Re: Dinner: Cris/Lou/Sam
The first thing Louis noticed in approaching the apartment was the smell of food. Meat and spices, and something sweet - he could smell it as he came near the police station, and he imagined anyone who happened to be working tonight would be salivating. Their loss.
He had a small duffle over his shoulder with some clothes and necessaries, and he carried a plastic bag that softly clinked, bottles of wine kissing with the sound of glass on glass through their paper sleeves. He climbed the stairs, and the delicious smell grew stronger. Good as it was - and it was very good - Louis was feeling worried and a little hopeless. Discouraged.
The last time he had come to stay with Sam had been in Vegas, after he so confidently left his current troubles behind him. It had been kind of her, but in the end he always felt a little awkward, pleased as he was to have her company. Now that they were in Repose, he had so much of what he wanted - a place of his own, a compelling job (waiting for customers was boring, but selling the antiques kept him interested every day), and a clean slate.
But there was no such thing as a clean slate, was there? There was always trouble - trouble with Meredith, trouble with Iris, trouble with him. His presence in the lives of his sister and his friend was another burden on their minds, and living with them would only ensure that no one could ever completely forget about it. The best he could do to make up for it was to be as useful as possible, and try to convince Cris that he could be alone without anything catastrophic happening. He had no idea how that could be proved after what had happened to the man in the woods, but he had to hold out hope. If he didn't? If he had no hope at all that he would ever be able to live a normal life again? He knew what he would do, then. But he had already determined that wasn't a topic he would be discussing with anyone.
When he reached the top of the stairs he heard enthusiastic (on-key) singing and the murmur of voices. He knocked, once, waited a moment or two in case the pair of them were up to something he didn't want to walk directly into, and then stepped inside.
It was sweltering in the apartment. Sam was glistening and lovely, in those mustard-yellow tights she seemed to break out specifically for occasions where a little extra cheer was necessary. Cris looked good as well, at least for a man with a leg swollen to the size of a softball. "Hello," he said, managing a smile. "Did I catch you smoking cigarettes?"
It could wait. His troubles. The conversation about Daniel. It could all wait. All he wanted was to have dinner with his family, and to see his niece.
Louis didn't look much the worse for wear. He still had nightmares, but he wasn't altogether sleepless, not like before. No dark circles the size of silver dollars, just a mundane weariness, a slightly thin quality to his smile that hadn't been there since he'd arrived in Repose.
He dropped his bag as far out of the way as possible, tucking it beside the couch. Then he began denuding the wine bottles of their paper bags - not embarrassingly expensive, but not bottom shelf, either. Moscato, Merlot, Pinot Noir. "I could smell something wonderful cooking practically from the street," he said, smiling into Cris' arms at Joey, waiting to be barked at by Ted, and glad to simply see them standing there. The cigarette, perhaps, could go, but otherwise they were the picture of a happy family. It was a balm. "You're a tableau like that," he said. "We ought to get someone to paint you. Can I help?" With the cooking, of course, although Sam seemed to have things handled.