Title:Nine Months: The Epilogue – Face Down
Disclaimer:I do not own anything you recognize…
Notes: Sorry I'm such a bad author!
It's been crazy: Isabelle's recital, Isadora's new dog joining the family, Alexandrine's hospital visit for dehydration, the murderer he was trying to defend in court, the press sitting on his front lawn since this case was now media-worthy. So it's no surprise when Sam slides off to work, dives into his office before anyone notices him – he does not want to hear who the latest suitor is for an interview, and starts to work on his arguments. He does not want to be bothered. Hopefully, his secretary knows that. Hopefully.
It's an hour later as Sam puts the last few touches on his argument when the phone rings. It's Ted, calling from jail, wanting to know how the argument is going, when he can be bailed out, and what this means for his future. Murderers are so demanding. Especially this one.
Sam talks to him, dodging some questions, answering others. He finally gets off the phone and realizes the headache Ted causes every time he calls. Sam takes a mental note to get call screening and avoid more murder cases.
Reaching for the bottle of advil he keeps handy, Sam begins to take two pills when the door to his office bursts open. Reporters charge in with their cameras and microphones ready to go. His secretary runs in after them, apologies in her wake, mouthing "security's coming".
"Mr. Winchester," the woman says, microphone outstretched, "how do you-"
It's the last straw. These hawks need to keep to themselves and not bother him. He's busy, he's working. Hell, they call when he's trying to fool around with his wife or play dollhouse with his kids. Enough is enough.
Sam darts up, like a spacecraft being launched. "GET OUT!" But he can't say anymore because he's seeing stars and little birdies; his vision gets dark and all of the sudden he sees the floor.
Two nitro pills, fifteen "are you okay"'s, three security guards, and four hours later, Sam's being released from the hospital.
After being rushed to the hospital, Sam was admitted with hypertension. All the outside pressure raised his blood pressure an absurd amount, the doctor claimed. And while he was sitting in his office alone, he had calmed down, back to his normal pressure. Then, standing up too quickly had caused Sam to pass out. The doctor prescribed two weeks' worth of nitroglycerin, requesting Sam follow up with his regular doctor.
Alexandrine arrived several minutes after Sam did; she'd been on him ever since, worried as ever, trying to keep him from the media. Apparently, they got a good shot of him taking advil and passing out. The newest story is "Ted's Lawyer: Pill Popping and Hospitalized". How quaint.
"Ready," Alexandrine asks him, straightening his suit. He nods, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed and leans in for a quick kiss.
Alex hovers as he stands up without an issue and begins to walk toward the door, prescription in hand. The guards outside his room escort him outside, shielding him from the media. If this trial wasn't national already, it sure is now.
It's late that night as Alexandrine crawls into bed with Sam, sliding over to him.
"Ready for bed, Sam?" She smiles, sliding a hand down his thigh to get his attention. He glances at her, eyes darting from the book he's reading.
"'Andrine, really?" He smiles. Sex? Tonight? After all this? She wore him out some days.
She nods, lying, just wanting him to get to bed early. "I want you," she whispers huskily. The man in him gets the better of Sam as he practically tosses the book to the side and turns off the lamp on the nightstand.
He squirms under the covers, presses himself up against her, and begins kissing her eagerly. She pushes him away gently, "Oh, Sam. I forgot. I'm menstruating." She stifles her giggles and he sees it in her eyes: a lie.
"That was mean." He's kidding and they both know it. Thankfully, he just curls up against her, ready for sleep.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Fuckers," Alex curses, climbing over Sam for the phone before he can get to it. He tries to paw it out of her hands but she's adamant about keeping the phone. "Listen," she growls into the receiver. "He's about to get laid. So I think you bastards best leave him alone tonight."
Hearty laughing comes from the other line, sending her for a loop. "Sorry," the voice says. "I was just checking in on Sam. But if he's about to get some, please do. Poor buggard deserves it. Tell him to call Ted tomorrow, Mrs. Winchester."
"Uh- okay," she replies, taken back.
"Happy mating." Click.
Alex hangs up and lays back down, ignoring Sam's who's and what's. Finally deciding on what to say, she whispers, "He's sure nice for a murderer."