Chapter Ten
The call was short, a simple conversation between partners that gave away nothing to the passenger beside him, happily eating his cheese pizza. Clay ended the call and put his phone on the dashboard mount, a nice adhesive-type thing that Travis had got him for Christmas last year. He didn't lose his phone half as much as he used to.
"Who was that?" Sammy asked, with the tactless non-manners most kids had these days.
"Agent LeBeau," Clay responded neutrally, because he was very used to it. "He's with your mom. Or was, anyways."
Sammy shrugged forcefully, and said sullenly, "I don't care."
Touchy subject, apparently. "You like rock music or country?" he asked, steering towards friendlier seas.
"Rock," Sammy said, with an easier tone. Clay wasn't making him mad, but he might if he continued to talk about his mom.
Clay turned on the radio and didn't recognize the used up voice of the lead singer, and didn't understand the lyrics. But, he'd gotten used to that over the years, too. Sammy began nodding his head to the beat after a few moments and continued chewing on his pizza as if nothing were wrong.
"Hey, Sammy?" Clay said, after he let him relax, and after he was finished eating, "You know we need to have a talk, right?"
"Yeah, I get it. I'm in trouble because I ran away." He rushed his words, but still managed to sound bored at the same time. Teenagers.
"Now I didn't say that, did I?" Clay asked him, point blank.
Sammy looked over at him, and watched him watching the road. "No, I guess not."
"Why don't we start with what's been bothering you as of late. These past few weeks."
Sammy shrugged. "Nothing," he replied.
"Okay," Clay said. "How about you ask me something first?"
"Don't treat me like a kid," Sammy said and he sounded both angry and hurt.
"How would you like me to treat you?" Clay asked. "Like a teenager or a young adult?"
"Is there a difference?" Sammy asked, before he could put away his curiosity.
"Sure is," Clay said. "A teenager, in my experience, at least, is someone who's dealing with a lot of pent up issues, you know what I mean," he looked over at Sammy, and saw he was listening, "School work, girls, sports teams, the idea that they're not little kids anymore and puberty, to name but a few."
"So what's a young adult?" Sammy asked, and Clay saw that he was hoping to fall into that category.
"A young adult is someone who's dealing with those things, too, but has the wherewithal to let somebody help them through it. See what I mean?"
"Yes," Sammy said, with a sigh.
"So, which one are you?" Clay asked him.
"It's all stupid shit, though," Sammy said. "I don't really think anyone else would care."
If Clay's sons had sworn at twelve, he would have slapped them. And Bridget would have washed their mouths out. Heck, they would have the same reaction if their kids did it at any age. He reminded himself that Sammy's mouth was not his responsibility, and he said, "How do you know that if they don't know about it? You're not psychic, are you?"
Sammy sighed again, as if it was that hardest thing in the world to discuss his life with someone. "My mom ditched me for some guy. She does that a lot you know. And I kinda wanted to talk to her."
"That's not fair to you," Clay replied. "Did you want to spend time with your mom because you missed her, or because you needed advice or something?"
"I don't know," Sammy said. "I guess everything just sucks right now." He looked out the window and Clay knew he was trying to compose himself. Poor kid.
"Why's that?" Clay pushed. "Are you having trouble at school?"
Sammy shrugged again; a teenager's most used body movement, that and the eye-roll. "Not really in class. Like math sucks, but the teacher is cool."
"That's good," Clay said, and didn't push any further.
"Do you think I'll ever grow?" Sammy asked, rather suddenly, his fears finally out in the open. What he had needed to share with his mother. His short, thin mother.
"Taller you mean?" Clay asked, and felt a sense of déjà vu, and remembered it was because he had thought about this earlier. Sammy was small, and boys didn't want to be small.
"Yeah, I hate being short."
"You have plenty of time to grow. More than ten years still," Clay reassured him, though he couldn't possibly know if Sammy ever would.
"Really?" Sammy asked. Ten years seemed like a century to a twelve year old.
"You've just begun all that," Clay said, "Trust me. Some boys start growing later, others start earlier. Be patient and don't drink coffee."
"Why not?" Sammy sounded curious again, like a kid and not a teen.
"My mama always told me it'd stunt my growth." Clay was finding it hard to believe that Sammy would run away or remove his scales simply because he was upset he was short. He wondered how well the kid had learned to hide things, to deceive, like his mother did so well. Yet, he also wondered if maybe Sammy was just ultra-sensitive because of the way he had grown up. Either way, it was a sad situation that Clay knew he could not solve on his own.
"Why does it do that?" Sammy asked, his young voice, not yet made unstable by puberty, interrupted Clay's dark thoughts.
"What's that?" Clay asked, realizing he wasn't paying attention.
"Why does coffee stunt your growth? Why did your mom tell you that?"
"To be honest, I don't know why it would, but I suspect my mama just didn't want me to drink it. It's just one of those old wives' tales."
"What are those?" Sammy asked.
Clay smiled, just a little. For a moment, he wouldn't worry about Sammy's past or the sense that he was probably bullied mercilessly at school, even among those who were different just like he was. For now, he'd just sit back and enjoy the twenty question routine all kids used, either because they couldn't help themselves or because they wanted to deflect some other emotion from getting too overwhelming. Soon enough, he and Sammy would be back in Salem, and facing reality. But not right yet. "An old wives' tale is something that got started a long time ago, based on superstition or beliefs at the time, that weren't necessarily proven to be true."
His phone rang then, and it was Bridget. "Hey, honey, can I call you back? Yeah, I'm kind of in the middle of something important." He knew Bridget wouldn't be mad at him for it, because of their twenty four hour rule. She was only allowed to stew for a day and he was only allowed to avoid an issue for a day. He hung up and put the phone back on Travis's gift to him.
He could tell Sammy felt good about the comment and that was something he could later explain to Bridget. To Sammy, he said, "Sorry about that. Now, where were we?"
The rookie corridor, more of a partitioning that separated them and two secretaries from everyone else, was where Anna Marie and Kurt had their desks. Remy passed by the secretaries, waving, but not even stopping to pet Trust, even though her tail thumped the floor at his sight. He couldn't yet make himself comfortable around Ashley, Trust's owner, and so, he simply avoided her.
He was going to avoid a lot of things within the next few hours. Things like good advice from both Clay and Emma, the email he had received from Dr. Bridges less than an hour ago and most certainly the reunion with Sammy and Lisa. It wasn't something he needed to see, or wanted to see. He had seen enough of her and frankly, couldn't waste anymore of his emotional energy on why a kid would run away from a bad home or cut into his own flesh. So, he would head to the Morlock tunnels and meet with the Green Clan. At least he would be smart enough to take the rookies with him.
Kurt and Anna Marie, because they both worked together, had their desks very close, and the closer Remy got to them, the more he smelled the familiar smell – of coffee and nail polish. Or maybe he just imagined it; his nose wasn't that trustworthy these days. Kurt, because he was nocturnal, drank a lot of coffee, and Anna Marie's nervous finger-picking habit mixed with her old-time southern beliefs of keeping oneself always in pristine condition made her go through a lot of nail polish. He could just hear his sister-in-law clicking her teeth about chipped nails and not blotting your face.
Sure enough, Anna Marie was the epitome of a well put together Southern woman, with her good posture and her ankles crossed slightly to one side of the chair. And her makeup was perfect, even the bright red lipstick did not seem overdone. She was typing in that delicate way women do when their nails are drying.
Kurt, for his part, was sitting with coffee mug in hand and one ankle propped on a knee, probably talking more about philosophy than doing any actual work. A coffee pot was plugged in behind him and still had one more cup left it looked like. How many times he had refilled it, Remy didn't want to know – he didn't drink coffee ever.
Both rookies turned their heads at his arrival, and Anna Marie motioned to a report on the corner of her neat desk. "This is the report Dr. Frost wanted us to write. About the Green Clan."
He picked it up and leafed through it, perusing their key points quickly, because it was information he knew very well. He knew why Emma had instructed them to write it. Putting it back down where he'd got it, he said, "You'll need field clothes, suitable for cold weather, and don't wear anything you don't want stolen."
He was already dressed in his full body black tactical field uniform. It wasn't completely zipped up, and the cold gear Under Armour running shirt was visible; Remy preferred to wear his own cold weather gear instead of the ones provided by S.H.I.E.L.D., because he thought they were warmer and easier to layer. Most likely, he was wearing another lighter one underneath. The silver cross necklace he always wore was visible now, but wouldn't be once he zipped up.
"We're going to the Morlock tunnels now?" Kurt asked, and Remy was surprised he wasn't annoyed, simply curious.
"It's better we're there before it's too dark," Remy explained. It was already nearly two o'clock and the sun would set in three and a half to four hours. The drive would take them approximately two.
"Without Agent Quartermain?" Anna Marie asked and those pretty green eyes were wide with skepticism and fear.
It was obvious she felt very safe with Clay. But then, a girl who was raised in backwater, Mississippi with a set of parents whose views were that of an American redneck would feel very safe with Clay Quartermain and his simple, black and white ways of what was right and what was wrong. No matter that Remy's mutant abilities were just as dangerous as a gun, maybe more since he made explosives with his fingers. And no matter that Kurt's mutant abilities were probably more protective than a gun would be. It didn't even seem to matter that Anna Marie herself could damn well take care of a situation, with her own deadly bare hands. Remy knew she would always feel safe with any man who reminded her of the father who hated her. Men like Clay. Men like Logan. And, most specifically, not men like him.
"I think teleportation is just as quick as a bullet if it comes to that," he responded mildly, without giving away what he felt. What he was suggesting, though, he hoped was not taken lightly by Kurt. He was giving the arrogant, theory-influenced rookie a chance to put his money where his mouth is, giving him a chance to step up and play the role that Clay routinely played. And by doing so, it was saying he would trust him.
Anna Marie said, "I don't think that's a good idea." She wasn't as willing to put her trust in anyone, let alone someone with the same amount of experience as herself. No, only older, straightforward or gruff men got her trust immediately. Even if that trust was shaky, and not exactly grounded in any real reason why that trust might be warranted. It was like, to Remy, at least, protecting yourself from robbers by hiring a robber as a bodyguard. It made him wonder if the Mr. Clean guy from East Salem Apartments yesterday was older and straightforward. Or maybe he was just some redneck that she obviously idolized because of her daddy issues.
"You don't have to come," Remy replied, not as mildly now, and it was obvious to Kurt that something was under the surface.
"You might need my help," she said, and her nose upturned in that annoying way of hers. That 'I'm going to pick a fight with you, just because I can' way of hers that Remy had to remind himself didn't bother him nearly as much as Kurt's piety did. Her eyes didn't drop from his as she continued, in that haughty tone, always braver when she was being cantankerous, when her feelings were hurt. "After all, you are a bit compromised."
Whether she meant because he would be sans Clay or because he was sick or because he wasn't Logan, he didn't know, but it pissed him off. He didn't have time to remind himself that it was probably just because he hadn't run today, before he said, rather rudely, "Meet me in the carport in twenty minutes if you're coming. And if I were you, I'd go for demure. Otherwise, you'll be an easy target."
Emma wasn't surprised to learn that Remy would not be handling the meeting between Lisa and Sammy, and she was also not surprised to learn he had decided to go to the Green Clan with only Kurt and Anna Marie. But Clay sure was.
He watched as Emma left the classroom in the HBSS and came towards him. She smiled thinly at Sammy and said, "Sammy, stay here for a minute, will you, dear?"
Sammy shrugged and said, "Sure." He wasn't all that ready to meet his mother anyways.
To Clay, she said, "Come with me for a minute." He followed her into the conference room where she had been when Remy was with Lisa.
"What's going on? Is Lisa still here?" Clay asked as Emma closed the door only partially.
"Yes, she is," Emma replied. "We will go through the reunion as planned, and I will do all of the documentation later tonight."
The original plan was to have Emma watch the entire thing from here, the conference room, while Clay and Remy brought Sammy to his mother. "Where's Remy at?" His first thought was that he'd gone home sick, but figured that would take a lot more than a cold.
If Emma was mad it didn't show on her face, but she was nearly monotone as she said, "I'm sure you can guess. I'll give you a hint and tell you he's an idiot."
"So he went to the sewers then?"
"Yes, he did."
Clay nodded, figuring it wasn't worth it to be angry or upset. He had a good idea why Remy had not followed Emma's orders, and it had nothing to do with insubordination, though he wasn't under her command. "Let's take Sammy to his mother," was all he said to Emma. She was a smart young woman; she would figure it out eventually.
Kurt and Anna Marie did not keep him waiting as they met him at the carport dressed exactly as he had instructed in their black tactical uniforms with cold weather gear underneath and nothing of value visible. Anna Marie had pulled back her hair and had wiped off the red lipstick, now appearing much younger and she hoped not an easy target. She supposed that's what he had been referring to, as if she was some sort of prostitute. Kurt had added a pistol to his utility belt, though he much preferred the look and feel of a sword. "Just in case," he said quietly, almost respectfully. "I read in your reports they respond well to fear."
Remy knew when he was being appeased, and simply nodded and got in the driver's seat. He realized exactly what was happening at the HBSS building – he was pretty certain he could have written a script. It pissed him off that avoiding the scene didn't help him avoid the feelings associated with it. Lisa would pin it all on a twelve year old kid who, for some strange reason, loved his mother unconditionally even though it was not deserved. Lisa would cry and rage and tell Sammy all about her feelings. And she would not ask him why he left, or what was the matter, or even acknowledge he had feelings, too. Much less, that the reason he left in the first place was because of her. She would probably blame the school.
But, sure, go ahead, Emma, make him sit through that. Instead of just telling Lisa that he was safe in his dorm room, like I suggested, make the kid face his monster of a mother and let her tear into him. Just so you can have the facts, an exact transcript. But, don't take my word for it.
Kurt motioned that Anna Marie should sit up front. "Your legs are longer than mine, Kurt," she said, "You go on ahead."
He smiled, just slightly, and said, "You owe me one."
"I most certainly do not," she replied, upturning her nose. She climbed in the back seat of the car. Kurt got up front, thinking he should perhaps pray for strength first.
Emma walked into the room first, giving Lisa only a second of preparation, as she said, "We found him." There wasn't enough time for the manipulative Lisa to plan a response, an emotion or even a question as Clay walked in with Sammy close behind him.
Lisa ran over to her son and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably for the umpteenth time that day. Sammy stood stiff in her arms, and Emma knew he wanted to pull away from her and he also wanted to hug her back. He did neither though as she sobbed for probably three solid minutes. A wonderful performance if ever there was one, Clay couldn't help but think.
Lisa leaned back then, gripping one of Sammy's arms in each of her hands and looked him up and down as if it had been weeks since she had seen him last. Clay already figured out what she would say, because like Remy, he knew Lisa well. And so, he watched Emma as Lisa began her tirade.
"How could you do this to me?" she asked him, her voice high-pitched and hurt. "Why would you? Sammy, I thought something awful had happened to you."
Clay had his orders, and he would follow them, but he couldn't help thinking what Remy might have said. How could you do this to him, Lisa? Why don't you own up to something for once in your life? Of course, it would be peppered with swear words if Remy had actually said it.
Emma listened carefully as Sammy responded to his mother, his voice wooden and hollow. "Sorry. Nothing happened, mom. I was just mad."
"Well, how do you think I felt?" Lisa asked him, and her tone was accusatory and self-important. "I was mad, too. I was more than mad, Sammy. I was hurt and scared."
Clay saw the moment Emma realized why Remy had not come.
Her cold blue eyes switched from mother to son and she knew. It was for this. He knew he wouldn't have handled himself well, and he had decided to spare himself from it. Not that that made things right. But she had what she needed now, though, and figured she would find someone to counsel Lisa and Sammy, separately, of course.
"Before I take Sammy back to his dorm," she interrupted what should have been a very different reunion, "should I give you two a moment alone?"
Lisa looked up at the woman she had spent over two hours talking to. The woman who had listened to her problems and gave her the sympathy she deserved. And now she was taking her son away as if she hadn't heard a damned thing Lisa had told her. As if this woman assumed she was a bad mother. She would take him back as if she knew what was good for him. Back to the school, the very place he ran from. "Why does he have to go back to this place? He ran away from it for a reason." She looked at her son, her eyes boring into his and her voice went from angry to syrupy sweet as she said, "You don't want to go back there, do you baby?"
Clay touched Sammy's tense shoulder; his mother's hands were still gripping into his arms. He said quietly, calmly, "He's a young adult now; why don't we talk to him, instead of around him. Sammy, what do you want to do?"
Sammy said in a small, yet firm voice, "I want to stay at the school." He did not address his mother, but had directed it towards Clay, who he felt comfortable with.
Lisa released him as if he were a hot potato. She stood up and clenched her fists at her sides. "Fine. I guess your own mother doesn't get a say anymore. As if nothing I've ever done for you was worth a shit."
Sammy looked at the floor, his eyes welling up with tears, and Clay took Lisa by the arm, calmly, carefully, and said, "I'll walk you to your car, ma'am."