Title: "I'll Be There For You"
Warnings/Spoilers: Not mine. Ryan Murphy, Touchstone, definitely not mine. Spoilers for "Wild, Wild Mess."
Summary: Sam has a conversation with herself.
“It's not easy,” Sam said, breaking the silence between them. She hated uneasy silences, and today was filled with them. “This whole... thing isn't easy. And if I'm admitting it's not easy for me, I'm guessing it's not very easy for you, either.” She wasn't talking about being at the clinic, and while it was cryptic nonetheless, Brooke knew Sam was talking about their uneasy friendship. Some days, calling it that, other days calling it something else.
“You're right,” Brooke replied, staring blankly into the mirror, looking at herself. Before she could take the time to ponder their friendship, she began asking herself just how in the hell she managed to wiggle herself into this situation. Again, it revolved around maintaining her pristine popular reputation at school, and once again, it backfired and turned into something she might not be able to get herself out of with her good looks and Crest commercial smile.
They were standing in the bathroom at the clinic, waiting for the blonde's test results. They were both nervous, but Sam didn't let on to it, she wanted to be the rock Brooke needed for the day. Truth be told, she didn't know what she'd say to Brooke if it turned our she was pregnant or possibly inflicted with something like Syphilis or even worse. Instead, Brooke retreated to the bathroom after not being able to sit still for going on ten minutes, and Sam waited a few seconds to follow her to make sure she was okay
Brooke didn't intend for Sam to come to the clinic with her. It just sort of happened, and for some reason, it calmed Brooke despite her nerves ready to jump out from under her skin. Sam had been there for her when she didn't have to be, and the blonde appreciated it more than she could ever express in words. She just hoped Sam knew that somehow, but knowing the way their relationship worked, unless she spelled it out, all hope was lost.
But who else could she have asked to come with her to get tested? Certainly not Josh, her partner in pre-marital sexual crime. He'd have a cow or worse; he'd stand there jaw ajar not being able to move or talk, much like his current day-to-day demeanor. If she'd ask Nicole, she'd come back to school with a myriad of sexual conditions no doubt her supposed best friend already battled and might still have; she might even come out of it with two kids and the need for a golden retriever outside a townhouse with a little white picket fence. Mary Cherry was always out of the question; you couldn't ask her to help you for the life of it, her mentally challenged friend was only in anything for herself. Unless she forgot and actually did something for other people, which was known to happen on the rare occasion which Brooke chalked up to the Southerner forgetting to take her meds in the morning.
Now, they both stood in the bathroom, Brooke washing her hands for the tenth time and Sam standing next to her. They stood in silence, neither wanting to look the other in the eye, and with the brunette watching the blonde no doubt scrubbing the top layers of skin off the palms of her hands.
“Stop, Brooke,” she reached out, taking one of the blonde's hands into her own. She didn't care that it was still soapy. Brooke's head slowly rose, meeting Sam's eyes for the first time since she'd been followed.
“Stop?” she asked like a child. As if she didn't know what it meant to stop dulling the pain for just an instant.
“Yes, stop,” Sam said, letting go of Brooke's hand as if she'd touched a hot stove, not knowing how else to get the blonde to do just that “You know, like at a red light-”
“-I know what stop means,” Brooke smiled half-heartedly, which made Sam smile reassuringly back at her.
“Good,” Sam responded, her smile turning into a smirk, “I was afraid I'd have to explain the nature of red light/green light.” Sam never thought Brooke looked more beautiful than she did when she was nervous or upset, or just showing any other emotion than the fake plastic smile she showed at school. She never understood why people felt the need to hide what they felt, even if she was doing the same thing on many levels, but she always thought Brooke took it to the extreme. As if she was afraid of throwing caution to the wind and just being herself no matter what the consequences.
“I may be nervous, but I'm not stupid.” Brooke reached for some paper towels from the dispenser and began drying her hands off, noticing that they'd turned a slight shade of pink from the combination of hot water and surgeon-like scrubbing. 'I don't even have any lotion with me,' she thought ruefully. Up until that point, he main concern was that somebody from Kennedy would find her at the clinic, recognize her, and then go back to the school and tell everyone they know. She'd gone out of her way to find a clinic on the other side of Santa Monica, but still, the fear was instilled deep. After all, she had a reputation to maintain, a very popular one at that, and not one easily repaired when rumors ran rampant like a wildfire during a Santa Ana heat wave.
When they exited the bathroom, the pseudonym Brooke had given at the clinic was being called, and she anxiously walked back into the office to get the results, leaving Sam behind to wait to see how they turned out. While Sam wanted to follow, she knew that some things you just have to do for yourself, and no matter how badly the blonde wanted her to be holding her hand through this, they both knew that just wasn't going to happen.
Even if they both wanted it right now.