#samone

Hallow & Zaybi

The series starts with first chapter introducing the brothers; Hallow and Zaybi.

Chapter 1: Zaybi and Hallow as children.

They were so cute as kids. And we are told how Zaybi is the brains while Hallow is the muscles in this dynamic. This would later reflect on the fact that Hallow became a hero and Zaybi is a mage.

Chapter 1: Hallow sees Zaybi.

Chapter 1: You can really see how it hurts Zaybi to see his little brother hurting, and he tries to comfort him.

Throughout the current 16 chapters it became clear that they support each other in their own way, and look up to each other. Although, Zaybi being the older one seems to have raised his kid brother by himself, threatening to even spank his ass if or when he does something reckless (which means exactly that he must have been the parent in that family in their lives - and Hallow's occasional way of begging Zaybi to include him/give him permission to join in certain missions indicates this as well). Makes me wonder what happened to their parents in the first place.

Chapter 2: Hallow thinks of his brother and how amazing he is. Chapter 3: Hallow begs that he could come with Zaybi and Keila and her team. Chapter 6: Hallow again asks to be let on the team who redirects the Titans towards Neo-Humans.

Chapter 3: Zaybi threatens to spank his little brother for acting reckless.

Chapter 4: Hallow seeking help from his older brother.

Poor Hallow really got everyone arguing about his plan, and needs Zaybi to help him. Which he does, albeit in his own way. (To prove a point to everyone.)

Chapter 4: Keila's thoughts. This seems to put the brothers in important role of the story.

Chapter 5: Hallow coming to Zaybi's aid.

You can tell how protective Hallow is also about his older brother.

Chapter 5: Zaybi refuses to put more responsibility on Hallow's shoulders.

Chapter 16: Zaybi seems to have hard time making a decision, and thinks about what Hallow would do.

I find this part kind of sad. There is something that tells how the brothers need each others' support. Zaybi doesn't seem to be able to act without some kind of plan, and Hallow acts without a plan. Although, in this case it was good Hallow wasn't there since its more of a risk with the parasites..

Chapter 16: Even while thinking he will die, Zaybi wants Hallow to survive and live.

Masayoshi & Mika

The latest chapter (16) revealed another sibling pair, Mika and Masayoshi. Mika seems to have this similar spirit that Zenko has in OPM, but their older brothers seem to be very different haha.

Other possible siblings or other family members

Honestly, Samone and Pakkya look so similar to each other. I wonder are they actually some kind of relatives..

Chapter 14: Samone wanting to wait for Pakkya, but he wants her to leave him behind so she can leave the dangerous place.

Monthly Shonen Sirius #229: Pakkya and Samone's official colors. Both even have a red hair with green (Pakkya) and yellow (Samone). Their eye colors seem to match also. And they both have sharp teeth. Although, their skin color isn't exactly same, but they could be blood relatives. Who knows. At least they aren't introduced as siblings or anything like that. So, maybe it is that all their people share these similarities?

And there is also Thear and that unnamed woman he has with him, who both also share same hair colors and their uniforms also sharing same colors makes them look more like siblings than anything. Their hair in general looks really special and I would like to think they are somehow related by blood, unless all their people share blue hair genes in their world. Their skin color seems to also match.

Simone had given up her room at the main castle, instead moving into Sam's little cabin where she'd slowly taken over. Her clothes hung in the closet, a brightly colored contrast to his earthy-toned plaids and denims, and her jewelry and tiny bottles of nail polish had taken up residence on the dresser. In the shower, her shampoo and body wash lined the wire racks, nestled next to the more masculine soap that Sam prefered.  

After so long in prison though, Sam was used to sharing his space and while the box of tampons in the medicine cabinet had given him momentary pause, it was easy to fall back into the habit of cohabitating. He just couldn't bring himself to mind this invasion of personal space any more than he minded the way she wrapped herself around him when they climbed into bed for the night.  

In short, it all felt right.  

"Hey Simone?" Sam started as he stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel.

"Ja?" she answered, her voice carrying through the small cottage and through the open bathroom doorway.

"So after we find Avery's treasure," Sam continued, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping up to the sink to wipe away the condensation that had fogged the mirror. "Where do you want to go?"

There was a beat of silence, then, "Like, where in th'world?"

"Yeah," Sam prompted. There was a can of shaving cream on the edge of the sink and he squeezed a dollop into the palm of his hand, smoothing the lather across his throat. "We'll be rich, so we can go anywhere you want."

Simone chuckled, "Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

"Hm . . ."  

Razor in hand, Sam took a step back from the sink, craning his neck until he could see her through the open doorway, perched on the couch with Vriend curled up next to her. She had one bare foot propped on the coffee table as she painted her toenails lime green, her lower lip snagged between her teeth as she considered his question.  

"Iceland."

Sam blinked. "Iceland? Really?" He'd expected some place tropical and warm, bright and breathtaking--

"I want to see the Northern Lights," she explained further and it all made sense. Of course she did.  

"Okay," he readily agreed, turning his attention back to the mirror. He'd never been to Iceland and there was no doubt that the Aurora Borealis was something to see before you died. He ran the razor along his throat, stopping just shy of the short beard he'd decided to grow for the winter. He could probably keep it a while longer if they went to Iceland . . .

"Where d'you wanna go?" Simone asked, stepping into the doorway and leaning one shoulder against the jamb.  

"New Orleans," Sam answered without hesitation, his eyes going to Simone's reflection in the mirror. Fuck, she looked beautiful. Her pants were snug leather - slick and begging him to touch - and the shirt she wore was shimmery gold, plunging in the front and distinctly lacking in a back, held in place by delicate chains.  

"To see your brother."  

He pulled his eyes from the taut expanse of tanned belly and he found her watching him with a knowing look on her face. He nodded. "Yeah, to see my brother."

She nodded in return, pushing away from the wooden frame and stepping into the bathroom on freshly decorated feet. "We can do that." She came up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist and her body warm against his back, then pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. "I'd like t'meet him."

"You will," Sam assured her, automatically. He rinsed the razor under the water, absently running a hand over his throat in a distracted search for any missed prickles, but his mind was occupied by thoughts of Nate and Simone meeting. Nate would like her, Sam knew. His brother would appreciate her lust for adventure and her sense of humor and they'd likely band together to tease Sam mercilessly . . .

And maybe it would happen sooner rather than later. Could he convince Simone to abandon Nadine and Rafe and, instead, take their clues to Nathan? It was a question that Sam still couldn't answer and was, frankly, afraid to ask. It wasn't like they actually had any clues, either.

"What're you--?" Sam laughed, pulled back to the here and now by Simone ducking under his arm and pushing her way between himself and the sink. She peered up at him with the sort of smile that made his knees weak and his dick throb, her hands working free the towel at his waist.

"What am I what?" she asked, letting the towel fall to the floor and reaching to wrap a hand around him. "Oh, is this a problem?"  She grinned, "D'you want me to stop?"

Sam's chuckle was just a bit breathless and he shook his head, reaching out without looking to push the door closed. "Not a chance in hell."  

With insurances that they wouldn't be interrupted by a curious puppy in place, Sam's attention went completely back to the woman in front of him, his still-damp hands eagerly popping open the button on her pants. It was erotic, the feel of the leather beneath his palms, the way the material almost seemed to sigh as the button released . . .

He helped boost her onto the sink, taking half a step back to free her legs and toss the undoubtedly expensive pants aside, then he was pressing between her thighs again and peppering her neck and chest with hungry kisses.  

It had taken a trip to the clinic in Edinburgh and a full STD screening for Simone to agree to tossing aside the condoms but, in Sam's opinion, the ordeal had been entirely worth it. Neither of them were harboring any diseases in their loins and Simone's birth control took care of the pregnancy factor, which meant that impromptu moments like this didn't have to be interrupted and both of them could enjoy sex without the latex barrier.

"We'll be late," Simone helpfully pointed out, but made no move to stop him as Sam slipped inside of her with only the slightest resistance, prompting the most delicious gasp from her lips as his length filled her.

God, she was always so wet. "Don't care," Sam answered, hands grasping her ass firmly and pulling her closer to the edge of the sink.  

"Neither do I," she admitted with a laugh and a welcoming roll of her hips.  

Being the one with the better leverage, Sam took most of her weight as Simone braced herself on the sink, clumsily knocking the shaving cream and the razor to the floor with a clatter as she wrapped her legs around his hips. The scent of her hair and her sex filled his nose, an intoxicating mix that spoke to the simpler parts of his brain - those parts that fed the need to cover her in his scent, to fill her with his cum, before going to ring in the New Year with her Shoreline co-workers. Simone was his, those primal instincts screamed, and he wasn't above reminding every single one of them of that fact. And that included Rafe, whose jealousy was a very real and very ugly thing that Sam had no issues with antagonizing.  

Simone's arms were trembling as she held herself steady on the sink and with every thrust of his hips, her breasts bounced under the silky thin material of her shirt. She was driving him wild just by being herself, filling his ears with moaning encouragement, and when he slipped a hand between them to rub his thumb over her clit, her gasps neared a fever pitch and she came with a bucking of hips.  

"God, you're so fuckin' sexy," he ground out, pulling her closer with arms wrapped around her waist. Simone's hands grasped at his shoulders, sliding up the back of his neck and drawing his face down to breathe in her scent there behind her ear . . .

The world fell away and in that moment, pressed against Simone, with the aftershocks of his orgasm trembling his muscles, Sam felt a moment of absolute clarity. This was what was important. This woman leaving trails of soft kisses along his neck and shoulder, her heart thumping against his chest, beating in time with his own, and Sam found his mouth opening and words passing his lips: "Will you marry me?"

Was it surprise that had Simone going very still in his arms, her breath catching softly in his ear, or was it happiness? Sam pulled back, his hands coming up to cup her face as he studied the angle of her eyebrows, the way her painted lip trembled . . .  

It wasn't the expression he'd expected and Sam found his own eyebrows drawing down in confusion and dismay and maybe bit of regret that he wasn't quite ready to indulge. "Simone?"

She was nodding though, small motions that caused her curls to bounce around her shoulders, brushing against his fingers. "I want to," she said. "Oh god, Sam, I do.  I just . . ." Her eyes drifted away from his face, searching around the bathroom for the words to express herself. "We will."

Her words weren't reassuring and Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat, his stomach a nervous pit of nausea and roiling bile. "So let's do it then," he suggested, forging intrepidly ahead. "Why wait?  Simone, we can fly anywhere, tonight, and be married by tomorrow. We can start the new year as Mister and Missus Drake - for real."

She shook her head, emotion fading from her features. She no longer looked panicked, as if she might run or burst into tears, but the all-business set of her jaw didn't do much to smooth Sam's own frayed edges. "No, Sam," she said gently. "That's not what I want, baby. I want a . . . a big wedding. I want our friends there; Nadine and . . . and Nathan . . ." She ran her fingertips gently over his beard as she met his eyes, "I want a white dress and, I dunno, bridesmaids or whatever . . ."

Sam blinked, surprised by her words. "Really?" Simone was spontaneous, adventurous, the type to chase her whims and let the chips fall where they may; she wasn't the Big White Wedding type - the planning type. "Okay," he reluctantly agreed, nodding slowly. "If that's what you want."

"It is," Simone assured him, her face breaking into a smile. "And, jus' so we're clear, the answer is yes, Sam. I will marry you."

***

It had always been a struggle for Simone to exercise self control, being far too impulsive, as her father had always been quick to criticize. She'd gotten better with it as she's grown older; sniping was a lesson in patience and had taught her to wait until the time was right before pulling the trigger, but in her everyday life, Simone often wrestled with that notion.  

Truth was, she didn't want a white wedding or flowers or even a big dress. Truth was, she would marry Sam in an instant and she didn't care if it happened on a beach or at a petrol station, whether it was just the two of them or whether they were surrounded by friends and family. As long as they were together, their hearts and souls bared to each other, it would have been good enough for Simone. But there was no way they could marry now; maybe someday but certainly not tomorrow.  

So she'd lied - again - because she could hardly tell the man she wanted a future with that she had already said I do or that he'd have to wait for her current husband to die before they could legally marry. She'd locked onto that self control with deadly efficiency, gone through the motions of getting dressed, finishing her make-up, walking up to the main castle with her fiance´, getting them drinks, making small talk with the other contractors . . . and through it all she'd smiled and laughed and pretended, for all the world to see, that her lies weren't completely eating her up inside.  

She couldn't keep it up forever though and her tension was growing with every passing minute that crept them closer to midnight and the New Year it heralded.  She felt as if she were crawling out of her skin, annoyed by the small crowd of contractors who'd stayed in Scotland for the holiday season, nervous about the amount of alcohol flowing and her own tension was only amplified by Sam's. He didn't like these sort of crowds, she'd learned, especially made up as it was by Shoreline contractors. It's too easy for it to get out of control, he'd explained when she'd asked. To turn into a riot. She'd argued that twenty drunk Shoreliners were hardly enough to constitute a riot, but he hadn't budged, only explained further that twenty men could cause a lot of damage.

She'd thought it was silly, maybe a bit paranoid, but she hadn't pressed the issue. This time though, this time, she understood. There was something in the air, as if the entire night were holding its breath . . .

"Are you okay?"

Simone's eyes darted to Sam, "What? Ja, I'm fine."

His eyebrows lowered, "Are you sure?  D'you want to leave?"

Oh god, did she ever! "I really would love to.  I 'ave a headache," she lied, leaping at the chance to make their escape. "Let me just find Nadine and let'er know?"

"Yeah, okay," Sam agreed, obviously relieved that she was game for cutting out early. "I'll get the coats."

It only took a minute of searching to find Nadine in the library, her face set in a mask of dubious amusement as Sergei drunkenly regaled her with a tale of one of his often embellished stories, and only another moment for Nadine to take one look at her and determine that something was wrong.  

"What is it?" Nadine asked without preamble.

Simone's lips pressed together, but her sister's steady gaze had her resolve wavering. "Can I talk t'ya?"

Nadine was nodding, reaching out to wrap an arm around Simone's shoulders and usher her toward the nearest doorway.

***

When his evening had started, Rafe had been in a decent mood. Tired from his flight in from New York, maybe, but he'd been ready to laugh and celebrate, to start the New Year off on the right foot because this was the year he'd find Avery's treasure. They were close, he could feel it in his bones, and it was only a matter of time before one of these clues panned out.  

That good mood had been steadily declining with every sip of scotch he'd downed, annoyed by every moment he had to spend watching Sam and Simone in each others company. It wasn't something he was normally witness to, these acts of affection, being that he rarely spent time with the two of them together. In fact, he and Simone had barely exchanged more than a handful of words since the last time he'd cornered her in the hallway.  

Still, it was easy enough to recognize her voice as Rafe hesitated just outside the Smoking Room door, his ears picking up bits of whispered conversation:

"When?"

"Tonight.  While we were gettin' ready to come up 'ere.  He just . . . asked."

Nadine's sigh drifted through the open doorway, "Simone, you 'ave to tell him."

"Nadine, I can't.  He'll be so mad . . ."

"You 'ave to.  If you want to 'ave a chance at marryin' him, then you 'ave to tell him everything."

Rafe's lips parted and despite the buzz of intoxication he quickly put the pieces together, realizing that Sam didn't know about Simone's husband. At first the notion seemed preposterous - didn't everyone know that Simone was married? - but then when did Sam ever willingly communicate with the Shoreline contractors? He always seemed to avoid them as often as he could and every conversation Rafe had been witness to had been painfully impersonal. Could he really blame any of those guys for not wanting to be the one to spill the beans to their boss's sister's lover?

On the heels of that surprise came indignant anger thumping hot through his veins, but he wasn't sure if that anger was directed at Simone, for lying to Sam for so long, or at Sam for wanting to marry her at all. Rafe's lips twisted into a bitter snarl. Why did he even care? Sam had made it clear that he wasn't interested . . .

Rafe had never dealt well with rejection though and that embarrassment had his resolve hardening and his vision narrowing as he drained the last of his Scotch, set the glass on the edge of the billiard table, and set off to find Sam.

***

With jackets in hand, Sam wound his way through the small crowd, skirting around a table where two contractors had set up an impromptu game of Quarters and keeping an eye open for Simone's familiar shape. Instead, he found Rafe.

Sam would've had to be an idiot to miss the way Rafe's mood had grown steadily more sour, the frown lines between his eyebrows deepening with every passing hour, and Sam's plans to avoid the other man for the rest of the evening were quickly waylaid. Rafe was headed straight for him, with his face set in a determined glower and his eyes ringed in the faintest blush of red, and Sam found tension knotting his shoulders with every step that brought them closer. Something was wrong.

"Did everyone hear the good news?" Rafe asked, his voice rising over the buzz of voices and easily drawing the attention of those near them.

Sam drew to a stop, his stomach twisting in apprehension as Rafe's eyes locked on him. There were a million announcements that a rich man could make to a crowd on New Year's Eve but Sam knew that whatever came out of Rafe's mouth next wouldn't have anything to do with a merger or an acquisition or whatever-the-fuck else.

And Sam was right.

"Tonight, my dear friend, Samuel Drake, asked Simone Ross to marry him."

The words were mostly met with silence - with the exception of a rude and incredulous chuckle from someone - and though Sam's eyes may not have left Rafe, he could feel the contractors' gazes settle on him. The sudden attention had Sam's teeth clenching, his hands tightening around the jackets he held and he opened his mouth to tell Rafe, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off--

But Rafe shook his head and let out a chuckle, holding up one hand, "Oh wait, wait. Did I say Simone Ross? Of course, I meant Simone Mthembu. It's been a long time since she was a Ross." He glanced around, as if suddenly confused, "Or, was she ever a Ross? Where's Nadine? She'd know."

Confusion had Sam's brows lowering, his face burning, and he chanced a glance around him. Everyone was watching him, their expressions ranging anywhere from sympathetic to amused, but Sam hadn't the slightest clue what Rafe was talking about and there was no hiding it. "Rafe . . ." he started, warning clear in his voice.

"Whatsa matter, Samuel? She never told you about her husband?"

Sam's heart was suddenly hammering, beating a frantic tattoo against his ribs as they constricted and for a painful second, he swore his entire chest was caving in. He couldn't breathe, his face burning with embarrassment as his brain persistently refused to make sense of what was happening around him. He was still dimly aware of the eyes on him, the murmur of voices surrounding him - … 'he didn't know' ... 'she never told him…' - but all he could see were Rafe's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes lit with dark amusement as he continued: "She never told you that she married a rich old prick for his money? That she's just one of three wives? Her husband is soaked in so much blood that he makes the rest of us look squeaky clean . . ."

It wasn't true. It had to be a lie. It was just Rafe - petty and jealous Rafe - trying to hurt him because in his tiny, twisted, brain he thought that Sam should have chosen him instead . . .

"Did she tell you that I asked her to keep an eye on you? That she only fucked you because I asked her to?"

"Rafe, shut up!"

Simone's voice cut through the sound of blood rushing in Sam's ears and his eyes snapped to her familiar figure as she pushed her way through the small crowd. Her face was flushed with anger, her balled fists trembling, but it was the shine of tears in her eyes that had Sam taking a step back in desperate retreat.

It was a small movement but Simone reacted to it as if it were a physical blow, her shoulders falling and her mouth opening. "Sam, I--"

And there was a part of him that wanted to comfort her, to reach for her and draw her into his arms so he could smooth the sorrow from her brow and kiss the frown from her lips, but those tears and the regret that etched her features told him all he needed to know. Rafe wasn't lying.

"He needed to know the truth, Simone!" Rafe insisted.

"Shut the fuck up, Rafe!" Sam heard Nadine snap, but he was already turning and walking away.

Sam still held both his jacket and Simone's, forgotten in his hands, but he'd heard enough and the sudden need to get away from the stifling press of bodies, the feel of eyes on him, had him moving with single-minded determination. He needed air. He needed a cigarette. He needed to get as far away from his fiance' as possible because fuck Simone. Fuck her lies and her bullshit stories, fuck her smile and her freckles, and the way she made him feel complete . . .

The frigid Scotland air stole whatever breath remained in Sam's lungs as he pushed his way through the door and into the night. There was snow beneath his booted feet but above him the sky was clear and sparkling with stars and Sam slowed, chin tipping up as his eyes automatically sought out the constellations. Cassiopeia, the beautiful and vain Queen of Ethiopia, forever chained to her throne in punishment for angering Poseidon . . .

"Sam?"

With his head tipped back, Sam allowed his eyes to drift closed - perhaps so he wouldn't be tempted to look at the woman behind him or maybe so the tears would stay where they were meant to be. "It's all true." It wasn't a question, the words spoken with a calm sort of resolution.

"Yes," Simone answered, her voice so soft that he nearly turned to look at her.

"Were you gonna tell me?"

"I meant to," she admitted. "I tried so many times but" - her voice broke on a shivery sob - "but I was so scared t'lose you that every time I tried the words wouldn't come . . ."

Sam's eyes blinked open and he turned to find her standing with her arms crossed, her bare skin prickled with goosebumps and her breath fogging in the cold. There were mascara tinted tears on her cheeks, her eyes shining with moisture yet to be shed, and she looked so lost and alone that he found himself stepping closer and holding out her jacket so he wouldn't pull her into his arms instead. So he wouldn't forgive her.

Simone reached for it, wrapping it around her shoulders as she swore, "I'll tell you everything, Sam. Every little bit - I promise."

Simone texted the way she spoke, random little bursts of nonsense or stream of consciousness that often had Sam grinning down at his phone.  It annoyed the hell out of Rafe, who took every opportunity to huff and sigh and roll his eyes whenever Sam's attention was diverted to the vibration of his phone.  He ignored it because no matter what Rafe thought, Sam looked forward to every moment he got to share with Simone - even from countries away.

You should steal it, he typed back.

Is that your solution for everything Sam Drake?

He chuckled.  I am a thief

"Are you done?" Rafe asked, deadpan.

Sam glanced up, amusement still sparkling in his eyes, and he wrapped his hand around the phone, screen to palm so he wouldn't be tempted to look at it again.  "Yeah, I'm done," he answered, reaching for pint sitting on the pockmarked table in front of him.

Rafe gave him a long look, his annoyance made all the clearer by the subdued sigh that expanded his chest.  "So what do you think?" he asked, making a vague gesture with his nearly empty glass.

Shit.  What had Rafe been saying?  Something about estates . . . ?  "About what?" Sam asked after a beat of expectant silence.

"Christ Samuel," Rafe snapped, his pint landing back on the table with a dull thud.  "Could you maybe focus a bit?  You've spent half of dinner staring at your goddamn phone."

Sam couldn't stop his eyes from rolling but he did manage to stop himself from looking at his phone as it vibrated in his hand.  "I'm here," he fired right back.  "I'm listening."

"Bullshit!"  The word was punctuated by an open-handed slap to the table, their forks rattling against empty plates and drawing the curious eyes of every patron at Allanach's.

Rafe and Sam were hardly unknown faces at the hole-in-the-wall pub but aside from some polite back and forth with the regulars - or sitting through the occasional long-winded tale from the barkeep - they tended to keep to themselves.  They'd come down every other week or so, have dinner and a few pints, talk quietly at their corner table and then be on their way and while Sam's conversations with Rafe often got a bit heated, this was the first time his partner had exploded under this roof.  Oddly enough, it wasn't something Sam wanted the regulars to have to witness, but he wasn't sure if it was for their sake or Rafe's.

"Rafe," Sam started, warning in his tone.  "I'm listening."

"She's becoming a distraction, Sam," Rafe continued, leaning aggressively over the table and ignoring the attention they were drawing.  "You need to end it and get your head back in the game."

Was he fucking serious?  Sam wasn't going to end things with Simone just because Rafe wanted him to!  His eyebrows drew downward, offense tightening his posture, but he pulled in a steadying breath and rose to his feet.  He lifted the pint to his lips and drained the last of it, then set the glass back down and announced, "I'm leaving."   

"Samuel!"

He didn't stop walking though, weaving his way through the tables and heading straight out the door.  The night was cool but the humidity had mist hovering just above the cracked cement, swirling around Sam's booted feet as he crossed the street and ducked into the nearest alleyway.  

Rafe was a fucking asshole, Sam silently fumed, trading the phone in his hand for his lighter and cigs instead.  His head was just as much in the game as it ever was - even more so now!  Now he had a plan for his cut of the treasure, which mostly involved buying something nice for Simone, like a ring or something.  They could live in her little beach house in Durban and use the money to travel all around the world.  Maybe he could get Nathan and the wifey to go with them sometimes too . . .

But . . . he couldn't deny that Simone complicated things.  He'd always planned on ditching Rafe once he had a solid lead on the treasure, but that meant ditching Nadine, and he had no idea how Simone would feel about that.  Would she leave her sister behind and go with him?  Would she convince Nadine to walk away from this?

He hadn't intended it when he'd left the pub, being more focused on getting out of sight before Rafe paid the bill and followed him, but his feet had brought him back to the beach where he and Simone had ended up the first night they'd met.  He hopped down off the seawall and into the sand, remembering the way the rain had dripped down the freckled curve of her nose, how her fingers had felt brushing along the sensitive skin below his belly button, and the now familiar taste of her as he'd pressed his face between her thighs . . .

She was coming home in less than a week - just in time for their one year 'anniversary' - and Sam couldn't help but wonder when Scotland had become home?  When had Simone become home?  She was though.  She was the warmth that drew him in, like a moth to a flame, and maybe it was time he admitted it?

Sam exhaled a long stream of smoke, his eyes on the waves as he made his decision.  He wasn't sure what his next move was where Rafe and the treasure were concerned, but he was sure that he was going to tell Simone that he loved her, that he wanted to marry her, that after they found Avery's treasure they could settle into a normal life: paying bills and Thanksgivings shared with Nathan and Elena and maybe, someday, kids . . .

It wasn't a future he'd ever imagine for himself, but in prison it had been hard to even imagine standing on a beach and smoking a cigarette.  It had been hard time imagine having someone like Simone in his life and it had sure as hell been hard to imagine being free again because Sam had never expected it would happen.  But here he was.  

And there he stood, until the last evening light faded from the sky and the stars twinkled into existence and he'd run out of cigarettes.  

***

Sam had been counting down the days, the hours, the minutes, until Simone's plane would touch down in Scotland.  He was eager, his stomach fluttering with butterflies as he waited and he figured that this must have been what kids felt like on Christmas morning when they didn't have a completely fucked up home life or were living in an orphanage.  

Those three months alone had felt like forever and the need to touch her skin, smell her hair, had consumed him like a junkie needing a fix.  And when he spotted her wild red curls, her freckled skin, the tiny sundress in every color of the rainbow, there was no stopping his feet from moving forward, every step bringing him closer to his perfect drug.

She met him halfway, dropping her grip on her bags to throw her arms around his neck and literally leap into his arms.  Sam had been ready for it though.  He'd played his moment over and over in his head non-stop, imagining every possible scenario for their reuniting, but always this was the one that felt right.  It was just so very Simone.

He allowed himself to be overwhelmed by her, savoring every kiss and the feel of her body pressed against his.  Her bare thighs wrapped around his hips had him wanting to pin her to the nearest wall, to be so close he was inside her.  

And he wasn't the only one cultivating those thoughts because just then, Simone moaned against his lips, "God Sam.  I want you so bad."

A small noise of longing escaped the back of his throat, but as desperate as he was to be inside her, they'd both have to wait.  "Think you can wait 'til we get back home?" he asked, eyes focused on those full lips that he was longing to kiss again.

Simone's nose wrinkled and those pretty lips twisted into a pout as she whined, "Do we 'ave'ta?"  

Yes, they did.  But first Sam indulged her for another minute, holding her close and kissing her breathless, before pulling back with a laughing, "Hold on.  Wait a second.  I have a surprise for you."

Apparently that was a suitable distraction because a wiggle of hips proved she was ready to be lowered back to her feet and she fixed him with a delighted smile.  "Oh really?" she wheedled, pressing closer and slipping her arms around his middle, "What sorta surprise?"

"It's in the Jeep," Sam said, fingertips brushing a curl back from her face.

Her eyes lit with excitement.  "Well, let's go then!"

With bags in hand, Sam led the way out of the airport and he found he had trouble keeping his eyes off of Simone.  Everything about her was captivating, from the brush of her dress against her upper thighs to the bounce of her breasts under the thin material, to the way the sun highlighted her burnished skin and the sparkle in her eye as she caught him looking.  God, she really was beautiful and as eager as he was to get her into bed, he was just as eager to simply share space with her, and especially to give her the present he'd gotten her.  

"You're lookin awfully pleased with y'self, Sam Drake," she challenged, bumping him playfully with her hip.  

"I have good reason," he said with a smug smile.

Simone's eyebrows lifted, "Ja?  Is that so?"

He looked past her to where the Shoreline Jeep was parked and she turned to follow his gaze.  Sam watched as her brown eyes widened, her mouth falling open only seconds before her hands flew up to cover it and she let out a delighted squeal.  The noise was answered with a high-pitched yip! from the puppy waiting on the driver's seat, buff-colored paws hooked over the half-door and a tail wagging wildly enough to shake his entire body.

"You got me a puppy!"  

Abandoning her bag, Simone skipped toward the Jeep, hands reaching eagerly for floppy ears as she was met with messy kisses.  He'd tied leash was tied to the steering wheel to keeping the pup from escaping the Jeep, and Simone quickly unclipped it so she could scoop the puppy into her arms.  "Oh Sam, he's perfect!" she gushed, whirling to face him as he reached the Jeep a half step behind her.

There was something so pure in that moment, as Simone stood there cradling the wiggling puppy to her chest, and if there had been any doubt in his mind before, it was completely gone now.  He wanted this woman.  He didn't care that she was - arguably - too young for him, or that she was literally a soldier for hire, or that she was the one thing truly keeping him from seeking out his brother.  He wanted her.  He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

"I love you, Simone."

The words passed his lips without consent, coming out with a somber earnestness that he'd have been embarrassed about with anyone else, but Simone's face was softening, her lips parting as she tipped her head and asked, "F'real?"

Sam laughed, his hand coming up to brush fingertips along her cheekbone, "Yeah, for real.  I told ya that you'd be the first to know."

She smiled and leaned into his touch.  "Ja, ya did.  And I love you too, Sam Drake."

***

"Vriend."  

Sam's eyebrows lifted in question, "Hm?"

"That's his name," Simone explained, nodding to the Cocker-Border Collie mix trotting along at their heels.  

Sam wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist.  "Friend?"

Simone chuckled, "No, Vriend."  

"With a V?"

"Mhm.  It's Afrikaans."

"Oh," Sam answered.  Well that made sense.  "So it means 'friend'?"

Simone laughed, "Anyone ever tell ya you're a smart one?"

"Every now and then."

He ran his hand idly along the stones of the St. Dismas cathedral as they walked, his gaze drifting upward to the towers stretching into the sky like broken fingers.  It was familiar by now, every crag and crack, and Sam found that he'd grown fond of the structure; it was as much as a part of home as the little cottage where he and Simone had just spent a solid day getting reacquainted.  

"We should climb it," Simone announced, beckoning Vriend closer so she could clip the leash back to his collar.  

Sam's eyes went to the dog, then to Simone.  "Now?"

"Ja."  She looped the end of the leash over a broken wooden post - likely part of a fence that hadn't survived the centuries - and then turned to him with an expectant look.  "Unless ya scared?"

Sam's eyes narrowed.  "That," he said, "sounds suspiciously like a challenge, Ms. Ross."

She shrugged one bare shoulder as she backed up, critical eyes studying the wall in front of them for a suitable handhold.  "Unless ya not up for it," she cajoled.

"Ha!" Sam's eyes went to the wall as well, immediately spotting a broken stone that he could without a doubt reach.  "Not up for it, my ass!"  Without waiting for her, Sam jumped and caught the handhold, levering himself up to the nearest lancet before glancing back down to find her shimmying up behind him.

"Filthy cheater," she joked as she reached his side.  "C'mon then, let's keep goin'!"  And, without even a hint of fear or hesitation, she jumped for the string-course above.

By the time they reached the top of tower, both were sweating and coated in a film of dust and Simone was sporting a bruised scrape on one bare knee, but their smiles proved just how much they'd enjoyed the physical activity - and the ensuing adrenaline rush when either chanced a look down.  

They settled on the pinnacle, shoulder to shoulder and legs dangling off, and for a moment neither spoke, out of breath from the climb and speechless from the view.  And what a view it was, with the mid-morning sun reflecting off the ocean in shimmers and sparkles, and the sky a brilliant blue.  From their perch, Sam felt as if the horizon stretched on forever and all he'd have to do was squint to get a glimpse of eternity . . .

"You're pretty spry for your age."

Sam turned his head to find Simone staring out over the waves, her lips pursed in a teasing smile.  "I'll have you know," he said, feigning offense, "that this is not the first tower I've climbed."

She looked at him, pleased that her ribbing at gotten a reaction, "Oh no?"

"See, climbing sort of . . . runs in the family," he explained, shifting his weight so he could pull out his pack of cigarettes and shake one to freedom.  "Nathan could climb anything."  He popped open the lighter and touched the flame to the cig, eyes cutting toward Simone again as he inhaled.  "Ever since he was a little kid.  Bookcases, the kitchen cabinets, the towers of cardboard boxes that our shit was always packed in," he shrugged.  "Anything he could climb, he would."

Simone was watching him carefully, like she always sort of did when he brought up his brother, and her question was a gentle prompt, as if afraid she'd spook him and he'd shut down.  "And you 'ad to keep up with him?"

Sam smiled, chest puffing out a bit as he boasted, "I was the only one who could!  I taught him everything he knows."  Mostly, anyway.  Until Sully came along and smooth-talked his way into their lives.

"Sounds like you were close," Simone commented, absently wiping a bead of blood from her knee.  

"We were all we had."  Again, until fucking Sully showed up.  He glanced at Simone again and asked, "What about you and Nadine?"

"What about us?"  

There was no hostility in the question, though; nothing that gave Sam the impression that she didn't want to talk about it, so he pressed on.  "I know she's a lot older than you and things were sort of weird when you moved in with her and your father . . ."

Simone was quiet for a minute, as if deciding how much she wanted to share, and Sam was beginning to think that he'd read her cues wrong but then she broke the silence.  "Things're . . . complicated with Nadine," she started.  "We love each other, course, but I think she blames me for what 'appened to our dad and why Shoreline is in the mess it is now."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion.  "I don't understand," he admitted, feeling like he was only getting half of the story.  

She sighed, eyes drifting out to the horizon again as the wind picked up, sending her curls in every direction.  "I've made a lotta mistakes, Sam.  Made lots of bad choices . . ."

"You're not the only one," he said with a wry smile.  "But what do you mean about Shoreline?  And how does it have anything to do with you?  You're just a contractor, right?"

She nodded, "Yeah, but it was 'cause of me that we lost one of our biggest contracts."  Her hand drifted her her ribs, pressing just under her breast, "Dad beat me bloody for it."

Realization came quickly and with it, searing hot anger.  "The scar on your ribs?" Sam asked, the words coming out harsh, almost demanding.  "That's from your father?"

"His belt buckle."

Her voice was soft and her freckled cheeks red with . . . what?  Embarrassment?  Shame?  He wasn't exactly sure and it was hard to hazard a guess when she wouldn't even look at him.  "What happened?" he asked, but she was shaking her head.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."  

He wanted to talk about it though and he wasn't even sure why; it wasn't like he could do anything about it.  It was in the past.  Hell, her father was dead.  He had a pressing need to understand though, because all of these puzzle pieces Simone was sprinkling around them were building up to a picture of who she was and, despite their love for each other, that picture was still frustratingly unfinished.  So he made one last plea before giving up and allowing a topic change, just a simple, "Are you sure?"

"I know it may not seem like it, but what 'e did was actually a good thing."  

Bullshit.  Was she trying to convince herself?  

"He was helpin' me, in his own way."

Sam was shaking his head though, refusing to believe that there was ever any sort of justification for beating the hell out of your child with a fucking belt.  He knew because he'd been on the receiving end of that same sort of treatment before being dumped in an orphanage.

Simone ignored his silent protest, instead continuing with a vague explanation.  "I was eighteen and I had gotten into trouble - remember those mistakes, I mentioned? - and after that, I wasn't in trouble anymore."

It didn't make a lick of sense and Sam opened his mouth to tell her as much, but she was turning critical eyes on him, "How 'bout this?  You tell me why you went to prison and I'll tell you what 'appened with my father and Shoreline?"

Sam blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in focus from her past to his.  Did he want to know that badly?  Yes, but telling her what Rafe did could open a can of worms he wasn't ready to deal with.  Not yet.  "I was innocent," he said after a moment, and he could tell by the surprise on Simone's face that she hadn't expected him to say anything.  Or maybe she didn't believe that he was actually innocent.  "Someone else did something really bad and I did their time."

A line appeared between Simone's brows, "But how?  Were you protecting them?  Was it your brother?"

Sam shook his head, "No.  Well, sorta.  Nathan was there; he was a part of it but he wasn't the one who committed the crime.  I wouldn't've taken the fall for this person, except that I didn't have a choice."  Now it was his turn to touch his abdomen, where three dimpled scars resided.

"Because you got shot," Simone finished.  

Sam nodded.  "I got shot and they had to leave me behind, so I got saddled with the prison sentence."

"That's awful," she said, and there was no faking the sympathy on her face or in her voice.  "I'm sorry, Sam."  

He shrugged, "It is what it is."  Then he bumped her lightly with an elbow, "Your turn."

She was quiet for a minute, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she clearly considered her words, but when she spoke it wasn't a confession, but rather a plea: "Please, Sam?  Please just let it go?"

Forgotten in his hand, his cigarette had burned down to the filter and Sam flicked it into the air, sending it spinning toward the ground a hundred feet below them.  There was an unmistakable annoyance to the action; hadn't they had a deal?  And he was ready to argue that point with her but there was a vulnerability to her posture that had that resistance fading.  

"Alright," he acquiesced, lifting both hands into the air in surrender.  "Alright, I'll let it go."  Could he though?  His lips pressed into a firm line, "Just--"

Simone sighed, "Sam . . ."

"Just, if you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen, okay?"  He reached for her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and coaxing her closer, "I won't judge or anything.  I'll just listen."

"What if I never want to talk about it?" she asked, settling in under his arm.  "What if I just want to forget it ever happened?"

It would bother him, Sam knew, not ever having the full picture, but he could respect it.  It wasn't like he'd told her the full reason of why he'd gone to prison and there wasn't a chance in hell he'd ever share the details of his time in Panama with her.  Those details were his burden to bear, his demons to wrestle with, and maybe Simone felt the same about her father.  Whatever her reasons, if Sam wanted Simone then he'd have to live with her silence.  

"Then we won't ever talk about it," he assured her, pressing a kiss to those copper curls.  

"Thank you."  Simone tipped her head back so she could see his face, "How'd I get lucky enough to find you?"

Sam smiled, the hand draped over her shoulder sneaking its way into her tanktop.  "Karma," he decided with a decisive nod.  "And my raw masculine magnetism."

"Ha!" Simone laughed, pulling his hand down further to cup her breast.  "More like I took pity on ya."

"Pity?" Sam repeated, affronted.  

"Ja, pity."  She nodded, "I took one look atchya and I could tell you 'adn't been laid in ages!"