Quasimodo
Quasimodo
by Orac
TITLE: Quasimodo
AUTHOR: Orac
EMAIL: blakes7@hushmail.com
CATEGORY: S/J(not)R, angst, missing scenes.
PAIRING:
SPOILERS: Urgo, 100 Days. Legacy
SEASON / SEQUEL: 3.
RATING: PG-15.
CONTENT WARNINGS: A big of UST, a lot of swearing, mild violence, depressing. Sam is seriously angry.
SUMMARY: Urgo goes over the line, forcing Carter to reveal some old uncertainties.
STATUS: Complete
ARCHIVE: Heliopolis
DISCLAIMER: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: For this story, "Urgo" takes place after "100 Days," not before. Extremely mild spoilers for "100 Days" and "Legacy," major ones for "Urgo." It's not literally a missing scene, in that it doesn't explain an unexplained bit of the episode "Urgo." Instead, I'm using the poor sap as a plot device. My apologies, Tor Alexander Valenza and Dom Deluise. Thank you again to my proof readers, Gracie, Lady S and Debby. Especially to Debby who pointed out my POV issues, for which I am very grateful.
Sam stood in the locker room, her hands hanging onto the bar in her closet, her head hanging between her elbows. She was slowly and systematically kicking her foot against the back wall, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.
"Shit. Shit shit shit shit ..." she muttered. She hated spring. Shereallyhated spring when her hormones surged. Normally she could deal with it--it was a blip on her radar at best. And military training was wonderful at teaching a person how to use distractions to avoid unwanted emotions. Although she usually found a more constructive method of distraction than beating up her locker. Normally no one was the wiser when her mind filled with inappropriate thoughts. But now Urgo was messing around with everyone, and if he got a whiff of this she was toast. She could already smell the consequences. "Shit shit shit shit ..." her toes were starting to go numb, and she squeezed her eyes shut, lost in the mantra.
She suddenly felt an arm around her waist, lips on her ear, startling her so badly she banged the back of her head against the bar. Before she could catch herself she had thrown an elbow back as hard as she could. It connected, and she heard a a gagging noise as the person retreated. She spun around in a crouch, only to find O'Neill bent over, his arms wrapped around his stomach, looking at her with a sick, shocked and confused look on his face.
"Sir! What ...?"
"Carter? What? I ... what?" He looked dazedly around the locker room. "... er ..." He stopped, took a few deep breaths, and stepped over to one of the benches where he sat down with his elbows on his knees.
"What are you doing here, sir?"
He looked up at her, obviously puzzled. He pointed over his shoulder towards the door with his thumbs. "I ... er ... I came in here ... um ..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, damn."
"Sir?"
He dropped his face into his hands "... I could feel your ..." and gestured at his head, making a circular motion at his temple.
"URGO!!! Get in here RIGHT NOW!!!" bellowed Sam.
The interfering little nuisance appeared in a dazzling flash of crimson light, a grin on his face.
"What thehelldo you think you're doing?" she yelled.
Urgo looked back at her, an innocent look on his face.
"But you were feeling, um, Major, you ..." Urgo stuttered.
Sam turned to the colonel, and, making a colossal effort not to raise her voice, asked "Sir, can you give me a few seconds with this ... with Urgo?"
O'Neill nodded, and stood up, a grateful look on his face. "Yeah, I'll just be out here ..." and he brushed past her on the way to the door, one hand on his midsection. Sam turned back to Urgo, who looked like he was trying to retreat into the shower area.
"Goddammit Urgo. It's spring, my hormones are doing their occasional monthly dance, and in this state goddamn Quasimodo would look attractive. What RIGHT do you have to go digging through our minds and doing what you like with what you find?" She was advancing on him, forcing Urgo back against the wall, her fists held so tightly against her sides she didn't think she'd ever be able to get her hands open again. "And thensharingit???"
"I just thought ..."
She swung at his head, forgetting in her anger that her fist wouldn't connect, and not taking into account the lack of resistance. Her fist hit the wall with a sickening crunch, and pain exploded from her fist. She pulled her hand back, leaving a bloody scrape against the wall. Urgo was staring up at her, a horrified look on his face, and she heard a gasp from behind her. Clutching her bleeding fist to her stomach, she turned to see O'Neill still standing in the doorway to the locker room, staring at her.
Oh, shit. Talk about consequences. This isexactlywhat she had been trying to avoid. Why hadn't she checked to see if he had actually left? Ducking her head, she stormed out.
Jack stared after Carter, while massaging his sore stomach. What on earth had just happened? He'd only come in here to take a shower ... He certainly had had no intention of touching her, much less embracing her. Had Urgo really made him do that? He walked over to the wall where Carter had hit it. The scrape wasn't large, and there wasn't a lot of blood, but she had obviously hit it pretty hard. What would cause her to react so strongly? She had seemed almost as if she were in a trance when he had walked in.
He looked over at Urgo, who was still looking absolutely stunned, his hands twitching around his head as if he were checking to see if his face was intact. His gaze was flickering between Jack and the door where Carter had disappeared, and back to Jack.
"Q-q-quasimodo?" inquired Urgo.
Jack gave Urgo what he hoped was a murderous glare and followed Carter.
He found her, as expected, in her lab. She was sitting on a stool, her body curved around her damaged fist, rocking slowly and muttering quietly but violently under her breath.
He placed his hands on either side of the door, and leaned in. "Carter, I-"
"Sir, please," she interrupted, "please, you'd better leave."
Jack sighed. "At least go to the infirmary?"
She nodded, and he, knowing when not to push, retreated down the hall that didn't lead to the infirmary. He stepped around the corner and stopped, waiting.
After a few minutes, he was rewarded by hearing her stumble out of her lab and head the other way down the hall. He returned to the locker room, and sat again on one of the benches, staring at the smear on the wall.
Urgo claimed to only be able to read their surface thoughts, but what if that wasn't accurate? What if he'd fished out of Carter's head something deeper? Good lord, what if Urgo had overheard some of the thoughts that bounced around his head occasionally about the good major? There wasn't any doubt that he was physically attracted to her, but he wouldneverdo anything about it. He knew of no faster way to destroy a team than to go that route. What if Urgo had sensed some of his thoughts and misinterpreted them? This wasnotgood.
Or, maybe, Urgo had simply misinterpreted what was going on in Carter's surface thoughts. Jack certainly knew how that worked. Sara used to joke about how fun it could be to, errr, have her attraction to him bolstered by a hormonal surge. And it timed about right. He'd never known Carter to be anything but matter of fact about dealing with the 'unique needs of women in field units,' as one particularly tripe handbook had put it. Being as close as his team were in the field, they all knew these things and just took it in stride, it wasn't a big deal. It helped that the three men had all been married at some point. As for the hormones, everyone knew how hellish it was to be in that state when it was completely inappropriate. That must be what had happened. Just a misunderstanding.
He shook his head, and stood up.
"Urgo, show yourself."
Unlike the last dazzling entrance, Urgo showed up this time as a normal person would, walking in the door with his head down.
"She tried to hit me. I can't believe it. She ... she tried to hit me."
Jack looked at the little guy in exasperation.
"You're damn lucky she couldn't connect. That waswayover the line, you know. Making us eat Jell-O is one thing, but going in and taking someone's random thoughts, and then broadcasting it to someone else, well, that's just wrong."
"Hoah, it was a little more than-"
"Shut UP, Urgo. That'sexactlywhat I'm talking about! What you are doing is an utter violation! Those are her private thoughts, andregardlessof what's in them, neither you nor I have any right to know them!
"But you feel-"
"Aah! Don't say it. Just ... don't say it," Jack steamed, waving a finger in Urgo's face. "Lay off of us, just lay off. Can't you see you're not welcome here? We are not meant to function like this. Just get out of our heads!"
"I can't. I'm stuck here just like you are. But just think ..."
"Urgo ..." Jack growled.
Urgo sat down on one of the benches, his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry. I just thought ..."
"Well, stop it. Stop thinking you can help. Stop thinking that you can just waltz in here and make things nice. Juststop."
Resisting his own urge to thump the little guy, not that he could, he turned and slowly walked out of the room. Oh, shit. What if Urgo was right? This was definitelynotgood.
"Janet ..." Sam wandered into the infirmary, wondering how she was going to explain her injury. She was feeling seriously nauseous--whether from the anger or from the dislocated fingers, she didn't know.
"Good lord, Sam, what happened?"
"Urgo."
Fraiser looked at her, and took Sam by her uninjured arm, guiding her over to the sink, where she proceeded to carefully wash the blood off Sam's knuckles. She whistled lowly as the damage became clear.
"Wanna tell me about it?" inquired Fraiser, as she led Sam back to one of the beds. "We're going to have to X-ray this, you know."
Sam nodded, her face pale. "I-I punched the locker room wall. It was supposed to be Urgo's face." Another wave of anger flooded through her, almost making her throw up. She started to retch, and Fraiser grabbed a bowl off a nearby cart and held it under her mouth. Sam fought off the dry heaves and slowly regained her equilibrium.
"You punched a wall?! What could Urgo have done to cause this?" Fraiser asked. "I've never seen you so ... out of sorts. So out of control. Why are you feeling so nauseous? You've been hurt far worse, and haven't reacted like this ..."
"Jesus, Janet, do you have to stick your nose into everything?" Carter looked up, stunned at what she'd just said. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I can't ..."
"It's okay, you're right, let's just deal with this hand, and try to relax. You can tell me later."
Sam nodded slowly, grateful that Janet was going to let it drop. She really didn't feel like explaining at the moment, even if she understood what had happened herself. Fraiser helped her to stand, and they made their way into the radiology lab.
Unsurprisingly, Sam's fore and middle fingers had been dislocated, but damage beyond that was minimal. Fraiser had reduced them with her typical efficiency, wrapped them to keep them stable, and gave her an anti-inflammatory shot. Her hand would need to stay wrapped for a couple of days, and would be sore for a week or two, but the physical damage was minimal. Since SG-1 was on standby anyway until the situation with Urgo was resolved, hopefully it wouldn't be too big a deal. However, Sam knew that Janet wouldn't let her leave the infirmary until the situation had been explained.
Which is why she and Fraiser were sitting in the Doctor's office, Fraiser drinking coffee and Sam fidgeting with some tea the doctor kept hidden away for emergencies. It was just what the doctor ordered, in fact, and was doing a reasonable job of settling Sam's stomach.
"It really wasn't anything big, Janet. It's a minor injury, and it won't happen again. Can't I go back to work?"
Janet sighed. "Sam, when you came in here you were bleeding, and so nauseous you could barely hold in your breakfast. For someone with your training and your experience, it must have been fairly major to have affected you so much."
Sam took a long drink, trying to figure out a way to get through this. All she needed was for Janet to become more suspicious than she already was.
"Urgo had just taken something private he'd seen in my mind and saw fit to broadcast it around a bit. I took it a bit too personally and, well, tried to hit him. He's been driving us all crazy, and we're all on edge. It was just a matter of time."
"And?"
"And what? That's all that happened."
"Then why is Colonel O'Neill lurking outside the infirmary?"
"Because he's concerned about a team member?"
"Don't play games with me, Sam. Yes, I need to know as the CMO, but I also want to know as your friend."
"Janet ..."
"Tell me, Sam."
Knowing she couldn't get out of it, and rather than make Janet make it an order, Sam decided to explain. Well, maybe she could mitigate some of the damage.
"I was in the locker room, trying very hard to ignore the fact that it's spring, and ... well, I'm ovulating."
Fraiser sighed, and a sympathetic look spread over her face.
Seeing it, Sam decided to expand a bit. "I was just thinking that I REALLY didn't want Urgo to tune into that, but of course that's probably what brought him calling. I was kicking the stuff around in my locker when the colonel came up behind me and put his arm around me. Now before you start," Sam said to the surprised look on Fraiser's face, "I'm sure he wasn't aware of what he was doing."
"But you said Urgo couldn'tmakeyou do anything," said Fraiser.
"Well, he can't. Not if we're paying attention. But the colonel had creases on his face. I think he'd been asleep. You know how fuzzily he wakes up here on base, nothing like the instant alertness out in the field."
Fraiser nodded, reluctantly. "But you also told me there wasn't a problem, when he was stuck on Edora."
"Dammit, Janet, there isn't a problem. This was just the unfortunate mixture of spring, a touch of libido, and that damn meddler. Take one of those away, and this wouldn't have happened."
"I don't buy it, Sam. Your reaction was much stronger than that. I have rarely seen you that angry, and never that out of control. What else happened?"
"The colonel took me by surprise, I had my back to the room. So I elbowed him, pretty hard. While he was getting is breath back, I think he realized that Urgo had tuned him into me, I guess. I got a bit angry, and asked the colonel to leave."
Sam stopped. Did she really have to give this level of detail? No, maybe if she just skimmed ...
"And so I yelled at Urgo, and then, well, took a swing at him."
"That's all?"
"Yes."
Fraiser just stared back and her, apparently waiting for more.
"And ... the colonel hadn't left yet, and so he heard the yelling and saw me hit Urgo. Or not hit Urgo. Whatever."
"Okay ..." Fraiser paused, and Sam saw her glance down at her desk. "That still doesn't explain your reaction.Whywere you so angry?"
Sam looked down into her tea, and took a long swig. Why had this bothered her so much? Whywasshe so angry? She rested the mug against her forehead, relishing the warmth.
"Gggmmmmhh," she groaned. "I suppose it's because I've worked so hard to be 'one of the guys,' you know? It felt like an absolute betrayal, especially since that idiot chose my CO to be the other pawn for his little game. I've worked so hard for this ..."
Fraiser nodded, relenting. She stood up and walked around the desk, leaning against the side closest to Sam.
"Here, finish your tea, and then go back to your quarters. I'll make absolutely sure you're not disturbed. Get a good, long, sleep. You do know you're going to have to talk to the colonel, if only to not get court marshaled for hitting a superior officer?"
Sam nodded, and looked up, grateful. She finished off her tea, and slumped off to bed, her bandaged hand white against her fatigues.
Janet returned to her chair, and pulled out some forms. How would she document this one? She was sympathetic to Sam's plight, she'd been there, fought that. That particular hormone surge, when it chose to make itself known, could be very distracting, and spring just compounded the issue. She'd hidden in the library, or a lab, enough times waiting it out, just wanting to get back to work. Thank god most women didn't get it every month. Here at the testosterone-filled base, surrounded by the soldiers, it could be even more distracting. Luckily, it was rarely a problem, everyone here knew what was at stake, and was very professional.
But she couldn't just report one of their top officers punching walls without an explanation, not without bringing in the mental health boys, not after what had happened to Daniel when Ma'chello's little goa'uld killing experiment went so wrong. She shuddered, and caught a lurking figure out of the corner of her eye. Yup, O'Neill. She gestured him in from outside her door and into her chair.
"So would you like to tell me what happened?"
He, unsurprisingly, was fidgeting with everything. The arm of the chair, her nameplate off of her desk, the paperclip she'd thoughtlessly left on his side of the desk.
"So, um, is Carter okay? I saw her hand bandaged ..."
"Yeah, she's fine. She dislocated two of her fingers, but I gave her an anti-inflammatory and sent her to bed." Fraiser turned on her 'You still haven't answered my question' glare and waited for it to do its work.
O'Neill wouldn't meet her eyes. Uh-oh, she thought.
"Well, I was in my quarters, trying to get to sleep; trying to clear my head. I was just lying there, but it was getting worse and worse, so I thought a cold shower ..."
"Uh, huh."
"Doc, Iwasn'tthinking about Carter. I swear to God I wasn't. I was actually thinking of Lara, and what a shit I'd been."
Janet looked down at the paperwork on her desk. Yeah, she could see how that could be ... he hadn't been back that long, after all. He'd told her, in lieu of telling McKenzie, about what had happened on Edora. The whole team was using her as counselor now, in fact. None of them would go near the psych boys now, not that O'Neill trusted them before. She nodded at him, and gestured for him to continue.
"Well, so I headed to the locker room. I saw her there, and she looked like she was in a fair bit of pain. I only meant to put a hand on her shoulder and ask her if I could help. I don't know how Urgo got me to ... well ... embrace her, the little swine. She jumped like anything, and nearly knocked a hole through me with an elbow."
Fraiser hid a grin. Yup, that sounded like Sam.
"Anyway, that's when I realized that Urgo had tuned me into her. I couldn't believe the gall. And then she started shouting about spring and hormones and Quasimodo, for Christ's sake." He paused. "The Notre Dame guy, right?"
Fraiser's smile leaked out, and she nodded.
"Anyway, she tried to deck him, and stormed out. I followed her to her lab and told her to come here, and then I went and gave that over-dressed, oily, infuriating twerp a piece of my mind. I don't think he truly realizes how rude, or even ... well, maybe criminal what he did was. The little ... " he trailed off, fuming.
Well, his anger seemed genuine, and luckily he didn't seem to have thought the whole thing out in his mind, thought Janet. Maybe, just maybe, this could pass without causing their working relationship any damage.
"Should I talk to her, Doc?" She looked up, a bit startled, and paused to think. Well, yeah, she guessed, but she honestly didn't know if that would do more harm than good. Well ...
"Let her sleep. Why don't you try tomorrow? But don't push it, Colonel. She is incredibly angry, and feels more than a bit violated. Give her some time if she still looks off tomorrow. I assume there won't be any problems with 'striking a superior officer?'"
O'Neill shook his head, looking startled.
"Good grief, no! She was defending herself. I wouldn't bring her up on that anyway unless the circumstances were really, well, odd."
"Good. Colonel, you should go get some sleep yourself."
O'Neill nodded, got up and wandered out.
The next morning Jack walked into the commissary, and spotted Carter. She had her back to the door, slumped against one of the far tables, her forehead cupped in her damaged hand, blond hair spiked up between her bandaged fingers and a pencil. She had papers scattered in front of her, and large mug of steaming coffee in her other hand. Jack located Fraiser a few tables away, returning his look. The Doctor shook her head slowly. Jack sighed, slightly relieved not to have to talk to Carter now. He turned and left the commissary, maybe a boxing match with Teal'c would feel good right about now ...
It wasn't until after they'd gotten the little A.I. menace to mental health removed that he found a good chance to talk to her. Luckily, as they were working on the solution to remove Urgo, their working relationship, while a bit more formal than usual, didn't seemed overly damaged. He had been hoping that maybe he could just pretend the incident had never happened. However, Daniel had asked him just yesterday if he'd noticed anything different about the major. Oh, well, that's why he got paid the big bucks, eh?
He found her in her lab, engrossed in working on some doohicky, a small smile on her face. Viewing that as a good sign, he girded his ... wait, don't go there. He stiffened his resol ..., crimany, where did these phrases come from, anyway? Sheesh! He took a deep breath, and entered the lioness' den, whistling softly. The last thing he needed to do was startle her again.
Hearing him enter, she slowly raised her head, meeting his eyes.
"Morning, Colonel. What brings you to the base so early?"
He looked around for a stool, spotted one under her work bench, and hooked it out with his foot. After he sat, he picked up a micro-screwdriver off of the bench and started to flip it across his knuckles.
"Actually, Carter, I was hoping we could talk."
Sam sighed, put down her tools and crossed her arms across her stomach. Her hand was no longer bandaged, and her knuckles looked to be pretty well healed up. Realizing that she was stalling, she looked back up at the colonel. Despite the fact that he'd come looking for her, it didn't look like he was going to start the conversation, which meant it was up to her. Deep breath ...
"Sir ... you don't under-"
"Major ... I'm sor-
They both stopped. Oops, well she'd been wrong before. O'Neill waved at her to go ahead.
"Sir, I'm sorry. I was just feeling out of sorts and Urgo caught me at a bad time. It won't happen again, and I am very sorry I elbowed you."
"Ah, don't worry about that, Carter. It was clearly self-defense. And besides ..." he paused, grimaced, and made a show of trying to spin the screwdriver on it's tip on the work bench.
She waited, but it looked like he wasn't going to continue, and a slightly guilty look had started to creep across his face.
"Besides what, Sir?"
"Never mind, it's not important."
O'Neill got up abruptly, turned around and started flipping through some of the manuals she had left on a side table. Sam watched him, baffled, wondering if she should really push this.
"Sir ..."
His voice came back muffled, he had tucked his chin down against his chest, in what had to be an uncomfortable contortion. "And besides, it timed about right, that's all."
"What timed right, and with respect to what?"
He turned around, but still wouldn't meet her eyes. He made a vague gesture towards her midsection and said "It timed about right, that's all."
She looked down at her midsection. Huh? As the realization spread over her, her discomfort disappeared, to be replaced by the much more familiar feeling of battle, adrenalin pumping into her stomach. She clamped down on her anger and said as calmly as possible, "You keep track."
"You keep track."
The words left Carter with a dead tone, a tone she usually adopted when exercising strong self control. Shit. Oohh, he certainly did it this time, didn't he? Talk about 'open mouth insert foot.' Maybe she would buy this:
"Hey, it's the job of a good commander to keep track of these things, so I can make adjustments for the extra time, and all that. When the MALP shows that a planet has extra flowers, I throw an extra box of antihistamines in my pack for Daniel. Why is this any different?"
He watched the look of anger that had come over her face fade to confusion, and then get replaced with a look of desolation.
"So you make allowances for me. You must hate it when I go into the bush to 'see a man about a horse.' Because I'm a woman, I slow down the team."
She turned her back on him, wrapped one arm around her waist, and leaned against the counter with the other.
"Oh, man, Carter, that's not what I meantat all. You think we have a problem with that? The three of us have been married, we shared bathrooms, or at least the Abydonian or Chulakian versions, with our wives, we know and understand 'the biological stuff.' Sheesh, we don't bemoan or resent 'seeing a guy about a horse.' And you don't slow us down, not when it counts. Give us some credit."
She whirled to face him again, and leaned against the workbench, braced by her outstretched arms.
"Credit? What about the time the Shavadi made me wear that blue thing? I thought the three of you would break your jaws, and the comments! And the 'sweet little tank-top number?' after the whole 'touched' thing?"
"What, those were years ago! Can you honestly say that since the first few months the team was together that we've treated you with any disrespect because you are a woman? If anything, we three, and the rest of the SGC for that matter, view it as astrength! We're damn lucky to have you, and weallknow that. How can younotrealize that after everything we've been through?" He paused, and considered. This was so out of character for what he knew of her. "Are you trying to pick a fight?"
Carter's face fell. She sat back down on the stool and lowered her head into her hands. She shook her head, rubbing her forehead against her palms. She then raised her head, her steepled fingers coming to rest at the sides of her nose, thumbs tucked under her chin.
So softly that Jack almost couldn't hear her, she whispered "No, I'm not trying to pick a fight, and I do realize that."
"Then what? Carter, if you have a problem with the team, I need to know about it."
She lowered her face back into her cupped hands.
"Sam ..." he reached over and slowly pulled away one of her hands, to see that her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Oh, man ... he was so bad at this.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"Sir, I ... I've been tryingsohard to fit in here, be 'one of the guys,' and for the most part it's not a big deal, especially since I can hold my own in a fight or carry a pack as long as Daniel. But ... every once in a while ... so when Urgo started broadcasting a moment of weakness over which I have very little control, it just was too much."
"Too much for what?"
"What if ... what if after all my hard-line 'anything you can do I can do better ...' what if ..."
"Hey, Carter, don't go there. No one can be that strong all of the time. You are entitled to being human, just like the rest of us. You're entitled to your feeling, your private thoughts, and yes, even your hormones, even here. What you're not entitled to is having those broadcast by a well-meaning but annoying bit of programming who decided to become intelligent. That was an unconscionable violation of your privacy, andno oneholds it, or it's consequences, against you. Got that?"
"I guess so, sir." She looked down at her hands, and looked a bit surprised that he still held the one he had pulled from her face. She removed it, tucked in into her lap, and looked around for a tissue box, spotting one on his side of the work bench. She jerked her chin towards it, and he handed it over.
"You gonna be okay?"
She nodded.
"And are we okay about the rest of the stuff?"
She nodded again, a faint smile starting to glimmer through. He stood.
"Colonel ..."
He looked down at her, and cocked his head to the side.
"This is between you and me, right? It doesn't have to leave this room?"
"Of course. We have to maintain your Annie Oakley reputation, you know.
"Thank you, Sir."
"Well, then, I have one more question, Major."
She looked up at him, expectant.
"Quasimodo?"
She gave a short laugh, and let loose one of those extraordinary smiles.
He grinned back. "My work here is done." He shoved his hands into his pockets and made a show of tip-toe-ing out, relieved to get out before she realized he hadn't toldhisside of the story.
-end-
More Author's notes: Thanks to Lisa and Dave for the medical "just what would happen if you decked a concrete wall if you have hand-to-hand combat training?" info.
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