The Edge
The Edge: Of a Shock
KANDAHAR, Afghanistan
Sam sits inside his best friend's hospital room waiting for Matt to awake from surgery, rubbing his hands through his thick dirty-blonde hair matted with sweat from the day's stressful activities. Matt's eyes slowly begin to flutter open but when the bright, desert sunlight filters through, he quickly shuts them again in attempts to block out the burning glare.
"Sa – Sammy?" His voice asks weakly.
"Yeah buddy, I'm right here. You're gonna be just fine, Mattie. You're alright." The blonde consoles his puzzled friend. Sam strokes his brown hair off his forehead, brushing his bangs aside. He presses his lips into Matt's forehead, attempting to give his friend a reassuring kiss but worry settles in as he feels a high fever rising.
"How's your shoulder holding up?" Sam asks, concern running deep in those kind, crystal blue eyes.
Matthew shifts uncomfortably, adverting his gaze ashamedly. While on patrol with Sam earlier this morning, they found themselves suddenly under enemy fire and Matt's left shoulder had nearly been blown off in the shoot-out. He was extremely thankful Sam had not been injured but he was overwhelmed by guilt for endangering both of their lives.
"It's okay." He states softly.
"No, it's not. You're in pain. I'll get the nurse." Sam decides.
"No! I'm fine. Sammy – please. C'mon man, I'm alright. Really, I am." Matt tries his best to defend himself but to his dismay, knowingly fails miserably.
"Really? Wow, Mattie. That was sad, even for you." Sam chuckles gently.
"Yeah, it was." He mutters sheepishly.
"Remember all those times you told me that taking pain medication doesn't make you any less of a man?" His friend nods gingerly. "Well, I think it's time you take your own advice, buddy." Sam states firmly but his eyes full of laughter.
Matthew can't help but chuckling at his 'famous' words of wisdom. "I figured that would eventually come back around to bite me in the ass." He laughs. "I guess you can drug me up now." He sighs in a mocking tone but Sam can tell he's grateful for the coming relief to his agony.
"I'll be right back, Mattie." Sam says smiling as he exits the room to find a nurse.
He arrives a few minutes later with a pretty dark-haired nurse only to find Matt's face twisted in excruciatingly sharp pain coursing through his shoulder. Sam's stomach somersaults with anxiety as he witnesses his friend's horrible pain.
"Mattie?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The other twenty-one year old can only grimace through eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"It's alright, Matt. This is going to make you feel better, sweetie." The nurse murmurs as she administers the medication.
After a few moments, his eyes begin to peel open, his pain level dropping significantly. He stares dumbly at the nurse, drinking in the beautiful sight. Sam clears his throat attracting both parties' attention.
"Matt, what happened, buddy? You looked awful!" He exclaims. The nurse quietly nods gently to Matthew before slipping out of the room. "Matt. Hello? Earth to Matt!" Sam presses waving his hands in front of his best friend's eyes.
"Huh?" He blinks.
"What happened? Why were you in so much pain all of a sudden like that?" Sam demands.
"I – I don't know. I guess I tried to reach for my water and it was a little too far away." He answers, his eyes cast downwards.
"Matthew Elliot MacLance!" Sam exclaims. "That – that…why would you do that?" He fumes. "I was coming right back, Superman! You could've waited and asked me, you meat-head! And look! Now you have hurt yourself trying to do something stupid! Something I would've been glad to do for you! I should've just let you suffer in your own self-imposed misery." He growls.
Matt winces. He didn't know Sam would get this heated. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to help." His soft voice is thick of shame and sorrow. "You've been doing everything for me and I thought I could do this on my own. I didn't want you to feel like you had to be here every second to take care of me. That's all, Sammy, honest. I didn't want to make you angry." He explains, hurt running deep in his thin voice.
Sam closes his eyes, sighing. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why I got so upset. I just don't want you to get any more injured, especially over something dumb." Matt does not look very convinced so he continues. "Hey, I'm not mad at you, Mattie. I'm just mad at myself for not being here to get your water for you. It's okay, buddy. It's all going to be okay." He gently embraces Matt, hoping to make up for his brash reaction. Matt returns the gesture, eagerly making up to his friend, gladly forgiving the misunderstanding and Sam's occasional overprotectiveness.
After a few minutes pass, Sam asks, "So, is there anything else I can get you?"
"Yeah, actually. Could you find out what that nurse's name is? She's really hot." Matt's eyes dance with excitement.
The blonde laughs. "Anything else?"
Matt shakes his head. "No, man, I'm being serious. I really want her name, Sam! I think she's really, really hot and I don't want to sound like an idiot not knowing what her name is if I talk to her! C'mon Sammy, please? I'd do it myself but…" he trails off, glancing over his hospital gown clad body and menagerie of wires and tubes connected to his bruised tender skin.
"Matthew you're pathetic!" Sam exclaims laughing, unable to resist his friend's adorable 'sad puppy-dog' face. "Of course I'll try to get her name for you, buddy." He says sweetly, gently squeezing Matt's left thigh, ruffling his dark brown hair and leaving to find his friend's sudden major love interest.
Down by the nurse's station, Sam finds the attractive brunette with sun-kissed skin chatting with her coworkers.
"Ahem, excuse me, ma'am?" Sam interrupts as politely as he can.
"Yes?" She asks. "You're Matt's friend Sam, right? Is he okay?" She implores immediately.
"Oh, erm, yes, Matt's fine. It's just that, Mattie is – well, really interested in you. He wants to talk to you but he doesn't know your name and doesn't want to feel like an ignorant idiot asking for it. He thinks you're really beautiful and frankly, you intimidate him to the point where he's too nervous to ask." He laughs a tad nervous himself, not wishing to blow this for Matt. "He's a really sweet kid and even if you discover you don't like him like that, he's still a great friend to have, real loyal and cautious. Believe me, he would never make any type of move on you that would make you uncomfortable in the least."
She genuinely laughs and nods at Sam's kind but slightly forceful attempt to 'sell' his best friend's personality. "Yes, Matt does certainly seem like a real sweetheart…and it's adorable that he wanted you to get my name for him." She smiles, a gesture Sam returns fingering through his blonde mane. "Well, I guess I ought to pay Matthew a little personal visit, check him out for myself. Thank you, Sam; you're a very good friend." She smiles, walking in the direction of Matt's room.
"Um, ma'am!" He calls frantically, remembering something important he should mention. Her bouncy brunette locks swirls in front of her gorgeous face as she spins around to hear Sam's final request. "Hey, don't mention this to Matt, okay? I know that would mean a lot to him if you didn't. I mean, it would mean a ton if you went to talk to him regardless." He flashes a pearly smile, his blue eyes shimmering.
She nods politely. "I know, and I won't tell." She gives him a smile and continues en route to her 'patient's' room.
Sam breathes a heavy sigh of relief, thankful he didn't blow this and praying this will go well. He starts to the cafeteria not having much to eat all day when he spots an oddly familiar figure speaking with a receptionist; a tall man with a muscular build in a stiff black uniform and a head of thick blonde hair standing before him.
"Dad?" Sam asks as he approaches.
The man whirls around at the sound of his son's voice, quickly hiding his surprise of Sam's presence. "Sammy!" He exclaims, stepping forward to give a warm embrace.
The younger Braddock stands quite stiff and unsure of his father's sudden emotional move, but quickly finds his muscles to return a small hug.
"What are you doing here, Dad?" Sam hisses his words laced with urgency as they separate and ushers the General down the hall. It hits him then just exactly why his father has suddenly appeared in Kandahar. "He's in room 253." He states solemnly.
"What?" The General asks in seemingly mock confusion.
"Don't play dumb with me. Matt's in room 253. He's stable and resting but I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you." Sam states in somewhat of a sad/snarky tone.
"Sammy! I came to see you, my boy!" He exclaims, gazing lovingly at his son, though sincerity was lacking.
Sam's face clouds as dark, grey thunderheads roll across his clear blue eyes. "No, you heard Matt had been hurt and you came to see him. You were clearly surprised to find me here, though I don't know why that would be the case. Why would I be distanced from my injured best friend?" He states, a bite of anger following his words.
The General sighs, running his hands though his hair in irritation as if to clear his mind and aide in his choice of upcoming words, a habit Sam had inherited.
"Sammy, that's not true. I had no idea about the incident until I discovered you were not in your rooms nor on patrol." He explains softly, yet firmly stating his innocence of the accusation.
"You went to our room!" Sam roars. "You could've been killed on the walk from the gate to the compound! It would've been just as easy to have checked with our C.O.!"
"Samuel! Be quiet! This is a hospital for God's sake. Wounded soldiers are trying to rest." He hisses. "Be respectful of their recovery."
He bites his tongue using all his willpower to not roll his eyes in disgust. "My apologies, sir." He mutters through gritted teeth.
"Thank you. Now why would you think I would only come to see Mattie?" General Braddock asks innocently.
"Oh, I don't know sir. Maybe because he is the favourite son? Unless you have a better explanation for all the special father-son activities you always do with him, not bothering to spend any time whatsoever with me. No, I'm just the robot-boy you get to order around like you do everyone else, but Matt, oh Matt's special isn't he? He's the perfect little son you've always dreamed of but you got stuck with this worthless piece of belligerent garbage instead, didn't you?" He growls motioning towards himself, more hurt than anger resounding in the air.
Braddock senior is quite shocked with his son's sudden outburst of hatred and jealousy but he too, can hear the hurt riddling through Sam's words.
"Sammy, you are my son and I love you, Pooh Bear." The General states softly, placing gentle hands on his son's shoulders, strategically bringing Sam's childhood nickname into play hoping to arouse some comforting feelings to slightly distract his mind from their bitter quarrel.
"Oh, oh no, don't do that, Dad. Don't pull that card on me. Not the time, Dad and don't call me that in public again, alright? It's been an awful long time since I was your 'Pooh Bear' and an equally long time since you've acted as if you loved me at all." Sam says letting his emotions get the best of him, scowling at his internal pain of stating the last part aloud.
The guilt that he had never been good enough for his father, that he'd never done anything right, anything to be proud of, that he never made the right decisions or he did but they were too late; all come bubbling to the surface. Sam can scarcely resist the beckoning urge to start blubbering in his daddy's arms, the feeling of the General's strong hands rubbing his back and being rocked to sleep like a baby. He quickly fights back the emotions, struggling to keep his face from crinkling into tears.
"Oh sweetie, I know we haven't always exactly 'gotten along' but you're always going to be my little Pooh Bear and I love you. To be completely honest, I only came because you haven't been answering any of my message and, well – I grew worried, Sammy. I was worried you had been taken captive or seriously injured, maybe even…dead." Braddock senior squeaks, the backs of his eyes burning with tears as his mind races with his previously terrified manufactured circumstances where his precious little Sammy had been held hostage, brutally tortured ceaselessly, the hostiles using him as leverage to have their demands met and then mercilessly murdering his son no longer needing him having never intended to return Sam in the first place, at least not alive.
"I'm sorry that I made you worry, Dad. I just – I don't know, I have had a lot on my mind recently and I just did not get around to responding. I did not know you were so concerned, though you should not have been, my unit is very capable of protecting me. We protect each other, Dad. No matter what; they have my back and I have theirs."
The General sighs. "I know they do Sammy but as your father, I can't help but worry blindly when my son is in the middle of a war zone, even if I did put you there. You're my baby and I simply cannot bear the thought of you being injured. And yes, I do love Matt. He's your best friend Sammy and I've known him and his father for years. I do feel as if he is another son at times, but you always come first even though it may not seem like it, in everything that is important, you have and will always come first. That I promise you." He states, gripping his son's shoulders and smiling a sad, yet almost proud smile.
"You forgot my birthday, again." Sam's soft voice mumbles.
He adverts his gaze from his father's guilt-ridden, apologetic eyes as ice-cold fingers wrap around his heart in a feeble yet lethal grip as the hurt drips over him again, washing him until he is drowning in his own guilt of his own failures. His father's harsh words from long ago pounding in his head, repeating, seeming as if it were going to explode. Sam feels himself begin to shake and shudder as the black curtain is slowly being pulled down over the world in front of him. He feels hands on his body and his nerves growing numb to them. He hears sounds, shouts, but all are far away. The earth is growing darker and darker, nearly all light is gone. Only pinpricks shine through the cruel jet black curtain; the midnight world is silent, until…
"Samuel! Samuel!" Two desperate, frightened shouts cut sharply through the curtain, through the silent, midnight world.
His nearly closed eyes fly open, blinking hard several times, his brain working furiously to make sense of the picture before him. A face, a very close face, a very close, upset face, a very close, upset, familiar face staring down at him. Who is this face? Where has he seen this face before? It looks…it looks much like his own. Who could it be? Who was he with? Where was he in the first place? Was he talking to someone? Who was that someone? All of these questions spin rapidly around his head causing him to grow extremely nauseated. So nauseous that the contents of his mostly empty stomach are emptied onto the section of flooring adjacent himself. Words. Words being said. Incoherent words that bring more strange faces. The world now stands still. It stands still just as Sam had been taught to stand still at attention when he was four years old is how still it stands.
'But who are these people? What are these words? Are they being said to me?' Sam wonders. 'Dad!' A sudden burst of recognition floods him.
He struggles for breath, fighting viciously against whatever is holding his body down. "Dad!" He gasps. "Daddy -" He trails off, his body falling weak and breathless, his eyes threatening to close once more.
Strong hands wrap around his face, stroking his cheek and hair. Only then in his half-conscious state does Sam realize his head is laying in his father's cross-legged lap. He struggles to sit up, General Braddock gently pushing him back down.
"Samuel, stop fighting me! It's okay, sweetie. Shhh, you're going to be just fine, Sammy." Braddock senior consoles his dazed son. He glances at the doctor crouched next to his ill-fallen son. "How is he doing?"
"Well, General sir, it just appears he simply nearly fainted. Thankfully it was not one of his episodes but he still ought to rest for a while. I will compose a team of my experts to keep a close watch on his condition."
General Braddock nods his approval. "I will stay with him as well." He decides firmly.
The doctor nods in agreement, calling for various items to be brought to him, all incoherent to Sam. The same ruddy-looking doctor, crouches next to him, saying something unknown. Something wet and cold brushes against Sam's warm upper arm causing him to jerk. His father holds him still, murmuring what he assumes are soothing words. The General brushes his fingers against his son's sweaty forehead. Sam feels pinches, sharp things stabbing him, cold metal things poking and prodding; the nerves dulling to the pain, his eyes growing wild and frightened as the world turns blurred and dark. He frantically enlarges his eyes, trying to grasp at the last shards of light shining through a dense, black fog. The vision of his father rubbing the top of his head and his concerned blue eyes gazing into his own fearful, confused ones, fade quickly into the dark nothingness.
THREE HOURS LATER
General Braddock sits in an uncomfortable chair next to his motionless son's hospital bed, his hands holding one of Sam's cold, limp ones, waiting for his son to wake. He had spent the better part of the past three hours crying silently for all of the pain he has caused Sam in his short life. Another birthday had passed, another milestone had come and gone, another event he missed, and it was just one more thing he could add to the list of his failures as a father, especially as Sam's father. He wasn't nearly as bad with Natalie's important dates or birthdays or even Matt's events but for years, he had neglected Sam's. The worst of all was he pretended that what he had missed, didn't matter. Sam's twenty-first birthday had indeed been over two weeks ago and he had completely forgotten about it until a few days afterwards but still did not call or write his son. Perhaps he did not want to make Sam feel as if he had forgotten, or maybe he just simply wanted to ignore the fact that he had failed his son again. The General had missed most of Sam's childhood milestones and birthdays due to work. As he grew into elementary school he missed the majority of his son's big events and when his youngest daughter had been killed while with a nine year old Sam, he completely distanced himself from his only son after beating him senseless for numerous weeks; feeling such guilt for not protecting his daughter and allowing his son to take full responsibility for the tragic accident that was not his fault. General Jason Braddock reminisces those awful days where he used to drink himself into a wild fury before beating a young Sammy unconscious then locking himself in one of the multiple spare bedrooms, sobbing and harming himself for hurting his young son. The vision of his whimpering, bloody son crying for mercy is forever burned in his memory.
"I'm sorry Sammy. I'm so, so sorry, baby." Jason whispers, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes.
Several moments later, the young Special Forces corporal emits a small groan as his body fights to arouse himself through the medication. The General waits in anticipation while his son's eyes slowly peel open, the world still appearing blurred and murky.
"Oh Pooh Bear," Jason murmurs, stroking his blonde locks, planting an unforeseen, loving kiss on his forehead.
Sam tries to push himself upright but to his dismay, his muscles fail him.
"Easy, easy sweetheart. The doctors gave you a heavy sedative so you could rest and valium to ensure you didn't go into a fit. I bet you feel pretty groggy and your muscles rather Jell-O-y, huh Pooh Bear?"
He nods weakly, trying to fight his way through the dense fog that envelopes his brain and make sense of the world. He gazes blearily at his father, blinking slowly.
"Dad?" Sam croaks, his voice breaking.
"I'm right here, Sammy. You're alright." He soothes, brushing through his son's hair separated with sweat and dirt. "Samuel, you're filthy! I will not allow this to carry on. You will be given a sponge bath even if I must do it myself, when you feel up to it of course."
Sam however had lost focus on his father's words and is staring at the variety of tubes and wires connected to his body.
"Have you gone to see Matt?" His wavering voice asks.
Jason swallows before nodding his head slowly. "Yes, I went and saw Matt for a few minutes. A nurse was with him so I let them be."
Sam smiles slightly at the mention of the nurse but it quickly falls to an upset-disappointed in himself frown.
Jason pats his son's leg in a comforting manner. "Matthew will be just fine, Samuel. Don't worry about him, alright? He'll be back out there with you in no time."
The younger Braddock's face crinkles, tears threatening let loose. "But what if he can't, Dad? What if he's never fit enough for duty to go back in the field? He shoulder was almost entirely blown off! This is all he wants to do! He loves this, Daddy!"
"Well, if this is what he wants, then I'll make certain there is a 'non-physical' job ready and waiting for him if he cannot return to the field; but what do you want, Sam?"
His son is rather perplexed by the question. The General had never asked him what he wanted, he just told him what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath, Sam bares all courage.
"I want out, Dad. I hate it here, I hate the war." He states, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I hate seeing my friends hurt and I hate killing little kids 'cause their parents sent them out of the house with a machine gun strapped to their back and tell them to 'go hurt the other bad men,'!" Sam screams, the teardrops falling freely and quickly as he tries to brush them away. "I can't stand it, Daddy! I can't stand it anymore!"
Jason begins tearing up watching his son poor his heart out, worried that he is already in the advance stages of PTSD from the way Sam is talking.
"Sammy? Sammy, does your brain play situations over and over again whenever something bad happens?" His son nods. "Do you hear voices talking to you when that's happening?"
"Yeah, sometimes I hear them talking to me." He admits quietly.
"Sweetheart, do you have…nightmares? A lot?" Jason nervously awaits the answer.
"Dad, I've had nightmares since, since – she…since she died." He glances down, remembering that awful day he forever failed at being the one thing he had to be, a good brother.
The General runs his hands through his hair, then tightly squeezes his son's hand. "Samuel, have – have you spoken to a doctor about this?"
To his surprise, the twenty-one-year-old nods once more.
"No one will talk to me; they all say it's just in my head and I'm making things up, that I'm clinically crazy, somebody told me."
Jason shakes his head in disbelief at the "treatment" his son has been receiving from who are supposed to be some of the best psychologists in the military. "I'm going to get you the help you may, or may not, need, regardless; just – just remember that, that I love you Sammy, no matter what."
Twenty minutes later, the General had found the one psychologist that Sam had not seen and promptly brought him into his son's room. Sam was nearly asleep when a large hand gentle shook him awake.
After a series of questions groggily answered by Master Corporal Braddock, the tan doctor and the General stepped out of the room.
"Has he experienced anything before this that may have been even the least bit traumatic?" He asks gently.
"His younger sister was killed in front of him when he was nine." The General answers softly, a sick-guilt feeling bubbling up inside of him.
"Did he ever receive any counselling for that?"
"Uh, no, sir, he didn't."
"Oh, well I understand that must've been a horrible time of grief for you and your family and I see how it may have been easy to let your son's mental health slip by. However sir, I must tell you that Samuel is indeed in the advance stages of PTSD and will need immediate treatment in the form of medication, counselling and a very strong support group around him to help him keep wanting to continue with his life. I would also strongly advise you cut his tour short, very short."
The General nods solemnly, wishing he had not been so ignorant to his son's clear and early retreat from the world.
"I will come back later tonight to ask more questions when he is a little more, conscious, per-say; I'll continue that for about a week or so until his answers are less varied among the same questions." The doctor states. "You can get his prescription later tonight, I have to get it shipped from Kabul…, but it will be as high priority as I can make it."
All Jason can do is nod. He is heartbroken and sick, almost to the point of vomiting, for his troubled son whose concerns and emotions have clearly been ignored for his entire life. "Thank you." He whimpers softly, both men parting ways.
Sam is about to tug his nasal cannula out when a strong hand grips his, gently laying it back down onto the white layers of bedding. He stares confusedly up at his father who has just re-entered his room. Jason shakes his head 'no'.
"Leave that on. I'm not taking any chances, Pooh Bear. Insisting on removing that won't be worth you going into fit, especially not after you haven't had one in so long, Sammy. Your medicine has been working very well but I am not going to push the envelope. You mean too much to me. Just try to get some sleep." He strokes Sam's forehead and gives his shoulders a gentle massage.
Sam closes his eyes in relieved pleasure, Jason trying to physically coax his son's body into sleep. The General smiles when Sam's heart and breathing monitor slow to a restful, sleeping beep. The young corporal sleeps peacefully only waking once from a nightmare unseen by his father.
A half hour later, Sam jolts awake, scaring his father who was almost asleep into a near panic attack. His hand press firmly into his son's young body, his arms preparing to hold him down during what he believes is one of Sammy's fits. It takes Sam a few minutes to realize what his father thinks is happening.
"Dad, Dad!" He struggles against the General's strong arms. "Dad! It's okay, I'm not having a seizure, Dad, just calm down."
Jason blinks a few times, his son's words soaking in. "Oh, oh, sorry sweetheart." He stammers. "I just – I, I just thought that…," He trails off.
"It's okay, Dad. I'm fine. I just remembered something that's all."
"Oh…and what was that?"
"That I have patrol at 1545."
"It's 1530, Sammy! You're not well and you're not going." Jason puts his foot down.
"Dad!" Sam whines. "We're spread too thin already with most of our guys injured. They're counting on me, Daddy. Let me do this. Let me do something worth your while."
The General seems to hem and haw in his mind until he makes a decision that will not require him to make the ultimate decision. "I'll call your sergeant. If he's says they'll make do without you, then you are staying here young man, and if, for some reason, they 'need' you – then fine. So be it, but what he says goes, alright?"
Sam nods grudgingly as his father steps out once more to sort things out for him. That is what he disliked most about the General. He either never lets Sam do anything for himself or he makes him do everything when he probably shouldn't be. There was no happy medium. In Jason's perspective, he had pulled every string known to man to get his epileptic son into the military, thankfully, from there on out it was his military so he filtered Sam into Special Forces and JTF2 where he settled down. There is no doubt in anyone's mind how phenomenal of a sniper Sam is. The problem had come when his sixteen-year-old son had been diagnosed with epilepsy as puberty hit him head on, the violent seizures started popping up and progressing, happening more and more often. Directly afterwards, General Jason Braddock had worked extremely hard to A) Keep word of his son's devastating diagnosis from spreading like wildfire if the press caught wind of it and B) Use everything in his power to secure even a short-term position in the military for Sam. Both of these objectives meant spending thousands of dollars (yes, I'm from the USA :P) on personal concierge doctors, different medications and countless late-night visits to the base hospital where his son's condition would be kept exceptionally private. It was only until Samuel was eighteen years old when they had finally found a medication that worked to keep the Grand Mal (tonic clonic) seizures at bay. He spent two years in training at Ottawa before Jason had been able to get his son into one year of field training on their Kandahar base in Afghanistan. This is his first official tour and of course, Jason did not want his son to be injured but he also did not want to throw away the years of work and money he had put into this.
"…Alright. Yes, I understand. Just – are you absolutely positive that you need him?"
The sergeant answers and the General sighs.
"Yes, I'll send him over." A pause. "Oh, no mark him late if he's tardy. If he's foolish enough to be late, then he deserves a detention. Yes, I'm sure. Thank you." Jason runs his hands through his hair. This was exactly what he did not want. He did not want Sammy in the field so soon; he had nearly lost consciousness and is still not convinced that his son won't go into a fit if his body is too stressed.
He walks back into Sam's room, finding his son is already sitting upright, no doubt struggling to do so on his own.
"C'mon son, get dressed." He states, helping Sam to his feet, deaf to his indignant protests. "Don't be late!" He calls down the hall.
Sam breathes a heavy sigh of relief as he steps out the hospital doors and jumps onto a passing Humvee for a ride closer to where he has to be. He's certainly glad to be out of the hospital and out of his father's close watch.
He scurries into his position in the line mere seconds before he would marked as an unlawful tardy, also receiving a detention. Despite that his last name begins with the second letter of the alphabet, his sergeant tends to go in order the units, Sam's being one of the last. Just as he is nearing Sam's name, a body steps close to him, coming from behind, the two bumping gently.
'Just some new kid that doesn't know how to stand for attendance.' Sam scoffs.
Oddly enough, whoever it is doesn't step back into their respective place. The young corporal waits a few seconds before turning to the soldier, agitated. He does a double-take of the older gentleman adjacent.
"Dad?!" Sam hisses.
The older man turns his head to face the corporal, a crooked smile playing on his lips.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?!" He whispers in a furious hiss.
"36587 – Braddock!" A loud voice calls.
"Yes Sir!" Sam barks robotically in return before quickly turning back to his father.
"I'm going on patrol with you, Sammy." Jason states quietly.
Sam stands there fuming for a few moments. No. His father will not humiliate him like this. This is his job and he knows what he's doing. The twenty-one-year-old sets off a brisk trot when given the green light, hoping his father would have half the sense of a Billy-goat and go back to the hospital. Much to his disappointment, the General just keeps plodding along behind him, trying to keep up with the fast pace Sam has set.
"Samuel! Slow down! This isn't a race, Sammy!" Jason calls breathlessly, realizing just how out-of-shape he really is for field work.
Another set of ten minutes pass before Sam slows to a reasonable pace the considerably older Braddock can keep up with.
"Now what's the big idea, Sam? What did I say?" The General pants.
Sam whirls around. "Do you have any idea on how big and how many targets you have on your head out here? Do you have any idea on how many targets you've put on me?! Not to mention Mattie too! You know, I'm not so convinced that he was shot by random this morning. You could get yourself killed, at best, here. And I guess you screwed your famous little idea of wanting to protect me! That sure didn't last long, did it? Yeah, come out here Dad, in the middle of a war zone as the General of the entire Canadian Army. Are you insane?! But even better, you come out here strolling alongside me! It's not like everyone knows your face and mine by memory or anything!" He shouts. "You should've stayed with Matt. He would've been appreciative of your company." He states much softer before facing forward again, beginning to walk on.
"Samuel! That's not fair! I didn't come on patrol with you because I wanted to make you a bigger target or put you in harm's way. I came because I'm still worried about you, Sammy! What if you had another seizure?" Jason croaks.
"And what are you going to do about?! Hold me down and freak out?! Never let me out of your sight again?! I'm an adult, Dad. You have to let me do things on my own or I'm never going to know how to do it."
He continues to walk, scanning the horizon for insurgents' gun muzzles. The General hurries after his son. They proceed in silence for another twenty minutes. Jason seems to be focused only on his son, oblivious to danger that surrounds him.
Sam suddenly spots the lethal glint of a sniper barrel on a high ridge a few hundred meters away. He instantly drops to the desert floor, gun raised, body on high alert. Jason stands dumbly directly in the line of fire, staring at his son's crouched position. Sam's heartbeats sound loudly in his ears, the world spinning into slow motion.
"DAD!" He shouts, realizing that his father does not recognize the danger in the hills.
The General's head turns slowly to his son then back to the insurgent. Sam's breath catches in his throat as the moments pass in a desperate haze; the younger willing his father to get down. Making a split-second decision, he leaps up to tackle the General, hoping to spare him from harm.
Two loud shots ring out.
A/N: Cliffy? Hehehe! Story title and subtitles inspired by U2…I listen to a lot of music ;). This story won't be long 3 chapters is what I'm aiming for. Please review! Thank you!