Sam nodded to Thorn and leaned up on his knees to retrieve her coffee cup.  Actually refilling it was another matter, but he moved as quickly as he could to the counter while holding the cup in one hand.   With a slide of porcelain on marble, Sam placed the cup on the counter, besieging it with his elbow.   Sam carefully placed the stump of his leg against the floor, and grunted a bit as he pulled himself into a standing position, his left arm straining with effort as he supported a good portion of his weight with it.  The next few moments felt surprisingly mundane to Sam.  He simply picked up the coffee mug and filled it.  The next part, though, would be the greatest challenge.<br/><br/>Shivering a bit, Sam picked up the coffee mug and carefully lowered it to the floor, protecting it with his entire body.  He resumed the crawling position, and carefully walked the mug across the kitchen, taking care not to spill a drop.  He knew what would happen if he did, and had no desire to have a pan of boiling water thrown at his back again.  Keeping himself from whimpering slightly,  Sam finally delivered the precious elixir, not even stopping to smile at Thorn before he headed out for the newspaper.<br/><br/>Sam's new life had hardened his knees considerably, enabling him to run on them.  It still hurt horribly, but it gave him some mobility when Thorn wasn't expecting him to impersonate a human.  Sam moved rapidly towards the door, achieving a brisk walking pace by the time he reached up and opened the entrance, briefly looking to make sure no one was around.  He lived in the middle of nowhere, but being spotted still might arouse suspicions.  Sam ran across the gravel driveway, wincing a bit as the rocks dug into his hands and knees.  By know, they were mostly a network of scars and callouses, but he still noticed the occasional dig into his fragile skin.  A few minutes later, Sam walked back into the kitchen holding the newspaper in his mouth.  He pulled it from its bag and laid it down on the table across from Thorn, again not stopping to wait or ask for thanks.  Thorn had already shown him her appreciation, and he was grateful.<br/><br/><br/>In Thorn's bedroom, there was a closet.  At the bottom of this closet, was a box.  A box that contained Sam's feet.  Or at least the prosthetic replacements for his feet.  The true members of his body were likely ash in a collapsed basement by now, after he and Thorn had set fire to the old house to eliminate the evidence of their activities.  The next few weeks were a blur, but somewhere in that time, Sam had acquired a new pair of feet.  Sam quickly buckled the metal and silicone constructs to his legs, and with the aid of the cane kept near them in the closet, stood again, feeling only a slight amount of discomfort.  When Thorn had to clarify, she claimed he was a relative of hers.  Which one he was kept on changing.<br/><br/>The only real constant in Thorn's lies was that he was a veteran who had been injured by explosives, and ended up quite thoroughly maimed.  Sam put on his clothes, a fairly expensive suit, suitable for a gentleman.  The jacket slipped over his shoulders, and he took a comb to his hair, pulling it into orderly rows.  Sam ran his fingers across his chin, realizing dimly that he had a fair amount of stubble to deal with.  With a slight sigh, Sam walked into the bathroom, taking a straight razor from the medicine cabinet.  With any luck, he and his eye patch wouldn't keep Thorn waiting.