milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Sam is so terribly glad to see the bar tonight. She hasn't yet managed to shed her jumper, and she's fairly sure it will take several showers to stop smelling of petrol, but she is terribly ready for a drink. Bar provides a pint without needing to be asked.

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"Long day?"

B.J has the common horse sense to change out of the Nazi duds and into something more presentable. -granted, an old gray long-sleeve and work pants that look like they've seen twelve too many wash cycles wouldn't be anything you'd see on a parade ground, but it's all relative.

"Long couple of days, really." There's a bit of startlement still - an American accent is still unusual, but she's terribly grateful he's not in German uniform tonight. "No further poker attacks?"

He nods. "No further poker attacks."

He pulls out a stool next to him.

"Want to talk about it?"

Sam takes a seat because really... yes. Yes she would like to talk about it, because the only other people she has to tell are Mister Foyle and Mister Milner, and neither one of them are terribly pleased with her at the moment.

"I'm really not sure which is worse - finding Connie dead or nearly getting blown up. I suspect I'll be in trouble longer for the latter."

"You're probably right."

A beat.

"Sorry about your friend."

Sure, he's seen his share of losses, but - in his eyes, at least - Sam shouldn't have to go through all that at such a young age.

"Oh, no, it wasn't... I mean, I'd only known her a few days, turns out she was helping to steal petrol from the depot, but... still. She ought not been murdered for it." Sam tries to explain, awkwardly. "It's just that I was the one that found her. I was sent 'round to her place when she didn't show up for work, and... well. That sort of thing doesn't get any easier, does it?"

B.J shakes his head. "No."

The ones it got easier for only coped by sacrificing their sense of empathy. B.J's never been able or willing to do that.

"You find the one who did it?"

"I suspect Mister Foyle knows, or has an idea anyway. I'm not exactly his favorite person at the moment, what with the bomb, so I doubt I'll have it out of him before there's an arrest." Sam notes wryly, sipping her beer.

"-the bomb?"

Thaaaat's a pretty big twist you just threw in there, Sam.

"The - unexploded or exploded kind?"

Well, it goes along with the 'almost blown up' bit. For once, it wasn't the Germans' fault.

"Unexploded, which I'm told came down to luck and shoddy workmanship. I'd gotten locked in with it in the petrol depot's main office - the whole place would have gone up like anything if it'd exploded."

"-I reckon you buy a few dozen lottery tickets when you get back to your world."

B.J's had some lucky breaks. But he's yet to be saved by poor craftsmanship on ordnance.

"The one who murdered Connie - they locked you in?"

"No, it seems - this was the lot stealing the petrol, they were trying to destroy evidence. They didn't know I was in there - I wasn't supposed to be, which is why Mister Foyle is upset with me. I was supposed to turn in my resignation this morning, but I found the combination to the safe..." She shrugs. She did get the evidence, after all.

"I see."

He scratches his jaw.

"So - if I understand this correctly - finding Connie's body led you to uncover a gas-stealing ring, and now Foyle's following up on your work."

A shrug.

"He can't be too mad at you for too long, I reckon."

It... isn't quite right, but it isn't terribly important that he get it exactly right, so she nods anyway, agreeably.

"I certainly hope not - he stops letting me ask questions when he gets in a mood. Besides, if I hadn't been there, who knows what could have happened."

B.J nods. "He's probably just mad because he cares about you. It'll blow over. How're you faring otherwise?"

"Not too poorly - the bombing hasn't been over any of the residential areas for a little while, which is a relief. How about you - did you finish your mission?"

You know, the one she hit him with a poker over?

~~Oh, he remembers.~~

"It's a, ah. Long story. Short one is - our cover's been blown and I'm killing my way through the castle to rescue my friend and escape."

"Oh... dear. I am sorry." She knows he's a soldier, but still, that sounds particularly horrid. "Isn't any support coming?"

"Got some volunteers from this place who can hold their own in a fight. They oughta help a bunch, but - other than that, no. No support coming."

He gives a half-shrug.

"We'll make do."

"It is truly bizarre that a place as odd as this is more likely to spontaneously produce allies against the Germans when they're so difficult to garner at home." Sam notes, sounding bewildered. Thanks to being Foyle's driver, she knows more than most of her fellow countrymen about the intricate and at times bewildering politics going into convincing other nations to come to their aid.

B.J shakes his head. "It's not that, it's just - we're deep behind German lines. Real deep. Got maybe a handful of friendly agents inside a 20-mile radius of the castle. Can hardly expect what's left of our armies to drop what they're doing and come help us."

Sam nods agreeably - not entirely what she meant, but it'll do. "I suppose it is very lucky you've found this place at all."

"Very, very lucky. Reckon it ought to not be too much trouble, going through the keep with the help I've rounded up."

A waitrat scampers up and hands B.J a note, which he quickly glances over.

"Speaking of, I, ah - gotta get to the group. They're about ready to head out. Talk to you later?"

"Certainly." She doesn't qualify it - if she makes it back, if he makes it back - that just tempts disaster. "Take care."

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