Chapter 8
Pushing back the curtains of the motel room with one hand, Ali smiled softly out at the bright dawn that had broken over the sleepy little town of Blackrock, bringing with it a breath of clean, fresh morning air.
Her bag was packed, her torn jacket sleeve rolled to hide the ragged hole the spirit had left in it the night before, and in the bed behind her, Sam still slept soundly.
Even the scalding shower she had taken hadn't been enough to chase away the lingering memory of his hands on her skin, the feeling of deliciously firm muscle beneath her own fingers, his scent, his taste. The intoxicating release of days of pent up mutual frustration and longing. Not that any of those memories were in any way unpleasant, but in this moment, they were a distraction. In another life, perhaps, she would have been free to slip back into the bed beside his warm body, to nestle herself back into the crook of his arm where she had woken not long ago in a haze of satisfaction and pleasant aches. Part of her truly wanted to, she realised with a small, sad smile as she glanced back at him.
She couldn't allow herself to, though. She liked him, and that in itself was a danger. Sam Winchester was the strangest and most endearing hunter she had ever met. Equal parts gentle and fierce – both sides he had thoroughly exposed to her the night before – she could not shake the feeling that there was so much more to learn about him. More than what she had learned exploring him during the night. There was depth in those hazel eyes, glimpses of unspoken pain that resonated with something within her own soul. Something that made her want to spill her own secrets in exchange for his.
As much as the thought of leaving him now brought regret, letting herself stay longer would only bring pain. She would still have to leave, whether it was tomorrow, in a week, a month or when the day finally came that her time ran out. Each of those options would be more painful than the last, and not only for her. It was easier to leave now.
Bending to tug on her black leather boots, she caught the motion of him stirring in the motel bed out of the corner of her eye. His fingers closed over the empty space where she had lain, searching for her as a small frown creased his forehead. She should go now, she thought, before he woke.
Turning to catch up her bag and sling it on to her shoulder, she cast a last glance around the room, making sure the only thing she was leaving was the beautiful hunk of unconscious man in her bed.
"Ali?"
Ah, not so unconscious after all.
"Morning, Sam." She smiled softly, turning to look at where he had sat up in the bed, running one hand lazily through his hair as the tangled sheets bunched at his hips. It had to be a sin to look that tempting, first thing in the morning.
"Y're leaving?" He frowned as he took in her fully dressed appearance, the black duffle bag casually slung over her shoulder and the regretful smile playing on her lips. "I thought..."
"I can't stay, Sam." She shook her head, laying down her bag as she walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, figuring she at least owed him a goodbye; "So please don't ask me to."
"Why?" He breathed, reaching for her hand in an attempt to reconnect to the physical intimacy they had shared mere hours ago, biting his lip as she moved her fingers out of reach.
"You know why." Ali smiled gently, raising her shoulders in a shrug, "Last night was..."
Incredible, mind-blowing, earth-shattering? Her brain unhelpfully chimed in as she shook her head a little to chase away those thoughts.
"Last night was fun." She settled on eventually, biting her lip; "That's all we needed, and that's where we should leave it." She made the mistake then of glancing up into his eyes, her throat tightening at the confused and slightly hurt expression that made her feel like she'd just kicked a puppy. "C'mon Sam, you can't expect all of your one-night-stands to stick around for breakfast?"
Sam forced his lips to quirk into a small, defeated smile; "You know you're more-"
"Don't." An alarmed, defensive laugh left her as she quickly placed a finger over his lips. She didn't mean to laugh at him, but her fight-or-flight response was kicking in, and she was caught between the two. She either had to get out now or she was going to say something hurtful. She'd drop some stupid lie to make it easier for him to let her go. "Don't you bring those messy little feelings into this." She warned him, sitting back and letting her hand drop. "I mean come on, we're hunters, our lives play out in these... These week-long episodes – drive, hunt, sleep, repeat – sometimes we pick up people along the way and that's fine, that's how we cope with this life. But we don't hang on to what we can't have." She swallowed thickly and pushed herself off the bed, bending to catch up her bag once more, "I don't know about you, but that cycle is about to start again, and you're not in my next episode."
"Ali..."
"Just let it be what it is, Sam." She cast him a wry smile as he scrambled to follow her, dragging the bedsheets around his waist; "Don't get me wrong, it was great, but I can't stay."
"Will I see you again?" He demanded softly, reaching to catch her elbow gently in one hand as he clutched his sheet in the other.
"Maybe- if we both manage to stay alive." She shrugged with a smile as he loomed over her, still smelling of warmth and sex and sleep. "And my odds are better if I work alone."
"Yeah." His sigh of defeat reassured her, let her know he was going to let her go.
"I won't object to doing this again if we do run into each other." Her smile turned teasing as she pulled her car keys from her pocket, the heaviness in her chest lifting a little as she saw his own smile return at her words.
"It was pretty good." He chuckled, releasing her arm a little regretfully.
With a small laugh, she nodded and turned for the door; "See you, Sam."
A large hand gently caught her jaw, turning her back to face him as his lips touched hers. It was gentle, warm and affectionate – completely unlike the demanding, heated kisses of the night before. There was something there that would make it oh-so-easy to melt into his arms and let him kiss her like that forever. And that was a terrifying thought.
Smiling, Sam carefully withdrew from Ali's stunned lips, sweeping his thumb over her jaw tenderly; "See you, Ali." He breathed, dropping his hand and at last breaking that captivating contact between them.
"You asshole." She muttered with a breathless laugh, giving his bicep a playful shove before turning to reach for the door, casting a lazy wave over her shoulder as she slipped out of the motel, leaving Sam to stare after her.
Safely in her car, Ali pulled a small leather-bound diary from her glove compartment. Carefully, she opened it to the first page, the date she had turned up at Bobby's house. She hadn't lifted the diary since then. Thoughtfully, she ran her thumb over the thick stub of torn paper that still clung to the binding, before leafing through the blank pages that represented the five days that had passed since. With a weary sigh, the tugged those pages from the binding, ripping away those days from the pages that represented her remaining time. She had to keep count like this, or she'd lose track, and she wasn't about to let this creep up on her. Biting her lip, she flicked through the few hundred pages that were left. Not a shabby amount by any means, but enough to reassure her that she had made the right choice in leaving the Winchesters behind. They didn't need to get caught up in the shitstorm that was Ali Summers.
*
Sam cast a sideways glance at his brother as Dean drummed absently on the steering wheel of the Impala, keeping time with the beat of the Fleetwood Mac song that had come on the radio as they drove towards the next hunt. In the four months since he'd last laid eyes on Ali – since she'd thrown him that casual backwards wave as she walked out of that motel room – the sound of that band had never once failed to pull the image of her to the forefront of his mind.
The thought of her was a welcome distraction though, if a bit of a frustrating one. Since their hunt in Oregon and his brush with the 'Croatoan' virus, he had been more on edge than usual. He had questions that no one seemed to be able to answer and wallowing in them wouldn't bring him any closer to clarity, so for once it was easier to lose himself in thoughts of one stolen night in a motel room in Pennsylvania.
"Did you hear a word I just said?"
"Huh?" Sam glanced up, tearing his gaze away from where he'd been watching the dense forest whisk past them on the Northbound highway. "Did you say something?"
"Yeah- dude you were miles off." Dean chuckled as he shook his head fondly, "What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing." He sighed defensively, reaching to grab the printouts for their next hunt from the glove compartment.
"Demon stuff?"
"No."
"Ali?"
"I- Dean, for the last time, no." He scowled down at the newspaper reports and obituaries, the fingers of his good hand gripping the edge of one tightly enough to crumple it, whilst his hand that was still frustratingly locked in a cast was little more than useless.
"Sure." His brother snorted, sensing he shouldn't press him further, even though part of him wanted to. As edgy as he was about everything else that was going on, Sam was still clearly hung up on the girl; "So what do you think we're after here?"
"Uh- I dunno, could be something like that spirit in Wisconsin?" Sam frowned as they passed the road sign that indicated that they were now a few miles outside of Lake George, New York.
"I hope not, that was a bitch to figure out when there wasn't a body to burn." Dean groaned.
"Well it looks pretty similar; a string of drownings, all kids who were said to be strong swimmers." Sam shrugged, "Aside from that, the only thing that I can see connecting them is that they all went to the same church."
"Well then, that's where we'll start."
Two hours later, suited up and armed with their counterfeit police badges, Sam found himself knocking on the door of the house that neighboured the whitewashed church that was nestled in the centre of the lakeside tourist town. A few weeks from the start of the summer season, it was just beginning to wake up. Shutters of stores had been rolled up, racks of novelty t-shirts wheeled out onto the street and the finishing touches were being put to the lakefront walkways and piers. Over the road, a banner gently swayed in the breeze, advertising the grand opening of the new pier in a few days. Glancing over his shoulder at where the lake stretched out behind them, Sam furrowed his brow. It was an awful lot larger than the lake in Wisconsin. If they were looking for a body to burn in there, it would be a hell of a job.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?"
Turning back to the door, he plastered an easy, endearing smile across his face as he looked up at the middle-aged woman that had opened it. "Mrs Gallagher?" He questioned, guessing that the woman's conservative beige skirt-suit and neatly styled hair could only belong to a reverend's wife.
"I am." She nodded, glancing to Dean as he stepped forward with all the charm and confidence of a man that had every right to be there.
"Mrs Gallagher, I'm Detective Ford, this is Detective Hamill." He nodded to his brother and flashed his badge, "We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about-"
"About the drownings?" The woman's face clouded with a mournful expression, her eyes drifting to the lake behind them as it glistened pleasantly in the late afternoon sun. "Yes of course, but Grace- I mean, Detective Chapel is still here, did she call you?"
Sam frowned at the mention of another detective, not wanting to risk getting caught out with an actual law enforcer, especially when the FBI were still so eager to get their hands on them; "Oh, we weren't informed- someone must have got their wires crossed in the office." He laughed and waved his hand dismissively, "We'll go make a call and get out of your hair."
"Nonsense." She smiled, stepping back to open the door in welcome, "I've just made a pot of coffee and I'm sure Detective Chapel can fill you in on any questions you have."
"Really ma'am, we don't want to be a bother-"
"I insist, please detectives." The woman smiled at the taller of the two men, watching as they shared an unreadable glance before Dean stepped inside, hoping they could bluff their way out of this one. "Grace- Detective Chapel has been a real blessing these last few days; you really must put in a word for her with your superiors." Mrs Gallagher explained as she led them down a hallway that was just as beige as her clothing, a few unremarkable family portraits littering the walls and the occasional inspirational bible verse. "She's been such a support to the parish, even after finishing her questioning she's still been checking up on everyone, especially the young people in the youth group..."
"Well we do like to provide the full package." Dean smiled warily as they were led into a small sitting room, sinking down onto the overstuffed couch as Sam remained standing, trying to scope out an alternate escape route in case this detective smelled a rat.
"She must be finishing up the coffee- she's such a dear..." The woman continued to ramble as she bustled out into the hallway and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the two brothers to look to each other in bewilderment.
"Just play it cool and we'll get out as soon as we can." Dean muttered under his breath.
"Don't let her look too closely at your badge." Sam advised softly, looking back to the hallway as he heard the clack of high heels against the laminate flooring.
"Honestly Grace, you've done too much-"
"I've told you Mrs Gallagher, it's the least I can do, you've all been through so much and have been so cooperative-"
His eyes widened at the gentle, laughing voice that followed their host's, swallowing past a lump that had mysteriously formed in his throat as the door was held open by the reverend's wife, allowing the well-dressed young woman carrying the tray of coffee cups to slip past.
Her deep, brown eyes accented with a tasteful smudge of eyeshadow locked on to his, her easy smile faltering in recognition for a single, fleeting moment before she bent to lay her tray on the coffee table.
"Grace, this is Detectives Hamill and... Ford, was it?" Mrs Gallagher frowned between the two, not quite remembering which name belonged to which of the handsome young men that were crowded into her living room. Dean cast Sam a wide-eyed look as he watched Ali straighten, brushing an imaginary crease from her fitted pencil skirt and silk blouse as she surveyed the pair that had just barrelled into her hunt.
[A/N: Thanks for reading, as always! Don't forget to leave a vote or comment if you're enjoying the story! I'd love to know what you think! X]