Logs:Finding Your Feet

Finding Your Feet
Dramatis Personae Sam, Steve	2019-08-15 "Got work to do either way."
Location <NYC> VA Medical Center - Kips Bay
The sign beside the door identifies this as the 'multipurpose room', but the main purpose it serves is group therapy meetings of various sorts and the occasional inpatient social. Long tables have been set up along one wall of the room and filled with snacks and beverages of various kinds, much of the remaining space taken up by folding chairs which the attendees of the group session that just finished are now vacating. Stopping to chat with all the group attendees who come up to greet him, it takes Steve a while to get his coffee and bagel. Though neat and clean and put together, he doesn't stand out much today, wearing a plain black t-shirt, well-fitted blue jeans, and combat boots. He finally works his way over to a less-crowded corner of the room, fetching up against a windowsill to watch the crowd mingle. Sam has been engaged in a quiet and seemingly intense conversation with one of the group members, talking low off to the side of the room. Only once this concludes does he make his way across the room. He stops to grab himself an orange soda before joining Steve by the window. "/Accidental/ dating. There's gotta be a story there." Though that's as far as he comments, with a quick smile and a sip of his soda as he leans up against the wall, facing out toward the room as well. "Glad you made it. I'm guessing it ain't always easy finding downtime." Steve blushes. Looks down. "Not much of a story. I just ah -- misunderstood. Seems folks are a lot more casual about courtship these days than I'm used to, is all." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Glad I made it, too. Thank you, by the way. The way you ran this -- it was a lot less awkward than I was expecting." He studies Sam for a moment. "How long you been doing this?" He nods once at the room. "Here, officially? Been working down here nearly a year now. Unofficially --" Sam's head wobbles to one side, his shoulder and one hand lifting. "Had some school for it. Found out in the desert that a /lot/ of folks could really use an ear, even when they don't know how to ask for it." He lifts his bottle again, sucking down another gulp of soda. "Less awkward. I'll take it. Think you'll be coming back?" "It's important work," Steve says with a solemn nod, "here, and out there. Glad you're doing it." He considers for a moment, drinking his coffee. "I think I will. Guess it's not uncommon for guys to feel a bit at loose ends, getting out." He tilts his head slightly at Sam. "How are you liking it?" "I think most of us take some time to find our feet again." Sam turns to one side. His shoulder still rests against the wall, weight hitching up against it as he shifts to face Steve. "What, getting out? Been a hell of an adjustment, but I can't say I miss having nobody yelling orders at me." His dark eyes study Steve's face. "You finding ways to fill your time?" Steve's smile is hardly more than a quick twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't much like that part, either, though I managed to sidestep most of the orders by going where those yelling them would not." Takes his time with a drink from his coffee, stalling. "I am. Working at a coffee shop in SoHo, volunteering in my spare time." He gives a small, abortive shake of his head. "Not sure it suits me well, but it's probably best. For finding my feet." Sam's eyebrows raise, his head giving a small curious tilt. "S'it good coffee?" His eyes drift out toward the slowly clearing room. He lifts his bottle in answer to someone's called-out farewell. "What part of it's not your speed? I'm /pretty/ sure food service can feel halfway to a warzone, you get customers riled enough." "Oh, yes." There's both pride and awe in Steve's voice. "It's called Montagues. If you like coffee, I strongly recommend it." He smiles and raises a hand to wave at the person departing. "It's not the job, in itself. It's just..." He shakes his head. "Not the kind of fighting I need in my life, maybe? Don't feel like I have a lot /direction./" "Montagues. SoHo. I'll be sure to come by, you can make me a cup." Sam taps the mouth of his bottle against his lower lip. He looks up at Steve, thoughtful. "Hate to say it, but you need a direction for fighting, feel like the news can't help but give you one every day now." "I work morning shifts, generally, Tuesdays through Saturday." Steve looks down into his paper coffee cup. Frowns lightly, but nods. "You're not wrong. About time I stopped worrying about figuring things out." He smiles thinly. "It'll happen -- or it won't. Got work to do either way."