(no subject)

[stilljustandrew]

There's a Watcher in the bar.

Specifically, there's an Andrew Wells in the bar, seated in a booth not far from the fireplace. He's ostensibly making a list in his notepad, but right now he's staring into the fire without really seeing the flames or the serenely circling fish, pen resting forgotten on the page.

He's got stuff on his mind.

Any moment now he's going to notice that the tip of the pen's making a large blot and the list will have to be redone.

Comments

[mr_gaeta]

Today's one of the better days: Gaeta made it downstairs, took Gogo for a walk, and managed to force down some soup. (Bar insisted it be French onion soup in a bread bowl, just to make sure he got a slightly more complete meal. He didn't object.)

He's at a table not too far away, Gogo dozing next to his chair. All at once, the dodo untucks its beak from beneath its wing and straightens up.

Hey. He remembers that guy! That guy's the one who named him!

[stilljustandrew]

The motion ... fails to catch his attention.

He's a little preoccupied right now.

[mr_gaeta]

So it seems. Still, Gogo hops to his feet and waddles closer, intent on reaching Andrew -- which draws Gaeta's attention away from his own contemplation of the bar.

"Gogo -- "

Too late. The dodo has squeezed underneath the table of Andrew's booth and given his knee a headbutt hello.

[stilljustandrew]

A startled "Ack!" escapes him as he jerks in reaction, dropping the pen.

"... oh," he adds, seeing the familiar-looking tuft of tailfeathers and leaning to peer under the table. "Hi."

[mr_gaeta]

"Plock!" says Gogo happily.

Less happily, from a few tables over: "Frak. I'm sorry -- I'm, ah, still trying to train him a little better."

[stilljustandrew]

"Hey." He offers Gaeta a smile that looks only slightly distracted. "It's okay. How're you doing?"

[mr_gaeta]

"I'm..." He shrugs, awkward. "You know. Making do."

Gogo squirms out from under the table with another plock, spreading its tiny wings as it gives Andrew another nudge in the leg.

"How about you?"

[stilljustandrew]

"I'm, uh ... I'm good." He glances down at the page in front of him, and scowls. "Ah, nutbunnies."

[mr_gaeta]

"What is it?"

Gogo, if you frakked up Andrew's work, you're getting a stern talking-to, buddy.

[stilljustandrew]

"Oh, I left the pen sitting on the paper and it leaked ink all over everything." A sigh, as he lifts up the page. "At least it didn't leak all the way through."

[mr_gaeta]

"Oh."

Gaeta frowns a little in sympathy.

"Was it something important?"

[stilljustandrew]

"... Yeah, sorta, but I hadn't really gotten started -- I can redo it easy."

[mr_gaeta]

"That's good," he murmurs. Then: "Gogo, come back over here, bird."

Gogo's head swivels toward Gaeta, as if debating whether or not to listen to him.

[gavemea_45]

He's made a decision.

Now he just has to do it.




In the meantime, no matter what's going on outside, some things never change - like Sam's need for caffeine to fuel himself through long and grueling nights.

(When he walks into Milliways and heads for the bar, he's got no idea how long it's been on this side of the door.)

[stilljustandrew]

One of the few things that could distract Andrew from his thoughts right now: Sam Winchester crossing his line of sight.

He sits up abruptly. "Sam?"

[gavemea_45]

"Hey, Andrew."

He changes direction and heads over to join the other guy instead.

"How's it going?"

[stilljustandrew]

He half-rises from his chair as Sam approaches. "Fine, good -- how about you? What's been going on?"

[gavemea_45]

"Oh, you know - the usual."

Which he has absolutely zero desire to talk about, especially as he's pretty sure a few people would like to talk him out of what he's intending.

"Just stopped in to grab a thermos of coffee."

[stilljustandrew]

"... the usual since when?" Uncertain. "Dude, it's been months. Like, more than half a year."

[gavemea_45]

Sam's mouth goes slack as he stares at Andrew in shock.

"What?"

[stilljustandrew]

"... How long's it been for you?"

[gavemea_45]

"A few days," Sam informs him.

"Maybe a week."

[stilljustandrew]

"... frelling Milliways," he says. "So you're still ... hunting Lilith, was it?"

[gavemea_45]

It's amazing how fast his expression can set in hard lines, closed off.

"Yes."

[stilljustandrew]

"Sorry," he says, lower. "... any luck?"