[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
( ... )
[As far as tricks go, deep, healing breaths don't typically work in terms of keeping up facades. If anything, they're more revealing than they try to be, and while the cracks might not be showing yet, the veneer layered over them isn't exactly being hidden.
Claire shakes her head in response, cupping his elbow with a small palm so that she can encourage him further into the apartment. She reaches around him and shuts the door, turning the lock with a loud thap. Once that's done, she stretches up on her toes to put her arms around his shoulders, craving human contact now that she's off the street and feeling human herself. There are certain consequences that come with that, but her voice muffled by his shirt doesn't immediately betray them.]
You aren't psychic, Robert. You got there as fast as you could. And nothing happened. [She pulls back to look at him, holding him steady - herself steady - by either shoulder.] Nothing like that happened.
He meets her eyes, holding the contact for what feels like a long time though its likely only a minute stretches out before he pulls her in against him again, arms wrapping bear-hug tight. He dips his knees after a minute more, enough to lower the bracket of his arms to her waist and lift her with him when he straightens. Just across to sit her on the arm of the couch. His work shirt, blue pinstripe, has been discarded across the back.]
I'd kill him.
[That, too soft and too considered to be an angry reaction, said against her ear before he pulls back to gather up the shirt to give her. He doesn't meet her eyes for more than a second, but the truth is there too. Ration and reason don't matter.]
[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
( ... )
[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.
[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
( ... )
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Claire shakes her head in response, cupping his elbow with a small palm so that she can encourage him further into the apartment. She reaches around him and shuts the door, turning the lock with a loud thap. Once that's done, she stretches up on her toes to put her arms around his shoulders, craving human contact now that she's off the street and feeling human herself. There are certain consequences that come with that, but her voice muffled by his shirt doesn't immediately betray them.]
You aren't psychic, Robert. You got there as fast as you could. And nothing happened. [She pulls back to look at him, holding him steady - herself steady - by either shoulder.] Nothing like that happened.
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That's the one answer he needed.
He meets her eyes, holding the contact for what feels like a long time though its likely only a minute stretches out before he pulls her in against him again, arms wrapping bear-hug tight. He dips his knees after a minute more, enough to lower the bracket of his arms to her waist and lift her with him when he straightens. Just across to sit her on the arm of the couch. His work shirt, blue pinstripe, has been discarded across the back.]
I'd kill him.
[That, too soft and too considered to be an angry reaction, said against her ear before he pulls back to gather up the shirt to give her. He doesn't meet her eyes for more than a second, but the truth is there too. Ration and reason don't matter.]
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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 ( ... )
Reply
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.
Reply
[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 ( ... )
Reply
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 ( ... )
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