Christine snuffed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, her hand shaking. She should really empty that out. As a matter of fact, she should clean up the apartment a little while she was at it. She should pick herself up from that chair, stop smoking all together, gather up the mess around her, and pull herself together.

At the moment, it was too hard. It was three days ago when she'd decided to quit drinking and partying cold turkey. Because it was three days ago when, while waltzing out of a club at five in the morning, a dumb, drunk grin on her face, she noticed a gossip magazine hanging in a news stand by the subway station.

The title had sobered her up faster than the cold November air. Freider Grant was dead. And she had missed the news, missed his funeral, because she'd been too busy sleeping during the day and partying her nights away.

Trying to numb the pain, to make herself feel adored and relevant had slowly and steadily pulled her away from her ultimate goal. Sam. Everything was to get Sam back. And yet, she'd missed being by his side in one of the worst moments of his life because she'd been to weak to face the pain, to face what she'd done.

And oh, how much she'd missed... Her hand lingered over a news article with a picture of Sam and a blonde woman together. In her drunken stupor, she had been so convinced that all she had to do was wait, that Sam would come back home and everything will be alright. Angie was nothing but a distraction, and Tom would nip it in the bud. He'd be lonely and he'd come to her, like he always did.

Never in her craziest dreams had she imagined that he could move on, find someone else. That woman. That mysterious woman no one knew anything about. The one by his side at the funeral. That should've been you.

She groaned and knocked the magazine off the vanity table, letting it join the rest of the papers on the floor. So much had changed while she'd refused to face the world. Jerry had found someone else, finally leaving Tina behind. The lack of attacks from Snitch Gravel. Freider dying. Sam and whoever that was.

Who is she? Why is she there? Where did he find her? Were they actually together? Of course the tabloids buzzed, but they used to buzz about Kyle and Jessie, so people were stupid. They could be just friends.

Her hand found the cigarette pack and she pulled out another Virginia Slim. She needed to quit smoking, but one vice at a time. Drinking first. She hadn't had anything in three days and the thirst withered her throat. But she wouldn't give in. She would get herself back together, be beautiful again, without the clammy skin, unplucked brows and messy hair. Then she would go find Sam again and that blonde would become a thing of the past.

If she could only renounce those vices faster. Withdrawal was taking up time she didn't have.

The sound of the keys in the door had her freezing with the lighter halfway to the cigarette. It was impossible, she had to be hearing things. There was no way someone had opened the door because no one had the keys except for...

The keys hit the table. Christine dropped everything she was holding and rushed to the doorway, her itching eyes scanning the living room. Sam was indeed there and had just shrugged his jacket off and tossed it on the back of the couch. He wore faded blue jeans and a red t-shirt, and looked so much more different than she remembered.

He seemed taller, broader, more mature than the last time she'd seen him. How long ago was that anyway, when she'd broken him outside the University? A month? A month and a half? Heat pooled into the pit of her stomach, bringing a dizziness to her head that was hard to shake off. Facing Sam like this was not a good idea, but it wasn't like he gave her any choice.

He completely ignored her and headed for the hallway closet, his gait calm and collected, as if being in there, grabbing a carry on, gathering his things, was the most normal thing in the world and he didn't care for her presence. The thought clogged her throat, made it impossible to let out a sound.

Because if she did, he might leave, and she hadn't had enough of looking at him. So she just stood still and quiet, watching him move across the room, pick up items and pack them away. The smell of his cologne reached her nose. He hadn't changed it, and it made her want him so much, it was physically painful.

He raised his eyes as he headed for the bedroom and saw her. There was no flinch, no warmth, no trace of lingering emotion there. She could have as well been a chair.

"Hey," he said, his voice neutral, and he walked straight towards her.

She hopped out of the way, not daring to speak to him, touch him, do more than just stare and wonder why fate decided that he should see her like this, destroyed and unprepared. He scrunched his nose at the smell of cigarettes, but said nothing as he placed the luggage on the bed. The silence suited him, so he busied himself filling his carry on with what clothes and other possessions he had left.

She couldn't keep standing there like a statue. He would finish packing and leave, go somewhere she no longer had access. He was here now, in a place filled with memories of the two of them together. She'd been dreaming of having him here for so long, she couldn't just throw it all away.

"Sam..." Her voice was croaky from lack of use and so pathetic that she cringed.

He didn't stop putting things into the carry on, but turned towards her with a look of mild interest on his face. "Yes?"

"I..." Damn it. Damn this to hell. "What are you doing?"

"I'm packing my things. I've got a new place and need my stuff to fill it."

"With the blonde woman?" The question was out before she could stop it.

To his credit, he didn't freak out, but actually smiled, as if the thought was funny for some reason. "No, not with the blonde woman."

"Who is she?"

He actually turned to her and a small crease appeared between his eyebrows. "My therapist," he finally answered.

"Oh." A sense of relief overtook her at the realization that she had no competition after all, that what she'd done had been big enough, affected him enough for him to need therapy. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked, his tone light, as if he didn't consider she'd done anything wrong. 

His attitude was so confusing and her already fuzzy brain didn't know what to make of it. The fact that he was there, speaking to her in that calm, normal voice... Was he just messing with her? Showing her what she'd lost?

I haven't lost him. I can't have. He should be raging. Maybe the therapist showed him that it was best for him to get back together with her because she was the one who made him happy. Maybe packing was just a test and she was failing it by keeping away and letting him leave.

So she took one tentative step towards him. "For everything."

Sam looked at her with a long, lingering look, as if he was reviewing their entire relationship, trying to figure out what to do with it. And while he did, she held her breath, waiting for a sentence that could fix or ruin everything. His eyes strayed from hers, to the full ashtray, the mess of papers on the floor, clothes hanging from the backs of chairs, as if the mess meant something to him.

Finally, he let out a sigh and she could swear his lips were a little upturned as if he was trying his best not to smile.

"I forgive you," he said.

The words shocked Christine. What was even more surprising was that Sam himself seemed a little surprised by what had come out of his mouth.

"I can't believe I said that," he muttered.

"So, what, you don't mean it?"

"No, I do. I just didn't think I could."

She didn't either, and what really got to her was how he seemed to grow in her eyes because of it. He was the bigger man, just like he'd always been. And she'd spend the rest of her days cherishing him and making it up to him.

At that moment, she'd die if she didn't touch him. So, dirty and unkept as she was, she charged at him and caught him in a hug. He was so hot, so strong, and oh, how she'd missed his body, the freedom to touch him, caress him.

He didn't hug her back, and when she raised her face towards him, he scrunched his nose in distaste again. Right, he hated the smell of cigarette smoke, but it shouldn't matter now, not when they were finally getting back together. Except he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back slowly, as if detaching a suction cup.

"If I forgive you, it doesn't mean we're getting back together, Christine."

"What?" She blinked, trying to make sense of his words.

"Two very different things." He wasn't smiling anymore, just looked disappointed with her lack of common sense. "What you've done didn't just vanish. Plus, I know the extent of it now."

The blood froze in her veins. "What are you talking about?"

"Lisa told me how you've been stalking me, how you dated Harry even if you didn't want him. I know you were a silly teenage girl, apparently still are one, but that's just... evil. Harry had feelings. You know that if I knew the truth, I never would have gone out with you."

Yes, of course she knew. Which was why she'd perfectly timed her actions to get together with Sam over the summer, away from the prying eyes of Lisa and Harry. "But I wanted to go out with you..." she whispered.

"A relationship that started with lies was doomed to fail."

What did all this even mean? She had no idea why he was there, telling her this stuff. Lisa had apparently ruined everything with her big mouth. But even so, she was aware that if Lisa hadn't told him, Harry would have the first chance he got. It was all doomed to fail because she'd stupidly thought that Sam would lose touch with the people who knew the truth, that he'd believe her over everyone else. That he would love her until the end of time, because why wouldn't he?

"It's over, Christine."

The finality in his tone broke her. She dropped on the chair in front of the vanity and watched him packing his stuff as if her were going on a short mission, would come back, and they'd get intimate again. As much as they ever did.

"Why didn't you ever want to sleep with me?" she asked, leaning her chin on her knees.

Sam didn't even pause as he said, "Because your father told me you wanted to wait until marriage and that I should respect your wish and not pressure you. Not embarrass you."

That was a bit of a shock, but not completely unexpected given the tantrum her father had thrown when she'd moved in with Sam. But she'd never thought he would be as stupid to believe him. "And you believed him?" Even if he had, how could he resist her?

"I did. That's my bad. Your bad is always expecting me to do everything and not bringing this up if it bothered you."

"I didn't want to seem desperate."

"Communicating doesn't make you desperate, Christine." The seriousness of his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

Maybe it was because he was no longer hers, or how he seemed so much rougher than before, but she'd never been as attracted to him as she was now. The desire hurt her, made her filled trapped inside this shell of a body. He returned to packing and she returned to watching him, trying to fight the butterflies in her stomach. It had to be the withdrawal making her so weak, putting her at his mercy.

She didn't care. She wanted to be at his mercy. And if it was communication she wanted, she'd give it to him.

"I always wanted you, from the moment we got together," she said.

"Then maybe you should've showed it more," he replied, not missing a beat, continuing to gather stuff from what used to be their room.

"I want you so much right now."

He paused and raised an eyebrow at her. "Is that what you told Kyle?"

She winced and pulled back as much as the chair allowed her. Of course Kyle had spilled. He wasn't one to keep things to himself for the sake on not hurting other people. "That was nothing but a moment of weakness."

"And had Kyle been a weaker mean, it would've added one more person who got to sleep with you before I did." There was a bit of bitterness in his voice as he zipped up his carry-on and picked it up off the bed. "You wouldn't have cared that he's my brother."

"I do care, and I'm really sorry. Look at me! I'm a mess." She gestured towards herself, despair making the words tumble out of her mouth with no filter. "I don't like life without you. All that partying was just a way for me to forget, but I don't want to forget, I want you back." She walked to him and put her hands on his cheeks. His skin felt amazing under her palms, so familiar. "I love you, Sam, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you for my mistake if I have to. Just don't."

He gazed at her, surprise in his eyes, resembling the old, innocent Sam she knew so well, the one who adored her, the one who would do anything to make her happy. It only lasted a second before he steeled himself against her. She wouldn't let him. She rose on the tips of her toes and planted her mouth over his.

Like in a horrid nightmare, he pulled back, raising his eyebrows at her. "Really, Christine?"

"I need to fight for what I want."

"No, you need to learn to listen to what other people want." He pulled away from her, no longer looking amused or indulgent, just pissed, looking even hotter if possible.

It got to her. She threw herself at him with her entire weight and they plummeted on the bed together. He shifted under her, but she squeezed her thighs against his hips. Her mind was so hazy with a high familiar to the one brought on by drinking. This would make her feel better than anything else in the world.

"Don't you think it's only fair to give me what I want before you go?" she murmured in his ear. "I know you must want me too, must wonder what it would be like."

He twisted with impressive speed and trapped her underneath him. His weight completely immobilized her, but it only made everything so much more exciting. This was the Sam she loved, the assertive leader who wasn't afraid to get what he wanted.

"I don't want you, Christine, because I don't love you. The person I was in love with never existed."

His words stung, but just like it had happened when she'd put her mind into seducing Kyle, they didn't matter, not yet. "You don't have to love me to want me, genius."

"Fair enough," he conceded, "but you need to pull your shit together." And just like that, he got off her, resisting her with ease, picking up his luggage and throwing her one finally, pitying glance. "Just... Try to get better. Then find someone who makes you happy."

She sat up so fast, her head spun. "You make me happy."

"But you don't make me." 

He walked out of what used to be their room, picked up his jacket and stepped out the apartment, leaving his keys on the kitchen table, making it extremely clear where he stood. And as she watched the closed door, tears streaming down her face, Christine realized he was right. She needed to pull herself together. And if she wanted him, even one first and last time, she needed to put a lot more effort into it.

♠️

Sam couldn't believe that he'd done it, but in truth, walking away from Christine had felt so right. Her disheveled state made him feel sorry for her, brought forth the kind of compassion reserved for distant acquaintances. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was kicking the last bit of childhood to the curb, but he was a grownass man and he was going to start acting like it.

Skye had been more useful than she could ever imagine. If only he'd stop imagining her in the shower, that would be great. Though he had to admit that it was that precise image that made it so easy to push Christine off him. Maybe it was the cigarette smoke and the dryness of her skin, or the fact that he was suddenly into blondes, but he didn't regret throwing his ex off one bit.

You're not suddenly into blondes. He'd always liked blondes. Ugh, stop it. He really needed to get out and meet girls he could safely obsess over. Or take Christine up on her offer and give her what she wanted. That thought plagued his mind too, because it was tempting as hell, but he'd already proven to himself that he was strong enough not to do stupid shit.

Except see Harry. That counted as stupid, but he needed it to declare his closure complete and focus on something else. So when his former best friend placed his weekly call, Sam answered and agreed to give Harry ten minutes of his time in one of the Agency meeting rooms.

So there he was, slumped in an uncomfortable wooden chair, one other empty chair in front of him, waiting. Harry didn't take long to show up, dragging his feet and seeming surprised at his own luck.

"Very romantic," he observed.

"Sit. You have ten minutes to say whatever it is that you want to say."

Harry watched him wearily, but obeyed and sat a mere foot from Sam. Too close, he should've pushed the damn chair further back. He had half a mind to kick it with Harry actually on it. Why was this even harder than in Christine's case?

Surprisingly enough given how much he'd hounded Sam, Harry stayed quiet. Sam pointed at his watch. He'd been exaggerating about the ten minutes, but he wasn't about to waste his time in uncomfortable silence. Ancient meteorite jewels demanded his attention.

"It's pretty clear, isn't it?" Harry asked.

 Sam gritted his teeth together. "Just what the fuck is pretty clear? You're the one who wanted to talk to me."

Harry winced when he cursed, but Sam was way past giving a fuck. Harry looked at his hands and started fumbling with his fingers like he did every time he was caught unprepared. His hesitation got on Sam's nerves more than anything and only made him want to curse some more.

"Let me get you started. You, my supposed best friend, lied to me and screwed my girlfriend behind my back. Can you take it from here?"

"She was my girlfriend first," Harry mumbled.

"Yes, that falls under the lying bit. Thanks for telling me that, by the way."

"You're the one who never noticed how hurt I was after I broke up with her. You're the one who hooked up with her while I wasn't around." Harry's voice rose with every word. "You're the one who wouldn't give her what she wanted and pushed her into my arms!"

Sam froze. Harry panted, watching him with more malevolence than ever, as if he were the victim and Sam had done nothing but make him miserable over the past few years.

"You didn't care that I was still in love with her, you didn't notice that I've changed," he raged on, maybe fueled by Sam's silence.

Harry made a good point, but it would've been a lot more poignant if he hadn't decided that betrayal was a better option than talking about it to his supposed best friend. Sam knew he should say something, make Harry see sense, but all he could do was wonder what he was doing there.

You're here for closure. Yes, but like this? All he wanted was to break a chair over Harry's face. The betrayal was worse coming from his part, because whereas he'd subconsciously thought Christine to be fickle, Harry was his childhood friend. Sam trusted him. Or used to.

"Why couldn't you just talk to me?" he muttered.

"And tell you what?" Harry demanded. "Even I didn't know how I felt about Christine anymore after she dumped me for you. I thought I hated her until I didn't."

"You should've told me you were in love with her from the start."

"What difference would that have made?"

"All the difference in the world!" Sam stood, his fists clenched. "I would've never gotten together with her if I knew you loved her. I would've never betrayed you like that."

Harry stood too, an ugly frown on his face. "You don't know that because you never had to. Always the perfect one, always getting what you wanted from the first go."

"Always getting what I wanted? Christine stalked me. I only got her because she wanted me."

"Yes, wanted you, not me."

This was going nowhere. Because Sam could see very well what followed next. A ruination of their entire friendship based on petty jealousy and the inability to communicate. Harry was right, it had started a long time ago, from the moment Sam had broken the camel's back by taking Christine as well.

"I wish I could save this, but I can't," he said, his voice low. "Not when you're playing the victim. Because you're not. You're just a man who's made some choices and now has to face the consequences. If you hate me so much, I'm not sure why you wanted to talk in the first place."

Harry deflated at this and his shoulders sagged. "I don't hate you, Sam. I'm just fed up with losing everything I love."

"You didn't have to lose me. You didn't have to lose Christine either."

"She doesn't want anything to do with me. I was nothing but a bed warmer. She still wants you."

Sam gritted his teeth. He didn't want to hear that, not when he actually considered taking her for a spin. "I'm talking about four years ago. All you had to do was talk to me. But talking is apparently so damn hard, you can only yell in my face."

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Sam wasn't sure he believed that. In some way, Harry had gotten his revenge for all the supposed upstaging Sam had done throughout their friendship. But he had to fight his need to act out and be the bigger man here, too.

"Okay," he said, even if the words struggled to come out. "I forgive you."

Harry stared. Shook his head and stared some more. "You forgive me?"

"Yes. Christine and I are over, so there's no point holding a grudge."

"Oh." Why did he look a little disappointed? "Thanks. Cool."

Yep, Sam was done with this. "I'll see you around."

"Sure, yes, see you."

Before Harry could react in any way, Sam took his leave. The whole thing had lasted less than ten minutes, and he didn't feel better. Christine had been easier, Christine had left him lighter. Harry just made him want to throw up. But it didn't matter. He'd done it. He wasn't sure if he truly forgave Harry, but saying it out loud was step in the right direction.

Now it was time to check on Skye and make himself feel better.

♠️♠️♠️

I had so much fun with this chapter. And I can declare that Sam has finally left him funk bubble and is once again a fully functional man. Good thing he found other things to focus on.

All thoughts on Christine and Harry are welcomed.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote and comment. We have interesting developments coming in the next chapter.