2007-09-05: Their Children Will Be Jewslim


Namir_icon.gif Samantha_icon.gif


Samantha has a bad case of barefingeritis. Namir fixes it.

Date It Happened: September 5th, 2007

Their Children Will Be Jewslim

Namir and Samantha's Apartment, Greenwich Village

It's early in the morning and it looks like it's going to be a nice day. Sunlight and typical city noises come in through the window, and Namir is nowhere to be found in bed. This isn't too unusual — he usually rises early — but it's not a workday for him. There are smells of breakfast coming from the kitchen, but the apartment itself is silent. Whatever breakfast there is, it's already been prepared.

Samantha sleeps like a proverbial log. As it happens, Samantha has a day off too, a fortunate coincidence despite their terribly hectic schedules. Breakfast smells stir her to wakefulness, and she lifts her head, a tumble of hair falling in her face. She gets up and stumbles into bathroom for morning prep, and then, yawning pads into the main part of the apartment. "Namir?" she calls blearily.

Someone's awake. Out pops a head from the kitchen, and it's soon followed by the rest of Namir. Instead of typical 'it's morning and I don't have to work' apparel, he's dressed in … scrubs. Light-green scrubs and a white lab coat with a stethoscope draped over his neck. Welcome to Bizarro World. "Doctor Applebaum," he states Very Solemnly with as straight a face as there ever was. He starts heading toward her, then pauses and eyes her with an overly dramatic, thoughtful expression. "You don't look so well."

Samantha blinks and stares. Blinks, rubs her eyes, and starts to giggle. "Oh my god." she laughs. "Don't you think it's a little early in the morning for this kind of kink?"

He can't help it: as soon as Sam starts giggling, Namir breaks character a bit and grins. Professional actor he ain't. "What, kink?" he manages between snickers. "This isn't a kink. You look ill." Out comes the stethoscope, which he presses over her heart, then one lung, then the other, and finally her forehead. Yes, he can hear her brainthings. His expression turns into a profound frown and after this quick examination, he reaches to take her hands as though to feel the wrists for a pulse.

Samantha can't help it, she giggle-snorts at the sheer absurdity. What can he expect before she's had her coffee. "I'm pretty sure my brain doesn't make thumpy noises." she can't help but tell him and grimaces. "Why didn't you sneak my warmer, too? That thing is cold."

Payback, of course. "Stethoscopes are always cold," states Namir — who, for good measure, applies the stethoscope to the back of Sam's left hand too. It's a magical stethoscope, see. He peers at both hands critically before a light seems to dawn. "Aha! I know what's wrong with you." He starts rummaging around in the pocket of his coat. "You are suffering from barefingeritis— " excuse the man, he isn't very creative. Naturally, he goes down to one knee just as he withdraws a small black velvety jewelry box. As if that wasn't obvious enough, the box's opening should cinch it. He grins up at Sam and adds, "I think I can fix that."

"Bare fingerit - is that from Tiffany's?" she gawks. "Oh my god." Her mouth's left a little hanging open. "Namir - I - are you sure?"

Namir shrugs one shoulder casually. "I had a little saved up." A little. Yeah. His grin only grows at that. "I'm very sure. I can't think of anyone else I would rather spend my life with." Well, let's hope not.

Samantha regards him solemnly. "You have no idea how much I want to say yes. But our families - and what if we have children?"

"Let me worry about my family," responds Namir gently. "I wouldn't say that some approval or at least tolerance on their end is not required, but I also don't want that to stand in my way either." Children, though — he remains silent on that point. That's one question he hasn't thought through all the way.

Samantha conceeds, albeit quietly, "I don't know that I could raise Muslim children. By Jewish law they'd be Jewish anyway. I don't know how it works for Islam."

Namir's grin has faded into a slightly strained smile. "Technically, everyone is born Muslim, but really a child is not Muslim until they declare themselves as such when they are older." That's how he learned it, at any rate. "Our children can choose. It doesn't have to be something we force on them, one way or the other."

Samantha studies him sidelong. Their children can choose. Not that they're going to be makin' babies anytime soon, but… she lets out a sigh, runs a hand through her hair and studies him with narrowed eyes. "Yes." she says, making it succinct and perhaps somewhat out of context. But really, if he misses the context, he's so losing points.

Sadly, it does take just a moment for Namir, but then again, he'd started to have doubts he was going to get that answer. The grin returns bright and broad and he lets out a little laugh. "Yes? Even though we'll have Jewslim children?" Jewslim. Yes, he did just say that.

Samantha can't help it, she chuckles. "If you promise to never use that word again." Then gleefully, "Our parents are going to kill us."

Well he thought it was clever. Oh well, he can live without it. Namir rises from his kneeling position and moves to wrap Sam up in an embrace, laughing. "Probably. But that's all right, I love you." Totally worth it, in his opinion. He moves in for a kiss, just to prove it.

"That's a fortunate coincidence, as it happens I love you." she replies. No objection to the kiss there, but after a moment or, okay two - she can't help snickering, "Bekah's gonna plotz."

"Mmm." It's more a snicker than a hum and followed by another quick kiss. "You'll have to tell her that I was a better doctor than she is." Because Namir was the best doctor ever. He was very thorough in his examination.

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