A/N: Some language.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
"The Recruit"
by: the archduke
The front door slowly opened. He sat on the couch, waiting for Sam to come into the apartment. He was surprised she hadn't just barged in, since she was under the impression Carly would be the only one home. The incident of two days ago must have made her skittish about entering the Shay's apartment.
Sam's head peeked around the partially opened door. "Carly?"
He gave her a smile and a little wave.
Sam's head disappeared behind the door. A few seconds passed before she entered the apartment, leaving the door open behind her. She was leaving herself an easy out. Smart.
"Hey Mr., er, Captain Shay. Sir. Carly said she wanted to talk. She upstairs?" Sam rubbed her hands together, looking towards the stairs with hope. He guessed she didn't want to talk about the whole 'beat up Carly's dad' fiasco.
He ignored her question. "You girls have got to be more careful with your phones. Anyone could just pick one up and send a text message, pretending to be someone else." He took Carly's phone out of his shirt pocket and tossed it to Sam.
She caught it instinctively and looked at him with shock when she realized what it was.
"You sent the text?" she asked.
"Yup. Carly and Spencer are out getting groceries."
Sam glanced behind her as if she was going to run for it, but she didn't make any other moves. "Geeze, not again," she whispered before she turned back to him.
A transformation seemed to come over her. Any nervousness disappeared, and she stood before him, arms crossed over her chest, hip checked to the side, and a smirk on her face. Taken all together she presented a perfect picture of teenage rebellion. She wasn't backing down in an unknown situation. Good.
"It doesn't bother you that I can bench press you, does it?" he asked in curiosity. Her confidence seemed to fill the room.
"You're not so tough. I should know. Sir." That might have been the most insincere 'sir' he had ever heard in his life.
"You can drop the 'sir.' Mr. Shay is fine."
She shrugged. "Whatever. So what's happenin', Captain?" She looked amused, so he decided to cut to the chase.
"You are a violent, disrespectful delinquent, and I don't feel totally comfortable with you as my daughter's friend."
Sam uncrossed her arms and clenched her fists. She slammed the door shut behind her. She looked livid. "You don't know anything! You show up a couple of times a year and think you know best? Bullshit! Why don't you just go back to playing with your submarines and leave the rest of us alone!"
He ignored her and continued as if she hadn't shouted at him. "But you inspire loyalty in my kids and Freddie. They think of you as family. And you must care for them if you were willing to risk your neck against someone who you thought was a burglar."
"Wasn't much of a risk," she mumbled. Her anger was now mixed with confusion. She gave him a glare, wordlessly ordering him to make sense.
"How did you now I was behind the bar?" he asked. It had been bothering him for the past two days. He needed an answer.
He had thrown her off course again. "Wha?"
"How did you know to," he had trouble getting the next part out, "punch me, two nights ago?" That would never stop stinging.
"Oh." She shrugged again as if it were nothing. "There was a mini-flashlight on the counter. It was pointed towards that big pot over there," she pointed to the cart in the kitchen, next to the back door. "I saw you in the reflection."
His eyebrows rose. He must have left his keychain light on the counter when he hid himself behind the bar. "Clever."
She sent him a cocky grin. "Yeah."
She had natural instincts. With training she could become very good. He was making the right decision.
"What are your plans after high school?" he asked.
She must have gotten used to his abrupt changes of subject, because she answered without hesitation. "Dunno. Still another year left. Just enjoying the ride."
"No college?"
"Four more years of school? No way. Probably end up joining the family business or something."
"Is that what they're calling theft and fraud these days?" he asked. He knew her entire family history, from absent father to convict cousins.
She didn't seem offended. "Beats working in an office all day."
This was it. He had to frame this just right. "What if I offered you a job?"
She laughed as if he had just said something ridiculous. "Me? In the Navy? Don't think so. My therapist says I have issues with authority. And that I don't play well with others."
He knew about the therapist the school was sending her to. It was all in the background check he had ordered. It was surprisingly long for someone still in her teens.
"I'm not talking about active duty. You have special skills, Sam. Skills that can be used to serve your country." He stood up from the couch and put his hands in his pockets, his pose relaxed. "I work for military intelligence."
"Isn't there some joke about that? Freddie tried to tell it once, and he ended up with a face full of oatmeal, it was so lame. And I already told you, I'm not joining the military, so you can find some other idiot to get shot at." She must have tired of the conversation, because she started towards the kitchen. "I need some real food. The only thing Freddie's annoying mom had in their fridge was vegetarian junk."
He spoke before she reached the kitchen. "I can make you into an invisible ninja, Sam." He was hoping this would get her attention. It worked.
She spun around. "What? Who told you about that? Carly said she'd never-"
"Part of my job is to know things that other people don't want found out."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"I'm a recruiter. I find people with potential and determine if that potential is useful. And I see a lot of potential in you."
She held up her hands, gesturing for him to stop. "Okay, what are we talking about here? Just say it in plain English."
"Sam, I think you'd make a hell of a spy for the United States government."
A/N 2: The military intelligence joke isn't really a joke. It's sometimes given as an example of an oxymoron. Some say "military" and "intelligence" are two contradictory terms. I can see Freddie trying to make it a joke. And it being lame.