She stared somewhat vacantly at the page before her. The book was hand-written, the curling script warring with the elaborate diagrams on the page. The tight fit of the words made reading difficult at best of times.
Fighting off what she was sure was a soon to be migraine, she sat back with a sigh, closing her eyes. 'There was still so much work was left to be done,' she thought. She rubbed her itching eyes, trying to rise above the exhaustion and the headache. It didn't work.
Tired and frustrated, she stood and stalked to the door.
"I'm going out to get some air."
Dean barely cast her a glance, but Sam's eyes followed her out the door, a worried crease marring his forehead.
Sighing slightly, she shut the door. She leaned up against one of the pillars in front of the motel and breathed in the cool night air. It had a clean smell to it despite its proximity to the nearby interstate. It seemed slightly damp tonight, the air somewhat heavy. It made her think that there was a thunderstorm on the horizon. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear the thunderclaps that would accompany such a storm.
She had just started to relax when she heard the door to their motel room open.
"Hey Alice, are you out here?"
She flicked her eyes toward the ceiling in annoyance. Murmuring something like acknowledgement, she stepped around the column and met Sam's gaze. He looked worried. Which, frankly, she couldn't really blame him. She and Dean just could not agree on anything, and every time she would step outside, it was under the threat that she wouldn't come back.
It took quite the guilt trip and some of the saddest puppy eyes Sam could muster to get her and Dean to set aside their animosity for an afternoon to get some research done. Which is where she found out that without her anger as a fuel, she was about to collapse from exhaustion.
Not that she would admit it, of course.
Sam was different, though. Sam had a way of looking at her sometimes that made her think that he could read her completely. The more she tried to shrug things off, the more tenacious he'd become, latching on desperately until the words poured from her mouth in a frenzy.
Tonight was no different. As she stood there, face blank and posture stoic, she felt distant and unreachable. Safe.
That is, until he stepped closer and asked quietly, "What's wrong?"
Simple words, but powerful in their earnesty. For Alisandra, that was hard enough, but something about his eyes always made her fold. Then he grasped her shoulders, giving her an anchor should decide she needed one.
And oh, how lovely would it be to step into that warm circle of arms, to lay her head in that firm chest. To let go of the strong act. To give over control. Just to smell him, maybe taste him...
That thought sent her stepping back from the warmth, back into the cool, crisp reality and away from her idle mind.
"Nothing's wrong," she said. "I'm just tired tonight, that's all."
A lie. It was a dream of hers, a fantasy. Something you wish for and want more than anything, but reality has taught you that you can never have.
And for Alisandra, that wish was for Sam Winchester.
Stepping even further back, towards the arch of their motel room, she grasped the door handle, turning it and stepping inside.
"Let's get this finished. The sooner the book work is done, the sooner the leg work gets done. And the sooner we get out of this wretched town," she said, walking back to her seat.
Sam stood silhouetted in the doorway. She expected him to say something else, but all he did was sigh and continue back toward his laptop, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick.