[ Rafe can only roll his eyes at Sam's reaction which is only a couple of notches above ew cooties as far as he's concerned. but fine — Sam wants to be immature about sex, that's his own prerogative and his future fuckbuddy's problem and none of Rafe's business to fix.
at least there's the advent of baseball to give something else to talk about. true, Rafe isn't a fan— finds it a lot of stop-and-go with no concrete payout to be gotten just from watching, sees no gain to be gotten from watching others do, and it isn't as if baseball is an impossible sport to pick up for any schmuck off the street anyway —but it's better than silence because given his and Sam's track record? either or both of them would end up throwing something out into the quiet that'd more than likely lead to another snipefest of barbs and jabs. not that Sam's exactly smooth here, but still. it's leagues better than their usual.
up until Sam goes and mentions Nate.
of course Nate had been one of the first questions Sam asked after they'd gotten the hell out of Panama, so Rafe had been ready with the information. the general timeline of events. the retirement. the shitty civilian job and setup. the marriage. it'd been gratifying in a cold and bitter way to see Sam's reaction to the news mirror his own unspoken feelings— disbelief bordering on disgust because how could anyone just walk away from all this? how could a person practically dig a grave for himself then lay down in it and call it comfortable? it'd never been said aloud but Rafe could hear it all the same and after that night playing catch-up for Sam... it'd been an unwritten law that Nate not be mentioned that both had abided by.
until now.
it takes a moment to push down the bitter gut-punch sensation that hits every time he hears Nate's name, but this sure as shit isn't a hill Rafe wants to die on. so back to the conversation without addressing the last chunk of it. ]
It's their third World Series in ten years. They win this, it'll be three for three.
[ clipped? maybe. but still better than bitching back or letting the silence fill in. ]
no subject
at least there's the advent of baseball to give something else to talk about. true, Rafe isn't a fan— finds it a lot of stop-and-go with no concrete payout to be gotten just from watching, sees no gain to be gotten from watching others do, and it isn't as if baseball is an impossible sport to pick up for any schmuck off the street anyway —but it's better than silence because given his and Sam's track record? either or both of them would end up throwing something out into the quiet that'd more than likely lead to another snipefest of barbs and jabs. not that Sam's exactly smooth here, but still. it's leagues better than their usual.
up until Sam goes and mentions Nate.
of course Nate had been one of the first questions Sam asked after they'd gotten the hell out of Panama, so Rafe had been ready with the information. the general timeline of events. the retirement. the shitty civilian job and setup. the marriage. it'd been gratifying in a cold and bitter way to see Sam's reaction to the news mirror his own unspoken feelings— disbelief bordering on disgust because how could anyone just walk away from all this? how could a person practically dig a grave for himself then lay down in it and call it comfortable? it'd never been said aloud but Rafe could hear it all the same and after that night playing catch-up for Sam... it'd been an unwritten law that Nate not be mentioned that both had abided by.
until now.
it takes a moment to push down the bitter gut-punch sensation that hits every time he hears Nate's name, but this sure as shit isn't a hill Rafe wants to die on. so back to the conversation without addressing the last chunk of it. ]
It's their third World Series in ten years. They win this, it'll be three for three.
[ clipped? maybe. but still better than bitching back or letting the silence fill in. ]