americas_son | (no subject)

(no subject)

There was one and only one thing about this that was lacking:

It wasn't a meal. It was barely a snack. And it definitely wasn't about eating.

Now it's well into nighttime, and Cal is hungry.

Time to go do something about that.

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He can't help pushing.

No, that's not right; he could stop himself, but he chooses not to.

"And yet, I will still care about you," he murmurs.

"You'll have a Cal," he says. "With a soul. You'll get over it."

"I won't pine for you for the rest of eternity, if that's what you mean. But I won't forget you, either."

"Well, I hope not," Cal says. "It has been a pretty good couple of weeks."

He just doesn't think that someone with a soul is going to view some of the best parts in quite the same light. He can remember what he would have thought.

There really is no way in which he isn't better off without his soul.

He smiles slightly. "More than I signed on for when I shut myself in a closet in Obadiah's apartment, I can tell you that."

"So then you're gonna get your soul back," Cal says, "and you're gonna be like, 'Oh no, I killed all those people,' and it's gonna suck. I don't really think you'll miss me."

"The two things are not related. I will miss you."

"Yes, they are," Cal says. "I helped."

The connection seems obvious to him.

"I brought you back here in the first place."

"And? We have spent most of our time not killing people, if you'll recall."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make the ones we did kill any less dead." Cal says this with a certain amount of cheer. "We haven't spent all our time torturing assholes, either, but that doesn't mean we didn't."

"I am not," Sherlock says in an absolutely inarguable tone of voice, "going to regret what we did to Obadiah Stane."

That's the first thing Sherlock has said in the last ten minutes that Cal does believe. If Cal got his own soul back right this second, it's possible that Stane's last evening would be the only thing he didn't regret. Some people just fucking deserve what they get.

"But Grahame never did anything to you," he points out.

"I don't think I'll regret Grahame, either. Not much. He knew what he was getting into."

And Cal is right back to not believing him. It was nice while it lasted.

"Yeah, okay."

"I'm sorry, does it surprise you to learn that even with a soul I can be a ruthless son of a bitch?"

Cal rolls his eyes.

"I offered to kill him myself. He preferred it your way. I'll regret what I did to help, but I won't regret delivering him to you in the first place."

"Okay."

Have it your way, Sherlock.

"But you don't regret any of it now. And you'd do it again."

"What an insightful analysis. I also might not. I have much less interest in the whole business when there's no good reason for it. All right? Or is that insufficiently vampiric for you?"

Cal has been driving away from the city; much as hunting there would be a hell of a lot easier, both he and Sherlock are too recognizable. The lower population density should help.

There's a small park up ahead, and it's not too late. There are still a few cars parked on the side of the street near it. Cal pulls over.

"This look good, or would you rather go find a dog or something?"

"Don't make fun," he says lightly. "I'm content with the selection."

"Good."

Cal turns the key in the ignition, much more gently than last time.

"I hear dogs taste like they smell."

"Who do you know who's eaten dog?"

"One of the guys in Sunnydale," Cal says.

Ordinarily, he'd tell the full story, but right now he doesn't feel like it.

"Ready?"

"Certainly."