Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ All I Have ❯ Look After You ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

: Look After You :

“Hill, how long have you known Murphy?” Adam heard Ian ask the next day, while they were waiting to lift-off from base within their ABAV. The loud motor nearly drowned Sam's answer, the pilots lifting their voices just to be heard between each other. The red light signaling standby mode caused harsh expressions on all their faces.

“Huh. He's a quiet guy,” Ian then said, staring at the ceiling while Adam wondered why the medic's name had even come up. It wasn't as tense between them as it had the night before, both of them speaking to each other on civil terms, but Adam could tell Ian was still pissed. Adam allowed it, for he was as well. Because when Ian returned home, he immediately asked Adam's opinion on whether or not Andy was of `girly' tendency.

It had bewildered Adam then, figuring that the two had bumped into each other at some point on the street. But he was starting to wonder why as Ian brought up the subject once more. He looked at him, judging his features for a moment and realizing that the sniper had been thinking on the subject for awhile. He rested his chin upon his palm, recognizing that Ian was honing in on such tendencies, his hatred simmering underneath the surface. He studied his profile, wondering what it was that prompted such loathing.

“When you get to know him, yes,” Sam answered, sitting across from them, belted in by the safety bar. “But he opens up. He's really nice.”

“Is he…seeing anybody?”

Sam wrinkled his nose and shook his head, clearly puzzled by the question. “He doesn't say. I mean, I'm sure he does. He's, well, I guess, like…um…women…like him.”

“He's cute,” Bridgette interjected, speaking for him freely, seeing as he was uncomfortable with the topic. “Some chicks go for that. Both of you look like adorable matching bunnies.”

“So you're saying that because Hill's `cute', he's not going to get lucky one day,” Jensen asked, teasing them.

“I'm saying the only crowd interested in those looks are older women and homos. And possibly young teenage girls, so there are your options, Sam.”

“Um, thanks, I think.”

“You interested, Peters?” Larson quipped. “Finally ready to break it off with Byrons and expand your horizons?”

“Go to Hell.”

Larson gave Ian a slightly stunned look at the low uttered curse, but he changed it into a shrug. “Break-ups are hard to manage. I understand.”

Adam glanced at Ian and wondered why he had to take his mood out on other people. Sam looked worried, turning his blue eyes to his hands, as if trying to ignore the subject. Bridgette frowned, and Jensen cleared his throat loudly, as if to break some of the tension that started to lay over them. Adam looked at Cooney, who was reading a paperback novel, ignoring them.

With a roll of his eyes, he shifted back in his jump seat. “Just because some guy looks soft or compassionate, Ian tends to think they're fag. That's what this is about, because he's threatened by Andy's looks.”

“Is that what that's all about?” Bridgette asked while Sam shot Adam a look.

“I didn't say anything like that,” Ian snapped at Adam.

Adam shrugged. “You have that tone. You have that look. You think Sam's brother is a homosexual. You're prying for details just to see if you're right.”

“I said nothing of the sort!”

“What makes you think that, Peters?” Sam asked, almost panicked.

“I didn't think anything, Hill!”

“Don't yell at him just because you're on the rag, Peters!” Bridgette snapped at him. “If you're feeling shitty, keep it to your-fucking-self.”

“Can we go now?” Larson asked the pilots.

Sam studied his hands, and Adam could tell the other was worrying over the subject. He shook his head, lips tightening as he forced himself to focus on the weathered metal of the floor.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” Ian apologized shortly.

“It's all right,” Sam muttered, still not looking up. Looking at his hunched shoulders, Adam thought of the way Andy looked earlier that morning when snapped at. Both of them looked like kicked puppies, and he felt bad for behaving like an ass. He exhaled heavily, figuring he should apologize for his behavior to Andy the next time he saw him.

But as he looked at Ian again to see if the man truly looked remorseful for his earlier actions, Adam had to wonder what made Ian so suspicious. He looked at Jensen, who only lifted an eyebrow in response.

“Why was he there?” Sam then mumbled, looking at Adam.

“He came looking for you last night, Sam,” Adam said. “While you and Lars went for pizza.”

Sam gave him a terse nod.

Adam didn't know what to say after that, so he leaned back in his jumpseat and wondered how to go about the apology. Cooney lowered his book and gave them all disgusted looks. “What the Hell's the matter with you people? Neilson? You bleeding?”

“You better run fast by the time we land, Cooney, because I'm going to aim for your fucking anus with my launcher.”

“You always promise me things,” he complained, resuming reading while the pilots were cleared for take-off. Settling back in his seat, he gave a grumpy scoff as the tension within the group continued to permeate the recycled air.

Out on the streets, Ken lingered near Andy while the other used his field pack to patch up a disoriented victim of a drive-by shooting, the slums noisy and rambunctious with activity and sound. Several dead men lay nearby, stray dogs sniffing at the new intruders, and a car lay on its roof, scattered drugs and fake designer bags lying around them. The police had arrived nearly a half hour later to take over on the scene, but Andy had decided to attend to those that were in need of medical aid. The others had walked on ahead, catching wind of a cranky Alien that was threatening its neighbors nearby.

Ken scanned the illegally gained weapons that the gang members had used upon each other, noting how many bullet casings were left behind. He kicked at a dog that snapped at him, and glanced at the dark skinned children that were standing behind a chain link fence that surrounded their park, their various ethnicities earning a scorning expression from him. They stared back at him with indifferent looks.

Andy shifted to stand as a couple of the police officers handcuffed the man he'd just patched up. Cleaning up his litter, he looked back at Ken with a frown, finding the other man engaged in a stare-down with the kids nearby. He felt depressed as he took in the state of their clothing, the very matter of the fact that they were used to seeing such scenes. It just seemed as if it were another day for them. He stepped over the corpse of a man who'd lost half of his chest cavity from a submachine gun and jammed the litter into an overfilled trash can.

“I'm done here,” he said.

“Bout friggin' time,” Ken muttered, kicking the fence, causing the kids to back away.

“Don't. Geez, they're just kids.”

“Tons of nit eggs where they're from,” Ken said, spitting at the sidewalk before stalking off. Andy glanced back at the kids, their hardened expressions waiting for accompanying words from him. He looked away, feeling conflicted. “All of `em will grow up nothin' special. They're linger in this area til the city council decides to do away with it, and they'll die like this.”

Andy looked at the scene Ken gestured at.

“Never did care for nits.”

“People are people. Kids are kids. It shouldn't matter what their skin color is,” Andy muttered.

“Lookit where that got us. The Race Wars, all this illegal immigrating that started the whole act.”

“You're so small and stupid.”

“Callin' me names, now, Murphy? Issat all you can do?” Ken asked him in disgust, turning to face him. “You feel so strongly `bout them kids over there, do something about it.”

“I wish I could.”

“Ain't nobody gonna feel sorry for you when they turn on you cuz you white, and you trying to interfere with their world.”

Feeling tired and cross over everyone's moods, Andy looked away. As Ken spoke, they stalked down the sidewalk, passing building after building that ignored safety codes or were so derelict that it seemed impossible for it to house animals, let alone humans. People stared at them from cement steps, their expressions hard and wary, their eyes bitter. Andy found himself staring down at the sidewalk, unable to look into their accusing faces anymore, feeling his accepted skin color warm with shame.

By the time they caught up to the others, Ken had stopped his rambling. Standing before the rest of their squad was an eight foot tall celery stalk with six arms, four legs and thirty sets of eyes. It was clearly agitated, Barry communicating with it patiently while their t.o. officer, Kurt, struggled to keep up with the translation process. Andy scanned the area around them, finding that the Alien was keeping home in a maintenance shack, and was currently at odds with some teenagers that were heckling it from their third-story window nearby.

He caught himself starting to think of Adam then, forcing himself not to. Ian was suspicious of him, and it was risky trying to continue his stalking goals around the man if the best friend was already aware of something unfavorable. It was a one-sided thing, at best, and Andy hated himself for falling into such things every time he met a man he was attracted to. Adam tolerated his presence because of Sam, and hadn't even expressed interest in continuing a friendship with him. Andy had to accept that he needed to move on; it just hurt to be continually lonely, isolated into the state that he was in. He figured he'd give himself a few days to brood about it, then completely cut himself off. There were always others he'd find interest in; maybe he just needed to venture into the city to find a private place or two where those of his orientation and hiding could just…relax.

He looked up at the sound of his name. Ken was facing away from him, trying to coax Jefferson into halving the last of his chew with him. The others were in a half-moon away from them, so Andy's brow furrowed. His name was said again, and he realized that it was a quiet whisper that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. His skin pimpled with goose pimples, and Kurt looked over at him with a raised eyebrow.

Rubbing at his exposed forearms, Andy turned away to lean against a brick wall decorated with graffiti and worn flyers. He exhaled slowly, figuring it was just a side-effect of sleep deprivation. He glanced around the worn buildings around him, at the various windows that exposed the life that lived between them. The broken shades, the pretty curtains, the boards that blocked out any curious eye. There were a group of women nearby, laughing and talking amongst themselves as they searched for any sort of flattering attention from either the males that were walking about or the soldiers themselves. Andy looked over at the parking lot that was full of vehicles, at the group of men that were clustered around one truck, exchanging stories, beer and barbeque eats from a small grill that a young teenage boy attended to.

`Look over here, Andy,' the voice said again, a sweet, almost feminine lure to it, and he felt compelled to look in the direction it soothed his attention to. Lifting his head, he saw an open alleyway, littered with cans and overflowing trash cans. Yet it was as inviting as a person beckoning for a friendly meet-up, and he didn't feel threatened by following the gentle command. While no other instruction followed, Andy felt himself turn away from the wall and start walking, not even giving thought to how random the action was.

“Where are you going?” Ken hissed at him, grabbing his arm and startling him out of his fog. Andy blinked at him, and then glanced back at the alleyway, where it suddenly became ugly and foreboding, leading into a darkened bridge that would take him down into a junkyard filled with metal trash from the city.

“No where,” he muttered, jerking his arm out of his grip and grumpily standing to the side. He looked at Barry, knowing he needed to report feeling or hearing anything out of sort, but the lead was busy negotiating with the Alien, Kurt and Nathanial trying to calm the being down.

He was aware Ken was eying him suspiciously, and added that to his list of brooding things. The man was only looking for a reason to have him shifted out of their squad; he was just waiting for the opportunity.

He looked up at the sensation of being called, and found himself looking at the alleyway once more. It didn't look dark—and he felt invited once more. Ken's head jerked in the other direction, and he started to yell at the women nearby, startling them and the others. Instead of turning to stop Ken in the middle of his rant, Andy felt himself walking toward the alley, shifting his gun over his shoulder to leave his hands free.

It took a couple of minutes, but he found himself in the junkyard, surrounded by heaps of broken cars, electronics and other unbiodegradable material. It was silent and heavy, wind whistling through and over various surfaces. The ground was littered with scraps of trash and animal waste. Though he couldn't hear the sound of people talking, he knew that they were there. Following a dirt trail caused by humans through the yard, he felt nothing out of the ordinary and came to a stop before a group of men dressed entirely in black. On a subconscious level, he knew he was facing members of the South Side.

Their neat suits, black ties and unwavering stares gnawed at him in irritation. He knew that something was wrong, but he couldn't do anything but stand there and watch as an Asian woman with pale pink lips approached him. Her black outfit seemed more fitting for a club, and she smelled heavily of some floral perfume. Her eyes were dark and hard, forehead furrowed with intense concentration, and though her lips didn't move, Andy could hear her in his head.

`You have something I need.'

She reached out to touch him, her hand pressing against his helmet. She then drew her hand back in disgust. “I can't get in,” she said normally, and Andy felt that spell break. She looked at him as he realized what sort of situation he was in, and he felt calm again, relaxing his tensing limbs.

“I can't get in,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “It blocks me.”

“You can talk to him, you can manipulate him, but you can't get it?” one of the men asked with a sneer in his tone.

“It's in deep!”

“You just can't do it. You're nothing like Smith.”

With a low growl, she returned her attention back to Andy. He looked at her calmly, inwardly puzzled as to what it was they wanted, but helpless to do anything about it. She reached out to him again, but her hand shook. He watched it tremble, then glanced at the sweat that beaded upon her skin. He wondered why she was having such a hard time when he realized it was his helmet she was trying to take off. Before he could process the need to avoid that action, Kurt called him through the earpiece, and the woman gave a frustrated stamp of her foot as she moved away.

“I need more time and help,” she then said, walking off, the men in black trailing after her. Andy watched them disappear through the various trails of the junkyard, and felt that spell lift. Disorientated, he looked around himself, wondering how he'd ended up here. Lost and confused, he stared vacantly at the piles of smashed cars, trying to remember the last thing he'd done. Realizing Kurt was calling for him, and hearing the voices of his squad somewhere up the hill, Andy turned and found his way back onto the trail he'd taken earlier. He made it back, feeling completely out of sorts as Kurt asked him why he'd gone into the junkyard.

“I don't know,” he said in confusion. “I don't even know how I got in there.”

Ken kicked his shin, his uniform taking most of the force that he and his suit used for the effort. “You shouldn't even be here if you're still feelin' that way! Barry, you sure he was cleared?”

“Yes. I spoke with the head medical officer that cleared him,” she answered, giving Andy a concerned look. “But now we're missing time, and the residents here are pissed at us. There must be a head worker around here that's trying to manipulate us. We'll need to send for Recon; they can track those assholes down.”

“It's so sucky that we don't have one of those,” Jefferson muttered, spitting. “Like us grunts can't handle a psychic or two.”

“So what we gonna do?” Paul asked. “We leaving?”

“Andy, to be safe, I want you to sign out for the rest of your shift,” Barry said, making him frown. “Stay on base, have yourself checked out by the head doctors in headquarters. They can tell if someone's trying to mess with your mind.”

“Right,” Andy said. The memory of the men and woman had faded; he only saw himself standing in the junkyard, alone and confused. He just didn't know what to make of it.

Before they started walking to meet the ABAV, Ken grabbed his arm, bringing Andy to attention. The other man was yanking off his watch, something that made Andy frown as he found himself taking it.

“Wear it all the time,” Ken instructed. “Don't take it off. If you do get all funny again, we kin track you down. Paul uses it to keep track'ah me.”

Andy had to nod, giving the worn watch a morose frown because it wasn't his style. He slipped it on while Ken watched, the device bigger than what he normally wore, so it swung slightly loose around his wrist. “Good advice. I'm surprised at you.”

“It's only common sense, Murphy.”

That night he sat in his small studio apartment, staring at his kitchen in blank silence. He had been put on leave until he could be scheduled in with a psychic worker; something he dreaded. He knew that the workers were professional, keeping what they found inside their patients' heads confidential, but he dreaded them seeing the inside of his mind. Seeing that he preferred men to women, seeing what he'd done when he was younger. He fiddled with his bottle of beer, feeling buzzed and heavy with drink. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was still early; those he knew were still out on the field.

He hated himself for feeling so lonely and vulnerable. Hated knowing that he was going to live this way until he finally left the military. But he loved his job. He liked having the technology, the know-how, the very ability to help anyone in need. He liked the structured life, the paycheck and the ironic feeling of being safe on base.

He reached up to touch his hair, finding that the strands were slightly longer than he preferred, and thought about going out for a haircut on base. Without anybody there to monitor him, reluctant to venture out into the city when he was being threatened by some `head worker', he had limited options. The parlor frequently used on base specialized in high and tights only, and he'd prefer just a little more hair to avoid that meathead look.

He sighed heavily and finished off his beer, wishing he wasn't feeling so lonely. Tossing the bottle into the recyclable bin nearby, he sat in silence with his heavy thoughts. He left the chair and flopped onto the battered couch, switching on the holoset and flipping through channels until he found something suitable. It was an entertainment news program, and he watched as Felicia Passage cursed and laughed her way through an interview involving last night's fiasco at some club. Paparazzi footage showed her in the company of some unfortunate Duncan Jones military squad, and before Andy could try to identify the unit, they switched to another story involving another socialite that was being labeled by greasy Burke Ford.

He must have dozed off after that, because once he heard the knocking at his door, the sound prompted him to drop the remote, stumbling away from the couch in a disoriented action, searching for his weapon. In his action, he didn't notice the shape that lingered near his couch, dissipating as he turned in its direction. Once he realized that he wasn't on the streets, he stilled, rubbed his eyes and ventured for the door once the knocking turned insistent.

Sam walked in the moment he opened it, looking frazzled and troubled. Andy shut the door behind him and gave him a bewildered look. “What's wrong?”

“Did you…did you go to the guys' house last night?” Sam asked, looking down at him.

“Um, sure. I mean, I…I just thought you were there,” Andy fumbled, reaching up to wipe the slobber from his chin. “I was looking for you, and—and why?”

“Did you…I mean…did you talk to Peters?”

“Briefly. I think he and—and Byrons were fighting, or something, because—wow. It was so uncomfortable. Why?”

Sam turned away from him and then sat down heavily on the couch. He was wearing his BDU's, his boots untied. Andy flipped on the lamp nearby, feeling puzzled as he took a seat at the other end of the couch. Once he realized some reality show with Playboy bunnies was on, he quickly changed it to a house renovating channel. Sam exhaled heavily.

“I don't know. Peters has it in his head that…that you're…well, he was asking me if you were seeing anybody,” Sam mumbled, picking at the buttons of his BDU.

“Well, no,” Andy said on a light chuckle. He pictured Adam, wondering if stalking counted as `seeing someone'. “I hope I'm not being set up or anything. I'm horrible with blind dates.”

“No.” Sam glanced at him, swallowing hard. “Um…I just…after he was saying all that, it just made me wonder. I haven't seen you with anybody since we met.”

“It's hard to meet somebody around here that won't emasculate me,” Andy replied, feeling uncomfortable with where Sam was taking him. “If you haven't noticed by now, I'm sorta awkward with people.”

Sam swallowed again, his brow furrowing. As Andy studied him, he realized that Sam's features, while similar to his, were somehow different from their father's. He was glad for that.

“I realize that,” he said softly. “But…it just made me think. About what he was saying.”

“What was he saying?” Andy asked uncomfortably. “I've only spoken with him twice. I can't imagine that I've made such a bad impression so quickly. I haven't even shown him how dorky I can be.”

“You can be a real dork,” Sam admitted lightly, shooting him a light smile before frowning again. “But um…I won't be mad or anything. Like I said, I…it just made me think.”

“Wait a minute,” Andy said, holding up a hand, rising from the couch. He went for the kitchen, hearing Sam follow him. Feeling his stomach clench with sudden anxiety, he opened the fridge and grabbed another beer.

Sam snatched it from him, prompting him to frown. “Your bin is full. You've been drinking already.”

“Who made you beer police?” Andy asked, snatching it back.

“You drink a lot when you're bothered. I've noticed that.”

“It's not a big deal. It's not like I'm some drunk or something. It's okay to have one every little while.”

“Occasionally is okay, but you're drinking something every time I see you!”

“You aren't around me all the time, Sam. That's impossible,” Andy said, feeling his ire rise as he opened his beer, glancing at the clock and figuring that since it was the start of the next day, it wouldn't count in that he'd been drinking since he had been released from duty.

“Just—!” Sam snatched it from him and held it out of reach. “Look. Don't drink when I'm talking to you. Just…handle it sober. At least for right now. Just once.”

“You make me out to be this raging drunk!” Andy accused. “I'm not!”

“You even drank one of Larson's last night!”

“Adam offered it.”

“So you didn't have to drink it!”

“So this is what Peters is saying? I'm this alcoholic?” Andy asked, feeling his mouth tighten.

“No.” Sam lowered the bottle, holding it with both hands, fiddling with the neck. “No. Um. Not exactly. He's saying other things.”

“Well, what is it?”

Sam looked reluctant to say, but he set the bottle aside on the counter. He turned away, fiddling with his thumbs, Andy taking that chance to grab his beer and down some of it just to feel that comforting warmth fill his empty stomach.

“He was saying you have girly tendencies,” Sam muttered.

Andy processed that for a moment, then burst out laughing. Sam whirled to glare at him for not taking him seriously, so he quieted. “Um, what does that mean?” he then asked.

“Well, when Peters says it, he…he thinks you're a…you're a homo.”

Andy frowned, but he'd already suspected as such. He had grown comfortable lying through the years, to turn it all a joke or re-direct things into another direction. He'd had enough practice hiding it from his mother and stepfather.

“Well. I guess I'm found out,” he said sarcastically. “Peters is so perceptive.”

Sam frowned at him as he drank again, finishing the bottle.

“I don't even know what it was that I was doing that qualified as `girly',” Andy added, tossing the bottle. It noisily hit the others, and he cringed, figuring he should switch to cans. “Well, I knew I should have cut down on my man-grooming.”

“No. I don't know why he said it, to be honest,” Sam muttered. “He didn't say. Actually, Bryons was the one to say it.”

Andy felt his brow furrow. He turned away to wipe absently at the counters. So Adam had noticed. Maybe he actually had paid attention to all the times when Andy had thought it had been okay to stare at him. Maybe he had been more aware than Andy had thought.

“They fought about that. It's crazy when they fight. You think one of them's going to shoot the other, but you can't even joke about it because they'll turn on you. Most of the time, the guys are so easy going, but when they get to fighting with each other…it gets scary,” Sam admitted.

“So Byrons thinks I'm homo,” Andy repeated.

“Byrons said that Peters told him. Peters didn't confess right out as to, as to why.”

Andy felt his shoulders slump. “Even if I was, I'm not allowed around anymore, right?”

“You aren't, so that doesn't mean you can't hang with—”

“Even if I wasn't, I wouldn't want to, anyway, Sam. People hate each other for the color of their skin, they hate because they make too much money, or too little, people hate each other because they happen to love someone of the same gender. I'm so sick of it.”

Sam studied him for a few moments. He said, “Then why did you enroll in DJ? When the military's filled with hate?”

“I just wanted to help do better. I wanted to get away from mom and her stupid husband. I wanted to be respected. I wanted the structure. You see the media glamorizing the military for what they do to the city, and I wanted to be part of it. I didn't realize how much they edit out when it came right to it,” Andy mumbled. He grabbed another beer from the fridge, noting that he was now out of alcohol.

Sam snatched it from him and threw it forcefully into the sink. Glass and alcohol shattered all over the wall, window and counters. Startled at the action and resulting sound, Andy jumped. He looked at Sam in startle, the younger glaring at the mess he'd made with his action.

“I asked you to stop,” he said calmly, turning away from the kitchen. He sat down hard on the couch, resting his elbows onto his knees, forehead into palms.

Andy then proceeded to clean up the mess. The quiet between them was deafening and heavy, the cheery people on the holoset booming about their designs for expanding a small living room. After tossing the wet, beer-smelling rag into the sink, Andy leaned against the counter and stared out the window. From his second story apartment, he could look down at the parking lot below. Beyond that were a set of copycat neighborhoods, all boasting the same plans, same yards. The walls rattled slightly as a convoy of heavy-duty vehicles rumbled by in some dry training.

He then approached his younger brother, crouching in front of him. Reaching out, his fingers pushed through the short crop of his hair, and he scratched lightly with his fingertips. Sam seemed to wilt under his touch, but Andy knew it wasn't out of disgust for being touched. It was just the very matter of touch. He yearned for such things in such a desperate manner, but he never held himself back from administering it.

“What's wrong, Sam?” he asked quietly. “What's really wrong?”

Sam pulled away from him, his face red and eyes wet. He rose to a stand, saying, “I've never seen you go after someone. I've never seen you talk about someone, and you don't even pay attention to anyone.”

“What does that have to do with anything—?”

“I don't care if you are!” Sam said forcefully. “I don't care if you are, but it does bother me when people talk shit about it!”

“You shouldn't even be bothered. It doesn't bother me. I know how people talk.”

“I just want people to get along with each other! Like you, I want people to accept each other okay!” Sam wiped at his face. He took a deep breath, trying to even out his breathing. Andy sat on the floor, leaning against his couch while he wondered the sudden outburst.

Finally having a hold of himself, Sam sat back down on the couch. “I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I don't care if you are, Andy. I think you can deny or lie or whatever all you want to me, but…it's not like I haven't been around them, before. I didn't know how people could hate homosexuals until I came here. Suddenly it was a big deal. And suddenly I saw why people would lie just to fit in.”

“So you think I am.”

“I'm just saying…that don't ask, don't tell thing? I'm not stupid, Andy.”

Andy didn't feel as if he had to say anything, so he didn't. He wiped his mouth, feeling thirsty.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, glancing at his kitchen.

“Why…don't you contribute to this conversation? You always avoid things.”

Andy looked at his short nails. He wondered how Sam's mother treated him, and figured that she often ignored him. He was such a gentle child, he knew; easily bothered by things that were beyond his grasp.

Sam stood suddenly and strode for the door. Before he left, without looking back at Andy, he said, “I'll know if you go out drinking.”

“I'm a big kid, Sam.”

Sam's response was to slam the door, and Andy exhaled heavily, staring at the holoset with tired eyes, feeling extremely lonely once more.