Breakfast had been a very quiet affair, though highly entertaining to Brian, who'd spent the half hour or so watching Nim and Dean steadfastly ignore one another, at least outwardly. His meal finished, he pushed up from the table. "Got a few errands to run before we open up," he informed the pair still sat down. "I'll be back in a couple of hours." He pretended not to see the slightly panicked look that Nim sent his way, nodding to Dean in a friendly manner before taking his leave.
Dean only grunted in reply as he pushed the last bit of scrambled egg around on his plate. From the look on his face, he was lost in thought again, but whether he was worried about what was going to happen when Bobby arrived or feeling bad about his little argument with Not-Jo or just feeling like a fish out of water, it was hard to say. Probably all of the above.
Nim, for her part, didn't actually speak until they heard the sound of the outer door being locked behind Brian, dark eyes fixed on her plate for a long moment. Then she seemed to steel herself, lifting her head to flicker a glance toward Dean. "How's your arm?" she asked in a rush, not wanting to hear that she'd actually hurt him, but equally not wanting the blow and what had earned it to be dismissed out of hand.
He tilted his gaze at her when she deigned to speak to him again, shrugging. "It's fine. I've had worse." Far worse, but this....Jo....didn't seem to remember him or any of his history. It was probably better that way anyway. "You dug a bullet out of that arm once." He just sort of blurted that out, unsure why he was telling her that. Maybe he just needed her to know that whatever it was she might think of him now, they had been friends once. Or more than friends. He wasn't quite sure how to define it.
Her eyes met his, clear and touched with only a little guilt for their argument. It wasn't over, in her mind, but she was still debating whether or not to continue here and now, or to wait until he had forgotten how riled she'd gotten at his over-protective teasing. Something about him pushed her buttons. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "At least it wasn't rock-salt," she offered with a shrug of one shoulder. There was a pause. "This is a really awkward silence. I might have to go put the jukebox on."
"Sorry." He frowned, feeling as awkward as she was, but unsure how to remedy that. There had always been some sort of sexual tension between them, or so he thought, but now it just seemed awkward. "You know..." he started after a moment's contemplation. "I can't say I'm entirely unhappy to be here. I mean....You're alive, Bobby's alive. Who knows who else might still be kicking. It's just....It's....kind of a shock, you know?" He'd actually managed to string together more than two sentences in partial explanation of his feelings, which he tended to mostly keep to himself.
Honesty. The downfall of the person trying to keep herself under some kind of control. "I can understand that," she nodded carefully, trying not to revel in the thrill of his admission that he was happy that she was alive, even if she wasn't entirely who he remembered. But honesty called for honesty, and now it was her turn. "I can't say I'm not pleased you're here myself," she confessed, staring fixedly at her empty plate, as though the residue of breakfast meats and eggs could give her the courage to admit to this with some kind of dignity. "Look, I know I'm not the person you want me to be. I know I've gotta be a disappointment to you. But I know that I know you, somehow." Her eyes finally lifted to his once again. "It feels like ....like we were close, and I ....Even without knowing how close, I kinda want that back."
He arched a brow at her honesty. When had the two of them ever been honest with each other" They'd always managed to skirt around honesty or fought like cats and dogs, but beneath it all, he felt some kind of undefinable and undeniable connection. "The day you died..." He broke off, wondering if this was too much honesty. He shook the thoughts from his head, not ready to talk about that again. "You're not a disappointment. I just....I don't think I can go through that again." How many times have I lost Sam" he thought to himself. How many times do I have to keep losing the people I love"
Nim felt herself bristle, warning signs showing in the faint furrow of her brow, the way her shoulders stiffened. But surprisingly, rather than immediately snap at him, she kept her mouth shut, rising to her feet to begin gathering the plates together. "So ....what?" she asked, when she thought she might be calm enough to say something without it sounding petulant. She was almost right. "You're just going to cut yourself off from everybody, and ....and ....God, that's so selfish! You're not the only one who'd miss out. What do you want, do you want me to give you permission to become a lonely, cruddy old hermit the rest of your natural?"
He furrowed his brows at her, confused by her outburst. Women really were from Venus....or somewhere. They sure confused confused the hell out of him and always had. "I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth." He pushed away from the table to help her clean up from breakfast, gathering up dirty dishes and taking them to the sink.
"No, you didn't say it, but that's what you're implying," Nim objected, leaving her pile of crockery where it lay to push her hair out of her eyes as she looked up at him indignantly. "It sounds as though you've just decided that you're not going to let me know you again, or get to know me, just in case one of us dies. Which is just stupid." She rolled her eyes at him. "I thought you were supposed to be smart." Dumping her armful of plates into the sink, she turned the water on, reaching for the liquid soap.
He set his own pile of dirty dishes near the sink, turning then to lean against the counter as he watched her fill the sink with soapy water. "Well, since you already know what I'm thinking and feeling, I guess there's no point in telling you, is there, Miss Smarty Pants?" He pushed off the counter to finish clearing off the table, scowling in irritation, not really feeling like arguing.
"Oh, yeah, name calling is real mature," she snorted over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes as she waited for the sink to fill. "How about you actually say what you're thinking and feeling, rather than just hinting and implying and leaving me to fill in the blanks, since I'm obviously so wrong about everything about you?"
He had never claimed to be mature. He was still a kid in a lot of ways. He'd never really had much of a childhood. Forced to grow up too quickly, it had left him emotionally damaged, often reverting to childlike behavior simply because he didn't know any better. "I'm not a quitter, if that's what you think." He deposited the remaining dishes and pans on the counter near the sink and snagged a towel to start drying dishes as she washed.
Dean only grunted in reply as he pushed the last bit of scrambled egg around on his plate. From the look on his face, he was lost in thought again, but whether he was worried about what was going to happen when Bobby arrived or feeling bad about his little argument with Not-Jo or just feeling like a fish out of water, it was hard to say. Probably all of the above.
Nim, for her part, didn't actually speak until they heard the sound of the outer door being locked behind Brian, dark eyes fixed on her plate for a long moment. Then she seemed to steel herself, lifting her head to flicker a glance toward Dean. "How's your arm?" she asked in a rush, not wanting to hear that she'd actually hurt him, but equally not wanting the blow and what had earned it to be dismissed out of hand.
He tilted his gaze at her when she deigned to speak to him again, shrugging. "It's fine. I've had worse." Far worse, but this....Jo....didn't seem to remember him or any of his history. It was probably better that way anyway. "You dug a bullet out of that arm once." He just sort of blurted that out, unsure why he was telling her that. Maybe he just needed her to know that whatever it was she might think of him now, they had been friends once. Or more than friends. He wasn't quite sure how to define it.
Her eyes met his, clear and touched with only a little guilt for their argument. It wasn't over, in her mind, but she was still debating whether or not to continue here and now, or to wait until he had forgotten how riled she'd gotten at his over-protective teasing. Something about him pushed her buttons. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "At least it wasn't rock-salt," she offered with a shrug of one shoulder. There was a pause. "This is a really awkward silence. I might have to go put the jukebox on."
"Sorry." He frowned, feeling as awkward as she was, but unsure how to remedy that. There had always been some sort of sexual tension between them, or so he thought, but now it just seemed awkward. "You know..." he started after a moment's contemplation. "I can't say I'm entirely unhappy to be here. I mean....You're alive, Bobby's alive. Who knows who else might still be kicking. It's just....It's....kind of a shock, you know?" He'd actually managed to string together more than two sentences in partial explanation of his feelings, which he tended to mostly keep to himself.
Honesty. The downfall of the person trying to keep herself under some kind of control. "I can understand that," she nodded carefully, trying not to revel in the thrill of his admission that he was happy that she was alive, even if she wasn't entirely who he remembered. But honesty called for honesty, and now it was her turn. "I can't say I'm not pleased you're here myself," she confessed, staring fixedly at her empty plate, as though the residue of breakfast meats and eggs could give her the courage to admit to this with some kind of dignity. "Look, I know I'm not the person you want me to be. I know I've gotta be a disappointment to you. But I know that I know you, somehow." Her eyes finally lifted to his once again. "It feels like ....like we were close, and I ....Even without knowing how close, I kinda want that back."
He arched a brow at her honesty. When had the two of them ever been honest with each other" They'd always managed to skirt around honesty or fought like cats and dogs, but beneath it all, he felt some kind of undefinable and undeniable connection. "The day you died..." He broke off, wondering if this was too much honesty. He shook the thoughts from his head, not ready to talk about that again. "You're not a disappointment. I just....I don't think I can go through that again." How many times have I lost Sam" he thought to himself. How many times do I have to keep losing the people I love"
Nim felt herself bristle, warning signs showing in the faint furrow of her brow, the way her shoulders stiffened. But surprisingly, rather than immediately snap at him, she kept her mouth shut, rising to her feet to begin gathering the plates together. "So ....what?" she asked, when she thought she might be calm enough to say something without it sounding petulant. She was almost right. "You're just going to cut yourself off from everybody, and ....and ....God, that's so selfish! You're not the only one who'd miss out. What do you want, do you want me to give you permission to become a lonely, cruddy old hermit the rest of your natural?"
He furrowed his brows at her, confused by her outburst. Women really were from Venus....or somewhere. They sure confused confused the hell out of him and always had. "I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth." He pushed away from the table to help her clean up from breakfast, gathering up dirty dishes and taking them to the sink.
"No, you didn't say it, but that's what you're implying," Nim objected, leaving her pile of crockery where it lay to push her hair out of her eyes as she looked up at him indignantly. "It sounds as though you've just decided that you're not going to let me know you again, or get to know me, just in case one of us dies. Which is just stupid." She rolled her eyes at him. "I thought you were supposed to be smart." Dumping her armful of plates into the sink, she turned the water on, reaching for the liquid soap.
He set his own pile of dirty dishes near the sink, turning then to lean against the counter as he watched her fill the sink with soapy water. "Well, since you already know what I'm thinking and feeling, I guess there's no point in telling you, is there, Miss Smarty Pants?" He pushed off the counter to finish clearing off the table, scowling in irritation, not really feeling like arguing.
"Oh, yeah, name calling is real mature," she snorted over her shoulder at him, rolling her eyes as she waited for the sink to fill. "How about you actually say what you're thinking and feeling, rather than just hinting and implying and leaving me to fill in the blanks, since I'm obviously so wrong about everything about you?"
He had never claimed to be mature. He was still a kid in a lot of ways. He'd never really had much of a childhood. Forced to grow up too quickly, it had left him emotionally damaged, often reverting to childlike behavior simply because he didn't know any better. "I'm not a quitter, if that's what you think." He deposited the remaining dishes and pans on the counter near the sink and snagged a towel to start drying dishes as she washed.