The Texas Connection:
Part 10


Kasey


The first day, he did little more than sleep, and every time he opened his eyes, there she was. And they would carry on a conversation until he started wheezing too much and she would tell him to be quiet and rest.

That was Sunday.

By Wednesday, he was feeling better (so long as he was his morphine drip, at least) and bored out of his mind.

Things back home in DC were in an uproar, and he wasn't even allowed out of Room 512, Austin General, Austin, Texas. Josh had reluctantly gone back to the White House, leaving only Leo, Mal, Abby, the President, and himself in TX.

Mallory, however, had sensed his boredom and armed herself against it. She arrived Wednesday morning with a plastic shopping bag. "How ya doin'?"

"You're sure it's not Friday yet?" he asked by way of reply.

"Yeah. So I take it you're sick of lying flat on your back."

"That's an understatement," he muttered.

"I brought something."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Little something…not exciting, but something to do that doesn't involve you lying flat on your back." Out of the plastic bag she pulled…

"That's my shaving kit," he stated.

"You've gotten a little scruffy," she teased. "And your hair's sorta…in need of a washing. So whadaya say?"

"Well. It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Good then." She drug the visitor's chair into the small bathroom, along with the black shaving kit, then came back to Sam, contemplating the best method for getting both Sam and his IV into the adjoining room without hurting his injured right leg. Finally she spoke. "Okay, let's try this."

"What?"

"Well, the IV's in your left arm, so you can roll the pole along with that hand since it's closer. I'll be on your right side and we'll go slow so you don't put much weight on that leg or run out of breath."

And they did just that.

He sat in the chair as soon as the pilgrimage was complete, and Mallory began busily arranging the bottles on the small shelf next to the sink. Then she turned on the faucet and played with the knobs a minute. Sam leaned his head forward and, using the small sprayer thing (that neither one could remember the name of) Mal wet down his hair, then reached for the shampoo. Slowly, gently, she massaged his scalp with her fingertips, coating his hair with the thick, richly-scented lather.

Sam was reminded of the last time he could remember someone washing his hair for him - when he was growing up, the first Saturday of every month was when the Seaborn family (save Sam's father, because he was "working") piled into their 1970 Impala and drove 20 miles to Aunt Shirley's house. She had a daughter the same age as Sam's sister, and she would cut each of their hair, first washing it in the laundry room sink. It was a comforting feeling, familiar, simple…

The washing of Sam's hair was a strangely intimate act, which neither of them had expected or understood, but as Mallory ran her long fingers gently through his soapy hair, they felt closer than they had before, which scared them both a little bit.

After shampooing his hair for nearly a half hour (Mallory claimed she didn't realize the time, and Sam will corroborate that), she rinsed his hair and helped him towel dry so it wasn't dripping all over the shoulders of his hospital gown. Then she pulled a razor and shaving crème out of the bag and Sam almost toppled over his chair backwards. "What?" she asked innocently.

"You're gonna try to-"

"You didn't realize when I said-…Sam, calm down, I mean it." He did - slightly. "I promise I'll be careful."

"I'm not worried about you being reckless, I'm worried about the fact that, so far as I know, you've never done this before."

"When I was little, I used to watch Dad shave in the morning. That's close enough, right?"

"Mal-" he began in a mild panic.

"I'm kidding."

"Look-"

"I can wield a razor just fine, Sam, I've been shaving my legs since probably right about the same year you've been shaving, and you've gotta calm down before you hurt yourself." He relaxed about two hairs. No pun intended.

Mallory carefully spread the shaving crème on his face. "I dunno, you look kinda cute like this…The crème-covered look is in this year…I'm KIDDING, jeez!" She smiled at him as she rinsed her hands and partially filled the sink with lukewarm water, then sobered as she picked up the razor and began to work. Occasionally, she would give an instruction, but other than that, it was silent as she worked and he worried. It took a moment of consideration to figure out how best to get at the little indentation under his nose, but she managed, and - more importantly - she managed without cutting Sam. "All done," she announced proudly as she set down the razor with a flourish.

And then a sudden and strange transition occurred. She looked at Sam and found herself staring at him, trying to memorize everything, even the most minute details, and commit them to memory, just in case…

"Mallory," Sam said quietly, seeing she was looking a bit teary. "C'mere." He gently pulled her into his lap, ignoring the searing pain in his leg. He said not another word, just held her close, just as afraid of losing her as she was of losing him.

~*~*~*~

It was driving him insane that he couldn't talk.

A man of words and speech and trivia, he wanted to be able to reply - at least when someone asked how he was. And if they KNEW he couldn't answer…then why the hell did they ASK?!

Abby at least understood a little - she would always bring a pad of paper, a pen, and a newspaper. And he would scribble angrily about what he read, and she would smile and shake her head.

But at least he felt normal then. Not like some wounded guy, but like himself.

It was a good feeling.

Part 11

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