Re: Apartment: Sam/Russ/Louis
Louis was keenly aware of the fact that he hadn't really been face with Sam since her return, excepting that first, terrible moment. Even just talking to her on the journals, she was different. There was no getting around that. All the smirk seemed to have gone out of her, all the humor, replaced with distance he hadn't yet figured out how to make his way over. But with Neil preoccupied with the workings of the mob, and the rest of his siblings scattered to the winds, she was still the first person he had thought of to call. That hadn't changed, and so Russ must be right. She was still her where it mattered most.
He watched the lights flick on, and his sister emerge from the front door of the building. These were not the sort of circumstances he would have chosen for meeting again. She looked serious, reluctant, and Louis's shoulders sank, a little. He didn't want to be a burden on her, or an uninvited guest. A ride back to the manor would have been enough - she was the one who had insisted Russ bring him the rest of the way. Perhaps he was reading something that wasn't there. He was still at the edge of exhaustion, set determinedly against collapse, but anxious to be inside somewhere, safe and anonymous.
He slid down out of the cab and looked at her. She was still lovely, that hadn't changed. If anything, she'd grown into herself, weariness and all, and she stood there like a grim, recalcitrant rock.
Louis had no idea what to say. He had rinsed the blood from his hair. His gashed hand was tucked into his pocket, the other hanging loose and dirty. There was blood under his fingernails that he hadn't noticed, and it hadn't loosened when he quickly dashed water on his face. He was hollowed out, but still managed to focus on her completely when he stepped down in front of her, as he waited for Russ to get out and circle around.
"Thank you," he said, measuring the words carefully. He meant them, stated them with as much restraint as he could manage, and did not let them waver an inch.