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Lazy Lucifer, sitting on a barstool with supper and a piratical purring kitten curled cutely on his shoulder.

Okay, quitting the awesomely awful alliteration now, alas.

Anyway. The eyepatch is flipped up, and the pirate's hat is set at a jaunty angle, not least because Shreddie keeps batting at it fascinatedly. Sam is tolerating this for now, even smiling - well, it tickles. And besides, it's kind of fun.

You live here long enough, you get used to Milliways' quirks. Most of them, anyway. Come bother the nautical Lucifer.

[Tiny tag: Pomona, Cal Chandler]

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"Yeah."

Pause. Sam's brain does some complicated mathematics and comes up with a stab in the dark.

"I meant me, Cal."

". . . Oh."

Cal's tone, face, and body language all say the same thing, very loud and clear: Well, duh. Fuck.

"Right, I knew that."

"Sure you did." Absently tugging a little on Cal's hair.

Well, it's nice to know he was memorable.

"Sure you did."

"I did," Cal persists. An important lesson in politics: stick to your original argument no matter what. Let yourself get sidetracked during a conversation and it's all over.

Obviously, making a different argument altogether the next day is another matter entirely.

"I was just . . . testing you."

Right!

Eyebrow.

"Cal, you might be a politician, but I know liars. And as liars go, you're very far from being top of the class."

"Was a politician," Cal corrects firmly. This is an important distinction. "And I'm not a bad liar. I'm just out of practice." And the people he lied to be before either didn't give a shit or were far less perceptive than your average Milliways patron.

And being out of practice is kind of a side effect of making a conscious effort to stop lying all the time. So that second objection isn't as strong as it might be.

"So don't lie at all," Sam suggests.

"Or just don't lie to me."

Edited 2008-09-28 19:55 (UTC)

"I don't," Cal says tightly. "I try not to. I'm sorry."

He leaves it at that, no excuses. The truth is too important. It was important enough for him to die for his right - his responsibility - to tell it. And he's so much more honest than he was before Milliways. Everyone slips sometimes, he knows that, but this is one area where Cal is not willing to cut himself any slack.

"All right." He strokes Cal's hair, and finally drops a light, brief kiss on his forehead. "It's all right."

Cal sighs a little and closes his eyes. "Thanks."

"You're okay." His fingers run through Cal's hair, down to the nape of his neck, and the momentary flash of irritation fades.

"It's okay, Cal."

Cal leans against Sam without really thinking about it.

"Sometimes it is," he says quietly. "With company around." This is the closest he's gotten to telling anyone how hard it is when he's alone.

(That's the real reason he's going to stick with the running. He'll do anything that makes it easier to sleep.)

And Sam lets him, and shifts to make their position more comfortable, and keeps drifting his fingers through his hair.

Gently, "Well, I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Cal says, still quiet. He trusts that completely.

It's a new feeling.

He kisses Cal's head again.

"You can still tell me to bugger off if you want to, though." Still quiet, but with a faint laugh to it.

Cal glances up with a slight smile.

"I'll keep that in mind." He looks at the moment as though he doubts it will come up.

He chuckles. "You do that."

Sam doesn't look as if he's expecting it, either. Possibly it has something to do with the way his arm's sliding around Cal again, comfortably.

"I will." He should, perhaps, expect to feel a bit awkward about their position, given the conversational topic of just a few minutes ago. But he doesn't. There's no sense of expectation from Sam, nothing to feel tense or awkward about.

Later, there will be. Cal knows he's made some unspoken promises and he's ready to hold himself to them. But right now he's just okay, soaking up the friendly touch, and feeling for the moment as if he might make it through the rest of the year after all.

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