text; Wednesday afternoon

[momchester]

Three things.

1: If anybody has experience dealing with the school system here, I'd love to talk to you. I'm trying to get started on enrolling a child for September, and any help or advice would be so appreciated. It's a real hassle.

2: Sam Winchester has left the island. I won't say he's gone, because he was gone a long time ago.

3: Does anybody have the power to turn a cat blue? Without dyes or hurting the cat, please.

[Anyone looking for her at her apartment won't find her there.]

Comments

[momchester]

[She follows into the kitchen, rubbing her arms with her hands trying to get used to the feeling of not having her power. It's strange, how it always fills her- it's like being lit up from the inside, having a warm fire inside her. Not having that lantern-light heating her from within is just odd. It's almost empty, but free and breezy. God, it's been nine months since she felt this way.

Jesse might catch her staring off into space a little. At some point, her thoughts meander away from what she's been trying to use to distract herself - her power situation - and thoughts of Sam dog at her.

God, it hurts. Sitting. Breathing. Trying not to think about it.

Staring.]

[hostage]

[He knows how she feels. So while he gets to work and pulls out all the cocoa and milk and Kahlua, he chatters on to fill that crushing silence he knows he hated so much:]

My mom always made the best hot cocoa. I'm not even kidding. You know how you go to IHOP or Starbucks and order a fancy cocoa, you're like - yeah, this is good. Well my mom's cocoa was way better than that. 'cause what she would do is, she'd buy this chocolate in blocks and she'd melt it down. And the milk would just be real creamy and soft. Frothy. Not like microwaved milk. But the best thing is, she'd mix in some fluff. Marshmallow fluff. You'd drink it that cocoa and it was like drinking warm chocolate air.

I shoulda asked her, you know, how she did it...

[momchester]

Mm, yeah.

[The chatter is doing its job. Pulling her (enough) out of the silence, pulling her out of her head and replacing it with nothingness. She looks over and smiles a little faintly.]

My mom was like that. She made the most amazing mac and cheese, and I could never get it right. I got it good, but never quite right. She wouldn't tell me her secret ingredient until I got married, you know? [A slightly spacy chuckle.] John likes mine, but it was never the same and you could tell. It wasn't as good.

I just- never got the chance to ask her. Before she, you know.

[hostage]

Yeah.

My mom ain't gone, you know, but it's one of those things like... Like I'm as good as dead to her. Ain't gonna be getting any kitchen pointers anytime soon.

[His back is turned to Mary, but he glances over his shoulder to add with a rueful smile:]

Alls I got is cocoa powder, anyway, so you're outta luck if you're expecting gourmet.

[momchester]

[She nods in response to the chocolate thing, and then adds-]

That's too bad. She's missing out on someone wonderful.

[hostage]

Nah.

[He's turned back to the stove now.]

Nah, she was right. Everything she ever thought about me. I used to think she was such a bitch, but I get it now, what she was scared of.

[momchester]

Everyone makes mistakes. You're a good person, unless I'm... really wrong about you.

[She doesn't think so. But god, if she was, she wouldn't be able to handle it. Too many losses lately. Mary hides the moment (and how high he ranks in her head sometimes) by looking down to pick a loose thread on her skirt.]

[hostage]

You are so wrong.

[But he's got a sweet little smile on his face when he turns around with two mugs of cocoa. He sets the alcoholic one in front of her, then settles into a chair.]

[momchester]

[She takes the mug with a soft gasp at the feel of the hot ceramic against her skin.]

Thanks.

[And she goes for a sip - ow - before remembering she has to blow on it. Smoov, Winchester.]

Wow, it's amazing, all the little things I don't remember to do anymore.