002 - I'm here

[centerishome]

Clarke had already gone to sleep when Jen left him those three messages. He easily could have rambled on to Heather all night but as time went on his responses and questions became less coherent until he finally concluded that he couldn't reason his way out of this, there was nothing else that could be said. He's very aware that he's inching closer

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[on_jennys_terms]

The only reason she's conscious this early in the morning is because the alcoholic numbness wore off during the night, leaving her with throbbing pain in her wrist. There are places on her body that are sore today that weren't yesterday. And her wrist has swelled considerably. Probably broken, but she'll worry about that when the room stops spinning. For now, she's icing it.

It takes her a long time to answer the door and when she finally does, she squints up at Clarke, trying to look angry, but the sun is making her head explode. She remembers what she said to him, though. "What?" is all she says. He's the last person she wanted to see today, second probably to Heather.

[centerishome]

He wonders at first if she's going to answer. Either way he's not going anywhere. When he hears movement he sighs in relief. He's patient; he knows she moves slower in the mornings sometimes anyway.

She's angry like he expected her to be. What he didn't expect was how physically weak she looked. She looked drained. He thought of what Agent Gibbs had said - that her heart was as fragile as everything else was sharp.

"I brought coffee." He didn't smile at her, he wasn't going to pretend this was like any other day. "Can I come in?"

[on_jennys_terms]

She glares (or tries to) at him for another minute while she decides if she wants to let him in or not. She knows what he's here to do. "Even if I were to slam the door in your face--and believe me, I want to--you would just stand there like an idiot while my neighbors make up stories," she snaps coldly, but even as she says it, she's moving out of the doorway.

But she turns away, letting him close the door himself, however he has to manage it. She has no interest in playing nice hostess. As she walks towards the kitchen, she adjusts the ice on her wrist and says, "And you can keep your coffee. I can't even think about drinking that." Even the idea of coffee is making her stomach roll.

[centerishome]

She's exactly right. At this point he'd be willing to camp out on her doorstep if it would prove he was serious. At least he left his boombox and Phil Collins cassette at home.

"I guess you probably don't want a scone either." He followed her inside and left one of the coffee cups on the counter in case she changed her mind. It would be just as good microwaved later. He, on the other hand, was in the mood for coffee so he sipped his slowly while he watched her. He noticed her wrist but didn't ask about it.

"Can we talk, please?"