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Part
7
Sam looked
like hell; of that much Chris was one hundred percent sure. How
he'd actually managed to walk from the crime scene without Malone
or any of the rest of the team suspecting that he was about to
keel over was a mystery to Chris. What Sam had talked to Leo about
at the Halliwells was anybody's guess and the Englishman had not
spoken to his partner since. The half-demon had seemed less and
less aware of his surroundings from that moment on.
As it was Chris made
sure Sam never left his sight all the way up to the older man's
hotel room. For once they were actually in separate rooms rather
than sharing, which was more often the case. The one time Chris
wanted to be damn sure he was as close to Sam as possible they
were on different floors. It was only as Sam pulled his key out
of his pocket that he actually noticed he had a shadow.
"Aren't you on
the wrong floor?" he asked quite reasonably.
"If you think
I'm leaving you to fall face down in the tub, think again,"
Chris replied pointedly. "You're hurt, and you didn't get
the proper medical attention because you've been hiding it. The
least I can do is patch you up."
"Oh," was
all Sam managed and went about trying to put his key in the lock.
As far as Chris was concerned his friend was having way too much
trouble with the simple task. "Thanks," Sam added as
he finally pushed the door inwards.
Chris trailed into
the room after his partner and couldn't help being more than a
little worried. The absent tone and the vaguely uncoordinated
movements were totally opposed to Sam's usual behaviour.
"Sit," Chris
decided firmly and pointed to the bed. "I assume you packed
the first aid kit as usual."
Sam nodded and also
out of character obeyed Chris' instruction without protest. Setting
his worry aside as useless, Chris went about the task at hand.
Sam's case was neatly stowed above the wardrobe and the ex-SEAL
pulled it down. With ritual efficiency he opened it, retrieved
the first aid kit and put it back in place. When he turned back
to his friend the anxiety jumped right back up and bit him again.
Sam hadn't moved at all, he was perched on the edge of the bed
staring straight ahead, doing nothing. The Englishman hadn't even
attempted to take off his jacket. With a worried frown Chris walked
over to his companion.
"Sam, you in there,
buddy?" he asked, his tone a little more anxious than he
would have like.
Sam blinked and then
slowly looked at his partner.
"Yeah," he
said a puzzled expression filtering across his features for a
moment, "just tired."
"Well, let's get
you patched up and then you can sleep for as long as you like,"
Chris put on a cheerful tone that he didn't feel. "Jacket
off first."
There was a little
more life in Sam as he tried to be helpful and do as he was told,
but he seemed to be becoming less co-ordinated by the minute.
Chris moved to help and Sam accepted the assistance gracefully.
"How the hell
are you upright?" Chris said the moment he managed to pull
the clothing off his friend's back.
Sam's shirt was covered
with blood at the back. How it hadn't shown through, even on a
black leather jacket, Chris would never know.
"What?" was
his friend's reply.
"You've been bleeding,"
Chris said and tried to inspect the damage, "and I don't
mean just a little bit. We should get you to a hospital."
"And how exactly
would we explain that?" Sam replied pointedly, awake enough,
it seemed, to be annoyed.
Chris glared at him,
but he couldn't actually think of a reply to that one. A trip
to the hospital would not go unnoticed no matter what they tried.
Malone had a way of finding out everything.
"If it's as bad
as it looks from here," Chris said firmly, "you might
not have a choice."
He moved round behind
his partner and gingerly began to move the soaked material. To
his surprise Sam did not react at all. There were several nasty
gashes in the shirt and Chris was a little afraid of what he might
find.
"Can you manage
the buttons or shall I do them?" Chris asked, unwilling to
abandon what he was doing, but realising the whole shirt had to
come off.
Sam didn't reply, but
he did move to tackle the challenge. After thirty seconds of fumbling
Chris decided to intervene. There was no protest from his partner
and Sam just looked at him vacantly as Chris slipped the buttons
from their holes.
"Stay with me,"
Chris said as he monitored Sam's bleary-eyed gaze. "If I
think it's okay, then you can go to sleep, but not before. If
you're going into shock you are not going to sleep and we're getting
you the nearest ER."
Sam just blinked at
him. The shirt came off with a messy squelch and Chris realised
the first thing he needed was something with which to clean Sam
up. Dumping the once white shirt in the trash he headed into the
bathroom. Sam's sponge and wash things were neatly arranged on
the shelf above the sink. Unfortunately the largest container
he could find to hold water was one of the glasses also on the
same shelf. Swearing under his breath he filled one with warm
water, picked up the sponge and a towel and returned to the other
room. He stopped just through the doorway. From that position
he could see Sam's back quite clearly and there were two criss-crossing
sets of claw marks across it. They looked ugly and painful, not
to mention worrying.
Pulling himself together
Chris walked back towards his partner and knelt on the bed behind
him.
"This might hurt,"
he warned, but Sam just grunted something unintelligible.
Wincing for his friend
Chris dipped the sponge in the warm water and began his task of
cleaning the wounds.
"Can't feel it,"
Sam mumbled as his partner began.
At first Chris barely
seemed to make a dent and he realised he was being a little too
careful. With Sam's lack of reaction he decided to be a little
bolder and dabbed relatively hard at the top of one scratch. The
partially dried blood flaked away and then Chris had to check
he wasn't seeing things. What he expected to find was a raw wound,
open, in need of cleaning and dressing, what he actually found
was pink, somewhat sore looking, but nevertheless whole skin.
Not sure what to make of this Chris continued further, and he
was halfway along the first scratch before he believed it.
"You've healed,"
he said quietly.
Sam glanced vaguely
in Chris' direction, puzzlement in his face.
"The wounds on
your back," Chris said slowly and plainly, "they're
gone. I don't even think you're going to scar much."
Bemusement was not
a state of mind that really suited Sam, but he didn't seem capable
of much else. Chris came to a quick decision.
"Okay," he
said evenly, making sure Sam was following him, "I think
this is going to take too long. If I let you fall asleep in the
state you're in you're going to wake up in a foul mood with me
as your target. We need to get you clean and I mean now."
He stood up and walked
to the point directly in front of Sam.
"You're filthy
and you stink," Chris stated bluntly, "you need a shower."
Sam peered at him dubiously.
"I don't think
I can stand up," he replied plaintively.
"Then I'll just
have to help you," Chris replied, surrendering completely
to the mother hen instincts that seemed to have invaded his body.
He took Sam's arm and,
bracing himself for however much of Sam's weight he was going
to get, hauled his partner to his feet. Surprisingly Sam was more
stable than his outward appearance suggested. He needed quite
a lot of help with direction and balance, but Chris didn't have
to put a great deal of effort into helping his companion to the
bathroom. Closing the lid of the toilet seat with his spare hand
he sat Sam on it and surveyed the situation.
"Just run a bath,"
Sam said, or at least that was what Chris deciphered from the
garbled sounds that came out of his friend's mouth, "I'll
be fine."
Chris crossed his arms
and glared at his companion.
"I thought I already
explained I wasn't about to let you drown yourself," he replied
pointedly.
"Can't stand for
long," Sam said quietly.
"Then you sit,"
Chris said firmly, "I'll worry about how to clean you."
Sam's eyes actually
opened at that, he looked vaguely scandalised.
"Don't go all
modest on me," Chris continued, a grin appearing on his face
at his partner's reaction, "it's not like I've never seen
you naked before. Remember Stockholm?"
An answering grin spread
across Sam's face, it appeared he did remember Stockholm. There
had been a small incident involving a mixed sauna and the theft
of towels. Chris took the expression on his friend's face to mean
he had accepted the inevitable, and the ex-SEAL knelt down. Sam's
boots came off easily, although there was a worrying moment when
Chris thought his partner might be about to fall off the toilet
as the ex-SEAL pulled at his footwear. As it was, by the time
Chris had finished the same job with his companion's socks Sam
had actually managed to undo his own belt. He was, however, having
a few problems with the button on his trousers.
"You worry about
staying upright," Chris said as lightly as possible, "I'll
tackle the complex stuff."
For a moment Sam actually
looked like he might protest about that, but eventually he sagged
in defeat. There was a little problem with actually getting the
Englishman's trousers off, but they hurdled that one quite quickly.
In only a couple of minutes Chris had Sam sitting in the tub,
right where he wanted him. The American pulled the showerhead
off the wall and turned on the taps.
"If it's too hot,
yell," he instructed his companion and set about the task
of playing nursemaid to his almost catatonic partner.
With the help of water
and soap, Chris soon had most of the grime off Sam. By the looks
of things only one of the marks would leave any scar, but Chris
couldn't help remembering how Sam had received the marks in the
first place.
The fight had been
the most incredible thing Chris had ever seen. It had been wild,
fever pitched and incredibly exciting. Two demons trying their
damnedest to kill each other had spoken to the more primitive
side of the ex-SEAL. There had been an almost mystical quality
about it and Chris couldn't get it out of his head. He was very
well aware that Sam was no longer the man he had first been partnered
with, and yet the Englishman still needed his help. When the whole
mess had started Chris had wondered if their partnership would
survive, now he was sure. Sam may have been part demon, but he
was still his friend, and the ex-SEAL was sure the Englishman
was going to need all the assistance he could give adjusting to
his new life.
"Leo never said
anything about sleeping," Sam said suddenly, as if he'd found
a moment of clarity.
"Yeah well, looks
like our white-lighter friend doesn't know everything," Chris
replied, glad that his friend had managed a coherent sentence.
Sam made a sound which,
if listened to in the correct manner, Chris thought might actually
have been a laugh.
"What's so funny?"
he asked and rinsed off the last of the soap.
"You'll never
guess what he told me I had to do?" Sam replied and leant
against the side of the bath.
"Well if I'll
never guess, you'll just have to tell me," Chris shot back
and surveyed the bathroom to find out where the towels were.
If Chris wasn't imagining
it, Sam actually giggled. The ex-SEAL wondered if his companion
might not be losing it.
"Have sex,"
Sam mumbled almost coherently.
Chris wasn't quite
sure he heard the correctly.
"Did you just
say what I think you said?" the American asked slowly, totally
frozen by the conversation.
"Umm," Sam
responded sleepily. "When he took me aside he asked me if
I was in a relationship. Said no so he told me to find one or
an alternative source of sex. He said I should aim at about once
a week at least or, and I quote, 'I might not like what I eventually
do.' Can you believe it, I actually have a valid reason to get
laid at least once a week."
"No I don't believe
it," Chris said with a laugh. "Then again, when have
you ever needed an excuse? Okay, now you're clean. Next problem,
how to get you dry."
"Wrap me up in
a robe, let me sleep," Sam mumbled; the water had done nothing
to wake him up.
For once Chris decided
Sam was right, and he went about his task as quickly as he possibly
could. He thanked every deity he could think of when getting Sam
out of the bath turned out to be easier than getting him in. It
took only a minute or so to get him standing up and in the robe
from the back of the bathroom door. Chris briefly considered making
sure more of Sam was dry and then decided there was only so much
mothering Sam could take no matter what state he was in. Looping
the Englishman's arm around his neck the ex-SEAL got himself and
his friend into the other room as fast as possible. Sam groaned
gratefully as his partner lowered him onto the bed.
"Thanks,"
Sam mumbled and then much to Chris' relief seemed to drift into
the sleep that he had been holding off for so long.
Chris covered his friend,
surveyed the room and content that Sam was in no immediate danger
headed for the door. Another mission successfully completed and
both of them in virtually one piece; Chris felt vaguely cheerful.
Sam would probably sleep for hours, but the ex-SEAL was on a high
from the adrenaline. With a smile to himself he headed for his
room to take a badly needed shower and then he was going to hit
the hotel bar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They had been back
in the UK for a little over twelve hours and Sam was incredibly
glad when Malone let them out of the office. There were obviously
some things that had bothered their controller about their report,
but they seemed to have pulled off the con job eventually. That,
however, didn't change the fact that Sam was having great difficulty
concentrating. Every member of the female species with whom he
came into contact was causing parts of his anatomy to gain lives
of their own. He felt like a kid in a candy store with no pennies.
"Okay," he
finally decided as he and Chris headed to the car park, "where
can I find the fastest and loosest female company in London?"
"If Backup hears
you say something like that you'll be recovering corrupted files
for the next six months," his partner said lightly.
"Yeah, well just
at the moment I couldn't care less about Backup," Sam replied
tightly, "in fact the less I think about Backup the better."
Chris grinned at him.
"I heard Spence
and Richards talking about a place called the Rising Moon,"
the American provided eventually. "They seemed to think it
was full to the brim with sex starved women. Then again I'm sure
you already know the way."
Sam gave his friend
a long hard stare over the top of the car.
"Contrary to popular
belief," he said pointedly and opened the driver's door of
the Nissan, "I have never been this desperate before."
"Is it really
that bad?" Chris asked, finally showing some mercy.
"Chris,"
Sam told his friend slowly, "I'd shag you if I didn't think
you'd shoot me later."
With that comment he
started the car, put it in gear and roared out of the parking
lot.
The club was dark,
smoky and loud, but Sam didn't care. As he walked in he was hit
by a wall of sexual desire and he knew he was in the right place.
He was just about in control enough to realise that Chris didn't
follow him as he dived into the sea of people, but he didn't care.
The next few minutes passed in a blur as Sam let his instincts
take control and he entered into the mating game. He really wasn't
sure how many women he danced with or why he suddenly singled
one out and followed her as she walked off the dance floor, but
he wasn't arguing with his instincts.
"Hello,"
she said and turned to him as they reached the bar, "I'm
Genevieve."
"Sam," Curtis
replied and graced her with one of his most charming smiles.
"You look hungry,"
his companion said and smiled back. "Am I on the menu?"
"Only if you want
to be," Sam replied.
"A polite sex
demon," she said whimsically. "How nice."
Sam stopped dead in
his tracks totally at a loss of what to do.
"How?" was
as far as he got.
"How did I know?"
Genevieve finished his sentence for him. "You leak power,"
she explained, "you should really learn to control that.
I would never have known otherwise. I'm a witch by the way which
really means I should do something about you. It would be a shame
if my favourite club suddenly gained a reputation for disappearing
guests."
Sam leant towards her.
"I'm not going
to hurt anyone," he said quietly.
"And I'm not a
nymphomaniac," the witch replied lightly. "I have wards
up around this place. I'm surprised you managed to get in in the
first place. Oh well, it shouldn't take much to get you back out
again."
Almost nonchalantly
she pulled something from the small bag she was carrying and held
it towards Sam.
"Now we can do
this the easy way or the hard way," she said politely. "This
potion will make your life distinctly unpleasant for a good few
weeks. Now I can use it on you or you can just leave. It took
me a long time to perfect this recipe and I'd rather save it for
a more desperate situation, but the choice is yours."
After a furtive glance
to make sure no one was paying any attention to them Sam did the
only thing he could think of, he let his demon half out. Letting
his companion see his face clearly he smiled at her.
"I'm only half
demon," he said quietly, "you'd be wasting your time
and effort. We could have much more fun if we agreed not to try
and hurt each other."
Genevieve's eyes widened
in surprise and Sam let his other half fade again.
"I need sex,"
he said in no more than a whisper, "that's all."
The witch regarded
him for a few moments.
"I'm friends with
the owner of this place," she said finally. "There's
a back room. I have it set up for sex magic. You couldn't hurt
me there even if you wanted to. A liaison could be mutually beneficial
to us both."
Sam smiled.
"I think we can
come to some arrangement," he said lightly.
End of Part
7
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