Hazards

Sam did not know what the President said to him, but James was relaxed for the rest of the night.  He was quiet.  He stayed in the bedroom and kept the door open, Sam didn’t even have to bother him to check in.  Every time he peered into the room, James was sitting in front of the tv, a controller in hand, headphones over his ears.

Sam made sure to keep an eye on him.  More frequent than necessary, but there was an odd tug in Sam’s chest seeing James just sit on the couch, moving a character along the screen, with none of the bark or bite he had before his mother’s arrival.  James didn’t say a word when Sam spoke to him.  James didn’t even look his way when he made his way to the bathroom or the kitchen.  Sam was like a ghost in the townhouse now; present but unseen and unheard.  It was almost a relief when Natsha came for the shift change.  Twelve to twelve.  Sam’s noon to midnight was over.

“How was he?” She asked as she looked down the hall.  James’ door was still open, a clear view of him in front of his tv, playing video games, oblivious to them all.

“Started off rough,” Sam said, his eyes lingered on the man.  “Then we had a visit from the President, and he’s been like this since.  Quiet.”

“The President came?” Natasha asked with an eyebrow raised.  “Hmm.”

Sam had known Natasha long enough to know she did everything deliberately.  She had something on her mind, but she wanted Sam to ask her about it.

“What does that mean?” He said.

“What?” Natasha asked, feigning obliviousness.  

“That ‘hmm’ you just did.  What are you thinking?”

“Hmm,” Natasha hummed, her lips pursed a little.  Then she whispered, “I’ve been on this job a few days longer than you.  She never visited.”

Sam frowned.  That sounded… sad.  When Sam was ever in the hospital, Sarah and the kids made special efforts to visit.  Even if she had to drive in.  That said, this wasn’t Sam’s business.  He was exposed to a lot but it was his job to be objective.  The President of the United States was experiencing a different life with different priorities than Sam and his sister.

“She’s a busy woman.  We don’t know what happened,” Sam said.  He wanted to keep an open mind on things.  “Besides, James seemed pretty happy to see her.”

Natasha smiled.  “Good.  I got things now. Go get some sleep.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice.  The boring day actually made him tired.  His shoulders fell from their squared position and he said his goodbyes.  James had his headphones on, Sam didn’t bother him.  They weren’t actually friends.

Sam listened to the radio, volume turned all the way up so he could feel the bass through the seats.  He stopped for food, pulling into a drive through taco place.  Now that he was working so much he didn’t want to waste time cooking.  Sam hadn’t gotten a chance to eat, the kitchen untouched besides the coffee pot.  And James hadn’t eaten either.  Sam ordered his food, it wasn’t in his job description to cook for the man.  He wished the workers a good night as he put his bag of food in the passenger seat and continued on his way.  The smell of tacos quickly filled the small cab of Sam’s truck, making his mouth water and stomach growl.  

He had an apartment a mile away from James’ townhouse, but it may as well be a completely different city.  The street lamps were duller, the roads patched from numerous cracks, and the size of James’ townhouse could fit three of Sam’s apartments in it.  Sam’s kitchen was a counter in the corner of the room, half of it taken up by the sink, a fridge and an oven signaled it as the kitchen.  Sam never cooked.  Now he would barely have time to.  Even before the twelve hour days and mandatory overtime, Sam felt like he never had time to cook.  He settled on his couch with his tacos and turned on the tv.  It was more background noise, something to soothe the thoughts while he ate.  The lights and colors shifted around the room as he flipped through the channels.  He wanted to avoid anything too interesting, but as he channel surfed James caught his eye.  Sam sighed, unable to escape the man, because his picture was before him.  

It was a late night talk show, a rerun likely from earlier in the night.  They had James’ picture on screen.  An older one, where his eyes lit up with the flash of cameras, his hair combed back, and a sleek black suit on.  It looked like an event shot, where he was supposed to look good, rather than a random paparazzi shot of them on the streets.  As far as Sam could tell, there were no pictures of James actually leaving the hospital.  The host on screen got a laugh as they discussed their trip to Starbucks immediately after release.  As far as celebrity jokes went, it was fairly mild.  Respectful at least, to a war hero or the President’s son, Sam didn’t know.  

He changed the channel.  Professional Golf.  Boring, but better than celebrity gossip about his charge.  He focused on his tacos.  The grease had already soaked into the paper bag and the food was just beginning to cool.  Despite that, Sam was starving and when he took that first bite a pleased groan slipped out.  He had a napkin handy to catch the juice that slid down his chin.  Sam watched the green fields on the screen as the presenter whispered what was happening.

Nights like this left him homesick.  He could go home.  Delacroix was quieter than DC, he could find a peaceful job where he could spend every night with Sarah and the boys with a home cooked meal.  Sam hadn’t had home cooking since he got to the city after the military.  But the money this promotion brought wasn’t just tempting, it was necessary.

Finishing his first taco, Sam silently reminded himself it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure the President’s son ate dinner.  He was a grown man.

Sam finished eating quickly and went to shower before bed.  He washed off the day, intent on leaving it all behind.  Tomorrow would be a fresh start.  Hopefully James remembered to eat.

The thought bothered him more than Sam would like.  More than he would actually admit to anyone.  The next morning he was to report in with Natasha around noon for their shift change.  Sam intended for today to at least go well and when he went home tonight he wanted to have peace of mind.  There were a few gas stations on the way to James’ townhouse, Sam stopped at one for a half dozen donuts and a couple premade fruit parfaits.  Despite the pitstop, he was still early.   The townhouse was quiet, not a sound besides the hum through the vents.  The curtains in the living room were partially open, letting in a little natural light.

Sam smelled fresh coffee.  It was a welcoming scent to come in to.

“Mornin’,” Sam said.  It was still before noon after all.  “I brought donuts.”

Natasha was on the couch, a mug nestled in her hands.  “I love you.  Lemme see.”

She stood up and carried the mug over. Eyes on the box in his hand.  He had gotten a couple plain ones and a few frosted or cream filled donuts.  A variety to pick from.  Sam handed the box to Natasha.

“Where’s Barnes?” Sam asked.  The rest of the house seemed dark.  The door at the end of the hall was closed.

“Asleep.”

“It’s almost noon,” Sam said.

Natasha hummed, picking a chocolate donut from the box.  “He was up late.”

“Did he eat at all?”  Sam said, eyes on a simple glazed donut.

“Yeah, around two he had some tacos delivered.”

Sam smiled at that.  He was relieved to hear it.  The worry had been gnawing at him, in the back of his mind, despite his better judgment.  It was the tacos though that Sam found humor in. Something had in common. Or just that sometimes it’s the easiest to find in the middle of the night.  

“Well, time for me to flee the scene.  See you in twelve hours,” She said.  

Sam nodded.  He was sure she was ready to get home and rest.  James’ status needed to be reported before she could leave, meaning Sam had to see that he was alive and well for the shift change.  He sucked the glaze from his fingers and made his way down the hall.  The door already opened just a crack, the hinges completely silent as he opened it.  The light from the hallway filled the room just enough to give him a good look at James’ bed.  He was face down in the pillows, brown hair sticking up at the sides.  His chest rose and fell slowly, steady as he continued to sleep undisturbed.  

He pulled the door back, still leaving it open just a sliver.  Private, but easy to check in on him.

“Well, he can sleep for the rest of the day if it would make my job easier,” Sam said when he made it back to the kitchen.  He nodded to Natasha.  “Get some sleep.”