Who: Iris, Louis, Sam + Elias What: Meetings that do not go as badly as they could have Where: Peppermill Diner When: Recently Warnings/Rating: Nope
So, maybe it was cowardly, taking Elias along on her trip to meet her long-lost siblings. But, hey, he was better suited to the Hallmark moment than Sam was, and she was really fucking uncomfortable with the Little Orphan Annie routine. Touchy feely was not Sam’s thing, and this lunch at Peppermill was no exception. So, she went the chicken route, and she agreed to meet Elias outside five minutes after her siblings expected her to be there. If worse came to worse, she was pretty sure she could count on Elias to hold everyone’s hand and use feeling words, which would keep her from throwing a beer at anyone to keep from feeling uncomfortable. She waited outside in camouflage cargo pants that were belted way too low on her hips to be decent in any state, a pair of black combat boots and a gray tank tied at the small of her back. Her hair was a honeyed blonde, back to her natural color from the inky-dyed black Elias was familiar with, and it whipped at her face as she waited. She looked at her watch restlessly, and she counted as the second-hand ticked by. Two minutes, she decided, and she was out of there.
Elias arrived a little early, trailing white cigarette smoke and five years younger clean-shaven over a cleanly cut shirt the color of ripe plums that might have been the influence of Sherlock. It took Elias a double-take to recognize Sam with the blonde, and it took him another moment to decide whether or not it was more her than the dark hair. He smiled at her obvious nervousness and slid through the calm, neutrally conditioned air outside the restaurant to stand by her side. He took a drag off the cigarette, looked around for signs of incoming long-lost family, and then offered the smoke to her. “Should I have worn armor?”
Sam took the cigarette from between Elias’ lips, took the longest drag she could manage, and then she stamped out the butt beneath her boot. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just going to hide behind you anyway, and getting riddled with holes is artistic. You might like it,” she joked, giving him a wry smile that was more smirk than grin, even with all its youth. She closed her fingers on both of his sleeves, and she walked backward and through the diner door, which she pushed open with her shoulders. It was bright inside, neon in pink and purple and diner booths filled for lunch, but she didn’t turn immediately. “Just stop me if it looked like I’m going to pour something over someone’s head,” she said with a lopsided grin that spoke of nerves. A second later, she turned and looked over the crowd. “Louis!” she called out, loudly enough for nearly everyone to turn around and look. But, hey, it’s not like she had a description or anything.
The Peppermill was loud and...very neon, not the sort of place Louis usually frequented, but it had seemed like good neutral ground, where the food wouldn’t be too expensive and any talk would be ignored by their fellow patrons. Louis had picked up Iris a little early, and seated them both in a booth close enough to the door to watch everyone as they came in.
When Sam walked in, she was the fifth in a line of close calls and maybes that had brushed by their table without giving them a second glance. She was the right age, and her hair was the right color. He’d stopped expecting every woman who fit the bill to be the sister they were meant to meet, though, and he definitely didn’t expect his name to be shouted for the entire restaurant to hear. He sat up and gestured her over, his relief that she had actually come momentarily superseding his worry and his quickfire guesses of who the man with her might be. He looked old enough to be her...father. But no, no, they looked nothing alike. Good, thank god he and Iris would be spared that reunion for the time being.
When the pair came close enough to be heard without shouting, Louis slid out of the booth. “Sam,” he said, just checking himself from filling in the rest of her given name. Louis had taken pains not to overdress, despite the temptation to do so, and wore just a simple, clean blue button-down and slacks. Everything looked strange under the neon, all the colors muted and distorted, but he knew her hair was as blonde as his and Iris’, and it took real effort not to simply stare at her and look for features in kind. She had a nose a little like Iris’, and the shape of her mouth - “You clearly know my name already.” He looked to Iris to introduce herself.
Being picked up by Louis for an outing such as lunch was familiar even though years had separated them and their last meal together. Iris dressed as she always did, always had, in something simple that somehow also held an edge of refinement, a simple shift dress in a light grey, a dark blue sweater slipped over it. The situation was familiar enough that Iris was mostly able to forget the other aspect of their meeting until they were comfortably seated at the restaurant, Louis turning to look at the door every time someone walked in. The neon and bustle was enough to already set her on edge, but a few stealthy deep breaths were enough to keep her centered in the moment. Though she had to admit that the anti-anxiety medication, surreptitiously taken with a drink from her sweaty glass of ice-water, was carrying its own heavy load in keeping her calm. She hated relying on such things, but if ever a situation called for it, it was this one.
The shout of Louis’ name was unexpected, and Iris’ hands jerked slightly on the tabletop, setting her silverware askew with a metallic clink. Another deep breath had her turning to look at the pair near their table, and she offered the best nervous smile she could muster. It was accompanied by her hand, held out politely for shaking even though she didn’t rise from her seat. “Iris...” was what she managed in the way of introductions. Unlike Louis, her immediate thought at seeing Sam’s companion was not father, but lover or friend. In her mind, her experience, the age gap between them didn’t mean a thing. She expanded her gaze to include both of them, though her eyes were a touch unfocused at times, having relied only on her contacts for the outing, leaving her glasses folded in their case in her bag.
Sam was the kind of person who enjoyed the thrill before the first big drop on a roller coaster, but this was different, and there wasn’t any big payoff in the fall itself. The man at the table looked normal, a little like her father with angular features and strong cheekbones, and the woman looked like she was rich as fucking sin. They both looked better off than Sam did, and if Sam was self-conscious about anything in this world, well, it was her lack of wealth. It was only Elias’ warmth at her back and the fact that the man, Louis, was Neil’s brother that kept her from peace-outing the whole table, and she jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate Elias. “He’s Elias,” she said, just because it gave her something to say. She looped her thumbs beneath the huge belt that held the cargo pants indecently low on her hips, the red straps of her thong just peeking out against the soft-plump skin of her belly. She edged past Louis, into the empty side of the booth he’d vacated, and she only realized being trapped against the glass might be a bad idea after the fact. “So, Neil says you’re alright,” she said to Louis, because it was the best she could do for conversation just then. And, hey, it didn’t involve cursing. That had to count for something?
Elias, who wasn’t close enough to Sam’s hip nor possessive enough to seem like a boyfriend, yet not nearly admiring enough of the people around him to be there for any other reason, paused to keep a little back during all these introductions and preserve the temporary illusion of privacy. He saw immediately why Sam had taken pains with her hair, and he reminded himself to never mention it. Sherlock supplied information about both of these prospective siblings, noting the same hereditary similarities that Louis had and also supplying the man’s occupation and the woman’s issues with her sight and anxiety. He didn’t bother mentioning the wealth, because that much, Elias knew. He wasn’t as self-conscious about it as Sam, though, and he smiled at Louis and then (with more warmth) at Iris. “...A friend,” he explained, after Sam’s rough introduction. He perched on the end of the booth next to Sam.
Louis sat down after Sam had seated herself, sliding in next to Iris. It didn't necessarily give Sam any points into his good graces that she entirely ignored her extended hand, but maybe she was entitled such lack of politesse, considering the situation. Still, it didn't go unmarked. "Good to meet you," he assured the friend she'd brought along - an unexpected move, but, again, an understandable one. She didn't know them, and the only reason she was likely here was because she knew Neil, after all. Elias didn't look like a threat to Iris, which was all Louis really cared about. If he made Sam feel more comfortable, so be it.
Louis wasn't sure how to react when Sam mentioned Neil straight off. Maybe he shouldn't have expected she'd actually keep their discussion to herself, but it was difficult not to project his immediate concern that she'd told Neil why Louis had called her. That could wait, no matter how much worry the thought caused him. "I'm glad he was able to reassure you that I'm not an axe-murderer," he said. "I know it was out of the blue to contact you." To an astute listener, his accent placed him from Scotland, but with years of education and living in London that had mellowed it with hints of received pronunciation.
Iris drew her hand back slowly when no one shook it, eyes shifting slowly between Sam and Elias on the opposite side of the table. They were both slightly out of focus, but the shapes and colors gave her a good idea of what each of them looked like, even under the strange hue of the neon. She folded both her hands in her lap and shifted just enough to accommodate an extra body on her side of the booth. She was about to smile at Sam and Elias, to greet them, but Sam began talking to Louis, so Iris trailed off, going quiet. She kept a pleasant expression on her face, listening to the conversation flow around her, used to being a silent rock in the stream. She had no idea at first who Neil was, but it seemed to be someone they both knew, so she stayed quiet. The thought of Louis as an axe-murderer, even a possible one, made her smile, a shift of expression that was so subtle that it barely changed at all.
Yeah, social niceties weren’t exactly Sam’s thing, and if her clothing and greeting didn’t give it away, the lack of handshake certainly did. Her accent, thick Jersey and obviously nowhere near the good parts of the state, did little to hide where she was from, and the way she set her elbows heavily on the table likely added to the overall picture of who she was. And, really, whatever. She wasn’t going to hide for anyone. And maybe she was playing it up, making it worse than it was, because if she put a specific thing out there and they judged her for it, well, it was better than being judged when she was trying her hardest.
After waving over the waitress and requesting a beer (all bottle, no glass), Sam turned her attention back to the biology that was staring at her from across the table. She felt a little like a bug under glass, and she screwed and unscrewed the cap on the salt shaker as she spoke. “It’s cool,” she said of being contacted. “I didn’t mean to be rude on the phone. I thought you were a PI,” which she had. “But, yeah, Neil put in a good word.” Her voice, when she mentioned Neil, went as fond as it probably could, given her current level of stress. She turned her attention to Iris, and her expression softened a little more. “I have all brothers. A girl is kind of weird,” she admitted openly. If there was any doubt that she was the youngest at the table, the little shrug that followed that confession chased it right out the door. She glanced over at Elias, who was supposed to help keep her from looking like an idiot, thanks.
As her head started to move in his direction Elias looked up, approving of her latest comment, which he quite obviously didn’t think was idiotic at all. Of course, that might be because he thought it was warm and family-oriented and everything Hallmark that Sam avoided. Elias was watching Iris’ face as she kept her silence and listened, and he was interested in her comfort-level with the man next to her. He wondered if either of these people knew what kind of people Sam had grown up with; Elias didn’t know, but he could make some educated guesses even without Sherlock’s help. After some thought Elias decided to avoid making conversation. This wasn’t his dinner.
Iris had already settled into the expectation that she wouldn’t be speaking much, so when Sam switched attention back over to her so soon, it took her a moment to realize and then pull her thoughts together. “Girls are strange, whether they are sisters or not.” Her voice was quiet, but pitched just right to carry over the bustle of the restaurant. It had the sort of non-accent that private education bought, but a softness around the vowels that betrayed her stay in the South for the past several years. “I have both though, and you’re right. Sisters are much different than brothers.” She went quiet after that statement, looking directly at Sam and forcing her eyes to focus as much as they could. It was likely a rather intense-looking stare, and after a moment the curiosity got the better of her. She sighed and gave up, reaching into her purse to fish out the thick glasses that she then slipped on carefully. Once she had them adjusted, she looked back up at Sam and blinked, eyes appearing even larger behind the thick lenses. “Ah.” She turned her head to look at Louis, a brief lift of lips that counted as a smile, and then back at Sam, comparing without making any judgements. After several back-and-forth glances, she nodded and then slipped her glasses back off, returning them to her bag. “How many?” she asked as the glasses were captured safely in their hard-sided case, not realizing that enough time had passed to make her question about Sam’s brothers confusing to anyone trying to follow the conversation.
All the mentions of Neil weren’t exactly boosting Louis’ confidence immensely. He tried to look on the bright side - Neil might be the only reason Sam had even come. Maybe it was a good sign, too, that Neil hadn’t contacted him since Sam had talked to him. He thought about asking her how that conversation had went, but refrained. He didn’t want to give her the impression that he didn’t want to be associated with her, because it wasn’t that. He watched as Iris sized them both up slowly, and waited until she’d finished to say anything more. “I’ll second that question,” he said. He knew how many siblings he’d seen on paper, but he hadn’t finished checking to be sure no one else had been adopted out aside from him and Iris.
“Seven brothers,” Sam admitted, her tone a little defensive, protective. She knew how that sounded. No one had seven of anything these days, and it didn’t take a whole lot of genius to figure out that you didn’t end up sounding or acting like Sam with money in the bank. “The oldest one is ten years older than me, and there’s a couple that are younger. I’m twenty three.” She had to force herself to give up the information, like holding it close to the chest kept her family hers. “But it was cool,” she quickly added, a correction, because whatever, she didn’t want them getting the wrong idea. “It was crowded, but fun. Wild. Moms had some money when she was young, but she ran away to marry Pops, and that was that.” That did make her smile, because growing up with knotted hair and scraped knees had suited her just fine. “But, and this is why I came, right? I get that finding out your folks sold you off sounds like bad news, but it isn’t. You grew up like those rich bitches on daytime television. Moms and Pops made sure you went to decent people. Moms always told us that, and we hated you for it.” Well, maybe that was too much honesty. She fidgeted with her fork, and it clattered when she dropped it by mistake. “So, you got nutcases in your head too?” Because that took the pressure off her, right? She looked over at Elias, who wasn’t getting his Hallmark moment, and she grinned. “I haven’t gotten us thrown out yet. That has to count for something.”
Sam’s words may have been defensive to start, but Iris simply nodded. “My family is large as well. It can be overwhelming to deal with everyone.” There was nothing in her tone to indicate that she thought it was strange for them to be talking about family like this, but the revelation that she had been hated by people she’d never even met, people that she was related to, made her fingers tremble slightly. She kept her gaze on Sam and ignored the nervous little tremor of thumb against forefinger, but she shifted after a moment to return her hands to her lap. The mention of nutcases startled her enough that her eyes went wide for a long, held breath moment until Alfred’s calming voice in the back of her mind reassured her. She’s talking about me, Iris. Please continue to breathe. Several more seconds passed until she was able to pull a quiet breath, hoping no one noticed how it shook slightly, and turned her attention to Louis, hoping that he would field the question until she could pull herself back together again.
Sam was, undoubtedly, rough, and Louis had no illusions about what her upbringing had most likely been like. But seven brothers? Seven more relatives he had yet to track down? He stared for a moment, unable to stop himself. He couldn't have imagined his family was about to expand so drastically. At least she didn't describe horrible circumstances, although her offhand comment that at least Louis and Iris had been raised well didn't go unmarked. It was difficult for him to grapple with. On the one hand, he had been raised by a wealthy family, and his parents had never been anything but good to him. Iris had also, as far as he knew, had a similarly positive upbringing. On the other hand, he'd been lied to all his life, sold off like unwanted goods. Perhaps he shouldn't have cared, but it was hard not to.
Louis' train of thought was broken when Sam mentioned nutcases in their heads. It took a moment for the words to connect, and when they did, his brow raised a little in surprise. She knew Neil, didn't she? Of course. "Well. What are the odds of that?" he said. "Maybe it travels along family lines," he added, half a joke, half a serious thought. He glanced over to Iris, studying her briefly before speaking again to take the attention off her. He hadn't thought about it, but of course the mention of insanity would have made her feel accused in some way. "Is that why you're here in Las Vegas?"
Sam could tell she’d freaked Iris out, though she didn’t know why. She assumed maybe Iris wasn’t all out and proud about whoever roosted in her nest, but that was cool. She put up two hands, a universal gesture of whoa, it’s fine, but she didn’t get her hands more than a few inches above the table before Louis spoke. “Yeah, whatever, I was just curious,” she explained, figuring maybe she should care a little more about telling people about the thing in her mind, but she assumed since Neil- and since Elias too, and she’d seen Louis’ name on the journals, and it wasn’t a big, huge stretch to assume Iris had one too. “Yeah. I was living in Jersey before the book came, and I came out here once it did.” No mention of leaving husbands behind, or of current drug-dealing girlfriends. Nope. “Anyway, I assumed since I saw you talking to Neil on the journals-” She shrugged, directing her attention to Louis and not caring if Louis knew she’d been doing some digging of her own. The topic of family seemed lost, and she suddenly felt like showing up had been a terrible idea. “So, yeah, here.” She pulled a picture out of her pocket, the ends curved inward and the picture lined with dirty fingerprints on the back. It looked like a theme park, the picture, a ferris wheel in the background and a wood boardwalk underfoot. In the picture, seven kids stood around a happy couple. Some of the kids didn’t wear shoes, their coats were frayed, and their mouths were all stained with varying degrees of cotton candy. The couple was looking at each other, and they were both blonde and young, and smiling. She shoved the picture across the table.
The picture slid enough to end up close to Iris, and after a still second she retrieved her glasses again, slipping them on and then lifting the picture close to her face. She studied it for a long time and finally smiled slightly. She handed it over to Louis and turned her gaze back to Sam. “You looked happy.” The quiet moment of study had allowed her to calm again, allowing the medication in her blood to do its job, keeping her a fuzzy distance from her anxiety over the situation. “I don’t... I didn’t bring anything of mine.”
The picture somehow wasn't what Louis expected. Reading around what Sam had said, he got the feeling her family - their family - had been rougher than she was letting on. But the picture didn't speak to that. The picture fit in neatly with the story she had spun, of a happy family who were simply poor, and nothing worse than that. Even the couple in the photo looked happy together. He felt a small, short pang at the faces of his parents. Had they ever thought about him after he was gone? About Iris? "Neither did I," he said to Iris, distractedly. "But that's alright. It's a nice photo," he said, directing that to Sam, looking at her more closely. He'd had enough time to get used to her presence that he could really take in the details of her, the camo pants and combat boots. She was nothing like his sisters in the Donovan family. He didn't mind her roughness, but it was going to take some getting used to. Her frankness, however, he liked so far, so long as she wasn't hard on Iris, but that seemed unlikely. "So you can be contacted through the journals, then?" Good to know.
“I just figured you’d want to know what they looked like,” Sam said, letting go of the picture, leaving it on the other side of the table where they could take it if they wanted - or not, whatever. She downed the beer when it came, one swallow and her throat working hard so she didn’t need to stop for a breath. Her back of her hand came across her mouth, wiping it dry as the bottle was lowered, her fingers stained black beneath the edges from her welding, burns on her wrists and fingers from too many years with a blowtorch. “So, yeah. Neil can get hold of me other ways if you need it,” she added, because if Neil wanted to pass along her door or not-work number, well, that was cool too. She just wasn’t going to write it down on a piece of paper like this was some Hallmark commercial. Anyway, Louis was brass. Or he had been at some point - he carried himself like the law, and she’d seen the inside of a cage too often to miss it. She glanced over at Elias, all nervous energy and a shoulder shrug of apology. Iris got a warmer smile, and it was obvious that whatever else Sam was, she was definitely a smiler - the lines were all in the right places and the tip of her lip met her eyes and warmed them. “Sorry I’m not the hair-braid Barbie type,” she said in honest apology, before lifting her heavy boots onto the seat and climbing over the back of the booth to freedom. “Thanks for the beer.”
Elias thought the whole thing would have gone better if someone had ordered a whole lot of food and they’d done this under a whole lot of sunshine, or at least a skylight. His family had always done better (even if it was only shouting at each other) in those situations, but the memories were sheathed in the haze of time, as opaque as fine gauze and much, much thicker. He’d looked on the photo with interest, obviously never seeing it before, but he didn’t make a move to touch it, nor did he open his mouth to interrupt until Sam’s boots clunked on the booth next to him and he looked over just in time to duck under a swinging sole. Elias, with his usual boneless, half-remembered grace, was up and next to her before she could bolt entirely. He put a hand out to catch her lower back, not fast nor painful, but familiar. He lowered his voice for her benefit alone. “They don’t want a type. They just want to know you.”
Iris startled when Sam suddenly climbed up over the back of the seat. It happened so quickly that she hadn’t had the opportunity to respond to anything that had been said, and a quick-cold flare of disappointment flushed along her spine. It may not have been the most comfortable situation, and she may have been fighting tooth and nail to keep herself pulled together at times, but that didn’t mean that she wanted it to end quite so suddenly. On the other hand, she couldn’t blame Sam for running. Not when most of the nerves in her own body were screaming at her to do the same. It was another surprise when Elias moved, quick but fluid, to keep Sam from fleeing too far. She took the moment to offer both of them a half-certain smile even though Sam’s back was turned. She didn’t know what Elias had said to Sam, but it had at least halted her progress. “I’m not either. Not really. Not as much as my sister.” She didn’t add that a good portion of her Barbie years had been taken up by doctors and tests and hospitals.
Louis hadn't expected Sam to flee so quickly either, and he felt guilty, like he'd done something wrong to make her want to run. It surprised him when her friend stopped her in her tracks, and it really drew his attention to Elias for the first time since he'd sat down. That her friend would be the one to try to keep her here was the last thing he would have thought, and he appreciated the effort, at the very least. "I think my sisters would be deeply offended if anyone ever tried to get them to braid hair or dress like a Barbie doll," he offered. He pulled the picture a little closer with the tips of his fingers.
Sam wasn’t expecting the hand at her back, and the surprise alone was enough to still her, even if Elias’ words made her feel chastised in a strange way that made her skin itch from inside. It was like getting called out by her father in front of friends she wanted to impress or something, and she wasn’t down with it. She considered stamping on his toe, but she didn’t want to make a scene and, whatever, it’s not like they could hear what he’d said, right? Maybe he was telling her something private, something intimate. Yeah, sure, she could cling to that. It made it okay for her to look over at Iris for the comment about dolls, and she gave her a shrug and a genuine smile. “Listen, this shit, it’s all new for me, and I’m not really great at the whole feeling thing,” she admitted, which might be the understatement of the year. Thrills? Sure. Feelings? Not so much. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re cool. I do. This is just weird.” She glanced back at Louis when he tugged the picture closer, and she tried to imagine his sisters. She really didn’t know much about Neil’s family - well, except for the rich as fucking sin part - and she had to shake off the curiosity. “I’ll post on the journal things about getting together or something,” she said, not really addressing either of them. But she mean it. They might be different than her brothers, but Sam put a whole lot of faith in family, when all was said and done. “One on one, maybe.” She looked over at Elias, her expression all see, I behaved, and then she jerked a thumb at the entirely male construction crew waiting across the street to get started after the lunch break. “They’re waiting on me,” she said, which luckily was the truth. “Thanks for the beer.”
His point made, Elias backed off both physically and metaphorically, letting Sam stand at the edge of the table rather than behind the booth to say her much more committed farewells. He put his hands in his pockets, and then, appearing to remember something, he turned around to glance at the small black journal he took out of his back pocket. Iris wouldn’t be able to see the moving handwriting, but Louis would. Elias didn’t see the point of hiding that he was in the same boat on that count, even if he wasn’t related to any of the strange people sitting here. As Sam prepared retreat, Elias smiled at the two at the table, lifting a long-fingered hand in farewell as he tucked the book away. “Nice to meet you.”
Sam took that farewell to be for both of them, and she gave Louis and Iris one last look, before ducking through the diner crowd, leaving Elias and the others behind without another word. She shoved through the front doors, glad to have a full afternoon of back-breaking work ahead of her. It was just what the doctor ordered, and then she’d let that impossible Christine go through the door, because it was stupid, thrill-seeking and plain idiotic - which was precisely what she needed.