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Carried Away
By Redlance


Sam's day has been a long, tiring one. Having not slept the night before due to a baby screaming through most of it, she'd proceeded to fall asleep in study hall, which had stolen away the time she needed to finish an article for the Zapruder she'd been working on, which had caused the paper to be unready for print. Which earned her a lecture from Principal Krupps. To top it off, she was pretty sure she'd managed to get someone else's gum on the knee of her jeans during her little trip to the land of nod. She doesn't think she'll ever understand the desire to stick gum on something other than the inside of a garbage bag. Did they do it to make a pretty unseen collage? Or did it give them some weird, inane kind of thrill? Whatever it was, Sam thought it was stupid. And really annoying when no amount of wetting with paper towels removed the offending chewed item from the denim and just succeeded in making a huge damp patch, that only made the gum more noticeable. She was fairly certain someone she had passed in the hallway had shouted something along the lines of 'wetta patella McPherson' which had made her wonder, aggravated, why such idiots were allowed to survive.

All in all, the day had not been a good one and to say she was glad to be home would have been a gross understatement. She just wants to disappear into her bedroom and block out the rest of the world. Entering the house, that is exactly what she plans to do.

Until she sees a body slumped on the kitchen floor. Her heart stops, literally stops, when she sees the blonde hair belonging to the body. Then all of her functions kick start at ten times their regular speed, as if trying to make up for their brief lapse. Her mind races and her heart thumps, because the body isn't moving.

"Brooke!" It would have been a scream, she suspects, if her voice hadn't cracked. She races towards the kitchen and almost trips over her own failing limbs as Brooke's head moves to face her direction and the strength is pulled out of them.

"Oh, thank god." Brooke's head falls back to the cold floor in relief. Sam stops at the edge of the island looking down at the blonde, heart still pounding, who lay in an uncomfortable looking position half on her side, half on her back position.

"What…" Sam blinks rapidly a few times. "Brooke, I thought you were dead, what the hell are you doing?" Brooke moves her head again, grunting with the effort it apparently takes to keep it lifted.

"Taking an aromatherapy bubble bath Sam, what does it look like I'm doing?" Brooke barks, annoyed. Sam has to count to ten before replying. She hates that Brooke had the ability to press her buttons so easily.

"I was trying to hang that stupid wire contraption over the lampshade." Brooke lifts a hand to point up at the ceiling. Sure enough, some decorative wire ensemble was now draped over the otherwise plain white shade. It looks nice. "When I slipped." She sighs, letting her head drop again.

"Oh." Was the dull response. Sam didn't quite know what to say, but the obvious suddenly strikes her like a slap to the face. "Wait, Brooke…. Why aren't you getting up?" Brooke whimpers at the question.

"I can't move. I've been lying here for like half an hour already." She knows it's bad, she knows she shouldn't, but Sam can feel a bubble of laughter start to form in the pit of her stomach and it's not long before its shot up her throat and she has to bite her lip to stop it from escaping. "I swear to god Sam, if you're laughing at me I will get up off this floor and kick your ass, broken ankle or not." The laughter bubble pops.

"Broken? What? Brooke, do you think it is?" Groaning at having to life her head again, she does and rolls her eyes, but smiles at the concern in Sam's voice. "Should I call an ambulance?"

"Calm down, Nanny McPherson. I think it's just sprained." Brooke's eyebrows knit together and she smiles, helplessly. "I wasn't kidding when I said I couldn't get up." Understanding, Sam reaches a hand out to help the blonde to her feet. With a large amount of effort, and Sam having to eventually stand behind Brooke to lift her under her shoulders, she manages to get Brooke on her feet. Their bodies are close, Brooke is leaning her back against Sam trying to catch the breath spent in her efforts, and she can feel the hands on her hips, steadying her. Like gentle flames burning pleasant holds there.

"You okay?" Sam, more than close enough, breathes into Brooke's ear and now she has to catch her breath for a different reason. Brooke can only make a low, quite 'mmhmm' noise in response.

There is silence. It's not uncomfortable, but it's charged with something they are both aware of and that makes it tense. Sam shifts and for the briefest instant, Brooke can feel the entirety of her body press up against hers. Heat flares inside of her and she's so close to snapping, every inch of her is aching. She's forgotten how to breathe. Sam's thumbs are rubbing insane circles on the skin slightly exposed below Brooke's t-shirt and if Brooke had the ability to think at that moment, she'd wonder what the hell Sam thought she was doing.

"Sam, I-" To her utter mortification, her voice cracks and she closes her eyes. "Do you think you could help me to my room?" The loss she feels as Sam drops her hands is unexplainable but very, very real.

"Of course." And then one of Sam's hands is back, wrapped around her waist this time, making sure Brooke doesn't fall. She feels safe, secure. Terrified. "Brooke, you have to move."

"Right." Brooke laughs a little too exuberantly, rolling her eyes at herself and then letting them get wide for a second, thankful Sam can't see her face. "Get a grip, Brooke." Sam takes Brooke's right arm and throws it over her shoulder, pulling their bodies close together again. Brooke inhales deeply to calm herself, but she can smell Sam, and her eyes close involuntarily. She doesn't know if it's perfume, shampoo or something uniquely Sam. "Oh god, please get a grip."

"It's simple Brooke, even babies can do it. You just put one foot in front of the other." Sam teases playfully, using a finger of the hand at Brooke's waist to prod the blonde in the ribs. "I mean, I'm quite happy to just stand here like this all day but we should probably get you off that ankle." Brooke is instantly confused and flustered by the comment.

"What is that supposed to mean? Does it mean anything? Why did she say that? Why am I still not moving? I think I've forgotten how to walk. If she'd just move her hand I could think properly…. And probably fall over." Brooke sighs, realising she has to do something. Move preferably. Slowly, she lowers her injured foot to test how much weight she can put on it. With gentle pressure, she places it onto the floor and allows some of her weight to fall onto it. The pain is blinding and it steals her breath like a lock pick intent on maliciously destroying the lock in their efforts. She feels her legs fall out from beneath her as though it's happening in slow motion and her upper body twists as she makes an attempt to grab Sam's shoulders for leverage, but she's helpless against gravity. Sam is there though. Her arms have dropped, snapping around Brooke and holding onto her with strength that surprises the blonde for some reason, not allowing her to fall any further. She opens her eyes, that must have closed instinctively on her way down, to find herself staring up slightly into Sam's amused face. Her hands had found the brunette's shoulders after all. Her palms tingle as they rest against bare flesh not covered by the tank top Sam is wearing. Brooke has forgotten how to breath. Again. It's becoming tedious.

"Why are you so set on falling today?" Sam's eyes are playful, she's all wiggling eyebrows, and Brooke can't help but chuckle at the fact that she does seem set on colliding with the floor as often as possible.

"I think I've temporarily inherited my Dad's sometimes there, sometimes absent clumsiness." Brooke attempts to right herself, using her hold on Sam's shoulders and the amazing hopping ability of her left leg. Sam watches, eyebrows knitting together in concern again.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?" Brooke visibly baulks at the thought and shakes her head, looking at Sam intensely.

"No hospitals." It comes out more harshly than it is supposed to and Brooke's face instantly transforms into a mask of regret. "Sorry." She whispers, looking down and away from Sam now. "I just…. I don't like them." Unseen by the blonde, Sam's lips purse and her eyebrows rise simultaneously. She draws her lips into a firm, small pouting line and nods.

"Okay. No hospitals." Sam lets go of the other girl's waist with one of her hands and brings it to Brooke's face. She makes a loose fist, then rests the indent created by her curled index finger and thumb under the blonde's chin, lifting her head so Brooke's eyes return to hers once more. A wide, reassuring smile lights Sam's face. "I promise." Tentatively, Brooke returns it with one of her own that flourishes and grows under Sam's current perpetual sunshine. "But I'm taking a leaf out of their books and demanding bed rest and icepacks." Brooke laughs at that but quirks her eyebrows.

"Unless you have a stretcher hidden in your back pocket, I think I'm going to be making a bed right here on the counter. Even hopping on my other foot jars my ankle." Brooke explains, staring down at her injured leg hanging lamely in midair, muttering. "Nicole is going to love this." She looks up just in time to witness Sam's tongue run itself over pearly white teeth and then press itself into the brunette's cheek. Briefly, Brooke forgets who she is. Where she is. Everything is gone except Sam and her expressive muscle.

"Don't say I never do anything for you, Brooke." Sam tells her, bringing her back to reality and confusing the heck out of her.

"What?" Brooke has barely gotten the word out and Sam is taking her hands from her shoulders, she hadn't even realised they were still there, and placing them on the counter, telling her to hold onto it. "What are you-? Sam!" The name is dragged out of her throat in the form of a shriek, because one of Sam's arms is suddenly at her knees, bending them and forcing Brooke backwards, and the other is around her shoulders, and she's lifting Brooke. Lifting her. "What the hell are you doing?! Put me down!" She demands, but Sam just laughs and shakes her head.

"Look, you want to get to your room. You can't walk. I'm here, knight in shining armour that I am, so I'm helping." There is a tone of finality in Sam's voice that Brooke knows better than to argue against. She'd never admit it out loud, but Sam could be a formidable foe when it came to arguing. Brooke could do nothing but lie in Sam's arms, stiff as a board and let herself be carried towards the staircase. "Where are the parentals anyway?" Sam asks, after a few seconds of awkward quiet.

"Out at some play date for Mac, I think."

"Why is it she can get away with screaming all night and then be praised with a play date the next day?" Sam asks, feigning irritation with a smile on her lips.

"Because she's so darn cute." Sam laughs, loud and musical. Brooke thinks it's beautiful. It's also infections. "She gets it all from me you know." Brooke's self righteous yet matter of fact air only makes Sam laugh louder.

"I don't doubt that." She states, not looking at the blonde in her arms. A blonde who observes that there is no note of amusement in Sam's voice to make her think she's anything other than serious. "After all, Princesses always get their way." Sam smirks, anticipating the slap that connects with her shoulder.

"You're lucky I'm somewhat incapacitated right now, McPherson. Otherwise I'd kick your ass for that comment." They both giggle, finally reaching the top of the stairs.

"I'd like to see that."

"You don't think I could take you?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?" Outrage stains her voice.

"You're too lanky to take me." Brooke gasps, offended.

"I am not lanky!" Sam just giggles again.

"No, you're not lanky." She gives in far more quickly than the blonde has come to expect, making her way to Brooke's room and awkwardly attempting to open the door with the hand belonging to the arm that is holding her legs up. Taking pity on her, Brooke shifts her upper body so she's within reach and turns the door handle. Sam kicks it open the rest of the way with her foot. Then she glances down at Brooke, beaming, a single eyebrow quirked. "Over the threshold we go." Brooke, blushing for a reason she doesn't really understand, finds her eyes darting away from Sam and onto everything other than her. "Where do you want me to put you down?"

"You make me sound like a ham." Brooke protests, shaking her head but pointing to the bed figuring it would be easier to place her on rather than in the chair. "How are you even doing this? Carrying me? Did you get bitten by a spider or something?" Sam scoffs, half snorting.

"Brooke, you weigh like ninety pounds." Brooke rolls her eyes, her weight at the best of time a slightly uncomfortable topic.

"Just put me down." Sam stops in front of the bed, frowning down at annoyed hazel eyes.

"What?" Brooke doesn't look at her, instead she's struggling. Trying to wriggle free of Sam's grasp, not caring if it hurts her ankle. "Wait, what did I-"

"Just put me down, please."

"Not until you tell me what I said to make you turn from pussycat to pissy in less time than it takes me to blink." She says sternly, trying desperately to keep her hold but failing. "Brooke, will you stop struggling! You're gonna fa-" But it's too late. Brooke has managed to free herself but has no where to go other than down. She lands on her back, her head towards the pillows, her feet hanging over the edge. Her ankle hits the wood below the mattress as she falls and she whimpers quietly. Then she feels a weight on the right portion of her body and she realises her arm is still wrapped tightly around something. "Jesus Brooke, you really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." Sam is saying, lifting her head to look down at her, but Brooke can barely hear it over the thudding of her own heart. "What is your damage? You could have finished the job you started on your ankle and broken the damn thing."


"Seriously, what did I say?"

"Sam, I don't-"

"Was it the weight comment? 'Cause Brooke, I was kidding-"

"Sam!" The tone of Brooke's voice shuts her up finally. "Yes, it was the weight comment. Now can you please get off me, before yours flattens the entire right side of my body?" Sam shifts, but not how Brooke expects her to. Instead of getting off, she simply manoeuvres herself so she's straddling Brooke's stomach and hips. The blonde lifts her hands, trying to push her housemate off of her. "What are you-"

"Shut up, Brooke." Sam demands, gripping the hands pushing at her stomach and pushing them back to the mattress. However, in order to do that Sam has to lower her body considerably and now she hovers over Brooke, mere inches from full contact. The cheerleader starts to feel panic rise within her. It's a panic she's never felt before, a kind that can't compare to any other. Like a cold itch spreading throughout her entire body. "I'm sorry." She says, her hair tickling Brooke's cheeks. "I didn't mean to upset you." After a long moment, Brooke starts to smile again, much to Sam's relief. "But," She began again, cautionary but definite. "You have got to stop freaking out about that kind of thing." The smile fades, but Sam takes a deep breath and continues. "If you seriously think you're anything other than perfectly stunning, you're a lot crazier than my editorials portrayed you in those fun early days." Brooke can do nothing but blink. Sam's body on hers is doing weird things to her and blinking is the only movement she trusts herself with. Had Sam just said what she thought she'd said? Was Brooke having a hallucinogenic moment?

"Do I want to be having an hallucinogenic moment?" The answer, she finds, isn't as unexpected to her as she thought it would be. In that moment she realises that this would be a very pleasant dream should it be that. The question is, how does she feel about the moment being a real one?

And that answer doesn't frighten her either. Sam is staring at her. She thinks there's apprehension in her, Brooke smiles, beautiful eyes.

"Why did you say that?"

"Because it's the truth. I don't know why you can't see how…." Sam trails off, hanging her head a little, not sure what word to choose out of her wide vocabulary. Her eyes meet Brooke's again. "Incredible you are."

"That's not what I see when I look in the mirror." She confesses, honestly. She doesn't know why she isn't freaking out.

"Maybe it's time you saw yourself through someone else's eyes." Sam's voice is low, husky, and it does things to Brooke that probably shouldn't be spoken about out loud for fear of never being able to revert back from looking like a beetroot. Brooke can't think of anything clever to say to that. She doesn't really have time to though, because suddenly Sam's face is sweeping down towards hers and Brooke doesn't even have time to panic.

Sam's lips are soft. Impossibly soft against her own. The contact is light at first, enough to be chaste if Sam pulls away now. Sam has always been someone who throws herself into a task though, and she proves that by sliding her hands up Brooke's arms and pressing her palms flat against the ones beneath them, deepening the kiss. The electric jolt Brooke feels as Sam's tongue softly strokes hers for the first time sends shock waves through her body, curling her toes and forcing their fingers to entwine. As the seconds pass, the kiss only becomes more heated as their lips meet again and again, and Brooke can feel her body arching up into Sam's, her hands pulling Sam down, suddenly wanting more contact than is physically possible. A moan fills the air, neither are sure which throat is it emitted from, or if both are to blame, but Sam's eyes snap open at the sound and before Brooke can comprehend what's happened, she's torn her lips away and disentangled her fingers.

"Damn it!" Sam barks, holding herself up so she's looming around a foot above Brooke with one hand and using the other up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I didn't mean to…." Distressed and incredibly annoyed with herself, Sam sets sad dark eyes on Brooke. "I shouldn't have done that." Brooke doesn't know if she's ever seen Sam look so vulnerable and miserable. It breaks her heart.

"Why not?" Brooke asks, making a very large decision very quickly. Looking up at Sam, her lips and body still humming from their kiss, she knows there couldn't possibly be any other way. The reporter however, looks down at her like she's grown another head.

"Because, Brooke." Sam states and then is silent for a few seconds, making Brooke wonder if her entire argument is resting on such a weak response. "You don't like me…. Not like that." Brooke eyebrows shoot to her hairline and she regards Sam incredulously.

"Oh and you know this for a fact, do you?" Brown eyes roll, as if the answer is obvious. "People who aren't interested in you romantically have a habit of sticking their tongue in your mouth, do they?" The comment seems to embarrass Sam, but she doesn't lower her gaze. Just stares evenly at Brooke.

"What are you saying?"

"Aren't you supposed to be smart? A journalist? Good at seeing evidence and putting the pieces together?" Brooke challenges. "Let's review. You called me perfectly stunning. I didn't slap you. In fact, that's probably going to be a moment I remember until I'm old and senile." She pauses. "Actually, that will probably be the only thing I remember even then." Sam blinks at the comment, not sure how to react or even if she should. "You kissed me and I responded." Brooke's cheeks colour slightly as she says her next words. "Pretty enthusiastically, as I'm sure you're aware." Sam's forehead creases, afraid of hearing what Brooke might say next, but wanting her to say it so badly she wonders if it's possible to get someone to do something out of sheer will power. "What do you think I'm saying?"

"I'm afraid of being wrong." Sam confesses in a whisper.

"You need to be afraid of being slapped for stupidity." Brooke warns with gentle humour, a smile playing across her lips. "I'm saying, if you need me to spell it out for you, that I think I could very easily, and very quickly fall in love with you." Sam closes her eyes, her face flooding with what looks like relief.

"I never thought-"

"No more thinking." And Brooke reaches up, wrapping a hand around Sam's neck and pulling her down so their bodies are flush against each other. There is no tentative beginning to this kiss. It's hot and heavy from the start and easy to lose themselves in. Brooke surprises herself by taking the lead, sliding her free hand up under Sam's tank top and pressing the palm flat against her back. Wanting to feel her. Wanting to make sure what was happening was real. The brunette moans at the contact, driving Brooke to new heights of crazy. She slides her hand down from her place at Sam's neck, along her arm to grip her hand, inching it under her own shirt. Telling Sam it was okay. Sam's hand is silky, cool against her warm skin. Her fingers slide upwards, tracing shaky patterns over ribs, inching as high as they dare. Brooke's own hand has ceased it's movements, she's all but forgotten to respond to the kiss, she isn't sure if she's even breathing anymore. Sam's hand and its ministrations are the sole focus of her attention. Her body responds in ways that are new and slightly frightening, but everything about it feels incredible. Sam's fingers dance and skirt the edges of invisible boundaries, but never cross it. She's smiling into the kiss now and Brooke realises what she's doing. "I had no idea you were such a tease." Brooke murmurs against her lips.

"I had no idea you'd enjoy teasing this much." There isn't a beat between the sentences and the way Sam says it makes Brooke almost explodes with laughter. She pulls her lips away and tilts her head to the side, letting the rolling waves of mirth flow out of her, shaking her body, and Sam's along with it. Sam just watches and smiles, only thinking of how beautiful Brooke looks when she laughs. "What? What's so funny?" She asks, once the laughter has subsided to persistent chuckles. Brooke turns her head back to gaze up at Sam. Dark hair curtaining her face, heavy lidded dark eyes, a smile so much sexier than Brooke is used to. Fingers still stroking, still teasing.

Brooke lifts a hand to her mouth, giggling behind it as she thinks, not caring how cheesy it is, that she's suffered two serious falls that day. And she knows that she won't be recovering from one of them.

The End

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