[Five minutes later he's out and jogging in the most obvious direction, a backpedal along her route to work. They're coasting the tail end of a curse that's seemed harmless until now, but there's no questioning the possibility of a shift in the tide. In fact, hitting when your guard's down seems to be something in which the place takes a certain pride.
A block away from the apartment he dials her number, listens for the tone nearby.]
[Rather than dropping the phone when the ringtone startles her - an outrageously inappropriate and chipper slice of Kokomo, left over from the weekend spent down at the beach and the result of her own laziness in removing it - Claire grips the hard plastic so tightly in her fingers that she feels the protective casing start to groan. Not enough to stop the display from lighting up with a familiar photo and name, the highest volume setting on the Sidekick works just as well as a car alarm in a crowded parking garage. She doesn't deviate from the path she's walked so often that her feet have learned the turns before her mind realizes that she's taking them, and that, more than the bars of Aruba, Jamaica, oooh I wanna take ya, brings her across Chase's path, just as a group of late night curse survivors cross the street, leaving the area relatively clear
( ... )
[He's breathing harder than he needs to be for such a brief run, chest rising quickly even after he's pulled up short to look at her, questioning. Injuries, though it might be a habitual thing, aren't what he looks for. With Claire it's collateral damage. The chances of her asking for help for herself and no one else are relatively slim, considering her habit of running headlong at anything that comes with an advisory warning.
One day he'll pretend he's got used to not worrying about that.
But there's no one else here, and she's healed as normal despite the signs that something has pulled her awry. Chase looks at missing buttons, rips and tears that don't pretend to be accidental, and his jaw sets.]
Do you want me to look for him now, or take you home?
[This is exactly why she doesn't ask for help for herself. The situations that she gets into are unlikely and impossible enough by nature alone, but she can typically weather through them and come out the other side without much scar tissue, metaphorically or otherwise. It's opening people like Chase, like Angela or Ginny, anyone who isn't like her, up to the possibilities presented in tandem with scenarios like this that leaves her alternating hot and cold, currents running down the length of her spine and front of her neck, flushing the crest of her cheeks, leaving a hot and heavy fist balled in the pit of her stomach. Claire doesn't care how hypocritical it makes her, how unfair it is and can be when she so often assumes the position Chase is, at the very least, just suggesting. She particularly doesn't care now.]
Don't look for anyone.
[She's told him, hasn't she? Isn't that an improvement over the last time, over Nuada? Isn't that enough? Claire can remember lying in St. Joseph's and pleading the same request to her father.
( ... )
[Chase stands rooted a minute longer, eyes fixed over her shoulder as if the darkness might have something more revealing in it than clumps of drunken stragglers from an overblown ball. Every time he's claimed to be okay with the place. Every time.
He drags his focus back in, back to her face. Doesn't look down.]
Of course.
[And he takes one breath that seems to steady the heaving of his ribs, opening the space of an arm out for her to fit, if she wants. It is an improvement, although he doesn't yet know the extent of the comparison and without that his suspicion rises that this was finally bad enough for her to consider calling him warranted. That's what makes this so impossible to describe as preferable. But he holds that arm out and offers her a place.]
[Claire spends a moment standing just in front of the outstretched circle of his arm, taking the steps in her head necessary to bringing her within an embrace she has come to recognize as secure. Letting her hand fall from the opposite shoulder, she fails to take that necessary step and instead glances at her shoe, the rusty smear along the back, where her ankle might rest. She is still in control.]
I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want - with Nuada - when you -
[She cuts herself off, frustrated, and presses her lips together, hoping that he will pick up on what it is she's trying to say without having to use so many words. A part of her is sorry for worrying him, but an overwhelming majority is glad that she called, too. While she knows she'll need to deal with all that's happened on her own, feeling like she made the right decision in doing this is something she considers progress.
She starts walking, placing a certain amount of distance between the brush of their shoulders.]
I wasn't mad at you for getting hurt by him, I was bothered that you kept it from me.
[Chase steps into line for only a few paces, arm dropping back uselessly by his side, and then he stops.]
Claire.
[And she may have called him this time but she's doing the same thing again, and it's obvious he still hasn't found a way to get through to her. It's a bad time to push things, but all times like this are bad and the one thing he can't accept is that she needs to do this on her own.]
You asked for me, don't shut me back out again. If you're hurt. I'm here.
[Hurt in the definition of the word he's always told her she has as much right to as anyone.]
[The answer comes before he stops, and sounds slightly congested - but still understanding enough to be honest as opposed to some sort of brush off - with the weight of what she's holding back. When Chase pulls up short and says her name, Claire comes to a company halt, cutting down the pronounced height difference between them by craning her neck to meet his eyes. Some of the air, the wires and bits of string, she's been holding herself together with goes out of her, and the exhale that follows is just as much a sigh of relief as it is an admittance of acceptance
( ... )
[She'd woken him from a spot on the couch rather than bed, which had meant the luxury of grabbing a jacket on his way out of the door wasn't as much of a delay as dressing would have been, brown leather over his thin t-shirt and jeans. It's not a cold night, and as he stands a few paces behind her he slips the extra layer back off his shoulders and down his arms.]
You're alive. That's only one definition of okay.
[If she knew what she sounded like, or could see how the tension in her face manages to age her in a way the years haven't managed yet. Things that make chase's fists clench uselessly with the urge to turn and go back after whoever and whatever was capable of this. No one should have been capable of it. But he doesn't, he forces himself forward instead and brings the jacket gently around her shoulders, covering up rips and stains. With it his arms circle her from behind and the barest hint of pressure brings her back against him, if she'll go. He reaches to take the shoe, useless except as evidence, and everyone in the City
( ... )
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A block away from the apartment he dials her number, listens for the tone nearby.]
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One day he'll pretend he's got used to not worrying about that.
But there's no one else here, and she's healed as normal despite the signs that something has pulled her awry. Chase looks at missing buttons, rips and tears that don't pretend to be accidental, and his jaw sets.]
Do you want me to look for him now, or take you home?
Reply
Don't look for anyone.
[She's told him, hasn't she? Isn't that an improvement over the last time, over Nuada? Isn't that enough? Claire can remember lying in St. Joseph's and pleading the same request to her father. ( ... )
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He drags his focus back in, back to her face. Doesn't look down.]
Of course.
[And he takes one breath that seems to steady the heaving of his ribs, opening the space of an arm out for her to fit, if she wants. It is an improvement, although he doesn't yet know the extent of the comparison and without that his suspicion rises that this was finally bad enough for her to consider calling him warranted. That's what makes this so impossible to describe as preferable. But he holds that arm out and offers her a place.]
I'm glad you called.
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I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want - with Nuada - when you -
[She cuts herself off, frustrated, and presses her lips together, hoping that he will pick up on what it is she's trying to say without having to use so many words. A part of her is sorry for worrying him, but an overwhelming majority is glad that she called, too. While she knows she'll need to deal with all that's happened on her own, feeling like she made the right decision in doing this is something she considers progress.
She starts walking, placing a certain amount of distance between the brush of their shoulders.]
I didn't want to do that again.
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[Chase steps into line for only a few paces, arm dropping back uselessly by his side, and then he stops.]
Claire.
[And she may have called him this time but she's doing the same thing again, and it's obvious he still hasn't found a way to get through to her. It's a bad time to push things, but all times like this are bad and the one thing he can't accept is that she needs to do this on her own.]
You asked for me, don't shut me back out again. If you're hurt. I'm here.
[Hurt in the definition of the word he's always told her she has as much right to as anyone.]
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[The answer comes before he stops, and sounds slightly congested - but still understanding enough to be honest as opposed to some sort of brush off - with the weight of what she's holding back. When Chase pulls up short and says her name, Claire comes to a company halt, cutting down the pronounced height difference between them by craning her neck to meet his eyes. Some of the air, the wires and bits of string, she's been holding herself together with goes out of her, and the exhale that follows is just as much a sigh of relief as it is an admittance of acceptance ( ... )
Reply
You're alive. That's only one definition of okay.
[If she knew what she sounded like, or could see how the tension in her face manages to age her in a way the years haven't managed yet. Things that make chase's fists clench uselessly with the urge to turn and go back after whoever and whatever was capable of this. No one should have been capable of it. But he doesn't, he forces himself forward instead and brings the jacket gently around her shoulders, covering up rips and stains. With it his arms circle her from behind and the barest hint of pressure brings her back against him, if she'll go. He reaches to take the shoe, useless except as evidence, and everyone in the City ( ... )
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