A/N: Another shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy!
Sam was busy wiping down the counter in the kitchen. He had just gotten back from his walk, only to be greeted by the destroyed railing and a sheepish looking Victor. He promptly decided that it wasn't something he wanted to deal with yet and walked inside to find something else to do. Tidying up was the only thing that could keep him sane sometimes.
He heard the porch creak as Victor walked back and forth for a little while, then the creaking went down the stairs and turned to faint footsteps in the sand. It seemed Victor had someplace he'd rather be too. Hopefully he was off to figure out how he could fix the porch, but somehow Sam doubted that.
Well, with Rafe sulking and Victor gone, at least he had some peace and quiet to really get the kitchen clean. When he was done with the counter, he grabbed a bucket from the pantry and began filling it in the sink. The floor could use some mopping, especially considering they were about due for another tantrum-induced mess. When the bucket was half full, he turned the tap off and went under the sink to grab the cleaner. Then he heard a door opening.
Rafe slunk around the corner into the kitchen with his hamper. Hopefully Victor showed him how to run the dryer, or else he'd be really disappointed when he got to the machine.
Rafe stopped when he saw Sam and bristled a little, then glanced towards the door that led outside. "I hope you're not blaming that on me. I'm not fixing it."
"I wasn't going to ask you to," Sam said a bit more curtly than he meant to. He turned his back briefly to pour the chemicals in, "Don't worry about it. I may not know what happened, but I do know a guilty Victor when I see one." When everything was back under the sink, he made a point of locking it up, then stood and faced Rafe. "If you did everything right then your clothes will be ready. You should probably get going to check on them." Victor's request that they stay away from each other was still fresh in his mind, and while he wasn't about to do anything to Rafe, Rafe sure was good at creating situations when he wanted to. It had been a very long and rough day already, and he didn't want it getting worse.
Rafe didn't respond. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and peered at Sam. He hated when the kid did that. It was unnerving, and he never knew if he should start expecting business-faced-Rafe or brat-Rafe to appear.
It only lasted for a few seconds, thankfully, then Rafe suddenly smirked. "Don't tell me you're still angry over what I said. That was a long time ago, Samuel. I thought Nate was supposed to be the sensitive one."
Sam stiffened. No, he wasn't angry, but that comment hit him the wrong way. It had only been a couple hours, for Chris'sakes. "I'm not sensitive, and you leave Nathan out of it. Not everyone is a psychopath like you are," he said, keeping his tone even, "Besides, I've seen you hold a grudge plenty of times. The only difference is you think you're better than everyone else so your actions are excusable." He knew that Rafe was trying to goad him again and he wasn't about to let that happen, so he nodded towards the door. "Like I said, laundry is waiting."
"I'm not a psychopath," Rafe said, "And you're a hypocrite." He ignored the grudge comment. There was a difference between being petty and making sure people didn't cross you twice. And, well, he was better than everyone else. That should have been obvious. "Why do you want me out of the room so badly?"
"Hypocrite?" Sam scoffed. He didn't even hear the question. "I never claimed to be better than anyone, and I sure as hell don't hold onto things as long as you do."
Rafe looked at Sam like he couldn't decide if he was oblivious or just an idiot. "You seem to think it's fine if you want to talk about my dead parents. If I tell you to stop, then I'm just overreacting, right? No need for you to listen to me- I am the bad guy, after all, so I deserve it. Then the first time I mention your dead parents, you suddenly can't stand to be in the same room as me. But you're right, I'm just so heartless that I can't possibly be held to the same standards."
Sam opened his mouth to protest, then quickly shut it again when he actually processed what Rafe had said. Shit. He might have a point somewhere in there. He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "It's not that I can't stand being in the same room as you," he said after a minute. "I'm trying to clean the floor and I can't really do that while you're standing there, can I?"
Rafe grew quiet again, and Sam could tell he was thinking something over. He had no idea why the hell the brat chose to be so analytical right now. Most of the time he preferred to skulk out of the room as soon as he could and to speak sparingly when he had to. Now that they weren't supposed to be alone, he wanted to talk things out? Sam didn't buy it. "I'm serious, I want to mop. You have five minutes to go and get everything before you're kicked out of the kitchen for half an hour."
Rafe didn't seem to hear him. He was still thinking. "If you can stand it, then that must mean that you're not supposed to be around me," he finally determined with a smug grin. "Sully doesn't trust you anymore, huh?"
"What-" Sam stammered, "Where the hell did you get that idea? I just told you why I want you out." He wasn't expecting Rafe to figure that out so soon, or at all. The last thing he needed was for Rafe to start thinking that they could both get into trouble over things, or that he had some kind of leverage on him. "Move, or do you want me to spank you? Because you're getting a pretty big attitude for someone who just got a spanking earlier." Normally that was enough to make Rafe shut it and leave him alone.
Rafe didn't even flinch. He stepped closer with the confidence of a cat that had cornered a mouse. "Do you really want Sullivan to find out?"
Sam took a deep breath. Bad day or not, he wasn't going to let this brat get too cocky. Hell no. He grabbed one of Rafe's arms and not-too-roughly-but-not-too-gently dragged him towards the door, then sent him outside with a hard swat to his thigh, which he knew was still plenty sore from earlier.
"Go ahead and tell Victor about that," he said, "And when you're done, check on your clothes. If they still feel damp, run the dryer for another half-hour. Oh, and I'm locking the back door in five minutes, so if you take too long you might have to walk all the way around the house."
The look of pure indignation Rafe sent him was worth the five-minute headache he had just endured. Good. Hopefully they were done with that game.
A few days passed in which nothing too eventful happened. Rafe stayed mainly to himself, either holed in his room or walking along his mysterious patch of island. He hadn't attempted to blackmail Sam again, and as far as the elder Drake knew Victor hadn't heard about that incident. His tactic must have worked.
Rafe only made an appearance among the others when he had to eat or wash the dishes, which was fine with both of them. They figured that Rafe was going to sulk until he was fully healed- he couldn't sit without squirming from time to time, even with the cushions that he was suddenly less conscious about using. Victor was still worried about his leg, but he wasn't visibly limping so it seemed like getting a doctor wouldn't be necessary.
Sam had more or less gotten over everything. Rafe was a brat, and he knew he was a brat, so he shouldn't have let him get under his skin like that. Still, old wounds never really heal, or whatever that saying was. It didn't matter. It wouldn't have the same effect on him twice.
The hypocrite comment, however, was gnawing at the back of his mind, and after thinking about it he realized he probably owed Rafe some kind of apology… Which he would get to eventually. He'd have to wait for the right time, or else all Rafe would do is gloat. The right time was probably somewhere far off in the future, if it existed at all. At least Victor was still unaware or else he'd be pressured into doing it right away.
For now, however, he had other things to focus on. Shoreline had just been by to drop off some supplies, including the materials needed to fix the railing on the porch. Rafe had been hiding in his room the whole time, as usual. As soon as they left Sam heard the water turn on in the kitchen, signaling that Rafe had emerged to wash the dishes from lunch.
Sully had been out to supervise and help transport, but now the older man turned to head back inside.
"And just where do you think you're going?" Sam gestured towards the boards, "There's work to be done out here."
"I can't do all the heavy lifting for you, can I?" Sully joked. "I was just going to grab myself a drink and sit with a newspaper. I think I've earned the right to relax a little. Besides, I'm only going to be a distraction out here while you work on that."
"While I work on it?" Sam repeated, feigning incredulousness. He put a hand on his hip and the other on his chest. "That's not my job, is it?"
"I don't know who else you think can do it," Sully responded, clearly confused as to where this was going. It wasn't like they could just hire someone to do the job. Why would Sam go through the trouble of asking for supplies if he wasn't going to do anything with them? He'd better not be thinking that Rafe was going to do it, not after what they talked about earlier.
"If you've never done it before then I would be happy to show you how to do it," Sam said, the grin he had been trying to hold back finally coming out, "But if I remember correctly, 'if you break it, it's your job to fix it'."
Sully immediately began to protest, but stopped short when he heard something suspiciously close to a snicker come from the kitchen. He instead put his hands on his hips and glared over at the older Drake. Sam was enjoying this far too much.
"Goddamn it…" he huffed. "At least let me get a beer first."
When all was said and done, the work wasn't too bad. Sam couldn't actually force Sully to do anything. After all, Sully wasn't really the one that needed to learn a lesson, but he also recognized that Sam shouldn't have to do it all alone, and it went easier with two pairs of hands instead of one.
The only downside was Sam's sense of humor.
Sully was holding one of the beams steady so Sam could hammer it into place, praying that the other man was actually paying enough attention to not smash his fingers.
"So anyway," Sam continued, already chuckling to himself, "The foreman asks the newbie why he's throwing away every other nail he takes out of the box, and the kid tells him that they all have the head on the wrong side! Then the foreman starts yelling at him, 'You idiot! Those ones are for the other side of the house!'" He started laughing, then paused when he noticed that Victor hadn't made a sound. "Come on, that's funny! Don't you get it?"
"You're lucky I'm not the one holding the hammer," Sully responded darkly.
"You just don't know good comedy when you hear it." Sam shook his head and made sure that the base for the beam was sturdy. "Alright, I'm going to put in the support now. Hold her still."
Out of nowhere Rafe cleared his throat. "Um, Sam?"
Was he done with the dishes already? That was fast. "Sorry, Rafe. You'll have to wait a few minutes if you want me to come check that nothing needs to be washed again."
"Samuel."
That voice was insistent enough to catch his attention. Sam sighed and straightened up to look over, then dropped his hammer from surprise. "Jesus!"
That was enough to make Sully concerned. He turned around to see what was wrong.
Rafe was standing in the doorway with a paring knife gripped in his hand, honed by Sam to a perfectly sharp edge. "It looks like you forgot something in the sink," he said with a smirk.