A short chapter, I know…sorry.
Back in his room, Storm meditated; calm was a good thing to have going into a chewing-out like the one he was sure was coming.
Women. Couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. He sighed. There was an existential riddle in that somewhere.
The anticipated chewing out stormed through his door an hour later. He opened his eyes as Sherry crossed her arms and glared. He glared back.
"Go ahead. I won't get a word in edgewise until you get it out anyways." He propped his chin in one hand and waited.
"You. Are. An. Idiot." Sherry growled. "Shot. Shot. Less than a week ago, and you have to go haring off against doctor's orders just to prove that you're a big tough mean unfeeling inhuman goddamn ninja. I don't want to see you hurt yourself, damn it, and you're going to. I've been shot before, so I know that three days isn't enough to make much of a difference. You need to be taking it easy and letting yourself heal, you stupid prick."
Tommy blinked. "Are you done?"
"Yeah. I feel better. I've been wanting to say that."
"Hm." He stood. "Question; how long have you been flying? I know you've been a combat pilot for seventeen years, but how long have you been around planes?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Humor me, please." He folded his arms.
"Oh, I don't even know. My father was a commercial pilot, so since I could walk, I guess."
"That's what I thought. Do you never wonder why I don't worry much when you fly combat missions?"
"Not really."
"I know you can handle yourself in the air. Say you were hit and your plane was damaged. Would you panic?"
"No." She shrugged. "It happens. I deal with it. Occupational hazard, I suppose."
"Exactly why I don't worry about you too much; it's your job, and you do it well. You know how to cope with the dangers. Now, think about this. I've been training since I was five, so over twenty five years now. I fought in my first inter-clan battle and killed my first man at fourteen. By seventeen I was a full field agent. At eighteen, my uncles sent me to war. At twenty two, I came home to find my father dead and took his place as a junior master of my clan. At twenty five, I was being hunted as a murderer by my own family and started serving under the only man who seemed to know my uncle's true killer. At thirty, I joined G.I. Joe. I have been in more battles than I can even begin to count. I have endured every kind of injury that you can possibly imagine."
He leveled a long stare at her. "If I could be dropped with something as minor as a flesh wound and a cracked rib, I would not have survived my teens. I've kept fighting through injuries that should have killed me. Getting hurt is as much an occupational hazard for me as getting holes punched in my plane is for you. I know how to deal with it, and I can and do fight right through it. If I couldn't, I wouldn't survive long." He grinned humorlessly. "I've made a living being ridiculously hard to kill and ridiculously good at killing other people. So don't tell me what I can and can't do when I'm injured, because I've already been through it all, and I already know very well what I'm capable of."
She blinked at him for a second. "Jesus. Touch a nerve, did I?"
"I am a ninja. I can take care of myself better than pretty much anyone else on the planet. I've endured worse injuries with less medical treatment. While I appreciate the fact that you care enough to worry, do not try to mother me." He sighed. "My training is what keeps me alive, and I work constantly to be as good as I am. You know that. Well, ignoring pain and fighting through injuries is as vital to my survival as being able to win a knife fight. I slack off just because I got nicked, and I'm dead. Being a ninja isn't something I can turn on and off, you know. It's what I am. I'm not really sure that you realize that. "
"I do." She wasn't scowling any longer. "Really. I'm sorry, though…I didn't really think about how often you must have been through stuff like this. Sorry for snapping at you, but, well, you're hurt, and I didn't know where you were and if you were okay, and I was worried. I won't apologize for that."
"You don't have to." He smiled. "Don't try to give me a curfew, and we're good."
A snort. "Like you'd listen anyways."
"True." He grinned. "If you want to fuss over me, by the way, I won't say no to breakfast in bed tomorrow or a backrub right now…and maybe another one tomorrow."
She rolled her eyes. "If I bring you breakfast in bed after PT tomorrow, what are the chances that I'll walk in to find you playing with one of your sharp pointy toys?"
"Pretty good." Tommy considered. "I might also be working out…Doc'll have Lifeline checking the gym, so I'd have to hide in here." He frowned. "Well, he didn't actually say no running, so maybe I'll hit the trails tomorrow. So probably weapons training, yes."
"And what exactly would be the point of breakfast in bed if you aren't an invalid?"
He blinked at her. "Do I have to have a reason to enjoy a woman bringing me breakfast?"
"Well, if you're fit enough to hide from medics and juggle knives blindfolded, you can get your own butt down to the mess hall for breakfast." Sherry snorted. "He spends ten minutes telling me off for considering getting shot enough to slow him down, and then angles for food service and makeup sex. You really are too much."
"I said nothing about makeup sex." Tommy raised an eyebrow. "If you're offering, however…"
"Uh huh. 'Backrub'. Right." Sherry snorted. "And no. I require the standard post-argument reconciliation gift to placate me first. Chocolates, preferably. No jewelry. Flowers are also acceptable, but less tasty."
"Sometimes I think you just use me to acquire free chocolate." Tommy sighed.
"Well, my mother always told me to make a guy work for it at least a little." Sherry chuckled evilly. "Plus, I like chocolate, and I like it even better when I didn't pay for it."
Tommy sighed again.
