Chapter Text
Before that first Leap that changed everything, Sam wasn’t a very tactual person. His choice of expression was his words, often accompanied by very animated facial expressions. Sometimes he would clap a colleague on the shoulder or something, but beyond that, he very rarely chose any other form.
But Al’s noticed a change in Sam since he came home. It isn’t until Sam shows up at his door dripping wet with that lost puppy expression that it really hits him exactly what has changed, and it isn’t until the morning after, when Sam practically breaks down in his arms, that he realises why.
Poor kid was just waiting for his world to fall away.
There’s a part of him that worries, of course. Especially after Sam’s little episode in Al’s apartment, he eyes his friend more than he normally would, and he’s sure that Sam notices, is maybe a little exasperated at how much attention Al is giving him. He doesn’t mind it, though.
But there’s another part that revels in the change in Sam. The way he’ll pull Al in for a hug more often, even if it’s just an across-the-shoulder sideways hug that’s typical for men their age. He’ll nudge Al with his shoulder to get his attention, or tap on his arm or hand.
And it’s not just Al he does this all with. Verbena Beeks, even Gooshie—freaking Gooshie—get similar treatment, though not to the same extent Sam gives to Al. And for some reason, Al feels a little bit of pride in that. Even after all that’s happened—maybe especially because of it—he’s still Sam’s best friend, his buddy. The guy he goes to whenever he can’t stand being alone. The guy who’s willing to put him up for a few days every couple of weeks.
And honestly, it’s getting to the point where Al is seriously considering repeating his offer of Sam moving in with him. Sam’s at Al’s place more often than he’s at his own.
But that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Two guys living together just for the heck of it? What if people got the wrong idea?
What’s so wrong about it?
There’s that traitorous little voice again, the voice that has been getting on his nerves for the past month and a half, spouting stuff like this and making him second-guess his own thoughts.
But… Well, he supposes there isn’t anything inherently wrong with it. It would just be a bit strange, that’s all.
So why has he been thinking so much about it lately? Anyway, who says that’s what Sam wants?
He shakes his head and gets back to work.
“Al?”
“Yeah, Sam?” Al replies without looking up.
There’s a pause before Sam speaks. “Do you think I could come home- uh, go to your place tonight?” He gives no explanation, and he doesn’t have to, but it’s the slip-up of home that sends Al’s head shooting up. Sam is glancing away from him, fiddling with a stack of papers in his hand.
After a moment, Al chooses to think nothing of it. One minor slip-up is not something to dwell on. “Of course.”
Sam seems to sag in relief. “Thanks. I’ve got some reports to review, a couple of calculations to muddle through, so I might not be very social company, though.”
I just like having you over. Whoa, where did that thought come from? Al shrugs. “S’alright with me,” he says, his even voice betraying his sudden internal turmoil.
It’s not exactly a lie, though, is it? He looks forward to seeing Sam, and it’s different from when they go out for a couple drinks or pore over calculations while at work. He gets to see him unguarded again. For a long time after he came home, it was like Sam was wearing a mask; only recently has he been letting it drop and opening himself up again.
But Al’s been getting the feeling that there’s something else Sam is hiding recently. The little glances he keeps tossing his way, the smiles that are almost coy in nature if Al didn’t know better.
Because they’re friends, nothing more.
Why are you even thinking about the ‘more’? the little voice in his head says teasingly.
Al tells it to shut up.
Sam is gone by now, disappeared into the ether—also known as the next room. Al knows he’ll see him later—within the hour, in fact—but the absence leaves him feeling emptier than it should anyway.
They’re silent as Al drives them back to his place. Sam’s still got that damn stack of reports in his hand and is rifling through them, reading two at once, Al suspects just to show him up.
“You drive like a maniac,” Sam says suddenly, gaze still on the papers. “You know that, right?”
“So I’ve been told,” Al says with a grin.
“Should probably slow down.”
“Probably.”
They fall into silence again. Al knows Sam is just ribbing him; he isn’t bothered by it. In fact, he enjoys when Sam takes a stab at him, be it to do with his driving or his string of girlfriends and wives or the occasional—okay, fine, frequent—references to his lecherous ways. Sam may be a sweetheart on the outside, but he packs a mean punch, literally and metaphorically.
And where the hell did sweetheart come from?
Al shakes his head. He must be spending too much time around Tina or something.
They stop at Sam’s on the way so Sam can pick up a change of clothes for what has become an overnight stay. By the time they pull up into Al’s parking spot, Sam the absolute genius has made himself carsick reading those papers, and is staring out the window fighting nausea. Al helps him carry his stuff inside, depositing the files on the coffee table as Sam drops his duffle bag in the spare room. Well, Sam’s room, as Al has designated it now, not that Sam is aware.
“Well.” Al claps his hands together. “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”
“Just water’s fine,” Sam says. He claps Al’s shoulder as he walks past, the touch lingering a second longer than normal and once it’s gone, the heat spreads down Al’s arm and results in tingles in his fingers.
He snaps himself out of it—what is with him today, his mind trailing off like this?—and goes to fetch Sam some water.