Sam & Max One-Shots

The Fight

Sam watched from the side of the bar. He rested his arm on the stained wood counter while casually nursing his drink. The murmured bustling had a jovial air of tranquility and comfort.

To cure his boredom, Sam observed the patrons. His focus was interspersed with quick glances towards the entrance at the far side of the room. Jeez, what the hell is keeping him? Sam thought as impatience got the better of him, as it usually did.

After waiting for around a half hour, he had already finished scoping out the area and he was ready to keep working on their current case. They needed to find some document, since it was vital information regarding a moderately infamous criminal. Sam didn't really bother to learn much else about the case. It was standard. Uneventful. Incredibly dull.

There was only one office in the bar, which was placed to the right of Sam, away from the bar. Having done a few cases similar to this one, he had a hunch the document would be somewhere in that room. In fact, he was sure of it. Swirling his drink, he stared absently at the cubes of ice tiredly clinking against the glass. The light copper liquid swished delicately in a spiral.

He needed a distraction to get in to the office. The door wasn't locked, much to his convenience, but he still had to bypass the guard and the bartender who stood at their respective stations. Of course, Sam would have gotten Max to bother the employees, however the establishment had a strict policy regarding the minimum requirement of clothing...

The outdoor security had sent a very furious and vociferous Max home until he returned dressed.

Sam checked his watch. He tapped the screen, realized the hands didn't move, shrugged, then went back to drinking. The drink tickled the back of his throat with a familiar burn.

Finally, the entrance doors swung open with a elegant flair before immediately smashing into the wall causing a dramatic bang. A few individuals who were startled by the sound jumped before returning to their activities.

Max walked under the doorframe, visibly still ticked off. His fists clasped tightly, his head swerved from one side of the room to the other, his eyes clearly searching for his partner. Once Sam raised his hand, Max saw then dragged his feet towards the bar.

Taking the chance, Sam looked at Max's outfit. He adored the raised red shorts that stopped just above his knees and the oversized t-shirt that he was drowning inside. He definitely adored how Max looked in them. Despite the warm sensation in his face, he couldn't ignore the clear disgust and discomfort in Max's frown. That alone ruined the costume for Sam.

"You're looking sharp." Sam stated, his voice relaxed. He tried to sound sarcastic, however he couldn't hide all the sincerity behind the sentiment.

Annoyed, Max lifted himself upwards onto the janky old stool next to Sam. His annoyed expression never faltered.

"Oh, can it!" He snapped in reply. As Sam nervously adjusted his tie, Max reached over and snatched up his drink. Impulsively, he downed the rest, ice and all, before coughing roughly.

Sam went to argue, stopping himself once he realized that was not the hill he wanted to die on. Max's nerves were evidently on edge and he didn't want to tempt irritating him more.

"Let's get this over with." Max tapped the counter forcefully, his shirt falling off his shoulder. Once he realized, he let out an choleric groan and yanked it back onto his arm. Max's crossed his legs, his foot bouncing vigorously up and down. "I hate this."

Sam silently signaled the bartender, motioning towards his empty glass with a polite smile. "That's odd, usually you're not so fussy about-"

Max cut him off, with a loud sigh of frustration. "Yeah! But this goddamn shirt wont stay put and these stupid shorts keep riding up my ass!" Sam hushed him as the bartender swung by handing him his refill.