SPN FIC - Begin Again
A little bit of Sam The Good Boyfriend for your weekend enjoyment -- told in drabble form, because the Muse was feeling experimental.
And, while you're feeling the mood, swing by and look at this: promo photos of teen!Jared from "Close to Home." (An unsold pilot about young marrieds.) One could die of the sweet romantic gooey-ness, I'll tell ya.
Sweaty and stained, his hair plastered to his head, he stands up from the couch and gives her a sheepish grin. "I thought it needed…you know. A little cleaning."
Characters: Sam and Jess
Genre: Het
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 600 words
BEGIN AGAIN
By Carol Davis
He's not sure what to buy.
Dad was never much of a stickler for cleanliness, beyond making sure they wouldn't be up to their butts in mice and ants and roaches, so they always just had the basics: the generic versions of Windex, Comet, whatever dishwashing and laundry stuff was on sale. Sam could make do with those, but he wants to do this right, not half-assed. Comet scratches things, he remembers from some old TV commercial. And you can't clean a toilet with Windex.
With a sigh, he starts to move down the aisle, reading labels as he goes.
* * *
The doing is no easier than the preparation. The only comfortable way to scrub a tub is to sit down in it, but you're not supposed to get the Ultra Foaming Action stuff on your skin. After half an hour or so his shoulders and his back and his knees start to scream a protest at the torquing he's putting them through by kneeling alongside the tub and leaning in.
He remembers at the last minute that you're not supposed to mix cleansers and he thinks, suffocating on toxic fumes before he finishes the job really isn't very good planning.
* * *
It's amazing, the amount of dirt that a small rug can contain. He pushes the vacuum cleaner he borrowed from Becky back and forth, growing pop-eyed with wonder at the crud building up in the transparent tank. By the time he's gone through the entire apartment, all four rooms of it (if you count the bathroom) plus the closets, the tank is full of dirt and dust bunnies and hair and God knows what else. (Sam definitely doesn't want to know.)
As he dumps the tank into the trash can, the apartment starts to feel a little more like…theirs.
* * *
He's made a bed before, lots of times - but never like this. Never with this much care. He smoothes the soft white sheets out carefully, makes sure they're straight and even. Slides the pillowcases onto brand-new pillows he bought with money she doesn't know he saved and plumps them into place, one beside the other. When that's done, he arranges clean white towels on the newly-polished towel racks in the bathroom, and straightens curtains in front of newly-shined windows. Finally, he pours a small sack of vanilla potpourri into a white bowl. She likes potpourri. He'll learn to like it.
* * *
A little after four o'clock he sits on the couch to take stock of his work. This small apartment isn't what he'd choose for her if…well, if he had much of a choice. But "small" doesn't mean "bad" - it's airy and bright, and it's in a good neighborhood, not far from campus. Most of their friends are close by.
And it's theirs.
Their home.
The right place to start their life together.
When he hears her key turn in the lock, he realizes with dismay that the only thing in the apartment that isn't fresh and clean is him.
* * *
"Sam?" she says, frowning. "What -?"
Sweaty and stained, his hair plastered to his head, he stands up from the couch and gives her a sheepish grin. "I thought it needed…you know. A little cleaning."
"I would have helped."
"I wanted to," he says.
Another impulse strikes him then, and he sweeps her up into his arms, coat and purse and books and all. He carries her out the door, pivots neatly, and carries her back inside, over the threshold. They're both a little misty-eyed as he sets her gently down.
"Welcome home, Jess," he whispers. "I love you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~