Sawyer Tenneck | Car, Lodging | Elara

“I’m not dying, for the record. But I may be willing to admit I feel... slightly terrible.”

Sawyer gave a sideway glance before returning his eyes to the road. The slightest smile graced his lips as he huffed in amusement. "Is that so? I hadn't noticed."

Elara let out a tired little huff, though the smile still tugged at her mouth as she sank further into the seat. “Ja, clearly not enough.” Her eyes flicked to him briefly, unfocused but amused. “I will try harder when the car stops spinning. Which, by the way, is your fault."

“It's interesting how frequently I end up at the center of your complaints.” He had the slightest little smirk on his face, although the delivery was deadpanned.

“Maybe you make yourself too easy to complain about. And anyway, you talk to me when I complain.”

He glanced over again without moving his head, giving a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. "There are easier ways of getting me to speak with you. Starting a conversation, for example."

Then, "I distinctly remember sitting next to you for the better part of an hour watching Markus terrorize that gray horse, although I suppose your alternate approach of staring at me across warm-up arenas was sufficient for meeting your needs."

"Ach, starting conversations is very boring and you just run away anyway," she murmured, her eyes closing as she rested. "You looked so serious across the warm-up. I had to make someone uncomfortable." Her nose wrinkled slightly, though she already felt herself drifting off, never mind how much she tried to fight it. "There wasn't much to say," she mumbled. "I doubt anyone would have enjoyed anything I'd have to say about Markus."

"I had a few thoughts myself." Then, after a deliberating pause, "don't fall asleep, we should find a place to stay for the night before we run out of options. I'd prefer to have you awake for that."

He paused again, ever thoughtful.

"If it keeps you awake, I'll allow you to ask me three questions about whatever you want. I'll do my best to answer honestly and keep the conversation engaging enough for you to stay somewhat upright. Just," he pleaded, "I want you awake. At least until we find somewhere. Just in case anything happens."

Elara's mouth twitched faintly, though she still looked pale and half-asleep against the seat. "Fine," she murmured, her accent thicker with exhaustion. "Three questions." She blinked slowly, trying to collect them through the haze in her head. "First? Christmas, did I, like... do something to you?" A small frown pulled at her face. "I don't remember it properly. Only that I felt stupid after." Her eyes shifted toward him, softer but still curious. "Second? Isobel? She likes you!”

Then, after a pause, a little more teasing despite how tired she was, "And third? do you ever practise looking so unimpressed, or is it natural talent?"

"In the mirror, every day. Part of my routine," he deadpanned. "Most people don't deserve a reaction."

"Not everyone can have your mirror routine, Sawyer. Some people have feelings."

“And some people deserve a reaction."

After engaging in the brief banter, Sawyer gave a long, tempered sigh, reflecting on the first two questions, which were far less easy to send away with sarcasm. “That’s not a question, Isbel liking me. Ask something else.” He had no interest in going there with Elara, although he was certain he was doomed. “As far as the first question, what do you mean by ‘do something?’"

“Isbel liking you is the question. You are supposed to explain." A tired little smile tugged at her mouth despite herself.

She then made a small, indignant sound, though it was weakened by how exhausted she was. "Ach, don't be difficult," she mumbled, sinking a little further into the seat. "You know what I mean." Her eyes closed for a second too long before she forced them open again, turning her head slightly toward him. "Did I say something stupid? At Christmas?" she asked, quieter now, the teasing slipping a little. "Because I remember you, and I remember we got along. Then... I don't know, nothing. You said I was dangerous or whatever but that still doesn't explain much to me."

"You keep assuming I left because I wasn't interested,” he replied. “That was never the issue. The issue is that you were Alby's daughter, and I was a young rider trying to make a career manifest out of nowhere. You looked at me like a man you'd enjoy, not necessarily a man you'd choose. I knew what I thought of you, but I never had the faintest clue what you thought of me."

Elara went quiet for a moment, but not in the thoughtful, graceful way she probably would have preferred. Her mouth pressed into a small, unhappy line, and her brows drew together as she stared at the dashboard like it had personally offended her.

"Alby's daughter," she repeated, a little pouty now, her accent thick around the words. "That is very convenient." She shifted slightly, then regretted it, sinking back into the seat with a faint grimace. Still, her eyes moved back to him, softer beneath the sulk. "Well now you'll never know what I was actually thinking, I suppose," she muttered, her brow cocking ever so slightly. "However, I'd just love to know what you thought of me!"

"What did you want me to say, Elara?” He finally glanced at her--quick, sharp, then away again. "That I was there waiting? That I cared enough to stay put like some idiot hoping you'd show back up?" His grip tightened on the wheel. "I went back the next day. You were already gone on some impromptu Europe trip no one knew you were leaving for. That told me everything I needed to know about the extent of what you wanted from me."

Elara's face pinched slightly, partly from the headache and partly from him.

"You are so dramatic," she muttered, sinking back into the seat with a miserable little frown. "I was gone for Europe, not dead." She rubbed carefully at her temple, eyes half-closed. "And you decided everything from that? One day?" Her voice turned grumpier, rough with exhaustion. "God, Sawyer. My head hurts too much for you to be this unfair."

Her eyes closed again, then opened on the dashboard. Trying to find something still to stop head spinning. "You didn't try very hard. You had my number. I think."

Sawyer exhaled through his nose, like he was trying not to react and failing anyway. He had never been called dramatic in his entire life, and his first time was driving feverishly through a snowstorm by a woman who'd chosen the most dramatic time possible to become sick, and to choose this conversation. "Why bring it back up if it bothers you?" he asked, blunt. "You could've asked me about anything in the world and you chose that, so don't act like I'm the one picking at it."

His eyes stayed forward, but his voice sharpened at the edges. "Unless you just wanted to hear something different than what you already assumed I'd say." A moment went by. "Which would be what, exactly?"

Elara's frown tightened, and for a moment she looked properly wounded beneath the feverish exhaustion, her hand pressed against her temple as if she could hold herself together by force.

"Because it does bother me," she snapped, though her voice was too tired to land as sharply as she wanted. "Because I have spent years thinking I made a fool of myself in front of you, and you have spent years thinking I left because I didn't care."

She looked over at him then, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed with fever and irritation. "Maybe I wanted you to say I was not insane," she said, quieter but more dramatic now, the words spilling out before she could soften them. "That I did not imagine all of it. That I was not the only one standing there after Christmas feeling like something had happened and then pretending very badly that it hadn't."

Her jaw set, pouty and hurt all at once. "But yes, fine. My mistake. I should have asked about Isbel again."

"I’m not interested in Isbel. I've been consistently distracted elsewhere." He paused, "I'm not interested in older women."

Then his comment about Isbel made her huff, a tired, almost offended little sound. "She is not old," Elara said, immediately defensive on Isbel's behalf, even while the corner of her mouth twitched. "And distracted elsewhere is not an answer. It is just you being annoying in a more poetic way." In a few moments, she fully intended on passing out. no one would have any say about it, either. "How far's the hotel," she eventually mumbled, her hand coming to her forehead.

Sawyer exhaled, quieter this time. He said the following words like they were a fact he was tired of repeating into the void with no result. Because, well, he was. There was a pause accompanied by a glance that didn’t quite land on her.

"I’m not interested in Isbel–I’m interested in you, which is unfortunate for everyone involved. Stop bringing her up."

He sighed a resigned, soft sigh. He swallowed. He clenched his jaw and unclenched it. He kept his eyes on the road, but his expression softened, tired, honest. It was the revelation of a man who was frustrated and too exhausted to continue with the charade when he knew exactly which words would cause her to leave it alone, and had chosen to use them. He knew the trade was peace now for additional future chaos, but it seemed worth it at the time. The fallout was a future Sawyer problem.

"Unfortunate?" she repeated, a little offended despite the warmth that had rushed unpleasantly to her face. "You tell me you are interested in me and still manage to make it sound like a medical diagnosis." She looked away, pressing back into the seat, pouty and embarrassed and far too dizzy for the way her heart had suddenly started behaving. "God, Sawyer," she muttered, softer now. "You are terrible at this."

Sawyer let out a short breath, equal humor and regret. “I didn’t mean it like I don’t want it." A pause, smaller. "I do." His grip on the wheel tightened, then eased. "But it's complicated. There's nothing sensible or easy or realistic about it. And that's what's unfortunate."

Elara looked at him for a long moment, trying to make sense of the shape of him in the dark, of the things he said and the things he still seemed determined to hide behind. Eventually, she just exhaled and let her head fall back against the seat.

"I don't know what you want me to do with you," she murmured, softer now, all the fight slipping out of her with the fever and the headache. "You say something like that, and then you make it sound like a problem to solve."

Her eyes lowered to her hands. "You know I'm fond of you," she said quietly, too tired to dress it up into something clever. "I think I have been for a long time, which is very annoying, because you are impossible to understand." A small, weak breath left her, almost a laugh but not quite. "But I am not asking you to make it sensible. I just wanted to know what was going on."

He pulled into the inn, skidding slightly in the snow as he pulled off the road and into the icy parking lot. He put the car in park, sighed, and glanced over at her, studying her eyes in the dim light. "I don't know where we go from here," he confessed. "I don't know what it is that you want."

Elara stared at him for a moment, too tired to make the answer pretty. "I don't know either," she murmured, her accent thick and her voice worn thin. "My head is killing me, and you are very difficult to understand." She looked down at her hands, then back at him, softer.

"But I know I don't want you to pretend tomorrow that you said nothing." Her mouth twitched faintly, tired. "Right now, I want to go inside before I freeze or vomit in the car. Preferably both do not happen."

“You can hold me accountable for whatever stupid thing I do tomorrow after you’ve slept.” He opened his door and stepped out into the snow. “Let’s worry about you right now, alright? It’s much more fun for me when you’re the one under the microscope.”

Although he was teasing, there was a warmth and a sincerity behind his intentions. He opened her door and used his strength to soften the blow of her latest adjustment to gravity, holding her upright as her legs wobbled. “I’ve got you,” he murmured softly, steadying her waist as she leaned into his chest. She was warm and reliant almost solely on him for long enough that it mattered. She was too busy trying to gain her faculties to see the shifts in his expression under the snow and the dim inn lights.

The walk in was slow, and like the walk to the truck, was filled with Sawyer being readily available for whatever she needed without taking the liberty of overstepping and assuming she couldn’t walk for herself. Everything with Sawyer was a measured distance, and rarely one that he crossed first. Except, he had tonight in more ways than one.

He’d grabbed her bag and his backpack from the car and was carrying the weight on the opposite side of Elara, leaving space available in case she needed to grab him. He was cold and wet and trying not to shiver to keep up the appearance of strength as if his condition was marginally better than hers. The truth was that they were both sick, both tired, both miserable, and yet there was a calm to the situation that should not have emerged amidst the chaos. It was there, though, it was tangible. It was something he didn't expect.

They survived the brief walk, and Sawyer suddenly felt lightheaded himself against the heat of the room and the weight of what he was carrying both physically, and to a lesser degree, emotionally. He walked up to the counter and fumbled around a mix of English and poorly attempted German. Of course, the culture shock was still something he was adjusting to and the frustration of winding up in rural German towns where no English was spoken, was still a significant contrast to his short trips in the past where he was either paired with a translator or sent to a large enough city that getting around in his native tongue was not an issue. He was grateful that, despite herself, Elara was still conscious enough and self-righteous enough to make a laughing stock of his attempt at German and intervene to acquire them two rooms. She was swaying on her feet and haphazardly bumping into him in a way that caused him to stutter or break up his thoughts, which were already barely tied together, into something cohesive.

Eventually, he felt both of her arms wrap around his right arm and she shifted from attempting to carry her own weight to simply resigning to his gentle strength. He was sure he looked terrible, with pale skin, and the same flushed and feverish expression that she wore. As the worker disappeared into the abyss of one of the back rooms, he glanced down at where she was positioned, clinging to him sleepily and with the impatience of an overtired child. He felt the room spinning for himself, but did nothing to remove her from his body. The warmth was nice and unexpected and he wasn’t cruel enough to point out her vulnerability or try to make her stand on her own.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the older man emerged from the room with two room keys. He gave directions that Sawyer could not understand but were then relayed back to him by Elara regarding where their rooms were positioned on the third floor. It was not a large lodging facility, but apparently large enough to have a third floor in an elevator, despite appearing unseeming from the outside.

He pushed the elevator button, and again felt Elara’s weight pushing into him. He still didn’t react in any particular way, not only because he did not want to be accused of enjoying the physical contact that he had worked so hard not to need, but because he couldn’t possibly focus on an additional movement that may cause him to topple over like a house of cards, taking Elara and the bag with him.

The elevator jolted when it reached their floor, and an older couple walked out. He had his concerns about the additional obstacle to gravity but he was still stronger than her and led the way into the elevator, taking care to move slowly and with her staggered movements instead of creating more difficulty for her. He was quiet, tired, resigned to the oddity of the day while still being present in the moment. He put down her bag once they were inside to take some of the weight off of himself for a brief moment.

The elevator jolted again when the doors closed. It was something Sawyer had equally prepared for logically and failed to let his body catch up to. When it moved, his hands immediately jumped to her, one around her waist to steady her and the free hand that hadn’t already been holding her lifted up to wrap above her ribcage. His head dipped down to meet her eye and he swallowed, lips parted, wide-eyed gaze revealing how disarmed he was in that moment, completely exposed and breathless and unable to pull himself away. Suddenly it felt very intimate, two people who had not not confessed their feelings for one another now holding each other in an enclosed space, tired and dizzy and in completely imperfect circumstances.

“Step back,” he murmured barely above a whisper, not meaning away from him but with him, and failing to indicate this in any tangible way. His voice was more controlled than normal, more tense, and he’d really only given the instruction in an attempt to say something to break up the tension magnifying inside his chest. His grip on her tightened, and he guided her back with him a short distance so he could lean against the railing to support his own weight. One hand was still firmly around her waist with no intention of moving, and the other had shifted from her shoulder to the back of her head, gently pulling her head into the warmth of his chest.

The elevator jolted again, opening at the second floor. One of the employees got on, but Sawyer made no move to untangle himself from Elara. He offered a slight, polite smile and maintained steady control over Elara, as if she’d immediately crumble if he let go. Idly and with nothing else to do with himself and the big feelings he couldn’t find a way to express, he found himself gently stroking her hair in subtle enough movements that he could still deny it if confronted. He hated to let someone see him like this, but he was just as sick and as vulnerable as her, and too tired to keep a healthy distance between himself and the things he wanted but knew he shouldn’t have.