Solace & Taproots

1.7 - Revised

Bex really began to contemplate Sam's tactical sensibilities. No wonder she helped construct so many of the defensive traps. She probably had an adorable babydoll tee with "When in doubt, C4" printed on the front.

These thoughts started to bubble together when, after she pushed an empty stew dish away, Sam promptly shoved the portion allegedly for her own consumption over to replace it. Suspicion started to bloom when Bex retroactively realized that Sam had accepted every seasoning that Bex had politely passed over after she used it, and there had been a whole lot of idle stirring. But, looking back, no point where Sam's cheerful small talk about radio upgrades, trading for components, and remote triggers and alarm circuits ever stopped for a spoonful.

Did gregarious nerds ever waste the opportunity for an entertainingly distracting anecdote or clever quip? Or did Sam's electrical mastery include absorbing chemical potential energy through a metal spoon and some sort of electrolysis? But how, with only one conductor, not two? So many questions...

She already had a hunch that Sam intentionally let others underestimate her. It redoubled when Bex realized she'd been shepherded to a bench with a waist high steel shelf — again with the conductive materials. Was that the secret to her superpowers? — directly behind it, which Sam moved to perch upon after being sure the second serving had been properly capitulated to.

Bex had not had her hair brushed and braided like a six year old at a slumber party since... well, she was exactly legal drinking age at a mimosa brunch several months before the fall of mankind. But she was sure on the receiving end of it again now. She'd made the practical decision to grow all of her hair, the ambiguous brown-blonde of a light hardwood, to just past collar length in the absence of continued sunscreen manufacturing. Some aggressive layering came recently in a concession to the heat, but the outer sides and back left Sam sufficient material to work with.

Sam continued her very intentionally upbeat not-prattle while experimenting with different styling options, the first three of which supposedly had turned out unsatisfactorily and required an entirely fresh start. If she noticed Bex slow her eating and unconsciously slump into the electrician's lithe little hand at the base of her neck while Sam worked, she had the good grace — or cunning — not to comment on it.

Bex started to think it was as if Sam was using the soothing contact to pump her own broadcast into a saturated channel, intending to drown out less pleasant background thoughts by denying them airtime. Now that she'd established a direct hardline connection, it was like she was sending as much positive current into it as she could for as long as she could. Refusing to allow the link to drop certainly explained the hooked arm all the way to the mess area, and the foot kicks and elbow nudges sprinkled into points of emphasis during the first half of the meal.

She wondered if Sam was somehow going to toss electrical pixie dust over a nearby refrigeration unit and conjure a pint of ice cream to top things off, but apparently the next mix-in for the evening's cocktail was 5'8" of smug, honorably discharged Gunnery Sergeant with a twist of mischievous grin, because every good ambush needed a pincer attack, even if it was serendipitous.

Ronnie sat down across from Bex, just grinning at her while she finished eating and was subjected to Sam's gentle ministrations. When Bex set her utensil down a second time, she reached across the table to squeeze Ronnie's hands, and blinked and smiled her gratitude. Ronnie simply smiled back, and moved one hand to pat the back of Bex's.

Bex decided the compulsory pampering was all worthwhile to see Sam pull Ronnie into the conversation and turn in it inexorably towards what could only be considered "girl talk". Even if it was another complex ploy, she grinned and appreciated that Sam had some sense of fairness in her antics.