The Point

[intheheart]

Title: The Point
Rating: PG
Summary: Summer and Danny talk at Summer's graduation.
Warnings: depiction of sensory issues.
Notes: Memefill for isana, Drink Me (Danny and Summer).


"Hey, congratulations, kid."

Summer looked up at Danny, standing above her chair with two glasses of wine. Light caught on the buttons of Danny's dress uniform and spotted Summer's vision; she blinked to clear it. "Thank you," she said, politely. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Yeah, okay." Danny sat—or rather slumped—across the table from Summer. She set one glass down, nudged it towards Summer, and sipped from the other, then let out an enormous sigh. "So. Done with high school. How's it feel?"

Summer didn't answer; she poked at the base of the glass instead. "Is this for me?"

Danny shrugged. "Yeah."

"I'm seventeen," Summer said, less an objection than a matter of interest.

Danny snickered. "I've been drinking since I was fourteen. Trust me, kid, you're way better equipped to handle it than I was."

"If you say so." She picked up the glass and turned it, watching the light find rubies in the dark red wine. "It's relaxing."

"What is?" Danny asked, canting her head to the right so she could look at Summer. "The wine?"

"No," Summer said, "being out of high school. It's much less demanding."

Danny blinked, then said, "Oh, we're back to that." Summer started to apologize—she knew it was sometimes difficult for people to follow her, but she felt it was rude not to answer questions—but Danny had already gone on. "College is going to be about fifty times harder. Or so I'm told."

"Not for me," Summer said, calmly certain. School had never been difficult for her—at least, not the schoolwork. "I'm going to keep living at home."

"Non sequitor," Danny said, and then, "I'm just telling you it sounds like that. I get where your brain was going. Dorm wouldn't be kind to you anyway."

Summer tipped her head to the side. "Thank you," she said. "I thought you didn't go to college."

Danny shrugged again. "I didn't, but I lived in barracks. Close enough." She thought about it for a minute, then added, "Well, maybe a little more disciplined. But you would like that?"

It was a question. Summer recognized the rising tone. "Yes. I don't want to be in the military, though."

"No," Danny said, immediately, and shook her head. "God, no, you stay the hell away. You don't need it, and I think you might die in boot camp."

Summer wondered if she should be offended by that, and decided not—it was just Danny, after all. "I don't think I'd die, but I wouldn't enjoy it."

"I had to crawl through the mud face down with a rifle," Danny said. "You'd hate it."

Just the idea made phantom slime crawl over Summer's skin. She shivered, and scratched it away. "I'm going to be a doctor," she said.

Danny looked at her again, one eyebrow raised. "You're okay with blood?"

"I deal with blood every month," Summer said, practically. For some reason that made Danny laugh, but she didn't bother to ask. "Anyway, there's a... a point to it. I'll be making people better. I don't know what point there is to crawling through mud on your face."

"With a rifle," Danny said. "There's a point in boot camp, but..." She paused, drank about half her wine, and set it down on the table with a faint click. "Sometimes there's not a point. Sometimes life just throws mud at you and you have to crawl through it, and there's no point, and you just have to get through."

Summer stared at her for a moment, then said, "I don't understand."

Danny blinked, and looked at her, and said, "Wow, I'm sorry, that ended up in a weird place." She scrubbed a hand over her face, then added, "What do you think of the wine?"

"I haven't tried it." Summer picked up the glass and drank, a tiny sip.

It tasted sharp, acrid. She made a face, said, "I don't like it," and put it down again.