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The Perk, Sunday Evening

This weekend hadn't exactly been a good one for Sam. To start with, it had been exactly two months since Peter had died, and between that and the fact that Sam's trail on Sylar was starting to go cold, he was already twitchy when the weird messages in his voicemail started happening again. He'd thought that working with Andy might cheer him up a little, but messing with their abilities (and seeing exactly how much better Andy was at this stuff than him, although he was trying hard not to acknowledge that) just led to Sam thinking about how maybe if he'd picked up more abilities sooner, Peter would have trusted him enough to have let him be there in New York, and eventually Sam's thoughts turned so sour that he had to go outside and get some fresh air.

As cold as it was, "fresh air" turned into "coffee" and Sam headed over to the Perk. It didn't matter that it was a little late for caffeine. It wasn't like he'd be sleeping properly tonight anyway.

[Open!]

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Chuck was lurking around town since he had radio later (though he didn't know who with yet) and stopped in the Perk when he saw Sam in there. "Did something go weird with the phones again or did everyone just decide to overshare with me yesterday?"

Sam glanced up from stirring more sugar into his coffee and gave Chuck a small smile. "I'm pretty sure something was wrong with the phones," he said. "Unless you really meant to call me and offer to wear leather pants for me." Why he gave Chuck these openings, he didn't really know.

"Well, hey, I already know you liked the kilt. I suppose I'd be willing to put on leather pants too." He totally had them.

"That won't be necessary," Sam said, putting his hand up. "I can visualize it just fine without you actually doing it."

Chuck smirked. "You really need to stop saying things like that if you want me to stop leering at you."

There was a pause, and then a scowl. "You know I didn't really mean I'd visualize it," he said. "I'm looking out for your comfort level too. Kilts and leather can't be comfortable."

"Actually the kilt was surprisingly comfortable. Very...breezy," Chuck said. "Besides, I wear suits all the time. Comfort isn't my highest priority."

"It should be, you know," Sam said. "You'll have plenty of time to wear suits to do business. You don't need to wear them to school."

"I know I don't need to wear them," he said. "I just like to."

Sam rolled his eyes, but ended up smiling too. "You just need to figure out how to combine a suit and a kilt, for the best of both worlds."

"I'd never do that. It'd be too awesome," he said. "You wouldn't be able to contain yourself."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I could manage," Sam deadpanned. "I'm very strong willed, I swear."

"Please, my memory is amazing," he said. "I remember you flailing around during the kilt thing quite well."

"I was just surprised," Sam insisted, trying to sound convincing. "Like seeing you in jeans. It was something unexpected."

"No, the kilt reaction was different than the jeans one. You definitely crossed the line of surprise and went into flustered," Chuck insisted. This whole conversation was just making him want to prove Sam wrong.

"Well...it's not every day I see someone in a kilt," Sam said. Priestly didn't count, not at all.

Chuck smirked and rolled his eyes. "Why is it so hard for you to admit you found it hot?"

"'Cause...I don't know," Sam finally said. "I don't want to give you the wrong idea, and I shouldn't have even found it hot."

"One, I'm going to get the wrong idea no matter what you say. It's sort of what I do," he said. "Two, there's nothing wrong with finding it hot."

"I just--never mind, you're going to think this is even more stupid than what I usually say," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"I don't think anything you say is stupid," Chuck said. "I just don't understand it some of the time."

Sam made an uncomfortable face for a moment before finally saying, "I feel bad about thinking that anything you - or anyone else - does is hot."

Chuck's initial reaction was to say that, yes, that was kind of stupid, despite of what he just said. After pushing aside the jackass part of himself and thinking about it for a moment, he did think he kind of understood why Sam felt that way.

"I think I get it." Thought being the keyword there. He was still working on this emotional thing. "But you don't have to feel that way. Nobody is going to think it's wrong. And if they do, fuck 'em. They're assholes."

Sam laughed a little at that, but he was also pretty pleased that Chuck at least seemed like he understood him. "Is that what I should tell them? That they're being assholes?" he asked. "What if I'm the one who feels like an ass?"

"Yes, you should call them assholes," he said. "And I'm saying you shouldn't feel like an ass. Which I get is something you can't stop but, still, it's something you can try to get over. Thinking's never bad."

"I know, acting on what I'm thinking is worse," Sam said. "But I've never been good at not feeling guilty about dirty thoughts, and to have them now....it would be so much easier if I could just be like you and not care."

"Hey. I care. Kind of," he said. "I just don't like having regrets. So that's why I do everything I want and worry about guilt later. Except when it comes to thoughts. I don't feel guilty about those. Because they're thoughts."

Sam thought about that, and gave a little shrug. "All right, I think you look hot in a kilt," he said. "Not that that's news."

"Of course it's not news. I'm hot in everything," he said, smirking. "But I like hearing it outright better than trying to sift through your flimsy excuses."

"Hey, my excuses are totally solid, thank you very much," Sam said sarcastically. "They come from years of experience."

"You need some more experience," Chuck teased. "Of course, it might not be your fault. My many years of being a liar might have given me some sort of lie radar."

"Does that mean you always know when I'm feeding you crap, or only when it has to do with sex?" Sam asked.

"Always. I'd be a terrible businessman if I couldn't tell when someone was bullshitting me," Chuck said. Though, granted, it was harder to read people he trusted. "So I'm afraid surprise parties are out of the question for me, sorry."

"Actually those surprise parties are out of the question because I don't think I know when your birthday is," Sam said. "Believe it or not, knowing when someone's lying to you is a good hunter trait too."

"I bet I could fool you," Chuck said. "And it's May 16th."

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The Perk, Sunday Evening

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