6. Sam Flynn – September 15, 2001

Having the wind knocked of you at four in the morning wasn't the most pleasant experience in the world, especially when that bag of bones happens to be your irrelevant freshman bestie with a poor sense of time.

Yet, Jet figured it was something he could endure far easier than the phrase, "I leaving town, you wanna see me off?"

At least, that was the theory.

Truth to be told, Jet didn't process the words. He just sat up, put on some clothes, and followed Sam out through the window of his first floor dorm. Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, Jet adjusted his glasses and followed Sam through the dimly lit yard of the dormitory out to the parking lot.

A fair ways from the university was when Jet's brain deigned it was time wake up and assess his surroundings. This was not his bed, and he was on a moving vehicle of only two wheels and a loud engine. Sam was clutching the front of his jacket with one hand and balancing the motorcycle with the other.

His own grip around Sam's waist was incredibly lax and his cheek was pressed against his shoulder blade. He was positioned to fall off the saddle and onto the road speeding past them. Straightening himself out, Jet re-centered his body and reasserted his grip around Sam's waist.

Sam's helmeted gaze turned in his direction, but only slightly. He tugged Jet's jacket, Jet hugged Sam just a little tighter in response – he certainly wasn't going try shouting over the wind. Looking around, Jet realized they were well into the city now, the university a memory behind them.

The Ducati slowed down, veering out of traffic toward a semi-empty Dominos parking lot. Jet blinked owlishly against the dryness of his eyes, the motorcycle stopped and Jet hopped off. Sam's helmet came off and the laugh that followed was more than a little annoying. "I knew you weren't awake," Sam grinned.

"When did I say I was?"

"When I woke you up," Sam said. "You climbed out the window and everything."

"Where are we going?" Jet grouched, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"You realize you were about to fall off, right?"

"I can think of worse ways to go," Jet stretched arms over arms over his head.

Not rising to the bait, Sam said, "I'm leaving town, you're seeing me off. Remember now?"

The resigned sigh from his friend said more than enough so, he started the motorcycle again. "C'mon, I wanna get outta here before the traffic gets too bad."

"And you need me to come with you, because? You realize I don't have a car and I'll be walking back once you're gone?"

"Just call Alan, he'll pick you up," Sam smiled. "It's not my fault you like to nomad your way around the city."

Jet rolled his eyes, but got on the motorcycle anyway. "Don't fall asleep, man," Sam said.

"Shut up, and go, dweeb."

Donning his helmet, Sam pulled out of the parking lot and back into the ever-growing flow of traffic.

Jet fell asleep twice. The second time he actually did almost fall off of motorcycle, which forced Sam to pull over again, this time at the nearest Checkers he could find. The modest faux diner designed fast food joint was quiet, unoccupied by all others save the early shift employees, most of whom were more awake than his friend.

Jet sat on the right side of the booth, head leaning up against the red cushioned seat. Sam walked back to the booth with two cups of coffee in hand. He sat the steaming cup in front of Jet, who was slow to react to the smell. Sitting on his side of the table, Sam sipped gingerly at the stark drink.

Coffee was never his favorite drink, he never quite understood why it was so revered – but if Jet's dazed and confused act was anything to do by, the world was working off an induced state of dependency that clouded their better judgement regarding the beverage. Jet bowed his head over the cup of coffee, inhaling the dry and sodium-esque smell let off by the steam. Between the two an oily bag of fries sat on a platter, on either side of the bag were double folded napkins with their own little pile of fried potatoes on them.

"You couldn't have waited until this afternoon to leave California?"

"You'd be in class, so, no, not really," Sam answered between chewing his single French fry.

"You sure this is what you wanna do?" Jet asked.

"As sure as there are French fries in front of me, yeah," Sam flashed his friend a grin.

"I know things have been tough since Deana passed, but –" He shrugged. "We're here for you, man."

"I just don't wanna be here. I figure you of all people understand that, right?"

Jet responded by downing a gulp of hot coffee. It went down as well as expected. Dumbass, Sam thought with a pitying shake of the head. Jet stuffing salty potatoes into his mouth to assuage his burning tongue and throat was amusing at least.

"So, you're gonna miss me?" There was a cough from Jet, followed by a shrug and a modest salute with his right hand. 'I don't know', was what he just signed to him. "Well, honestly, I'd miss me, because who else would you talk to?"

"For your information –" Jet's voice was haggard and stuffy, "I have friends besides you. Kind of a necessity where am." Jet wasn't necessarily affronted by the implication that he had no friends besides Sam, but he wasn't amused by it either.

"Relax, man, I was kidding," Sam dipped his fry into his coffee, now lukewarm. "You are so touchy when you don't get any sleep."

"Alas, I am not the night owl I used to be," Jet sighed. "I'll be nineteen the end of this year, and I feel like I'm pushing forty."

"That's just the depression talking," Sam said casting a wary glance over his shoulder at the television suspended in the corner. "Or, maybe current events."

"It's probably both," Jet stuck his tongue in his coffee and drew back immediately. "I swear there's a heating blanket in this cup."

"Wouldn't that be something," Sam watched his friend lean back against the chair and close his eyes. He let the quiet wash over them, not sure how to proceed.

"So, what are your plans after you come back? Assuming you're coming back, that is," Jet asked after a moment. "Taking over your old man's company? Finishing college?"

"I'm… coming back," Sam's response didn't inspire confidence. "Finishing college? Yeah, eventually. Taking over ENCOM? I dunno. Mackey's probably running things fine, all things considered."

"If that's the case," Jet sat up, "Why do you always try to fuck up his software releases?"

"Alan says those software releases were supposed to be free updates, and he's making money off it."

"Gee, it's almost like he wants Flynn's company to make money," Jet snarked.

"It's the principal of the thing, man," Sam frowned.

"Business and principal rarely go hand-in-hand, Sam. If that was the case –" He shrugged, "A lot of people would have jobs that paid above-living wages."

"And I'm supposed to, what? Just take that as it is?"

"No, but, if you wanna change something about ENCOM, you're gonna want be proactive about what happens. Pranks don't change anything. You're lucky no one knows it's you, yet," Jet admonished. "You could actually go to jail for that."

"You mean, like you did?"

"I knew you'd bring that up," Jet grumbled.

"You got off with a community service."

"Please, please, tell me you did not start doing this because I sabotaged our high school registry system."

"Okay, I won't," Sam pressed his lips together, pretending to zip a bag closed. There was a moment where Jet felt the onset of dissociation creeping up behind him, separating him from the now. In the back of his head he could recall his father prattling on about 'actions' and 'consequences', how stupid and illegal hacking a school mainframe out of pure boredom was. He remembered the acute dismissal of his own frustrations by authority figures, bullying at school, which motivated him to muck about with computer in the principal's office that would land him in trouble

When faced with a court of law, the smell of garbage as he mulled about random neighborhoods, cleaning up trash and scrubbing graffiti from brick walls and bathroom stalls until his hands were too cramped to uncurl, he was lucky he didn't go to jail. But, not once through that whole ordeal did fifteen-going-on-sixteen year old him ever consider what he did in his own rapidly deteriorating life (at the time) could influence Sam Flynn. "Well, I feel like shit," He said.

"Don't, I thought it was cool. It took them a month to sort the system out, everyone was talking about it," Sam laughed. "You're kind've a legend now."

"That's some legend. I wonder if I'll ever get a job?"

"Hey, if you don't, you can work for me."

"If it's all the same to you, Flynn, I think I'll keep my distance from ENCOM," Jet huffed. "I'm happy to hear you're interested in working there, though."

Sam reached over the table in an attempt to hit his friend. He barely caught his arm when Jet ducked out of the way. The unfinished French fries were discarded. Absentmindedly, Sam left his coffee on the table as the two of them exited the restaurant. Jet sipped gingerly on his now lukewarm coffee waiting for the caffeine to kick in full gear.

"You sure you don't wanna come a little further?" Sam, already situated on his Ducati, fiddled with the visor of his helmet.

Jet smiled. "I go any further with you, and we'll be out of California before I know it." Sam said nothing in his defense, he didn't have to. Jet didn't press the issue. A hesitant right hand rose from his side, while he considered what he would do with it, Sam grasped the open palm without hesitation, closing his fingers around it. In the moment, Jet set aside his self-consciousness and pulled the younger man into a hug that protected him from the coffee.

"Take care of yourself, kiddo," He said.

"I will," Sam let Jet step away from him as he started the engine. "And I'll be back for your graduation."

Jet nodded, albeit doubtfully. "I'll keep a look out."

"Good. I'll be there," And without another word Sam pulled out of the parking lot.

Jet watched him go, flustered, quixotic, and hopeful.

FIN.