Eliot slides a bottle of beer across his counter to Sophie. "Decided to leave him to drink alone?"
"For now," she murmurs as she wraps her fingers around the cool bottle. "There wasn't anything I could say to him that would make a difference."
He shrugs and leans against the counter, opening his beer with a quick twist of his wrist. He takes a long swallow, and when he notices that she's just contemplating the label on hers, he takes it out of her hands and opens it.
"Won't do you much good if it's closed." He clinks his bottle against hers and drinks again.
She sighs. "I've never really cared for beer."
"I have other stuff if you want. Wine, whiskey, vodka. Whatever."
"No. Thank you." She takes a small sip and ducks her head.
He studies her face for a moment, tracing the shadows that fall across her cheekbones, the darkness of her eyes; like all the times they end up here, he knows there is something big brewing inside her head. She catches his gaze, giving him a small smile, and she drinks deeply from her beer.
"Did you really think Nate killed him?"
Her voice is quiet, a little deeper than normal with a tremble underneath. He takes another swallow and pushes his hair out of his face.
"I wasn't sure," he admits slowly. "He didn't have a reason to, but…"
"He's capable of it," she finishes when his voice trails off. He gives her a sharp look, and she sighs. "He is, Eliot, and we'd all be fools if we didn't point it out. You know that."
"I'm not arguing with you," he replies. "But I take it that Nate has a problem with it?"
"Of course he does. He acted like it was all in our heads, but I know he's realized that he thought about it at least once." She presses her fingers to her temples and mutters, "Wanted to act on it, more than likely, and he can't stand that about himself."
"Guess that's normal."
"Of course it is, but instead of dealing with it, he's trying to drink away his problems!" She stops and stares at him as her chest heaves with each breath. She blinks and deflates, her shoulders dropping. "I just don't want to end up back where we were three years ago. I can't do it again.'
"It'd be easier if you didn't care about him," Eliot says with a slight smile.
She glares at him and drinks half her beer in one go; when she places the bottle back on the counter, she softens a little and slides off her stool. He watches her walk around the counter to him and just barely manages to keep his body from tensing up.
"I know," she murmurs, placing a hand on his arm.
She leans in and brushes a kiss against his cheek. He grabs her hand as she steps back, catching along her fingers and squeezing them briefly before letting her go. The last thing he sees is a flash of her lips turned up in a smile as the door closes behind her.
