smoke signals

"Guess you're gonna be waiting another ten," he joked, knowing that there was no changing Sammy's opinion - which was fine, especially when Nate wasn't set out to do so. "Just gotta tell them to fuck off, roll your eyes - do what you do best..." he lightly teased the other - his response only ever being one of a playful nature. Turning his gaze back to his arm as Sammy gave his words of advice, ones that had Nate speaking alongside him with a small, "Yes, sir." His sarcasm broke at the question that followed, however, "Good question." He wasn't being funny, he actually genuinely thought so considering he couldn't recall when he last had the tetanus shot. Though Nate just saw that as problem for another time, especially when it could have been him simply not remembering - something he was willing to bet on. "Yeah if you're gentle." he returned, smirking lightly as his eyes followed Sammy, allowing a peak of curiosity to sneak through, "Not got a date tonight?"

"Yeah, what I do best." Sammy's gaze wandered to the male's face as he looked down at his arm, the lips pursing slightly as he suppressed the urge to grin fondly. Thankfully, his sarcasm broke through whatever wandering thoughts were beginning to brew, slipping on a new pair of gloves and handing him a small hand towel. "Here. Bite onto this if it starts to get to be too much." A quick roll of his eyes followed when Nate mentioned him being gentle, grabbing a saline-soaked washcloth. I can only do so much. Just try not to move too much, you freak." Though he kept the pressure light as he began to dab at the wound, trying his best to maintain a soft yet deliberate touch before he had start sewing it shut. A quiet scoff left his lips at Nate's next question, the sarcastic tone in his next words definitely a way to combat any possible hint of vulnerability that could come swinging through. "Not that it's any of your business, but I got choice paralysis having to pick between the dozens of guys knockin' at my door night after night. Obviously." He placed the washcloth in a nearby wastebasket, grabbing the appropriate tools from his kit. "Why? Looking to double date with your latest flavor of the month?"

Tori let out a soft, raspy laugh, which very quickly turned into a cough. "Beacon of compassion, aren't you?" She muttered, rolling her eyes. However, she gratefully accepted the medicine and water he handed her, settling back against the bed with a deliberate sigh, making a point to prop herself up with his pillow. “No, I didn’t go to work today. Figured my customers would prefer their baklava without a side of the plague." The exhaustion was evident in her tone and face as she spoke. "For the record, I thought I was gonna pass out right there in the street, and your place, was like, the closest safe zone." Okay, that was a bit dramatic, but he was a doctor, and she knew she could convince him to baby her while she was sick.

Sammy scrunched his nose, covering his mouth and nose with his arm when she began to cough. "You can call me Mother Teresa," he remarked wryly, quickly adding then, "actually, don't do that. It'll annoy me after about five minutes." Back in medical school he'd gotten a lot of flack for his bedside manner (or lack thereof) but he more often than not made up for it with the little things; frequent check-ins, constant advocacy, a willingness to go above and beyond even if it wasn't with his words. "How very thoughtful of you. Guess leaving nursing has completely shot your immune system." After all, it was easy to build up some sort of immunity to illness when you were constantly around sick people every day -- evident by how Sammy slipped into the bed beside her (albeit some space between them). "I find that hard to believe given your million-and-one cousins scattered all over town."

"Oh my ferocious fucking tiger," Nellie responded with a playful roll of her eyes, and as soon as he was within reach, an emasculating tussle of his hair. Sometimes she wondered exactly where it was he got his attitude from, and then she'd realize. While she wasn't saying it was from her, sometimes she realized just how similar they sounded when she was on one of her own diatribes. "Unless you were trying to fuck those kids or their parents, they don't fucking count. So stop whining and looking like you sucked on a lime and maybe that handsome guy in the corner that's been eyeing you all night will actually fucking approach."

Sammy flinched slightly when Nellie rustled his hair, waving his hand as if to swat her away as he sat. Anyone else and he would have made a huge stink about the emasculating physical contact, but admittedly he had a bit of his soft spot for his dear aunt -- well, Sammy's version of a soft spot, at least. "First of all, gross. On both ends." His fondness for being around children didn't extend to wanting to become a parent himself, nor a step-parent. Perhaps a lot of that stemmed from the fact that he didn't think he'd be a very good father, but either way he didn't care to think about it very much. "What? I came here to appease you, not play Russian Roulette with my sex life." Still, he glanced over towards the corner Nellie was referencing, brow pinched. "Him? No way. There's no way a man wearing boat salmon shorts and a backwards hat is anything but painfully straight." Maybe he's looking at you."

"I'll have you know my world does not revolve around you and your oh so grating voice!" Her lips were pulled into a sneer before her eyes lit up with laughter, "How do you think I deal with the... lovely singing. I found these bad boys come in quite handy. All I have to do is smile and wave." Blake tilted her head in thought, "Do theater kids actually do that or have I just been wildly so self-involved I've missed that particular phenomenon? And of course the booze tastes better here, like I would settle for less than stellar." Blake winced as someone hit a particularly high note... or tried to hit it as the case may be. "How's the doctor bizz going? Sell any organs on the black market yet?"

"I take it you haven't been hungover at a TGI Friday's at two in the morning -- lucky you." Despite his penchant for the finer things in life, Sammy unfortunately wasn't above bad decision when it came to his gut flora -- and that included the restaurant's loaded potato skins when he was, well, loaded. "Ew, gross. I don't need to sell off organs to make money; I'm rich. Remember?" A scoff left his lips, and he absentmindedly twirled the tiny straw around in his drink. "It's fine. Sick seasons starting, so I'm getting snotted on by five year olds five times a day. I'm like one of those guys who gets exposed to snake venom so many times that he becomes immune, except it's the flu."

"Who needs home decor when you're not home and don't intend to host guests," Silas corrected, knowing that his brother was going to be judgmental regardless of the justification he tried to offer. There may have been some truth to his words, but it didn't mean he had to give him the satisfaction of being right. He grabbed some of the grapes from the board, popping them into his mouth and savoring the juice that burst forth from the fruit before responding. "I didn't have to. I offered because I'm the one who's been causing the problems," he remarked, glancing over towards his brother before looking down at the grapes in his hand. "I wasn't going to disrupt the kids' schedules any. Besides, I'm closer to the center here, anyway. Shorter commute."

"How about people that aren't boring? Also -- wait, you don't want to host guests? Why not just cut your losses and live in a cardboard box by the Stop Shop then?" It was truly baffling to him, how Silas was choosing to handle his separation. In his eyes, felt like his older brother was just letting himself go, which was something he truly didn't want to see happened. "No, you're the one that's been working your ass off. There's a difference." He remarked with a roll of his eyes, smearing some brie onto a cracker. "Whatever, Si. If this Ikea display of a home makes you happy, then I'm happy. Or whatever my equivalent of the word is."

It was his preferred way to spend a day off: the hum of the shitty laundry equipment behind him, a coffee in hand and a stack of files on his lap. There was something about the constant noise of machinery and people that put him at ease, and while he still sat with his back against a wall and eyes on the entrance, it was the most relaxed he could find himself. He was sure that said a lot about him and someone with a fancy degree would love to dig into it, but he had enough of that when joining the bureau. --- Eyes roamed files that they had studied for hours and hours before, seeing nothing new and at this point he was far past believing he ever would. It was more of a comfort, or a punishment, maybe.

Brows arched, Sammy was a bit taken aback by the other man's immediately attitude -- though, perhaps he shouldn't have been given he would have responded exactly the same. "Everyone needs a stupid little hobby, don't they?" He remarked sarcastically, following his line of sight towards the couple by the folding station. Lips pursed slightly as he thought about how he wanted to proceed. They said that no good deed goes unpunished -- but, in the Decker family, that went for the bad ones, too.

"An excuse to keep you sweet, yeah." he countered easily, his brow raising teasingly as he watched the other, entirely unbothered by how sarcastic Sammy was. In fact it only fuelled Nate to push just that little bit more, especially when he always had that slight drive in the back of his mind to get the male to crack. It was harmless - at least for Nate. "You get used to them," he gave a small shrug. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of the club being a handful, it was simply just an environment Nate was accustom to. His attention pulled away from Sammy once his dressing was unwrapped, now looking from his wound and back towards the male, "Nah save it, just been moving broken tiles," and like a dick he hadn't thought it through - or even thought about possibly cutting himself on one, "Didn't think it was that bad at the time." unfortunately Nate was the type to only raise a concern if his arm was literally about to fall off, anything other than that and he was seemingly careless. "So, what'd you think?" he asked before adding on a joke, "Fixable or are we giving it the chop?"

Sammy simply rolled his eyes in response to Nate's comment about keeping him sweet, but he couldn't help the slight curl of his lip that followed. God, what a sucker he was, his insides practically melting into an puddle every time the male so much as looked in his direction never mind push his buttons that much further. It would be so much easier to let go of this little, pathetic crush of his if the Hellraiser realized the effect he had on him -- but no, he didn't imagine he was that cruel. "Do you? Because I've been treating your gaggle of idiots for almost ten years and I'm still waiting for that to happen." The guys in the MC had an uncanny way of making him feel like he was merely two feet tall -- loud, abrasive, rough around the edges in a way that reminded him of the kids that used to bully him in middle school. Maybe he was just projecting his own insecurities, but Sammy wasn't the type that often strayed from his own initial opinions. "Quite a sharp fuckin' tile," he mumbled, gently turning Nate's forearm as he continued inspecting the wound. "Let me give you a word of advice: if you cut yourself with somethin' broken, it's best you see someone for it. Otherwise you're up shit's creek without a paddle and an infected fucking arm. You up to date on your tetanus shot?" With a snort, Sammy shook his head and let go of Nate's forearm. "No chop needed. Not yet at least -- we'll see how well you take care of it after some stitches." He peeled off his gloves and moved to grab his suture kit. "Think you can hold still for that long?"

"What - didn't do it for you? Should I get down on my knees next time?" Nate's smile widened as he failed to keep his chuckle to himself, apparently finding himself funny. "Wikihow, actually." he tossed back practically instantly as he took a glance towards the dressing on his arm, despite his tone resembling one of seriousness Nate was being anything but. Either way, considering his wound had come from moving broken tiles he didn't necessarily have room to try and be smart. With that greenlight to go and sit down he does so, "No? That why you're hiding out? Secret's safe with me, doc." he shrugged casually, not having any intentions of shouting to the world that the doctor was in house anyway.

Sammy felt his throat practically go dry at the other male's comment, fighting the urge to answer with the brute honesty that tugged at his chest right then and, instead, forcing an unamused eyeroll. "Don't sound so desperate, Donovan. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were just looking for an excuse." Heavy sarcasm laced his tone -- and still, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered towards Nate's lips for a brief moment, immediately catching himself and turning away so he could wash his hands. God, the universe was definitely playing some sort of cruel joke on him, having him pine endlessly for a straight man -- it was pathetic. Still, Sammy was nothing if not endlessly realistic (or pessimistic), so he knew there wasn't a chance in hell anything would happen between them other than some baseless flirting. Just -- why did Nate have to be so good at it? "Figures," The doctor mumbled, glad that Nate at least put something on the wound rather than keeping it exposed to the elements. "I'm 'hiding out' because, in case you haven't noticed, the vast majority of your brothers-in-arms are little pains in the ass -- and that's coming from someone who works with children all day." Once the male was sat, Sammy gently took his forearm and unwrapped the bandages, squinting slightly as he inspected the would closely. "Now, how the hell did you manage to cut your arm this badly? Do I need to start rolling my eyes now, or save it for something better?"

Blake nodded along to Sammy’s words, hoping she looked engaged enough. It wasn’t that she was ignoring him and she wasn’t even ignoring him completely, not on purpose anyway. She got most of what he was saying even if she couldn’t actually hear him. Seeing he was done with his diatribe Blake pulled one of the earplugs from her ear with a smirk, “I’m pretty sure they love it seeing as it’s packed every weekend. But sure it’s all about making you drink more!” The blonde wiped down the counter before turning back to Sammy, “I think it sounds more like two cats fighting but honestly at that point what’s the difference between the two sounds.” Her shoulders lifted on a shrug as she filled another drink for the club doctor, “What brings you in here tonight anyway, don’t you usually avoid this on the weekends for this exact reason?”

Sammy narrowed his brows, letting out an amused scoff. "Does the frequency of my voice really cause you that much distress? I'm flattered." He remarked wryly, bringing his beer to his lips. Honestly, he didn't care if people listened to him bitch or not -- he was going to do it anyway. "That's because everyone's suffering from the same delusions; that embarrassing yourself is fun as long as you do it together. It's like the high school theater kids that'll bombard a diner and start singing songs from Grease." Nose crinkled, he pushed his now-empty beer bottle aside and watched Blake prepare his next one. "Yeah, but the booze tastes better here than it does alone on my couch. So, take that as a compliment."

Sawyer's gaze slid over to her brother, before she leaned back against the chair's armrest, taking a measured sip of her whiskey. "That rock’s not going anywhere. I’m keeping it as a little memento — of what happens when you let a piece of shit into your life, just to watch him shatter it worse than it already was." She tilted her head slightly, lips curving into a smile that never reached her eyes. "Wrong. Diamonds only lose value when they're in the hands of someone who doesn't know how to use them. I, on the other hand, know exactly what i'm doing."

Sammy matched her measured smirk with one of his own, though the eyes that caught her gaze displayed a different sentiment -- a much softer, more empathetic one that he, like many of of the Deckers, would be reticent to convey out loud. Thankfully with Sawyer, his twin, many things were allowed to remain unspoken. "A reminder that the past oughta stay in the past, I reckon. That includes white-trash high school boyfriends," he pointed out, taking a short drag of his cigarette. "Count your blessings, Sawyer -- least you're not like Silas, two kids deep, a sexless marriage and a sad prison cell of an apartment to match." A shrug pulled at his shoulder. "What exactly are you doin' next, then, hm? Planning a big bonfire to throw the rest of his shit in? I could be down for that. I hear the best s'mores are the ones roasted against the ashes of pathetic men."

Silas had gotten used to Sammy's attitude a long time ago, but that didn't make it any less irritating. Since their mother passed, he had been doing his best to put their differences behind them, knowing it's what she would have wanted for them, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't still sometimes want to smack him upside the head. "I'm barely here during the day, so I don't see much point in decorating beyond the basic necessities," he reasoned. Plating the pieces of the charcuterie board he'd picked up on the way home from work, he motioned for Sammy to dig in. "You telling me your perpetual bachelor pad is any better?

Sammy couldn’t help the way his lips twisted into a little smirk, holding up an innocent hand. “Right, because who needs home decor when you’ve got four walls and a second-hand couch to show off your colorful personality?” He stepped over to where his brother had set up the charcuterie board, taking a small piece of cheese and a triscuit and popping it in his mouth. “Uh, yeah, Ten times better. Just ask the treasure trove of hot, single guys in this little podunk town that make their way into my bed each night,” he tossed back bitterly, gesturing between them, "we are not the same." And thank the lord for that. "I still don't understand why you had to be the one to give up the house in the first place."

Despite Nate's relatively casual appearance as he strode through the ranch, he was occupied by a thin dressing wrapped around his left forearm, one that was poorly aiding in covering the cut underneath the material. It wasn't that he had done a shit job, it was more the wound needing more help than essentially the band-aid Nate had just slapped over the top of it. The blood that was slowly seeping through the fabric again was the indicator of that for him - so hence his current reason for being here being unannounced. Still, it didn't take him long to find the guy he was looking for, nor was the greeting a surprise as he stood a little behind Sammy. It was the reason for the brief smirk that appeared, one that only willed a tease from himself, "...and here's me thinking you'd want to be my hero, baby."

It was the voice that finally made him turn to look back, unable to help the slight quirk of his brows as he saw Nate. "Out of all the songs to serenade me with and you went with Enrique Iglesias? Did they strip you of good music taste when they gave you that patch?" And yet, the other male still managed to eek out the last shred of attention that Sammy had left in him, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the dressing that wrapped around his left forearm. "Where the hell did you learn to wrap? A department store?" Gaze flickered between the Nate's face and the bandages, after a moment succumbing to a large roll of his eyes as he beckoned the Hellraiser forward. "Come on, sit down. I'll take a look -- but don't tell the rest of your little posse that I'm here, alright? I don't need this place turning into a pop up free clinic tonight."