The States

a study in recklessness and impulsive decisions that (eventually) turn out okay

or, the events of part 3 of (i don't know how not to love you) in Sam's point of view

see endnotes for warnings

October 1900

It's Halloween and it's too loud, too much, so Sam sits on the beach with a bottle of tequila and lets the vastness of the ocean make her feel small, lets it help her forget about responsibility for a while.

•••••••••••••••

Sam's been called reckless a lot in her life.

She had always been so angry as a colony, a forest fire waiting to happen. Alfred had looked at her and given her more than she could ever repay and tried to soothe her fury.

She'd lit a match when she protested taxation and lit another when the British attempted to strangle the rebellion out of her. She had thrown crates of tea into the harbor and let revolution burn across the colonies. She had worn her rebellion like a crown and her scars like medals of bravery. She had flung herself into battles without hesitation.

Back then, she'd been mostly trying to be something else- she'd been sick of Alfred getting that far-away look when he looked at her, she'd been sick of the way he used to say that she looked just like him, sick of the way she used to be proud of that.

She'll always remember Alfred, fever-delirious, looking at her and seeing green eyes and saying England? in that sad little voice, and the way her heart thudded to the ground.

She had never hated anyone more than in that moment, when she realized England had left Alfred alone for so so long. (It wasn't the same with them and Alfred, because Alfred had looked, Alfred had found them and held them close and never truly let go.)

Her recklessness was replaced with a steel-edged survival instinct after.

She had looked at the kitchen knives and thought maybe, maybe if I can just stop for one night it will be better in the morning.

Sam didn't pick up the knife.

She didn't drown herself in the bathtub.

She made compromises like this: you can hold yourself underwater, but you can't drown. And then later, when she takes advantage of Brooke's protective instincts: you can go out, but you can't drink. You can't make eye contact with just anyone. You can't show too much skin.

(Metaphors, Brooke said, waving a hand dismissively as they lied on the kitchen floor at three and the morning. You can drown in emotions, too, you know. They can choke the air out just as well as the water can.)

But this? Sam isn't reckless like this. Even before, she'd handled the hearts of the people she loved carefully. After, she'd gotten more careful, if anything.

She shouldn't be looking at Foster, trying to sort his emotions out like he's a puzzle in need of solving.

•••••••••••••••

The thing about seeing some of the worst humanity has to offer, you get paranoid. You become hyperaware.

So Foster says You were overprotective. But you tried. You tried so fucking hard all the time, Sam and she turns to look at him.

She's good at picking up cues because she'd spent years expecting violence, constantly bracing for a fight she couldn't afford to lose again. (Does it ever go away? She'd questioned, wrapped in Adrien's arms. He closed his eyes. No.)