Lee was sitting on his front porch nursing a beer from the Sixpack he had gotten and hadn't shattered. His chair was just an old, plastic foldable he had laying around, much less elegant than the rocking chair Sammy had on her porch. Her home, despite its occasional mess, was cozy and lived-in, and Lee's was cold and impersonal. Some nights he'd fall asleep to the subtle glow of the TV on his couch, the walls bare and the low sound echoing around him. Most of his things had been tucked away in boxes for the longest time- memorabilia from his time served, photos from home and his childhood, collectables he had forgotten all about- all laid sleeping in cardboard boxes in his garage, untouched for years.
Sammy pulled into her driveway, her rickety little car bumbling to a stop. She got out and shuddered- the humidity was less palpable in the air that night, and it left her skin longing for that pressurized warmth. She reached over to the passenger side and grabbed her purse and a bottle of wine she had gotten on the way home.
"Hey," Lee said, wandering down his porch steps and towards Sammy's house.
She looked up, pleasantly startled. She looked down at her phone for the time. "I'm a bit later than I said, huh?"
Lee shrugged. "It's alright. It happens."
"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything," she said, meeting him at his side as they made their way slowly to the house.
"Nothing good," he said, thinking about how the guys were probably lounging in either the hanger or at Tool's, talking shit and getting drunk or sitting in a stupor with their pitch-black hearts fogging up the room.
"Well," she said with a breath and a hopeful, apologetic smile, "I brought wine, if you want any."
He held up his beer, "I'm good. Didn't break these ones."
She smiled and pulled open that old screen door, hurrying to drop her stuff in the kitchen. She looked over the medical bills with a sigh- there was only so much insurance would cover, and the rest would have to come from whatever her and her parents could come up with. She tried to shake the thought from her mind, but Lee had noticed her sober hesitation.
"Is everything alright?" He asked.
"Yeah, yeah," she said, drawing in a heavy breath and walking around the island to find a wine glass. "It's just been a long day. You know, stupid boss, prissy customers... I'm exhausted."
"I could come back," he said.
"No, no," she said, pouring some of the wine into her glass. "You're probably right about that door. It's a miracle nothing bad has happened yet."
He watched her sip the wine, noticing the way her lips curled around the edge of the glass and tinted as the liquid ebbed over them. The deep red brought out the purple under her eyes and the bloodshot within them. He was an experienced enough mercenary to know when somebody was lying. He was also human enough to recognize medical bills, so he didn't press.
"Let's see the damage," he said, making his way down the hallway to inspect the door. It was a little crooked on the hinges, the nails needing to be hammered back down. The lock on the door was old and a little rusted. He figured a new doorknob was probably the best bet, and he put down his beer as he inspected how much space he had to work with. He was grateful that in his garage, with the boxes of his packed up life, he had leftover resources from he had first moved in, including a door handle that would fit the screen door nicely that he had never used.
"I'll be right back," he said, glancing up at Sammy, who was standing at the end of the hallway with the wine glass in her hand and arm tucked around her waist. She nodded, offering him a kind smile, though her eyes- sad, tired, distracted- didn't match it. He pulled open the creaky door and headed over to his garage.
Sammy hated having nights off because it forced her to sit with her thoughts. More specifically, it made her sit with her dread. If they couldn't afford a round of chemo, what did that mean for her sister? On top of that, she hadn't even been home to visit in three years. She wondered what her sister looked like after the treatments, with her head shaved close and eyes hollow and sunken in. They had looked so much alike despite her young age, and the idea of her just being a ghostly remembrance of the happy child Sammy once knew haunted her. It would be like looking in a mirror and seeing your own skeleton. That wasn't the only reason she hadn't gone home, though. It was expensive to travel, and her sister needed the money more than she needed Sammy.
Lee came back and saw Sammy leaning against the wall in the same position she was in when he'd left a few minutes ago. She was zoned out, mindlessly stirring the wine in her glass. He cleared his throat and caught her attention with a feeble start.
"I had this laying around," he said, waving the plastic do-it-yourself pack around. "I'm not gonna need it, so I'll just use it here."
"Thank you, Lee," she said, her voice a bit softer than usual.
"It's no problem," he said, pulling out a switch blade and tearing into the stiff plastic.
"Maybe it's the southern hospitality, but I'm not used to people going out of their way to help me," she said, approaching him to inspect his handiwork. "So really, thank you."
He glanced over his arm at her and pulled out a screwdriver to take the old door handle off.
"Maybe it's hard to tell from my accent, but I'm not southern, darling," he said, kneeling in front of her door. "Was born in London. Lived there my whole life until I didn't."
She leaned her back against the wall as he worked, sipping her wine. "Right," she said. "Why'd you leave?"
He drew in a breath as he unscrewed the broken handle and pulled it from the door. How was he supposed to explain that after a bunch of years in the military wearing camo and being a hard-ass, he got an offer from one Barney Ross that he couldn't find a good enough reason to refuse. It was a new life, a new start, an easy way to put the tribulations of his past behind him. He traded the foggy streets of London for the heavy humid air of New Orleans and he hadn't looked back.
"Sorry," she said suddenly, noticing his silence. "I don't mean to pry. You don't have to-"
"It's fine, it's fine," he said, examining the new door handle. "Just needed a new start. That was a long time ago, though. What about you, you're not from around here, are you?"
She thought back to the day she had rolled up with her tiny u-haul and had caught his attention. He was a bit less haggard, but overall the same as he was that day kneeling in front of her screen door. They had only spoken briefly when she had moved in.
"Pretty much the same," she said. "I always had this romanticized idea of life, and moving to New Orleans was apart of that. But, you know, one thing leads to the next and suddenly everything else is getting in the way."
He nodded, even though nothing had ever really gotten in the way of his career. Then again, with enough experience, it was pretty easy to be a merc.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked.
"About what?"
He didn't look back at her as he screwed in the new handle. "Everything getting in the way. It might help to talk it over with someone."
She looked up at the ceiling and wondered how to put it. There was no casual way to explain that her fathers insurance was crap and her little sister was dying, and she could either step up and hand over most of her paycheck or let her wither away. What kind of sister would that make her?
"Some stuff came up back home," she said finally. "I send them most of my paychecks to help, so the rest of my plans for down here are kind of on hold."
"Where's home?" He asked. He didn't want to pry too much about the issues back home, assuming they had something to do with the scattered medical bills he had seen.
"New York," she said.
He raised an eyebrow, "city?" She didn't seem like a city girl.
"No," she said with a laugh, "upstate. By the mountains." It made her think back to her home, the beautiful lakes and forests so separated from the big city and its smog and smell.
"I've never been," he said, standing up and trying out the handle. It worked nicely, and he pulled the key out of the pack and tested it. "High-end security for Sammy."
She chuckled, taking the key and inspecting it. "What ever would I do without you, kind Londoner?"
He smiled, following her back to the kitchen where she attached the dingy little key to her keychain. She felt a little bit better knowing there was actually a lock on her door, not that she had worried about it too terribly before. He placed his beer down on the counter.
"Do you wanna hang out for a bit?" She asked, collecting the paperwork from the island and tucking it into her purse. "I don't have much around here, but we could make something small for dinner. I'm starved."
"Sure," he said. He'd prefer to stay around her then go home and be alone. There was something about her that he couldn't read, and he found it enthralling.
"I'm just gonna go change out of these work clothes," she said, setting her empty wine glass down by the sink. "Make yourself at home."
He nodded as she hurried by him and down another narrow hall that lead to, he assumed, her bedroom. Her kitchen was small and sweet, decorated kindly. The decorations, he realized, had a bit of dust around their edges. He was glad to have someplace to be that wasn't with the guys or on his couch, and it seemed like Sammy was just as glad not to be alone, too.
She came back out in some shorts and a baggy long sleeve shirt, the collar of the shirt pulled and loose around her neck and collar bones. She was beautiful, not in a dangerous, sharp kind of way, but in a soft, lovely kind of way. Lee thought about it for a second, wondering why he had always gone for the former when there was something so charming about a woman in cozy clothes with a bit of mascara smeared under her eyes.
"Ah," she said, opening the fridge. "That's much better. Want another beer?"
"Sure," he said, and she handed her one from the fridge.
"That's my last one," she said. "I don't really drink beer though, so don't worry."
She refilled her wine glass and took a sip as she searched through her cabinets with a frown.
"Something wrong?" He asked.
"I offered dinner, but..." she sighed, turning to him, "I don't think I really have anything to make. I've been working so much, so I don't-"
"That's fine," he said, pulling out his phone. "Chinese or Italian?"
She raised an eyebrow, confused. "What?"
"I'll just order delivery. I don't have anything at home either," he said. "Chinese or Italian?"
"Um, Chinese," she said, cradling the glass close to her chest like she had the mug the night before.
He called up his usual place and ordered an assortment of food. Sammy watched him curiously, inspecting the way his words flowed from his mouth, different than the way they flowed from her own. She turned and reached into her purse, looking for the hefty tip he had left her earlier that day.
He put the phone down and checked his watch. "About a half hour, they said. We could-"
She tucked the money into his breast pocket and gave it a little pat, offering him a crooked smile. "Consider it a tip for installing my state of the art security system."
He furrowed his brows and pulled the cash out with a frown. "You don't need to do that," he said, trying to hand it back. "I offered to do it. It's fine."
"Please, Lee," she said, eyes wide like she was begging, "for the food, too. You've been kind enough."
He sighed and let the money slide back into his pocket. He intended to slip it back into her purse before the night was up, but nodded anyway.
"Thank you," she said. "So what kind of business do you do?"
He bobbed his head side to side, "it's boring stuff."
"I'm interested," she said enthusiastically, leaning over the island towards him.
"Well," he said, wondering what to say that wouldn't scare her away. "I work with a bunch of guys. People hire us and we do what they want."
"Sounds sketchy," she said with a laugh.
"It's alright," he said, smiling back at her. "It pays the bills."
"That's always good," she said. "What about family? Are they in London?"
"Yeah," he said. "My mum, and I have a sister. The guys I work with are pretty much family, though."
"That sounds nice," Sammy said. "Maybe it's my wild schedule, but I never see anybody come around."
"I usually go to them," he said. "Just works out that way."
"My family is all back in New York," she said. "And my friends, too."
"So you just decided to come down here, even with your whole life up there?" He asked.
"Well, you know. Follow your bliss. You only live once. Blah, blah, blah," she said, rolling her eyes. "This was never my bliss, but I'm here anyway."
"Hm," he said, swirling his beer bottle in his fingers. "What were you chasing?"
"I was an artist," she said, thinking back to her days in college where she wasted away hours painting and drawing. She smiled. "I always loved the culture here, the architecture... I told myself when I was younger: that's it, that's the place I gotta go. I'll make something of myself and New Orleans will be a part of it. But, uh, I don't know about that anymore. New Orleans is definitely apart of me... or I'm apart of it, or- well, you know."
He smiled. He could picture her as an artist, her shaggy, dusty brown hair tied up in a messy bun, covered in paint and wearing overalls. Her thin, shaky fingers gripped around a paintbrush, conducting color and light, making the universe and all its beauty bow to her.
"You like art museums?" He asked.
"Love them," she said. "Haven't been in a long time, though. Like everything else... work."
He nodded. He made a lot of money on his missions with the team, and part of him felt guilty that life was so uneven; he didn't need it all. He lived in a little house because he didn't care for luxury, other than his bike or knives or guns. He didn't have any medical bills to strain over, or people to take care of other than himself. He felt guilty.
"I heard the New Orleans Museum of Art is nice," he said finally.
"It is," she smiled. "I went when I first got here. And the Voodoo museum. You ever been?"
He shook his head. She gasped.
"You live in New Orleans and you've never-" she blinked, clearly befuddled. "I think that's some sort of crime. High-treason."
He laughed again, taking another swig of his beer. "I'm not opposed to it," he said. "Maybe we could go one day."
She felt a sudden warmth rise in her cheeks and she looked embarrassed, but she swallowed over it and smiled. "We could, maybe. Whenever we both have time off work that isn't after dark."
The thought made him happy. He nodded, finishing off his beer with a sigh. "My friend Tool is an artist. He's the guy that owns the tattoo shop."
"Oh!" She said, excited. "I'd almost forgotten about that. Is he any good?"
"I think so," he said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the skull and raven design he had done, the banner across it reading: Expendables. "He did this a long time ago now."
She leaned closer, inspecting it. "Badass," she said, glancing up at him. "I feel like there's a lot more to you than just business, Lee. Maybe you're a British spy, like James Bond. Am I close?"
He chuckled, meeting her eyes. She was close to him, her face low where she had been looking at the ink.
"Maybe," he said with a shrug.
"Or," she said, holding herself steady in front of him, "Sherlock, but make him beefy. Or maybe you're a bad guy like Moriarty."
"I might be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one," he said with a smile.
"That's Sherlock!" She said, eyes lighting up. "Where'd you live in London, huh? Baker Street?"
He laughed, his head rolling back a bit. When the laughter died down, he found himself a bit closer to her, breathing in the same air that she did. He went to open his mouth when the doorbell rang and pulled them both from each other.
"I'll get it," she said, making her way to the door. He leaned back slightly before he stood to join her, pulling some cash out of his pocket.
"Thank you," he said, reaching over Sammy's shoulder to hand the delivery boy his tip. "Have a good night."
Sammy closed the door and crumpled her face up at him. "I was gonna-"
"But I did it anyway," he said, taking the bag of food from her. "Come on. Let's eat."
"I can put on a movie," she said, following him back to the kitchen. "I usually just eat on the couch."
He nodded, pulling the cartons out of the bag and inspecting the labels.
They made up their plates and sat beside each other on the couch, a healthy amount of space between them. Sammy picked up the remote and flicked through some channels before she gasped and turned to him, pointing at the screen.
"James Bond!" She said, smile spreading across her face. "It's a sign.
He smiled, swirling some lo mein around his chopsticks.
She settled back and started to eat. They sat there for a few hours, and by the time Lee checked his watch it was well after eleven. He glanced over to say goodnight, but found Sammy fast sleep, curled up next to the arm of the couch. He watched her for a minute, unsure of what to do. He looked around for a blanket but couldn't find anything. She was small, and the way she was curled up would probably hurt her neck in the morning. He could wake her up, but he felt guilty just at the thought- she was so tired, the exhaustion wafting around her like an aura. He wasn't sure he'd even recognize her without the bags under her eyes.
With a sigh and a glance around he bent over her and lifted her against his chest. He'd seen where she had run off and figured it was her bedroom, and when he rounded the dark corner he saw the unmade bed. He placed her down on the sheets, pulling the blankets up around her. Having felt her against him, a part of him suddenly wished to stay, just to keep an eye on her, to make sure she got a good nights rest. He shook the thought away and pulled the door to her bedroom half closed behind him, heading to clean up the plates in the living room. He placed them in the sink next to her wine glass and tucked the leftovers away in the fridge. He tossed his beer bottles in the trash and pulled the cash from his breast pocket, tucking it into her purse. He headed for the door, checking the lock a few times before he was satisfied and closed it tight behind him. He glanced back, wondering if she was still asleep. He hoped so. He made his way back to his own house and settled on his couch.
An artist from upstate New York, he thought to himself, leaning his head back on the couch with a sigh. And a mercenary from London.
—
Sammy woke with a start late the next morning, disoriented and confused. She didn't remember going to bed last night, or saying goodbye to Lee, or cleaning anything up. She was tucked in snugly on the opposite side of the bed than where she usually slept, and she wondered if Lee had put her there. The last thing she remembered was watching the James Bond movies on the couch with him, the smell of take-out Chinese surrounding them. She dropped her head to her pillow, a bit embarrassed, and let out a sigh. She figured she'd have to ask him, mostly so she could apologize for knocking out on him.
She checked the time and groaned. Her shift started in about an hour, and she wouldn't be home until midnight. After a moment of dread washed over she sighed and pulled herself up, heading for the shower. It was going to be a long day, but at least she had the company of the memory of last night in her mind.
—-
Lee pulled up to the tattoo shop and rode his bike straight in, docking it next to the line of the other guys bikes.
"Well look what the cat dragged in," Tool said, holding his pipe out as though to say hello. Lee nodded towards him and headed to the back, in search of Barney.
"Barn," Lee called, glancing around. "Where you hiding?"
"Over here," Barney said, sitting at a table with his laptop open in front of him. "You got my text?"
"Yeah, that's why I'm here," he said, plopping down in the chair across from him. "Where's the job?"
"Mexico. Some cartel business. Rich guys kid is being used as leverage."
"Rich guys and their kids never seem to learn, huh?" Lee said faintly, shaking his head. "Sounds easy enough."
"I called the rest of the guys. It should be a quickie. Not too far, not too complicated. In and out. I figure we can leave tonight and be back by tomorrow."
He nodded. "I like the sound of that."
"Good," Barney said, typing a few things into his laptop before he closed it and looked over Lee. "Where've you been?"
"Home," he said.
Barney rolled his eyes. "Alone?"
"Well last night I offered to help my neighbor fix her door," he said. "Lock was broken. She lives alone. Didn't like the idea of that."
"Very noble of you," Barney said.
Lee rolled his eyes. "It wasn't like that, Barney."
Barney chuckled and stood, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Lee pulled out his phone and checked his messages.
Morning, Lee- weird question, but did you put me to bed last night? I can't remember, and I didn't have that much to drink. -sammy
He chuckled, remembering her passed out at the edge of the couch.
You were out cold. Thought I'd do you a favor. It's all good. -Lee
He put the phone down on the table in front of him, thinking back to last night. The thought made him smile. Before long, his phone buzzed.
That's kind of embarrassing. Thanks for everything, Lee. -sammy
He picked it up and sighed.
Not embarrassing, don't worry. Heading out of town for business, but let me know how that lock treats you. -Lee
He was a little bit sad he couldn't spend another night talking to her. It'd only been two nights, but it was quickly becoming one of his favorite things.
Goodluck, Sherlock! -sammy
Maybe time would go by faster if he had something to look forward to coming home to.