(no subject)

[stilljustandrew]

When Sam next comes into Milliways and visits the Bar, he will be given a note (handwritten on ruled paper with torn-out-of-a-spiral-notepad fringe on one edge) that reads as follows:

Sam --

We're back from Sunnydale.

I'm alive. I was never in any danger from Jonathan and I was an idiot to ever think I might be. Just FYI.

-Andrew

Comments

[gavemea_45]

Sam shakes his head.

"You didn't know that."

[stilljustandrew]

"I should have known. I know him. He's --"

better than me

Andrew sniffs hard, fumbles for a napkin.

"He called me his brother, do you get that?"

[gavemea_45]

Sam grows very, very still.





"Gotcha."

[stilljustandrew]

"Do you?" He looks up at Sam, eyes red and burning.

[gavemea_45]

Curtly:

"I think I know what it means to stick by my brother, yeah."

A beat. More quietly, without that same edge, he adds,

"Yeah, Andrew. I get it."

[stilljustandrew]

He sags a little, looking down again.

"Anyway." Low. "We talked about it. He was ... he wasn't happy. But we're okay."

[gavemea_45]

"But he understood, right?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah." A small, unhappy smile. "Better than I did."

[gavemea_45]

"Hey," Sam says. "Hey. Come on. Stop beating yourself up."

[stilljustandrew]

"I will," he says, the words coming out on a sigh. "I will, really. It just ... might take a little while."

[gavemea_45]

Sam grips his shoulder for a second, and says nothing at first.




Then:

"Want a beer?"

[stilljustandrew]

Fervently: "Oh frith yes."

[gavemea_45]

He peels off a few dollars from the clip in his pocket and lays them down on the bartop, tapping it lightly.

"Two, please."

[stilljustandrew]

It's earlier in the morning for him than he generally likes beer, but ... a slight comforting fuzz over his thoughts seems really, really appealing right now.

And even more appealing is the prospect of sharing a quiet drink with Sam, and not having to ask are we okay.