Chapter Text
Claire doesn’t like making apologies (Who does?), but she feels better after speaking to Matt. Feels like maybe they’re actually…okay…for the first time ever, like there’s nothing hanging over their heads, no impending disaster waiting to rush in and upset their delicate balance. Like she has finally, finally achieved what her brief getaway in the spring was supposed to have done.
Distance.
Perspective.
And more practically, she no longer feels like Matt is going to bleed out in some dark alley because he thinks she’s mad at him. Their argument hadn’t even really been about him as much as it’d been about her own inability to take care of these people the way they deserved. Not that they made it any easier for her, each and every one of them as skittish and wary as junkyard dogs. (And if Matt’s any indication, probably just as in need of steady affection.)
But then again, maybe she shouldn’t be using Matt as an example of anything. It’s just…hard. She gets him in so many ways. And it should probably scare her more than it does instead of making her feel like there’s someone out there who unquestionably has her back.
Maybe that’s why she’s not completely surprised to find Matt waiting for her a week later as she steps away from the ER for a break. What is surprising is that he’s in his civvies. And holding a to go container.
“Claire!” Kiernan waves her over with a grin, like Matt’s been using his charm on the poor, impressionable intern. It’s normally much harder for strangers to get direct access to the staff.
She eyes Matt, trying to decide what message street clothes and take-out sends. Their last conversation weighs on her as she walks over.
“Is that for me?” She stops close enough that she can feel the chill from outside still rolling off him. (Wonders if that puts her inside or outside of his personal space. Exactly what are the boundaries of intimate space for a man who can smell cologne from a floor away?)
Matt sets the box on the counter and slides it her way. “Thought maybe I’d let the vending machine take a night off.”
She gives him a sharp look, which is of course utterly wasted on him. Grocery shopping should be higher on her list of priorities than it currently is, and yes, most of her recent “meals” in the last couple of days have come out of a coin operated machine. But there’s no reason for Matt to know that.
“Been spying on me?” she asks, tone dry enough that it should make the raindrops on his shoulders evaporate. Instead it makes Kiernan chuckle as he moves off to end to other things. Matt at least has the decency to duck his head while a flush highlights his cheekbones.
That looks like a yes. She cracks the box open to peek inside; roast beef sandwich, sealed cup of au jus, salad with dressing on the side. Everything could be thrown in the fridge and eaten later, even hours later, without suffering for it.
“Weren’t sure about your timing?” she asks.
“Your breaks do float around.”
What does he do? Perch on the side of the building and listen for her? Then again, that seems like the kind of question she doesn’t really want an answer to.
What she does ask is, “Want to keep me company while I eat?” There’s every possibility that he came by just to drop this off before he hits the streets. But she doesn’t think that’s the case this time.
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead he cocks his head and seems to listen, lips pursed in thought or concentration. No doubt trying to divine if the offer is genuine or made out of obligation. So she waits patiently. Mostly patiently. She does get only so long for a break.
“Okay. Uh…may I?” He reaches for her arm but stops before actually touching her.
The question surprises her – honestly surprises her – for the first time all evening. It seems like an act, though she’s uncertain which part is the artifice. (The odd formality? The pretence of needing guidance?) But she presses her arm into his still extended palm. Tries to ignore the startling heat of him. (And Kiernan’s very obvious double thumbs-up.) (She suspects her coworker is just thrilled to get a glimpse of her notoriously quiet private life.)
Claire walks down the hall slowly, suddenly in no hurry to reach the lounge. Yet some mischievous impulse makes her grin and glance at him sidelong. “Following my lead for once, Murdock?”
He grins and ducks his head, fingers flexing gently around her biceps before he leans close to say in her ear, “It seemed like the cheapest thing I could get you for Christmas.”
Hmmm…
It seems he’s brought her food for thought along with a meal. Still, she guides him around the mistletoe hanging above the outpatient entrance. This may be a reunion of sorts, but they’re no where – no where – near that kind of territory.