On Duty
by Ratmist
Standard Disclaimer: Marvel characters appearing in this non-profit piece of fiction. They don't belong to me. The tattoo on my back of the X-Men symbol? That's *mine* so kiss it.
Rating: R for language
Notes: This has no continuity with the Bones arc I am working on. And I finally got through the writers' block I had on it, so hopefully I will be posting new parts sometime soon. Hope you still remember what the hell I'm talking about.
Feedback: I really don't want feedback if it's going to be a really harsh type. But I would like constructive feedback.
This is dedicated to my friend Chick and the lesson Albert taught me. Thank you for changing my life. Just...thank you.
Sarah sat in the control room of the Mansion, the place she had nicknamed The Hellhole. She sat, eating Chinese takeout, bored but doing her time on duty without too much complaint.
That her duty time happened to coincide with Sam's was not a real surprise. The entire team knew that out of all of them, Sarah would least complain when working with Sam. Not to mention she would be considerably less violent.
Sam had been almost *too* sweet, even going as far as ordering Chinese food for the both of them.
She had eyeballed the little square packages with suppressed delight but had opted to say, "You hopin I'm gonna do this shift alone, Corncob?"
He had just chuckled in that warm, slightly boyish way and replied, "Even you couldn't eat all this by yourself. Looks like I'll just have to help you."
As they finished the meal in relative silence, both periodically would glance at the monitors on the lookout for anything suspicious. At last, with a satisfying yawn, both young mutants were satiated, and they dispensed of the empty cartons automatically.
In an air of comfort, both X-Men settled for a long night's watch.
"So, you wanna talk about why you've been so edgy this week?" Sam ventured. Sarah glanced at him, surprised at his blunt question.
"I don't want to talk about it," she replied. "We're on duty."
He glanced around and then pointed at the monitors. "If we just sit and stare at these monitors, we're just going to get extremely bored. I'm a good soldier just like the rest of us, but a little talk might go a long way to keeping us both awake."
She could've easily argued the logic, but she actually did want to talk to him. Just not about herself.
"How's it going with Tabby-cat?" she asked. She was rewarded with a smile, but he didn't raise to the bait.
"Now, I wouldn't rightly know how it's goin with Tabitha," he said congenially, "seein' as though she and I broke up a while back."
She nodded and reached forward to adjust a knob on a screen; then she tried to pin him with a glance.
"Y'all still friends?" Her voice was a careful neutral, devoid of any deception or malice. "Yeah, we are," he replied quietly, with a bit of resignation, but no traceable wistfulness.
Sarah had watched Sam throughout the last two weeks, hoping that the return of his general air of happiness was not due to the blonde bomber of X-Force. She wasn't sure if that hope was a selfish one or one born out of real concern for Sam. She remembered quite easily the bitter breakup between Tabitha and Sam, the role his best friend Berto had played. The subsequent air of repressed misery that had radiated around the young man from Kentucky had been difficult to adjust to because it was an unusual thing to see from the normally laid back, genuinely contended Samuel Guthrie.
While she was glad that he seemed happier now than he had in the first few months after his breakup with Tabitha, she couldn't help but wonder at the return of his happy mood.
"So why've you been so happy these last few weeks?" she asked, not realising her words until they were already out of her mouth. She mentally berated herself. She hadn't meant to expose her curiosity so fully, but there was nothing to help it now.
"I dunno," he replied, as he typed in a short status report into the computer.
"You don't know?" she pressed, incredulous. For about a minute, there was silence save for the tic tacking of the keyboard. She waited patiently, far more patiently than she thought she was capable.
Sam sat and ran his red, calloused hands through his straw-like hair. Glancing at her sideways, he thought about what he wanted to say.
"Well, I guess I could just sit and mope about Tabitha, but what's the point?" he finally said. "I mean, I guess I knew it'd have to end eventually, seeing as though we never got to see each other anymore."
She nodded once, acknowledging his new life with the X-Men. It brought her an amount of joy to know that his new life at the Mansion meant she was part of his life. She quit the analysis beyond that; there was no point running down that road when it would only lead to a deadend.
It didn't matter that she had changed her life, that she was no longer the feral creature honed by anger, survival, and bitter resentment. It still amazed her that no one really asked about her involvement with over thirty murders during her time with in Gene Nation.
The way she saw it, it didn't matter what Remy had done in the Marauders if Sarah herself didn't have to answer for her actions prior to becoming an X-Man.
But as she listened to Sam explain why he was a genuinely happy, noraml person, she became more and more uncomfortable. It always came back to this, no matter how she ran from it or alternately ignored it.
"See," his voice permeated through her internal dialogues, "it doesn't really matter that Tabbie and I aren't together anymore. The thought of Berto still stings, but that'll pass too." He paused to take a drink of rapidly cooling coffee.
"I'm happy," he said with a small smile, "because no matter what, I'm going to be just fine. She didn't do much beyond bruise my ego."
Sarah's eyebrows met in a tight look of confusion.
"I thought you two were in love with each other, or something," she said, "on the way to skippin to the altar and poppin out pups."
He grimaced at her words, then said, "One time, that would've been true."
He sat back and turned his chair towards her, trying to explain himself.
"Yeah, she broke my heart," he began, "but that's not the issue here. Getting over that hurt is only partially the reason why I seem to be back to normal."
She grimaced at his last word, hating it with all of her heart and part of her missing one.
"No one can touch that part of me, you see," he finished quietly, "the part that knows I'm a good guy, someone worth loving. That's one of the reasons why she loved me initially, and one of the main things that hasn't changed 'tween us."
Sarah looked at him, with an air of a bored audience. Over the last two weeks, he had brought this issue up with her whenever they had a real chance to talk. He'd first bring up the weather, or maybe talks of the schedule of chores for the week. Then, after the obligatory bullshit, designed to guage her mood, Sam would find a way back into this topic.
She was irritated. Did she have a sign on her back saying, "I need Self Help!" or something? Last time she had checked her mirror, which admittantly was a very long time ago, she had not had those words tattooed on her bony forehead.
So why now, again?
"I'm happy for you, Sam," she said tightly, then turned her chair and propped her booted foot on the ledge of the control panel. A glob of hardened mud fell onto the smooth gray surface, and Sam automatically reached over to brush it off.
As he leaned over her, she closed her eyes without meaning to and inhaled. Her nose had a keener sense of smell than most, but not as developed as say, Wolverine's. Then again, she didn't know anyone whose sense of smell was as good as Logan's, so she didn't dwell too much on that second-stringer status.
As he sat back into his chair, he said, "Thanks, I think. And you ought to clean your boots before settin 'em up on the ledge like that. Scott'd've had a fit."
"So let him fit," she replied in a bored voice. "He keeps that shit up, he's gonna get an ulcer, go alcoholic, or develop a bad case of hemorroids." She reached up for her cup of coffee and sipped the highly sweetened and creamed drink.
"Either way, I don't give a fuck," she concluded, as she put the mug back down.
"So what *do* you give a fuck about?" he challenged.
She favored him with a long, catlike look, letting her smirking do the flirting. He snorted and rolled his eyes. Now that was a new response. Normally he either replied with a 'big brother' comment or blushed.
He rarely cursed too, and only very sparingly to make a point. She had, in fact, never heard him curse in front of any of the other members of the team. Her smirk deepened.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said, obviously uncomfortable and irritated. "I meant about yourself."
Her smirk disappeared behind a growing wall of her stony face. "I said I don't wanna talk about it."
She glanced at the monitors and muttered, "I don't have the time to explain it to ya anyway, so drop it."
The obvious bait dared him to continue on.
"Ya put forth this attitude," he said lowly, "and Ah don't mean the rough'n tough one." Her eyes narrowed. His accent was getting noticably stronger, not that it ever was really unnoticable.
"Ah mean your attitude of 'No one understands'," he continued, "beneath the quite credible attitude of 'Me Sarah, I kill'."
Sarah was alternately flattered at the sarcastic compliment, and pissed at the dime-store-self-help-book analysis. She decided to let him dig his own grave, because although she wouldn't admit it, her favorite topic was and always would be herself. And it was always entertaining to prove to the X-Men that they really *didn't* understand her.
"But it's more than that," Sam said. "One day, y'll have to stop making excuses and start mending yourself, 'cause without that, yer never gonna grow."
And that was it. Her trademark anger flared.
"I do NOT want to talk about this," she snapped, "and you are about two minutes older than me, so don't talk to me about growin up."
"Stop makin' this a competition. Ah've been around this world a while," he said without the patronising tone she was *sure* she would hear, "and I know I can help you with this."
"Do I have a fuckin sign on my back saying, 'Sarah needs help" or something?" she snapped angrily. "Because last time I checked, I didn't ask for your opinion, or your help."
"There it is," he said with a air of decided satisfaction. "That's my cue for me to say, 'Fine, fuck it, if you don't want to talk about this, I'm outta here.' Because that's what we all do, all the time with you.
"But I'm not gonna do that." His eyes held a patient challenge, as though he was talking to a child. She stared at him, at a loss for words.
"See, ya set this up so perfectly," he said, "that sometimes I wonder if you even know ya do it anymore.
"Ya say that we're all gonna walk away one day, or give off some comment like we won't understand and never will, but only because really yer just showin' us the door, and askin it not to hit our asses on the way out."
Her eyes widened in amazed fury at his words.
"I do not ask for people to leave me, you jerk!" She shot to her feet, and he shot to his in return, using his advantage of height to accentuate his words.
"YES YOU DO," he shouted, then visibly changed his stance. He wasn't trying to start a physical fight, so he tried to look less physically threatening. He let his shoulders fall back in a less intimidating pose and let his weight stay mainly one leg, trying desperately to end a prelude to violence.
"Then ya react by sayin all us are the same, that no one can handle ya. It's a fuckin' defense mechanism, and the only way you know how to feel good about ya'self," His voice was deceptively calm, and his light blue eyes flashed dangerously.
"Bullshit," she replied automatically, but he smiled tightly in return.
"But that's what'cher doin right now, girl," he said, "and you're so tightly wrapped in this state of constant misery because ya don't know what it's like to be truly happy."
And the prospect of being happy scares the shit out of ya, he thought but wisely did not voice.
"So ya push me and the rest o' us away. But Ah won't give up on ya, no matter how much you *want* me to."
He sat back down and absently picked up his coffee mug, taking a drink and checking the monitors. She remained standing, her jaw slightly working and her hands alternating between curling into fists and relaxing.
"Ya got some nerve, Kentucky," she said, "but ya couldn't be more wrong."
"Do. Tell." Sarcasm from Sam was as rare as his cursing, and it only added to the stockpile of incredulous feelings building within her. It went a long way to killing the indignant anger not-so-hidden within her psyche.
"Ya don't know me," she started, "and if ya did, I know you wouldn't like what ya saw."
"That's not true," he replied without looking at her. He swiveled his chair again and sat with the coffee mug in his hands, his legs slightly apart and his elbows on his thighs.
"Ah don't know the whole of you," he continued in her silence, "but Ah know enough. Ya aint some egg that when broken reveals this ugly interior. Ya just aint."
Hard to argue with the logic, but Sarah did anyway.
"Oh? Do. Tell."
"Like Ah've told Tabbie," he said as he fiddled with a knob, "ya aint my friend because Ah like yer good side. Or yer bad side. Or when yer frightened or funny."
He turned to look at her in the eyes.
"It's all of it, because that's the part of caring about someone that most people miss. It aint the big things about ya that make friendship easy...it's the little ugliness that ya try so hard to hide."
She snarled. The cruel, utterly and completely cruel bastard!
"How *dare* you!" It's all she could scream, because if she screamed that honestly, she was hideously ugly and he couldn't possibly love her for it. It'd just give it all away.
Sarah couldn't do that. And he knew it. Sam had cornered her verbally and pounced.
"You unbelievable asshole," she shouted instead. He shot to his feet again, angrily slamming his coffee mug on the ledge of the control panel.
"Just what exactly was mean about my statement, Sarah? All Ah said was that Ah care about ya, wholely and completely. If ya can point out where *exactly* Ah was an asshole, Ah'll apologize on mah knees if ya think Ah should.
"Yer comfort zone is rejection, so ya can prove to yerself that no one can put up with ya in yer hardest moments."
Her eyes were so large in indignant fury, it was nearly comical. But she was breathless and robbed of any retort. He snorted.
"Yer so used to the lack of love that ya leave it before it can leave you." He stared at her coldly, easily seeing through the mask of anger to the heart of her vulnerability.
"What's up with this attitude of yours? You are better than this, Sarah." He pinned her with a sad smile. His voice was quiet and nearly pleading.
"Yer so much better than reducin' yerself to nothin. And why ya don't see this, Ah just don't know. Ya aint a bad person. There's no such thing as a bad person."
Sarah snorted, her defenses completely in place again. The innocently naive farm boy was back, and this she could deal with quite easily.
After all he had seen in X-Force and the X-Men, Sam was still the optimistic, horribly naive boy from the country. Bad people *did* exist, and he'd even had to kill them before. She shook her head.
He ignored it.
"Things aint black and white, Sarah, and until ya realize this, yer gonna drive yerself nuts. Ya don't know how to get out of the bottom of this hole, but yer damned good at survivin' there." His voice had the smooth, warm qualities she had always loved. There was no condesention, no patronizing 'older brother' tone, no pity. Just a touch of wistful sadness and a yearning to help.
"What the hell is the point of this conversation? Ya can't love me if ya don't know me. Ya got this image of me, and when it breaks into a thousand pieces and ya realize who I really am, *what* I really am, yer gonna walk." She snapped her mouth shut, angry at revealing so much.
Sam shook his head and refused to be daunted, although he realised with a bit of amazement that she was completely sincere. The girl really believed her words.
"Fine. Hit me. Tell me ya've killed thirty-seven people. Tell me ya've sold drugs t'kids and they're livin off the addiction. Tell me ya've hurt innocent people and enjoyed it.
"Ah don't care what ya tell me, Sarah, because the real you aint a roarin' lion or psychoatic bitch. Ya don't scare me. You're just a person who wants help, and don't know how to ask or deal with the consequences of askin' for help." He stood before her, his arms tightly folded, his face slightly tilted as he stared down into her dusky pink face.
"Fine. Fix me." Her voice was a cold monotone. Before he answer, she answered for him.
"You can't. Conversation over." She wanted desperately to leave, having exposed herself so clearly, but for some reason she glanced at the monitors once more. She stared at one of the screens which held a picture of the entrance to the Morlocke Tunnels. She looked at it numbly, remembering everything. Sam followed her line of sight, and purposefully stood between the monitor and her.
She looked at him in amazement. He really did have more courage than she had ever given him credit for.
"Can't believe yer still here," he said quietly in the incredulous silence.
For some reason, that was enough to make her stay. She openly searched his face for a sign that would give her a cue to leave. There was none. No anger, no condescension, no patronizing, no pity. He knew she was looking for those signs, openly distrusting him.
He shook his head. "Some of the hardest things to understand are as plain as day," he said.
Sarah didn't hug him, and Sam didn't make a single movement towards her. Instead, reality entered and the computer informed them that their time on duty was completed.
They looked at the time on the monitors then turned to look at each other. They stared at each other, each wondering if now was an okay time to leave.
--- end?