thisavrou_log | And when you're crying out (closed)

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And when you're crying out (closed)

Who: Chloe Frazer and Sam Drake
When: A day after this post
Where: Sam's apartment.
What: Getting your friend accidentally killed sucks, especially when they're the shoulder you'd usually lean on to help you get over it. Time to promote a new drinking buddy.
Warnings: Drinking hard liquor, angst and associated negative feelings that go with it.

[Chloe's never been particularly good with guilt. It stems from that awful gnawing feeling in her gut when she knows she's screwed up and she has to step up and face it, so what she tends to do is not get involved enough to care if something goes wrong. It can just... fall to the wayside as collateral and she can go on living her day-to-day life and not let it get to her.

Shit happens, better to let it happen to other people.

And then Harry Flynn blew himself up with a grenade in the Himalayas and Elena had nearly died in the process and Chloe would be lying to herself if she hadn't thought from time to time that maybe, just maybe, there was more she might have been able to do to stop things from going as catastrophically south as they had back then.

But what she did do, when Elena had been dying on that stone slab and Nate had been beside himself with worry and she'd had to knuckle up get them safely back to the village, was swear to herself that her friends weren't going to get hurt because of her. Even though at that point she was pretty damn sure that Nate was in love with the plucky blonde reporter, she couldn't help but like the other woman, and from the point that she'd regained consciousness she had sincerely counted Elena as a friend, because you can't face down freaky guardians of an ancient super resin spewing tree and risk life and limb without growing to like someone who could keep their cool and handle a gun, even if that someone was someone your kind of boyfriend was in love with.

Elena was dead. Nate was heartbroken.

And Chloe wanted to break something because it was her fault. Hers. She'd failed, she'd failed spectacularly and there was no way she could apologise because how could she? How would it help? How would it make anything better? It had gone to shit and the guilt and pain of knowing that and living with it made her feel sick.

And then Nate's text had appeared and Chloe had sat and stared at the two words and felt the wave of crashing misery hit her all over again.

So she found a bottle of whiskey, poured a glass... and stared at it for a good, long while before pouring it back in the bottle. Drinking alone wasn't going to help. It would only lead to her waking up feeling more miserable and hungover and possibly sobbing into a pillow and Chloe wasn't going to let herself give into that self indulgent misery when she had no right to it.

So the next night, she took the bottle and went looking for company... and eventually found herself knocking on Nathan's brother's door]

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[If Sam was being honest with himself, he would say that this whole ordeal was hitting him harder than he thought it would have. It's not that he disliked Elena in any way, it was just that he had yet to build the sort of bond between them that she and the others had. Learning that your husband's dead brother was actually very much alive isn't exactly the easiest bit of news to swallow, and with the way everything went down with the hunt for Avery's treasure, he had purposefully kept his distance from Nathan's "other life."

But if he was really being honest, he would say that this whole ordeal was surreal. Sam is not a stranger to death by any means, but that doesn't change the fact that when it comes, it apparently comes hard. Between trying to take care of Nathan, making sure he's at least functioning, his own mind has barely had enough time to wrap around the idea that his sister-in-law is actually dead; gone in the blink of an eye before anyone even knew what was happening.

He's tired. He's anxious and restless. The world has never been particularly kind to them, but they always managed to pull through--find a way to pull their bootstraps back up and trek on. But this isn't the world they're used to and this time he knows it's going to be harder to even think about taking a small step forward. Nathan's text was just another example of that.

It's quiet in his room. Too quiet. After he made sure Nathan was okay, he had intended to go to a bar or something and relieve some of the stress, but he never made it. Somehow, it felt wrong to go out and try to enjoy himself when his brother was in such a state of mourning, but the silence and loneliness of his room is grating on his nerves.

He has to move; he has to get out. He doesn't know where he'll go, but he just has to do something: circle the area a few times, hustle a few games of pool, maybe find a warm body to sleep next to if they're both really desperate enough to forget their lives for a moment. Anything would be better than staring at the ceiling and wondering how it went wrong so quickly.

In his hustle to gather his things, Sam doesn't hear the initial knocking at the door. So when he opens it a few seconds later, cigarette hanging from his mouth in preparation of being lit, he's shocked to find somebody blocking his path, stopping short in his tracks.]

Uh--hey.

[Give him another second. He wasn't expecting to find somebody he knew outside his door. He looks Chloe over, eyes falling on the bottle for a brief second, nodding to it as he looks back up at her.]

That your first one?

Edited 2017-06-29 15:09 (UTC)

Might be. I opened it last night but I figured it's no fun to drink alone.

[She meets his eyes with a small, lopsided grin. It's not her usual, confidently playful smile. This one's somewhat sadder.]

So I did something stupid and called Harry, because what the hell, I reckoned there were some broken bridges there that a bit of whiskey could help patch but wouldn't you know it, the bastard's gone and got himself taken away-

[And wasn't that another punch to the gut; someone else she'd cared about once gone away in the blink of an eye and condemned to being dead. Cheerful thought, that. For a second she looks away, feeling raw and vulnerable and sure that if she looks at Sam for a second more he'll be able to see all of that and she's not ready to let anyone see her at her weakest. This last week has shattered her, it's been a wrecking ball that's left her foundations feeling fragile and fractured, but she's not ready to crumble to dust just yet.

Maybe it was a bad idea coming to Sam for company, if anything she's surprised he's here and not with Nate but it doesn't mean she's not glad to see him. Any port in a storm, but for this particular storm she'd rather weather it with someone she shares some common ground with.]

Which means that leaves me on my todd without a single drinking buddy to turn to because guess what? I got my tequila friend killed on a weird alien planet and her husband's definitely not in the mood to see me so... congrats Sammy boy, I'm promoting you to whiskey friend. Care to be my irresponsible adult?

[Sam is surprisingly used to caring for people. It comes with being the older brother in a family of two that had to learn to fend for and take care of themselves. So when Chloe speaks, he lets her go on, lets her say whatever it is she needs to say without even moving to light his cigarette. He's a little surprised to hear about Harry, but he's not torn up about it. As far as he's concerned, Harry was the guy who betrayed his brother and tried to kill him and his friends with a grenade. Even if he did have him to thank for the first pack of space cigarettes.]

Well, not sure how I feel about being the last resort, but I think I can handle the irresponsibility.

[Maybe just having a drinking buddy would be better than sitting alone in a crowded bar. He steps to the side, opening the door a little wider for her so she can come in.

Sam's room is not anything substantial, but it's enough for what he needs. The bed is haphazardly made, and he's got some clothes sprawled about on the floor where he left them from the night before--too preoccupied with his brother and too tired to put them in a proper place. The stagnant smell of tobacco hangs in the air, accompanied by the lingering odors of beer and shampoo.]

Make yourself comfortable. [He goes to the kitchen to get two glasses, although he has a feeling they're not going to need them eventually.] You smoke?

Nah, you're not the last resort. It's a new position, you're my inaugural whiskey friend.

[Chloe follows him into his room, looking around at the scattered clothes and empty bottles, plus the ashtrays. She's no stickler for tidiness herself so it doesn't bother her. No-one's really in the mood to do any kind of cleaning at the moment anyway. Life's too short to push around a vacuum.

It's good to be surrounded by stuff and people, and Sam's good company to be around.

She perches on the edge of one of the couch cushions and lets her gaze follow him to the kitchen.]

I don't think I've smoked since I was at uni but what the hell? I'll take a cig. Since we're being irresponsible and all.

In that case, I feel sorry for the guy who comes after me. They're gonna have a hell of a record to catch up to.

[Said as he offers her a cigarette from his pack. He'll even light it for her before lighting his own, opening a window before plopping down on the couch seat next to her. Placing a glass in front of her, he pours her a drink to the top and then does the same for his own, setting the bottle down on the coffee table between them.

Cigarette in between fingers, he raises his glass to her in a small toast.]

To irresponsibility.

Edited 2017-07-27 06:11 (UTC)

[Chloe arches an eyebrow as she lifts her glass to clink against Sam's.]

To irresponsibility.

[She doesn't know what to go for first; the lit cigarette in her left hand or the whiskey in her right. She opts for the cigarette, taking a long drag on it and exhaling with a sigh as she leans back against the sofa cushions. It's a dirty habit, one she's never depended on, but god if she ever needed a cigarette now's the time.]

If you play your cards right and put in a good performance, maybe I won't need to go looking for someone to come after you. Just depends on if you can keep up with me.

Woah, woah, woah, did you--did you just challenge me?

[Honestly, he could care less, but a drinking challenge actually seems pretty welcoming right now. What better way to imbibe liquor in a small amount of time?

Sam shifts in his seat to get a better look at her, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.]

You sure you wanna do that? I mean I was always good, but now I've got fifteen years of prison to make up for. Pretty sure I've got the advantage here.

You do realise who you're talking to, right? I'm an Aussie. We drink proper beer and get started years before you guys. Are you sure you've got the chops for this?

[And to prove it, she takes the full tumbler of whiskey, raises it at him with a smirk and proceeds to knock the whole lot back in one ill-advised gulp.

It burns all the way down, and Chloe fights back the urge to cough as she lowers the empty glass to the arm of the couch. No, it's good. She's good. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and takes another long drag of her cigarette.]

Game on, Sammy. Your move.

Well, sister, you've got another thing coming because I have been in this game since I was a kid.

[Said before he takes a long drag on his own cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he picks up his glass and swallows all of it with a little more than a small wince as it goes down. It's a little stronger than he thought, but he recovers quickly enough, refilling both of their glasses.

He sits back on the couch then, looking at her expectantly as he brings his cigarette back up to his mouth. Go on.]

[Well sir, it looks like they've got themselves a challenge on their hands.

Chloe laughs and reaches for her refilled glass, licking her lips as she lifts the glass up, her eyes fixing themselves on Sam's and never breaking contact as she gulps down her second glass. It slips down easier than the first, probably because her oesophagus is still recovering from the first drink.]

Why am I not surprised you were the precocious type?

[He watches her until the glass is empty, meeting her gaze and staring back just as defiantly. The second one is always a little easier, once you get the taste and feel for it, so he's not surprised she can swallow it so easily. Once it's empty, Sam chuckles, reaching over for his glass.]

Yeah, I always was the more advanced one. And the funny one. Comes with being the older brother.

[The contents of his own glass are gone in the next second, and he sighs contently as he places it back down to refill them.]

What about you? You got any siblings?

Oh no, you don't get to dodge the details when you're just getting to the good stuff. I know a swerve when I see one.

[Never mind that she's swerving herself. Honestly, she's drinking to forget her woes tonight, and talking about her family... well. She'd rather not.

Instead, she shifts her position on the couch, angling herself into more of a comfortable lounge against the back of it and letting her arm rest along the top after she draws on her cigarette again.]

So you were kissing girls behind the gym in primary school and sneaking ciggies in the library? How advanced are we talking here?

Edited 2017-07-28 18:52 (UTC)

[Another time, another situation, Sam would have said something along the lines of, "Look who's talking." It takes a dodger to know a dodger, and that was definitely a dodge. He knows better than to push it though, especially when someone is so emotionally unstable and grieving, so instead he offers a shrug as he sips from his glass, neither confirming nor denying her claim.]

Yeah, try sneaking out of the orphanage and kissing girls on the rooftops or trying not to get caught in their rooms by their parents. [He chuckles, taking the time to enjoy his cigarette as he leans back against the couch.] I had a uh--agreement with one of the nuns about the cigarettes though. Still didn't mean I could smoke inside, but it wasn't as big of a deal as making out with some girl. The amount of times I had to listen about the sins of sexual desire.

[There were a lot. Too many.]

[Chloe's in the middle of taking a sip from her whiskey, so when she hears 'I had an agreement with one of the nuns' some of it goes down the wrong way and she has to quietly cough it out behind her hand. She realises almost immediately that she must have a filthy mind because Sam elaborates that it was about the cigarettes and not what she had first thought.

She slaps herself against her chest for a second to to clear the airways and grins.]

Jesus, for a second there I thought you were going to tell me you'd been dirtying that nun's habit.

[Shaking her head, she takes another drag of her cigarette and exhales with a chuckle.]

Would have made all that talk about the sins of sexual desire look really hypocritical, wouldn't it? Still, getting them to sneak you cigs is good work.

[But then something registers about this little heart to heart that hadn't really twigged. In all her time knowing Nate, neither of them had ever really gone into any great detail about childhoods or families and so the news about the orphanage is exactly that: new.

And awful. Should she ask about it?]

Orphanage, huh? Sounds shitty.

[It's his turn to cough in horror, as he inhales too quickly on his cigarette at her suggestion, some smoke travels down into his lungs and he does a poorer job of covering it up than she did. His eyes are even tearing a little as he regains his breath and manages to choke out:]

What, with Sister Catherine? [He coughs a few more times before sipping some of the whiskey to help clear his throat.] Oh, God, no. No.

[He even winces, the image of her doing anything sexual too much for his brain to handle.]

No, no pretty sure the only pleasure she ever got was the thrill she got when she sent us to bed without supper when we refused to say evening prayers.

[He laughs, shaking off the image with a shake of his head and an exaggerated shiver of his body. He takes another drink, finishing off the remaining liquid in his glass to wash down the horrible thoughts before looking back over at her. The revelation that Nathan hadn't told her about the orphanage isn't exactly surprising--they rarely discussed that part of their lives with anyone--but for some reason he hadn't really thought that she wouldn't have known.

Maybe it was just the liquor in his system impairing his judgement.]

Let's just say I didn't stick around too long after we were thrown in there. [Sam shrugs, flicking some ash onto the table before putting the cigarette back into his mouth.] Latin lessons came in handy though.

What was it they say? Per angusta ad augusta.

['Through trial to triumph.'

Latin's not her thing though, sure she knows enough to passably translate a few things, but don't get her to attempt conjugating gerunds and ablatives. That's what Charlie and Nate are for.

Elena's Latin isn't too-

Chloe takes another drag on her cigarette before she allows herself to think too hard about that.

Instead, she slaps Sam on his back to stop him from killing himself with cigarettes quicker than most would expect and leaves her hand there when his choking's done.]

I've always thought nuns were a bit creepy anyway. Hated The Sound of Music as a kid. Glad you weren't too traumatised by 'em... except when your whiskey friends make you think about them doing the nasty.

Dulcius ex asperis.

["Sweeter after difficulties."

He offers another phrase casually, like it's not that big a deal. They've certainly had their difficulties, but he would still say their lives have been pretty sweet, all things considering. They've certainly made them their own at any rate.]

I wouldn't say the nuns weren't traumatizing, but...thankfully not in that way.

[He chuckles, still clearing his throat a little with the help of her patting him on the back. Some part of his brain faintly registers that her hand remains there, but he doesn't move away. Instead he reaches over for the whiskey bottle and refills their drinks before settling in his seat again. And if the movement just happened to bring him a little closer so his leg presses up against hers, well...it wasn't too intentional.]

Jesus--[He winces again at the mention of nuns doing the nasty, although the smile on his face indicates he's more amused than anything] --I just got that image out of my head. What are you trying to do, keep me from sleeping ever again?

Edited 2017-08-24 03:24 (UTC)

Well you'd be in good company with the insomniacs if it works.

[If only her reasons for staying awake were as amusing as being traumatised by horny nuns. The too real memory of dead weight in her arms, of blood and choking and Elena suffocating before her eyes... Chloe wonders if she'll ever get that out of her head.

She lets her hand drift from Sam's back as she leans forward, taking one last long, draw on her cigarette before she stubs it out and reaches for her whiskey. Instead of going straight for the drink, she nurses it in her hands and watches the way the light passes through the amber liquid and casts little golden reflections on the polished surface of the table. She's aware of the warm press of Sam's leg against hers, of the smell of cigarette smoke in the air and the residual warmth in her veins from the whiskey. It's the first time in days she's felt something other than guilt and misery and it feels good.

She knocks almost all of the glass back in one go and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, leaning back and all too aware as she does that her bare arm brushes Sam's as she moves to rest it against the back of the couch.]

Sleep is for the weak, right?

Edited 2017-08-25 17:19 (UTC)

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And when you're crying out (closed)

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