FIC: Queen of Diamonds

[ Queen of Diamonds ]

AUTHOR: Isabelle Kennedy

WEBPAGE: http://www.geocities.com/retroeighties

CATEGORY: Sam/Alex

SPOILERS: General

RATING: R (Language, Sex)

DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of the BBC, Sheffield, Brown & related companies. No copyright infringement intended. Summary is courtesy of The Eagles. Archive anywhere; just drop me a line first.

SUMMARY: “Take another shot of courage/Wonder why the right words never come/You just get numb.”

"How long have you known?"

He walks up behind you in the car park and, for a minute, you wonder if you should pretend you don't understand. But then you remember that he knows you too well.

"Why?"

He stops abruptly and, of course, so do you.

"Because I find it hard to believe that she's suddenly confiding in you."

You frown and then, realising that he can't see you, turn towards him.

"I guess you just make her so happy that she can't contain herself."

You meant to be cutting and sardonic but you just sound like a bitch.

"Yeah," he replies laconically and you can't tell whether your words actually affected him, can't decipher the tone of his voice.

"I'm sorry, that was..."

He nods at your inept stumble of an apology and leans against the wall; the streetlights cast an unnatural glare across his face, making him look a decade older and wearier than he actually is.

"Look, I'm going for a drink now..."

Again, you pause in the middle of a sentence, realising your mistake. He looks sideways at you, almost lazily, yet you can see the sharpness, the anger in his eyes.

"Is this an invitation?"

You counter his pointed mockery defiantly. "Would you go if it was?"

"I'm not sure I can trust you around alcohol."

You wince, knowing that it is far less than you deserve.

"Well, I'd rather not be home with Jess right now, so I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

And you walk away, but he calls out. "What's Ric doing?"

This time you don't turn around. "I can't face him."

"Why?"

"He's concerned about his daughter and I can't tell him the truth."

"That's because it's none of your business."

"Alex, as much as you hate it, she confided in me, I live with her and I'm seeing her father."

He looks at you. "What a fucking mess."

And, despite everything, you end up in a bar with dim lighting and uncomfortable seats. Soon though, you are beyond caring. You ask the barman for two Jack Daniels (because you haven't drunk vodka since that night) while noticing the colourful array of bottles in front of you.

"What's this?" he asks when you return and place the glasses heavily on the wooden table.

You shrug. "Whiskey."

You exchange an awkward glance. Then, absently, you trace your finger around the edge of the glass.

"I had an abortion once."

He looks up at you in shock - no, not shock, you think - more surprise that he didn't know this already.

"When?"

"The second year of my law degree, before my father..."

He nods and you can see him working out the dates in his head.

"Twenty?"

"Yeah."

"Do you regret it?"

You think for a moment. "No, never. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't done it."

"So, you think Jess should have an abortion."

"It's different for her."

He looks at you, confused, and so you elaborate. "I knew there was no way the father would want the baby, he was a complete bastard."

He chooses to avoid the implication of your words. "Then why were you with him?"

"Because I have a knack of picking men who screw me over."

And you drain your shot glass, the sweet amber liquid burning your throat.

Later, at the door, he helps you on with your coat. You are both slightly unsteady on your feet; not drunk, exactly, but not entirely sober. His hand lingers on your shoulder and you exit the bar. The air is not cold, but warm and fragrant.

"What now?" he asks.

You look him in the eye and it is inevitable; you are so close that you can feel his breath on your face.

"Something we probably shouldn't."

Then he kisses you and it's as much about punishment as passion. He pushes you into the cold wall, scraping your back along the bricks, so you scrape your fingernails across his shoulder blades in retaliation.

And you hate yourself for doing this again.

It is his house, his bedroom, in which you end up, for obvious reasons. You are at least able to retain some shred of clarity and dignity in all of this.

It is darker inside his room, you think, than outside in the street, but you don't mind. You fall back onto the bed, pulling him with you, on top of you. He braces his weight, his hands either side of your head and the gap between your lips is infinitesimal yet insurmountable. Instead, he quickly unfastens your shirt, the tiny buttons clattering over the floor.

Minutes later, your thighs are wrapped around his waist and your arms are pinned above your head as he slides inside you. His fingers dig into the small of your back as he lifts your hips up to meet his. Then soon, too soon, you are gasping his name and gripping his shoulders as you come; a minute later, it is your name on his lips.

In the morning, just after dawn, you climb out of his bed, pushing the tangled sheets aside. As you pad the familiar steps to his bathroom, you notice that the muscles in your legs are sore and that your body aches.

You return ten minutes later and he is still asleep; you watch him for a moment in the dim light, then turn to the door.

"Sam..."

His voice is soft and scratched like an old record.

You still. "Yes?"

"Are you leaving?"

You nod, then remember that he can't see you in the darkness. "Yeah."

There is silence, when you realise that you have no idea what he will say next.

"This can't happen again, it was pitiful."

"Wasn't it," you agree, wishing you had said it first and walk out of his house.

On the way home, you wonder if Jess will care where you were all night - you hope she'll think you were with Ric and then flinch at your callousness - and whether she'll suspect that you could be this stupid, that you could betray her.

You don't mean to be like this, to be a bitch, but most of the time it's easier than being good. You've never been the nice girl and, in truth, you're not sure that you know how.

You're also not sure that you believe in fate, but this is what it seems to be; life is a game of cards and you take the hand you're dealt. And you might be the queen of diamonds, because you know you’re not the queen of hearts.

End.