FIC: Just a Little Insight (13/?) Popular, Sam/Brooke
Just A Little Insight (13/?)
By Misty Flores
Teaser: It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her. There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had.
Series: Popular, Sam/Brooke, Brooke/other, Sam/other
Spoilers: Post SII
CHAPTERS
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V| Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII
MAJOR props go to faechick for the awesome beta.
--
PART THIRTEEN - You Lower Yours
Brooke had never had the misfortune of being punched in the gut: she had always preferred to internalize her pain. She had, however, once had a conversation with Josh in which he described the feeling.
He said that beyond the pain, what really left you crippled was the fact that for the moment, you couldn't breathe. He said it was the ultimate humiliation because a punch to the stomach was something done to suckers, the least suspecting victims that had all the breath pushed out of them and were left to scramble on the floor, helpless and floundering.
She never really understood what he was talking about, until she caught sight of Sam.
Rooted to the ground in frozen amazement, Brooke clutched onto Dusty in such a forceful way the other girl audibly hissed in surprise.
"Sam decided to spend the summer with us after all," Jane said, filling the silence with a cheery smile and an outstretched arm. "We haven't met."
Speechless, Brooke dragged her eyes from the cool dark gaze of Sam to her bewildered girlfriend. Thankfully, Dusty managed to keep her senses when Brooke's had flown out the window.
"Hi," Extricating herself as well as she could from Brooke's clutches, she met Jane's hand in a firm handshake. "I'm Dusty."
"This is Dusty," she repeated weakly, a little too late. There was an awkward silence, as she became the unwanted recipiant of two bewildered glances. Flushing, she looked away.
"Dusty, I'm Jane," Jane voice was warm. "The brooding young lady behind me is Sam. Thanks for helping Brooke with her things!"
"Well, you're welcome," Dusty said good-naturedly. "But to be fair, had I known how much stuff there actually was, I may have reconsidered."
On the surface, she was charming, and funny. A minute glance back at Brooke, colored eyes were clouded with doubt, revealed the vulnerability behind them ask.
It was that second of fragile pleading that forced her attention away from the still quiet Sam. Shoulders straightening, she inhaled deeply.
"Well," she said, drawing her fingertips reassuringly down the inked curve of Dusty's forearm. "Score one for me, then."
With gritted teeth and a determined smile, she unlatched the door and jerked up the trunk.
--
Her step-sister had returned a gothy, repressed mute.
Sam's dark brown hair was shorter than Brooke remembered. She was back to wearing heavy eye make-up, hiding the simple beauty of Sam's round eyes. The shirt she wore was fitted and tight over dark blue jeans. Her mouth was lined darkly with a dark plum lipstick and her ever expressive tongue seemed permanently wedged in the corner of her mouth; a permanent pout.
At the dinner table, she offered no hospitality, and instead kept her eyes on the food she wasn't eating. Every so often, dark doe eyes would venture up to linger on Dusty before returning once again to her uneaten pork chop.
Sam was thinner than she remembered, with pale skin and dark fingernails.
It all added up to something that was very wrong and Brooke's heart ached at the very presence of the troubled girl.
Still, she was recovering from the shock of seeing Sam ages before she would ever be ready, and because of that, Brooke wasn't afforded the luxury of nursing her wounded emotions in private.
It made her needlessly cranky, and in an effort to salvage the evening, Brooke resolved to ignore her completely.
Dusty was already nervous enough to seem almost perky. Posture uncomfortably perfect, her rocker chick was trying hard to carry a conversation with a valiant Jane and a stuttering Mike. In between small bites, Dusty pulled at her sleeves, an obvious self conscious attempt to hide the tattoos.
That tiny action flooded her with unexpected warmth, and it was because of it that she pushed past her own own turmoil, deciding instead to do her best to try to make Dusty feel as comfortable as possible.
"Dusty's in a band," she announced in a lapse of conversation. Almost immediately, Dusty's head whirled, messy bangs falling in her face as she gave her a rather frigid glare. "She's really good," Brooke continued, patting her girlfriend's lap reassuringly. "I'm taking the promotional pictures for their website."
"Well, we actually really suck, right now," Dusty said quickly, narrowing her stare at Brooke meaningfully. "I mean, we just play in these dumpy dives-"
"Oh really? What kind of music do you play?" Mike seemed more than politely curious. "I used to play a little rock 'n roll myself, back in the ole' days."
"Oh, please for the love of God, don't get him started," Jane pleaded, dropping her fork on her plate. "The last time I had to hear about the “ole” days we blew a fuse out in the garage."
The memory brought a sincere smile. "Dad's old guitar is back there," Brooke explained.
"The fuse blew because the amp was old," Mike said, peeved. "I'm sure Dusty can appreciate that a Fender needs some real power behind it."
"Uh... I don't know." Dusty cleared her throat, and Brooke felt the warm touch of her palm spread over her thigh. "I'm a Gibson girl myself."
The sudden loud clang of silverware against glass was enough to make even Mike jump.
Sam stood, a sour expression on the pretty face. Stunned, Brooke felt a sudden chill, when brown eyes locked on hers, blazingly furious.
"May I be excused?"
Sam. didn't wait for an answer.
It was an awkward silence that followed.
"She's had a rough week," Jane said quietly, before smiling at Dusty. "More potatoes?"
The ease at which Sam and her behavior had been dismissed was startling, and immediately, the tension bubbling in Brooke's stomach erupted in fury.
"Wait, what?" Fingers curling into fists, Brooke's eyes narrowed angrily at her step mother. "That's all she gets? A tough week?"
"Brooke," Mike began.
"We have a guest," she seethed, through gritted teeth. "And Sam is acting like a spoiled bitch."
"Brooke, that's enough," Jane snapped. "And behave yourself." A stern glare went meaningfully at Dusty, and Brooke's eyes snapped shut tight, frustrated beyond belief.
"Is there a bathroom?!" Dusty asked suddenly, her voice a squeak.
Mike was immediately on his feet. "Yes, of course." He smiled warmly. "Come on, I'll show you where it is."
Brooke's girlfriend's expression was uncomfortable, and for that Brooke regretted her outburst. Her smile as she passed was bittersweet, apologetic.
As Dusty and Mike left the kitchen, Jane's was anything but.
"Is it really the end of the world to sit down to dinner, and expect you two to behave yourselves?" her step-mother asked quietly.
"Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" Eyes glittering with anger, her tone was low, furious. "Was this your idea?"
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission to allow my daughter to come home for the summer, Brooke."
Digusted, her silverware dropped to her plate. Pushing away from the table, Brooke threw her arms up, surrendering. "No, you know what, Jane? You don't. You and Sam are welcome to this place."
"What is THE MATTER with you, Brooke? She is your sister!"
Something about the words, said at that time, in that situation, incensed her. She couldn't hear it. She didn't want to hear it. Shoulders rolling with the force of her reaction, she whirled. "She is NOT my sister!" Brooke's eyes were a blazing torrent of hurt and frustration. "You can't force us together and expect us to believe that, Jane. You can't! Why do you keep doing it?! WHY?! Sam and I are never going to be sisters. We're never going to act like sisters, so why can't you just DEAL with it and let us BOTH move on?!"
The tirade left her breathless. Crumpling against the table, she pressed her palms over her face, now wanting to see Jane's reaction.
"Well, forgive me, Brooke." The tone in Jane's voice was hurt, tired. "But I can't give up on wanting to see the two of you together, and do you know why? Because you're amazing when you're together."
It was the last thing she expected to hear, and the surprise forced the hands away from her face.
"The two of you... exhaust so much energy and focus on hating each other than you never realize how amazing the two of you are when you really connect. You're both passionate, powerful women and when you two work together there is absolutely nothing you can overcome. I've seen it, Brooke. I've seen what happens when the two of you forget that you hate each other. There's a connection there that it's so deep that you seem to complete each other."
Brooke's soul twisted inside of her. Eyes riveted on the table, she stared at her palms, and struggled to breath. A warm hand settled on her shoulder, meant to be reassuring, as Jane moved into the chair beside her.
"It just seems so ridiculous, to let that go to waste. Not when Mike and I both see it. You don't have to be sisters, Brooke. But if you were friends..."
Head lowering, Brooke closed her eyes, and tried to work past her furiously beating heart.
"Sam needs you, Brooke. She's here because she had nowhere else to go. She's not doing well in school, since after Spring Break..."
Her eyes opened again, shooting Jane a surprised glance.
"What do you mean?" Brooke's voice was rough.
Jane's mouth trembled in a shaky smile. "You don't have to be Sam's sister, Brooke. But I would really love it, if for this summer, you could be her friend." Squeezing her shoulder, Jane rose. "You seem to be in a much better place than she is."
Afraid to get up for fear her knees would give out on her, Brooke wasn't so sure.
--
"So, your step sister is an absolute treat."
Sitting in silence, parked in the red zone outside Dusty's Hollywood Hills apartment complex, Brooke could only offer a bittersweet smile.
"I'm sorry," she managed, fiddling with her key chain, jingling on the ignition, turning to eye the woman slumped in the seat across from her. "I think you managed to catch everyone at their worst."
"Hmm." Dusty's head pressed back against the headrest, as she contemplated the thought. "Is it wrong that it actually made me feel a little better?"
Brooke's brow arched in a curious response.
"If you guys were perfect," she explained, "I think I would have been scared out of my mind. As it was, I think I came off pretty well."
Sighing raggedly, she stared out into the darkness, watching the flash of headlights as cars drove by. Soft fingers meshed with her own, bringing her back to the lovely face of Dusty.
"You okay?"
It was a straightforward question, and as Brooke absorbed it, she shook her head in bewilderment. "Yeah," she breathed, oddly surprised by the realization. "I mean... I bring my girlfriend home and my step-sister freaks out and my stepmother completely pulls out the rug from under me and yet, it's STILL better than waking up from a coma."
"Imagine that," Dusty said sarcastically, and Brooke smiled, squeezing her fingers lovingly. "You are going to tell me what the hell that's all about, right?"
She studied the fingers currently in her grasp, and without thinking, brought them to her mouth.
"Where would you want to start?"
They smelled of lotion, and there were calluses on the tips, from years of plucking strings.
"We could start with the coma," Dusty began. "And then lead into why your step-sister wants to kill me."
"Do you really want to know?" Brooke asked. Dusty stared at her silently. "I might not be worth all this trouble," she whispered unsteadily.
Moonlight filtered into the car in stripes, and half of Dusty's face was hidden in shadows. Still, the crystal eyes were illuminated with an intoxicating sort of depth.
"I think it's little too late for me to think you're anything but."
Reaching forward, the other girl cupped her chin lovingly; a gentle caress. There was a lingering moment, and then Dusty leaned forward, covering her mouth in a demanding, possessive kiss.
Eyes closing instinctively, Brooke lost herself in the moment, opening her mouth and her heart.
--
It was late when she slipped into the kitchen, shutting the door as silently as she could behind her before rubbing her palm against her swollen lips and heading for the refrigerator.
She was too tired to think, and was grateful for that. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she pressed it against the ice maker, slumping against the cool metal of the fridge door for support.
Light flooded the kitchen as she was filling her glass with water, and it was so startling she nearly sent the entire thing crashing, salvaging it by splashing liquid all over the place.
"Dammit!" she hissed, turning and fumbling with the slippery glass, grimacing at the wetness before turning a startled gaze to her unwelcome intruder.
Naturally, it was Sam in the doorway, barefoot in a flannel pajama top and tiny shorts, looking sullen and sleepy and intoxicatingly sexy.
Swallowing hard, Brooke decided she wasn't in the mood.
"Don't worry," she snapped, when Sam failed to speak. Licking at her wet fingers, she ventured toward the sink and deposited her glass. "I'm leaving."
"Was that your girlfriend?" The short, desperate tone was oddly off-putting, and Brooke's annoyance only grew when she felt the telltale ache in her heart.
"We're dating," she confirmed matter-of-factly, arm dropping to her side as she leaned her hip against the counter. "Sam, I really don't want to do this right now. It's late. I’m tired."
Walking as fast as she could, she tried to brush past her ex-lover, determined to end this night without the added drama of a confrontation.
With one palm against her stomach, Sam stopped her. "Wait."
Brooke's eyes shut tight, and she stayed put. "What?" she breathed, eyes opening and turning her head, to look deeply into dark, intensely beautiful orbs.
Mouth turned down, Sam's face was clouded with conflict. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I shouldn't have acted that way."
It had been months since she had been alone with Sam, and the last time they had been together, they had been naked, curled together as the sweat cooling off their bare skin formed goosebumps. Brooke's mouth had been fresh with the taste of Sam's sex and she remembered Sam's mouth luxuriously planting warm kisses against her lips, her chin, her cheeks, licking the essence away.
In an instant, her heart began to race, and she felt the goosebumps return, wrinkling on her skin at the pressure of Sam's palm against her stomach, at the burning look of Sam's intense gaze.
Sam's mouth was a perfect pout, and she remembered how her lips had clung so sweetly to hers.
It would have been so easy, to lean forward, to capture that mouth with her own. To feel that again.
But her lips were swollen with another girl's kisses, and the memory of Sam's last words to her before tonight haunted her as vividly as the feelings she arose within her.
"I'm sorry too," she said honestly, before reaching up covering Sam's hand with her own, ignoring the burning touch. Grasping with her fingers, Brooke tore her gaze away from Sam's mouth and pulled away from Sam's intoxicating hold.
She let out a heavy breath as she left Sam behind, and teetered up the stairs.
Brooke was acutely aware of one truth: she had missed Sam terribly.
--
Despite the heartbreak that had occurred when Sam had ended things for good, Brooke had to admit that there had been one or two positives.
For the last month, she hadn't felt like she was being torn apart. Every date with Dusty had been easy, complicated only with the usual uncertainties that happened when something was new. There were awkward conversations rife with sexual tension and there was lingering glances over tables and the decision about whether or not they were comfortable enough to hold hands in public. (Dusty was, Brooke was not.)
She discovered that she and Dusty didn't have a terrible amount in common, but there was enough to find a common ground. Dusty had enough of the club scene when she played, and trips to gay bars were rare. Despite her ragged outward appearance, she preferred light fare: dinners, movies. She wasn't used to quiet, and they weren't quite at comfortable silences yet, but they were getting there.
She found out from the bass player that Dusty's friends called her 'Princess' when she wasn't around and it bothered Dusty. And she also found out from the bass player that she was sorry they did it, because Brooke had apparently won them over with her offer to take some promo pictures with her camera and put their gig in the Daily Trojan events calendar.
They now called her 'Princess' to her face and the same bass player was dating Maria, who accompanied her on Friday nights to The Gig, a small club for small bands where Dusty's group 'Elphaba Thropp' had a regular gig.
Dusty had groupies, which Brooke found amusing, apart from the fact that they all seemed to hate Brooke. They would throw murderous glances her way whenever the set would finish and Dusty would greet her with a sweaty smile.
Those were her complications.
Not once had she lied in bed agonizing over how to talk to Dusty. Tossing and turning over admitting her love because to think of it was wrong. Not once had she gotten into a conversation with Dusty and ended up throwing food in her face or been tossed on the bed to engage in angry, desperate lovemaking.
It didn't change the fact that one second alone with Sam led to Brooke wanting to bury herself inside of her and never come out. Nor did it change the way she reacted to Sam, the feelings that ripped through her the moment she laid eyes on the other girl.
Her feelings for Dusty were different than they were for Sam, and it was safer. It was... Easier.
Lying in her bed, wide awake, Brooke found herself understanding Sam and Rebecca in a way she had never bothered to before.
Shifting, she punched the pillow into a ball and stuffed it under her head, restless in her thoughts.
Jane's words lingered in her head like an impossible echo.
Rubbing at her chest, Brooke took a hard swallow and stared at the bathroom door.
Flopping over, Brooke curled the sheets into her body and ignored the image of Sam in this bed with her.
The gauntlet had been thrown, and that night, Brooke told herself she had to make a decision.
Whatever Jane had said didn't change what Sam had told her.
The bathroom light clicked on, she heard it, saw the shift of darkness in her room.
Holding her breath, Brooke didn't move, paralyzed with anticipation.
No one came to her door, and when the light shut off again, Brooke let out a long breath, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed.
She decided she was relieved.
--
Little Mac was growing, and although she teetered when she walked, she had never seemed more sure of herself.
There was no way a baby could have as much energy as Mac did. It had to be abnormal.
It made changing her diaper an Olympic feat.
"Mac, come on!" Brooke pleaded, half joking, when the baby curled herself over, flopping onto her belly, naked bottom up in the air. "Stay still, for like, a second."
"NO!" Mac growled, giggling, trying to crawl away.
"Oh, no you don't," Brooke retorted, grabbing hold of the baby by her hips, pulling her back. "We're changing this diaper."
"No!" Mac cried again, exploding into childish laughter. "Nonononono!"
Biting down on her lip, Brooke struggled, trying to flip her over as gently as she could. The chubby legs and arms flailed in the air.
"NOO!"
"That looks like fun."
Glancing up, she discovered Sam in the doorway, palms rubbing down the thighs of her sweat pants, eyeing her nervously.
Caught with an armful of baby, Brooke didn't have the energy to maintain her cool demeanor.
Blowing her bangs out of her sweaty face, she gave up, letting Mac sit up, victorious. "This kid is like your Mini-Me, borne and bred to say no to anything and everything."
"NOOOOO!" Mac shrieked, and Brooke winced.
"Little help here?" she added, when Sam arched a bewildered eyebrow.
"Uh... sure." Dropping to her knees, Sam scuttled forward. "What should I do?"
"Just hold her shoulders. Keep her flat on her back," Brooke instructed. "And I will do the fastest diaper wrap in history. Wanna time me?" She tossed the other girl a challenging glare.
The small smile on Sam's face was answer enough. "Ready?" she said, grabbing hold of the baby and keeping her flat. "GO!"
"Oh, God," Brooke said, erupting in laughter when Mac's legs flew in the air, kicking her in the chin.
"Nononononono!"
"Yesyesyes!" Brooke chattered back, grabbing hold of the chubby legs and sliding a diaper underneath her bottom as quickly as she could.
"You're doing amazing so far," Sam said dryly.
"Shut up," Brooke snapped. "Like you can do better."
"I can always do better."
"Fine, narcissist. Next time, this job is all you." She struggled, curving the diaper in between Mac's legs and wrapping as well as she could.
"But you need the practice!"
"Oh, shut up!" The last strap was secured and Mac sprang free, weaseling out of Sam's grasp and getting unsteadily on her feet.
"Noonononononono!" Yelling at the top of her lungs, the baby tottered her way out of the living room, presumably to the safety of Mike and Jane in the kitchen.
"I can't believe that kid actually made me break a sweat!" Shaking her head in wonderment, Brooke flopped back. "Thank God that kid is getting potty trained."
Sam didn't respond, and the silence that followed her statement forced her to lean up on her elbows. The other girl was still there, but she was fidgety, a weird mimic of herself. Her tongue floated in and out of her mouth, and Brooke recognized the gesture. It was Sam at her most self-concious.
It was hard not to follow suit. Sighing, she settled into a more comfortable position.
"What? Come on, Sam," she continued, when her step-sister hesitated. "Just say whatever you want to say."
Dark eyes closed, and Sam erupted in a bitter laugh. "It's not that easy."
"No," Brooke answered carefully. "That's where we're both wrong. It is that easy. What's not easy is listening to what we have to say."
Brown eyes caught her own, an intense stare. "And what do you have to say?"
Fingers curling instinctively, she managed nonetheless to keep her face carefully closed. "I already said it."
Sam's eyes were curiously moist, her demeanor seemed almost small, so different than what she had remembered.
It made her want to care.
"You're avoiding me like I have the plague."
The sentence seemed to come out of nowhere, and Brooke glanced up, genuinely surprised. "Probably because the last time I talked to you, you told me that being around me made you a bad person."
It still hurt, to hear it out loud, and she found herself suddenly emotional, shaking her head and shifting suddenly.
"God... Brooke, I'm sorry." Pale, flawless skin seemed now mottled with emotion, and slender fingers reached toward her hand. "I can't believe I said that to you. I wanted to hurt you, and I don't know why I did..."
Jerking away, Brooke shuddered, mouth a tight line. "Because you meant it."
Sam stared at her, eyes intensely locked on her own. "I was in a really bad place, Brooke. Maybe I meant it then, but if I did, it was only for a second. I've regretted what I've said to you ever since."
It was as close to an apology she would ever get. Brooke supposed she should have been grateful. She wasn't.
"Did you mean what you said?"
Brooke smiled sadly. "I hope you know me well enough to know I did." But she still pulled out of Sam's grasp.
Sam's mouth trembled slightly. "But not anymore, right?"
Brooke let out an uneasy breath. "I asked you to let me move on, Sam."
"Yeah," Sam said, nodding mechanically, smile fake and plastic, "I guess I just can't understand how the hell you did it so easily."
"Oh, God," Brooke breathed, infuriated. "So that's what this about? You can't stand the fact that I got over you?" Struggling to her feet, she shook her head. "You know what? Screw you, Sam. Getting over you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And that includes getting through comas, and car accidents and eating disorders." Moving toward the doorway, she hesistated, whirling around. "And you know what? You really are one to talk. What about you and Rebecca?"
"What ABOUT me and Rebecca?!" Sam said, scrambling up.
"Don't play dumb, Sam," she sneered. "Abby told me all about it."
"Oh, God, FUCKING ABBY AGAIN." Hands on her hips, Sam had never looked so angry. "What the hell did that angel tell you?!"
"The truth!" Brooke's arms crossed over her chest. "That you two were getting back together-"
"Rebecca and I never got back together!" Sam snapped, brown eyes wide with impatience and frustration.
The news hit her hard. "What?" she breathed.
"Yeah. The closest I ever got to Rebecca after spring break was when I got really drunk at her place miserable over the fact that I was completely in love with you and then crashed in her bed." Droplets began to appear on Sam's cheeks, and Brooke found herself frozen in horrified amazement. "But what the hell do I know? If Abby says it it must be true."
Pushing past her, Sam exited the room.
Brooke was lost, left behind as the words did their damage.
"Oh, God," she breathed, head falling to her palm.
- end chapter
By Misty Flores
Teaser: It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her. There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had.
Series: Popular, Sam/Brooke, Brooke/other, Sam/other
Spoilers: Post SII
CHAPTERS
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V| Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII
MAJOR props go to faechick for the awesome beta.
--
PART THIRTEEN - You Lower Yours
Brooke had never had the misfortune of being punched in the gut: she had always preferred to internalize her pain. She had, however, once had a conversation with Josh in which he described the feeling.
He said that beyond the pain, what really left you crippled was the fact that for the moment, you couldn't breathe. He said it was the ultimate humiliation because a punch to the stomach was something done to suckers, the least suspecting victims that had all the breath pushed out of them and were left to scramble on the floor, helpless and floundering.
She never really understood what he was talking about, until she caught sight of Sam.
Rooted to the ground in frozen amazement, Brooke clutched onto Dusty in such a forceful way the other girl audibly hissed in surprise.
"Sam decided to spend the summer with us after all," Jane said, filling the silence with a cheery smile and an outstretched arm. "We haven't met."
Speechless, Brooke dragged her eyes from the cool dark gaze of Sam to her bewildered girlfriend. Thankfully, Dusty managed to keep her senses when Brooke's had flown out the window.
"Hi," Extricating herself as well as she could from Brooke's clutches, she met Jane's hand in a firm handshake. "I'm Dusty."
"This is Dusty," she repeated weakly, a little too late. There was an awkward silence, as she became the unwanted recipiant of two bewildered glances. Flushing, she looked away.
"Dusty, I'm Jane," Jane voice was warm. "The brooding young lady behind me is Sam. Thanks for helping Brooke with her things!"
"Well, you're welcome," Dusty said good-naturedly. "But to be fair, had I known how much stuff there actually was, I may have reconsidered."
On the surface, she was charming, and funny. A minute glance back at Brooke, colored eyes were clouded with doubt, revealed the vulnerability behind them ask.
It was that second of fragile pleading that forced her attention away from the still quiet Sam. Shoulders straightening, she inhaled deeply.
"Well," she said, drawing her fingertips reassuringly down the inked curve of Dusty's forearm. "Score one for me, then."
With gritted teeth and a determined smile, she unlatched the door and jerked up the trunk.
--
Her step-sister had returned a gothy, repressed mute.
Sam's dark brown hair was shorter than Brooke remembered. She was back to wearing heavy eye make-up, hiding the simple beauty of Sam's round eyes. The shirt she wore was fitted and tight over dark blue jeans. Her mouth was lined darkly with a dark plum lipstick and her ever expressive tongue seemed permanently wedged in the corner of her mouth; a permanent pout.
At the dinner table, she offered no hospitality, and instead kept her eyes on the food she wasn't eating. Every so often, dark doe eyes would venture up to linger on Dusty before returning once again to her uneaten pork chop.
Sam was thinner than she remembered, with pale skin and dark fingernails.
It all added up to something that was very wrong and Brooke's heart ached at the very presence of the troubled girl.
Still, she was recovering from the shock of seeing Sam ages before she would ever be ready, and because of that, Brooke wasn't afforded the luxury of nursing her wounded emotions in private.
It made her needlessly cranky, and in an effort to salvage the evening, Brooke resolved to ignore her completely.
Dusty was already nervous enough to seem almost perky. Posture uncomfortably perfect, her rocker chick was trying hard to carry a conversation with a valiant Jane and a stuttering Mike. In between small bites, Dusty pulled at her sleeves, an obvious self conscious attempt to hide the tattoos.
That tiny action flooded her with unexpected warmth, and it was because of it that she pushed past her own own turmoil, deciding instead to do her best to try to make Dusty feel as comfortable as possible.
"Dusty's in a band," she announced in a lapse of conversation. Almost immediately, Dusty's head whirled, messy bangs falling in her face as she gave her a rather frigid glare. "She's really good," Brooke continued, patting her girlfriend's lap reassuringly. "I'm taking the promotional pictures for their website."
"Well, we actually really suck, right now," Dusty said quickly, narrowing her stare at Brooke meaningfully. "I mean, we just play in these dumpy dives-"
"Oh really? What kind of music do you play?" Mike seemed more than politely curious. "I used to play a little rock 'n roll myself, back in the ole' days."
"Oh, please for the love of God, don't get him started," Jane pleaded, dropping her fork on her plate. "The last time I had to hear about the “ole” days we blew a fuse out in the garage."
The memory brought a sincere smile. "Dad's old guitar is back there," Brooke explained.
"The fuse blew because the amp was old," Mike said, peeved. "I'm sure Dusty can appreciate that a Fender needs some real power behind it."
"Uh... I don't know." Dusty cleared her throat, and Brooke felt the warm touch of her palm spread over her thigh. "I'm a Gibson girl myself."
The sudden loud clang of silverware against glass was enough to make even Mike jump.
Sam stood, a sour expression on the pretty face. Stunned, Brooke felt a sudden chill, when brown eyes locked on hers, blazingly furious.
"May I be excused?"
Sam. didn't wait for an answer.
It was an awkward silence that followed.
"She's had a rough week," Jane said quietly, before smiling at Dusty. "More potatoes?"
The ease at which Sam and her behavior had been dismissed was startling, and immediately, the tension bubbling in Brooke's stomach erupted in fury.
"Wait, what?" Fingers curling into fists, Brooke's eyes narrowed angrily at her step mother. "That's all she gets? A tough week?"
"Brooke," Mike began.
"We have a guest," she seethed, through gritted teeth. "And Sam is acting like a spoiled bitch."
"Brooke, that's enough," Jane snapped. "And behave yourself." A stern glare went meaningfully at Dusty, and Brooke's eyes snapped shut tight, frustrated beyond belief.
"Is there a bathroom?!" Dusty asked suddenly, her voice a squeak.
Mike was immediately on his feet. "Yes, of course." He smiled warmly. "Come on, I'll show you where it is."
Brooke's girlfriend's expression was uncomfortable, and for that Brooke regretted her outburst. Her smile as she passed was bittersweet, apologetic.
As Dusty and Mike left the kitchen, Jane's was anything but.
"Is it really the end of the world to sit down to dinner, and expect you two to behave yourselves?" her step-mother asked quietly.
"Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" Eyes glittering with anger, her tone was low, furious. "Was this your idea?"
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission to allow my daughter to come home for the summer, Brooke."
Digusted, her silverware dropped to her plate. Pushing away from the table, Brooke threw her arms up, surrendering. "No, you know what, Jane? You don't. You and Sam are welcome to this place."
"What is THE MATTER with you, Brooke? She is your sister!"
Something about the words, said at that time, in that situation, incensed her. She couldn't hear it. She didn't want to hear it. Shoulders rolling with the force of her reaction, she whirled. "She is NOT my sister!" Brooke's eyes were a blazing torrent of hurt and frustration. "You can't force us together and expect us to believe that, Jane. You can't! Why do you keep doing it?! WHY?! Sam and I are never going to be sisters. We're never going to act like sisters, so why can't you just DEAL with it and let us BOTH move on?!"
The tirade left her breathless. Crumpling against the table, she pressed her palms over her face, now wanting to see Jane's reaction.
"Well, forgive me, Brooke." The tone in Jane's voice was hurt, tired. "But I can't give up on wanting to see the two of you together, and do you know why? Because you're amazing when you're together."
It was the last thing she expected to hear, and the surprise forced the hands away from her face.
"The two of you... exhaust so much energy and focus on hating each other than you never realize how amazing the two of you are when you really connect. You're both passionate, powerful women and when you two work together there is absolutely nothing you can overcome. I've seen it, Brooke. I've seen what happens when the two of you forget that you hate each other. There's a connection there that it's so deep that you seem to complete each other."
Brooke's soul twisted inside of her. Eyes riveted on the table, she stared at her palms, and struggled to breath. A warm hand settled on her shoulder, meant to be reassuring, as Jane moved into the chair beside her.
"It just seems so ridiculous, to let that go to waste. Not when Mike and I both see it. You don't have to be sisters, Brooke. But if you were friends..."
Head lowering, Brooke closed her eyes, and tried to work past her furiously beating heart.
"Sam needs you, Brooke. She's here because she had nowhere else to go. She's not doing well in school, since after Spring Break..."
Her eyes opened again, shooting Jane a surprised glance.
"What do you mean?" Brooke's voice was rough.
Jane's mouth trembled in a shaky smile. "You don't have to be Sam's sister, Brooke. But I would really love it, if for this summer, you could be her friend." Squeezing her shoulder, Jane rose. "You seem to be in a much better place than she is."
Afraid to get up for fear her knees would give out on her, Brooke wasn't so sure.
--
"So, your step sister is an absolute treat."
Sitting in silence, parked in the red zone outside Dusty's Hollywood Hills apartment complex, Brooke could only offer a bittersweet smile.
"I'm sorry," she managed, fiddling with her key chain, jingling on the ignition, turning to eye the woman slumped in the seat across from her. "I think you managed to catch everyone at their worst."
"Hmm." Dusty's head pressed back against the headrest, as she contemplated the thought. "Is it wrong that it actually made me feel a little better?"
Brooke's brow arched in a curious response.
"If you guys were perfect," she explained, "I think I would have been scared out of my mind. As it was, I think I came off pretty well."
Sighing raggedly, she stared out into the darkness, watching the flash of headlights as cars drove by. Soft fingers meshed with her own, bringing her back to the lovely face of Dusty.
"You okay?"
It was a straightforward question, and as Brooke absorbed it, she shook her head in bewilderment. "Yeah," she breathed, oddly surprised by the realization. "I mean... I bring my girlfriend home and my step-sister freaks out and my stepmother completely pulls out the rug from under me and yet, it's STILL better than waking up from a coma."
"Imagine that," Dusty said sarcastically, and Brooke smiled, squeezing her fingers lovingly. "You are going to tell me what the hell that's all about, right?"
She studied the fingers currently in her grasp, and without thinking, brought them to her mouth.
"Where would you want to start?"
They smelled of lotion, and there were calluses on the tips, from years of plucking strings.
"We could start with the coma," Dusty began. "And then lead into why your step-sister wants to kill me."
"Do you really want to know?" Brooke asked. Dusty stared at her silently. "I might not be worth all this trouble," she whispered unsteadily.
Moonlight filtered into the car in stripes, and half of Dusty's face was hidden in shadows. Still, the crystal eyes were illuminated with an intoxicating sort of depth.
"I think it's little too late for me to think you're anything but."
Reaching forward, the other girl cupped her chin lovingly; a gentle caress. There was a lingering moment, and then Dusty leaned forward, covering her mouth in a demanding, possessive kiss.
Eyes closing instinctively, Brooke lost herself in the moment, opening her mouth and her heart.
--
It was late when she slipped into the kitchen, shutting the door as silently as she could behind her before rubbing her palm against her swollen lips and heading for the refrigerator.
She was too tired to think, and was grateful for that. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she pressed it against the ice maker, slumping against the cool metal of the fridge door for support.
Light flooded the kitchen as she was filling her glass with water, and it was so startling she nearly sent the entire thing crashing, salvaging it by splashing liquid all over the place.
"Dammit!" she hissed, turning and fumbling with the slippery glass, grimacing at the wetness before turning a startled gaze to her unwelcome intruder.
Naturally, it was Sam in the doorway, barefoot in a flannel pajama top and tiny shorts, looking sullen and sleepy and intoxicatingly sexy.
Swallowing hard, Brooke decided she wasn't in the mood.
"Don't worry," she snapped, when Sam failed to speak. Licking at her wet fingers, she ventured toward the sink and deposited her glass. "I'm leaving."
"Was that your girlfriend?" The short, desperate tone was oddly off-putting, and Brooke's annoyance only grew when she felt the telltale ache in her heart.
"We're dating," she confirmed matter-of-factly, arm dropping to her side as she leaned her hip against the counter. "Sam, I really don't want to do this right now. It's late. I’m tired."
Walking as fast as she could, she tried to brush past her ex-lover, determined to end this night without the added drama of a confrontation.
With one palm against her stomach, Sam stopped her. "Wait."
Brooke's eyes shut tight, and she stayed put. "What?" she breathed, eyes opening and turning her head, to look deeply into dark, intensely beautiful orbs.
Mouth turned down, Sam's face was clouded with conflict. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I shouldn't have acted that way."
It had been months since she had been alone with Sam, and the last time they had been together, they had been naked, curled together as the sweat cooling off their bare skin formed goosebumps. Brooke's mouth had been fresh with the taste of Sam's sex and she remembered Sam's mouth luxuriously planting warm kisses against her lips, her chin, her cheeks, licking the essence away.
In an instant, her heart began to race, and she felt the goosebumps return, wrinkling on her skin at the pressure of Sam's palm against her stomach, at the burning look of Sam's intense gaze.
Sam's mouth was a perfect pout, and she remembered how her lips had clung so sweetly to hers.
It would have been so easy, to lean forward, to capture that mouth with her own. To feel that again.
But her lips were swollen with another girl's kisses, and the memory of Sam's last words to her before tonight haunted her as vividly as the feelings she arose within her.
"I'm sorry too," she said honestly, before reaching up covering Sam's hand with her own, ignoring the burning touch. Grasping with her fingers, Brooke tore her gaze away from Sam's mouth and pulled away from Sam's intoxicating hold.
She let out a heavy breath as she left Sam behind, and teetered up the stairs.
Brooke was acutely aware of one truth: she had missed Sam terribly.
--
Despite the heartbreak that had occurred when Sam had ended things for good, Brooke had to admit that there had been one or two positives.
For the last month, she hadn't felt like she was being torn apart. Every date with Dusty had been easy, complicated only with the usual uncertainties that happened when something was new. There were awkward conversations rife with sexual tension and there was lingering glances over tables and the decision about whether or not they were comfortable enough to hold hands in public. (Dusty was, Brooke was not.)
She discovered that she and Dusty didn't have a terrible amount in common, but there was enough to find a common ground. Dusty had enough of the club scene when she played, and trips to gay bars were rare. Despite her ragged outward appearance, she preferred light fare: dinners, movies. She wasn't used to quiet, and they weren't quite at comfortable silences yet, but they were getting there.
She found out from the bass player that Dusty's friends called her 'Princess' when she wasn't around and it bothered Dusty. And she also found out from the bass player that she was sorry they did it, because Brooke had apparently won them over with her offer to take some promo pictures with her camera and put their gig in the Daily Trojan events calendar.
They now called her 'Princess' to her face and the same bass player was dating Maria, who accompanied her on Friday nights to The Gig, a small club for small bands where Dusty's group 'Elphaba Thropp' had a regular gig.
Dusty had groupies, which Brooke found amusing, apart from the fact that they all seemed to hate Brooke. They would throw murderous glances her way whenever the set would finish and Dusty would greet her with a sweaty smile.
Those were her complications.
Not once had she lied in bed agonizing over how to talk to Dusty. Tossing and turning over admitting her love because to think of it was wrong. Not once had she gotten into a conversation with Dusty and ended up throwing food in her face or been tossed on the bed to engage in angry, desperate lovemaking.
It didn't change the fact that one second alone with Sam led to Brooke wanting to bury herself inside of her and never come out. Nor did it change the way she reacted to Sam, the feelings that ripped through her the moment she laid eyes on the other girl.
Her feelings for Dusty were different than they were for Sam, and it was safer. It was... Easier.
Lying in her bed, wide awake, Brooke found herself understanding Sam and Rebecca in a way she had never bothered to before.
Shifting, she punched the pillow into a ball and stuffed it under her head, restless in her thoughts.
Jane's words lingered in her head like an impossible echo.
Rubbing at her chest, Brooke took a hard swallow and stared at the bathroom door.
Flopping over, Brooke curled the sheets into her body and ignored the image of Sam in this bed with her.
The gauntlet had been thrown, and that night, Brooke told herself she had to make a decision.
Whatever Jane had said didn't change what Sam had told her.
The bathroom light clicked on, she heard it, saw the shift of darkness in her room.
Holding her breath, Brooke didn't move, paralyzed with anticipation.
No one came to her door, and when the light shut off again, Brooke let out a long breath, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed.
She decided she was relieved.
--
Little Mac was growing, and although she teetered when she walked, she had never seemed more sure of herself.
There was no way a baby could have as much energy as Mac did. It had to be abnormal.
It made changing her diaper an Olympic feat.
"Mac, come on!" Brooke pleaded, half joking, when the baby curled herself over, flopping onto her belly, naked bottom up in the air. "Stay still, for like, a second."
"NO!" Mac growled, giggling, trying to crawl away.
"Oh, no you don't," Brooke retorted, grabbing hold of the baby by her hips, pulling her back. "We're changing this diaper."
"No!" Mac cried again, exploding into childish laughter. "Nonononono!"
Biting down on her lip, Brooke struggled, trying to flip her over as gently as she could. The chubby legs and arms flailed in the air.
"NOO!"
"That looks like fun."
Glancing up, she discovered Sam in the doorway, palms rubbing down the thighs of her sweat pants, eyeing her nervously.
Caught with an armful of baby, Brooke didn't have the energy to maintain her cool demeanor.
Blowing her bangs out of her sweaty face, she gave up, letting Mac sit up, victorious. "This kid is like your Mini-Me, borne and bred to say no to anything and everything."
"NOOOOO!" Mac shrieked, and Brooke winced.
"Little help here?" she added, when Sam arched a bewildered eyebrow.
"Uh... sure." Dropping to her knees, Sam scuttled forward. "What should I do?"
"Just hold her shoulders. Keep her flat on her back," Brooke instructed. "And I will do the fastest diaper wrap in history. Wanna time me?" She tossed the other girl a challenging glare.
The small smile on Sam's face was answer enough. "Ready?" she said, grabbing hold of the baby and keeping her flat. "GO!"
"Oh, God," Brooke said, erupting in laughter when Mac's legs flew in the air, kicking her in the chin.
"Nononononono!"
"Yesyesyes!" Brooke chattered back, grabbing hold of the chubby legs and sliding a diaper underneath her bottom as quickly as she could.
"You're doing amazing so far," Sam said dryly.
"Shut up," Brooke snapped. "Like you can do better."
"I can always do better."
"Fine, narcissist. Next time, this job is all you." She struggled, curving the diaper in between Mac's legs and wrapping as well as she could.
"But you need the practice!"
"Oh, shut up!" The last strap was secured and Mac sprang free, weaseling out of Sam's grasp and getting unsteadily on her feet.
"Noonononononono!" Yelling at the top of her lungs, the baby tottered her way out of the living room, presumably to the safety of Mike and Jane in the kitchen.
"I can't believe that kid actually made me break a sweat!" Shaking her head in wonderment, Brooke flopped back. "Thank God that kid is getting potty trained."
Sam didn't respond, and the silence that followed her statement forced her to lean up on her elbows. The other girl was still there, but she was fidgety, a weird mimic of herself. Her tongue floated in and out of her mouth, and Brooke recognized the gesture. It was Sam at her most self-concious.
It was hard not to follow suit. Sighing, she settled into a more comfortable position.
"What? Come on, Sam," she continued, when her step-sister hesitated. "Just say whatever you want to say."
Dark eyes closed, and Sam erupted in a bitter laugh. "It's not that easy."
"No," Brooke answered carefully. "That's where we're both wrong. It is that easy. What's not easy is listening to what we have to say."
Brown eyes caught her own, an intense stare. "And what do you have to say?"
Fingers curling instinctively, she managed nonetheless to keep her face carefully closed. "I already said it."
Sam's eyes were curiously moist, her demeanor seemed almost small, so different than what she had remembered.
It made her want to care.
"You're avoiding me like I have the plague."
The sentence seemed to come out of nowhere, and Brooke glanced up, genuinely surprised. "Probably because the last time I talked to you, you told me that being around me made you a bad person."
It still hurt, to hear it out loud, and she found herself suddenly emotional, shaking her head and shifting suddenly.
"God... Brooke, I'm sorry." Pale, flawless skin seemed now mottled with emotion, and slender fingers reached toward her hand. "I can't believe I said that to you. I wanted to hurt you, and I don't know why I did..."
Jerking away, Brooke shuddered, mouth a tight line. "Because you meant it."
Sam stared at her, eyes intensely locked on her own. "I was in a really bad place, Brooke. Maybe I meant it then, but if I did, it was only for a second. I've regretted what I've said to you ever since."
It was as close to an apology she would ever get. Brooke supposed she should have been grateful. She wasn't.
"Did you mean what you said?"
Brooke smiled sadly. "I hope you know me well enough to know I did." But she still pulled out of Sam's grasp.
Sam's mouth trembled slightly. "But not anymore, right?"
Brooke let out an uneasy breath. "I asked you to let me move on, Sam."
"Yeah," Sam said, nodding mechanically, smile fake and plastic, "I guess I just can't understand how the hell you did it so easily."
"Oh, God," Brooke breathed, infuriated. "So that's what this about? You can't stand the fact that I got over you?" Struggling to her feet, she shook her head. "You know what? Screw you, Sam. Getting over you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And that includes getting through comas, and car accidents and eating disorders." Moving toward the doorway, she hesistated, whirling around. "And you know what? You really are one to talk. What about you and Rebecca?"
"What ABOUT me and Rebecca?!" Sam said, scrambling up.
"Don't play dumb, Sam," she sneered. "Abby told me all about it."
"Oh, God, FUCKING ABBY AGAIN." Hands on her hips, Sam had never looked so angry. "What the hell did that angel tell you?!"
"The truth!" Brooke's arms crossed over her chest. "That you two were getting back together-"
"Rebecca and I never got back together!" Sam snapped, brown eyes wide with impatience and frustration.
The news hit her hard. "What?" she breathed.
"Yeah. The closest I ever got to Rebecca after spring break was when I got really drunk at her place miserable over the fact that I was completely in love with you and then crashed in her bed." Droplets began to appear on Sam's cheeks, and Brooke found herself frozen in horrified amazement. "But what the hell do I know? If Abby says it it must be true."
Pushing past her, Sam exited the room.
Brooke was lost, left behind as the words did their damage.
"Oh, God," she breathed, head falling to her palm.
- end chapter