OOM: The transition begins.

[isaysimplewords]

The Door opens into Cal's living room, which features a brown leather sectional couch. The color base of the room is fairly neutral, with a few colors overlaid that emphasize the framed pictures on the wall without going overboard. In short, it looks exactly like it was decorated by someone with good taste and a substantial budget who knows Cal

Comments

[isaysimplewords]

(and it's a journey all too quick
from the golden boy to the old and sick
from the luminary to the lunatic
and the difference is-)

It only takes a minute or so to get the containers stacked, with perhaps a bit too much precision, in the refrigerator. Cal, too full of angry energy to keep still, stalks through the apartment.

. . . try to have a simple fucking conversation with someone, see where it gets you, god forbid I don't agree with him every single fucking second . . .The boxes are still on the floor in his bedroom. He's been ignoring them, and Sam's been not saying anything about it. He dumps them out onto his unmade bed now, and starts shoving half-folded clothes into his dresser

[isaysimplewords]

"You were right," Cal says again, quietly, after a moment. "I wasn't - it wasn't really about you."

Sam's timing could have been better, perhaps, but - for the most part - he'd just been providing a convenient target. He doesn't seem too interested in apologies, but Cal wants at least that much to be clear.

[necessary_child]

Sam nods. "I was pretty sure."

And Cal - judging by the way Sam kisses his hair - has been pretty much forgiven.

"Do you want to tell me what is going on?" he asks, still with that same gentle tone of voice.

[isaysimplewords]

Cal is silent for a long moment, trying to sort things out in his head, decide how much needs to be (should be) told

[necessary_child]

Sam strokes Cal's hair a little, still holding him close even as he remembers once again what he wouldn't give for fifteen minutes alone with Grahame Chandler.

"Poor Motor Mouth," he murmurs, and waits to see if Cal will say anything more.

[isaysimplewords]

Cal doesn't know what that means, if it's encouragement to continue or what. He usually doesn't need encouragement to talk, and he does owe it to Sam, so he tries, searching for more words.

(Words are half the problem here - Cal doesn't have the vocabulary, or the knowledge, to understand why his anger hit so suddenly and so hard, let alone to explain it.)

He's too warm, this close to Sam - also not something that tends to be a problem - so he sits up and runs a hand through his hair.

"I thought I was - I thought I'd finished

(so it was
well this changes things you know)

being so angry at him." He'd certainly won the years-long battle with his uncle, in the end. Does he even have the right to be angry anymore?

[necessary_child]

Sam blinks up at him when he moves away, and leans back against the sofa in response.

He shrugs a little. "Maybe you will be, eventually. Maybe you won't. It's been five thousand years and I'm still pissed at dear old Dad."

[isaysimplewords]

"I don't want to be," Cal says, unaware of Sam's reaction to his moving away. "I - I won."

[necessary_child]

"I know," he answers steadily. "And you probably won't be, forever. But that doesn't mean you're wrong to be."

[isaysimplewords]

Cal shrugs helplessly in response. He doesn't quite believe that, but he doesn't want to get into an argument about it, either.

". . . I'm sorry," he says. "I don't know how to talk about this."

(I don't want to talk about this.)

[necessary_child]

Time forbid Cal actually say what he means.

"...Okay," Sam says simply. He's still looking up at Cal in faintly-hurt bemusement from the gap between them.

(His patience isn't immortal, and there's a limit to how much of this he's willing or able to take.)

[isaysimplewords]

Cal isn't looking at Sam, hasn't since he sat up and opened the space between them. Tension is returning, showing mostly in his shoulders, and he's fidgeting a little. He looks like he's still sitting only out of deference to his company, which is true. Pacing might make Sam worry more.

"Do you want some - water, or something?" he asks abruptly.

[necessary_child]

Sam rubs at his face wearily, but he can't make the frown go away. He's wondering if coming back had really been such a good idea.

"I wouldn't mind some coffee?" he answers, a short pause later.

[isaysimplewords]

"Okay," Cal says automatically, but Sam's tone makes him turn to finally look at his friend, and his stomach sinks.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I'm not - I. I have bad nights sometimes, well I mean not for a while but, sometimes, and I don't - I'm usually by myself. Always."

[necessary_child]

"Well," Sam says quietly, looking back at him dark-eyed, "This time you're not."

[isaysimplewords]

"Yeah," Cal says. "I, I guess not."

He doesn't know what else to say to that. He's pretty sure that it's easier to deal with alone isn't an option.