Louis' apartment: Iris, Sam, Cris
[All of Sam's memories came back in a rush that drove her to her knees outside the Ocean's Eleven thrift shop that she'd gone to in order to find something to wear to go dancing with Cris.
She'd spent the morning panhandling on the corner of Fremont, and it was a complete waste of the thirty bucks she'd earned to buy clothes for something frivolous, but whatever. She was glad to be out of Gotham's fucking smog, and she was glad to be in the blinding sunshine. She didn't like the fucking cold, yeah? Jersey born and raised or whatever, but she liked the outdoors, and she liked daytime, and the sun made her feel less depressed about everything. It wasn't a fix or anything, but it was better, yeah? And dressed in scrubs and socks, she'd made money fast. She'd gotten breakfast too, yeah? And a pair of sneakers, and she had a bag of thrift store clothes to her name.
Everything was ok until that message from Iris, the one that brought everything rushing back. Ian, Micah, and she'd shoved at the scrubs to look for scars that weren't fucking there anymore. But she remembered now, yeah? She knew why Micah was dead; she remembered.
So, ok, she was upset, fucked up, whatever. But Iris was in trouble, and some nephew she'd never met was in trouble, and she'd meant what she said about family being everything. So, she'd forced herself to breathe through it, and she'd talked to Cris, and she'd made plans for that night that didn't include dancing.
She spent the rest of the afternoon back where she'd started, Fremont and her bag of thrift store shit tucked behind a dumpster. By the time the sun went down, she had enough to pay for three nights at the 14$ a night Hostel Cat. The place was shit, but the shower was hot, and she scored a joint for free, and she managed a nap that was somewhat fucking restful as a result.
She was straight by the time she left to meet Iris in the hotel. Night-blue leggings with constellations in white, her new yellow converse sneakers, and a long-sleeved thermal in white, she was clean and blonde.
She leaned against the wall across from the Marvel door and waited, fingers trembling, and she wanted a fucking clove. Her once-again blonde hair was in pigtails, and her lower lip was worried-swollen, and she pushed away from the wall when she saw her sister approach with a little boy in tow.
Sam stared. The kid looked like her brothers, yeah? Like Shane, mostly, with that hair.]