(no subject)

[theshot_yougot]

The drive home, one minor breakdown aside, is pleasant and chatty; unusual mostly in being more chatty than usual. Occasionally Leah will let a silence fall for long enough to be comfortable, but she always pushes for a conversation when a topic occurs to her.

She wants to hear him.

When they get to her apartment, she's acting more or less like herself, finding her way from the car to her door, inviting Sam in and immediately heading for the kitchen.

"I don't know about you, but I'm dying for a drink."

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[not-scully.livejournal.com]

Sam hadn't actually meant it like that. He meant alternatives to the couch being the floor, a cot, a sleeping bag in the gym downstairs. The other alternative... hadn't actually occurred to him.

Consciously.


And the weirdest thing that's happened all day, according to the wrinkle between Sam's forehead, is Leah reminding him not to move anything.

"I won't. I promise."

[trickswithsticks]

She could see. Now she can't.

Leah hates it. Hates it. Hates being reliant on needing things in a certain way. Hates that she's going through an internalised breakdown so much that she needs someone to be around for her. Hates that somewhere in all this she feels ashamed for something she knows she has no reason to be ashamed about.

"Cheers," she says. "G'night."

Her shower is long, and hot, and involves an awful lot of hairwashing.

(and, Leah is not ashamed to admit, singing. She sings in the shower. She sings Ferry 'Cross the Mersey in the shower.)

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

It's not a song Sam recognizes. As he unfolds the blankets and makes a place for himself on the couch, he listens, as if the beat of the shower and the voice coming from it were a CD instead of a flesh and blood person.

He tries not to think about it. The couch is comfortable enough, but far too short. Not exactly for lying on when he's quite this much over six feet.

The lights are turned off long before Leah comes out of the shower. Not like she'll mind, Sam's sure. Even if, this morning, she absolutely would have.

Which just gets Sam, lying on his back on the couch, to cover his face with his hands and sigh deeply. He's fucking up. Still.