milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As soon as the shower had started running in the motel's bathroom, Sam had seized his chance. He yelled something indistinct about lunch, grabbed his laptop and messenger bag, and headed straight for Milliways without waiting for Dean to answer.

Now he's sitting at a booth, the laptop open in front of him, staring at something on the screen.

(From time to time he stares at a note, instead.)

Either way, it doesn't look like he's making much progress.

[ooc: open until it scrolls, with a break at 9 MT for tonight's episode of Supernatural.]

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"... oh," he says again, softly, this time letting it out on a quiet breath like a sigh.

"Like she's two different people." A beat. "One who's witty and stubborn and laughing and fun and -- all sorts of things --"

Another beat.

"-- and the other. The one who attacked you."

And me. And the rest of them.

Elle's shoulder stiffen. Her eyes don't come up.

"Yeah. Whatever," she mutters.

"Yeah, whatever," he echoes.

Sam looks steadily at her.

"Still sucks. And in this case, I've got reason to know."

She doesn't answer.

But Elle does finally look up from the table, and meets his eyes again.

He nods, just a little.

"I've seen both sides of her too."

A beat.

"I don't know if anyone else here has, though."

She looks away again.

Dully, "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"To who?"

Quietly.

"I don't care."

It's frustrated again, though not really directed at him. If she has to get a question more than once, Elle can sometimes see where the issue may really be.

"If they say it. I don't know how to pretend for her."

She doesn't know how to pretend this much at all. It's kind of the problem.

"If it helps, it's not exactly pretending. I don't think." He only sounds a little doubtful.

Beat.

"Do you want to pretend for her?"

It might be fortunate that Elle doesn't even know what he means by not exactly pretending.

But her frustration is more directed at him when she answers, "Like that matters."

"Sure it matters," he counters. "Why wouldn't it?"

"Because I'd do what she does."

It's very quick, too quick to have been thought out, the result of her mind being frozen on why anyone can't just tell her what to do, and immediately after she's staring at the table, maybe hoping that it didn't make sense, anyway.

Elle's staring at the table; Sam's staring at her.

"... Elle?"

She exhales. It's not quite a sigh.

"I want," Elle says slowly, "to know what to do."

He almost doesn't ask it.

Almost.

"About Ava, or in general?"

"About Ava," she answers stiffly.

"Okay."

He'd pretty much figured, but for a second there--

(soldiers in a coming war)

(what I need is a leader)

"Okay," he says again. A beat. "If it helps, I can tell you what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it?"

Edited 2010-05-03 02:00 (UTC)

Elle nods slowly, but she still doesn't look up.

Sam nods, and lets out a quiet breath.

"Back where Ava and I are from," he starts, after a moment or two. "It's been about a week or so since I last saw her there."

"Since she tried to kill me."

A beat.

"As best I can tell, that's been about two years ago, the way time runs in here."

"... okay."

It doesn't sound like she knows where he's going with this.

"Before that, she helped save my life."

Sam shakes his head, and meets her eyes.

"I don't know which Ava's the real one. Or if they both are. But now that it's over, now that Yellow-Eyes is dead and she knows it... I figure I can wait to find out if that changes things."

"I don't wait for someone to try to kill me, Sam."

It's hard and bitter again, and her eyes stay down, but now because she knows it's such a lie.

"... that's not what I meant."

Elle wants to prop up her elbow and rest her head in her hand, but she doesn't.

"I don't care why you're doing it," she says, slowly, more like she's talking to the table.

(When it comes to why, it doesn't seem to matter - Elle just doesn't care enough about any of this to piss off Ava.)

"I don't know how to do it."

Edited 2010-05-03 05:07 (UTC)

"And you want to."

He amends that very hastily, to,

"And you would. If you knew how."