Rating: R
Category: Het/Romance
Codes: C/P. Davis
Summary: Sam comes to town but Paul can't stay

This fic was co-written with Cincoflex.

Slipping the key Paul had mailed her into the lock, late Friday night Sam eased the door to his home open, entering the dark townhouse. She dropped a suitcase and reached for a lightswitch; with a soft click the room was bathed in a warm golden glow.

It was just as she remembered it: the Mission style furniture, the rich upholstered greens and blues punctuated with splashes of red. The kitchen was still as small, still as clean, the dining room echoing the rest of the downstairs.

Picking up her bags, Sam climbed the stairs to the second floor, the creak of the bare steps bringing back memories of the Christmas phone call. First door on the right, Paul said; she placed her suitcase on the stand waiting for it and looked around the guestroom.

A small white card nestled in a vase of flowers caught her eye, Sam was written in the bold scrawl she was becoming intimately familiar with. A frisson of pleasure went through her at the sight; plucking the card from between the blooms she turned it over to read the note. I'm sorry I couldn't stay. Paul

Sam sighed, a regretful smile crossing her face. Her excitement at being in DC for the Astrophysics conference over Easter and being able to see Paul again had died a quick death after finding out he had promised his sister he would visit after missing Christmas. She could tell he was torn, and checked her own disappointment, telling him to go see his family. Paul did get her promise to forgo the cost of a hotel and stay at his place though; Sam put up some token resistance but in the end caved like they both knew she would.

A wide yawn split her face; the plane ride had been long and uncomfortable, it was late, and she was tired. Not doing much more to get ready for bed than brushing her teeth and changing into the old Air Force Academy shirt she slept in, Sam set her alarm and fell right to sleep.

~~~~~

"Uncle Paul's here! Uncle Paul's here!"

Three small but solid bodies landing on his chest woke Paul up and drove his breath from him. Laughing maniacally, he bundled the trio up in the bedcovers and tumbled them around the bed.

"Boys! And I mean all FOUR of you… "

Paul glanced up to see his mock-frowning younger sister in the doorway; one by one her son's heads popped out of the blanket to grin at their mom.

"Leave your uncle alone. Grammy's making breakfast-- skeedaddle."

Connie swiftly got out of the way as the three whooping boys took off, barreling down the hall in their haste.

"Really, Paul, you shouldn't let them get away with jumping on you like that." Picking the blanket up off the floor, she absentmindedly spread it back over the bed. "Did you have a good drive? I didn't even hear you come in."

Paul ran a hand over his head, scrubbing at his hair. "I got in about one. The house was dark, so I just went to bed." He hid a yawn.

"Do you want to go back to sleep? It's only seven thirty."

"Nah, I'm up now." He got out of bed, now scratching at his belly. Connie rolled her eyes, and made her way out the door.

"I'll save you some pancakes," she threw over her shoulder.

~~~~~

"Hey Ma." Coming up behind his mother, a freshly washed Paul kissed his mom on the cheek.

Turning from the stove, she kissed him back. "Hello sweetie, how was your trip?"

"Good. Jersey Turnpike was backed up a little." He snagged a piece of bacon, narrowly avoiding the descending spatula.

"When isn't it? Go sit down and rescue Kyle from your father."

Deciding not to risk more bacon, Paul went to sit down at the table, watching in fascination as his nephews inhaled plate after plate of food.

"Paul. Paulie."

Tearing his eyes away, Paul looked over at his dad. "What is it, Pop?"

"Where's my twenty bucks? Redskins lost the Super Bowl, remember? You owe me a twenty." Andrew Davis stabbed his fork at his only son to make the point.

Patting down his shirt and shorts as if he was searching for his wallet, Paul sighed. "You want it now? You know I'm good for it."

Andrew harrumphed a bit, then dropped the subject to go back to Kyle. Mentally blessing his patient brother-in-law, Paul glanced over at his nephews.

"So. What's on this weekend's agenda?"

Peter and Wilson just blinked at him, still chewing. Ian mumbled 'football' around the pancakes in his mouth. Paul nodded.

Getting the gist of what he was asking, the youngest boys jumped in. "Basketball!" "Nintendo!" "Soccer!" "Bikes!" "Hockey!" A gentle 'boys' from their father ended the onslaught.

"I'm only here two days!" protested Paul. "Plus your Mom and Grammy and Grandpa have dibs on my time too." He grinned at the pouts beginning to form. "Make a list with what you want to do the most at the top and we'll work through them."

Barely taking the time to finish their breakfast, the boys took their plates to the kitchen and went in search of pencil and paper. Paul turned back to his breakfast, catching the amused look in Kyle's eye.

"Don't let them boss you around, Paul." Pushing himself away from the table, Kyle rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen and placed his plate in the dishwasher.

"Connie said the same thing," came the chuckled answer. "That's what I'm here for. Nothing I'd rather do than roughhouse with them."

"You can't tell me that visiting your sister was the best offer you got this weekend."

Kyle had his back turned to Paul, and Connie had just come into the dining room, so only she saw the regretful expression quickly pass over Paul's face and heard the pause before he answered.

"Well, I did have an offer from the President to go golfing, but he cheats."

Paul and Kyle laughed as Connie watched her brother thoughtfully.

~~~~~

A sharp, impatient rapping at the door brought Sam's head up from one of Paul's books she had been reading. She had skipped out of the conference's first day early, giving in to the desire to just hole up at Paul's. Rising from the squishy chair, she padded downstairs as another tattoo was beat on the defenseless door, a woman's peevish voice coming from the other side.

"Paul Davis, you open this door right now! I know you're home, I see the light! Visiting your sister, my ass-"

Sam opened the door just as the woman drew breath to begin a new tirade. They stared at each other, Sam wondering whom the short, dark-haired termagant could be.

Shutting her mouth with a snap, the woman raked her eyes over Sam. "And you are?" Her voice dripped with condescension.

In a flash Sam realized this must be Lily Ibarra, the ex-fiancée. "The one inside. And you are?" She was unfailingly polite, as if it didn't matter either way who this woman at the door was.

With a hidden sense of amusement Sam watched as Lily flushed, her jaw tightening as the score hit. "MAX!" The shout made Sam blink in surprise, within seconds the terrier whose picture was scattered through Paul's house came tearing around a corner to stand between the women. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he grinned up at Sam, dancing around her legs.

"Hey Max, how've you been, boy?" Kneeling down, Sam was almost knocked over by the small dog who proceeded to lick her face with unbridled enthusiasm. This apparently ticked Lily off even more, as her black, high-heeled Prada shoe began tapping on the concrete porch.

Sam bit back a grin, gathering Max in her arms she stood and waited to see what Lily wanted. The two women stared at each other, a study in opposites. Lily was petite, with long black hair twisted into a chignon, her near voluptuous form sheathed in a tailored Ann Kline suit, her face perfectly made up. Sam was tall, her short blonde hair in spikes, her slim figure enveloped by sweats and a t-shirt she had secretly taken from Paul's drawer, with dog slobber over one cheek. Each wondered what Paul saw in the other.

Lily sighed. "Max had his favorite toy the last time he visited and Paul forgot to put it in his bag when I picked him up. The poor dear has been inconsolable, haven't you, Max sweetie?" Reaching out, she scratched Max behind a cocked ear. Max arched back, looking at his mistress upside down.

Mentally rolling her eyes, Sam addressed the dog. "You miss Bobo? Is that who you want?"

At the sound of Bobo's name, Max erupted in a frenzy of wiggling. Sam put him down and the dog took off, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor as he ran into the dining room. Max buried himself under his bed's pillow, only his squirming tail end visible. Backing out, he proudly trotted to them, a shearling gingerbread man twice the size of his head clamped firmly between his teeth.

"Good boy!" Lily exclaimed before Sam could say anything. She bent over, absentmindedly patting Max on the head. Straightening, she ran another appraising eye over Sam.

"Inform Paul that he's not to let Max sleep with him anymore. He thinks he can do it at my house, and I keep finding dog hair all over my sheets." Spinning on her spike heel, Lily made her way down the walk, not looking to see if Max was following.

Sam dropped her gaze to the dog, who was looking up at her, still having a death grip on Bobo.

"Go on," Sam whispered, nodding toward Lily. "I'll see you later."

With a small chuff, Max raced down the walk, reaching Lily just as she opened the back door of her BMW for him, never realizing he hadn't been with her the entire time.

Sam went back inside, closing the door to Paul's house, firmly putting Lily out of her mind.

~~~~~

The dinner was done, and almost everyone else was in the living room watching TV. In the kitchen, Paul was carefully running a dishtowel around the inside of the clean crockpot while his sister added more water to the sink.

“So who is she?” came Connie’s low voice. Paul flushed a little, shooting his sister a quick sidelong glance but not replying. She shook her head at him.

“Paul—you can’t hide it for long you know. You’re in too good a mood—you played three hours of Grand Theft Auto with Ian and two rounds of Parcheesi with Wilson.”

“I don’t need a reason to be in a good mood, Con. I LIKE playing video games—“ he stalled with a secretive smile designed to bug his little sister. She gave a chuff of exasperation and flicked the dishtowel at his shoulder. Paul dodged it and neatly slid the crockpot in the upper cupboard.

“Fine, fine—but what I don’t get out of you Mom WILL.”

“Ha!”

“Laugh now Funny Boy, but I could arrange for you to be her ride home—do you really want to risk a two hour trip while she grills you?” Connie demanded. Paul blanched a little at this scary possibility, his eyes widening as his sister smiled in triumph.

“You wouldn’t,” he decided, sorting the silverware out carefully. Connie made a frustrated sound deep in her throat.

“I don’t like to resort to threats, but she’s got to be something special if you’re grinning through a meatloaf dinner. I haven’t seen you this upbeat since Lily agreed to let you have joint custody of Max.”

Paul drew in a breath and put the silverware away before turning to face his sister. She smiled up at him.

Connie White was a short slim woman with dark curly hair and wire-rim glasses that magnified her green eyes. She and her brother shared other common features: thick eyelashes and quick smiles, Mediterranean complexions and good profiles. Paul leaned back against the sink and sighed.

“She’s a friend,” he offered. Connie arched an eyebrow.

“A close friend?”

“We’re close,” Paul admitted softly. His sister pursed her mouth and studied her brother, letting the pause build.

“Has she seen your---tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“In public or in private?” Connie demanded shrewdly, making him flush again. Paul’s eyes sparkled.

“Yes.”

“That’s not an answer!” came Connie’s grumble as she swatted his shoulder. Paul grabbed her wrist and spun her, clamping her to his chest and vigorously rubbing her hair.

“Noogie trap—“ he growled through a grin. Connie fought him off good-naturedly and gave him another punch in the arm. He barely flinched.

“She’s a major out in Colorado. Her name’s Samantha.”

"Samantha, huh? What does she do?" Wiping down the counter, Connie made sure everything was put away before taking up the boiling teakettle and pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Deep space telemetry," Paul easily lied.

Nodding, Connie took a sip of her tea. "So when do we get to meet her?"

"We're just friends, Con."

"Close friends, Paul." His sister threw his words back at him.

Sighing, Paul turned his head to look out the window at the backyard awash in the blues of early evening.

"Not yet. I just don't want to screw this one up."

Connie smiled, seeing more than Paul probably would have liked, and patted him on the shoulder as she walked out of the kitchen.

~~~~~

Sunday was over, and having eaten dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and watched a show she couldn't remember, Sam wandered through Paul's house, looking and touching everything, trying to get a little closer to him, to figure out who he was outside the Air Force.

Although Southwest in origins, the Mission furniture was paired with textures and patterns more reminiscent to a hunting lodge in upstate New York or the New England area; desert shades had been supplanted by dark hued reds, blues, and greens. There was some Frank Lloyd Wright stained glass hanging on the wall, and one or two O'Keefes, but most of the art was definitely inspired by the Northeast.

The rich chestnut of the table and chairs in the dining room went well with the almost Harvard red of the walls, a stained chair rail bisecting the room. The matching hutch held what looked like his grandmother's china, and Sam smiled at Paul's sentimental streak.

Sam slowly made her way upstairs, looking along the hallway at the plaques and commendations any military house had, even her's. She skipped the guestroom, having already been there earlier.

Reaching the doorway to Paul's room, Sam hesitated on the threshold. Staying in his house was one thing-- eating his food, watching his TV, but this was Paul's bedroom. This was personal.

A grin broke out over her face. Like having your hand down his pants wasn't personal? she chided herself. With a bold step Sam entered the dark green room, eyes taking everything in before she moved to his dresser.

Pictures of his family peppered the surface: Paul with an older couple, with a young woman with curly hair, a studio portrait of three boys with slicked down hair and identical smiles. Last was a scruffy looking blue and tan terrier, Max. Two watches, a tray with coins and a movie ticket stub, and a small chest rounded it out.

Licking her lips nervously, Sam reached out and lifted the lid. Two class rings winked at her from within the cufflinks and tie clips, picking them up she saw one was from high school and the other from the Academy, three years before she graduated.

Carefully placing the rings back exactly as she found them, Sam wandered over to the closet; opening the louvered doors showed a neat array of shirts and blazers, hung by color, with a solid block of light blue Air Force uniforms. A leather jacket caught her eye, pulling it out she slipped it on.

It enveloped her, hanging down past her hips, swallowing her arms. Sam wrapped the jacket around herself, burying her head in the folds and breathing deep. The scent was intoxicating, a mix of leather and Paul; a giddy throb went through Sam and she stood there, committing the moment to memory.

The jacket went back to its hanger and she closed the door, moving on to the wooden bookcase under the window. It was packed with novels by Clancy, Grissom, Francis, and others she didn't recognize. Next to it was an armchair, a twin to the one downstairs. Sam could see Paul sprawled in it, reading late into the night.

A few potted houseplants were scatted here and there, but Sam passed them over, peeking from the corner of her eye at the big queen sized bed she had been resolutely ignoring. It, like all the other furniture in the house, was in the Mission style, the wood a rich, deep chestnut brown.

Sam finally went to stand by the bed, running a hand over the pillow, the fuzzy texture of the flannel burgundy sheets with small black diamonds on it comforting. Idly she wondered what side of the bed Paul slept on, and what his pajamas looked like. If, in fact, he wore pajamas… Another impish thought followed that one, and with a mix of excitement and trepidation she lifted the covers and slipped between the sheets.

Rolling onto her stomach Sam buried her face into the pillow, breathing in deep. The feathers held the clean fragrance of detergent overlaid by the remembered scent of Paul. The sweet ache within her grew, and without stopping to think Sam flipped over to peel off her shirt and toss it to the floor, to slide her underwear off her hips and down her legs.

The slightly rough, wanton feel of the sheets on her smooth skin coupled with the wicked thought of her being naked in Paul's bed without his knowledge kicked Sam's libido into overdrive; she shifted across the flannel, imagining he was next to her, that it was his hands moving over her body, setting her nerves alight.

Sam trailed her fingertips over her belly, across the tangled curls between her legs. One grazed against the hard nub nestled there; she tried to draw the pleasure out, but too soon her body arched and Sam gasped Paul's name. Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, the release a hollow echo of what he had brought forth the last time they were together.

Softening against the sheets she sighed, debating on whether or not to try again. Ever since that February night, every attempt at self-gratification had been missing something. Someone. What had sufficed mere months ago no longer did, and Sam was reminded of something Paul had said in the VIP room under the Mountain when she just wanted to keep to third base.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t want our first time to be here, Sam, honey. I want you in my bed with clean sheets and not a damn stitch of clothing anywhere on your body—“

Well, she was in his bed with clean sheets and not a stitch of clothing on her, but Paul wasn't anywhere to be seen. Sam pulled the pillow over her head, disappointment flooding through her. If the truth be known, the Astrophysics conference was just a ruse to come to DC and see Paul. She had spent the greater part of her time during the lectures alternating between doodling numerous S+P with hearts around them in the margins of her notepad and stopping herself from laughing at most of the theories put forth by the lecturers.

Sam rolled to her side, looking at the empty space next to her. A soft smile crossed her face as she imagined Paul next to her, his eyes closed in sleep, his lean muscled chest rising and falling as he breathed. In her mind she reached out and traced his jaw line, feeling the light stubble. She touched his firm mouth, remembering how bittersweet their last goodbye kiss had been.

Paul's eyes blinked open and he smiled at Sam, pulling her close against him. Limbs intertwined, they fell asleep together.

~~~~~

"Uncle Paul?" The high voice cut through the late silence of the playroom.

Glancing up from the Risk board, Paul looked at Peter, the young boy's gaze firmly fixed on the two armies before him. Although always a serious child, something about the tense set of his nephew's shoulders made Paul pause.

"What is it, bud?"

The moment stretched on, and Paul was going to ask again when Peter spoke.

"You know about girls, right?"

Paul blinked in surprise. Peter was interested in girls? Already? A quick mental calculation reminded him that Peter was nine. He cleared his throat.

"Some."

Still keeping his eyes on the board, Peter continued. "You were going to get married, Mom said, and now you're not. How did you know that she liked you? And how did you know that she didn't anymore?" The words came out in a rush.

Paul moved his army around the board, thinking. Telling Peter how he figured out he liked someone was simple, but there really wasn't an easy way to say to anyone, much less your prepubescent nephew, that it ended when you discovered your fiancée cheating on you with a friend of yours.

"Well," Paul began, figuring there had to be something Peter wasn't telling him. Putting Lily from his mind, he imagined Sam instead. "It was because I liked spending time with her. And she made me happy when I was with her. Is there someone at school you like?"

Peter nodded tightly. "Yeah. Her name's Kayla. She's in my class, and the Science Club too, and she lives two doors down. But I think she likes Matthew Donavan. He's in the fifth grade and plays soccer and baseball. She's always talking 'bout him. How great he is."

"Oh." Waiting, Paul watched Peter push up his glasses, still staring at the board.

"Ian says I should play soccer or baseball and stuff like that so she'll notice me." Peter's little body slumped in his chair. "Soccer's okay, but I'm not very good."

"She needs to like you for who you are. Maybe she just doesn't know you very well. Do you ever ask her to do things with you? Come over and hang out? Try it next weekend," Paul added as Peter shook his head. "Talk to your Mom, and see what happens."

Finally looked up, Peter gave Paul a shy smile. "Thanks." He ducked, laughing as Paul reached out and ruffled his hair.

~~~~~

"So Paulie has a new girlfriend?" Helping her daughter put the laundry away, Marie Davis shot her a curious glance.

"Seems like it." The two women shared a meaningful look before Connie opened the boy's bedroom door to check on their sleeping forms and went into the master bedroom.

"Is it serious?" Marie picked up the sheets and pillowcases and walked into the hall to the linen closet.

Putting the Kyle's shirts and jeans into his drawer, Connie closed it with a snap before filling the now empty basket with clothes to be washed and followed her mom. "Seems like it," she repeated. "More from what he didn't say than what he did say."

"So?"

Connie sighed dramatically. "Ask him yourself."

"As if he'd tell me anything," Marie groused.

"Okay. Her name's Samantha, she's a major in the Air Force, and she works in deep space telemetry."

"Deep space telemetry, hmm? Sounds boring. That's just what Paulie needs after that three-ring circus Lily put him through. Someone nice and stable, and no excitement. Wonder how far they've gotten," she added thoughtfully.

"Ewww, Mom!"

~~~~~

It was late, and Paul opted not to turn on the lights as he made his way through his dark house. Sam had thoughtfully left the key in the magnetic box on the underside of the mailbox, just as she told him she would, and as he moved through the rooms he sensed the lingering traces of her presence.

He set his suitcase inside the bedroom door and walked into the bathroom, flicking on the light, blinking at the brightness. His own pale face stared back in the bathroom mirror, his beard coming in dark against his skin. Paul grimaced, and as his gaze turned to the counter, he spotted something small and unfamiliar winking at him. On closer inspection, he recognized it as a single earring; a small gold stud gleaming in the florescent light. Picking it up, Paul smiled. He remembered Sam wearing the pair of them to the carnival, and again during the playoff game—they were delicate and modestly feminine and completely Sam Carter.

Carefully Paul set the earring in the soapdish and made a mental note to tell Sam he had it. With quick splashes he washed his face and brushed his teeth, noting it was almost one in the morning. Hurriedly he stripped out of his clothes, tossing them towards the hamper, not waiting to see if they actually made it in or not.

The bedroom was cool, and Paul slipped between the sheets quickly, grateful for the flannel, which warmed quickly with his body heat. As he settled in, he allowed himself the luxury of thinking about Samantha wandering through his place. Had she felt comfortable? Had she looked around to find out more about him? Knowing his own nature Paul had no qualms admitting to himself that he would have thoroughly explored Sam’s place if ever given the opportunity. There were still so many things he longed to know about her and his frustration was tempered by the understanding that it was the process, not necessarily the results that gave him pleasure.

He tensed for a moment, wondering if his imagination was set too high; his pillow carried a faint lingering scent—

Paul dismissed the notion instantly, even as it sent a rolling wave of pleasure through him. The image of Sam choosing to sleep in his bed over the one in the guestroom seemed egotistical and unlikely. Why would she? Following on the heels of that, the slightly darker side of his mind demanded, why not?

For a long gloriously wicked moment Paul imagined Sam lolling around in his sheets, her lissome form wrapped in the flannel, and the image was so clear to him that groaned. It was not a civilized sound, but then again, the fantasy inspiring it certainly wasn’t either. Paul breathed in deeply, his mind’s eye focused on the tantalizing picture of Sam, smooth, warm and naked as she stretched out between the sheets—

In a sudden epiphany of sensory insight Paul was aware of two facts: he was rigidly, achingly hard, and that his knee had brushed a wad of cloth bunched against it. Sucking in a breath he reached down, his mind not quite believing what his fingers were telling him.

He knew what it was. What they were. Oh yes---

There was no mistaking the feel of cotton under his fingers, the brushed softness of the thin fabric, material he’d touched before under different circumstances. A harsh sigh leaked out of his lungs and Paul hooked his fingers around the small pair of panties as his pulse thrummed in his ears.

“God, Sam—“ he sighed.

Urgently he dragged the little prize over his aching erection and pressed, feeling his heat through it, the sensual texture encompassing him. Paul rubbed the palm of his hand against the fabric, stroking himself through the soft cotton of Sam’s panties and within a few minutes he spasmed, coming hard, gasping her name.

Paul fought back the pangs of self-loathing and lightly wiped himself clean, clutching the cotton tightly with trembling fingers As he slumped back against his sheets, a wave of lonely shame brushed him; somewhere along this dark hour of the morning, desire had become something closer to need.

*****