[ see, there's this whole thing with sam wilson where he's usually right about this stuff. and it usually comes at the expense of literally whoever it is he's talking to. is he, at times, also a hypocrite? absolutely. and half the words he tells someone else can be easily thrown back on him. but that doesn't make him wrong.

and judging from the way claire stuffs her face, sam just sort of lifts his brow at her. a very well known expression of uh-huh? want to keep arguing? but she's eating, and that's all he can really ask for in this moment, so that's good enough for him.

when she brings up the whole in-person of it all, sam can't help the way he...not deflates, exactly, but there does seem to be a kind of weight to him even as he nods. ] It feels harder each time, somehow. Nocwich helps, but even that's only for a weekend. Having over a week to actually spend with others is... it's hard to go back to the way things are.

[ he finishes up what he's doing, though - quickly calming the grill portion and keeping the fire contained. he's done for now, he thinks, and this is a bit higher priority. he takes what's left of the food he's made and moves to sit across from her nodding in agreement. ]

There's some kind of magic, or I guess lack of it. I don't know really know what's happening with all this, but it's...something else. How much of a difference we make, too.