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- ([info]tinieblas) wrote in [info]rooms,
@ 2015-04-25 13:34:00

Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry
Entry tags:!ocean's eleven, *log, cristián martin-argüelles, meredith janssen, neil donovan, sam alexander

Ocean's Eleven: Cris, Meredith, Neil, Sam
Who: Cris, Meredith, Neil, Sam
What: The worst idea ever A double-date
Where: The park, Ocean's Eleven
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Language, at the very least, but who knows what else

Sam still wasn't sure about this, yeah? Ok, so it had been her idea or whatever, but Cris' initial reaction gave her pause. Yeah, he'd come around in the end, but she was still apprehensive about this whole thing. It could all go sideways, and she didn't do good with shit going sideways. But it was a done deal, and there wasn't any going back now, so she tried to think good thoughts or whatever. She didn't believe in that thing, sending good energy into the universe or something, but she was willing to grasp at straws, ok? She was nervous. She knew this was going to be hard, and maybe she should have just left shit alone, but that wasn't her.

The park had been Cris' idea, and since she didn't have anything better, she'd messaged Neil with the location and hoped for the best. Ok, so she'd thought about bowling, but flying bowling balls could really do some damage if someone got pissed. Yeah, no, park was definitely better, even if she didn't think sweating was Meredith thing. She hadn't ever met Meredith, but there were pictures in the penthouse suite at the Venetian, and Meredith reminded Sam of Chloe, yeah? Prim, proper, scrubbed fucking clean. All the things Sam wasn't, even after a year of not hitting the needle.

Jeans and flowers, a tank underneath in case it got too hot, and she was decent enough, if you ignored the hip and belly bared by the ultra-low jeans. She'd left the dog home, though Rodin loved this particular park, but the last thing she needed was her fucking service dog raising eyebrows. So, yeah, the dog stayed home, along with her medical bracelet. There was a syringe of Fosphenytoin loaded and tucked in the bottom of a picnic basket that included all the makings for burgers - turkey, beef and tofu - and she found a good spot with some shade, a grill nearby and she texted Cris to bring charcoal and starter fluid. Blanket stretched out, she kicked off her boots and unbuttoned the plaid to reveal the braless wifebeater beneath. And then she paced as she waited, clove burning sweet between her fingers.


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Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-25 06:38 pm UTC (link)
Picnics in parks weren't the kinda thing Cris did a lot, if ever. He took Teresita to the park a lot and the two of them would toss a ball around, play frisbee or, if a court was free, play one-on-one basketball (where he had to help lift her to the hoop, as was only fair). Sometimes they'd just walk or he'd push her on the swing—or, more recent, he'd sit and watch her, since she wanted to do it by herself. But picnics not so much. No one wanted to sit on the still-wet ground of newborn spring. That, and there were hotdog stands everywhere, and they were a treat the both of them earned after all that running around.—Sometimes people would get together from work—before all this door stuff—they'd play touch football or square up against another precinct in baseball. That was the kinda stuff Cris was good at. He was competitive and he was athletic, and working up a sweat always made him feel better.

Picnics... were debatable.

But, he was gonna try, for Sam. He had a bag of stuff she'd asked for—charcoal, starter fluid, a frisbee, and, wishful thinking ahoy!, a football. It was heavy over his shoulder, but it didn't bother him. T-shirt, backwards NY cap, and jeans, he walked the short hike through the dry heat of Vegas to the park, trying to find the grill under some sprig of shade that would have a hot blonde gringa looking nervous and probably smoking like a kretek chimney.

He probably shoulda been more worried about this than he was. It really could go sideways fast, some accidental long pass of a glance, a brush of contact he deemed inappropriate, all that, but he wasn't. He had a list in his head of all the stuff he could do if he felt stressed or if he felt some well of anger coming on, courtesy of too many fucking anger management classes, and he was determined to behave for Sam's sake. This was gonna be rough for her, and all he could hope was that his presence would be a positive, even if it niggled at him un poquito that it hurt her feelings so much to see the guy with someone else. But, only a little bit. And he got it. Like he'd said during their video call thing, he got it.

Plus, he was still keeping his promise about not doing a damn thing 'til after this whole spiel, and he'd probably be pleasantly distracted by the sight of Sam running around chasing a frisbee more than anything else—hopefully. He was working on those feelings of inadequacy too, and he thought he was doing okay. He thought he'd managed to separate the stuff in his head good enough that he got that she could still want to be with Cris himself and still feel the way she did about Neil without those feelings needing to be expressed as something more physical. It took a lotta deep breathing, but he'd got there. He was gonna try to make this date thing as smooth as he could. He had to. He wanted to.

Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't still competitive, and it didn't mean he would n'tkick whoever's ass in frisbee, cute or not. 'Cause he would. With gusto. He grinned, almost lazy, when he saw Sam pacing, the invitation of cloves on the sickly-thin breeze drawing him up to her. She looked good. Nervous, yeah. He could feel that coming offa her, but she looked good, belt of skin low between flowers and denim. There was dark-blooming warmth in his gaze and in the slip of his hand low around her back, palm too hot on that strip of skin.

"Hey, mami." He gave her a kiss, if she let him, a little lingering, a little evident of dearth of contact, that hand low pressing her close. "You look good." He brought the bag around until it hit her in the ass and smiled. "Got your stuff." And then he kissed her one more time, reassurance there in part of lips. He managed to bring fingers up between them, to her chin, where he tapped once smartly as he pulled back with some reluctance. "It's gonna go good, hm? Les prometo a mí mismo me comportarse."

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]tinieblas
2015-04-25 07:01 pm UTC (link)
She kicked off her socks, bare toes in the dry Vegas grass, and there wasn't any dew here, yeah? It was Spring, which meant the days were a bright 60 degrees, and it was gorgeous fucking weather. Still some bite in the air, but not the blistering desert summer that Vegas carried well into the Fall. Yeah, no, this weather was gorgeous. And the locals were thin-skinned, running around the park in sleeves and thinking it was still chilled, but she knew Cris would think this was nearly summer or whatever. Sam just liked being outdoors, even stressed how she was. It helped, and this shit would have been more nerve-wracking inside, yeah? So, it was good it wasn't a bowling alley, even though she thought Neil and Meredith would have preferred a nice restaurant or something. Yeah, ok, that made her nervous too. Everything made her fucking nervous, and the clove's brown paper burnt down fast to her calloused fingertips.

She didn't see Cris approach, but she knew it was him from the familiar feel of the hand against the small of her back. Entitled, yeah? And she turned her cheek and kissed him for a long, lingering second before leaning away to put the cigarette out on the trunk of the tree, bare toes pressing into the grass to make sure the embers died. A fire was so not on the fucking list of what they needed, yeah?

The open fabric of her flowered shirt flapped when she turned quick in response to the slap to her ass, and she shoved at his chest and grinned when he said she looked good. "You don't look bad either, papi," she replied, stealing his backwards cap and settling it on her messily loose blonde hair. But she was tense, yeah? It was projected in the line of her shoulders, in the distracted way she kept looking around, and she had no fucking idea why she did this shit to herself. She should have just screamed at Lou, yeah? It would have been futile, but peaceful. Instead, she'd opted for the most stressful fucking scenario possible.

Cris said he'd behave, and she smiled at him and touched calloused fingers to his cheeks. Ok, yeah. It would be fine. Somehow. She took a deep breath, not bothering to hide how fucking uneasy she was, because she'd be all smiles and fucking pretense once the other couple got there, yeah? So why bother now.

Hand on Cris' stomach, and she nudged him toward the grill. "Get it started? IDK that Neil has any fucking idea how to start a grill." What she wouldn't give for a beer, but she settled for pulling a soda from the basket. She popped the tab, and she sat down on the blanket and fished her sketchpad out of the backpack she'd tossed near the trunk of the tree. Pencil in her hand, and she leaned back against the trunk with her legs crossed like a girl in school, and she sketched.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-25 07:26 pm UTC (link)
When she took his cap (entitled, yeah?), Cris grinned at her, fingers still turning her chin upward, even as she shoved at his chest. And he saw her smile, but he saw the way she kept scanning, looking for their ...guests on the bone-dry horizon, he could feel the tension in her shoulders, even where his hand rested on her waist, and he could tell Sam was regretting this. He could read it in her eyes when she looked up at him, smiling, rough fingers on his cheeks, when he promised to be good—unsure, concerned, tense, tense, tense.—If Cris had his way, they woulda gotten together before this to burn nerves off together. That wasn't just a four-day-embargo talking either. Like I said, working up a sweat helped the guy, searing through those aggressive fumes that lived in his veins, reactive to fire, was always good. It woulda kept him less stressed and, okay, maybe it was assumption or entitled, but he figured it'd make Sam feel better too.

Pero ya era demasiado tarde. They were here now, heat-sapped grass beneath Sam's toes, both of them clothed, and the girl's stress radiating out like brittle metal bent too far, the kind you knew was gonna snap, but there was no safe way to ease it back.—Before she got him going toward the grill, Cris chased her mouth once more with his—and it was slow with the danger of extreme heat kept in check behind it. But it was slow, and he opened his mouth on hers to kiss her deep, his hand dropping from her chin to her throat where it settled open-palmed and splayed, and he tried to bleed some calm into all the contact by forcing her hand, by making her hit the brakes when he knew her foot was stomped down on the gas in her brain.

Then, he reeled back, an unhurried thing, unbothered by the tether of saliva between lips, and he told her one more time: "It's gonna go good, mi amor." Like it was a promise he could make. Then, just before he broke away from her as she went for a soda, he snatched the hat back in a stretch of fingers that masqueraded as kind touch. He grinned at her, his mood buoyant. He slapped the thing back on backwards, swatted once at Sam's ass before she sat, and went to the grill on sneakers that puffed dirt up from desert ground with each step.—He emptied the overused grill, all gnarled and sun-spotted black, of old ashes that blew into white shirt uncaring. He opened the charcoal, and started to work, glancing once at Sam where she sat on seat of roots, drawing, and he gave her a smile and a wink.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]incharge
2015-04-26 02:45 am UTC (link)
He considered cancelling this double date multiple times, but in the end Neil decided to go through with it. Meredith had agreed, and so had Cris, and while it could go very badly it might not; that was what he was hoping for. It didn't have to be perfect, just civil. A chance for him and Sam to show their respective partners that there was nothing to worry about. It was outside of his comfort zone, admittedly-- picnics in the park weren't very common in his life. Walks in the park, a nice scene park, perhaps, but not this. Sam was right in thinking that dinner, a nice restaurant, was more along the lines of his idea of a date, but maybe... this might not be so bad. Casual, yes? Parks were casual. Carefree. And causing a scene would be less appealing in a public place where families might see.

Not that he wanted to cause a scene. No, he very much wasn't interested in confrontations whatsoever. He and Cris weren't hotheaded teenagers fighting over a girl; he intended on behaving. He hoped the other man felt the same.

Since his usual attire of business casual wasn't very appropriate in their intended setting, Neil was dressed down. He hadn't really known what, if anything, to bring, since booze was out of the question and it didn't occur to him that they might play some sort of athletic activity. Not that he wouldn't be willing, getting sober had also come with a health-conscious mindset and he took care to stay in shape now. But, again, this was outside of his comfort zone. It also didn't help that the double date consisted of him, his girlfriend, his ex, and her boyfriend, especially since there was tension between all four. He tried to push that aside, however, and decided the least he could do was bring dessert. Pie. Everyone liked pie, didn't they? (Apple.) And surely that was appropriate for picnics, his family hadn't exactly been that type.

The drive there was relatively quiet, but once they'd parked he gave Mere's hand a reassuring squeeze before they got out. It would be fine. Of course it would be fine. They were all adults, they could handle this. He found the spot easily enough, Sam on the blanket and Cris over the grill, and he approached with a smile. "Hi."

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]ex_perspecti86
2015-04-26 04:01 pm UTC (link)
Of course she had agreed. What kind of person would she be if she was the only one against this group date? So she had agreed when Neil had asked her, had agreed with a smile and a nod of her head, but she had her reservations. If anything, it was sure to be an interesting afternoon.

Picnics weren't something that she normally did, and it really wasn't something that her and Neil had done in the years they had been dating, but Meredith had to admit the draw of one. A casual afternoon, no airs to put on. So she dressed down in something comfortable, her fingers laced with Neil as they approached the sight of the picnic. Cris was already at the grill and Sam was on the blanket drawing, and Meredith felt immediately out of place standing there. But she did her best to hide it with a smile, pressed up against Neil's side, as she gave a wave with her free hand.

"Hey." It was a casual greeting, as short as she could make it, the wind tousling her hair for a moment before she reached up to smooth it back down.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]tinieblas
2015-04-26 10:04 pm UTC (link)
The kiss had calmed her a little, yeah? That touch of hand and the warmth in its wake. Once-again hatless, Sam had a new clove lit, blue-dark smoke billowing up to the tree leaves, and she stopped sketching as she watched Neil and Meredith approach. She was making a study of them, yeah? Just not for the sketchpad that she set aside on the grass at her hip. Meredith was younger than Sam expected, though why the fuck that was the case she had no fucking idea. Maybe because Sam remembered the name from Vegas, yeah? So she assumed Meredith was older, but the redhead was as pretty as the pictures in the penthouse suite suggested, which wasn't exactly fucking heartening or whatever. Sam wasn't particularly insecure about her looks, yeah? But that shit was still hard. She watched the squeeze of hand that was caught with an artist's scan of inky blue and, yeah, ok, at least she wasn't the only nervous one in the fucking park.

But, whatever, everything was going to be fine; if sh could just convince her shaking fingers of that shit.

Sam stood, and she put the new cigarette out on the tree trunk behind her. The remnants of the clove tucked behind her ear, where blonde tangled in the barely-there Vegas breeze, and she took a few steps past the grill (and Cris) to greet the newcomers, like she was some picnic-version of Suzy Homemaker, and what the fuck? She almost groaned aloud. Instead, she smiled, gapped teeth and no tongue against the back of the line of white. "Hey. At least it never rains in Vegas, yeah?" So fucking forced. She moved forward to greet Neil in an unthinking hug, which she remembered was probably not the right fucking thing just in time. Step forward, truncated movement back, and reached back a hand to settle on Cris' shoulder. "Cris, Meredith," she said unnecessarily, like the identification wasn't a fucking given.

And then, she laughed at herself and shook her head. Hands on her hips and nose crinkling in the midday sun, she tipped her blonde head back up to the sky, the sun bright, and reminded herself that everything was going to be fucking fine. "I suck at this shit, yeah? Cris is starting the grill, because I figured Neil had no fucking clue how," she admitted with a grin and a squint into the sun. Fuck it. This shit would either crash and burn, or it would go ok. Stressing wouldn't change that.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-26 10:42 pm UTC (link)
He saw them coming from the corner of his eye, but Cris didn't turn to greet the other couple immediately. Sam looked at them with an artist's eye, details fine enough for oil and comparison. Cris regarded them too, but with the unseen skepticism of a cop's observation—detail-oriented too, but not for later expression. Just a divisive glean of information like cutting fat from bone—Meredith: white, late 20s/early 30s, tall—near 6', redheaded, dressed down in clothes that still had iron seams of unwear—an approximation of 'down', hand in Neil's and shortness of greeting showing nerves and a perpetual sense of feeling out of place among Neil's past (and maybe present now), rictus of attempted smile to be polite; she wanted to be thought well of. Neil: same as always, dressed down too but with sneakers that were too white in the rubber and sole to be as casual as they tried to suggest. It was passivity or nerves or lack of social grace or all three in some combination that kept his greeting clipped, but he smiled too, less forced than Meredith's, but it didn't get as far as his eyes; Neil regretted agreeing to this, but came without the courage to change his answer.—At least, that was what Cris' black gaze read from the grill and he took that stuff to be true until proven otherwise. He trusted his gut by instinct.

And then there was Sam. He tried for reassuring with her, but it didn't work. Chain-smoking cloves, jeans low on her hips, needing to be hitched up, but going untended to, her acting like she thought there was some line to toe she couldn't see and it was stressing her out. She was smiling, lurching toward Neil as if for a hug and drawing back like he was open flame she felt the heat of just before he raised welt of blister, shrinking back to her feet to lamely put her hand on Cris' shoulder—like she just remembered he was there—for introductions no one needed. She laughed. She said she sucked as a kinda mea culpa, and she stared up at the sky for half a second like she had to remind herself no one was gonna die.

All that Cris got in a couplea seconds of a graze of glance, without turning away from the grill that he'd just got lit. Orange moved like something alive in the charcoal.

Maybe it had something to do with bad habits, and he was trying real hard not to slip into them just now, not when Sam needed to at least have him not to worry about, but Cris' mind automatically stacked him up against the gringo. Maybe a shrink woulda boiled it down to the moments he spent on his sisters' bed, all their friends over in a giggling gaggle, and they'd start talking about all the white boys they liked. Even the girls who called him sweet names and kissed him—they'd pick at him, tell him his skin was too dark, like theirs wasn't. Tell him it was too bad papito would be poor, it was too bad he got his padre's temper. Tell him should get himself with a white girl, have light-skinned babies the world would love. They'd tell him this in Spanish, they'd tell him like it wasn't themselves they were insulting too. And maybe that had something to do with it, but whatever it was, it came without him wanting it to.—His skin was sun-dark from his afternoon on the beach with Sam, and his shoes, his shoes showed traces of wear—lotsa wear—mud caught in the treads, scratches in dirt-grayed rubber, heel worn down. He could work a grill, yeah, 'cause he was a guy who'd always had to do things for himself, 'cause he had only sisters and his mami made him do it when the neighbors dragged their rusted thing out in the summers, after they got all the bugs and old mail someone was stashing in it outta the teeth of the thing. Yeah, he was just some Cuban guy, bad manners and a backwards cap.—And maybe Neil was nervous, but Cris felt stuff closer to the skin, another point in the gringo's favor.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-26 10:45 pm UTC (link)
He tried not to think about it, 'cause he knew it wasn't about him, and he knew Sam was looking at Meredith and checking herself off against the tightlaced redhead, she was seeing Educated, Refined, Pretty, and taking each one to heart—like look how far Neil hadta go, the opposite enda the spectrum, she messed him up so much. He knew that kinda stuff was tumbling through her head, so he finally leaned away from the grill and its haze of heat and his arm went low around Sam, a kinda unthinking possession. The fingers near the waist of her jeans played with denim, slipping beneath the band and hooking.—It wasn't meant to be a show of anything. Cris woulda done the same whether they were alone or not. He prolly woulda done worse. (No, he woulda. He was going on four days here, and maybe that seemed like nothing, but he was used to at least being allowed to touch himself. Christ probably hadn't been so proud since before Cris figured out his dick could get hard.) He was just a tactile guy and it was second-nature to him. The whole hand-squeezing for reassurance thing, and cutting it off there? The rich gringos could have that.

"Hey," he said to the both of them, and he smiled, and it read real, it crinkled warm in the corners of his eyes. "Hope you brought sunscreen. You're all gonna burn worse than the burgers would if Sam made 'em." Cris' hand dragged up from Sam's waist to tap two fingers under her chin, arm looped around her shoulders. He nodded at the spread of blanket. "You don't gotta ask for permission. Sit. Tell me what kinda burger you want and I'll get 'em goin'."

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]incharge
2015-04-27 03:45 am UTC (link)
Being determined to do and say the right things would have been much easier had Neil known what those things were. They were all standing there and smiling, pretending like this wasn't awkward-- or maybe he was just overthinking the awkwardness of the situation. One hand in Mere's, the other holding the pie in its white box and his smile widened, only a touch forced, at Sam's comment about the lack of rain. "Yeah," he agreed. It was probably a good thing, too, that the hug was aborted before it could happen, she thought better of it and he stopped himself from moving forward into it like they greeted each other by embracing all the time. Boundaries, right? It would be good to show the two, Cris and Mere, that they had them. Or maybe trying too hard would be counterproductive. He squinted into the sun; he really wasn't good at this. But he should be, he should be able to fake it well enough and maybe he might even managed to relax for real.

He waited through introductions, and he managed a laugh that was slightly more genuine when Sam admitted that she sucked at this. Well, at least she wasn't the only one. "I'm not very good with a grill, no," he admitted, a glance at Cris, and he noticed the touches between him and Sam without focusing on it. Not that Neil wasn't affectionate, but in public it just wasn't something he did. The arm around her, fingers near denim, he wasn't tactile like that. No, hand holding was enough for him. He did remember that Sam thought he should work on showing Mere he wanted her, but they could do that in the privacy of their own home, not here.

The realization that they were still standing there came slowly, and he finally stooped to set the pie down on the blanket. "Sunscreen is for the weak," he joked, but he tugged on Mere's hand when Cris told them to sit; standing was becoming very awkward. "Medium well," he said, a glance to the woman at his side; he started to sit, but then stopped. "Do you... need any help?" It seemed right to ask.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]ex_perspecti86
2015-04-27 03:00 pm UTC (link)
Oh, Meredith saw that step forward, the way her arms shifted as though to begin a hug. But she also saw the step back, the way she halted before anything had really begun. Maybe she was being hyper-aware of this girl that Neil had been involved with before, but Meredith just couldn't help the way her brow rose in question at the sight. Nothing more was said though, and she was glad that Neil hadn't even budged from her side in reaction to it.

There was a smile, a laugh at Sam's admission that she wasn't very good at this, and Meredith tried not to judge. Tried her very best not to be rude, to instead be polite, to be sweet. There was, though, a slight tilt of her head at the way Cris' hand slipped down to the waist of Sam's jeans, but no, Meredith didn't really want that. Holding hands might have seemed a bit too polite, but neither her nor Neil were really into those sort of public displays. Those sort of moments were for home, for just them, and Meredith was far too possessive of those sort of things to share them with the rest of the world.

So she smiled and she gave Neil's hand a tight squeeze, dropping down to the blanket on her knees at the tug Neil gave to her hand. "Medium well for me as well." She wasn't a prim thing, not really, and in jeans, there was no reason to sit so carefully. So her legs were folded in front of her, hands in her lap, bare ankles below the hem of her jeans with feet clad in black and white Chuck Taylors. "Hopefully the tree'll give us enough shade to keep from burning too badly," she commented, leaning back on one hand, watching Neil offer to help.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]tinieblas
2015-04-27 03:35 pm UTC (link)
Sam's mouth hung a little open at how polite Cris was, yeah? She expected him to be foaming at the mouth or whatever, and she appreciated that he wasn't. As for the touching, she didn't mind it; it was reassuring in a tactile way. When she'd been with Neil, she'd tried to force him to do the PDA thing sometimes, and it never went good. She wasn't about privacy or whatever; she just didn't care. Life in a shitty and crowded New Jersey tenement, where a bunch of siblings shared the same bed, it made everyone immune to the need for privacy. And it wasn't like they were pawing each other, yeah? Ok, so she was tense, and maybe she didn't know how much was ok around someone she'd dated, lived with, whatever. Were there rules for that shit? she had no fucking clue, just like she had no clue that Cris was conducting some detailed study of the other couple, like Mere and Neil were suspects that he was tearing about fiber by fiber and sole by sole. Yeah, no clue.

She thought she covered that almost-hug pretty good, because Cris was polite. Ok, so maybe that shouldn't be a key-in, but she figured he'd be gritted teeth and that vein throbbing in his neck if he'd caught it, and he wasn't. It made her relax a little, grin, and she took a deep breath.

Then she looked at Meredith, and that was a fucking mistake. The rise of copper brow was unmistakeable, even if Sam didn't put it together with the aborted hug right away; she wasn't good at cause and effect like that, yeah? She acted and reacted, but she didn't parse shit through. But she saw the look, and maybe she nudged closer to the grill as a result. One step, and then she told herself she was being a fucking idiot. It was all good, and she was imagining shit. Not that imagining shit was something she normally did, but she knew she was nervous or whatever.

But Meredith's tilt of head, that was so not fucking imagined. She followed the other woman's gaze to where Cris' hand rested, the judgement there unmistakeable. She saw herself reflected in those eyes, and she came up short. Maybe decent people didn't do shit like that, and she'd thought that back then sometimes too, yeah? She just hadn't cared then, and now she did, and that quirk of brow and tilt of head, they immediately turned this into something other than casual and making Meredith feel welcomed.

But, yeah, ok. It was fine. Neil offered to help, and Meredith sat, and Sam really didn't want to plant her ass on that blanket. There was reluctance in her step as she moved forward, and she wanted a fucking smoke. She closed the buttons on her shirt self-consciously as she moved, fabric covering the thin white beneath, and she went to get the picnic meats, to hand over to Neil if Cris accepted that offer to help.

Then, she dropped onto the corner of the blanket, ass against her heels, and she pulled out a coke, remembering belated to offer one to the redhead with calloused fingers that still bore some blue paint under the nails. Maybe she was the only one that caught the looks, and she didn't want to make a big deal about it. So, she smiled at Meredith, gapped teeth and no money to fix them when she was a kid, and she tried to think of some bullshit to say that would sound polite. Instead, "not into PDA, yeah?" slipped out of her mouth in those rough Jersey vowels. Fuck.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]ex_perspecti86
2015-04-27 03:38 pm UTC (link)
It was good that things weren't going so badly, at least not in Meredith's opinion. Neil was being polite, Cris wasn't casting daggers around, and Sam was... well, she was Sam. Meredith had to admit that she was having a difficult time picturing Neil with her at all, but he had been in a different place in his life at that time, so perhaps that was it. But still...

She took the soda that was offered to her, even going so far as to say 'Thanks' in return before she cracked it open and took a long sip. Sweet and cold, it was just the thing to drink outside, wasn't it. The can was frosty in her hand as she sat it down on the blanket, keeping her fingers on it to keep it from spilling all over.

Whatever it was that she expected Sam to say to make idle conversation, those words weren't what she had imagined. There came that tilt of her head again, followed up quickly by a smile, teeth white and straight and no, her parents hadn't needed to fix them to make them look this way. "Not particularly, no. There's a time and a place for it, but I've nothing against other people if they want to do that, though." Not that she wanted to be included with those people, but any haughtiness she might have been thinking did not come through in the words. It was just a sweet statement without anything heavy or judgmental weighing it down.

"It's nice that you don't worry about that, though. Other people seeing you." And okay, maybe there was something else in those words sneaking through, lacing through the vowels with a hint of judgment. The smile softened them though, and Meredith took another sip, sitting up a bit straighter with red hair against her shoulders.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]tinieblas
2015-04-27 03:51 pm UTC (link)
A year in therapy had taught Sam to be a little more in-touch with her feelings, yeah? She still wasn't great about understanding them, but she got the gist of when she was headed for a spiral. This was a fucking spiral just waiting to happen. Kneeling there, waiting for Neil or Cris or someone to take the uncooked burgers from her trembling hand, she felt like she was on the corner of a street, yeah? Embarrassed like that, and it was fucking stupid. She knew it was fucking stupid, and she knew no one could make her feel anything, that she was the one who gave that control away.

But she sucked at logic, yeah?

But, ok, Meredith's reply about PDA wasn't bad, yeah? She could see it. She even started to agree about it. Time and place, and some people thought the time and place was different than others. "It's just affection," she began. "I mean, fucking someone in public, ok, maybe that's bad, but some affection isn't, yeah?" she asked, and she didn't even think about her language, because she was being pretty restrained for her. At work, she never cursed; it was a learned thing. But she was too tense to keep the word from slipping. In fact, she missed it slipping altogether, because Meredith was going on about other people seeing, and about that being ok.

Yeah, ok, she wasn't fucking nuts. She wasn't imagining the judgement there. Inky eyes watered, but she wasn't going to fucking cry. No fucking way, yeah? Maybe she sniffled. "Yeah, no, I don't mind anyone seeing me do anything. I'm trashy that way," she finally said, because it was easier, yeah? To meet that shit head on. "Some guys like that." Which was completely hurt talking, but she was too tense to reel it in.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-27 05:20 pm UTC (link)
Maybe it was the privacy thing for Cris too. He was never inappropriate in front of his kid, but he'd grown up in a tiny apartment, and in a culture where touch was just a fact of life—not even that. It was integral to expression. What he was doing, hand on Sam's waist like that, there wasn't anything wrong with it. It didn't even occur to him until the redhead tipped her head like some yappy lapdog that anyone might think there was. He hadn't come up around these kindsa people—rich, white, proper, and he could code-switch with the rest of 'em—he could defer on the job, sidle up to the powerful and make 'em think he respected them—but he was barrio through and through, family gatherings where people sat on each other's laps, food thick and hot in the air, kids playing together, wrestling.—And, yeah, the 'sólo esto' handholding thing wasn't for him either, but he wasn't sitting there training his eyes on the distancing lack of contact the way Meredith watched his palm pass over Sam's white skin like it was obscene.—But he got it. Yeah, he got it. Él entendió.

Gringa didn't like it. Like it was vulgar, something so coarse and base as—what? Affection?—See, Cris' response to that kinda thing was as inborn as the expression of affection itself. It was like any authority when you were someone who grew up rough. You hated it and you got back at it by spitting in its face or grinning wolf the whole time it tried to bend you to its will.—And, yeah, there were times where it was hard to see Neil and Sam together, in his head, but it wasn't some kinda... It was opposite for Cris. He thought Sam was too good for Neil. Guy who couldn't even touch her, hadn't even fucked her with any skill, who'd left her with weight so heavy on her she collapsed, she felt worthless—yeah, no, fuck Neil. The guy was restrained in a way that didn't fit Sam, but Cris didn't sit there and think the word 'trashy.'

Maybe he was too like Sam to see it. He'da fucked her in the park if he could. He fucking dreamed about that, yeah? ¿Y qué?

Whatever. He hadn't even gotten a chance to respond to Neil's offer to stand with him—at the 1-foot long grill while Sam forced herself (and he noticed the jerk-tension of muscle) to join Meredith on the blanket. They hadn't gotten around to taking the package of hamburger from Sam's hand, but he knew, as soon as that caveat came, about not caring about people seeing PDA, that it was done. He felt it like someone stuck a match to his veins the way you do the wick of a stick of dynamite. He didn't have to see the swell of tears like a storm broiled over black-blue to immediately jump to defensive, like a caged animal with hackles raised and teeth bared.—Sam said some guys liked trashy and that was more than enough.

Cris wasn't good with passive-aggressive, he wasn't good with scornful eyes. Maybe he wasn't supposed to react, but he couldn't stop himself. His anger crashed down in waves.

"You kiddin' me?—Is this a joke?" It was to Meredith and her fizzing soda. It was harsh, and Cris circled close to the blanket, grill forgotten, coming up behind Sam, his knees to her back. 'Cause he knew white girls like Meredith from the job. They were the kind that ended up playing games on other people, hurting them to amuse themselves like everything in the world was for them, and he knew with a clench of gut that her innocent gringa smile, straight white teeth like you could cover decay with veneers and think it masked the stench,—he knew the venom in it.—Cris put a hand down, reaching, to start helping Sam get to her feet, to get her away in some protective gesture, the way you pull someone back from a hissing snake or a bully. He pushed the packaged meat from her hand rough and he tried to take her hand in his. Black eyes hard on Meredith, he didn't even bother yelling at her. He had words—lotsa of 'em, but right now, he just cared about Sam and the fact that he wanted to get her away from the cockroach on the blanket. "Ven," he told her.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]ex_perspecti86
2015-04-27 05:32 pm UTC (link)
Everything happened too quickly, from the swell of tears in Sam's eyes (and why was she crying? Meredith didn't see anything in her words that should make someone cry) and the way Cris grabbed at her to pull her away. For a moment, Meredith just sat, eyes widened in surprise, and then she was up on her feet, indignant.

"Are you just looking for a way to be offended?" she shot back, not even glancing towards Neil. "Because it seems that no matter what I say, she's going to find some way to be offended by it. I never once called her trashy, nor did I even think that. I said that it was nice she didn't mind it, that she didn't care if someone saw. Not everyone feels that way, you realize. Not everyone can just do as they want without thinking about the people around them and what they might be thinking. So I apologise if I err towards conservative and think that it's nice that other people don't think that way!"

She grew shrill as she shouted, hands balled up into fists of frustration, cheeks blazing a shade of red nearly as bright as her hair. "And maybe I'm a little bit envious that I can't be like that, that I'm not comfortable being so open. But I never said it was trashy, so stop looking for things to be pissed at me about!"

Meredith turned sharply, arms wound around herself, the motion upsetting the can of Coke that sat on the blanket, and she marched away, picking a direction at random to walk in. She didn't look back to see if Neil followed, didn't wait for him to run after her. He would if he felt the need and she wouldn't beg him to do so. No, she was just tired of being made into this horrible person. Yes, she had opinions, and yes she had thoughts about the others that she shared the world with, and no, those thoughts and opinions weren't always popular or nice, but she wasn't horrible. And that Sam had nearly started crying over her comments... Too much was being assumed, and everyone was so quick to take offense at a moment's notice, and she just couldn't do it.

She didn't cry, but her cheeks burned hot as she ambled down a small hill, shoes skidding for a moment, until she came to sit hard on the grass. Everyone seemed to think she was out to get Sam, to make her feel bad, and honestly, that was the last thing on her mind. She knew quite well that Sam would always hold a place in Neil's world, and that didn't bother her, even if everyone around her seemed to think otherwise. Neil loved her, told her that he loved her. That's all that mattered to her.

But with everyone else... it was a mess that she couldn't even think to start poking at.

Her hands dug into the grass at her side, sparse and not quite green enough, a handful pulled out and tossed into the light breeze that rustled through the city.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]tinieblas
2015-04-27 07:28 pm UTC (link)
Neil liked this kind of woman, yeah? Mean and nasty under a veneer of fucking innocence, and that made the hairs on Sam's arms rise like quills on a porcupine. Protective or whatever, and she was really trying to make this shit work, she was. And maybe she would have simmered, calmed, Cris' knees at her back and only a slight wince when he shoved the meat out of her hand like that, rough. But she reached up to take the hand he offered, and she would have simmered - maybe. But she never got a chance to figure that shit out, because Meredith was talking, and Sam stayed there, ass against her heels, and she listened.

"You are so full of shit," Sam finally replied, before the redhead took off. Quiet, yeah? But there was no fucking way she was going to just sit there, Cris' hand outstretched and Sam's fingers starting to shake like leaves in the non-existent Vegas wind. Meredith grew more shrill, and Sam just watched her spin a fucking story that wasn't true. Sam actually laughed a wet, broken laugh when the woman wound her arms around her stomach like she'd taken some fucking blow, when she knew Cris probably had a thousand fucking things he wanted to say that he was holding back.

She watched Meredith bail, and something snapped. Fuck that. Fuck her. Fuck everything Meredith had said since she gotten to this fucking hotel, and this peaceful outing? It was all Sam's fault, but she forgot that as she stood and moved away from Cris and the hand he offered.

She followed the redhead, and she stopped before the woman seated on the grass. And, yeah, ok, so Meredith wasn't crying, but Sam was, messy and dirty and she didn't even give a fuck about that. Like she didn't give a fuck about the dangerous pallor of her skin, or the shaking of her hands. She looked down at Meredith, and she didn't yell or scream or pounce the other woman and yank out fistfuls of red, because she'd always lacked that Alexander fighting spirit. She cried, and that sucked, but whatever.

Breathing hard. "You want to know why no one likes you? Because you're fucking mean. You're judgmental, and you paint yourself as this fucking victim, when you deliberately do shit to hurt other people's feelings and then pretend they're nuts, that you didn't do anything at all." Her voice shook. "Try being a nicer fucking person, yeah?" And, yeah, that was all hurt in the rise and fall of Sam's chest.

She knew that Cris and Neil had to be close by, so she didn't bother looking over her shoulder when she caught her breath and spoke again, paler. "We're not telling Lou about this."

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-27 08:51 pm UTC (link)
Oh, Cris had more than a thousand fucking things he wanted to say. And they were bubbling up in him like hot oil.

Just because Meredith had all the empathy of a well-bred white girl (which was to say, none), and just because her understanding extended just to her unmarred, precious fingertips, didn't mean she hadn't said anything worth crying over. You get a girl, stressed, sick, coming from a rough, rough, rough run, with a long and sometimes traumatic history with the guy this other woman's with and no closure, all this baggage about love and stuff, and only a little distance, you're gonna be sensitive. You're trying to welcome this other woman, the one he's with you feel inadequate next to, but you going outta your way when you feel bad, when you're stressing and you want her to like you, and she sits and judges you through her teeth? Yeah, you might just cry about that. The thing that made Meredith a horrible person wasn't that she said those things—though Cris mighta argued that point—it was that she was ignorant of everyone's feelings but her own—willfully, it seemed like. And that made her selfish. That wasn't an assumption. That was a point of fact.

And Cris, he was just trying to get Sam away before things escalated, 'cause he knew himself. And he would take the bait, whatever it was, and it would upset Sam and she'd tell him she was trying to make this better and he was making it worse. She'd tell him this wasn't what she wanted. He was trying to be good for Sam, but he'd take the bait. (He saw the little syringe at the bottom of that basket too, but he didn't get a chance to react to that.)—He was saying it over and over, ven, to Sam, clenched jaw and all, just before Meredith exploded with entitlement, and Sam responded, leaving his hand hanging there, waiting, even as he saw her start to tremble. She took off as the redhead tried to flounce off, all kindsa privilege and superiority in her stomp, a white girl's tantrum, and Sam hounding her.

Yeah, he followed. He was faster than either of them and he didn't miss much.

He didn't disagree with what Sam was saying through her tears. She was right. Meredith was mean. She wanted to talk like she was some sweet thing, and she wanted everyone to believe it, and she was surprised no one liked her, never realizing everyone could see right the fuck through her act.

He shoulda let it go, but he was aggressive. He was pissed as he came up behind Sam toward Meredith. He was like a pitbull on its tether. He didn't look like he was going to hurt anyone, there was no threat of that, but Cubans didn't fight across the room from each other. You got up close. He was above Meredith, his hands closing around Sam's upper arms as he stepped around her, between them, and he spat words at down at his feet, fast, vicious.

"I dunno if trying will do it, huh? You come here, on her invitation to this thing, after all the shit you pulled, runnin' away 'cause no one's lookin' at you, and all the tears you cry to everyone when they don't think you're Little Miss Perfect after you do stuff like this—and you sit down, takin' her hospitality like it's somethin' you deserve—when it's NOT. It's not. You deserve nothin' from this girl, this girl you think is beneath you, whether you say the words or not; you think we can't see it, but we can—you do that, and then you sit and judge her and wanna smile about it? Like we can't see what you're doin'? You kiddin' me? You think you got money, you're better than everyone? You think you're better for Neil 'cause-a that? You think we owe it to you to like you, since, y'know, you're so nice and all? No. The best all Neil and Sam's family could do is stay away from you. I been at my job long enough to know what rotten looks like and it's you." He didn't linger.—That out, Cris turned to Sam, who he'd somehow cut in front of, staunch and protective, and he looked down at her, all waxy and white, taking her shaking hands in his, palms hot, grip steady. "Okay, mami, creo que hemos terminado aquí ahora. Estás temblando como una hoja. Vamos a tu casa."

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]incharge
2015-04-28 05:48 pm UTC (link)
Maybe Neil only saw what he wanted to, or maybe he was foolishly focused on making peace with Cris, thinking that was where the problems would be, without considering that Sam and Mere might actually be more troublesome. He didn't always see what was right in front of him; the fact that he'd dated Chloe at all was proof of that. But they were all here in this park, sun beating down, and they were all--he thought--trying, so he offered to help with the grill and there was nothing judgmental or malicious about his offer, he wanted things to go smoothly. He missed the way Mere looked at the affection between Cris and Sam, and he thought talking about PDA was mostly harmless. Alright, so he wasn't very affectionate in public. His parents had been cold and distance, his upbringing much of the same; he cared about people, very much so sometimes, without knowing how to show it. But everyone was different, and he didn't want to compare and contrast their relationships.

He did, however, since ever so slightly when Mere remarked that it was nice, Sam not caring about who saw her. Even if she didn't mean anything by it, the words carried a sort of... judgment. "Affection isn't bad," he began, even though he could feel this double date and the possibility of it going well slipping through his fingers. "You're not trashy, Sam, she didn't mean--" But his words were useless, he might as well have not said anything at all. Cris stepped forward and he did too, positioning himself at Mere's side out of instinct, a protective thing, even though Sam was the one whose eyes watered with hurt at the perceived insult. But she didn't need protecting, she had her boyfriend for that. Mere needed him. He put a hand on her shoulder and yes, maybe they should just go, Cris pulling Sam to her feet and this was a bad idea, it had been from the start.

But he wasn't expecting Mere to stand the way she did, and he wasn't expecting her voice to raise as it did. The hand on her shoulder slipped to her upper arm but he didn't pull, didn't tug, he just... stood there. Ineffective. His eyes closed briefly and if he'd been a religious man, he might have sent up a prayer to whoever was watching. "Mere," he said quietly, thinking that it was best if he could calm her down in private, and he could talk to Sam later or something. His hand dropped as the redhead stalked past him, arms around her middle, and he watched her for a few seconds before turning back to the pair. "I--" What he'd meant to say, he wasn't sure. But it didn't matter because he was too slow, always too slow. Sam followed his girlfriend and Cris followed her, and Neil was left to follow in their wake. He was tired of this, he was. So, so tired.

Their words, Sam's hurt and Cris's anger, barely registered. He got the gist of what they were spitting down at Mere, about her cruelty and judgment, horrible words hurtled down and Neil stepped between Cris and Mere, even though there wasn't much space to do so. "Stop. Just stop." He reached for Mere's hand to pull her up, away, before the situation became any worse. "This was a bad idea. I'm sorry." He glanced to his side. "Let's just go. All of us. Just call it a day." It wasn't a suggestion. He started pulling Mere away, and he didn't even say anything about Louis. Of course he wasn't going to tell him. What did it matter? He didn't like Mere anyway, and he had enough to deal with as it was.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]ex_perspecti86
2015-04-28 08:34 pm UTC (link)
In her nearly thirty years in this world, something that Meredith had rarely ever been called was mean. Sam's words were like daggers in her back, and Cris' only served to push them in further, to bury them to the hilt until she could nearly feel the pain at the front of her chest. She didn't think Sam was beneath her, just that Sam was different from her, that they came from a different upbringing, but those differences weren't bad. Then came the comment about money, about how she had it, about how she thought she was better than other people, and Meredith nearly laughed at that. Neil's money wasn't her money, and she certainly had little to her own name. Her parents weren't well off, and it was only good grades and massive amounts of hard work that had seen her through college. She had worked for what she had, and even now, she worked for Neil, had her own money separate from his. They might have shared, they might have combined things together, but Meredith never once considered his money her own.

But then came the best part.

You think we owe it to you to like you, since, y'know, you're so nice and all? No. The best all Neil and Sam's family could do is stay away from you. I been at my job long enough to know what rotten looks like and it's you.

The words stung, and for the first time that afternoon, Meredith could feel the tears burning behind her eyes. She refused to let them fall, however, refused to let them see that weakness in her. So she swallowed hard, the anger and the hurt, her ears burning even as Neil approached with a hand reached down to her. She wasn't normally a person who was insecure, who needed the validation of others in order to find any sort of happiness, but just then, she was the very definition of the word. It made her wonder how people could say things like that, could spit out those words with not a care. They called her mean, but she had never said those sort of things to anyone - ever - about anything or anyone else.

She wasn't mean. She just didn't know her place here.

She let Neil pull her up to her feet, but as he started to pull her away, away from Cris and Sam and their poisonous words and hatred, Meredith gave a firm shake of her head and pulled her hand away from his. "No, no," she started, her voice thick though she was stubborn about letting any wetness stain her cheeks. "Maybe they're right. Maybe it's all me. Rotten, y'know." The words could barely come out before she started off, one hand pressed to her head, to the pressure that was building, her head throbbing with tension. Her chest felt tight, making it difficult to breathe, but she didn't stop.

Maybe they were right. Maybe she was rotten, horrible, all the words and labels that they threw at her. Maybe Neil was better off without her, even if the last couple of years told a different story. The world was full of maybes, and in every single one of them, Meredith just couldn't find where she fit in to the story. Coming here had been a mistake, even if she didn't have any say in it.

She wanted to talk to Loren, Loren who was honest and blunt with her, who even if he criticized, it wasn't done to hurt but to help, but he was gone and she wasn't sure if she'd ever talk to him again. And other than Neil, there was no one else.

Hard steps through soft grass, the toes of her shoes stained green, and Meredith kept walking without looking back.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]tinieblas
2015-04-28 09:01 pm UTC (link)
Sam knew Cris was trying to help, yeah? He was being protective, whatever, and maybe she needed it. She knew she was doing exactly what she was supposed to not fucking do, yeah? Get herself worked the fuck up, and here she was doing just that. She knew he was helping, or trying to, but she knew it wasn't going to make anything better. But she couldn't blame him, because she had a hard fucking time keeping her mouth shut when someone she cared about was hurt. She wasn't a hypocrite, yeah? Not if she could help it.

She heard Neil approach, and she didn't move while he shoved in between Cris and Meredith. In fact, Sam took a step back, away from the crowded argument brewing on the grass. And it had been a bad idea - her bad idea. She'd tried to make shit better for him, and she knew she'd just made it harder. She could see it in his face, yeah? How tired he was of all this bullshit, and she balled her fists and cursed herself for not just shutting up and taking Meredith's condescension. It didn't change anything, what Meredith felt about her, and this had all been a farce to make the woman feel included anyway.

"Sorry," she began, the apology offered to Neil, not to the woman with the red hair, and she nodded at Cris' suggestion they leave, because she was bleach white, and she could feel her head getting heavy, sluggish, like too much weight and too much cotton; she needed to sit the fuck down. She needed to sit the fuck down now. But Meredith started agreeing she was rotten, and she did it in that perpetual fucking martyr tone, and Sam realized the woman was never going to fucking change. Meredith would rather throw herself a fucking pity party than accept that maybe she'd been rude. And people like that, they never fucking changed.

She glanced over to Neil, and the question in her inky blue eyes was fucking obvious, it was old, yeah? Like when she'd met Chloe, and she'd never understood what he saw in her. But maybe this was his thing, maybe it was what he liked. Whatever. Hurt on her features, she reached out with a hand that was shaking and starkly pale.

She nudged Neil's arm. "Go after her. We won't follow." And apologetically. "Sorry, baby."

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]foundling
2015-04-28 09:21 pm UTC (link)
Cris didn't step back as Neil shoved between him and the redhead tearing grass up from the roots, like it'd done something to offend her. He stood his ground, chin up and eyes narrowed to points on the other man, only turning away once he'd said his piece, to try and coax Sam to leave. He didn't care how tired Neil was. He didn't care how hurt Meredith's feelings were. He just cared that Sam was paling fast. He ignored her apology to Neil and he was ready to start walking away. His fuse, the cable connected deep and fast to the core of his spine, compacted with sawdust, nitroglycerin, and blasting cap, was shortening by the second, and he needed to go as much as Sam did, he could feel it in the acid build-up on muscles, in the jump-pump of heart and pulse as it throbbed against where his fingers bit into flesh of palms.

Meredith's pity party, confetti of tears and all, erupted in full regalia, and Cris just closed his eyes, not exhausted like fucking Neil, just an attempt to calm himself, a visual cue he was counting to ten, just like he was supposed to. He sucked on his bottom lip, chin down, back to all of them, missing Sam's glancing question, and only looking up to see her trembling fingers push white against Neil's arm, her voice hurt, promising they wouldn't follow, and apologizing, baby.

He didn't turn. He didn't look at Neil. He didn't watch Meredith stomp off in Tantrum 2.0. He just stared at Sam, who he was facing, and he let his eyes drop to her hand, away from the expression on her face that said she was hurt Neil liked women like the redhead. And, Dios, he was trying. He was. But it felt crowded there on that balding hill, and all of a sudden, it was him who felt out of place, too dark, too angry, to something,—not in love with Neil? Maybe that was what it was—and he tried the ten thing again. He kept it off his face and he counted.

Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis...

Cris practically bloodied the inside of his cheek with his teeth. He gave them ten seconds to do whatever, stare or exchange looks or apologize, all that, whatever, then he took Sam's hand, the one that was bloodless against his brown palm, and he tugged at her, continuing to deny Neil's existence.

"Vámonos. vamos a casa." His voice was raw and he just kept his eyes on where their skin clashed in his hand.

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Re: Log, best idea in Ocean's Eleven: Meredith J/Neil D/Sam A/Cris M
[info]incharge
2015-04-28 11:13 pm UTC (link)
Neil just looked at her, voice thick like she was trying not to cry. And then Mere pulled away, her fingers slipping free of his, and he watched her walk away a second time, and he said nothing. Of course he'd go after her. He had to; he certainly wasn't going to stay here with Sam and Cris. He never, ever should have agreed to this. He should've been smarter.

Sam's apology drew his gaze away from the redhead's retreating form, and he shook his head. "No. You don't have to be sorry." He avoided looking at Cris for longer than a second, perhaps purposely avoiding the anger he knew would be there. But that left him looking at Sam, her hurt expression like she was bothered by his choice in women, like she didn't understand what he saw in the ones he'd chosen, Chloe and now Mere. The thing was, he hadn't seen Chloe for who she really was until it was too late. And he was sure, so, so sure that Mere was nothing like her. Not perfect, no, because no one was, but not like the ex who'd tried to kill him. He couldn't possibly be that blind.

"You don't have to be sorry." Repetition, and he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder to where Mere had gone. "But I do. I am. I'm... sorry," he said, a sigh following the words. "She didn't mean..." But he stopped himself. Neil didn't know what else to say, and so he said nothing more, just turned and walked away.

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