Summer of Sam

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

[ Summer of Sam: Ending B ]

Twenty minutes later, when he's washed his hands and put the kit away, Sam is standing in the bathroom again. Confident this time to complete his shave, since he'd threatened to tie Jo to the hotel bed and/or make her use the crutches in the car for the rest of the day - possibly tomorrow - maybe the next day if she didn't stay the hell on the bed at least until he'd finished putting their things to rights.

She's yelling at him, but only over the sound of the television and the water running over his razor. Got the books out, the notebooks, suggesting places to go, people to see. Things to check into. And maybe it's the afterglow talking, but it's the first time he's felt at all ready to address any of it.

"We're not going anywhere near Nebraska until it's been a week since I lied to your mom."



Well, there are still some things going unaddressed.

Comments

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

The diner wasn't hard. As a bonus, he'd even found a bookstore with a back session devoted to the occult. Most of the stock was useless, but Sam asked questions, read a few jackets.

While he waited for their food to go at the diner, he read up on his newly purchased spellbook.


It's with some juggling that he gets through the front door, holding heavy book and two bags full of food.

Just in time to pause in the hallway at the voice sharp and terse and trying not to be upset.

"Fine. Call me back when you've figured it out."




There's a brief moment where he considers going back out the way he'd come.

But the door closes and he's still inside the room.

[tobeclosetohim]

She doesn't throw the phone.

She considers it. But she heard the door.






"Tell me the fries are still hot."

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"Piping."

Thankfully.

If that was her mother on the phone, lukewarm fries might get him killed.

He moves further into the room, putting one bag on the table. As he moves toward her, there's one bag held out to her - along with the book.

"Got you a present."

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo looked from the bag to the book, as she took both.

"Diner's in timbuktu serving spell craft. I never knew you cared so."

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"You're just mad you haven't earned a puzzle book yet."

He nodded back to the door, hands in his jacket pockets. "I left the shakes in the car. Be right back."

[tobeclosetohim]

The book goes into her lap.
While she riffles in the bag.



Food is a beautiful replacement focus.

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

It's true.

And with his bag of food on the table, he could pull out a chair, sit there to eat.

He brings it to the bed instead, sits down beside her.

Doesn't look at her, but he's there, next to her, as they pull out food to eat.


It's the second time she's spoken to her mother in at least four months.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo balanced the fries on her lower thigh.


Eating her fries, ignoring her burger.
Turning pages on the book in her lap.
With the laptop still open in front.




"We have a witch only two hours away."

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"One you know?" Sam asks, burger in hand.

[tobeclosetohim]

"No." She ate another fry, looking up.

"But I trust the reference."

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

He says nothing. But a face is made.

It's better than not having a witch at all. But it's far worse than knowing someone personally.

"All right. Are they going to be moving in the next couple of days?"

[tobeclosetohim]

The last thing she wants right now is personal.
Personal already took her week a new way.

Personal means things get back.



"He didn't think so."

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"Good."

Because they are not moving. Not until she can move without limping.

[tobeclosetohim]

"Laptop?"

She tilted it toward him.

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

Sam looked up, napkin against his face, wiping his jaw. His eyes went immediately to the laptop to find what she was looking at.

[tobeclosetohim]

She scooted it off.

There are several screens.


A notepad with short hand information on their contact. One Melinda Schmooter. Internet browers with research on unopenable graves. As well as occult stores in the state and surrounding states.




Jo doesn't watch him.
She's back to fries and the book.

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

Which means he's free to set his food aside and just take the laptop from her. There's quiet then, his eyes tracking, clicking from time to time.

Schmooter and unopenable graves. None connected to demon deals, but some with the same blockage they'd faced. Crypts covered in cement from the inside.

There's a connection here, waiting. If they can find it.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo takes to lying back on the pillows and stretching out. She'd decide to be conscientious, but she's pretty positive Sam would just complain about covering things.

She put her knees up, together, propping the book against her thighs, and shifting the fried container to her stomach.





After five or ten minutes.

"How much do we want her to not know?"

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

Sam grunts softly, without looking up from the laptop. "'All of it' is an option, right?"

[tobeclosetohim]

"If we want to have the most awkward Sunday tea ever."

That's flippant. Toward Sam's side. After a snort.

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"You can pick out the crumpets."


He might be smirking.

[tobeclosetohim]

"Oh, Sam."

Mocking sweet, high pitched.
As she turned the page again.

"How did I ever get by before you?"

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"With difficulty," Sam replies smoothly, definitely smirking now as he clicks to the next website.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo snorted.


Before. "She'll have questions."

[not-scully.livejournal.com]

"Gee, if only we knew how to shut unwanted questions down."




It took a moment, but he looked at her.

"What's bugging you about this? Having a new person around?"