Sebastian Stan Short Stories

TJ Hammond [1]

"New Friend"

Post Series End, minor spoilers about plot events from during the series

*

I stood in the middle of the Barrish-Hammond home next to two of the most imposing women I had ever met. They had greeted me quietly when I arrived and after I had been thoroughly searched by the Secret Service.

"He should be down soon," Elaine said.

"Little shit has to get his hair just right," her mother added. "You know gay men."

I silently arched my eyebrows at her honesty but maintained my composure.

"I can go to him," I offered. They both shot that idea down, but it was mostly unnecessary. TJ began jogging down the stairs only a moment later. I stood just a little straighter and ran through my standard introductory speech in my head. The President's family had me on edge.

"I'm here, I'm here," TJ announced with little enthusiasm. As soon as his feet hit the ground he stared at me. "You must be my new babysitter."

"Sober companion," I corrected steadily. Babysitter was an unfortunately common synonym. "But yes."

"I had one of those before. It didn't work," he informed me. I nodded. Goodbye preplanned and practiced speech.

"It didn't work because he was a former drug addict himself. I, on the other hand, have never been addicted to anything more dangerous than a TV show. I've been stone cold sober in almost every single way possible since my junior year of college," I told him. His eyes widened and he pursed his lips. Was he impressed? "Also, from what I've heard, your old companion had very lax rules for you. I don't."

"I knew there was a reason I turned gay. Powerful women scare me," he said sarcastically. Elaine and her mother simply shrugged it off while smirking to themselves. Powerful women indeed.

"Come and sit down. I'd like to go over them," I continued. Elaine and her mother left us alone while I sat with TJ at the kitchen counter. My binder of printed and highlighted rules was already in place.

"These look color coded," he noted, looking down at the first page.

"They are. Anyway, this is essentially the contract your parents signed and agreed to when they hired me on as your sober companion. You won't go anywhere without me by your side, save the bathroom and to bed. And if you think I won't follow you into either of those places if I think I need to, you're wrong."

That got a chuckle out of him.

"They also have given me permission to request urinalysis as I see fit, but that isn't so much a promise as a threat. Let's see," I mumbled, flipping through the pages. "No going to bars, whether they are alcohol or hookah or any other abused substance. If you smoke, we'll break that habit."

"You rule with an iron fist," he said flatly, although his lips were still curved into a smile.

"Yes, I do. No prescription or over the counter medicine unless a doctor has prescribed it and, if so, I hold it and dispense it. You'll go to a minimum of one AA meeting per week, but if you want to go to three a day then that's fantastic," I joked. He smiled at least.

"If you're going to be with me all the time, do I have to call you my sober companion?"

"No," I answered shortly. "You can call me almost whatever you want, whether I'm your personal assistant or a friend from college or rehab. I don't care. Just don't call me a prostitute. And if you're going to say we're in a romantic relationship, it can't go past girlfriend. It's easier to explain me away once I leave if I'm just a girlfriend."

"Did you catch the bit where I'm gay? My grandmother loves to remind people, including myself. She's gotten pretty creative before," he said.

"I realize that, don't worry. The first homosexual client I had introduced me as his fiancée once. Then he later claimed I had died after my contract was up and he was confident in his sobriety," I explained.

"So it that when this ends? When I feel confident in my sobriety?" he quoted.

"There are several ways our partnership ends, and I've had at least one client do each in the eight years I've been a sober companion," I warned him. "You can decide you're okay without me, but whoever is footing the bill gets the final say. You can check into full time rehab. My contract can expire and I can set you up with a sponsor from AA."

"Did you leave one off?" he asked knowingly.

"I've only had one client end it via suicide, TJ. And I refuse to let it happen again," I promised.

"I guess you know about-"

"Yes," I said, cutting him off. "I don't know much about it except that mention of it triggered your relapse. It will be something you have to deal with eventually, but that's why I'm here."

He was silent as he continued to skim the binders pages. Once he reached the last page he closed the binder and looked at me solemnly.

"I think they picked a good one this time," he said, looking me over like I was a highlighted page.

"Your grandmother was right. You are a little shit," I teased.