Re: 2200
Sam was lucky in that way - he'd always had very good coordination and gracefulness, if you wanted to use that womanly term, and Sam certainly thought it was a womanly term. He mostly just called it "being a damn good dancer," sparing all the big words he felt insecure about trying to say.
"Y'mean they don't drill y'all up and down the obstacle courses no more?" Sam asked, almost nostalgic about his own training, over a decade earlier. "I dunno', that may have helped me, but things may've changed - that was a damn long time ago," the older man laughed, shaking his head. "I'll train my new squadron, I reckon, they've been telling us it'll be a while since we get up there," Sam smirked, looking up at the ceiling. "You'll see the 556th working on their turns instead of push-ups, maybe it'll hit your squadron too," he joked.
When he finally got a look at the other man, as he held his hand out to shake, he smiled and blinked, trying to hide how taken aback he was. He was. . .well. Sam wasn't sure how to put it, and he couldn't even address anything with himself, so he passed it off as a fluke. "Sam," he said, forgetting the formality in his flusteredness. Was it flusteredness? Really? Was it? How embarrassing, he thought to himself. "Captain Doubletree, that is," he corrected himself, slowly taking his hand, and carefully at that.