sam walker's tears cure cancer. he never cries. (bullet_wound) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-03-03 19:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | howl, watson |
Who: Sam and Dot
What: Neighborly bonding. Fruit trading.
Where: Sam's place
When: 2/28, afternoon (backdated)
Warnings: Rated D for Sam is a dork?
Oranges were not her favourite fruit in the world, but she definitely didn’t hate them like Sam claimed to. That comment alone had Dot wanting to see him eat one. Sure, allergies were very real things, though she didn’t have any, but she’d never heard of anyone getting sneezing fits from oranges. Besides, Sam was a nurse, weren’t they supposed to endorse healthy eating? Not avoid them by making up phony excuses to get out of it.
These thoughts ran through her head as she made her way from her apartment to Sam’s apartment, two doors away. Checking the number on the door, just to be sure, she reached out and knocked twice.
Being shot caused a certain degree of paranoia and it had taken a while for Sam to come to terms with his own personal quirks. As a teenager, the string of therapists that his parents had forced him to see called it an understandable response to a traumatic event. Sam called it taking precautions. When he had first moved into Bathos, he had had a locksmith up in his apartment on the first day, installing two extra locks.
Now, he undid those two locks with two heavy thunks as he swung open the door and greeted Dot with a friendly smile. His apartment was a comfortable mixture of bachelor pad and lived in. National Geographics littered the coffee table in front of the television and a basket of organized, but unwashed clothing sat by the front door. Pictures and posters dotted the walls, photographs of family members from years ago mingling with more recent snapshots of Sam’s mother, his step-father, and his younger half-brother’s smiling face.
“Let’s do this,” he tossed an orange her way.
Dot caught the orange just before it hit her face, as she entered the apartment. Sam’s apartment was different from hers, definitely less messy, but that was probably because he actually took the time to clean his. Also, her walls did not have pictures of her family. As far as she was concerned, she had no family. The only pictures she had in her apartment were her of her foster parents, and even those were scarce.
Taking a seat on his couch, she smiled at him as she started to peel the orange, “So what’s your vendetta against oranges?”
“They started it,” Sam replied, a mock look of hurt crossing his features. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with a medium-sized box of the fruit. He dropped it down on the coffee table with a thump and perched on the edge, next to the box, tossing an orange absently from one hand to the other. “I’m allergic. Don’t tell me you’re not allergic to anything.”
“Seriously? I thought you were joking,” Dot smiled sheepishly and popped an orange slice into her mouth. It was sweet, at least, she was thankful for that. Sour oranges were in no way enjoyable. Waiting to finish chewing and swallowing before she spoke again, she shook her head with a curious expression on her face, “I’m not allergic to anything. Well, nothing that I’ve ever experienced, as of today.”
“So does my step-dad,” Sam deadpanned, pausing to give the box of oranges a meaningful look. “He sends these, without fail, every six months.” He huffed out a laugh and began to peel the orange absently. He couldn’t eat the fruit, but he certainly enjoyed the smell of citrus. “So, really, you’re not only doing me a favor if you take these, but you’re also looking out for my health.” He grinned, setting the peel down the table beside him.
Dot narrowed her eyes for a second, popping another slice into her mouth. She still wasn’t sure if she should believe him, but she figured that allergies could get pretty serious and she didn’t want to take her chances. “Does that mean you’ve never eaten an orange in front of him either?” Dot’s eyebrows went up for a second as she said this, but went back down as she continued, “Well when you put it like that...” She trailed off, a playful smile on her face, but she’d already decided to take the oranges, “What else are you allergic to?”
Sam grinned at the expression on her face. It looked like she was trying to analyze him, like she didn’t didn’t entirely believe him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes good-naturedly and instead settled for picking at the half-peeled orange in his hands. He spun the fruit with his fingers and was tempted to toss it at Dot, just to see what would happen. “I must have. Or he must have heard me talking about them at some point because he always sends these things,” Now, he did roll his eyes. “I don’t have the heart to tell him because I’m pretty sure he considers it some kind of father/son bonding gift.” He paused, glancing away for a moment, “Do you have family in Seattle?”
Dot laughed, parents were hard to understand sometimes. Her foster parents used to buy her frilly pink dresses that even four year olds couldn’t get away with wearing in public. Sometimes you just had to smile and say thank you, even if you had no idea what to do with the gift. “Well, it’s the thought that counts right?” The laughter stopped at Sam’s next question, and she wondered if she should just say yes. It would be simpler, after all. The silence stretched for a few seconds before she spoke again, quietly this time, “No, do you?”
The momentary silence made Sam regret asking. His curiosity and inherent need to mother-hen those around him had gotten the better of his common sense. A teenage girl living on her own clearly had to have some baggage. He didn’t catch the wince in time and it spread across his face. Well, he’d have to mend this somehow, “No. They’re all back in LA,” He paused, wondering what piece of personal information he could sacrifice for the gift of a less awkward conversation. “My mom teaches English Literature, if you can believe it.”
“But you still talk to them, right? I mean, your step-father sends you oranges,” Dot smiled, glad for the change in topic. She would have told him if he asked, but it wasn’t the most fun of things to talk about and she would much rather listen to Sam talk about his family. “English Literature? That sounds interesting, did she make you read all the classics when you were younger? Is that why you write angry poetry?” She couldn’t help it, but she did try to suppress the smirk that threatened to break out onto her lips.
“Oh, yeah, of course. My little brother’s out there with them,” He gestured over his shoulder at a photograph on the wall. Alex was five and a little more rotund than the average kid his age. Sam blamed his mother’s tendency to feed people when stressed. “And no, the angry poetry is all mine. They’re masterpieces. I should be published.” He put the orange down on the coffee table. “My mom tried to get me into reading, but I was always kind of a science nerd,” That wasn’t entirely true. He had always held in interest in writing. More than a fake interest in angry poetry, but with a parent who read classical literature for a living, Sam had always felt too intimidated to follow through with anything.
She glanced over his shoulder at the photo and smiled, a real genuine smile, “Aw, he’s cute. Do you miss him?” Well, of course he missed him, he was his brother. Sometimes Dot wondered if her sister ever missed her. Ever took a break from her surely married life to wonder where her little sister had gone. She zoned out, frowning for a second but returned to the present when Sam started talking about his mother again. “You always wanted to be a nurse?” It was hard to imagine having so much direction at such a young age, but it was a good thing. She tried to imagine Sam as a young child as she waited for an answer, but mostly just succeeded in putting his face on his brother’s body.
He half-turned to glance back at the photograph and smiled. Alex’s birthday was approaching and Sam made a note to call home as well as pick out a birthday gift. If this year was anything like last year, he would end up half-heartedly begging his mother to pick out something because what do you get for a toddler anyway? “Uh, no,” He admitted, sheepishly palming the back of his neck. He always got weird reactions about this. “I wanted to join the army, to be honest.”
“Really? The army?” Dot raised an eyebrow, definitely not what she expected, “To be a soldier? Or like an army doctor?” She took a moment to scrutinize Sam. She couldn’t imagine him as a soldier, but maybe that was because he’d introduced himself to her as a nurse first. “Why did you change your mind?” She had been thinking about her future a lot lately, and she wanted to know that if she was going to make a choice, it was okay to change her mind later.
He hadn’t known at the time what he wanted to do in the military. He just knew that it was his goal. He liked the sense of community, the feeling that he was protecting his country. It sounded dumb. His mother had been suspicious when he had joined the ROTC in high school, like he had some sort of alternate motives. “I probably would have gone medical, I guess,” He paused, thinking. Would he have? He had always had an interest in science, but prior to getting shot, becoming a doctor or nurse hadn’t been on the top of his list. “I had an accident,” He hesitated. “It...well, they wouldn’t take me anymore.” Just thinking about it made him wince. A soldier with a stiff arm and a bum leg? How useless.
“That’s awful,” Dot frowned, but her voice was softer than usual. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like if she put herself out there, let her dream be known to the world, just to be told that they didn’t want her. Most of the time, she acted like she didn’t care about things, but that was just because she was so scared of being told she wasn’t good enough for the things she let herself care about. It was stupid, she knew it, but it was easier this way. “But you love what you do now, right? So it all worked out for the better?” She sounded silly, all that hope in her voice, but she wanted to know that good things happened to good people.
Sam felt uncomfortable, like he had overshared, so he cleared his throat nervously. Exhaling around a shaky smile, was pleased by the subject change. He honestly had no desire to really talk about that area of his past for very long. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat again. “What about you? I don’t know what you’re studying. Or....well, most of anything, really.”
Dot laughed, glad that the tension didn’t last very long. “Um well actually, I’m kind of studying everything and nothing right now,” She paused for a second, “I don’t really have a major, ‘cause i don’t know what I want to do.” Very honest, a change from what her usual, perfectly prepared answer.
Sam nodded, trying to put on a Very Serious And Concerned expression, but it failed spectacularly. He considered telling her that he didn’t have any idea what he wanted to study when he started college either, but that would be a wonderful lie and also, what was he, her father? Jesus. What was it with this girl and his desire to give her advice that was really not his place to hand out? “Honest,” He replied with a smile. “Big surprise, I studied Nursing.” He raised his eyebrows. “What about outside of school? Hobbies? I,” He stopped, considering. “Sorry, I’m not trying to interrogate you or anything,” He leaned back and swiped a National Geographic from behind him. “I, for example, enjoy reading National Geographic like a huge nerd.”
There was more genuine smiling from Dot. What was going on? “No no, it’s okay really,” She laughed, taking the National Geographic from him and flipping through it, just for something to do with her hands, “I play rugby at school. My guidance councillor in high-school thought I had aggression issues to work out.” Pausing for a second, she corrected herself, just to be sure, “I don’t, by the way, I just like playing the game.” Other than that, she really didn’t have a lot of hobbies. Hobbies were hard work, and people always expected you to join clubs and talk about them, so she had made a point to avoid them completely in the past.
“I was more of a soccer player,” Sam took an unpeeled orange from the box and balanced it on the toe of his shoe. Kicking it into the air, he caught it again with the side of his foot, continuing the routine for a few heartbeats. He grinned, “Are you any good?” Maybe he could get her to teach him a few things about the game. Sam would never be a professional, but he liked athletics. It gave him something to do. “And you didn’t strike me as the aggression issues type. Unless you’re a serial killer and very good about hiding it.”
Dot watched as Sam played soccer with the orange for a bit. She’d never gotten into soccer, but maybe that was because she hadn’t given it a proper try. “I like to thing I am,” She liked the game, and it was one of the few things that she worked hard at “And I really don’t have aggression issues,” She assured him again, “But if I were a serial killer, you’d probably never find out. Well, not unless I was trying to recruit you or something.”
“Or killing me,” He tapped his nose. “I’d catch on. I read a lot of murder mysteries. You wouldn’t stand a chance against my detective skills,” Okay, so who cared if the books he read were in no way realistic? Sam liked to think he was observant enough. Yeah, sure detectives probably needed training, but a lot of it was probably instinct. He could buy a magnifying glass or something.
“Is that another one of your hobbies?” She laughed, flipping through the National Geographic in her lap again, “That’s a pretty wide range of hobbies. National Geographics, soccer, murder mysteries. What don’t you do?”
“Tap dance,” He wriggled his eyebrows. “Eat oranges, sing in public. A lot of things, really. I lead a very boring life,” That was partially true. Sam’s activities extended to going to work, eating, and sleeping. And occasionally handing out fruit to his neighbors, apparently. Sometimes, he felt like a sixty-five year old man trapped in a twenty-four year old’s body. He made a mental note to go drinking as soon as possible.
“Oh man, you don’t sing in public? There’s just no point in even being friends anymore, Sam,” She joked as she ate more of her orange, “But seriously, that’s already three times the hobbies and activities I have. So have you met any of your other neighbours?” She only asked because he’d been so shocked that she lived alone, but she definitely wasn’t the only one around here.
“Not really. I’ve seen a few people around, but...I don’t know, the forums aren’t exactly inspiring
me to talk to anyone around here,” The reaction to the Hockney pictures leaking had been...well, depressing wasn’t the right word. Uninspiring? Frustrating? Whatever it was, it left Sam generally displeased. “Besides, I’ve only moved in a few months back. What about you?”
“I know a few people,” She answered vaguely, it would be fun to see if Sam would try to give every teenager who lived alone, a box of oranges or something similar, “You moved all the way here, from LA, right? Do you like it?”
Sam hadn’t exactly left LA on good terms, so really, anything not there was guaranteed to be good. Still, he missed California’s dry heat and the general feel of the city that he had mostly grown up in. His early years had been spent in Boston and Sam had memories of nearly freezing in the Massachusetts winters. “It...rains a lot,” He replied, trying to sugar coat his opinion. “California’s different. I think I’m just used to earthquakes and mudslides.”
“It’s okay if you hate it, just say so,” Dot tried not to laugh. Seattle wasn’t her favourite place on Earth either, but she lived here for now and she’d probably stay at least until she graduated, “And yeah, the rain kind of sucks. Why’d you come here?”
Well, Dot. I had sex with my boss and when I dumped her, she had me changing bed pans for three weeks while attempting to set me on fire with her eyes. Sam closed the box of oranges, “I needed a change of pace. Did you need help taking these back to your apartment?”
Dot narrowed her eyes for a second while Sam looked away, curious to know why Sam needed that change of pace, but she bit her tongue and held it in. Smiling, she shook her head, “Um no, I think I’m good. Thanks, though.” She’d try to figure it out next time.