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fic-xation · 4 years

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Motel Walls Are Made To Be Soundproof - a GEAH fanfic

Welp. I've officially fallen down the rabbit hole of Netflix's Green Eggs and Ham series. C'est la vie. Because we were ROBBED of this classic shipping scenario towards the beginning of episode ten, I took it upon myself to correct that fatal blunder. Hope you enjoy~! ❤️️❤️️

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"Uh-oh! Sorry, but I've only got one room left. You'll have to share."

"Perfect! Slumber party!"

If Guy's extensive, miserable life has taught him anything, it's that the universe loves throwing him a curve ball whenever possible. And the clerk, (why did he look so familiar?) seemed only too pleased to oblige.

The motel room was nothing short of standard. Beige, unassuming walls, mass-produced inoffensive factory artwork, a television, and twin, bland lamps framing a -

"... Single bed," grumbled Guy, letting his briefcase topple to the hardwood floor. "Figures."

His travel companion, however, approached the subject with his usual flair of obnoxious optimism.

"Hey! Single bed, double the snuzzles, amiright?" Gleefully, Sam elbowed at Guy's belly, before turning his attention to the warbling attaché. "What say we let you stretch your feathers, huh, buddy?"

"Sam, wait-!"

Too late.

Before Guy could get another word in edgewise, Sam flicked at the double latches, and with a caw of delight, Jenkins exploded into the room like a firecracker, crowing and bouncing with all limbs a-gaggle.

“Gyah-!” Guy yelped, stumbling onto his backside. Lucky for him, there was little in the room that could warrant an outrageous destruction fee…

… The noise on the other hand…

“Yeaa-aaah, Mistah J!” Sam whooped, bounding atop the lone bed like the sugar-addled child he was. “Talk about a party animal!”

Guy, however, was far from impressed.

"WILL you two keep it DOWN?!" he hissed, making a mad swipe for the Chikaraffe’s leg. With a playful squawk, however, the bird merely hoisted the elder Knox into the air, before catching him roughly by the scruff of his collar.

"What's got your wockets in a bunch?" Sam sneered, already making himself comfortable against the freshly laundered pillows. Guy, meanwhile, could only dangle helplessly from the smiling beak as he glared towards the wannabe bon vivant.

Thrashing his arms, he managed to free himself before collapsing to the mattress like a sack of cement.

"I don't know if you've noticed, or you're just too crazy to care-" Guy snarled, rising to his knees. "But we are up to our eyebrows in witnesses! Do the words noise complaint mean anything to you?! Or, better yet, search warrant?”

Valid concerns to be sure, but naturally, Sam shot him down with no more than a shrug.

"Chill-AX, my S.O.O.M.D.B... Stressed-Out-Over-Minor-Details-Buddy!” Reaching into the bedside drawer, he began to poke about curiously, evidently looking for something. “Motel walls are made to be soundproof! I mean, heaven forbid ya let the whole building know you n’ your partner are havin’ sweet, wonderful-”

“SAM!” Flushed and flabbergasted, Guy clapped his hands to Jenkins’ ears. (Or, at least, where he assumed ears would be.)

Innocently, Sam tilted his head to one side. “… What? I’m just sayin’, no one wants to have cereal with everyone listening in. Call me old fashioned, but I think slurping and crunching should be done behind closed doors only… Ooh! Speaking of which-”

Unsurprisingly, Sam was quick to find the room service menu. Wasting no time, he began to rifle through the cardboard pages, feigning a look of pseudo-concentration.

“… Let’s see…” he murmured, scratching his chin.

Guy, dumbstruck, could do nothing more than release Jenkins’ head with an aggravated grumph of embarrassment, clumsily shifting his hands into the pockets of his fur.

Why did he get the feeling Sam's… suggestive phrasing was all too deliberate?

"… Look-" he said at last, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just do me a favor, and keep the nonsense to a minimum tonight, okay?"

"Roger-dodger, Captain Cantankerous!" Sam proclaimed, posing his hand in a jolly salute. "Me n' Mr. J'll be the very models of good behavior! ... Won't we, boy? Huh?"

Jenkins, with an excitable gobble, swiftly rolled onto his back.

"Ooooh-” Sam cooed. “Looks like someone is croakin’ for a strokin’!”

With reckless abandon, he launched himself towards the bird, eagerly combing his hands along the soft, feathery belly. “We're gonna be good, wholesome tenants for this good, wholesome establishment. Aren't we? Aren't we, ya silly-willy-nilly-boy...!"

Even Guy couldn’t help but smile slightly, quietly succumbing to a gentle pet along the downy fuzz of the Chikaraffe’s neck.

The power of Sam’s smugness, though, was certainly enough to ruin the moment. With a jerk of his hand, Guy hastily withdrew, and crossed over to the phone atop the T.V mantle.

“Ah, gettin’ the midnight munchies, are we?” Sam smirked, flopping onto his stomach.

“… Sam, it’s seven-thirty.”

“You say tomato, I say ketchup.” He shrugged, propping himself against his elbows. “Oh, but ya know what tastes great in a motel room paid for by identity theft? Couple a’-!”

"If you say the words, 'eggs,' or 'ham,' or 'green,' in any particular order, I'm dumping you off at the diner where I found you." Guy warned, his brows derisively furrowed.

"... Questioned rescinded!" Sam chirped, though something in his expression seemed to have faltered a bit.

... Or, maybe it was just Guy's imagination.

"In any case-" Guy's furry finger trailed the length of the rotary dial. "I'm not callin' room service. I'm just gonna ask the front desk to send up a cot."

Sam chuckled, impishly turning to his back as he kicked at the air. "A cot? … Honestly, Guy, you spoil this bird silly! But there's really no need, I mean, this goofball should be fine with just a sheet or two-"

"It's not for Jenkins." Guy said stoutly. "It's for me."

… Sam’s feet ceased their flexing. Pouncing back to his knees, he stared at Guy with eyes like saucers.

"... For you?" He repeated dumbly. "Ya mean you're not-"

"No." Guy huffed. "I'm not." Shifting his shoulders, he fidgeted slightly with the coil of the phone. "... It... It’s just for comfort's sake. I-I'd feel better if we weren't... If I-" He cut himself off, practically tangling the cord between his awkward joints.

Sam observed his friend for a moment or two, before smiling easily with a flash of his hand. "Say no more, Pally O'Malley. You need your sleep-space, and I respect that. So!” He leapt to his feet. “What d'ya say we pull the ol' switcheroonie, and trade spots, huh? Let ME take the cot, and you can help yourself to the king-size!"

He then made an exaggerated gesture across the bedspread, like a gameshow host parading a new car. Needless to say, Guy was a little more than surprised.

"... Are... are you sure?"

"Of course! A lil' guy like me doesn't need this much room, anyway. Besides-” Slowly, Sam tucked his hands behind his back, sheepishly shuffling at his feet. “… After all the confuzzlement I've put ya through, this only seems fair."

… Sam was certainly a lot of things, (the words 'dope,' and 'nimrod' generally came to mind,) but every once in a while, he showed a certain level of autonomy Guy didn't think was possible. Briefly lost for words, Guy stared, slightly slack-jawed, before inevitably coming to his senses with a shake of his head.

"... Er... Thank you." He mumbled quietly.

After everything that Guy’d gone through within the last two days, (ranging from breakneck bean-recovery, to adversarial avalanches,) he would’ve happily sacrificed his own appendix for a good night’s rest.

Unfortunately, (but not unsurprisingly,) he had no such luck.

At first, it’d been Jenkins vying for his attention, whining softly as he prodded his beak to Guy’s shoulder.

“… Mr. Jenkins… No… It’s sleep-time…” Guy murmured drowsily, his face half-hidden behind the mound of pillow. If Guy had to guess, he’d wager the big fella was just restless, or hungry… But there was something to his chirping that felt more… desperate. Like he was actively pleading for Guy’s attention. Against his better judgement, Guy finally arose with a groggy grouse, rubbing his palm to the grittiness of his sleep-starved eyes.

“Alright, buddy, wassa matter?” he mumbled with a yawn. Looking over to the creature, Guy expected him to be pecking at the windows, or, (heaven forbid,) scratching at the door… But, to his surprise, Jenkins’ attention was not pointed at the room…

But to Sam.

Sam, who was curled like a boiled shrimp against the suspended canvas of the lightweight cot, quivering pitifully…

… Oh, Dillikins, is he sick?!

Frantically, Guy flicked at the adjoining lamp, scrambling to Sam’s side.

“Sam! Sam, what-”

“… M’sorry…”

Sam’s voice came in feebly; so feebly, in fact, that Guy wasn’t even sure he’d really heard it. Brow furrowed, he gingerly knelt to the floor.

Sam was… sorry?

… Sorry for what?

It was then that Guy realized – Sam wasn’t sick, he was dreaming… Then again, judging by the violent twitches, maybe nightmare would be the better word…

"Sam... Sam, c'mon, wake up-" Guy whispered, hopelessly jostling at his partner’s shoulders… but to no avail.

"... M'sorry..." Sam mumbled again. Guy couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about his voice was... unnerving. It lacked his devil-may-care smoothness and bravado... It sounded weaker, smaller... younger, even. “I… I promise I'll be good... I won't be a burden, Mom, please-"

Without warning, Sam’s rubbery arms twisted themselves around Guy’s unsuspecting midsection like a snake. He reeled, flustered and shocked, but there was no prying the little man from the surprise embrace. He seemed glued to Guy’s stomach, murmuring pathetically all the while,

“Don’t leave… Don’t leave, I’ll be good… I swear I’ll be good…”

It was not the monstrous storm of a boisterous sob, but instead, something quieter... and, all together sadder. It rattled in Sam's ribcage, shaking him from the inside-out. Against his friend, he shivered like a pup, huffing and panting and gulping for air, as his tears dampened the weathered, oak-colored coat.

Guy was all too familiar with the type of nightmare Sam was having, even if the specific context was lost on him. More than once, he’d woken up to an exhausted morning after a fit of grief-filled sleep; his face so ludicrously wet with tears, one would think it'd been raining indoors.

"SAM!" Guy hissed, rustling at his partner’s arms like a maraca. Still murmuring his ghostly pleas, Sam head merely bobbed lifelessly.

“What is he, comatose?!" Guy seethed, shooting Jenkins a thunderstruck look. "I can't get him up!"

Mr. Jenkins whimpered helplessly, glancing between his two adopted papas dads like a frightened toddler. Just then, his face lit up, and, (in what Sam would no doubt classify as a lightbulb moment,) he snapped his powerful jaws at the little man's leg.

… Sam was certainly awake then. His eyes popped open like two jack-in-the-boxes, and with an exaggerated breath, Guy knew a scream was bound to follow. Reeling, he hastily clapped his hands to his partner's open mouth, but not even that was enough to stifle the shriek of pain.

"Shh- be quiet, just be quiet!" he urged, not troubling to temper his own volume as he wrestled the writhing Sam. It proved to be more difficult than one would think, (after all, he was no bigger than their luggage to begin with,) but in his twisting arms, Sam squirmed and thrashed a weasel.

“You're fine, you're okay, just be quiet, please!"

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!

There came a harsh hammering from the opposite wall, rattling the headboard and lamps in its wake.

“Hey-!” cried a muffled, male voice. “Put a cork in it over there!”

“Yeah!” resounded a second, unfamiliar, (but equally masculine,) voice. “Some of us are tryin’ to eat cereal here!”

Red-faced with effort as well as embarrassment, Guy bit at his lip.

… So much for soundproof walls…

“S-sorry!” he stammered, hurriedly gesturing for Jenkins to hush. “My, uh… my buddy here just stubbed his toe! … We – we promise to keep it down!”

“Yeah, you better!” growled the first voice. “Cause if I hear one more peep outta either a’ you, I’m filin’ a complaint!”

Guy swallowed. “… D-duly noted…” Briefly, he paused, wondering what else to say. “Er… Sleep tight!” he added, with a gawky sort of grin.

“I wouldn’t count on it!” giggled the second voice.

Finally, after a moment of strained silence, Guy let out a breath.

“You know, those two sound so cute together.”

With a strangled yap, Guy glanced down towards Sam. He’d all but forgotten about his partner, now perfectly conscious as he lounged within the incidental cradle.

“I gotta say-” Sam continued, casually resting his hands behind his head. “In spite of the blinding pain in my leg, this is a pretty nice way to wake up.”

With a noise of disgust, Guy hastily tossed Sam to the bed like one unloading a bag of trash.

“For your information-” he snapped. “I was trying to wake you up before you got us thrown out on our furry duffs! You were caterwauling like a Pandog with a Spork in its spleen!”

… Okay, so, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Even Jenkins shot Guy an accusatorial glare.

Sam’s smile, however, was dropped almost at once. “… You… You heard all that?”

Guy blinked, a little stunned. He’d been expecting a laugh, or a dismissive hand-wave, but… Sam looked almost afraid, sitting back against his knees as he anxiously wrung at his hands.

“… Er… Not too much-” Guy mumbled, suddenly feeling as fretful as Sam looked. There was something so off-putting about seeing such a plucky spirit look so apprehensive… Sheepishly, he rubbed at his arm, glancing towards the ground. “… I-I mean… You mentioned your mom once, but-”

Guy looked up, suddenly noting the subtle twitch in Sam’s seemingly blank eyes.

“… Sam…?” he ventured cautiously.

All at once, Sam’s voice broke out in a crooked sort of chortle.

“BOY-!” he proclaimed, in an unsettling parody of his usual swagger as he hopped to the floor. “I sure could go for a swim right now! Did ya know this place even had a pool? I was shocked, I mean, talk about luxury! Did I remember to pack my swim-trunks? Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter; I mean, I only got the one shirt anyway, right? Do ya think they got pool floaties? Gee, I hope they got pool flo-”

“Sam.”

The little vagabond was already halfway towards the door when Guy’s hand came to rest at his shoulder. Visibly cringing, Sam risked a glimpse, and found his partner’s expression rather… uncharacteristically compassionate.

"... Heh... No beatin' around the bush with you, huh?” Chewing his lip, Sam looked back down. “… L-look, it... it's nothing! We all have our weird dreams, it's nothin' to get all flibberty-gibbet about!"

Guy groaned, wearily massaging at the corner of his eye. "Sam, a dream about two countries warring over butter is weird. You were having a sleep-paralyzing nightmare. It was…” He paused, suddenly feeling considerably warm. “… Disconcerting.”

"... Oh, Guy-" Sam's eyes wobbled with hyperbolic affection. "You do care!"

He lunged for a hug, but, per the norm, Guy was quick to rebuff.

"I just wanna get this resolved so I can get some sleep, okay?" he spat, shoving the Who to one side. Nevertheless, Sam remained as misty-eyed as a child coveting a Valentine's Day card.

"Okaaaay... ya big ol' softie-pants."

With an amorous giggle, he lightly tapped at Guy's knee, who just rolled his eyes.

“… Alright, c’mon you.” Decisively, Guy headed back towards the bed, helping himself to a seat along the edge. Turning his eyes, he tapped at the open space beside him, to which Sam gave his usual melodramatic gasp.

"You... you mean it?"

Reddening slightly, Guy scowled heavily. "Don’t go gettin’ mushy on me; my legs were just gettin' tired, and..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Look, just get over here before I change my mind."

With a hoot, and a tap of his heels, Sam was already in, burrowing beneath the blankets like a rabid Groundgopher. As tightly wound as a burrito, he poked his face out from the folds, and giggled huskily.

"I always say, heart-to-heart talks are always better when you're all snuzzled up under a blanket! Ooh, ya know what would make this even better? Hot choco-late!" Dreamily, he sighed, and smacked at his lips. "What do ya say we order ourselves a round to get started, and-"

“Sam, stop trying to change the subject and talk to me.” Guy interjected, swiveling in place as he crossed his legs. “… Is talking about your mother that much of a sudden sore spot for you?”

Even before the sentence was out, Guy knew he’d said the wrong thing. Sam lost all trace of mirth in his expression, slowly staring out towards the opposite wall like a man in mourning.

It then occurred to Guy this was probably the first Sam was ever reluctant to speak.

"... Look-" Guy sighed, resting his arms to his raised knees. "... I'm probably the last Guy to be givin' advice about family stuff, but... whatever the deal is, it seems to me like your mom really loved you... And I mean, look at you now. A certified wildlife protector-! A hero, risking life and limb to protect a helpless animal-"

With every word of praise, Sam seemed to sink further and further into the blankets. Sensing the obvious discomfort, Guy quickly switched gears.

"... Look, bottom line is, you got a lot for a mom to be proud of. That..." he glanced over his shoulder towards the briefcase housing his dismantled self-flyer, and sighed. "... That's more than a lot of people can say."

Despite the gentle words, Sam continued to stew in his self-imposed silence. Warbling softly, Jenkins reached out across the bed, and nudged his nose to Sam's shoulder invitingly. With a resigned sort of smile, Sam naturally obliged, stroking his hand along the bird's mop of magenta hair.

"... I can't say any of that, though..." he said quietly. More quietly, in fact, than Guy'd ever heard him. "My mom wouldn't be proud, ‘cause... she never knew me."

Silently, Jenkins withdrew his head, as Guy could only stare. "... What did you say?"

Surely he'd heard wrong.

"... I made it all up." Sam mumbled after a moment. "Everything I said about my mom... was a lie."

... Then... All those stories-

"But... But what about the juice incident?" Guy reasoned. "Or the stuffed animals, or - or-" briefly, he snapped at his fingers, desperately wracking his brain for any other examples. "Or your imaginary friend, Reggie? Who she pretended was real?"

Beneath the thick veneer of shame and guilt, Sam couldn't help but feel a soft pat of fondness for his gruffy companion.

... He really had been listening...

"Made up... Pretend... Non-existaroo." he listed hoarsely, staring up towards the ceiling. "I never told anybody this before, but... when I was very little my mom-" Sam's voice broke slightly, and he swallowed. "... Left me at an orphanage... It's always just been me. I mean-" he paused, smiling ever so faintly. "At least until I met you."

... Guy was stupefied. Practically since the beginning, he'd pegged his fellow felon as a fool; a clingy buffoon born with an undeserved silver spoon in his mouth... And now, come to find out... he'd been abandoned?

"... Do you remember anything about your parents?" Guy ventured softly.

Sam looked away. "... I remember my mom... a little. Just... one thing."

"What?"

Even in the darkness, Guy could catch the faintest hue of rose blooming through Sam's pearly fur. Shuffling deeper under the covers, he mumbled sheepishly, "It's not important..."

Guy found himself leaning forward.

"Go ahead," he whispered encouragingly.

Though something told him he already knew what it was. Whimpering shyly, Sam drew the brim of his sleep cap over his eyes.

"... It's silly..."

"... Sam..."

Sam jolted slightly, looking out from under his hat. He'd known from the get-go that Guy was not a touchy-feely sort of Knox, and yet... he'd made a gentle reach for his partner's trembling hand, as seamlessly as though he'd been practicing for years. And even more puzzling, he showed no sign of regret, or awkwardness... He just stared with those lined, tired eyes, and squeezed.

Sam’s face went from white to pink… Then, smiling in defeat, he relaxed, and gazed up towards the ceiling.

"... She made me breakfast."

... Guy'd known it, without really knowing it... And even still, he couldn't think of what to say. How many times had Sam ordered that dish in their shared existence? ... And how many times did Guy gag, and shudder, and turn his nose up at it?

... How many times did he turn his nose up to her memory?

The guilt suddenly sagged in his stomach like a stone.

"... I bet hers-" he said after a beat. "... Were really good."

Sam chuckled sadly, finally turning onto his side, though he still avoided eye contact. With his free hand, he mournfully traced the swirling pattern of the bed sheet. "The best... Really green... Super eggy... I've been trying to find her all these years, so I could ask... why, ya know?" He blinked, and a tear lazily trailed along his fur. "... Why she gave me up..."

Guy wanted to say something... anything... but a saddened, desperate chuckle quickly interrupted.

"I-I'm sure it's a good reason, I just-" Sam's voice seem to thicken with grief, as his grip on Guy's hand only tightened. One by one, tear after tear splashed against the bedspread, but Sam was determined to carry on. "... I really wanna know... So I keep ordering them, and I keep trying them... But they're..." he struggled to swallow the burgeoning lump in his throat. "... Never hers..."

Sam I-Am and Guy Am-I had not been together for very long, but in their time together, there seemed to be one hard and fast rule.

Sam was always the first to instigate a hug.

Tonight, Guy broke that rule.

“… Keep trying, Sam …” he whispered, gently cupping Sam’s head to his chest. The gesture and confession proved to be too much for Sam, as he quickly dissolved into snuffles of catharsis, desperately clasping his Guy like a life preserver. Purring softly, Jenkins curled his elastic neck around the pair of them, encircling the two like a wreath of pure warmth.

"Here, blow." Guy said after a minute, plucking a tissue from the box atop the bedside drawers, and gingerly held it to Sam's button nose.

Unfortunately, the moment of tactile tenderness was quickly squelched, as, with a nasally Bronx cheer, Sam's thunderous mucus rocketed a stream of slime as green as his eggs. Quickly suppressing the urge to retch, Guy snagged at a fistful of tissues, hastily smothering them to Sam's sticky face.

"... Better?" he asked, swiftly tossing the snotty clump to one side.

Sam gave a shuttering sniffle, nodding weakly.

“… Y-yeah… Th-thanks, Guy…” Smiling wetly, he dragged his knuckles across his swimming eye before casting the discarded cot a look of drained submission. “I… I guess I oughta be gettin’ back to bed…”

He made to move, but was suddenly pulled back in by Guy.

“… You don’t have to leave…” he muttered, squaring his shoulders with a great show of shyness. Lowering his gaze, he buried his twisted mouth against the fluff of his tawny neckline. “… N-not… not if you don’t want to, I mean…”

“... For real?” Sam gawked. “… But… but what about your sleep-space?”

“Eh,” Guy shrugged, finally sliding in under the comforter, as Jenkins dutifully uncoiled. “I always sleep alone… So, maybe…” Shyly, he fluffed at his pillow. “… I could try it with a companion, for once… Who knows?”

Without realizing it, he’d shuffled in closer, making a second clasp for Sam’s feeble hand.

“… I might wind up liking it.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #Sam I Am #Guy Am I #green eggs and ham #Green eggs and ham netflix #Briefcase Buddies #slight elements of dirty-do's #but mostly just fluff and angst #I legit love Michelle and Guy don't get me wrong #Sam is just more fun to write for #SamxGuy #guy x sam

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fic-xation · 5 years

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First of Many

During a night of cards at the Inventory, Sam recounts the events leading up to his and Max’s first wedding.

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“Soooo... Can I ask you guys a question?"

Brock and Ash exchanged an eye roll.

Claptrap ALWAYS seemed to have a question in regards to Sam and Max.

"Shoot." Sam said with a shrug, tossing a pair of chips towards the center. He never minded the little unicycle-dumpster-fire's innate lack of tact. In fact, he found a lot of Claptrap's mannerisms similar to Max's. The high-pitched voice, the manic eccentricity, the endearing vulgarity...

'... God Lord, do I have a type?' he suddenly thought.

"... What exactly ARE you guys?" Claptrap asked, his processed voice cutting through Sam's somewhat horrific epiphany. Sam, giving his head a stirring little shake, looked towards Claptrap curiously.

"... Like... our species?" he paused, before shrugging. "Well, as far as I know, I'm just your run-of-the-mill anthropomorphic Irish Greyhound. Max, on the other hand-"

"No, no." Claptrap gave his claw dismissively. "I mean, like, your relationship. Are you guys just friends, or dating, or nerf-buddies, or...?" he trailed off, visibly cowering under Brock's disapproving glare.

"Knock it off, Johnny Five, that ain't our business to know."

Claptrap's light flared up almost at once.

"Oh-!" he seethed. "Don't go givin' me that 'holier-than-thou' crap!" Angrily, his lens flitted between Brock and Ash. "We were ALL thinkin' it!"

Sam's brows shot up.

"... Really? ALL of you? ... Even GlaDOS?" he gestured towards the ceiling, and, as if on cue, the ivory skeletal frame of the Aperture AI lowered herself to the table.

"~Quite frankly, I don't really care one way or another.~" she chimed, her yellow sensor unnervingly affixed to Sam's face. "~But even I have to admit, you fail to follow the standard routine of a normal mammalian courtship... But then again, you two are not normal mammals, so I suppose it's just as well...~"

And with one graceful bow, she slid back up towards the ceiling.

"... Gee-" Max said, at long last looking over from his usual booth. "I didn't realize our personal life was such a hot button issue."

Ash leaned back against his chair with a sigh. "... Well, can ya blame us? You two are about as inseparable as me n' my chainsaw. Ordinarily, I'd just say you were real good buddies, but..." he shrugged. "I dunno, it's hard to tell with you whackos."

Sam, somewhat hot under the collar, readjusted his tie.

"... Well, since the whole room seems compelled to put me on the spot, I may as well say it." He glanced over his shoulder, briefly sharing a reaffirming smile with Max. "... Max and I are recently divorced."

... If if it weren't for the soft ambience of smooth jazz, one could've heard a pin drop.

Finally, after a prolonged moment of flabbergasted stares, Brock was the first to speak, carefully keeping his eyes to the minuscule font of his cigarette pack.

"... I'm, uh... I'm sor-"

"WHAT THE #@*&?!" Claptrap screeched, standing up against his wheel. "YOU TWO WERE MARRIED?! LIKE... LEGALLY?! IN FRONT OF GOD?! ... AND THEN YOU JUST... BROKE UP?! BUT YOU'RE STILL FRIENDS?! ... Not to indulge in a harmful stereotype towards robots, but... DOES NOT COMPUTE, MAN! DOES. NOT. FREAKIN'. COMPUTE!"

He then fell back against his chair, his servos evidently spinning.

"... Subtle." Ash quipped, raising his glass in a mock toast. Sam, however, looked confused.

"Broke up? ... What're you talking about? Max and I haven't broken up; we're just as in love now as we've ever been."

"We're just not married." Max continued, hopping up onto Sam's lap. He'd ultimately grown bored at listening in from a distance. Besides, these bozos were finally discussing a worthwhile subject... Him and Sam!

Now it was the table's turn to look confused. Once again, Brock's voice came first.

"... Okaaaaay, ya lost me."

"It's not that complicated, really." Sam said, offering the trio a bemused little smile. "See, every so often, Max and I get a divorce just so we can experience the pleasure of marrying each other all over again."

"Like buyin' a new pair of shoes once the old ones wear out!" Max piped up.

"Or, at least, that's what we ASSUME buying shoes is like." Sam added, helping himself to a sip of root beer.

Another bewildered silence fell over the room.

"... Wait, so-" Ash leaned his elbows against his table, pointedly staring towards the odd couple. "... Exactly how often does this happen?"

"Oh, we're on marriage number twelve now, actually." Sam beamed, seemingly oblivious to the stupefied silence over the remaining players.

Claptrap's lens fidgeted uneasily. "... That's like... romantic, bordering on masochism..."

"Ro-Masochism." Ash offered.

"... Okay, so-" Brock smothered the end of his cigarette against an ash tray. "I can understand wantin' to marry the same person over and over again-"

"Really?" Claptrap glanced over.

"... Well, not really, but I can humor 'em." he shrugged. "... No, what I don't get is, why go to all that trouble? ... Repeatedly, no less. I mean... wouldn't it be easier just to renew your vows and leave it at that?"

"Yeah, we don't believe in that baloney." Max scoffed, folding up Sam's cards into an origami swan. "I mean, what's the point in setting up a fake wedding if you're ALREADY married? It's a total sham."

"A disgrace to the sacred institute." Sam added solemnly.

"Here-Here!" Max proclaimed, shooting the paper swan towards Ash. He caught it almost at once, crushing it between his metallic fist, and dropping it to the floor.

"... Well, I guess I fold." Sam said, scratching his ear. "Pun not intended, of course."

Max rolled his eyes. "Liar."

"So... wait-" Ash held up his hand, drawing the conversation back on track. "Just how the hell can you n' Thumper afford eleven consecutive weddings? I'll admit, my experience with this sorta thing is limited-"

"Yeah-!" Claptrap broke in. "His last fiance wasn't exactly top-shelf material!"

"... In ANY case-" Ash continued through gritted teeth, as Brock slammed his steely fist against the robot's flat top. "Doesn't all that ceremony get pretty expensive after a while?"

"Not at all," Sam said, watching as Claptrap clattered to the floor like an oversized soup can. "Ya just gotta know how to economize."

"We're good friends with the president," Max said, absentmindedly picking at his nose. "And I'M a registered Minister, according to Nebraska. So, we never have to bother with hiring an officiant."

"Not to mention, we get most of our essentials from Bingo's Birthday Bonanza." Sam added. "Balloons, cups, goodies bags-"

"And of COURSE, the cake!" Max bounced a little at the thought. "Last year, it had a dinosaur motif. THIS time, though, I'm thinkin' more... Race car. What do YOU think, Sam?"

"Can't think of a reason NOT to," Sam smiled, tenderly setting his hand between Max's ears.

Brock scratched at his nose. "... So, basically, this whole routine is just an excuse to throw multiple parties in which you two knuckleheads are the centerpiece."

Sam and Max exchanged a look.

"More or less," Sam shrugged.

"Isn't that just a wedding is, though?" Max asked.

Brock had no choice but to chuckle, shaking his head lightly. "Touche."

"Ooh!" piped Claptrap, as he awkwardly clambered back onto his chair. "Here's a question for ya! You two got this whole crazy-train system down to a science... but what about your first run-through, huh? How'd THAT go down?"

"... What, our first wedding, you mean?" Sam asked, a little surprised.

"Hey, yeah!" Ash nodded. "Knowin' you two, that must've been nuts..."

"More importantly, who asked first?" Brock shot Sam a slight smirk. "My money's on ol' Rover Romeo over here."

Sam suddenly gave an embarrassed sort of laugh, shyly averting the table's curious eyes as he turned his muzzle to the side.

"... Well, it's, uh... It's actually a funny story..."

"Oh!" Max clapped his hands together excitedly, glancing up towards Sam. "Can I tell 'em, Sam? Can I, can I, can I?"

Sam paused, before easing back against his chair with a soft smile.

"Sure, buddy. Knock yourself out."

Squealing in delight, Max took to the center of the table, clearing his throat theatrically.

"... Well... it all began on a dark and stormy night..."

The rain lashed the ancient cobblestones of our victorian manor like the cruel tongue of an unforgiving governess. I, clad in nothing more than my scandalously sheer negligee, sat alone in my bed chamber, coyly plucking at my harp like a fluffy siren of yore. There was a CRASH of lightning, when suddenly, my door FLEW open with enough force to rattle the chandelier! I gasped, retreating to my bedspread in an effort to save my modesty, but Sam strolled in all the same, beads of rain still fresh against his unkempt fur.

"Max-!" he cried. "I can't STAND it any longer! Your tender touch, your delicate fur, and the THROBBING of your MASSIVE-"

Sam's hat came down like a burlap sack over Max's head, silencing him almost at once.

"... You'll have to forgive my associate." Sam mumbled, shades of red visibly peering through his fur as he dragged Max back towards his lap. "... He, uh... He's been taking some creative writing classes as of late."

"No kidding!" Claptrap announced, ever the enthusiast. "If I had a stomach, I'd be barfing it inside out!"

"... Yeah, that was..." Ash squirmed slightly.

"Gross." Brock concluded.

"... I was gonna say HEART, in case anyone was wondering!" Max shouted, slightly muffled through the material of Sam's stretched-out cap. "... Sheesh, people, get your minds outta the gutter!"

"How's about you let ME tell the story, buddy?" Sam said gently, finally freeing Max from the hat's pincer grip. He gasped for air only once, before shrugging.

"Eh, works for me. That was only a first draft, anyway."

"Much obliged." Sam turned to address the table. "So! You gentlemen ready to enter a proper flashback?"

"Hold it-" Brock held up a hand, stone faced. "Will there be any mention of the word 'negligee?'"

"... Not that I can recall." Sam said, quite honestly.

"Alright then." Brock lit the end of his cigarette. "Continue."

"... Well-" Sam gave the ceiling a ponderous glance, leaning his chair against its back two legs. "... I suppose the the REAL story starts with us cowering behind a tire pile in the city dump."

"And we're startin' off strong!" Max grinned.

~~ "I can't believe that innocent toxic waste mutated New York's over abundance of garbage into a monsterous, (yet vaguely effeminate,) shape!" Sam exclaimed, checking his gun for any remaining ammo.

"Ooh, lovely exposition Sam!" Max said, his back to the rubber wheeled wall. "I just can't believe she wants ME to be her King of Crap! ... Why ME of all people?

"Could be your smell," Sam proposed, cocking the cylinder back into place. "Second only to her, you're the foulest thing in New York."

"... Saaa-aaam..." giggled Max, coyly cupping his hands to his face. "How am I suppose to concentrate on a life or death situation if you keep flirtin' with me?"

Sam felt himself flush slightly.

Why were Max's obvious jokes beginning to rub him the wrong way?

Suddenly, Max's ears began to twitch. Dropping the act, he hurriedly peered out from behind the mountain of discarded tires.

"She's comin' back!" he hissed.

Instinctively, Sam threw his arm around the rabbit as if shielding him from a bomb, and the two promptly ducked.

The putrid air of the city dump was suddenly made even worse, as the mucilaginous form of the twelve-foot garbage wench (or 'beldump,' as Max'd taken to calling her,) slithered by like a slug. She then paused, raising her misshapen head, as her divot-nostrils curiously flexed at the air.

Wordlessly, Sam threw both arms around Max, drawing him to his core as if suddenly desperate for a hug. Max, more than surprised, was thrown against his partner's chest like a ragdoll.

... His sensitive ears picked up the heavy hammer of Sam's distressed pulse, while the full weight of his heavy arms squeezed against Max's back...

Max, in spite of his best efforts, felt an odd warmth rise against his cheeks.

The beldump, with a disappointed sort of grumble, soon began to meander away.

Sam sighed, slowly loosening his grip on Max.

"... S-sorry..." he breathed, wiping at his forehead. "... I, uh... I had to hide your scent-"

"G-gee, Sam-!" Max broke in, smiling frantically. "... i-if ya wanted to cuddle, all ya had to do was ask!"

He laughed, though it was a far cry from his typical mischievous titter.

Sam's brow furrowed. "... Are you blushing?"

Max's ears shot up like corn stalks.

"... N-no!" he seethed, suddenly anxious to get away. "... It's... it's your stupid cologne! ... It's givin' me a rash!"

'Funny, considering I don't even WEAR cologne,' Sam was about to point out, when an idea suddenly came to mind. He quickly began to loosen his tie, before slipping off his jacket

Max's "rash" only worsened. "S-Sam, what're you- oof!"

Sam slapped his hat between Max's ears.

"This'll mask your smell." he said, affixing his loose-fitting tie to Max's throat. "Or, at the very least, it'll buy me some time to lure the beldump away."

He gently drew his jacket around Max's shoulders like a blanket, before plucking out a small tuft of fur. Max winced.

"Hey!"

"This should be adequate bait."

Gently holding the lock between his fingers, Sam stood up, and carefully surveyed the landscape.

"... Okay, lil' buddy. You just hunker down here 'till I get back."

Max's face suddenly dawned with distraught realization.

"... You're leaving me?"

Sam looked down. Underneath all that bulky clothing, Max suddenly appeared so much smaller. Any other time, that might've been amusing, but now...

It just broke Sam's heart.

"Only for a minute." Taking a knee, Sam offered his gentlest smile, in spite of Max stubbornly refusing to meet his eye. "Just long enough to draw her into the city."

Max, however, kept his eyes to the dirt, practically pouting.

Sam sighed. He knew what that expression meant. They'd made a unspoken agreement never to be separated for too long. Not after... well... everything that'd happened recently...

In a rare moment of tactile tenderness, Sam curled a finger beneath Max's chin, guiding his gaze upward.

"... I PROMISE I'll come back." he said softly, practically a whisper. Cupping it with a chuckle, he added, "After all, I got YOU to come back to, right?"

Max said nothing... He simply stared, as slack-jawed as a blind man seeing color for the first time.

... If this were a movie, the sacrificial hero might've planted a peck against his lover's forehead, either as reassurance, or goodbye.

But this wasn't a movie... And Max certainly wasn't his lover.

Compromising, Sam sweetly scratched at Max's drooped ear, before standing back up. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he made to run, when all at once, he felt Max scaling up the front of his shirt like an anxious reptile.

"Marry me." he said stoutly, looking positively fevered.

Sam scowled. He'd had his fill of cheap jokes for the evening. "... Max, c'mon, don't-"

"I'm not kidding," he croaked, his hands grasping at Sam's collar for support. "Please, Sam... marry me. Like... right now. I don't wanna be with anyone else. I don't think I CAN be with anyone else. Losing you the first time was..." he broke off, trails of tears and snot running down his face. "... Well, it sucked. Like, a lot." he finally choked. "... But the worst part was... I finally realized just how crazy I was about you... But you were dead!"

He then began to laugh, but something in it made Sam cringe... It was a high, unsettling, hysterical laugh... Different from his usual variety, anyway.

There was no joy in it.

"Isn't that hilarious?" he continued. "And what's even funnier? ... I actually got a second chance to tell you how I felt... and I STILL chickened out! And now you're leaving me AGAIN, and... and..." he quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter and sobs, clinging to Sam's shirt with no intention of letting go.

... Needless to say, Sam was more than shocked... The same three shrieking words seemed to reverberate against his addled brain.

... How I felt... How I felt... How I felt...

... Funny. He wasn't nearly as shocked as one would think. If anything, Sam felt a kind of... serenity settle over him.

He'd known it, without knowing it...

... Max loved him... Max'd loved him for a good while now...

Of course he did... Of course he did! It was too damn obvious! It practically went without saying! And... and...

'... Holy hotpot party hosted by a Hostess Hoho...' thought Sam. '... I think I might love him back.'

"Officiate."

Max looked up, his face a mess of varying fluids. "... W... what?"

"You're a high priest, remember?"

Sam then flinched. Of course Max wouldn't remember, HE never experienced that.

".... N-no...?" he sniffled hesitantly. "... But I AM a registered minister, according to Nebraska."

Sam smiled, briefly relieved, before glancing around. Spotting a rubber band off to the side, he snatched it up, before twining it around the middle finger of Max's left hand.

"If you think I wouldn't want marry you, right here and now, you're even crazier than I thought."

Prying Max from his shirt, Sam set him down, and took both hands.

"Don't even bother asking anything," he said quickly, smiling a little. It was one of the few instances Max was ever lost for words. "You already know I do. I do a thousands times over, and twice on Sundays; never to anyone else but you."

"... D-ditto.." Max said at last, grinning incredulously. "... Th-then... I guess... b-by the power vested in me by the state of Nebraska, I now pronounce us-"

He didn't even have time to finish the sentence before he and Sam began to kiss.

It was the kiss of a thousand unsaid longings, the kiss of sweet, relinquished grief. It was cathartic, practically euphoric-

"- and the first of many to come." Sam concluded, beaming towards the wide-eyed faces of the Inventory regulars.

Ash huffed a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "So you two professed your love, got engaged, and then married, all within the span of a few short minutes..."

"In the middle of a stinky landfill, no less!" Claptrap added.

"Just for the record-!" Max said quickly. "Sam was TOTALLY exaggerating my little proposal. I was doing doughnuts on a tricked-out motorcycle, and tossed him a ring made out of pure gold. It was the smoothest thing in the world, and I did NOT cry!"

"~Max's temperature seems to be rising at an alarming rate.~" GladOS's voice rolled out coolly. "~Perhaps he is suffering another rash outbreak?~"

The table broke into a bout of good-natured laughter, as Max folded his arms grumpily. He already knew he'd never hear the end of that...

"So whatever happened to the garbage monster?" Brock asked, still smiling.

"Oh, that-" Sam waved his hand dismissively. "That was easy. Using the scent of Max's hair, I lead her back to our office. Once there, she immediately fell in love with the trash congregating in our workspace, and took that as her husband rather than Max."

"They then moved to Detroit to live among their own kind!" Max sighed, fluttering his eyelids. "It was like the ending to a fairytale..."

"Yeah, that's... one way of putting it." Ash mumbled.

"And how long was it before ya decided to get re-married? Claptrap asked.

"Three days." Sam answered, leaning forward to dig through his pocket. Fishing out his wallet, he opened it up to reveal a small photo guarded by a sheet of plastic. "We knew we wanted our second wedding to be a lil' more formal, so we pulled out all the stops." he pointed towards the lavish church setting, as well as Max's uncharacteristically grandiose top hat and tux.

"... Nice dress," Brock remarked with a sneer.

"I know, I know..." Sam smiled sheepishly. "It's a little old-fashioned, but it belonged to my Granny, and she insisted on me wearing it."

"Plus, she n' Sam have the same cuddly corpulent build, so it was an easy fit!" Max chimed in. Sam, rolling his eyes, pushed him to the floor.

"Well-" Brock raised his glass. "Cheers to your divorce, I suppose."

"And may many more follow!" Ash said, joining the toast.

Claptrap, however, remained motionless.

"... Does it bother anyone that the six of us guys just spent the last half-hour discussing marriage and weddings like an old sewing-circle?"

The table traded looks.

"Not really."

"No."

"Not even remotely!"

"'Course not."

"... Alright, just checking!" Claptrap held up his sippy-cup. "To Sam and Max!"

"To Sam and Max!"

"Ya know-" Sam said, as he and Max barreled along their the long stretch of their familiar street. It was a perfect night for reckless driving. "We oughta invite our poker buddies to our next wedding."

"Oh, HELL yeah!" Max said, nodding vigorously. "It wouldn't be a dream wedding without 'em! Ooh-!" he grabbed at Sam's arm, nearly swerving the Desoto into an oncoming truck. Sam pivoted back almost at once, heart thudding, but smiling all the same.

"Think we could get GladOS to sing at our reception?" Max bobbed excitedly against his seat. "I would, and CAN, kill for her to do Nat King Cole!"

"We'll havta ask next time we see her, buddy." Sam chuckled, sparing a hand to pet at Max's head. "Though, personally, I wouldn't mind meetin' some of YOUR old card sharks... 'Specially that wrestler fellow, uh... What was his name?" Sam snapped his fingers rhythmically. "String bean?"

"Strong Bad. But PLEASE, call him String Bean once you finally get to meet him!" Max giggled. "I have GOT to see how that goes down."

Sharply rounding a corner, the two finally skidded their car into its usual spot, halfway hunched atop the curb adjacent to their building.

Making their way up the stairs, they soon found themselves in the comfortable chaos of their office. (Naturally, it didn't them long to re-accumulate all the garbage swept away by the beldump.)

"Well, that depends-" Max shrugged, as he and Sam crossed into one of the more residential rooms. Flopping down onto the patchwork couch, Max made an immediate snag for the remote. "When're you gonna propose already?"

"Guess I'm just waiting for the right occasion. Timing is everything, ya know. Here, scooch over."

With a sigh, Sam helped himself to a seat beside Max, and the two finally settled on something to watch.

"Ooh! Robot Terror From Beyond the Galaxy!" Max curled up against Sam's leg, and Sam, smiling contentedly, rested a hand to his back.

"Hope we haven't missed too much."

"Nah," Max shook his head. "We haven't even gotten to the marrow-suckers yet."

Sam nodded, and then glanced over. His partner's eyes were beginning to droop, and Sam wondered whether or not Max was about to fall asleep.

"... Hey, Max-" Sam whispered, lightly jostling the lagomorph's head. "... You wanna get married?"

Max chuckled, tucking his hands beneath his head as his eyes closed in full.

"... Well, DUH, Sam... A thousand-" he cut himself off with a yawn. "... A thousand times over, and twice on Sundays..."

Sam, with a warm smile, leaned over, planting a soft kiss to Max's forehead.

"You're the light of my life, lil' buddy."

#Thanks for reading!#Sam and Max #Sam and Max Freelance Police #Freelance Husbands #Poker Night 2 #Ash Williams #Claptrap #Brock Sampson #GladOS #slight angst #Sam and Max telltale spoilers #only slightly though #fanfic #fanfiction

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