Gretel (_gretel) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2014-08-30 11:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: dean winchester, character: gretel, character: sam winchester |
You're so cold but you feel alive.
Who: Sam and Gretel, then later, Dean
What: Sam’s back from the dead- again. Gretel nearly runs into someone in the hallway- again.
Where: Sleepy Hollow hall and possibly beyond
When: Back when Sam woke up from being Dead (backdated from the Slenderman plot)
Rating: Gretel’s mouth. Otherwise low/medium
Status: Log, complete
Sam's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a gasp of air as he did so. It took him a moment to realise he was in his room at the sleepy hollow. Throwing back the sheet that covered him he stood up a little shakily and stumbled his way to the bathroom. He let the water run cold into the sink and he splashed some over his face, rubbing his hand over his eyes, trying to rinse away the groggy feeling in his head. He felt a little sick and every muscle in his body ached, he wasn't sure what he'd been doing to make everything hurt like that. He tried to think back but he was coming up blank, the last thing he remembered was......Oh God. The lake. He remembered going there alone and something chasing him, he'd stumbled and that was when it had caught up to him. He remembered being more afraid than he'd ever been and then...nothing. The memory was fuzzy, and he knew there were details he was missing but he just couldn't focus on them right now. He had an overwhelming urge to find Dean, for one thing he wanted to know he was alright and for another he thought he might know what had happened out there. He came out of the bathroom, pulled on his jacket and headed out into the hall, still a little unsteady on his feet.
Gretel was in a dark mood. Once again, it seemed like things were falling apart in Marrowood, but in a much less tangible way she’d experienced in her three months being here. This new trend was beyond confusing; notes, disappearances, people feeling like they’re being followed or watched (even moreso than usual). Hansel seemed to be in another downward mental spiral, however slower this time than after the hospital horror, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to pull him out of it. That worried her, a hell of a lot more than anything else.
It had to be this place- not just what was going on now, but the fact that they were still stuck here, with no escape. Trapped like rats in a world they could only understand at a minimum, and even less so than those of the more modern persuasion. His ongoing depression was starting to take root under her own skin, and she hadn’t slept properly because of it in at least a week.
That was probably why she hadn’t been listening to her surroundings as she walked down the hall toward their room, or else she would’ve heard the footsteps on the other side of the corner. Instead, she felt them, or the wall-sized person that created them, which she all but slammed into rounding the bend.
“Fucking-!” Gretel barked out around a gasp, reacting by instinct and experience by curling a fist into the nearest clothing-material and holding its wearer at a distance, ready to punch if needed- until she saw who it was. Her expression immediately softened a couple shades. “Christ, Sam...the hell’ve you been?”
Of course Sam hadn't been paying much attention to where he was walking or whether he was about to walk into anyone, so Gretel grabbing his shirt was the last thing he'd expected. He stumbled a little and stared at her for a minute or two, as if his senses were dulled and struggling to keep up with what was happening. "I...uh....I don't know exactly." He said, frowning. "Last thing I remember....I was at the lake."
Now that she knew who it was she’d plowed into, the grip she had on him was now used to keep him from falling like a damned tree. Gretel’s look of surprise morphed into instant concern. He looked drugged and obviously severely disoriented, and apparently missing time? On the next heartbeat, it struck her.
He’d been like the others. He’d been dead.
“Okay- it’s alright now,” she said, purposefully keeping her voice in a calming register. She let go of his shirt, but laid both hands near his broad shoulders to keep him steady. “I think I know what happened, but how about you sit down before you fall on me… just long enough to get your head back.”
Sam nodded silently and, with what felt like a tremendous effort, he pushed himself away from Gretel until his back was against the wall, he slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He looked up at her with confusion etched across his face. How could she know what had happened? Had she been there and he'd forgotten? Was that one of the things he couldn't remember? He was sure Dean had been there and he knew he'd mentioned it to Gretel, so he supposed it was possible. "Something was following me. Then chasing me....I think I tripped.....that's all I....." Just then something came back to him, something that made his chest tighten as if reliving the fear all over again. "It had no face."
Gretel sighed, watching the confusion tense up his face- or that could’ve been fear. Actually, after listening to the foggy explanation, she was absolutely certain it was. She gave him some space, pressing her back against the opposite wall, her arms folded loosely over the green leather and laces that tied her corset.
How in the world was she going to explain this…
“When you went off to the lake?” she started, meeting his eyes and raising her brows. “That was nine days ago. Whatever’s been snatching people- that’s probably what caught you. And killed you.” Nothing like a blunt point. Gretel rolled her lips. “It’s this place. If it kills you… you come right back here.”
When she said the words 'killed you' it was as if someone flipped a switch in his brain and a flashback to the image of slender man looming over him appeared before his eyes. Suddenly, Sam felt everything that he'd felt that night as if it were still happening to him. The panic, the tightening in his chest. For a minute he felt like he was back at the lake and he forgot that he was safe at the hotel, relatively speaking anyway. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. When he looked back at her he seemed more lucid somehow. "Nine days? I've been dead for nine days and then just 'poof'! Resurrected, just like that? No deals? no angels? Just wake up in your room and it's business as usual tomorrow?"
Angels? The word quirked one of Gretel’s eyebrows, but she didn’t comment about it. Bigger priorities right now. Reminding herself that things that were more or less mythical in her own world tended to show up in the stories of others here- or showed up here, themselves- had pretty much become an everyday occurrence. She nodded, moving on from the thought, though this one wasn’t much better.
“I’ve seen it happen. A lot,” she said somberly. At least he didn’t look like he was about to pass out anymore. “Being ‘trapped’ here takes on a whole deeper, messed up meaning. Aside from the mind-fuck, are you alright?”
Sam let his head rest against the wall, he sighed wearily. "Trust me, I've been dead in worse places." He said humourlessly. He tried not to think about Lucifers cage. All in all several days of nothingness and then being brought back to life was a picnic compared to the last time he'd died.
He looked over at her again. "Aside from that, I'm fine." He thought for a minute. "Though I could use a drink."
The brow that’d twisted down on his mention of angels arched back up with its twin. Been dead in worse places… she’d heard him correctly. And he sounded a lot more literal than Gretel expected most would with that particular phrasing. That was definitely a new one.
Or was it, really? Marrowood was fucking with her mind, too. The longer she and Hansel were here, the looser grip she felt either one of them had on reality. And it sucked.
“That a proposition?” she asked, forcing herself back into a lighter-hearted thought process. She could not let this Hell keep dragging her down- for her own sake, and for her brother’s. A small, fairly colorless half-smile tugged at her lips. “Took your brother a lot less time,” she teased, and offered her hand to help him up.
Sam took her hand and got to his feet. He couldn't stop himself from letting out a short laugh at that. "Yeah, it always does." He said in reference to her comment about Dean. Oh crap! Dean!
While finding out that he'd been dead didn't exactly phase Sam, he knew that wouldn't be the case for his brother. Neither one of them dealt very well when the other one died, even if it never seemed to take. If Dean had been there when he'd been killed he could only imagine how his brother was coping with that and his gut reaction said 'not good'.
"Speaking of Dean, you don't know where he is, do you?" He asked her, raising an eyebrow. "If I come back from the dead without telling him again I don't think I'll hear the end of it." Not to mention the fact that if he went out drinking with a woman instead of telling him straight away there would probably be questions about the whereabouts of his soul.
“Again?” Gretel notched a brow at him, finally giving voice to the question that arose from his mention of prior deaths- those not in Marrowood, anyway. “Sounds like a hell of a story.”
“As for Dean- I have no idea where he is, but now that you’ve got your brain back in order…” She stepped back a bit, sweeping a leather-wrapped hand in toward the open door of his room- the one he’d just burst out of, she presumed. “Guessing you didn’t think to grab your phone- or whateverthehell the thing is called.”
Sam looked a little sheepish. He and Dean had both died so many times and come back that it was sort of old hat for them. He was so used to being able to talk about it in the presence of other hunters, like Bobby, and he had become comfortable enough pretty quickly to mention things like that in front of Gretel. He sometimes forgot that although they were both hunters their experiences were vastly different. "I....uh....yeah. Maybe if you get me drunk enough I'll tell you." He gave her a small smirk.
Sam's gaze followed where she was gesturing into his room and he laughed softly and shook his head. "No, I didn't. Guess that would've been smart, huh?" He said as he headed back into the room to find the device.
Gretel followed him, but only as far as the doorway itself, which she leaned a shoulder against and propped one toe across the other foot, folding her arms. “Well, you looked pretty panicked, so I guess that gives you a pass.” There was a thread of teasing in her tone, but also sympathy. He had every right to look like a deer in crosshairs when he stumbled into her, from the tale he told. “Also, far as getting you drunk, goes…”
From the cinch of her corsetted waist, one hand swung out and pointed at the little black mini-fridge set in the corner of his room. She of course had no idea what it was actually called. “That box is stocked with fist-sized bottles of shitty-tasting liquor. Even someone your size might get a healthy buzz going. If you make the same mistake my brother did and drink them all at once, that is.”
Sam busied himself trying to find the communication device he'd received on arrival in Marrowood. He wasn't sure where it would be, given that the last time he'd had it was at the lake. Did phones magically resurrect in your hotel room too? He started rifling through drawers on the night stand as Gretel watched him from the doorway. "Thanks, I'll take whatever sympathy I can get." He said with a slightly sarcastic, teasing note to his voice. He didn't like to dwell on it, but the memory of what happened was extremely jarring and he'd really rather forget about it for now.
He turned slightly to look at the minibar as she drew attention to it. "I think you're severely underestimating my alcohol tolerance level if you think a mini-fridge full of miniatures is going to get me drunk." He said as he raised an eyebrow at her. Then after a moments thought he added "but I'm willing to give it a shot."
Gretel shot him a pleasant smirk, refolding her arms and settling against the doorway comfortably. “Guess that makes it a challenge.” She nodded, curtly. “I accept. Check on the bedstand.”
He craned his neck and looked over at the bedstand as she suggested, seeing the device and scooping it up as he got to his feet. "So, you knew that was there the whole time?" He asked her, tilting his head slightly. He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do now he had it. He didn't really want to leave a voice post for Dean, his dead brother trying to call over the network probably wouldn't be the best thing if Lisa heard it. Sam was extremely conscious of trying to limit the things he said or did that might be dangerous for the fragile state of her memory. He wasn't sure how successful his efforts were, but he tried. It wasn't the sort of thing he wanted to do via text but he figured it was probably safest for now. So he tapped out a message to alert his older brother that he was once again back from the dead, stating he was fine and that he was in his room at the hotel.
He put the phone in his jeans pocket and he turned his attention back to Gretel. "If you accept you might actually have to come into the room, if you're worried about the pervy ghost it turns out he was wrongly accused." He offered her a half smile.
Gretel actually cut a short laugh, flashing a little teeth in the process.
“You two make up that quickly?” she teased, but still bent back a little, sending looks down either direction in the hotel hallway. She wasn’t even sure why; old precaution, probably. Years and years of expecting some kind of locked door to close behind her. It happened as much in her childhood as in her adult life. Satisfying her general paranoia, Gretel bumped off the wall and walked in. “And if those bottles aren’t enough- there’s plenty at the Rat Catcher. Same piss-poor quality, slightly worse atmosphere.”
Sam gave her an uncertain smile. "Me and Dean or me and the ghost?" He asked. He opened the minibar and inspected the bottles inside, they did look pretty suspicious. "Had to text him, he'll either reply or he'll head over here. One way or the other that won't be the last thing said on the subject." Sam didn't mean for that to sound bad, he just knew Dean would probably want to know what had happened, assuming he wasn't already familiar with people coming back from the dead here, and Sam really didn't want to talk about it. He sort of wanted to drink until the memory didn't bother him quite so much.
He took a small selection of bottles out of the fridge and laid them out on the floor in front of him. "Pick your poison." He said, and sort of wished he hadn't, considering this was Marrowood and it might turn out to actually be poisoned.
Gretel wrinkled her nose at his choice of words, too.
“You’re sure Dean won’t blow a bolt because I’m here before him?” she asked, crouching easily next to him and the bland rainbow of alcohol, plucking the amber colored one with the black label up from the lineup. “Seems well enough put together, good for most- but he’s wound tight- that one.” Cracking the seal open with a twist of her hand, Gretel eyed Sam expectantly. She didn’t think it necessarily took another hunter to see it, but it helped.
Sam thought about what she said for a minute then he shrugged. "He might." He said earnestly. "But, you might've noticed, it's not exactly my first rodeo." Sam picked up a bottle of dark brown liquid, twisted off the cap and regarded the bottle with a degree of caution. Then he put the open bottle to his lips, threw his head back and downed the liquid inside. A warming sensation spread down his throat, he wouldn't exactly call it pleasant but he'd tasted worse. "I told him I'm alright, but he'll want to see it for himself. Pretty sure that'll be his main concern right now, not whether I'm alone or not."
That was good enough for Gretel. Her smirk told him so, as did the small nod right before she kissed the little bottle brim and turned the bottom toward the ceiling. Whether he was used to dying and coming back or not (note: find out what rodeo means), she wasn’t about to leave him alone after that level of freak-out. At least not until his brother showed up. It was at the very least, a courtesy she expected would likely be the case, should their situations be reversed.
God- she hoped she didn’t have to see that perspective. Even more so, she prayed she didn’t have to watch Hansel go through it.
“A game then- to pass the time,” she proposed, her voice slightly raspy with the heat of whatever the hell she just swallowed. It tasted like liquid metal smoke, but with a jaunty familiarity she could live with. The empty bottle was put back on the floor, another random one picked up- this time with clear liquid and a bright blue label. “Or more accurately-” she arched a brow at him, and the same side of her mouth tugged into her cheek. “A race?”
Sam watched her drain the liquid from her bottle. He wouldn't have ever considered asking anyone to stay with him after the trauma of, not only coming back from the dead but, remembering his death, he would never say he needed it. But he would be lying if he said that Gretel's presence wasn't helping to take his mind off what had just happened. Especially when she suggested a race.
Sam raised his eyebrows at her and let out a short laugh. "A race?" He said with a hint of disbelief in his voice. He cleared his throat. "Alright." He said as he sat up slightly and picked up another bottle from the floor, a light green liquid with a dark green label. He unscrewed the cap and held the bottle slightly aloft, inclining it towards her.
“Excellent,” Gretel grinned, cracking open her new bottle.
“I pick the rules, you pick the stakes? Or other way around,” she added, readjusting her crouch so her rear rested more on the upturned heel of one boot. Her free hand also grabbed the thick strap to the crossbow lobbed across her back and looped it over her head, setting it aside. “I try to play fair…”
"Stakes? What sort of stakes could we have here exactly? I only have about twenty dollars on me and aside from a couple of weapons and the clothes on my back I have no worldly possessions. And I'm pretty sure you're not willing to part with any of your weapons, so...." Sam tried to think of something but his brain probably wasn't quite up to the challenge of being put on the spot just yet. He set down the bottle he was holding and took off his jacket.
Behind a close-lipped smile, she chuckled, but definitely agreed. “Yeah- you wish.” Nobody was trading weapons over what was sure to be a fairly quick drinking race. But, Gretel had a fair amount of experience coming up with new things to torment her brother with in downtime. She pursed her lips after a thought, then grinned lightly. “Alright then- bragging rights. Or favors. Or bragging rights and favors.”
Sam smirked. While he could appreciate the aesthetics and functionality of a lot of Gretel's weaponry, he wouldn't trade any of them for his knife. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What kind of favors are we talking here?"
Gretel tilted her head at him in that joking shame on you smirk.
“Well, that ruins half the fun, doesn’t it,” she crowed, simply for the fun of doing so. She had no solid intentions one way or the other, but general favors could be worth their weight in silver. Even if right now- they were mainly symbolic trophies, at best. “But if you’re too skittish, I’m completely okay with you basking in my glory once I win.”
Sam's other eyebrow raised to join the one he quirked at her previously. He couldn't quite tell if she was joking or not but then she called him out and he was not about to sit there and take that. "Hey now, no one said anything about being skittish. Just trying to establish clear terms so that when I win there's no confusion." He flashed a grin at her. "Rules?"
“There’s a good boy,” Gretel snickered with genuine amusement- and relief- that his competitive streak was healthy and engaged. She put her open bottle down on the floor in front of them, placing her hand over Sam’s wrist that held his bottle, indicating he do the same. Then she went about opening the others, and placing all neatly in an even row. “Very simple rules: on the mark, we each take one from the opposite end, finish the whole thing- no spilling.” Because that was just blasphemy. “And work our way to the middle. Whoever’s left drinking last, looses.”
Sam nodded. "Sounds simple enough." He said after watching her set everything up. "For starters." He added with another smirk, unable to help himself from teasing her a little. Sam's tolerance was pretty high, not to mention his metabolism, so he wasn't worried about that but in truth he'd never been very good at drinking games. Of course he usually played against his brother so that may have had something to do with it. He wasn't about to let that stop him though.
“Well, yes- for starters. I suspect to continue, we’ll have to do a little raiding in the empty rooms,” she mused, shooting him a smirk that mirrored his own. “I may be half your size, but I can hold my own. Ready?”
"Let's leave the petty theft for now and worry about that when we get to it." Sam said laughing. He shifted so that he was at a slightly better angle and he nodded at her. "Guess we'll see about that, won't we?" He said lightly. "Ready." He confirmed.
Gretel went still, her expression complete with a show-off’s gleam of pride and a smirk to go with their friendly stand-off. The pause lingered for at least two full heartbeats, then, “-go!” Her hand sprung toward the blue-labeled bottle and shot it toward her lips, bottom up.
Sam mirrored her actions, reaching for the green bottle and draining the sickly sweet liquid from it. He made a face as he finished and snatched up the next bottle in line, exhaling quickly before he put it to his lips. It smelled vaguely reminiscent of lighter fluid.
As Gretel made her way to the second, then third bottle in line, the notion that she (and also Sam) were doing exactly what Hansel had not long after they arrived may have crossed her mind, as did the way the mixed concoctions knocked him under the wagon not long afterward, but that node of common sense wasn’t particularly important right now. The third bottle contained something she would’ve called liquid sugar, and by reflex she nearly gagged.
Hansel, nor Gretel, did well with sweet things.
The pseudo lighter fluid went down surprisingly easily and was followed by something coconut flavoured that had a similar effect on Sam that Gretel's third bottle had had on her. Instead of it slowing him down however he found himself reaching swiftly for another bottle to try and get rid of the taste. He ended up with some sort of mint schnapps, it was definitely different, but not better.
After huffing a cough that felt like she’d just been breathing candy-flavored fire, Gretel tore through the next in line. So did Sam; empty after empty dropped to the conjoined pile growing between them until both grabbed their last ones standing at nearly the same time. Inhaling pine-needles in liquor form hadn’t been an easy dash for the finish line, and the noxious combination in her stomach was going to make her rethink this idea in twenty minutes or so, but she forced the last drop down and slammed the bottle on the floor- right as her companion did the same.
Gretel dragged the outside of her wrist across her lips because they were tingling in a very unpleasant way, but still managed to chirp out a laugh.
Sam had no idea what was in that last bottle, whatever it was it was aniseed flavoured and as he slammed the empty bottle down on the floor the taste lingered unpleasantly in his mouth, it did not mix well with the mint and coconut that he still hadn't managed to banish completely. He let his arm rest against the end of his bed and he brought his hand to his mouth as he let out a mix between a laugh and a cough. "Next time we do that we make sure everything is the same flavour." He said, coughing again.
“I’d say that’s part of the challenge,” Gretel replied, though her voice had been dragged through glass. She cleared her throat in an attempt at some normalcy. She also leaned back, freeing her foot from underneath her for a position that didn’t require quite so much balance. “But- yes. Let’s do that.”
Sam exhaled slowly and after he was certain that the dubious mix of alcohol wouldn't be making a reappearance he pushed himself up a little against the bed. "So, what do we do in the event of a draw? Spoils for everyone or rematch, double or nothing?" He glanced over at her with a challenging smirk.
“I think… mutual glorification,” she started with half a laugh, leaning her back against the dresser, opposite of Sam on the floor. “And definitely a rematch. Sometime later.”
The faint sound of laughter stopped Dean in his tracks just outside Sam's room door. His hand hesitated on the door knob, listening for any more signs of life before wetting his lips and jolting the door open. The look in his eyes was an interesting concoction of shock and confusion, peppered with betrayal as he cocked his head at the female hunter who was sitting next to Sam in what looked like the aftermath of a recent alcohol storm.
Though, the look quickly faded to one of relief when his eyes touched on his brother, pushing his body forward to meet Sam's in an awkward, half-kneeling hug. Even though Lisa had been quick to tell him that death doesn't always last forever in Marrowood, a part of him couldn't help but worry that, with his luck, this would be the one that would stick.
The pain of that loss wasn't something new to him, but even with the extra rage he was carrying around, losing his brother was never going to get easier. "Sammy, I..." he started quietly, only to find that he wasn't even sure what to say. Backing away, he knocked over a dark green bottle that had recently been holding alcohol, drawing his attention to it, and then to Gretel. "I see you guys already started on the welcome back party," he finished, taking a drastic turn in conversation, with a half smirk on his face.
Sam didn't miss the look in Dean's eyes as he came into the room and a pang of guilt shot through him. He knew he had stayed put and let Dean come to him because he was worried that this situation was just a little too similar to the last time Dean had turned up on Lisa's doorstep, that a memory like that could easily disrupt the wall keeping her memories of Dean hidden from her. He didn't know whether she was aware resurrection was possible in Marrowood but considering he had essentially risen from the dead the last time too he didn't want to risk taking the chance and being the cause of more pain for Dean or Lisa. But when he saw the look on his brothers face he suddenly realised how he would feel if Dean had been the one who had come back from the dead and hadn't sought him out.
He returned the embrace as best he could, attempting to convey some sort of silent apology with the action. Maybe clinging on a little tighter than he normally would have. When Dean seemed to have trouble voicing much beyond Sam's name he offered him a small smile. "I'm alright, Dean." He said softly, attempting to reassure his brother.
At the mention of the fact that they'd been drinking he looked a little sheepish. "Uh....yeah, the memory was a little much, so alcohol was sort of necessary." He shrugged and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
Gretel, who had stayed quiet and out of the way for the reunion, still wore a small, if distinctly rueful smile. The reunion was bittersweet- she didn’t have to know the brother-hunters to know that- or anything about them being fairly used to dying more than once. She figured there would be a little animosity, even if she didn’t know how deep, but she stood by her actions, and the warm smile she sent back to Dean said so clearly.
“He about barrelled over me, right out of the fog,” she explained in a calm voice, otherwise a little roughened by the noxious mix of alcohol. She had wanted to make sure Sam came down from his panic as safe and familiar as possible, before his brother came to collect him. You didn’t just leave someone to tread that kind of water alone. Gretel said nothing else of it. If Dean needed someone to angst at because of the situation, she was fine with it being her.
Gretel’s voice brought Dean’s attention back to her, where his smile deepened. She didn’t have to be a hunter to know a troubled soul when she saw it, and he knew deep down that she was only doing what any hunter in her position should have done. Got the man out of reality and tried to mold him back into their version of sane. In fact, despite his words, he appreciated her for it. Though he would have happily been the one to take care of his brother, he was glad he had someone here for him when he came back.
These were all things he wanted to tell her, but in the end nothing came out but a knowing nod in her direction. “So he owed you a drink, anyway, then?” He said rhetorically, with a near laugh in his voice. Being barrelled down by a man Sam’s size was nothing to shake a stick at, after all. “Well,” he started again, glancing around the floor with disappointment as he realized they finished off all the alcohol in the room. At least, until he remembered the flask in his jacket, which he promptly removed and opened, posing a one-sided toast towards the other man. “Welcome back, brother.” With that, he swallowed the last of his travel whiskey, giving the flask a look of dismay.
“I’m gonna need more of this.”
Sam relaxed a little as Dean's expression softened. He let his head rest against the end of the bed and listened with mild amusement as Dean and Gretel talked back and forth about him almost knocking her down. "Hey. He is still right over here." He said with a slight smirk. He sat up again. "But yeah, the least I could do was offer her a drink after almost running into her." He considered the collection of bottles on the floor and made a face. "Though that actually may have caused more trauma."
Sam nodded to his brother as he raised a toast to him. "Yeah, we were either gonna go on a raiding mission on some of the empty rooms, or brave The Ratcatcher."
Gretel’s smile held in a small chuckle, noting Sam’s pseudo-regretful look at the evidence of their challenge- which would be hitting her full tilt in about ten minutes. Probably best to trust her instincts now rather than wait until then. That’s why she sighed, and pushed herself up to her feet. She wasn’t going to intrude on what was obviously going to be a pretty personal reconnection.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she told both of them, giving the bottom of her bodice a hard tug to get everything back in place. “I got a brother of my own that’ll be sore at me for not sharing.”