Fic: You And Me Were The Dream I've Been Saving [1/2]
Title: You And Me Were The Dream I've Been Saving
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Sam/Rachel
Rating: soft R
Length: 11k words
Summary: Sam and Rachel run into each other nearly a decade after high school.
Notes: Written for crayonboxhearts as a pinch hit for the glee_rare_pairs fic exchange.
--
It’s all because she saw his name in the paper and something about Local Legend Sam Evans made it impossible for her to stay away. So here she is in a seedy bar in the bad part of town watching amateur hour while she sips on watered down vodka cranberries.
She’s never been to this side of the city, and it’s certainly not the sort of establishment she likes to frequent, but before she can chalk this up to a really stupid idea and hightail it out of there a voice is resounding across the room and her heart flutters a little with nostalgia.
“Hey all, I’m Sam Evans.”
It’s been almost a decade since she last saw him at their high school graduation, but he doesn’t look all that different. His hair is shorter, and he’s wearing a faded grey shirt with the letters RTFM across his chest, his jeans ripped in all the right places and brown shoes are settled on the bottom rung of the stool he’s sitting on. There are black rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and thick leather bracelets hanging off his right wrist.
He’s talking about something, but she can’t really focus on the words because he looks...good. He looks really good. He’s grinning out at the bar patrons and running a hand through his hair before adjusting the worn brown strap of his guitar over his shoulder and plucking out a few chords.
Something about boys and guitars makes Rachel feel like she’s sixteen again and Noah Puckerman is perched on her bed smiling at her like she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. She’s always fallen in love too easily.
Three songs and just as many drinks later, Rachel’s seriously considering approaching Sam, but she’s not sure exactly how. Ends up not mattering because as Sam’s thanking the crowd for coming out, grinning against his microphone, his eyes scan the crowd and for the first time that night land right on Rachel’s, recognition flashing in them instantly.
Rachel’d like to say that time stopped, that sparks flew between them and a connection was solidified from her heart to his. She’d like to say all these things, to be able to regale friends with their epic tale of romance later in life, but in reality it was nothing like that.
In reality, Sam just set his guitar down on a stand behind him and jumped off the stage to walk across the bar towards her, a handsome grin on his face.
“Rachel Berry,” he greets, hands in his pockets.
She smiles, twirls her straw around in her drink. “Samuel Evans.”
“I was wondering if I’d ever run into you.”
“Big city,” she murmurs. There’s a warmth in her stomach that’s either from the vodka or the way his eyes are staring into hers, but she can’t decide which.
He shrugs. “Small world.”
She laughs as he sits down next to her and gestures to her glass. “Buy you a drink?”
“Yes please.”
He buys her another vodka cranberry and a beer for him and years later Rachel will say that the rest was history.
But it was a little more complicated than that.
--
“So what are you up to these days?”
Rachel shrugs, smiles coyly. “This and that.”
“Broadway,” Sam says knowingly, this slight upturn to his lips.
“Soon,” she says, believing it with everything she has. “What about you? Trying to make it big in the music industry?”
He laughs, takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head. “Hell no. This is just for fun and a little extra cash. I work at a comic book store not too far from my apartment.”
She’s got her best consoling you’ll make it someday face on, but he’s grinning widely when he adds, “It’s awesome.”
Trying not to look surprised, Rachel just smiles. “That’s nice.”
“Totally. The best is that I get first pick of all the stuff that comes into the store, and I basically get paid to talk to people about comics. Pretty sure there isn’t a better job in the city.”
Rachel’s positive she could name about five just off the top of her head, but she doesn’t. “Well, I’ll have to come see some time.”
He smiles at her, clinks his beer bottle against her glass. “For sure.”
--
At the end of the night, Sam carries his black hard guitar case out of the bar, holds the door open for her, and hails her a cab.
He crouches down to reach through the door and hand the cabbie a folded up twenty and Rachel protests.
“Sam, I can pay for my own taxi ride.”
He just smiles at her. “Buy me a drink sometime soon and pay me back.”
--
When she gets home the first person she calls is Santana Lopez because for some strange inexplicable reason they became friends after high school. Santana likes to refer to it as an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and Rachel’s given up on telling her that the concept itself is a paradox. Santana just thinks that’s all the more appropriate.
It takes four rings before Santana answers her phone with a gruff, “This better be good.”
“You’ll never believe who I just ran into.”
“This is not good,” Santana deadpans.
“Just guess.”
There’s a rustling over the phone and a mumbled just a second, baby, before Santana’s talking to her again. “Sam Evans.”
Rachel gasps. “How did you know?”
“Because you didn’t just run into him. The ad for his gig tonight is sitting on your kitchen counter.”
“Have you been in my apartment?!”
“We ran out of tequila,” Santana answers.
“That’s breaking and entering.”
“I have a key. Can we move on to the point of this phone call because it’s like four in the morning and I'd like to be in bed for numerous reasons.”
“He looks good is all. I hadn’t seen him in a long time.”
“You fuck him or something?”
“No! Santana, don’t be crude.”
“You saw Sam Evans, good story. I saw Kurt the other day, you want me to tell you about that too?”
“You did? Wait no, Santana, I’m serious here.”
“Serious about what?”
Rachel chews on her bottom lip for a few seconds. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
“So what? He’s my ex too and you don’t see me calling you at four in the morning to bitch about it.”
“He’s hardly your ex, Santana. If I recall correctly you dated him to get back at Quinn and as a part of some harebrained scheme to get over Brittany.”
Santana scoffs and Rachel can just imagine the eye roll her friend his giving the phone. “You guys dated for like a week.”
It was five weeks actually. Five weeks of perfect, careful romance. Sam was a gentlemen, and Rachel felt courted in a way she hadn’t ever before. But it was high school, and she was so single minded then. The revolving door of Finn Hudson wasn’t done turning yet and it wasn’t long before she was watching Sam’s face fall on her front porch as she broke up with him.
“Thirty-six days, nineteen hours, twenty-two minutes and about seven seconds actually.”
There’s silence for a few seconds. “You have serious mental issues. You know that, right?”
“Santana,” Rachel whines.
“So he’s your ex-boyfriend. You saw him tonight. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know...he looks good is all. He wants to go out for drinks sometime.”
Santana groans. “High school is going to end at some point right?”
Rachel laughs. “You’re one to talk. Who exactly is in your bed right now?”
“Shut up. Is there a reason you’re calling me aside from updating me on your boring ass life and asking me for advice about shit you’re smart enough to figure out yourself?”
“Not really.”
“Then goodnight.”
After Santana hangs up on her, she scrolls through the contacts on her phone, stopping at the newly added Sam Evans entry. It takes her a few minutes to make a decision, but she eventually types out a quick text message.
It was so good to see you tonight :)
got a gig this fri at eli’s on 5th. u should come.
She does.
--
Three months later, she’s seen Sam perform at dive bars a total of fifteen times.
They fall into a friendship easily, and Rachel likes the casual atmosphere of happy hour at whatever hole in the wall Sam’s chosen that week. It reminds her of what it was like to sing just because she wanted to, just because it made her happier than anything else in her life.
Sam dedicates a song to “his good friend and future Broadway star Rachel Berry” every time, and it makes Rachel blush from her small table against the back wall.
Afterwards, when Sam steps off the stage, grinning and flushed from performing, Rachel has a cold beer waiting for him, and they sit for hours and talk about everything and nothing at all. It’s the most comfortable Rachel’s been with practically anyone and she’s not sure why it happened with Sam of all people.
--
“Favorite movie.”
“Funny Girl,” Rachel answers without hesitation.
Sam laughs. “Dumb question.”
“Yours?”
“The Man With The Golden Gun.”
Rachel tilts her head curiously.
“James Bond,” Sam answers with a laugh.
“I’ve never seen a James Bond film.”
His jaw drops just a little before he’s shaking his head disbelievingly. “We’ll fix that.”
She likes the way that sounds.
--
Rachel ends up at Sam’s comic store purely by chance. Or so she tells herself.
It’s curiosity more than anything that draws her to the modest storefront not two blocks from where Sam lives.
A bell clinks loudly against the door as she pushes it open and walks into the small space, the walls lined with shelves and shelves of books.
“Rachel?”
She turns her head to see Sam sitting on a chair behind a counter, his feet propped up and a comic book open in his lap. There’s a box of Red Vines on the counter, and she laughs at the piece of red candy hanging from his open mouth.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, shoving the rest of his candy in his mouth and standing. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by, thought I’d stop in and say hello.”
“Hey, Sam, are you going to set up the tables for this weekend or should I?” A tall thin man emerges from the back of the store wearing a black sweatshirt with MINECRAFT in block letters across his chest. “Oh, customer.”
Sam laughs. “This is Rachel Berry. We went to high school together.”
“Pete,” the man greets, extending his hand.
She shakes it and smiles politely. “Nice to meet you, Pete.”
“Well,” Pete says, grinning. He winks at Sam. “I’ll go back and set those tables up, you stay out here and mingle.”
Sam rolls his eyes, laughing as Pete turns around and walks back the way he came from.
“He seems nice,” Rachel comments, striding towards the counter and leaning her elbows on it.
Sam hums noncommittally, shrugging. “He’s cool.”
“How long have you guys worked together?”
“Us? Probably the last six years. As long as I’ve been here. Pete’s worked here for way longer though.” He leans closer to her and lower his voice. “Everyone thinks Al’s going to give him the store when he retires, but if I play my cards right I think I’ll get it.”
“The store?”
“Yeah, to like run it. Rumor is Al is getting ready to hand over ownership. No way I’m missing my opportunity, you know?”
Rachel laughs a little, the sound short and abrupt. “You want to own this comic book store?” She looks around the small space, devoid of customers, with a critical eye.
“Hey, it might not look like much, but this is geek heaven. Every comic book junkie knows that we’re the place to hang out.”
“That’s nice.”
He swats at her with a piece of licorice. “It’s my Broadway, Rachel,” he jokes.
Rachel smiles, grabs the candy from his hand and chews on it. “There’s only one Broadway,” she says.
He just shrugs. “For you, maybe.”
--
“You wear glasses now.”
Sam shrugs, laughs a little sheepishly. “I wore contacts in high school.”
She reaches over to touch the edge of the black frames. “They suit you.”
“You think?”
“Definitely,” she laughs, sitting back to pick up her drink and sip on the straw.
“I think they make me look like Clark Kent,” he says, pulling them off his face and pretending to rip his shirt open.
She smiles around the straw held in her teeth and lets out a little chuckle.
--
The first time they really hang out together outside of Sam’s weekly gigs is a Thursday night when Sam invites her to a party he’s throwing for some of his friends. She’s two hours late because no one important shows up on time to parties, but she feels a little bad when Sam answers the door with a look of surprise on his face like he wasn’t expecting her to show up at all.
“You came!” Sam exclaims when he opens the door.
“Of course.”
He hugs her tightly, picking her up off the ground until she’s giggling into his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink.”
Sam makes her a fruity cocktail because she’s never really acquired the taste for beer, and leaves her in the kitchen for a second while he goes to break up a fight in the living room.
Sam’s co-worker, Pete, stumbles into the kitchen and after fumbling with the keg for a few seconds looks up at her with a critical eye.
“Rachel Berry, right?” Pete sways a little unsteadily towards her, his beer tipping precariously close to the edge of his plastic cup.
“We’ve met more than twice.” Rachel’s gotten to meet a lot of Sam’s friends actually. They frequent his shows, and she’s taken to sitting with them sometimes.
He squints at her. “Right. Rachel Berry.”
She laughs at him. “Yes, Rachel Berry.”
“So you’re the one that broke his heart in high school.”
Rachel’s eyes go wide, glancing around for any sign of Sam. “Pardon?”
“The one that got away,” he says, waving his hand in the air.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that-”
Sam walks up to them at that, clapping a hand on Pete’s shoulder and smiling down at Rachel. “Hey dude, how you feeling?”
“Rachel Berry,” Pete says sagely to Sam, pointing at her.
Sam laughs. “Good job, buddy. What say we get you a cab?”
They call a cab for Pete, send one of Sam’s other friends, Mark, with him.
“Sorry,” he tells Rachel as he wraps an arm over her shoulder and walks them back inside. “This party got crazy.”
“I believe any good party is supposed to.”
He laughs. “I guess.”
She spends the rest of the night glued to Sam’s side and watching him mingle with all of his friends. She feels a little like his girlfriend, clinging to his arm while he tells his friend Josh about his plans for a Constantine sequel. Especially when Sam puts his lips against her cheek before he goes to get them more drinks.
When the party dies down and the last few people are stumbling out his door, Rachel offers to help him clean up. She’s a little tipsy from drinking and she could use the time to kill her buzz before she has to walk home.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“I’m offering.”
He stares at her curiously for a few seconds before grinning drunkenly. “Thanks. You’re the best.”
“That’s what I always say,” she replies coyly.
He snaps his fingers at her and laughs. “That’s where I heard it!”
She rolls her eyes and shoves him a little, but chuckles. “Let’s clean this place up.”
She moves to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, but Sam grabs her hand and tugs her towards him. “We’ll do it in the morning,” he says.
There’s an implication there that makes Rachel’s stomach flip over because here’s this guy whose heart she broke years ago without realizing it and he’s basically asking her to sleep with him.
“Stay over,” he says. “We can sleep off the alcohol and do it tomorrow, refreshed.”
She’s drunk enough to kiss him right now, drunk from alcohol and from the knowledge that he liked her enough to be affected by their breakup years ago. It’s messed up, she knows, but she can’t help it. This boy dated girls like Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez and she, Rachel Berry, was the one to break his heart.
He takes her silence as acquiescence and tugs her to his bedroom, throwing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt at her. With his back to her she changes quickly, and he strips his shirt off, swaying a little bit from his side of the bed.
“I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be dumb,” he says, crawling on the mattress until he can wrap his fingers around her wrist. “We can share. We’ve slept together before.”
She doesn’t say anything as he pulls her down on his bed, and cuddles up behind her. His chest presses warmly against her back and she tries not to imagine the way his cleanly defined muscles look.
He tucks his head into her neck and wraps an arm around her waist and it’s not long before she hears the heavy sound of his breathing, relaxed in sleep.
She laughs at herself, forces her muscles to relax enough so she can sleep. It’s hard because he’s still one of the most attractive men she’s ever known and he’s half naked next to her in bed, but she manages.
--
In the morning, she wakes to Sam mumbling something incoherent into her ear about Ewoks and she laughs a little at the way he’s still pressed up against her.
“Sam,” she whispers, turning her head slightly. Her fingers are tangled with his, their hands intertwined above Rachel’s collarbone.
“Sam,” she tries again. “Wake up.”
He groans a little, shifting to his back and releasing his hand from hers as he blinks awake. She laughs as she turns with him, propping up on her elbow to stare down at him.
“Hi,” she says as she squints up at her.
“Morning,” he replies, voice low and husky in a way that’s undeniably attractive.
“Sleep well?”
He smirks. “Next to you who wouldn’t?”
He’s got that voice that tells her he’s doing an impersonation, so she just rolls her eyes. “Time to clean up,” she tells him, laughing at the face he makes.
“Don’t wanna.”
“Come on, let’s get this over with.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, standing. She tries to not to be affected by the way his abs look as he moves around the room, his fingers scratching at his stomach sleepily.
Pulling a shirt out of the closet, he turns to look at her and his expression shifts to something she can’t immediately identify.
She looks down at, observing the oversized clothing she has on. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling. “Nothing at all.”
--
“Have you ever thought about submitting a demo tape to a record company? You have so many good original songs.”
Sam shrugs. “I don’t think they’re that good.”
“I do.”
“Not good enough to get a record deal.”
“You’ll never know until you try,” Rachel insists.
“I’m comfortable never knowing.”
“Just try.”
Sam laughs. “Why are you so adamant about this?”
“Do you really want to be just another cover artist the rest of your life? You’re very talented, Sam. You could go places.”
“What’s wrong with singing covers? I like it, the crowd likes it. Who doesn’t like jamming to a favorite song. Rocking out to Hey Jude and drinking cheap liquor. It’s the life.”
“Because that favorite song could be one you wrote. It could be playing on the radio every day.”
“Rach, I’d rather listen to a Beatles song on the radio than one I wrote. Sorry.”
She rolls her eyes, but laughs when he starts doing his John Lennon impersonation.
--
She invites him over for dinner a few days later, works an early morning shift so she can spend the rest of the day cooking.
“Wow you went all out,” he observes, sitting at her kitchen table and looking at the food spread over it.
“It’s a thank you for letting me stay at your place the other night.”
He laughs. “You stayed over to help me clean my apartment. I feel like if anyone should be cooking meals it should be me.”
She shrugs, gestures for him to sit down and passes him the first dish.
They eat in comfortable silence, Sam gleefully shoveling food into his mouth and washing it down with his beer. Rachel watches him eat with an amused shake of her head, sipping on her glass of wine.
“S’good,” he mumbles eventually, still chewing a little.
“I’m glad,” she says with an affectionate smile.
It’s when they’re standing in front of her sink, washing dishes together that she finally has the courage to ask, “Did you like me in high school?”
Sam looks at her strangely. “I asked you out didn’t I?”
“Do you like me now?”
He laughs at her, gives her a look she’s well familiar with. You’re crazy, it says.
“I mean like me like me,” she says.”
“Rachel, I’m not the one that broke up with me remember?”
She kisses him before she can think about it, her hands gripping the lapel of his plaid shirt and pulling his lips down to hers. Nostalgia washes over her when he presses closer, his hands sliding around to the small of her back slowly.
“Rach,” he breathes out against her mouth.
“I like you too,” she says.
He stares at her for a tense moment before kissing her again, picking her up until her legs are wrapping around his waist.
How they manage to make it to her bedroom after that, Rachel’s not entirely sure. It’s a fumbled stumble through her apartment, fingers tugging at clothing and mouths fused together. He presses her into the bed, and just the feeling of him hard against her hips is enough to have her jerking towards him, nails biting into the skin of his neck. It’s been so long since she’s been with a guy that she’s afraid the minute he touches her she’ll be done.
They never had sex the first time they dated, but Sam’s hands on her bare skin is still familiar. He presses kisses down her abdomen until he’s settled between her legs, his hands reaching up to cover her chest.
Long pleasurable minutes later, she’s tugging his hair sharply, back arching as she comes against his mouth.
He smiles against the skin of her thigh, kissing a path back up to her mouth, and she moans as she tastes herself against his lips, his cock pressing insistently against sensitive flesh.
“Inside,” she demands softly, biting down on his lower lip.
He complies, pressing his hips down to spread her legs wider, and guiding himself to her entrance, groaning when he pushes slowly inside her. Everything goes hazy after that. Sam’s hands clench tightly at her hips as he thrusts jerkily into her, her legs wrap around him, arms twining behind his neck as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of her jaw.
When she comes again it’s with a strangled groan against his ear, her fingers tugging sharply at his hair, and his mouth against her neck, shaped into a smile.
--
“Did I break your heart in high school?”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“I just...did I?”
Sam’s jaw clenches, but he shrugs nonchalantly. “We were young.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“We were young, Rachel,” he says.
--
A few nights later he shows up at her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a charming smile.
“Hi!”
“Hey. I bought you flowers.” He thrusts them towards her.
“I see that,” she says, grabbing them and smiling. “Do you want to come in?”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Sam blurts out, staring at her with wide eyes. “Again.”
Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle the giggle that bubbles up, and she manages just to smile at him, completely charmed. “Yes,” she says with little hesitation. “I would love to be.”
The flowers end up crushed between their chests when he picks her up and walks her backwards into her apartment.
--
“Favorite sexual position,” he murmurs, his lips against her spine and moving lower.
“I don’t know,” she gasps out when his teeth bite lightly at the small of her back.
“How can you not know?”
“I haven’t exactly had a wealth of experience with which to make a decision.”
He laughs, hot air blowing against her already over heated skin. “I can help you with that.”
--
They celebrate their five week anniversary because Sam jokes it’s only appropriate that they celebrate lasting longer than their first run.
They go down to this bar Sam frequents called Eli’s. He’s got a longstanding relationship with the owner, and he plays their acoustic hour ever Tuesday.
Their friends buy them drinks and even Santana shows up, hugging them both and demanding a round of tequila shots. “To Lips and Smalls,” Santana toasts with a smirk. “To five more weeks.”
Rachel hits her, but Sam laughs and she can’t deny how good it feels to be standing with a best friend and a boy that she’d never have imagined having when she was in high school.
Later, Sam kisses her on the cheek and tells her has a surprise for her. She watches curiously as he walks up to the stage and grabs the guitar that John, the owner, is holding out for him.
By the time, “I wrote a song for my gorgeous girlfriend and future Broadway star, Rachel Berry, and I’d like to play it for you,” comes out of his mouth, she’s blushing so furiously she has to hide her face in her hands.
--
“Favorite song of all time.”
“High Flying Adored from Evita. You?”
“One For My Baby. Frank Sinatra.”
“A Sinatra song? Sam Evans, look at you.”
He smirks. “I can be classy too.”
Rachel runs her fingers over the picture of Han Solo across his shirt and laughs. “You can be.”
--
Neither of them make much money, but they make do.
Rachel teaches him how to cook vegan meals on a budget, and he teaches her how to steal internet and cable from her neighbors.
They learn a lot about each other. Sam likes to play a round of Call of Duty every morning before work wearing nothing but his socks. On the weekends he hosts a Magic: The Gathering tournament that he participates in - he wears his lucky shirt and insists its why he’s never lost. He listens to Incubus when he plays World of Warcraft, but switches to Sublime when he plays Starcraft.
Suddenly, Rachel starts to find some of his stuff in her apartment - a comic book here, a dragon figurine there, his lucky shirt hanging off the handle of her closet door. She gets used to his little quirks and they start to become something comforting in her life - steady, reliable.
It’s not like she doesn’t have quirks of her own. Every Wednesday night she watches Funny Girl, and every Saturday night she watches Evita. Sam doesn’t even blink an eye, just tells her about how he watched The Mummy Returns every Friday afternoon it was in the theater so he understands.
He takes her to a Bogey and Bacall marathon in the park one weekend and they snuggle together on a blanket, Rachel mouthing along with the dialogue on screen. Sam laughs at her, puts his lips against her temple and hugs her tighter.
The weekend after, Rachel buys the boxset of Indiana Jones movies and presents them to Sam over dinner. “Teach me your geek ways,” she jokes.
He chuckles and grabs the dvds, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her soft and slow. “You trying to seduce me?”
She’s not, but his lips are against her neck, hips tight against hers, so it’s not a side effect she’s going to shrug off. “Is it working?”
“Yes,” Sam laughs out.
They put the first movie on, but they don’t watch it.
--
“Do you want kids?”
“Two,” Sam answers. “Twin boys.”
Rachel laughs. “That’s specific.”
“I want to name them George and Lucas.”
She laughs harder at that, shoving him playfully in the shoulder, but tells him that’s fine as long as she can pick the middle names.
He grins wide and nods. “Who else?”
--
She tries not to let rejection get to her, but it does sometimes. She knows it’s part of the process, that few people just show up in New York and make it big on a Broadway stage, but she can’t help that little girl inside her that thought she’d be the exception.
Sam finds her crying on her couch one afternoon, and moves quickly to wrap her in his arms.
He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t do anything but put his lips to her hair, rocking back and forth and whispering everything is gonna be all right.
“What if I never become a star?” The question is hurried and soft like if she says it too loud, it’ll come true.
“You will,” Sam reassures her.
“But what if?”
“You can’t think like that.”
“I’d do anything,” Rachel says. “Anything. I want it so badly.”
“I know,” Sam murmurs against the top of her head. “I know. That’s why you’ll make it.”
He makes love to her on the couch, tells her she’s gorgeous and perfect and when he’s inside her, his hand running down her side and lips against her ear, she believes him.
--
“Favorite thing to do on a weekend.”
Sam closes the comic book he’s reading and smiles at her. “Be with you.”
A slow grins spreads over her face. “Yeah?”
“Duh. What about you?”
She doesn’t answer, just closes the distance between them and kisses him firmly.
--
Six months rolls around and they celebrate with cheap champagne in paper cups.
On the balcony of Sam’s apartment, he plays her songs on his guitar. Some funny, some serious, a few of them favorites of hers that he’s learned over the last few months.
Then he gets this serious look in his eyes even though he’s still smiling. “Wanna play you a song.”
“You just played me an entire set list, Sam.”
He laughs. “This one is important.”
She sits up, her hands in her lap and a closed mouth smile on her lips. “Okay.”
With a wink, Sam plays around with the strings of his guitar for a few seconds before opening his mouth and starting to sing one of her favorite Beatles songs. “You’ll never know how much I really love you.”
When he gets to I’m in love with you his face is devoid of amusement and his eyes bore seriously into hers.
She tells him she loves him too because she does. Whispers it against his mouth, her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt.
When they’re in bed later, his palm resting on the overheated skin of her abdomen, she says it again, voice lazy and warm. “I love you.”
He smirks. “I know.”
She smacks him on the arm, but laughs because she can recognize his Harrison Ford voice.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Just always wanted to say that.”
“I love you,” she repeats, putting her palm against his cheek and smiling.
He winks. “I love you too.”
Part Two
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Sam/Rachel
Rating: soft R
Length: 11k words
Summary: Sam and Rachel run into each other nearly a decade after high school.
Notes: Written for crayonboxhearts as a pinch hit for the glee_rare_pairs fic exchange.
--
It’s all because she saw his name in the paper and something about Local Legend Sam Evans made it impossible for her to stay away. So here she is in a seedy bar in the bad part of town watching amateur hour while she sips on watered down vodka cranberries.
She’s never been to this side of the city, and it’s certainly not the sort of establishment she likes to frequent, but before she can chalk this up to a really stupid idea and hightail it out of there a voice is resounding across the room and her heart flutters a little with nostalgia.
“Hey all, I’m Sam Evans.”
It’s been almost a decade since she last saw him at their high school graduation, but he doesn’t look all that different. His hair is shorter, and he’s wearing a faded grey shirt with the letters RTFM across his chest, his jeans ripped in all the right places and brown shoes are settled on the bottom rung of the stool he’s sitting on. There are black rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and thick leather bracelets hanging off his right wrist.
He’s talking about something, but she can’t really focus on the words because he looks...good. He looks really good. He’s grinning out at the bar patrons and running a hand through his hair before adjusting the worn brown strap of his guitar over his shoulder and plucking out a few chords.
Something about boys and guitars makes Rachel feel like she’s sixteen again and Noah Puckerman is perched on her bed smiling at her like she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. She’s always fallen in love too easily.
Three songs and just as many drinks later, Rachel’s seriously considering approaching Sam, but she’s not sure exactly how. Ends up not mattering because as Sam’s thanking the crowd for coming out, grinning against his microphone, his eyes scan the crowd and for the first time that night land right on Rachel’s, recognition flashing in them instantly.
Rachel’d like to say that time stopped, that sparks flew between them and a connection was solidified from her heart to his. She’d like to say all these things, to be able to regale friends with their epic tale of romance later in life, but in reality it was nothing like that.
In reality, Sam just set his guitar down on a stand behind him and jumped off the stage to walk across the bar towards her, a handsome grin on his face.
“Rachel Berry,” he greets, hands in his pockets.
She smiles, twirls her straw around in her drink. “Samuel Evans.”
“I was wondering if I’d ever run into you.”
“Big city,” she murmurs. There’s a warmth in her stomach that’s either from the vodka or the way his eyes are staring into hers, but she can’t decide which.
He shrugs. “Small world.”
She laughs as he sits down next to her and gestures to her glass. “Buy you a drink?”
“Yes please.”
He buys her another vodka cranberry and a beer for him and years later Rachel will say that the rest was history.
But it was a little more complicated than that.
--
“So what are you up to these days?”
Rachel shrugs, smiles coyly. “This and that.”
“Broadway,” Sam says knowingly, this slight upturn to his lips.
“Soon,” she says, believing it with everything she has. “What about you? Trying to make it big in the music industry?”
He laughs, takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head. “Hell no. This is just for fun and a little extra cash. I work at a comic book store not too far from my apartment.”
She’s got her best consoling you’ll make it someday face on, but he’s grinning widely when he adds, “It’s awesome.”
Trying not to look surprised, Rachel just smiles. “That’s nice.”
“Totally. The best is that I get first pick of all the stuff that comes into the store, and I basically get paid to talk to people about comics. Pretty sure there isn’t a better job in the city.”
Rachel’s positive she could name about five just off the top of her head, but she doesn’t. “Well, I’ll have to come see some time.”
He smiles at her, clinks his beer bottle against her glass. “For sure.”
--
At the end of the night, Sam carries his black hard guitar case out of the bar, holds the door open for her, and hails her a cab.
He crouches down to reach through the door and hand the cabbie a folded up twenty and Rachel protests.
“Sam, I can pay for my own taxi ride.”
He just smiles at her. “Buy me a drink sometime soon and pay me back.”
--
When she gets home the first person she calls is Santana Lopez because for some strange inexplicable reason they became friends after high school. Santana likes to refer to it as an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and Rachel’s given up on telling her that the concept itself is a paradox. Santana just thinks that’s all the more appropriate.
It takes four rings before Santana answers her phone with a gruff, “This better be good.”
“You’ll never believe who I just ran into.”
“This is not good,” Santana deadpans.
“Just guess.”
There’s a rustling over the phone and a mumbled just a second, baby, before Santana’s talking to her again. “Sam Evans.”
Rachel gasps. “How did you know?”
“Because you didn’t just run into him. The ad for his gig tonight is sitting on your kitchen counter.”
“Have you been in my apartment?!”
“We ran out of tequila,” Santana answers.
“That’s breaking and entering.”
“I have a key. Can we move on to the point of this phone call because it’s like four in the morning and I'd like to be in bed for numerous reasons.”
“He looks good is all. I hadn’t seen him in a long time.”
“You fuck him or something?”
“No! Santana, don’t be crude.”
“You saw Sam Evans, good story. I saw Kurt the other day, you want me to tell you about that too?”
“You did? Wait no, Santana, I’m serious here.”
“Serious about what?”
Rachel chews on her bottom lip for a few seconds. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
“So what? He’s my ex too and you don’t see me calling you at four in the morning to bitch about it.”
“He’s hardly your ex, Santana. If I recall correctly you dated him to get back at Quinn and as a part of some harebrained scheme to get over Brittany.”
Santana scoffs and Rachel can just imagine the eye roll her friend his giving the phone. “You guys dated for like a week.”
It was five weeks actually. Five weeks of perfect, careful romance. Sam was a gentlemen, and Rachel felt courted in a way she hadn’t ever before. But it was high school, and she was so single minded then. The revolving door of Finn Hudson wasn’t done turning yet and it wasn’t long before she was watching Sam’s face fall on her front porch as she broke up with him.
“Thirty-six days, nineteen hours, twenty-two minutes and about seven seconds actually.”
There’s silence for a few seconds. “You have serious mental issues. You know that, right?”
“Santana,” Rachel whines.
“So he’s your ex-boyfriend. You saw him tonight. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know...he looks good is all. He wants to go out for drinks sometime.”
Santana groans. “High school is going to end at some point right?”
Rachel laughs. “You’re one to talk. Who exactly is in your bed right now?”
“Shut up. Is there a reason you’re calling me aside from updating me on your boring ass life and asking me for advice about shit you’re smart enough to figure out yourself?”
“Not really.”
“Then goodnight.”
After Santana hangs up on her, she scrolls through the contacts on her phone, stopping at the newly added Sam Evans entry. It takes her a few minutes to make a decision, but she eventually types out a quick text message.
It was so good to see you tonight :)
got a gig this fri at eli’s on 5th. u should come.
She does.
--
Three months later, she’s seen Sam perform at dive bars a total of fifteen times.
They fall into a friendship easily, and Rachel likes the casual atmosphere of happy hour at whatever hole in the wall Sam’s chosen that week. It reminds her of what it was like to sing just because she wanted to, just because it made her happier than anything else in her life.
Sam dedicates a song to “his good friend and future Broadway star Rachel Berry” every time, and it makes Rachel blush from her small table against the back wall.
Afterwards, when Sam steps off the stage, grinning and flushed from performing, Rachel has a cold beer waiting for him, and they sit for hours and talk about everything and nothing at all. It’s the most comfortable Rachel’s been with practically anyone and she’s not sure why it happened with Sam of all people.
--
“Favorite movie.”
“Funny Girl,” Rachel answers without hesitation.
Sam laughs. “Dumb question.”
“Yours?”
“The Man With The Golden Gun.”
Rachel tilts her head curiously.
“James Bond,” Sam answers with a laugh.
“I’ve never seen a James Bond film.”
His jaw drops just a little before he’s shaking his head disbelievingly. “We’ll fix that.”
She likes the way that sounds.
--
Rachel ends up at Sam’s comic store purely by chance. Or so she tells herself.
It’s curiosity more than anything that draws her to the modest storefront not two blocks from where Sam lives.
A bell clinks loudly against the door as she pushes it open and walks into the small space, the walls lined with shelves and shelves of books.
“Rachel?”
She turns her head to see Sam sitting on a chair behind a counter, his feet propped up and a comic book open in his lap. There’s a box of Red Vines on the counter, and she laughs at the piece of red candy hanging from his open mouth.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, shoving the rest of his candy in his mouth and standing. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by, thought I’d stop in and say hello.”
“Hey, Sam, are you going to set up the tables for this weekend or should I?” A tall thin man emerges from the back of the store wearing a black sweatshirt with MINECRAFT in block letters across his chest. “Oh, customer.”
Sam laughs. “This is Rachel Berry. We went to high school together.”
“Pete,” the man greets, extending his hand.
She shakes it and smiles politely. “Nice to meet you, Pete.”
“Well,” Pete says, grinning. He winks at Sam. “I’ll go back and set those tables up, you stay out here and mingle.”
Sam rolls his eyes, laughing as Pete turns around and walks back the way he came from.
“He seems nice,” Rachel comments, striding towards the counter and leaning her elbows on it.
Sam hums noncommittally, shrugging. “He’s cool.”
“How long have you guys worked together?”
“Us? Probably the last six years. As long as I’ve been here. Pete’s worked here for way longer though.” He leans closer to her and lower his voice. “Everyone thinks Al’s going to give him the store when he retires, but if I play my cards right I think I’ll get it.”
“The store?”
“Yeah, to like run it. Rumor is Al is getting ready to hand over ownership. No way I’m missing my opportunity, you know?”
Rachel laughs a little, the sound short and abrupt. “You want to own this comic book store?” She looks around the small space, devoid of customers, with a critical eye.
“Hey, it might not look like much, but this is geek heaven. Every comic book junkie knows that we’re the place to hang out.”
“That’s nice.”
He swats at her with a piece of licorice. “It’s my Broadway, Rachel,” he jokes.
Rachel smiles, grabs the candy from his hand and chews on it. “There’s only one Broadway,” she says.
He just shrugs. “For you, maybe.”
--
“You wear glasses now.”
Sam shrugs, laughs a little sheepishly. “I wore contacts in high school.”
She reaches over to touch the edge of the black frames. “They suit you.”
“You think?”
“Definitely,” she laughs, sitting back to pick up her drink and sip on the straw.
“I think they make me look like Clark Kent,” he says, pulling them off his face and pretending to rip his shirt open.
She smiles around the straw held in her teeth and lets out a little chuckle.
--
The first time they really hang out together outside of Sam’s weekly gigs is a Thursday night when Sam invites her to a party he’s throwing for some of his friends. She’s two hours late because no one important shows up on time to parties, but she feels a little bad when Sam answers the door with a look of surprise on his face like he wasn’t expecting her to show up at all.
“You came!” Sam exclaims when he opens the door.
“Of course.”
He hugs her tightly, picking her up off the ground until she’s giggling into his shoulder.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink.”
Sam makes her a fruity cocktail because she’s never really acquired the taste for beer, and leaves her in the kitchen for a second while he goes to break up a fight in the living room.
Sam’s co-worker, Pete, stumbles into the kitchen and after fumbling with the keg for a few seconds looks up at her with a critical eye.
“Rachel Berry, right?” Pete sways a little unsteadily towards her, his beer tipping precariously close to the edge of his plastic cup.
“We’ve met more than twice.” Rachel’s gotten to meet a lot of Sam’s friends actually. They frequent his shows, and she’s taken to sitting with them sometimes.
He squints at her. “Right. Rachel Berry.”
She laughs at him. “Yes, Rachel Berry.”
“So you’re the one that broke his heart in high school.”
Rachel’s eyes go wide, glancing around for any sign of Sam. “Pardon?”
“The one that got away,” he says, waving his hand in the air.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that-”
Sam walks up to them at that, clapping a hand on Pete’s shoulder and smiling down at Rachel. “Hey dude, how you feeling?”
“Rachel Berry,” Pete says sagely to Sam, pointing at her.
Sam laughs. “Good job, buddy. What say we get you a cab?”
They call a cab for Pete, send one of Sam’s other friends, Mark, with him.
“Sorry,” he tells Rachel as he wraps an arm over her shoulder and walks them back inside. “This party got crazy.”
“I believe any good party is supposed to.”
He laughs. “I guess.”
She spends the rest of the night glued to Sam’s side and watching him mingle with all of his friends. She feels a little like his girlfriend, clinging to his arm while he tells his friend Josh about his plans for a Constantine sequel. Especially when Sam puts his lips against her cheek before he goes to get them more drinks.
When the party dies down and the last few people are stumbling out his door, Rachel offers to help him clean up. She’s a little tipsy from drinking and she could use the time to kill her buzz before she has to walk home.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“I’m offering.”
He stares at her curiously for a few seconds before grinning drunkenly. “Thanks. You’re the best.”
“That’s what I always say,” she replies coyly.
He snaps his fingers at her and laughs. “That’s where I heard it!”
She rolls her eyes and shoves him a little, but chuckles. “Let’s clean this place up.”
She moves to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, but Sam grabs her hand and tugs her towards him. “We’ll do it in the morning,” he says.
There’s an implication there that makes Rachel’s stomach flip over because here’s this guy whose heart she broke years ago without realizing it and he’s basically asking her to sleep with him.
“Stay over,” he says. “We can sleep off the alcohol and do it tomorrow, refreshed.”
She’s drunk enough to kiss him right now, drunk from alcohol and from the knowledge that he liked her enough to be affected by their breakup years ago. It’s messed up, she knows, but she can’t help it. This boy dated girls like Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez and she, Rachel Berry, was the one to break his heart.
He takes her silence as acquiescence and tugs her to his bedroom, throwing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt at her. With his back to her she changes quickly, and he strips his shirt off, swaying a little bit from his side of the bed.
“I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be dumb,” he says, crawling on the mattress until he can wrap his fingers around her wrist. “We can share. We’ve slept together before.”
She doesn’t say anything as he pulls her down on his bed, and cuddles up behind her. His chest presses warmly against her back and she tries not to imagine the way his cleanly defined muscles look.
He tucks his head into her neck and wraps an arm around her waist and it’s not long before she hears the heavy sound of his breathing, relaxed in sleep.
She laughs at herself, forces her muscles to relax enough so she can sleep. It’s hard because he’s still one of the most attractive men she’s ever known and he’s half naked next to her in bed, but she manages.
--
In the morning, she wakes to Sam mumbling something incoherent into her ear about Ewoks and she laughs a little at the way he’s still pressed up against her.
“Sam,” she whispers, turning her head slightly. Her fingers are tangled with his, their hands intertwined above Rachel’s collarbone.
“Sam,” she tries again. “Wake up.”
He groans a little, shifting to his back and releasing his hand from hers as he blinks awake. She laughs as she turns with him, propping up on her elbow to stare down at him.
“Hi,” she says as she squints up at her.
“Morning,” he replies, voice low and husky in a way that’s undeniably attractive.
“Sleep well?”
He smirks. “Next to you who wouldn’t?”
He’s got that voice that tells her he’s doing an impersonation, so she just rolls her eyes. “Time to clean up,” she tells him, laughing at the face he makes.
“Don’t wanna.”
“Come on, let’s get this over with.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, standing. She tries to not to be affected by the way his abs look as he moves around the room, his fingers scratching at his stomach sleepily.
Pulling a shirt out of the closet, he turns to look at her and his expression shifts to something she can’t immediately identify.
She looks down at, observing the oversized clothing she has on. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head and chuckling. “Nothing at all.”
--
“Have you ever thought about submitting a demo tape to a record company? You have so many good original songs.”
Sam shrugs. “I don’t think they’re that good.”
“I do.”
“Not good enough to get a record deal.”
“You’ll never know until you try,” Rachel insists.
“I’m comfortable never knowing.”
“Just try.”
Sam laughs. “Why are you so adamant about this?”
“Do you really want to be just another cover artist the rest of your life? You’re very talented, Sam. You could go places.”
“What’s wrong with singing covers? I like it, the crowd likes it. Who doesn’t like jamming to a favorite song. Rocking out to Hey Jude and drinking cheap liquor. It’s the life.”
“Because that favorite song could be one you wrote. It could be playing on the radio every day.”
“Rach, I’d rather listen to a Beatles song on the radio than one I wrote. Sorry.”
She rolls her eyes, but laughs when he starts doing his John Lennon impersonation.
--
She invites him over for dinner a few days later, works an early morning shift so she can spend the rest of the day cooking.
“Wow you went all out,” he observes, sitting at her kitchen table and looking at the food spread over it.
“It’s a thank you for letting me stay at your place the other night.”
He laughs. “You stayed over to help me clean my apartment. I feel like if anyone should be cooking meals it should be me.”
She shrugs, gestures for him to sit down and passes him the first dish.
They eat in comfortable silence, Sam gleefully shoveling food into his mouth and washing it down with his beer. Rachel watches him eat with an amused shake of her head, sipping on her glass of wine.
“S’good,” he mumbles eventually, still chewing a little.
“I’m glad,” she says with an affectionate smile.
It’s when they’re standing in front of her sink, washing dishes together that she finally has the courage to ask, “Did you like me in high school?”
Sam looks at her strangely. “I asked you out didn’t I?”
“Do you like me now?”
He laughs at her, gives her a look she’s well familiar with. You’re crazy, it says.
“I mean like me like me,” she says.”
“Rachel, I’m not the one that broke up with me remember?”
She kisses him before she can think about it, her hands gripping the lapel of his plaid shirt and pulling his lips down to hers. Nostalgia washes over her when he presses closer, his hands sliding around to the small of her back slowly.
“Rach,” he breathes out against her mouth.
“I like you too,” she says.
He stares at her for a tense moment before kissing her again, picking her up until her legs are wrapping around his waist.
How they manage to make it to her bedroom after that, Rachel’s not entirely sure. It’s a fumbled stumble through her apartment, fingers tugging at clothing and mouths fused together. He presses her into the bed, and just the feeling of him hard against her hips is enough to have her jerking towards him, nails biting into the skin of his neck. It’s been so long since she’s been with a guy that she’s afraid the minute he touches her she’ll be done.
They never had sex the first time they dated, but Sam’s hands on her bare skin is still familiar. He presses kisses down her abdomen until he’s settled between her legs, his hands reaching up to cover her chest.
Long pleasurable minutes later, she’s tugging his hair sharply, back arching as she comes against his mouth.
He smiles against the skin of her thigh, kissing a path back up to her mouth, and she moans as she tastes herself against his lips, his cock pressing insistently against sensitive flesh.
“Inside,” she demands softly, biting down on his lower lip.
He complies, pressing his hips down to spread her legs wider, and guiding himself to her entrance, groaning when he pushes slowly inside her. Everything goes hazy after that. Sam’s hands clench tightly at her hips as he thrusts jerkily into her, her legs wrap around him, arms twining behind his neck as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of her jaw.
When she comes again it’s with a strangled groan against his ear, her fingers tugging sharply at his hair, and his mouth against her neck, shaped into a smile.
--
“Did I break your heart in high school?”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“I just...did I?”
Sam’s jaw clenches, but he shrugs nonchalantly. “We were young.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“We were young, Rachel,” he says.
--
A few nights later he shows up at her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a charming smile.
“Hi!”
“Hey. I bought you flowers.” He thrusts them towards her.
“I see that,” she says, grabbing them and smiling. “Do you want to come in?”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Sam blurts out, staring at her with wide eyes. “Again.”
Her hand flies to her mouth to stifle the giggle that bubbles up, and she manages just to smile at him, completely charmed. “Yes,” she says with little hesitation. “I would love to be.”
The flowers end up crushed between their chests when he picks her up and walks her backwards into her apartment.
--
“Favorite sexual position,” he murmurs, his lips against her spine and moving lower.
“I don’t know,” she gasps out when his teeth bite lightly at the small of her back.
“How can you not know?”
“I haven’t exactly had a wealth of experience with which to make a decision.”
He laughs, hot air blowing against her already over heated skin. “I can help you with that.”
--
They celebrate their five week anniversary because Sam jokes it’s only appropriate that they celebrate lasting longer than their first run.
They go down to this bar Sam frequents called Eli’s. He’s got a longstanding relationship with the owner, and he plays their acoustic hour ever Tuesday.
Their friends buy them drinks and even Santana shows up, hugging them both and demanding a round of tequila shots. “To Lips and Smalls,” Santana toasts with a smirk. “To five more weeks.”
Rachel hits her, but Sam laughs and she can’t deny how good it feels to be standing with a best friend and a boy that she’d never have imagined having when she was in high school.
Later, Sam kisses her on the cheek and tells her has a surprise for her. She watches curiously as he walks up to the stage and grabs the guitar that John, the owner, is holding out for him.
By the time, “I wrote a song for my gorgeous girlfriend and future Broadway star, Rachel Berry, and I’d like to play it for you,” comes out of his mouth, she’s blushing so furiously she has to hide her face in her hands.
--
“Favorite song of all time.”
“High Flying Adored from Evita. You?”
“One For My Baby. Frank Sinatra.”
“A Sinatra song? Sam Evans, look at you.”
He smirks. “I can be classy too.”
Rachel runs her fingers over the picture of Han Solo across his shirt and laughs. “You can be.”
--
Neither of them make much money, but they make do.
Rachel teaches him how to cook vegan meals on a budget, and he teaches her how to steal internet and cable from her neighbors.
They learn a lot about each other. Sam likes to play a round of Call of Duty every morning before work wearing nothing but his socks. On the weekends he hosts a Magic: The Gathering tournament that he participates in - he wears his lucky shirt and insists its why he’s never lost. He listens to Incubus when he plays World of Warcraft, but switches to Sublime when he plays Starcraft.
Suddenly, Rachel starts to find some of his stuff in her apartment - a comic book here, a dragon figurine there, his lucky shirt hanging off the handle of her closet door. She gets used to his little quirks and they start to become something comforting in her life - steady, reliable.
It’s not like she doesn’t have quirks of her own. Every Wednesday night she watches Funny Girl, and every Saturday night she watches Evita. Sam doesn’t even blink an eye, just tells her about how he watched The Mummy Returns every Friday afternoon it was in the theater so he understands.
He takes her to a Bogey and Bacall marathon in the park one weekend and they snuggle together on a blanket, Rachel mouthing along with the dialogue on screen. Sam laughs at her, puts his lips against her temple and hugs her tighter.
The weekend after, Rachel buys the boxset of Indiana Jones movies and presents them to Sam over dinner. “Teach me your geek ways,” she jokes.
He chuckles and grabs the dvds, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her soft and slow. “You trying to seduce me?”
She’s not, but his lips are against her neck, hips tight against hers, so it’s not a side effect she’s going to shrug off. “Is it working?”
“Yes,” Sam laughs out.
They put the first movie on, but they don’t watch it.
--
“Do you want kids?”
“Two,” Sam answers. “Twin boys.”
Rachel laughs. “That’s specific.”
“I want to name them George and Lucas.”
She laughs harder at that, shoving him playfully in the shoulder, but tells him that’s fine as long as she can pick the middle names.
He grins wide and nods. “Who else?”
--
She tries not to let rejection get to her, but it does sometimes. She knows it’s part of the process, that few people just show up in New York and make it big on a Broadway stage, but she can’t help that little girl inside her that thought she’d be the exception.
Sam finds her crying on her couch one afternoon, and moves quickly to wrap her in his arms.
He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t do anything but put his lips to her hair, rocking back and forth and whispering everything is gonna be all right.
“What if I never become a star?” The question is hurried and soft like if she says it too loud, it’ll come true.
“You will,” Sam reassures her.
“But what if?”
“You can’t think like that.”
“I’d do anything,” Rachel says. “Anything. I want it so badly.”
“I know,” Sam murmurs against the top of her head. “I know. That’s why you’ll make it.”
He makes love to her on the couch, tells her she’s gorgeous and perfect and when he’s inside her, his hand running down her side and lips against her ear, she believes him.
--
“Favorite thing to do on a weekend.”
Sam closes the comic book he’s reading and smiles at her. “Be with you.”
A slow grins spreads over her face. “Yeah?”
“Duh. What about you?”
She doesn’t answer, just closes the distance between them and kisses him firmly.
--
Six months rolls around and they celebrate with cheap champagne in paper cups.
On the balcony of Sam’s apartment, he plays her songs on his guitar. Some funny, some serious, a few of them favorites of hers that he’s learned over the last few months.
Then he gets this serious look in his eyes even though he’s still smiling. “Wanna play you a song.”
“You just played me an entire set list, Sam.”
He laughs. “This one is important.”
She sits up, her hands in her lap and a closed mouth smile on her lips. “Okay.”
With a wink, Sam plays around with the strings of his guitar for a few seconds before opening his mouth and starting to sing one of her favorite Beatles songs. “You’ll never know how much I really love you.”
When he gets to I’m in love with you his face is devoid of amusement and his eyes bore seriously into hers.
She tells him she loves him too because she does. Whispers it against his mouth, her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt.
When they’re in bed later, his palm resting on the overheated skin of her abdomen, she says it again, voice lazy and warm. “I love you.”
He smirks. “I know.”
She smacks him on the arm, but laughs because she can recognize his Harrison Ford voice.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Just always wanted to say that.”
“I love you,” she repeats, putting her palm against his cheek and smiling.
He winks. “I love you too.”
Part Two