A Fairytale of New York: |
***
They go to the bar and, as the “newbie,” Martin offers to buy them all drinks. He'd prefer to go home, get his place sorted out, but he knows that he has to make the effort despite feeling awkward and somewhat disheartened from his day.
He drinks his beer quickly, hoping that the alcohol rushing through his blood will improve his demeanour, allow him to find it easier to talk with his new colleagues. He'd welcome the opportunity to talk to Samantha at some point, but he realises that now probably isn't the time. With her in mind, however, he decides to ration his alcohol intake. It probably wouldn't be wise to make a repeat performance of any part of that particular evening, or to make a fool of himself or embarrass her by referring to it in the company of her colleagues.
After thanking him for the drink, she wanders off to the side to talk with Danny and appears to ignore him. It's probably for the best, he decides. He makes a conscious effort to try not to be distracted by her presence as he engages in conversation with Jack and Vivian.
***
She stands talking to Danny as she drinks her vodka cocktail. But segments of the conversation between Martin, Vivian and Jack keep floating over to her, distracting her. She looks over at the trio a couple of times, trying not to be interested as Martin apparently talks about his girlfriend.
She's irritated with the way that she dealt with him during the day. Her feelings and emotions overcame her and she knows that she's better than that. She should have been more adult about the situation, spoken to him courteously if not acknowledging their previous liaison. She shouldn't have allowed her feelings towards him to overwhelm her.
In reality, she knows that as much as anything else, she's irritated that she allowed herself to feel anything for him; any possible relationship between them was doomed from the start. She shouldn't have allowed herself to become seduced by his “Mrs. Fitzgerald” comment, or his letters, or the easy connection between them. She got too invested in the friendship, allowing herself to fantasise that it could develop into something more, even if he was living on the other side of the country and had a girlfriend. She blames herself, and rationalises that her uncharacteristic reactions were partly due to her confusion over her feelings towards ending the affair with Jack.
The problem is that she doesn't know how to react in any other way towards Martin, or how to explain the situation to him without flagging it up to any of her colleagues, or giving him the wrong idea about everything.
She has no feelings for him, she tells herself. And tomorrow she'll go into work and act towards him as though he were any other new person on the team: not necessarily be friendly, but be something approximating it. Give him a chance.
She needs to talk to him, she decides impulsively.
“You like him?” Danny asks, shaking her from her internal reverie.
“Who?” she attempts to pretend that she's unaware of what he insinuates.
“The newbie: Martin. You seem to be very interested in what he's saying,” he teases.
“I'm really not,” she denies the accusation. “Besides, he has a girlfriend,” she continues, only realising the implication of what she says after the fact.
“So you'd not be interested to know that he *doesn't* have a girlfriend?” Danny grins. “You obviously misheard what they were saying.”
She shrugs with an attempt at nonchalance. “I'm really not interested.”
“So that's what you were showing towards him at the office today: disinterest?” he teases. He pats her on the shoulder patronisingly. “You really need to work on your flirting skills; guys don't always think the cold shoulder is a come-on.”
She glares at him.
He laughs.
***
He somewhat awkwardly talks to Jack and Vivian in brief about his break up with his ex-girlfriend when it is somehow introduced into the topic of conversation. He tries not to go too much in depth about it; he doesn't find it a particularly interesting subject of conversation.
Nor does he find it much easier to talk about his father when Jack makes the mistake of bringing him up. He makes a brief comment about how they don't quite see eye-to-eye, and that they have little contact that isn't made through his mother. Jack makes no comment but Martin feels as though the admission has warmed Jack towards him slightly. Martin is not surprised; when people make contact with his father it usually gives them the wrong impression about him. They soon find out that he is nothing like his father and Martin is quite grateful for that.
Martin excuses himself briefly to buy another beer; his second of the evening. He attempts to surreptitiously glance over at Samantha; he is drawn to her like moth to flame and he doesn't know why. He knows that he felt – feels? – more for her than he has felt for anyone in a very long time. He finds it curious, having only known her such a short time. But then, as he had rationalised back in Vegas, there was a reason he had acted so impetuously and out of character. He tries not to dwell on it too much and attempts to put any thoughts of her to the back of his mind; there is obviously little between them now.
She is seemingly deep in conversation with Danny and he has no intention to interrupt. He watches as Jack joins them, and is oblivious to Vivian's presence at the bar until she gently taps him on the shoulder.
“Distracted by something? Or someone?” Vivian questions lightly, but with obvious intent. He realises quickly that he had been ignoring her as she spoke to him and apologises.
He covers his real interest in Samantha well. “I was just wondering if she was this cold towards all new people on the team. She seems to have something against me,” he comments casually.
“I don't know,” she replies slowly, thoughtfully, and he wonders if she knows more than she says. “But I suggest you don't purposefully do anything to piss her off,” she jokes.
He smiles.
***
It is sometime shortly later - around the time of his fourth beer - when the other members of the team decide to make a move and go home.
He doesn't see Samantha and imagines that she had left earlier without telling him. He decides to stay and finish off his beer, and tells the others that he'll see them in the morning.
He feels very alone when they leave; but is now in no hurry to return to his apartment. It will be cold and empty, and without his belongings all in place, is somewhat unwelcoming.
He sits at the bar, drinks from the bottle, peeling the label off between gulps. He thinks through the day, playing scenes over in his mind and wonders, not for the first time, if he's made the right decision to move away from his friends and pursue this particular avenue of work within the FBI. As ever, he comes to the conclusion that he has, and scornfully tells himself to stop with the self-pity. He's not alone entirely; he has plans to join his favourite relatives – his aunt, uncle and cousins – this weekend for lunch. He needs to give it time.
He's surprised when he hears a voice talking to him, startling him out of his thoughts.
“They've gone?” she asks.
He turns round, sees Samantha standing there. He nods. He sees something in her face for a second, a moment of indecision, and he wonders what she's contemplating until, as he starts to turn back around, she speaks again.
“Mind if I join you?”
Surprised, he gestures to the seat next to him. “Sure.”
She sits down, orders another drink for herself and asks if he wants another beer. He thanks her.
“I thought you'd left,” he comments.
“I did. I came back,” she tells him, but offers no further explanation.
They sit in silence for a while, sipping at their respective drinks.
“About today,” she starts eventually, staring straight ahead. She hesitates. “I'm sorry.”
He shrugs, unsure about what his response should be.
“It was just a shock, seeing you again,” she comments.
He shrugs again.
“I was… confused and…” she trails off. She doesn't know what to say; how to explain her behaviour. Not without saying more than she's willing to.
He shrugs again.
Finally, she looks at him. “Listen, I'm sorry for being a bitch, I'll work on it?” she questions, attempting to get something more of a response out of him.
She watches as the corners of his mouth arch up, unwillingly starting into a smile.
Finally, he glances back over at her.
He shrugs. But there's still a small smile on his features. She smiles slightly.
“And what about tomorrow? Or the next time we have to work together?” he asks. He doesn't wait for a response. “It won't help anyone if I have to work with someone who is constantly trying to avoid me, someone who apparently hates me.”
“I don't hate you,” she protests.
“We need to work something out,” he ignores her, “before the powers that be have to work it out for us. And then they'll probably find out everything that we've been attempting to keep from them.”
“What do you propose?” she asks, then winces at her choice of words. “I'll work on my attitude for tomorrow, I promise.”
“Just… I don't know… be yourself around me. Pretend that we've never met if it helps you.”
“I can't pretend I've never met you,” she says quietly.
There's a long silence and she mentally berates herself for having said the wrong thing. For having brought any emotion into the situation.
“I don't know what to do,” he admits. “I've never been in this situation before. In the past, I've avoided my exes, but this is different.”
“I'll say,” she smiles.
“Can we be friends?” he asks hesitantly. He wants more, but he can't ask that.
She nods and he smiles.
He finishes his beer. “Do you think we'll be okay?” he questions. He knows that they're not quite done here, but it's probably enough for now.
“Yeah,” she answers. She downs the last of her drink and starts to stand. “I'd better be going. Work tomorrow.”
He stands, puts on his jacket.
They walk out together and he waits while she hails a cab.
“I'll see you tomorrow?” she questions.
He holds the cab door open for her as she gets into it. “Yeah.”
She smiles. She impulsively takes his hand, runs her thumb across his fingers, needing contact with him. She lets go and he shuts the cab door behind her.
“I missed you,” she whispers as the cab drives off.
***
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