#sam loves al

[drarreckyninja]

*after he finally gets back*

Sam: Al, that shirt looks like it's made for a woman. In fact, I think I saw Bena wearing the same one earlier.

Al: Very funny, Sam. I'll have you know, it's a unisex shirt.

Sam: Well, maybe you need sex.

Al: No. U-N-I-sex, you dolt.

Sam: How can I say 'no' to such an offer? *grabs the front of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss*

Al: Samm-- *kisses him back*

[thisisntcanon]

Inchworm Kids

Two and two are four Four and four are eight Eight and eight are sixteen Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two Inchworm, inchworm Measuring the marigolds You and your arithmetic…

The lyrics bring a calming dreamlike experience to Teresa, the toddler who sees him as he is. Not the womanizing veteran he plays himself up to be. She sees a caring man, a child-friendly angel. The lyrics mean something else to Sam, though. He bypasses Kevin’s room and heads downstairs. Throwing open the front door, he catches Kevin just as he’s jumped from the second story. Sam grabs the bike handle just as Kevin does, and a disgruntled fifteen-year-old reluctantly returns inside.

… inchworm Measuring the marigolds Seems to me you'd stop and see How beautiful they are.

Al finishes his singing with a soft smile on his face. Kevin’s music is turned down, and Sam’s propped the door open. He gestures for Al to join him in the hallway while Kevin reluctantly reads, and Teresa has fallen asleep.

“You know,” he starts up, unaware of the mess Sam’s stopped for now, “have I ever told you how much I like kids?”

“Sure,” Sam nods easily as he pulls Teresa’s door shut, “every time we’re around our own.”

He turns to check on Kevin and finds Al staring at him in confusion and awe.

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“I said, ‘sure, every time we’re around… our own. Our own! God, Al! I remember our kids. Andrew! And, and Daniel. And… Teresa? What ha?”

“Let’s just say it had something to do with Tularosa and WITSEC four years from now.” He waves him off. “Forget about that, Sam. You remember the kids!”

“Al…” He groans, tears forming in his eyes. “I remember the kids. I remember you. The real you. Why the hell do you go off talking about these girlfriends, huh?”

“Coping,” he shrugs.

When Sam only glares at him, Al hastens to explain.

“I’m not coping with any girls. I’m coping with the theory of girls. I’m still solo, Sammy. Working the Project, fathering the kids.”

“I wanna go home, Al.”

“I want you home, too, Sam.”

Their tender moment is broken by Gooshie on the handlink. It seems Kevin’s snuck out again, this time successfully. Sam instructs Al to stay with Teresa as he runs to grab Susan and call Rafaella.

[drarreckyninja]

*after beating up a vending machine*

Al: what’s with midlife crises? what if someone dies young and they never knew when their midlife crisis was? you never know your midlife point.

Sam: that’s why i’ve decided to have an ongoing crisis.

[drarreckyninja]

Al: I’m scared that when you become rich and famous you’ll be embarrassed by me. Sam: Oh Al, I’m already embarrassed by you.

[drarreckyninja]

Sam: You were an idiot to leave Al.

Beth: And you were fast enough to replace me.

Sam: I love him. You can’t even imagine what that is.

[drarreckyninja]

Al, to Gooshie via handlink: "Sleep? I don't know about sleep... it's summertime."

Sam: "You haven't gone to bed?"

Al: "Oh, he caught me."

[thisisntcanon]

Down Like the Domino

What do they expect from us? Our names are on every big screen in the world most likely. I can see it: Samuel Beckett and Albert Calavicci. Wanted for Crimes Unimaginable. Not so terrible anymore. Compared to how terrible life has gone for everyone around us. We’re basically thieves who’ve done a bit of homicide only when the walls close in. we’ve never been caught. And if we got caught now, it’d be way worse than when we started.

We don’t use our real names, so I wonder how good that headline works. And they’ve never figured out our faces. Granted, we change them for every job. Money changes hands. Never any bank accounts. But we could. We have so many aliases. And no one has ever figured that we’ve got another member to our little team. No one knows about Ziggy, our computer expert who finds half our jobs. No one knows we have implanted chips that help us keep in touch with each other when we need to be separated.

Implanted chips that download information directly to us. Like a well-oiled machine. A well-tracked mind. She’s our source to outside databases, like a projection in the backs of our minds. God, I remember all the people we’ve had on our jobs. Donna Wojohowitz. My wife back when this all started as a few drug runs. Well, girlfriend at first. Had a code saying, ‘hearts, stars, and horseshoes.’ The hearts were the runs themselves. Donna worked for Red Cross and could always get us an ambulance or something no cops would stop on the road.

She even played the role of a corpse for a serious run gone after a mob boss. We were in a hearse, dressed all in black. Cops didn’t stop us except to ask if we needed an escort. Fucking escorted by the cops while he had the bottom half of a coffin stuffed with dirty drugs. Still can’t believe it. One for the books, and her best case she ever took on with us. The stars were the receival. Usually, we dealt with cash. Occasionally, fine gems or jewelry. Something less traceable once you file off those pesky serial numbers.

We were stars in our own eyes. This was something we knew how to do and do it well. Had Gooshie with us too. A little guy with bad breath. Al never liked him. could trust him when it counted, but never liked him. Even back then when Sam hardly knew anyone aside from Donna, Al’s opinion mattered. Gooshie helped with the horseshoes. Horseshoes always denote safety. Safe houses. Run the deal, get something in return, and contact me when you reach the safe house. Hearts, stars, and horseshoes.

Unfortunately, Donna was caught in a raid. Wasn’t even strictly a deal. Something simple we were pushing on the side when we had a serious gig going on over a decade ago now. Seems like so long yet sometimes, it feels like yesterday. I just wanted her to relax. Gave her an easy deal. But then the world broke down on me, reminding how quick life turns to shit. She wouldn’t give us up. They fucking tortured her, but she kept her mouth shut until she couldn’t anymore.

I remember Ziggy telling me that she got in touch. That Gooshie went in with one of those cell pills. Like swallowing a magnet, explodes before it reaches the stomach acid. The good thing is, she didn’t suffer anymore than what they’d done to her. We got Verbena working with us about a month after that. Had a psych degree. I stopped following the hearts, stars, and horseshoes guidelines. And Verbena tried a different motto. Don’t remember it. I wouldn’t listen to her.

I remember Al came and got me to rejoin. We had Martinez and St. John working in our places. And things accelerated. Didn’t just have drug runs. Still had them, but we also had burglaries and invasions, and an occasional kidnapping. Our pseudo-selves had their own fruit code for which was meant. Drug runs were berries. We were so used to them; they were like picking fruit. Burglaries were oranges, a bit harder. Invasions left a sour taste, so lemons they were. And kidnappings were the most difficult. Watermelons.

It was a horrific watermelon that we lost most of our team two years ago. We didn’t have the whole story thanks to a completely hidden alias. And witness protection. It wasn’t real of course. But we didn’t know. Gooshie, Verbena, Martinez, St. John. All gone.

Sam uses his key and walks through the apartment door. His partner and husband instantly notices the change in the air. Without a word, he wraps his arms around him and guides him to the couch for much-needed cuddle time.