Jane sat in his new room. Sniper had breakfast with him on the roof again that morning. He told him the team had cleaned up a spare room for him and that he didn't have to sleep out on the roof anymore. "Don't see that there's a problem to it meh'self, but even I curl up in the shelter of me van, mate." the Aussie had said. He had nowhere else to go so he figured something was better than nothing. Just as well, he had to shake a scorpion out of his pants in the middle of the night.

He sat quietly on the bed with its standard issue sheets and scratchy wool blanket. The concrete walls were redundantly painted gray; a very considerate accommodation for a shell-shocked mental patient that had just spent the past three months chained in a basement. Still, the window was bigger than his previous prisons' and a cracked mercury mirror hung precariously by a nail on the adjacent wall. If he had some photographs, he would have put them there. He fiddled with his fingers. There was a weathered desk and chair and even a beat up old nightstand with a small lamp. A footlocker pilfered from the inventory sat on the floor at the end of his bed with a few clothes items and a few toiletries. All of his personal items "belonged" to the other Soldier now. A physical pang hit him each time he remembered that. It was a strange sensation. The best he could liken it too was experiencing his heart falling into his stomach and a sting under his eyes, as if someone had open-palm smacked him across the face. It affirmed the recognition that he was the remnant of an alternate universe that should have been snuffed out. He didn't want to be here anymore but where would he go? Did it matter anymore?

As he stared blankly, there was a soft knock at the door. He didn't answer, but the door opened slightly anyway. The Engineer peeped in and asked, "Hey, partner! Mind if I come in for a minute?"

He didn't recall telling his mouth to respond but an involuntary reflex from his reconditioning triggered. "No, Engie, I don't mind." he muttered quietly. His tone relayed the exact opposite and he stared anywhere but Dell's direction. He felt a little guilt at this but he just couldn't bring himself to look at him. He was grateful Dell didn't push him on it.

The engineer trundled in with an oiled canvas duffle bag that piqued the soldier's interest. He cut his eyes to the bag as he sat on the end of the bed. Dell knelt before the bag and reached in as he spoke.

"Listen, I was in the workshop and found some stuff ya left last time ya stopped by. Thought you might be want'n it back." He pulled a cigar box from the bag and placed it on the bed.

"If ya ask me," He said smiling as he pulled a weathered deck of cards from the sack. 'I think these are marked somehow. I don't think you could be that good at cards." He joked as he placed the deck on the bed next to the cigars. The soldier continued to watch him drawing items from the bag.

"I was at the Army Surplus the other day and look what I found! Man, they don't make'm like this anymore, son." With a flick of his wrist, Dell unfolded an entrenching tool from the bag. "Made in Chicago. Tougher'n hammered cat shit."

Jane's eyes widened as Dell laid the shovel on the bed.

"I thought it might be a little too quiet in here so I also got you a radio. Uh, unless you like it quiet." he paused, second-guessing the decision to include the radio when a realization hit him. "Oh yeah, almost forgot about this." he placed a Zippo atop the cigar box. He prayed Jane didn't think it was new. He'd even kicked it across the workshop floor a few times after dropping his toolbox on it to scuff it up good.

"An, uh, listen," he looked up and gestured at Jane, "Yer, mop ain't standard spec anymore so I brought my clippers if you want to take care of that."

In an impulse of self-consciousness, Jane ran his hand through his hair. His eyes were on the floor but he nodded agreement. Dell put the clipper case on the bed with the rest of the items. He cleared his throat and wiped his nose. "Listen, uh, I'm 'bout finished up with repairs in the shop and what ain't done can wait for later. I need to blow off some steam. You in the mood for, uh, company?"

Jane stiffened. He warred with conflicting emotions. His body language clearly stated that he didn't want Dell to hang around but he looked at the items on the bed and reminded himself that this was the man that pulled him out of the hellhole that tore his life apart. He wasn't the BLU engineer. He wasn't. Through downcast eyes, Jane nodded consent.

"Oh, well ah'm glad about that." Dell stood up and pulled a cartridge of six bottled beers out of the duffle bag. "I didn't want to hafta drink all these on my own." He grinned as he popped the cap off one and passed it to Jane. After a little hesitation, Jane took it and knocked back a hard gulp.

"Listen, Solly, you know me. I always gotta fidget with ma hands. What say we have a smoke and I'll buzz yer mop and be done with it. I mean, ain't it a bitch to do the back of yer own head? I always gotta get somebody else to do mine."

Jane glared at him this time. He had half a mind to jump on him right then and there and tear his face off. He didn't like being bossed or coerced and he sure as hell didn't want Engie touching him. Dell must've read the writing on the wall.

"Aw'right, Ain't no skin off my ass. Juss try'n ta be helpful." he shrugged and took a swig of his own beer.

The soldier's anger evaporated. He sat for a minute looking at the beer in his hands. "No, let's cut this shit. I can't fucking stand it anymore." It felt good to swear.

Dell turned back with a grin. "Aw'right," he clapped the soldier on the shoulder, "Imma get a cigarette an' then we'll get this goat show on the road. Mind if ah borrow a light?" Jane shook his head no and Dell opened the cigar box and offered it to him. Jane took out a stogie and bit the end off. The Zippo fired up both men's tobaccos and Dell went about looking for an electrical outlet.

As Dell wrapped a spare sheet around Jane's bare shoulders and neck, he felt the soldier tense up. Jane took a long drag off the stogie and guzzled the rest of his beer stiffly. Dell was quick to plunk down a fresh beer as the first was drained. Jane was white knuckling the next beer when Dell clicked on the clippers and the familiar mechanical resonance filled the air. The engineer combed his fingers through Jane's hair looking for a place to begin. Jane felt the pads of the metal fingertips against his scalp as Dell began to make idle chat about mechanics. The fingers in his hair and the drawling southern voice crawled up his spine and suddenly he flinched at the memory of being wrenched back by the hair in a dimly lit basement.

Jane burst up from the chair and knocked Dell backwards. He felt like he was drowning and couldn't breathe. Dell saw the look of terror on Jane's face from where he lay on the floor. He knew right away that the proximity had been a mistake. He would deal with his regret later. Right now he had to diffuse Jane's meltdown.

Jane turned from Dell to cram his eyes shut and fall into the corner of the room. He held his head trying to will the panic away. A keen escaped him as his brain involuntarily reeled through torturous memories of wondering hands inflicting pain and his body betrayed him with sensations he did not want. Dell stayed on the ground not wanting to make a move that would set Jane off but he noticed wisps of smoke rising from the bed. He peeped over the edge of the bed to see Jane's accidentally fallen cigar smoldering a hole in the wool blanket. In a panic, he leaped up from the floor and began beating out the potential fire. The sudden flailing jolted Jane from his episode and he turned to see Engie beating the tar out of his bedspread. When he was satisfied that there was no more threat of a flare up, Dell turned to face Jane. He was thoroughly winded and had a defeated look as he said, "Hell, ah came here ta cheer ya up and all I did was upset ya and set yer bed on fire." He looked at his hands for a minute and then looked at the door. "I'll, uh . . . I'll let ya be. I'm sorry to bother ya."

Jane let his hand fall from his face. "No . . ." he took in a breath. "Just. . . just gimme a minute." He focused on calming his heart rate. ". . . and my beer."

Dell was more than happy to oblige. Jane took a few more slugs and wished he had a lower tolerance. He could use a good belt. The cord to the radio lay over the disheveled bed.

"Engie?"

"Yeah, Jane?"

"You 'member them honky-tonk records you used to play when we worked in your workshop?"

"Oh yeah, I still got'm!"

"You think there's a station we could get on the radio?"

"Well, sure! Lemme hook it up."

The reception wasn't great and Dell opened the window to the room and set the radio on the window ledge with the antennae reaching out. That seemed to help and as the fresh air drifted in, it carried with it a tinge of Engie's WD40 and the lilting sounds of George Jones' Pocket full of Pennies. To Dell's surprise, Jane got up off the floor and returned to the chair in front of the desk. He quietly got out another cigar and lit up in contemplation. Dell wasn't sure what to do next until Jane said, "Let's try to buzz this shit again."

Without hesitation this time, Dell placed the clippers at the base of the soldier's neck and began to make idle chat about mechanics as soft brown hair began to fall away. His southern drawl and gentle swearing mingled with the music and Jane closed his eyes. It is different. It is not the same. This is different. Jane's shoulders began to relax. He had slowed down on the beer and was halfway through his cigar.

As Dell droned on and trimmed his hair in a slow methodical way, Jane took in a deep breath and quietly exhaled. He took the last swig off the second beer and Dell killed his first. Two more cold beers made their way to the old writing desk. The ash was gathering on his cigar and he noticed the ashes getting long on the engineer's cigarette. He swore Dell never smoked the things to begin with. Most of the time, he just lit the damn things and let them burn wastefully as they hung lazily off his lips. He closed his eyes again. The cigarette smoke, the clipper sound, the southern drawl, and the feeling of steady fingers supporting his scalp conjured a different memory. This memory had deeper roots. It transported him back to Lin's Barbershop. Growing up was rough for Jane but Lin's was always a place of solace. Lin was a 250 lb. ex-gandy dancer with all the finesse of a ten-ton wrecking ball, except when it came to cutting hair. Lin's name was short for Linwood but he said his mother always called him Lin and he liked it. No one ever wisecracked on Lin's name unless they liked having their ass handed to them. Looking back, Jane probably got haircuts more than he needed but Lin always had a chair open for him and sometimes he'd even do it on the house. He'd always talk to Jane in that even gruffness and tell him stories of encouragement when things were down. It was a shame when he heard the news abruptly one day that Lin had died the night before of a sudden stroke, a crying shame. But he made it through his youth okay. How was he ever going to weather this? It was like having your life torn up into itty-bitty pieces, taped back together, shredded again and upended in the wind. What crumbs of familiarity he possessed now belonged to his clone. There was nothing left for him in this world, nothing to hold onto.

He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection. His acetic scowl glared back at him as he took a bitter drag off the cigar. The longer hair was beginning to fall away from his saturnine visage. He chose to stare at the desk as angry tears leaked from his eyes and fell from his chin.

When Dell saw the tears running down Solly's face he never skipped a beat. He continued droning about sheared cotter pins and blown transistors, but he did place a reassuring hand on Jane's shoulder and patted his back as he placed Jane's beer further in front of him.

Okay, thought Dell, I'm gonna hate myself in the morning for encouraging this but I guess I hafta roll out the big guns.

". . . an' that's how we used ta rig them sonsabitches when the wingnuts used ta come fly'n off and an' we didn't have any spare parts. Hey! Did I tell ya how you can identify a French infantryman? Look fer the sunburnt armpits."

The soldier's lips quirked. Dell continued to trim.

"How's about the difference between France an' uh bucket uh shit? Only the bucket, and the bucket uh shit don't smell as bad."

At this, Jane's mouth fell open.

"Yeah, but what about the difference between the Heavy and an orangutan? One of them is hairy, stinky, and scratches his ass all the time and the other one is an orangutan."

Jane burst into outright laughter and so did Dell. Dell continued to rattle off the sordid retinue of WWII jokes until Jane almost fell off the chair.