Happy Holidays Everyone!

I got a 'subtle' request for a Smarties fanfic from my fandabtastic friend Rosanna, aka Samantha-Fitzgerald, for Christmas, and what kind of a friend would I be if I didnt comply? So here you go, huns! Thank you for such a High-Calleighfied year, with hopes for a similiar 2006 ;) xxx

Disclaimers are in my profile, and just so y'all know, I'm actually a Jam fan for life! Go figure...!

And 'ugest thanks to Sammie, aka Dizzy-Dreamer, for beautious beta-ing x

Oh! A little note, The first italics in this fic are taken from an old fic of mine called Crisp New York Night. ('Cos Rosanna like this scene :p). In that fic, Samantha broke up with Martin, well, this fic is set in s3 after Martin splits with Samantha, so kinda disregard the rest of Crisp...

So anyhoo, Merry Christmas to Rosanna, and Happy Holidays to everyone else!

"Uh-oh" Samantha said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two.


"That man bought flowers" she told, pointing to a stranger walking Watermeyer Street. Sure enough, held in his gloved hands, were a bunch of flowers.


"Soo…he's feeling guilty."

"Why, 'cos he bought flowers for his wife"

"Exactly. Men only buy flowers when they're feeling guilty."

"Or they're in love"

"Yes, but they've only realised they're in love, because they did something they shouldn't have"

Wrapping his arms around her, Samantha lay her head on his bare chest, 'Trust me, you're never going to get flowers from me' he promised.

That memory had plagued every sleepless night since the break up. He cursed himself over and over for what he said.

I'm just tired of playing games and frankly I'm not interested in waiting around while you figure out your problems.

'Your problems'. It was that line that always kicked him in the stomach when he remembered it. The look on Samantha's face. The shock. The momentary flash of hurt quickly disguised as more shock. Martin closed his eyes, trying to squeeze the sight from his reverie.

He turned over on the bed, opening his eyes to see his balcony chastising him in the moonlight. Once again that crisp New York night flashed before him. He watched as ghostly apparitions of himself and Samantha replayed the conversation, propping themselves against the railing. He almost laughed when he realised that whenever he saw these apparitions, it was at a scene where a person was missing.

This time it was Samantha that was missing. Missing from that balcony; that apartment and that man's life.

"Yes, but they've only realised they're in love, because they did something they shouldn't have"

She'd never said truer words. He did something he shouldn't have: he broke up with her. Now he realised that he did in fact love her.

He'd always thought it, looked for the right time to tell her, maybe a time that she wasn't talking about work. Or Jack. That time didn't seem to arise.

Now? Now he knew for sure that he loved her.

Martin Fitzgerald loves Samantha Spade.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have said those words to her? In the office, of all places?

That was it. He couldn't take it anymore. He was brought up to accept his misgivings, apologise for his wrong-doings and rectify his mistakes. If he didn't do it now, he was going to go stir-crazy.


The phone rang, waking Samantha from a turbulent sleep. "Hello?"


"Martin? It's…its 4am, is something wrong?"

"Yes and no. Can you meet me?"

"Meet you? Meet you where? Did you not hear me when I said its 4am?"

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at Massimo's?"

"Martin, what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Just meet me. Please?"

"Okay. Okay, give me a half hour"

"Okay, thanks, Sam"

"The coffee's on you"

Martin smiled as he hung up. She hadn't changed.


Samantha walked into Massimo's 20 minutes later, bundled in 3 layers of clothing and a parka with 'Santa boots' to match. She hated the cold, and she hated snow even more. Remind me again why I moved to New York? She thought, not for the first time.

She pulled on the huge wooden door, always expecting it to be heavier than it was and always stumbling backwards a step or two.

She spotted Martin straight away, sat in the middle of the room hugging a mug of coffee while another waited for her. She smiled as she made her way over to him, shrugging off the parka as she went.

"Black, no sugar" he gestured to her coffee as she took a seat

"Thanks" her voice was thick with sleep. "So c'mon. What's so important that it had to be said at 4am?"

"I'm sorry"

"It's alright, I wasn't sleeping well anyway. What's up?"

"No, I mean, I'm sorry. For what I said and did to you…to us"

Samantha's eyes widened as she leant back into the chair. "Where's this coming from?"

"It's not just a sudden realisation that hit me in a dream; I've known it for a while. A long while actually"

Her fingers played with the mug, as her eyes watched the swirling black liquid. "Why are you telling me now, then? I don't know how much of a difference it's going to make"

"I know that. I know I've been stupid, and I know no matter how many times I apologise it probably won't make a scrap of difference, but I needed to tell you. I haven't slept since I said those things to you, and I'm really tired"

"So I'm your sleeping pill?"

"No! No, it's nothing like that. I just-" he went over to the bar and nodded at Massimo, the short Italian owner who was watching them from afar. Massimo scurried into the kitchen and returned with a big bunch of flowers.

Martin thanked him and returned to Samantha. "You once told me that 'Men only buy flowers when they're feeling guilty' and that it's only because they're in love and have lost that person. Here" he passed the bouquet over, retaking his seat.

"Martin, I-"

"You don't have to say anything, I know I've blown it, I just wanted you to know" he watched as she played with the sunflowers, her favourite flower.

"Martin, there's something I need to ask you" her eyes locked with his, radiating seriousness and severity. "Where on earth did you find a Florist that's open at 4am!"

Martin chuckled. He hadn't laughed with Samantha in a long time. It felt nice. "My cousin's a florist. I called in a favour"

"Ah, of course" she grinned. "Listen, Martin, it wasn't only you that sabotaged this relationship. It was me, mainly, and I'm the one that should be apologising"

"No, I should be"

"This could go on for a while, so how we both just say we're sorry, and …start over?"

Martin smiled, sighing in relief, "I'm sorry"

"I'm sorry"