Chapter Text
“Are you okay?”
She has no idea how long he’s been standing there, hovering in her doorway as a backlit shadow. She gets ribbed mercilessly for creeping around the place, popping up without warning and scaring them half to death, but he’s just as bad when he wants to be.
She has to remind herself when the teasing happens that it’s out of love- if they didn’t love her, they wouldn’t waste the energy in risking irritating her. And maybe a part of her enjoys the startled yelps, the sloshed coffee, because maybe- hopefully- they realize she does it as her way of showing she loves them too.
She must look worse than usual because he stays there in shadow, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, nearly three hours after their boss left and he was a free man.
She can only imagine what he sees from there.
The office is dark, the only light drifting in not from the hallway, but the main hall beyond the next doorway. They’re too high up to gain any benefit from the streetlights outside. Her blazer is gone and she’s slumped in her chair, her right hand wrapped around a tumbler more empty now than full, a lingering odor of cabinet scotch- three times the price of her desk scotch- wafting around the rim.
“Nadine?” He takes two steps into her space, clearly hesitant to invade entirely just yet.
“I’m not drunk.” Not yet anyway. Though she’s two glasses in and can’t in good conscience drive herself home. It’s nights like this when she makes use of the couch in her office. The custom selected piece of furniture gets complaints from the men for being too low, short, and shallow, but it fits her perfectly and she refuses to apologize for that. She has spent far too much of her life living in a world designed for people six feet tall and she’d been damned if her own office space was the same.
“I wasn’t asking… But you’re close, aren’t you?”
She should answer, she thinks, but instead she finishes her scotch in silence.
He crosses the room, stepping close enough to lift the glass out of her hand, sniffing it. “How many bottles do you have?” She’s not surprised he can tell by the smell. He was probably being taught the differences before he was out of diapers.
“One.” It’s a lie, so she doesn’t look up as she says it.
“Liar. Do I need to search your office?”
“I’ll fire you if you do.”
He huffs, backing away but staying between her and freedom. “Fine.”
She eyes him, not liking at all the way he says that. “What?”
“Let me see you collect your things to leave then.”
“Blake-”
“You’ve stayed after to drink alone in the dark every night for the past three weeks.”
“It hasn’t been three weeks! It’s barely been two!”
His brows shoot up and she realizes she’s just walked into his trap. Son of a bitch.
“I’m fine. Go home.”
“No.” He rocks up on his toes and then back on his heels. Thinking. “You’ve been nursing pain of some sort… I just can’t work out what.”
“It’s not your problem.”
The floor is empty but he turns and goes to the effort- the show- of shutting her door anyway. When he turns back, he moves to the couch, knees poking up oddly though tonight he doesn’t comment. “I am your friend.”
And she can’t argue him on that one. She has few close friends anymore but Blake has somehow turned into one of them. “I’m just tired…”
“Of?” He finally asks, voice barely breaking the silence.
She can’t say it. She sounds pathetic. She can’t admit to Blake of all people what’s eating away at her mind. Maybe over drinks Elizabeth, but never Blake.
“I could guess?”
And that sounds like a worse idea than just telling him outright.
“Nadine…” He sighs. “You’re sitting here in your office after dark, alone with a drink in your hand. I’m pretty sure I could get it in one.” Even in the dark she can see his mouth dip into a frown before leveling out again. “I’m not the math whiz, but I’d place my odds of being right at over ninety percent.”
She doesn’t straighten in her seat but instead pulls her feet up to rest on the edge, knees against her chest. “Fine.”
“You’re lonely.”
They stare at one another for a minute… and then two.
“Nadine-”
“I wanted to go to the Kennedy Center, but I’ve cancelled on people so many times that now no one has time for me anymore.” Her eyes drop to the desk between them. “I love my job, but…”
“But now it’s taken over everything.”
Eventually she nods.
Time ticks by and then Blake finally draws a breath. “I’ll go with you.” It’s not a question, not an offer. It’s a declaration of a plan made.
It makes her eyes snap up, finding his in the dim lighting. “What?”
He shrugs. “I’ll go with you to the Kennedy Center.”
“Blake-” She’s ready to list the reasons no.
“You wanted to go with a friend. Why does it matter what friend?” He leans forward, arms landing on his knees. “And then maybe you’ll tell me the rest of what’s wrong.”
“Blake-”
He’s on his feet again, hands back in his pockets. “Tell me which show and I’ll make sure our schedules stay free. And if they don’t? Well, we’d be cancelling on each other then, wouldn’t we?”
“Blake-”
He’s already lifting her jacket off the tree and heading for her bag in the drawer. “I’m your ride home. I can’t in good conscience put a female friend of mine in a rideshare drunk-”
“I’m not drunk-”
“Especially when she’s headed home to an empty apartment.”
That he’s talking over her is a clue. He does it when he’s forcing Elizabeth to cooperate and she knows he’ll keep on until he gets his way. “Fine.”
The moment she’s on her feet, he drapes the jacket over her shoulders. “Good girl.”
Her brow arches. “I’m pretty sure being old enough to be your mother means you can’t call me a girl.”
He only shrugs but at the elevators she realizes she’s smiling for the first time in two weeks.
~~
“Nadine.” The voice is soft and gentle. “Let’s get you inside.”
Slowly, her eyes open, finding him and their surroundings before the clock on his dash. It’s nearly an hour later than she expects and when she goes to straighten in his passenger seat, she realizes his hand is in hers.
“You dozed off, so I drove around for a bit. Took the scenic route.”
“For an extra hour?”
He ignores her. “I’ll walk you in and make sure the front door is locked.”
“You don’t need to do that.” But of course he does and she doesn’t want to admit it feels kind of nice. No one has cared in years whether she got in okay and she’s realizing now that she’s missed such a simple kindness.
She’s missed someone worrying about her.
He’s hugging her in her entryway before she even realizes she’s crying and that simple act- the basicness of it, makes her dissolve.