WIP Amnesty: Redivivus (QAF - Lindsay/Sam)
redivivus \red-uh-VY-vuhs; -VEE-\, adjective:
Living again; brought back to life; revived; restored.
She shows up at a gallery show in Milan, months later. Sam sees her and quickly ducks behind a large sculpture of a protuberant goddess figure, thinking that it’s ironically appropriate under the circumstances.
Lindsay is fucking breathtaking. Her hair is a little shorter, a little less wavy. She’s not dressed up - she’s wearing jeans and a long wool jacket, hardly classy - but Sam feels a burning in his gut at the sight of her.
He’d never thought he would fall so hard.
Sam wonders what she’s doing here, then thinks he might as well just go over and ask her. Take the bull(- dyke) by the horns, as it will. But as she glances his way, he quickly pulls back from view, jostling the statue slightly with his abrupt movement.
It wobbles more. Shit.
As Sam feels the statue start to shift, he grabs for it, but when it slowly steadies and settles back into place, it’s not because of him. Lindsay takes her hands off the other side of the statue slowly, checking its balance. After a moment, she nods, satisfied, and finally turns to him.
“Hello,” Lindsay says. She’s smiling slightly.
Sam stares a second too long, then blinks, collecting himself. “Hmm,” he mutters. “Godawful statue, isn’t it?”
“I rather liked it, actually,” she says. “Although I probably would have liked it less if it had ended up in pieces on the floor.”
“At least then it would look less like a giant steaming turd,” says Sam. It’s automatic. His chest feels distinctly fluttery. “What are you doing here?”
Lindsay looks away, chin raised. “Enjoying the arts scene in a beautiful city. What about you?”
He’s silent for a second. “Looking at someone who’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Sam says quietly.
Lindsay flushes. “The Venus Resivivus.”
“What?”
Lindsay nods at the statue. “The title. It means she’s reborn,” she says quietly. “She’s so new, and yet the goddess symbol itself is ancient. What do you think that means?”
“I think it means she’s come here to see me,” says Sam, not looking at the statue at all. “Why do you think that is?”
Lindsay closes her eyes, shakes her head. “Maybe not for the reasons you think.” She glances at him. “And why were you hiding from me when I first came in?”
Sam shrugs. “Instinct? Usually when a woman hunts me down in a different country it somehow leads to me getting slapped. Quite unfortunate.”
Lindsay chuckles, takes a last lingering look at the statue, and then touches Sam’s arm. “Come on,” she says. “I’m not here to slap you. I want to see the rest of this show.”
Sam takes a deep breath, hoping Lindsay doesn’t notice. His arm is tingling in the place under her fingers. “I’ve already looked around,” says Sam. “It’s not that great. I’m here for the wine and free food.”
“I don’t care,” says Lindsay. Her face is suddenly serious. “I don’t care if it’s all ugly to you. It means something to me.”
Sam hates being dragged into serious conversations that are disguised as something else. “Why are you here?” He also hates having to ask anything twice.
A short, balding man dressed in Hawaiian print pushes past them, balancing wine and a small plate of crackers in one hand, and wildly gesticulating with the other. His companion is a second behind him, nodding avidly. Lindsay steps closer to Sam to get out of their way, and he reaches out to steady her.
She looks at him. Sam’s hand tightens on her waist for a second, even though he tells himself he should let go.
“Maybe,” says Lindsay finally. “Maybe we can go somewhere else, where we can talk.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” says Sam.
*
*
She lies under him, warm and silent, and Sam kisses her neck. Kisses her collarbone. Pulls back.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he whispers. Lindsay looks up at him, her face blank.
Sam swallows. So fucking help him God, but if this isn’t truly what she wants, he can’t make himself do it. Can’t touch her. No matter how much he wants to reach out and - bring her back to him.
He starts to move away, but just then something seems to settle in Lindsay’s mind. She touches his face. “Wait,” she says. She cranes her neck and kisses him, gently.
Sam doesn’t breathe for a second, feeling oddly exposed, but then he inhales from her lips and kisses back.
Then Lindsay’s tongue is in his mouth, and her body is starting to grind against his, and she’s surging against him like a wave of warmth and beating-heart-under-flesh, and she’s drawing him down, down, down.
*
The afterglow is short. Sam’s stroking her thigh gently, his fingers still sticky with her, but she makes a noise and rolls away.
Sam doesn’t say anything.
Lindsay hesitates, sits up. She looks down at Sam and rolls her lower lip between her teeth.
“You can come with me,” she says.
Sam stares at Lindsay, trying to read her eyes. “What?”
Lindsay smiles helplessly. “You have to understand,” she says, “I’m not going to be traveling the world forever. I’m not going to do that to Gus. I love him, and I’m going to go home.” She reaches out and smoothes the hair back from Sam’s forehead. “Just - not today. Not tomorrow, either. Is that enough for you?”
“It’s enough for me,” Sam says.
He’s lying, it’s not enough, but there isn’t any other answer he could give. And maybe he just doesn’t give a damn if he can just lay beside her like this one more second. “It’s more than enough,” he says.
Lindsay smiles down at Sam, and there may be a distance between her smile and her eyes, but she’s still looking right at him.
Living again; brought back to life; revived; restored.
She shows up at a gallery show in Milan, months later. Sam sees her and quickly ducks behind a large sculpture of a protuberant goddess figure, thinking that it’s ironically appropriate under the circumstances.
Lindsay is fucking breathtaking. Her hair is a little shorter, a little less wavy. She’s not dressed up - she’s wearing jeans and a long wool jacket, hardly classy - but Sam feels a burning in his gut at the sight of her.
He’d never thought he would fall so hard.
Sam wonders what she’s doing here, then thinks he might as well just go over and ask her. Take the bull(- dyke) by the horns, as it will. But as she glances his way, he quickly pulls back from view, jostling the statue slightly with his abrupt movement.
It wobbles more. Shit.
As Sam feels the statue start to shift, he grabs for it, but when it slowly steadies and settles back into place, it’s not because of him. Lindsay takes her hands off the other side of the statue slowly, checking its balance. After a moment, she nods, satisfied, and finally turns to him.
“Hello,” Lindsay says. She’s smiling slightly.
Sam stares a second too long, then blinks, collecting himself. “Hmm,” he mutters. “Godawful statue, isn’t it?”
“I rather liked it, actually,” she says. “Although I probably would have liked it less if it had ended up in pieces on the floor.”
“At least then it would look less like a giant steaming turd,” says Sam. It’s automatic. His chest feels distinctly fluttery. “What are you doing here?”
Lindsay looks away, chin raised. “Enjoying the arts scene in a beautiful city. What about you?”
He’s silent for a second. “Looking at someone who’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Sam says quietly.
Lindsay flushes. “The Venus Resivivus.”
“What?”
Lindsay nods at the statue. “The title. It means she’s reborn,” she says quietly. “She’s so new, and yet the goddess symbol itself is ancient. What do you think that means?”
“I think it means she’s come here to see me,” says Sam, not looking at the statue at all. “Why do you think that is?”
Lindsay closes her eyes, shakes her head. “Maybe not for the reasons you think.” She glances at him. “And why were you hiding from me when I first came in?”
Sam shrugs. “Instinct? Usually when a woman hunts me down in a different country it somehow leads to me getting slapped. Quite unfortunate.”
Lindsay chuckles, takes a last lingering look at the statue, and then touches Sam’s arm. “Come on,” she says. “I’m not here to slap you. I want to see the rest of this show.”
Sam takes a deep breath, hoping Lindsay doesn’t notice. His arm is tingling in the place under her fingers. “I’ve already looked around,” says Sam. “It’s not that great. I’m here for the wine and free food.”
“I don’t care,” says Lindsay. Her face is suddenly serious. “I don’t care if it’s all ugly to you. It means something to me.”
Sam hates being dragged into serious conversations that are disguised as something else. “Why are you here?” He also hates having to ask anything twice.
A short, balding man dressed in Hawaiian print pushes past them, balancing wine and a small plate of crackers in one hand, and wildly gesticulating with the other. His companion is a second behind him, nodding avidly. Lindsay steps closer to Sam to get out of their way, and he reaches out to steady her.
She looks at him. Sam’s hand tightens on her waist for a second, even though he tells himself he should let go.
“Maybe,” says Lindsay finally. “Maybe we can go somewhere else, where we can talk.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” says Sam.
*
*
She lies under him, warm and silent, and Sam kisses her neck. Kisses her collarbone. Pulls back.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he whispers. Lindsay looks up at him, her face blank.
Sam swallows. So fucking help him God, but if this isn’t truly what she wants, he can’t make himself do it. Can’t touch her. No matter how much he wants to reach out and - bring her back to him.
He starts to move away, but just then something seems to settle in Lindsay’s mind. She touches his face. “Wait,” she says. She cranes her neck and kisses him, gently.
Sam doesn’t breathe for a second, feeling oddly exposed, but then he inhales from her lips and kisses back.
Then Lindsay’s tongue is in his mouth, and her body is starting to grind against his, and she’s surging against him like a wave of warmth and beating-heart-under-flesh, and she’s drawing him down, down, down.
*
The afterglow is short. Sam’s stroking her thigh gently, his fingers still sticky with her, but she makes a noise and rolls away.
Sam doesn’t say anything.
Lindsay hesitates, sits up. She looks down at Sam and rolls her lower lip between her teeth.
“You can come with me,” she says.
Sam stares at Lindsay, trying to read her eyes. “What?”
Lindsay smiles helplessly. “You have to understand,” she says, “I’m not going to be traveling the world forever. I’m not going to do that to Gus. I love him, and I’m going to go home.” She reaches out and smoothes the hair back from Sam’s forehead. “Just - not today. Not tomorrow, either. Is that enough for you?”
“It’s enough for me,” Sam says.
He’s lying, it’s not enough, but there isn’t any other answer he could give. And maybe he just doesn’t give a damn if he can just lay beside her like this one more second. “It’s more than enough,” he says.
Lindsay smiles down at Sam, and there may be a distance between her smile and her eyes, but she’s still looking right at him.