught his breath at the sudden burst of desire
within him; neither of them moved, gently swaying
in the rain.  She looked at him from under heavy
lashes.  "See... slow can be wonderful."

Man, could it, he thought, enjoying the view as his
hand came up to her waist.  "Yeah, but I'm gonna be
taking a lot of cold showers until we get to third
gear."

Emma laughed, her frosty breath tickling his chin. 
"Just stand out in the rain, like you're doing now. 
Guaranteed to cool you off."

"Say good night, already, mack!"  The cabbie's
shout broke them apart.  "It's freezing out here!"

Sam clenched his jaw over the urge to punch the guy
out, but Emma reached up to touch his cheek with a
gloved hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sam," she breathed, her
eyes like diamonds in the night.  "Try not to catch
your death of cold until then, okay?"

"I never catch cold," he said, covering her hand
with his as he tried to steal a kiss.  "But if I
do, will you be my nurse?"

"That's enough of that.  You need to get inside,
and I need to get ready for that wonderful date you
promised me."

"So it's a date now?"

"It's a date."  She ducked her head, climbing into
the car.  "Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Emma."

He watched the cab speed away.  Only then did he
allow himself to let it go, his *whoop* of victory
carrying all the way up and down the street.

"Here now, lad - what are ya doin' out here in the
rain?"

Mike stood in the door of the pub, looking at him
like he was crazy.  Sam spread his hands, his smile
goofy.  But he didn't care - he didn't care if the
whole world thought he was nuts.

He tilted his head to one side, feeling rainwater
drip on his shoulder.  "Being diligent?"

Mike huffed, shaking his head.  "You're daft."  The
door closed behind him.

Sam threw up an imaginary baseball and gave it a
swing out of the park before following Mike in.



End Chapter Thirteen