[Caught somewhat off-guard by what he says, Claire lets her hands slip down the curves of his arms without breaking contact until she's has no choice other than to take the shirt he's holding out to her. It isn't that she's really surprised by that soft spoken admission - and it's the softness of it that holds her attention, when an an outburst or something spoken more heatedly could be written off as an angry dismissal - but hearing something like that is always different than imagining the words and syllables coming out of someone's mouth, how they might sound and how you might digest them. She's stuck somewhere between being grateful and wanting to punch him, hardly an unfamiliar combination.
Every man in her life has made her feel that way at least once.]
Thankfully that's just a hypothetical. [She folds the shirt over the soft material of his jacket, splaying her fingers between the pinstripes and looking down at her dirty fingernails. The lingering sensation of his arms around her pulses in time with her heartbeat as she balances on the arm of the sofa.] I wouldn't want you to kill anyone.
[That's not to say she doesn't understand why he's saying it. She would say it. She might actually do it. Although he might not be looking at her, Claire can't help but look at him and nowhere else. She's not trying to meet his eyes, but watching the lines traced by his shoulders is good enough for her. A shower sounds like a good plan, but for the moment Claire finds herself rooted to the spot.]
[He catches hold of her fingers before they can pull away, curling his underneath to hold them. He'd rather hold her closer, tighter, but there's a fear that too much closeness might feel like a cage. The fight or flight reflex lingers in the blood long after the threat has passed.]
Then we'll find out who the guy is, and we'll find someone to do something about it. I'm tired of the damn lunatics running the asylum. He's not going to sit in a cage until he feels like he's done playing contrite, like some of the rest of them.
[He'll advocate going via the police force, but they're a toothless organisation when it comes down to it and the state a lawless one. When that happens, it's down to the citizenry to police themselves. He thinks of Ginny, and those he's met like her. Good people to have onside.]
They did it with Nuada. We can make sure he's declawed. I promise.
You don't have to take out a hit. If he keeps up at the rate he's been going, you're not gonna be the only one saying things like that. There's no way this was the first time he's gone after someone, and it won't be the last. He knew what he was doing. [Fixed on the floor, her eyes widen, like an aftershock, caught up in the detail of the carpet.] He was so fast.
[Forcing herself to lose interest in the rug, Claire blinks up at him, eyes coming back into focus with a sort of resolution hanging around the edges. Knowing that she wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last unless she did something about it was the driving force behind what she did to Brody. Chase doesn't need to assume any amount of responsibility - she'll assume enough of it on her own - but it inspires a feeling similar to what Peter could create with that kind of a declaration, even when it annoyed her.]
But he's still sloppy. Whatever he's been doing to whoever he's been doing it to, it can't and won't last. No one gets away with that, one way or another.
[Her voice isn't as emboldened as she would like it to be, with a statement like that. Something above a whisper and below her normal register, throaty and raw. Claire lets go of his hand, and though she'd like to step into the envelope of his embrace, having a bit of space for a little while longer is more appealing. She clears her throat.]
[A step back as she lets go, he leaves the shirt with her and shoves his hands in his pockets to negate the urge to reach.]
Well I'll make sure.
[He needs the last word on the topic, though it's a selfish thing to need. It's a male thing, probably, and stronger still in those who make a career out of helping people. Peter would be the same. A need to prove himself which has never translated into alpha status but runs through everything he does and in something like this, a need to prove that he can be the protector he should be. It's always difficult with her, more so now he's sleeping with her and that urge is more primal than ever.
He can't go out hunting, but he can get a glass of water.]
Of course. [He walks backwards away from her, two or three steps, finding it harder to turn away completely] Do you want ice in it? It would probably be a good idea if you could eat something.
[She lets him have it, understanding the whys and hows and finding herself too worn and too appreciative to argue with them. Rather than trying to find something to respond with, she offers him a small, grateful smile and stands just as he starts to back up, making the distance smaller without actually decreasing it, holding his shirt in one hand so that she can begin the arduous process of removing his jacket, her cardigan, the cotton shirt underneath. It's starting to smell, and one day, she decides, she's going to go a whole six months without showing up at his door bloody.]
No, thank you. [To the ice. As for the food -] I'm not really that hungry. [Which isn't what he was asking, so Claire concedes.] Toast would be okay. Just with butter or something. I'm gonna go... bathroom.
[It's easier than saying 'to clean up.' Claire lingers a moment, the jacket hanging from one arm, as if to reassure him that she really is as fine as she tries to be, and then turns to head down the hall. Out of his direct line of sight, Claire waits until she's got the door shut to drag her fingers back through her hair, scrubbing her palms over her face, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She takes a deep breath, an itch in her chest, and lets it out through her mouth with calculated control.
That accomplished, she finally manages to work her way out of her clothes, leaving her shorts on but pulling Chase's button-down so that it stretches as far as it can, the buttons done up to her throat. After folding up another ruined set of shirts and grabbing his jacket, Claire lets herself out of the bathroom and avoids glancing in the mirror as she does. The jacket falls to a chair, her clothes find a spot on the floor, and Claire practically tiptoes to the kitchen, taking a breath before linking her arms around him from behind, the side of her face pressed to his back.]
Every man in her life has made her feel that way at least once.]
Thankfully that's just a hypothetical. [She folds the shirt over the soft material of his jacket, splaying her fingers between the pinstripes and looking down at her dirty fingernails. The lingering sensation of his arms around her pulses in time with her heartbeat as she balances on the arm of the sofa.] I wouldn't want you to kill anyone.
[That's not to say she doesn't understand why he's saying it. She would say it. She might actually do it. Although he might not be looking at her, Claire can't help but look at him and nowhere else. She's not trying to meet his eyes, but watching the lines traced by his shoulders is good enough for her. A shower sounds like a good plan, but for the moment Claire finds herself rooted to the spot.]
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Then we'll find out who the guy is, and we'll find someone to do something about it. I'm tired of the damn lunatics running the asylum. He's not going to sit in a cage until he feels like he's done playing contrite, like some of the rest of them.
[He'll advocate going via the police force, but they're a toothless organisation when it comes down to it and the state a lawless one. When that happens, it's down to the citizenry to police themselves. He thinks of Ginny, and those he's met like her. Good people to have onside.]
They did it with Nuada. We can make sure he's declawed. I promise.
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[Forcing herself to lose interest in the rug, Claire blinks up at him, eyes coming back into focus with a sort of resolution hanging around the edges. Knowing that she wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last unless she did something about it was the driving force behind what she did to Brody. Chase doesn't need to assume any amount of responsibility - she'll assume enough of it on her own - but it inspires a feeling similar to what Peter could create with that kind of a declaration, even when it annoyed her.]
But he's still sloppy. Whatever he's been doing to whoever he's been doing it to, it can't and won't last. No one gets away with that, one way or another.
[Her voice isn't as emboldened as she would like it to be, with a statement like that. Something above a whisper and below her normal register, throaty and raw. Claire lets go of his hand, and though she'd like to step into the envelope of his embrace, having a bit of space for a little while longer is more appealing. She clears her throat.]
Can I get a glass of water?
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Well I'll make sure.
[He needs the last word on the topic, though it's a selfish thing to need. It's a male thing, probably, and stronger still in those who make a career out of helping people. Peter would be the same. A need to prove himself which has never translated into alpha status but runs through everything he does and in something like this, a need to prove that he can be the protector he should be. It's always difficult with her, more so now he's sleeping with her and that urge is more primal than ever.
He can't go out hunting, but he can get a glass of water.]
Of course. [He walks backwards away from her, two or three steps, finding it harder to turn away completely] Do you want ice in it? It would probably be a good idea if you could eat something.
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No, thank you. [To the ice. As for the food -] I'm not really that hungry. [Which isn't what he was asking, so Claire concedes.] Toast would be okay. Just with butter or something. I'm gonna go... bathroom.
[It's easier than saying 'to clean up.' Claire lingers a moment, the jacket hanging from one arm, as if to reassure him that she really is as fine as she tries to be, and then turns to head down the hall. Out of his direct line of sight, Claire waits until she's got the door shut to drag her fingers back through her hair, scrubbing her palms over her face, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She takes a deep breath, an itch in her chest, and lets it out through her mouth with calculated control.
That accomplished, she finally manages to work her way out of her clothes, leaving her shorts on but pulling Chase's button-down so that it stretches as far as it can, the buttons done up to her throat. After folding up another ruined set of shirts and grabbing his jacket, Claire lets herself out of the bathroom and avoids glancing in the mirror as she does. The jacket falls to a chair, her clothes find a spot on the floor, and Claire practically tiptoes to the kitchen, taking a breath before linking her arms around him from behind, the side of her face pressed to his back.]
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