Post by syrinx on Jan 18, 2008 12:47:26 GMT -5
Britain’s Greatest Day Out
Rating: G
Spoilers: Pretty much up to Bridal Dreams.
A/N: This is in response to Charlotte's request for a Brad/Samantha fic. It started as a drabble, but you can easily see that it's morphed into a full fledged short story. Here is the first part. Comments would be lovely!
When she’d decided to take a summer off she hadn’t expected to run into him. By the look on his face he hadn’t expected to see her either, because, really, what were the chances that you’d accidentally meet up with someone you barely knew in a foreign city in the first place?
Although that wasn’t entirely true. Samantha knew all about the public face of Bradley H. Townsend, so it was more of a one-sided familiarity. Brad had never come close to knowing her besides the plainly obvious facts like her hair was naturally red and she was somewhere in her twenties, plus she’d been a little annoying as a teenager. Other than that, she was a blank slate.
The one thing they had in common was horses, so it didn’t come as a surprise that their awkward run-in was at Epsom Racecourse. That she knew he was newly divorced and he didn’t know she’d called off her engagement indefinitely to a man he couldn’t recall was par for the course.
She expressed her sympathies for the failed marriage, and he didn’t know anything about Tor, so as soon as she stopped offering her condolences the awkward silence descended. They watched the horses in the paddock silently for several moments, and then to break the tension he asked her which her favorite was. She started in surprise, figuring he would have walked off by now, as she’d suspected he would.
She glanced at him curiously. “The chestnut,” she said after a second, pointing to the flashy colt. “Code Purple.”
“Nice pick,” he nodded stiffly. “I’ve got some money down on Mask over there,” he added, pointing out a solid bay.
“Want to make a friendly bet?” Samantha asked, watching Brad’s pick walk by. He regarded her for a moment and then shrugged. There was more silence, and Samantha watched the numbers on the toteboard change as she waited for him to put down her offer to start a conversation. She was beginning to wonder why he wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t saying anything, and was beginning to lose her patience at having to accommodate him even briefly.
“How much have you got?” he asked her instead, and with a little wrinkle of her nose Samantha went rummaging through her purse in response.
“Thirteen pounds,” she said after counting through her bills.
“That’s all you walk around with?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, some of us aren’t weighed down by our wallets,” Samantha replied cuttingly, and he nodded silently, unwilling to aim a barb her way in retaliation. Samantha pushed away the thought that Brad wasn’t interested in entertaining petty squabbles and dropped her wallet back into her purse without another word.
“I’m not doing anything tonight, so how about the winner buys dinner,” he asked, which met complete silence from Samantha, who looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.
“Or nachos and a beer at the Beefeater over at Tattenham,” Brad rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like I’ve gone insane, Samantha.”
“Are you sure you haven’t?” Samantha asked him bluntly, meeting his unreadable dark eyes with her pale green before looking away self-consciously.
“I don’t see where nachos and beer between…”
“We aren’t friends,” Samantha cut in. “We’re barely acquaintances,” she corrected him before he could even say anything. “Actually, scratch that. We’re more like bitter old rivals who would sooner spit than speak kindly of one another, so please don’t feel obligated to me just because you happen to know me and I’m here alone.”
“Fine, then,” Brad shrugged. “Nachos and beer between bitter old rivals who barely know each other,” he amended. “The point, Samantha, is that it’s a friendly bet and since Mask couldn’t possibly lose to Code Purple I’m going to wind up treating you to free food. Don’t you want to help me lighten up my wallet?”
Samantha eyed him warily as the horses began to move toward the track, feeling time slipping by just as she felt the urge to turn and march away from him.
“Besides that,” he said, watching Mask walk out of the paddock toward the track. “It was your idea.”
Samantha opened and shut her mouth, then glared at him. “Fine. We’ll see how much I regret this later, but if you win I want more than nachos.”
“Anything you want,” Brad replied, and followed her into the stands.
Rating: G
Spoilers: Pretty much up to Bridal Dreams.
A/N: This is in response to Charlotte's request for a Brad/Samantha fic. It started as a drabble, but you can easily see that it's morphed into a full fledged short story. Here is the first part. Comments would be lovely!
When she’d decided to take a summer off she hadn’t expected to run into him. By the look on his face he hadn’t expected to see her either, because, really, what were the chances that you’d accidentally meet up with someone you barely knew in a foreign city in the first place?
Although that wasn’t entirely true. Samantha knew all about the public face of Bradley H. Townsend, so it was more of a one-sided familiarity. Brad had never come close to knowing her besides the plainly obvious facts like her hair was naturally red and she was somewhere in her twenties, plus she’d been a little annoying as a teenager. Other than that, she was a blank slate.
The one thing they had in common was horses, so it didn’t come as a surprise that their awkward run-in was at Epsom Racecourse. That she knew he was newly divorced and he didn’t know she’d called off her engagement indefinitely to a man he couldn’t recall was par for the course.
She expressed her sympathies for the failed marriage, and he didn’t know anything about Tor, so as soon as she stopped offering her condolences the awkward silence descended. They watched the horses in the paddock silently for several moments, and then to break the tension he asked her which her favorite was. She started in surprise, figuring he would have walked off by now, as she’d suspected he would.
She glanced at him curiously. “The chestnut,” she said after a second, pointing to the flashy colt. “Code Purple.”
“Nice pick,” he nodded stiffly. “I’ve got some money down on Mask over there,” he added, pointing out a solid bay.
“Want to make a friendly bet?” Samantha asked, watching Brad’s pick walk by. He regarded her for a moment and then shrugged. There was more silence, and Samantha watched the numbers on the toteboard change as she waited for him to put down her offer to start a conversation. She was beginning to wonder why he wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t saying anything, and was beginning to lose her patience at having to accommodate him even briefly.
“How much have you got?” he asked her instead, and with a little wrinkle of her nose Samantha went rummaging through her purse in response.
“Thirteen pounds,” she said after counting through her bills.
“That’s all you walk around with?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, some of us aren’t weighed down by our wallets,” Samantha replied cuttingly, and he nodded silently, unwilling to aim a barb her way in retaliation. Samantha pushed away the thought that Brad wasn’t interested in entertaining petty squabbles and dropped her wallet back into her purse without another word.
“I’m not doing anything tonight, so how about the winner buys dinner,” he asked, which met complete silence from Samantha, who looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.
“Or nachos and a beer at the Beefeater over at Tattenham,” Brad rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like I’ve gone insane, Samantha.”
“Are you sure you haven’t?” Samantha asked him bluntly, meeting his unreadable dark eyes with her pale green before looking away self-consciously.
“I don’t see where nachos and beer between…”
“We aren’t friends,” Samantha cut in. “We’re barely acquaintances,” she corrected him before he could even say anything. “Actually, scratch that. We’re more like bitter old rivals who would sooner spit than speak kindly of one another, so please don’t feel obligated to me just because you happen to know me and I’m here alone.”
“Fine, then,” Brad shrugged. “Nachos and beer between bitter old rivals who barely know each other,” he amended. “The point, Samantha, is that it’s a friendly bet and since Mask couldn’t possibly lose to Code Purple I’m going to wind up treating you to free food. Don’t you want to help me lighten up my wallet?”
Samantha eyed him warily as the horses began to move toward the track, feeling time slipping by just as she felt the urge to turn and march away from him.
“Besides that,” he said, watching Mask walk out of the paddock toward the track. “It was your idea.”
Samantha opened and shut her mouth, then glared at him. “Fine. We’ll see how much I regret this later, but if you win I want more than nachos.”
“Anything you want,” Brad replied, and followed her into the stands.
