Sam

Will desperately needed a haircut given that war crime he was walking around with on his head, so she ran around the farm fetching things toward that end—a water pail, a pair of shears, a straight razor, a bar of soap—then sat him down in the grass on the sunny side of the workshop and had him strip out of his shirt while she sat behind him and snip, snip, snipped away. At the same time, he talked about the events that had taken place while she was out of town.

It was a long, sad story filled with pain and death, the details so horrific that Sam felt guilty for agonizing over having to kill some grumplings. She forced herself to listen attentively and occasionally ask clarifying questions even though she mostly wanted to throw up.

Of course he'd be conflicted. From his point of view, innocent people had died because of him, even if he'd done everything he could to prevent it. There was so much weight on his shoulders. Even now, as she worked on his half head of shaggy black hair, she could see the tension in his broad back, the extremely subtle quiver whenever she snipped the shears together like a dog expecting a kick.

"I'm proud of you for leaving that sword behind at the keep," she said after he was finished. "It would only get in the way of your recovery right now."

"I suppose," Will replied. "I don't know if I could even bring myself to pick it up if I wanted to."

"You've gone through hell. Anyone would have scars after that—physical or otherwise. Right now, all you need to focus on is rest and recovery. Maybe you think I'm naive for saying you won't have to kill anymore, but could you at least pretend it's true? Just for now? Stay here on the farm, away from all the chaos, and just rest. Can we agree on that?"

"Sure."

"I know what you're like. Don't put a time limit on it. Don't push yourself."

"I won't."

"Promise me you'll rest? Keep in mind, I am holding scissors. I might slip and cut an ear off if you give me an answer I don't like."

Will chuckled. "I promise, Sam. I wouldn't be much use to anyone in the city right now anyway."

Sam gave a firm nod; satisfied. "Good."

Once she finished cutting away the dense, shaggy hair, she gave him a good once-over with the razor until his head was completely bald. "Wow, so weird," she said while giving his scalp a good hard rub. "It's kinda like a ballsack."

"Shut up."

"Maybe I should shave off your eyebrows while I'm at it, complete the look."

"Don't."

"At least you've got a bit of a stubble going so you don't look like a complete weirdo."

"I might not be much of an assassin anymore, but I can still beat your ass if you don't start being nice to me."

"Wanna bet?"

He snorted, and tipped onto all fours so he could begin the laborious process of standing up. "Not really. Remember what happened last time you pushed your luck?"

"I distinctly remember not being Level 10 back then." She rolled to her feet and offered a hand to Will, but he just bared his teeth at her until she let it drop with a shrug. "You're lucky you're a crotchety old fart, or I might be demanding a rematch."

Once Will finally got upright, Sam couldn't help but take a peek at his lean-muscled torso. He had scars all over, but the fresh one on the right side of his stomach stood out most keenly; a sprawling wad of tight, angry-red tissue, with a matching one on his back.

"Be careful what you wish for, brat," Will said, closing the distance between them so that she was staring into his pressed-shut eyelids, one drooping with heavy suture wire. Despite his playful tone, she got a sudden, blood-chilling sense that she was in danger.

Sam licked her lips nervously. "I—"

She flinched as he flicked her nose—not hard, but completely without warning—and staggered back with a hand over it. "Hey!" she whined. "Sneak attacks are no fair!"

Will cracked a crooked grin. "Good. If I spent any amount of time fighting fair, that'd mean I wasn't very good at my job." He bent down to pick up his shirt, giving it a vigorous shake to get the grass and dandelion seeds out of it.

"Is that how it works?"

He shrugged and threw his loose shirt on. Losing the view was slightly disappointing. "More or less."

"How quick do you think you could beat me if we fought?"

"Six seconds."

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Sam snorted, crossing her arms. "C'mon, be for real. Six seconds? That's it?"

"No more, no less."

"Fuck all the way off. Give me some credit, will you?"

Will's smile turned slightly apologetic. "You asked. Six seconds exactly. I don't know what else to tell you."

"You're such a liar. You just made that number up."

"Wanna bet?"

"You just said you didn't want to!"

"I will if you insist." Bending stiffly once more, Will plucked a single blade of grass, held it up between two fingers. "So, what'll it be?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to be?"

"Grass," Will replied dully.

"Are you saying you'd kick my ass in six seconds with… a blade of grass?"

"Something like that."

"You're delusional, brother."

"Try me, then."

"You're injured."

"I'm sure you know some blood chokes that won't put much strain on my body."

"Yeah, but…"

Will smiled wider, wiggling the thin green sliver between his fingers. "Scared?"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh."

Why does he sound so damn confident about it? She really couldn't tell if he was fucking with her or not, which was more than a little annoying. He wasn't stupid enough to overlook how much stronger she'd gotten since last time they'd sparred. She was pretty sure he'd been going easy on her then, but it had still taken him a good deal more than six seconds, and he wasn't exactly in peak condition at the moment.

Surely, he was bluffing.

Surely. Probably.

They were interrupted by the loud, echoing whipcrack of a distant gunshot. Will stepped back and let the piece of grass flutter away on the wind, still smiling like an annoying piece of shit.

"What was that?" Sam asked.

"ADAM," Will replied. "Doing his rounds. Guess he found something." Already headed downslope in the direction of the sound, he called over his shoulder: "Should probably check on him."

"I guess so." But this isn't over, nerd.

Sam couldn't see anyone loitering about on the grounds, but Will led them on in a straight line as though he knew exactly where they were going. Entering the rocky woods on the eastern side of the farm, they soon found the robot crouched over a large dark-furred carcass that dribbled black ooze into the undergrowth.

ADAM looked up as they approached, fixing them with his cold blue stare. "The monster is dead. I do not require assistance." His rifle sat leaned against a nearby tree trunk, within easy reach.

"Good, because I wasn't offering," Will replied with a small yawn. "Neat work, though. Headshot." He pointed to the grinner's blasted-open skull, its greenish-gray brain matter scattered along with black globs over the shrub leaves.

"I must conserve ammunition whenever possible. I am running low." ADAM straightened with a quiet whirring of moving metal parts, regarding them through his blank steel mask of a face as he stood at least a foot taller than Will, and a few inches taller than Sam. "I had been meaning to ask; is it possible for you to locate forging equipment and materials? Industrial quality steel billets would be best, but I will take scrap metal if nothing else is available."

Will frowned doubtfully off into nowhere. "Why? Do I look like an iron merchant or something?"

ADAM just stared impassively like he did not think the question was worthy of a response.

Will sighed. "You'll want a source of gunpowder too, I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

"And charcoal?"

"Yes."

"Anything else his majesty desires?"

"Fabric of various bright colors. Cotton is preferable."

"Why do you need fabric?"

"To make toys. The child needs toys."

"You could just play with her yourself, you know."

"The child needs toys," ADAM repeated in exactly the same flat, deadpan voice.

Will knuckled his sad eye. "You realize this is kind of a big ask, right? My influence in the city is limited right now. I can't just clap my hands together and make things appear."

"I see." ADAM did not sound particularly interested. "However, the child needs toys. And I need bullets."

"I'll look into it, but I can't promise anything." He jabbed a finger in the robot's face. "Seriously, no promises. But if I pull through for you, you're going to owe me some favors, and you'd better be ready for me to cash them in. Deal?"

ADAM considered for a short moment, clockwork internals ticking along, then slowly nodded. "Deal. If the items I have requested are delivered. I will compose a list."

Will nodded. For a second it looked like he was about to reach for the cigarette pack in his pocket, but he stopped himself with a shallow sigh.

"Are there any more grinners around?" Sam asked, casting her gaze about the trees in their tangled, murky rows.

"Unclear," ADAM replied.

"No," Will said, quite definitively. "We're good for now."

With no present danger to take care of, Sam and Will returned to the cluster of buildings up the shallow slope. While Sam put away the tools she had used to cut Will's hair, he was inside fetching hunting supplies. He came out with little to show in terms of weaponry; just a belt knife and an old dagger that seemed to have been rolling around the bottom of a cupboard for a while. The only other thing he had with him was a large spool of metal wire and some pliers. He had also put on a thin jacket and a pair of gloves to ward against thorns and bugs, his sleeves rolled all the way down since there was nobody around to take offense at his sheet being covered. He tossed her a jacket as well, but it didn't fit her at all, so she left it behind on the porch.

"Just don't tell the tin man I have this," Will said in a conspiratorial tone as they headed off into the woods, patting the steel wire reel hanging from his hip. "He might wanna melt it down and turn it into a couple of little tin babies or something."

"As long as you're not planning to tie me up with it."

"You really think I'd bring you out into the woods to act out some bondage fantasy on you?"

"No. I wouldn't hate the sentiment, though…"

"Careful, Sam—you're letting your freak show."

She snorted. "Well, one of us has to be the fun one."

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