OOM: Visit
Agent Booth was right -- the drive through Virginia in October is beautiful. Hannah was right, too, and there is no stopping for apples or pie along the way.
Hilary drives with the radio up and windows down, and when Hannah complains that it's too cold for that, her Vermont-born-and-bred roommate laughs and tells her she hasn't seen anything yet.
It's not hard to find VMI, not really, though Lexington in a warren of winding and often one-way streets. (They only go the wrong way down one, and not very far, and it's not like they hit anything.)
VMI itself is . . . striking. Impressive and militant, rather than attractive, in Hannah's opinion. Hilary puts rather a finer point on it. "My God, it's like a big yellow prison."
Hilary decides to go locate and check into their hotel -- "I'll redefine 'third wheel' if I stick around, Han" -- and tells Hannah to call when -- "or if" -- she wants to be picked up.
Hannah is a little earlier than she expected to be, because she never figured her by-the-book roommate for speeds in excess of 80 mph. But she follows the directions Sam sent and finds the visitor's desk.
"Hello," she says, brightly, to the cadet behind the desk. "I'm Hannah Griffith. I'm here to visit a cadet."
He looks up and grins. "Mark de Santos. Any cadet in particular, or will I do?"
"Sorry," she says, "but I'm afraid I'm very particular. I'm here to see my boyfriend, Sam Keith. He's a freshman."
"A rat," Mark corrects, cheerfully. "We don't have freshmen."
"Fine, a rat. He's expecting me, I'm just a little early."
"Lucky guy. Anything I can help you with while you wait?"
"Only if you can let him know I'm here."
"I can do that, sure," Mark says. He nods to someone over Hannah's shoulder. "Hey, Keith, your girlfriend's here."
Hannah turns, and for the first time since August, sees her boyfriend. "Hey, Sam."
The uniform is new, he's practically bald, and the smile is a little . . . hesitant. "Hannah."
She's not sure if it's the fact that there are people around or if it's the more than two months or what, but this feels awkward. He doesn't even really make eye contact, never mind hug her or kiss her or any of those things you kind of expect from a serious boyfriend you haven't seen in a while.
"You should show your girlfriend around post, Keith," Mark suggests. "Just don't be late."
"Yes, lieutenant. And I won't, sir."
"Late for what?" Hannah asks, as Sam holds the door for her.
"Review. It's like a military parade, we have it every Friday."
"Yeah, you've mentioned it."
"You can come and watch, if you want. But we have at least an hour before I have to worry about that."
"Um, sure." Sam turns, at a near-perfect right angle, and Hannah follows, rather less militarily. "So, um, did you know that guy back there?"
"That's Mark. Lt. de Santos. He's one of my dyke's roommates."
"One of your what?"
Sam's expression is sheepish, but his sideways glance to her is a second, maybe two. "It's like a mentor thing. We have a first classman -- a senior -- we sort of do chores, they show us the ropes. Mine is Dana, and Mark is one of his roommates."
"You've mentioned Dana, but not the term."
"Dana's been great. Really helpful, good guy."
They fall into a not-quite-comfortable silence. Hannah's casting around for something to say, anything to say, when Sam grabs her arm, pulls her behind the building they've just passed, and backs her into the wall, kissing her hard.
"Oh, thank God," Hannah breathes, when she can breathe again, and that's the last thing either of them says for a several minutes.
"Sorry," Sam says, finally. "I know that was really awful, awkward start, but I was kind of afraid that touched or . . .
"Looked at me?"
"Yeah . . . if I did, then I was going to, well, do what I just did. And in a public setting, pretty sure that would have qualified as conduct unbecoming a cadet."
"Can't have that," Hannah says. "Especially since you're so becoming as a cadet," she adds, resting her hands on his shoulders, and then letting them slide down his chest and come to rest at his waist. "I like the uniform. Kind of miss your hair, though."
"Yeah, me, too," he says, and now the smile is as ready and bright as she remembers. "You look amazing. I mean, you always do, but, God, Hannah, you could have stepped off a magazine cover. You know, a tasteful, appropriate magazine not a . . . " Sam trails off.
"Yeah, I get it, and you should stop there."
"Better things to do anyway," he says, and undoes the first button on her shirt, moves the fabric enough to kiss her collarbone, and Hannah is suddenly very glad to have her back to a nice, solid wall.
"I love you," Sam says, against her skin, casually and like it's something that doesn't really need to be said, because of course he loves her and of course she knows.
And she does know, she's known for a while, but it's still the first time he's ever told her in as many words.
It's the first time anyone has ever told her in as many words.
"Hey," Sam says, after a long moment in which Hannah once again can't find anything to say. He puts one hand under her chin and lift her face so he can look into her eyes. "You still with me?"
"Yeah, still with you," Hannah says, nodding a little. "And I love you, too."
Sam grins and takes her hand. "Come on. I owe you a tour. I want to show you all the best hidden nooks and out-of-the-way corners on Post."