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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Sam blinks.

"Get over it?"

It was the wrong word.

But she only answers, "Used to it."

"Maybe in time?"

There's something bleak about the look in his eyes.

"It hasn't been all that long."

"It was long enough for her to know how to do it."

"Five months, between when I met her and when... well."

"But it was only a few days between when I met her and when she ended up in Cold Oak, so."

Elle doesn't get the point of that at all.

And having well fallen away from her attempt not to lie at this point, she just asks "She told you that?"

"She didn't have to," Sam says, very steadily. "I knew she'd gone missing."

A beat.

"But yeah, she did."

"Did you look for her?"

It really is meant as an innocuous question.

Like Elle knows any better.

"... yeah." It comes out as steadily as before; carefully so, this time. "I did. We both did. Just... not enough."

So yeah. I was.

Elle exhales, some of the tension slipping from her shoulders.

"Fine."

Edited 2010-05-10 02:20 (UTC)

Sam shrugs.

"Anyway," he says, after a moment. "That's what I'd suggest. And why."

Elle's staring at the table again.

Maybe a little grumpily. But she's at least stopped arguing it.

"You really think she had a choice?"

"I do. She doesn't."

There's something very resigned about his expression.

"Take your pick."

Elle nearly rolls her eyes again.

"I'm not the one who cares."

Sam shrugs.

"It doesn't make a difference now, really. It is what it is -- and what happened, happened."

Flat: "You talk about it like it's over."

There's no hesitation.

"Not even close."

Elle presses one hand to her arm, like she's cold, before moving to step out of the booth.

"Fine," she repeats, about as noncommittal as ever.

"Fine," he agrees, quietly.

A beat.

"Take care of yourself, Elle, okay?"

She makes an indistinct (but probably annoyed) noise, and heads away.

At least it doesn't involve throwing anything.

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