Chapter 13:
"You done?" Sam asked, offering her hand to the other woman. She was a believer of the other school from Jack, or so it would seem. She believed women in service, even if they were missionaries rather than actual soldiers, should stick together.
For her efforts at reconciliation, Sam got a wad of spit in her palm.
"Fuck you, cunt," Jack said, bringing herself to her feet and readjusting her skirt.
"I can see why you keep her around," Sam said, picking up a shammy used to wipe down bikes off a shop bench. "She's such a charmer." She wiped her hand clean. "I hope she's more effective in a real fight. And honey, close your legs; I can see what's up that skirt of yours and I'm sure I'm not the only one."
Jack narrowed her eyes at Sam, bristling to go a second time. Gunnar put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.
"Cupcake, sometimes there's no shame in standing down when you're out gunned," he said, his voice low enough to keep most everyone from hearing. He didn't want her to be any more embarrassed than she already was. The more embarrassed she became, the less rational she would be, the less willing to listen to reason or logic.
"Fuck you," she hissed. "I see how it is. I go for a little while and you lot can't keep it in your pants so you gotta find another bitch."
"You're taking this the wrong way, cupcake," Christmas said, his hands held out in a gesture of peace.
"Hold on," Sam said, tilting her head at Jack. "I never signed on for sex. If you're the team cum dumpster, that's your business. I'm here because I have skills that don't require me to be on my back or knees."
"Dominey!" Ross shouted at her. She looked at him, rolled her eyes and stopped talking. "Enough. Both of you."
"But Barney," Jack said, her voice trying to seduce him, her bottom lip stuck out.
Sam rolled her eyes, putting the rag in the wash tub.
"Don't try to be cute, Jack," he said. "You're the one who disappeared for almost three weeks. You didn't answer your phone, you didn't return our messages. What did you expect us to do? We can't just wait for you to decide it's time to do a job."
Jack crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child, trying to look seductive and smouldering. It was working; the longer Ross looked at Jack, the harder it was for him to tell her to leave.
He turned his attention to the other woman. Sam stood at parade rest, her arms crossed behind her back and shoulders square. She met his eyes, her chin held high. There was a bruise starting to form under her left eye where she had been hit.
Ross tried to think of something to say to her, but what could he say that wouldn't inspire the wild woman on the other side of the shop to violence once again. He opted to say nothing, simply look her in the eye. She nodded; it was understood nothing needed to be said. Bless the fact she was a soldier.
"You're both dismissed," he said.
Sam nodded and went to the mess at Tool's tattoo station, moving past Jack without so much as a look. She looked at Tool instead. "Sorry about the mess," she said, righting the stool and beginning to collect the broken glass.
"Dismissed? What, am I a child?" Jack went off again. This time Sam ignored her, letting the other woman go off on her own tangent. She was starting to see why Jack had never seen active combat as a Marine. Her temper and unwillingness to follow orders would be enough to cause some Marine commanders she knew to put a bullet right between the young woman's pretty eyes.
"You're acting like one, cupcake," Ross said. "And be lucky you aren't fired."
"Fired!" There goes that temper again. "You can't fire me! You need me."
Sam held her tongue but shot a look to Tool that suggested perhaps "need" was too strong a word.
"Not if you're going to act like a spoiled and pampered child," Ross said calmly.
It just fired her up more. "Spoiled? Pampered?" her voice got louder and more distressed. "As if! Your so-called replacement for me probably had a nicer life than I could have even dreamed of!" she screamed.
Again, Sam held her tongue. She had a good idea what Jack meant; the military was not a pleasant place for a woman, especially when she was trying to make her career there. For someone like Jack, who seemed to take even the smallest criticism as a huge personal insult, the Marines would be hell.
Sam chanced a look at Jack, but wished she hadn't. All the sympathy she was developing for the other woman was washed away in a wave of crocodile tears. "I understand," she sobbed. "I get it. Out with the old, in with the new." She wobbled on her wedge heels towards the door. "I won't darken your doorstep any more." With that, she stormed out, slamming the man door as she went.
"Don't be so dramatic, Jack," Ross said, exasperated. "Gunnar, go talk to her."
"Why me?"
"Because," Christmas said. "You're the one she likes."
"Just use those baby blues," Tool said with a laugh from the ground where he was helping Sam clean up the mess. When the two women had crashed into the chair they had sent many of his tools, not to mention inks and gauze, flying.
"Sorry about the mess," Sam said to him, looking very apologetic through her little smirk.
"Aw, don't worry about it, sweetheart," he said. "You better get some ice on that eye before it starts to puff up."
"I've had worse," she said with a smirk.
"The question is if you've had better," he said with a smirk.
"You're a dirty old man, aren't you?" she smirked.
"I might be many things, my dear," he said, straightening up. "But call me old again and I'll show you how old I am."
Meanwhile Christmas and Ross were rolling their eyes and had congregated in a separate corner.