2012-11-23 Second Life

It's been weeks since Sam came back from the dead. The guilt of not going to see Illyana has finally won put over the abject terror he feels at the mere notion of seeing her again. Not easy to see someone who killed you--even if you were willing. Harder still when your brain is convinced that doing so will break whatever spell you're under and you'll be dead for real.

Sam parks in the guest parking of the NYU dorms and sits in his truck for a long moment, willing his heart to stop pounding. He's done everything he can to convince himself, and hopefully the Universe, that he's really alive. Made new friends. Gotten a job. Even adopted a couple kittens. Co-adopted. With a very nice witch. If that doesn't qualify him to keep living, he's not sure what else he can do.

Finally, Sam gets out of his truck and blends in with the students coming and going from the dorms. He dries his palms on his jeans before he knocks on Illyana's door. For all intents and purposes, he still looks like Sam, like he always did, save for the scar he's not trying to hide today.

Of course when Sam made the call to let Illyana know he wasn't dead (anymore), there was disbelief (And a certain scathing rant about someone playing such a prank on her). But just as Sam's avoided seeing Illyana, Illyana has avoided seeing him as well. Hard to face your killer, and hard to face the one you killed as well. She's looked in on him without his knowledge, worried that with magic being involved that Sam might have come back Wrong. Twisted. It's what her magic *does*.

When the knock comes at her door, Sam is the last person she's expecting. She's not really *expecting* anyone and figures that it's someone on her floor, or the RA, needing to let her know some VITAL (read as ignorable) bit of college dorm news. The door is open and Illyana stands there in shorts and an oversized T-shirt with bare feet and for a long moment she's left just... blinking at Sam. Until her blue gaze slides down. To the scar across his throat, like some macabre signature she's left on him. An eerie sort of stillness touches her as her gaze rises back to his. "Hey Sammy." She says softly. Ignore the whitened knuckles where she holds onto the door and the frame.

"Hey. Sorry it took me so long to come around," Sam says quietly. "Took me a while to man up to it. I don't know how all this works. Wasn't sure it was real for a good long time." He looks decidedly uncomfortable. "But I figured I should come say something. Make sure you were doing okay. All that Uncle Sam stuff."

The silence draws out for a long moment, before finally Illyana's gaze moves past Sam's shoulder. There's not a lot of people on her floor, given the holiday weekend and all, but there are a few eyes and they're looking over. Like Xavier's, Illyana has a certain reputation here at NYU. It makes people curious. She steps back and to the side. "Come on it." She waits until he does so and she closes the door before she turns back to look at him. One side of her lips kicks up in a slight smirk that's touched with... guilt? "You don't need to say anything, Sam. You don't have anything to be guilty about. And if you never wanted to see me again... I'd totally get that."

"Why wouldn't I want to see you again? I mean, I'm kinda expecting my heart to stop beating here--my brain had me pretty damn convinced that if I did, I'd break something and be dead for real. Still. Couldn't let you go on thinking you'd killed me permanently." Sam shrugs it off, but that doesn't mean he's not still waiting for it. He shoves his hands in his pockets to hide how damn cold and unsteady they are. His expression is calm and serious, though, when he looks down at Illyana. "You did what you needed to do. You didn't let me bein' totally incompetent lead to someone wrecking the world as we know it. Thank you."

Illyana just blinks at Sam when he asks that question. She opens her mouth to answer with the obvious, but then just closes it again, eyes still wide and blinking. It's not often that Illyana is caught doing a gaping fish impression, but there it is. When he expresses his anxiety about his living state, she shakes her head slowly. "There's no... taste of magic on you. Whatever brought you back, that wasn't it." There's a heartbeat's pause. "I worried about that. Because of... how my magic works. That you being alive, you'd come back twisted. Tainted. But it's not magic." Her expression finally settles into something that isn't worry or uncertainty. It settles into something firm and she takes a step, closing some of that distance they've kept between them. "You weren't incompetent, Sam. You had what, a week? To try to grasp working with magic, and that was not a novice spell under *ideal* circumstances." Which the middle of a fight was *not*. Then her expression slips into something darker. Touched with guilt. "I knew that it was a long shot. That it would take a miracle." Which is why she had the blade on her, even if she didn't tell anyone else that she had a Plan B. "You shouldn't be thanking me, Sam. You did your *very best*. Better than anyone could be expected to."

"Well, I guess we got our miracle the hard way, then. I'm glad you don't feel like I let you down, Snowflake." Sam reaches out tentatively to touch Illyana's cheek. "I never would have put that on you if I could have done more. I'm not smart, but I figured you might need to do something like you did. I wanted to come back just to tell you it's okay, if nothing else. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to get myself back here sooner. I couldn't sleep sometimes for thinking on how I'd left you carrying thinking I was dead. It's... I kind of made a hash of this all so far. I'm sorry."

Illyana's head tilts towards his touch, and her eyes close as she turns her face in towards his wrist. She stands like that for a long moment as he speaks, before she closes that last small distance to hug him fiercely. As if she needs that tight hold to assure herself that he's real, and not some spectre conjured by her Art. She's silent for a long moment, not telling him how much she wishes that those she's had to kill in the past could have come back like he has. It killed something in her to have to do that, and with no excuses about her dark side. It was all the human girl with a clean soul. If a smaller sliver of it than most have.

"No more apologies from you." She says, words muffled a bit from where her face presses against his shirt. "When you die to save the world, you don't have to make apologies to anyone for anything." She's trying to make it light. Joking. It's... maybe working a little.

Sam laughs easily and kisses Illyana's hair, wrapping her up in a warm hug. He's as relieved as she is to have more proof that he's real. He knew it cost her to do what she did--more than it cost him by his reckoning. Dying is nothing next to living with the weight of doing something so permanent and unthinkable.

"If you say so," he says, submitting to her judgment. "I wouldn't know, this is my first time. It's good to see you again." Better than he thought it would be. He was afraid he'd have a problem with it, but no. That part of it happened with his consent.

As Sam wraps Illyana up in that hug, holding her in return, he can feel some of the tension bleed out of her. In her eyes, he'd have every reason to hate her.

"Well. I haven't done it myself. But I'm gonna make it a rule anyhow." She says, turning her head so she can look up at him. Her blue eyes still have that eerie chill to them but having held her demon for a while he might have better insight to that than most. "You did know." She murmurs, recalling one of his statements earlier. "I thought you did, when you didn't pull back. Run. Something." And it's... humbling. Scary. For someone to put that kind of trust in you.

"Everything was so loud and crazy, it all happened so far, I didn't have a good way to tell you it was okay." Sam tucks a strand of Illyana's hair back behind her ear. He recognizes the look in her eyes, he's seen it in the mirror. "I wanted you to know it was okay, that I understood. I was sorry you had to do it, you had the hard part. You always have. Any time I go out to fight, I know I might not come back. At least that day, I was sure it'd mean something that I didn't walk away from it."

All those things that Illyana told herself in the days that lead up to the fight. That like the others that came with her, they did so knowing and accepting that they might not come back. It didn't make it any easier to open his throat. Illyana makes no move to step away from Sam, reaching up one hand to trace over the line of scar tissue. There's a soft huff of dark amusement. "Well, even if I didn't have the ability to sense magic, there's proof you're not all demon-touched." She jokes. "You're definitely still my Sammy. Trying to make me feel better even when you got the short end of the stick."

"Is it working?" Sam gives Illyana a little smile. The scar is stil fresh, he's got no idea if it'll fade or not. There's no sign of stitches as one might usually see along the edges of a wound like that, of course. "Because otherwise, not sure what I'm doing back here if I can't make my girl smile. I should have brought cookies, right? Or brownies?"

"You know I'm more an ice cream girl. And yes." Illyana assures Sam, her hold having eased up a bit on him though she doesn't move away. "I'd fret and worry more if I thought you could lie worth a *damn* but, since you can't..." There's a teasing glint to her eyes to go with the smirk. "I wish there were something more I could do than say 'I'm sorry'. For you getting stuck with my magic, my darksoul, and then..." Well, that doesn't need to be said again, right? "I have no idea how you're back but..." She squeezes him tightly again.

"I'll take being here. No explanation." Sam hugs her back. He's just grateful that she's smiling--in her way. "It's good to see you." Sam looks down at Illyana and his face lights up the way it used to when she was a little girl. He's got no illusions about who and what she is but he's still happy to see her, still wants her to be okay. "Any time you want ice cream, you let me know. That's my job, making you sundaes, I'm not going to be slacking just because I died."

"Well, since you died and all, I think we can give you a day off from the making." Illyana says dryly, finally stepping away from him and finding a pair of shoes to slip on. "I'll tell you what, how about you let *me* buy you ice cream this time? I know this great place in Metropolis...."

The image of Sam on his knees will keep haunting Illyana's dreams, just like the light fading from Ororo's eyes and the *snap* sound of Cat's neck breaking does. But at least there will be no Sam-ghost lurking there as well. At least the only thing that will weigh on her is dealing with the knowledge of what she'll do to get the job done, and not the guilt of a lost loved one. It's also a good thing that Sam didn't bring Bobby with him. The icy one might start to make with the frownyface as Illyana seems inclined to stick pretty close to Sam while he's here. So he doesn't suddenly fade out or something. Her arm slides around Sam's waist and looks up at him. "With sprinkles." Because there's gotta be sprinkles.

Sam's not going to apologize to anyone for snuggling Illyana. She's got dibs left over from when she was six. Those don't just expire.

"Hey. I would go to Hell to get you sprinkles." Sam winks at Illyana and pulls her close to him, bending to kiss her on the forehead. "Even further if you needed it. With a cherry on top."