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..Clover hated small talk. It was always awkward and he’d end up fucking up somehow in some way at some point and agonise over it for the next few days and vow to never utter a word to anyone again. Only to get up and go to work like nothing happened. A sisyphean cycle of his own making, truly. It was never ending.
He was just glad the SDN didn’t suck ass and let him use the men’s locker room like every other man.
He had only just made it to HQ, an undeterred beeline to the locker room where he now stood, sorting himself out for the day. He wasn’t remarkable by any means, nor was he powered in any variety - hell, he had to use a cane a lot of the time but refused to drag it along to work with him out of fear of ridicule - just.. Lucky. Exceptionally lucky. He wondered if whatever God decided to play this futile prank on him was enjoying the pure clusterfuck that happened to be his life.
Clover stared blankly into the mirror taped onto the inside of his locker door, scrutinizing every inch of his face and wondering if he looked like enough of a man to get by another day, only to shortly dismiss the notion because he remembered Waterboy existed. By most standards, he was doing exceptionally fine. More than that, at least. He was a hero… Legitimacy of the statement undecided sure, but he considered himself a hero. Always did. Always singing to his own tune and standing out whenever and wherever he could for no reason aside from the fact he always had the urge to be someone’s hero. Even in passing.
“Christ, lad, I can hear ya contemplatin’ all of life’s worst mysteries from ov’r ‘ere..!”
“JESUS FUCK–!” Clover yelped at the sudden interruption, slamming his locker shut out of instinctual response.
He was always so flighty, it was a surprise he wasn’t as bad as.. Ugh, stop thinking about that. He straightened up and set his gaze on his coworker, Punch Up.. as friendly of a face it can be. He chuckled and shifted his wait on his feet, looking away in slight embarrassment.
“Yikes. You scared me, y’know?”
Punch Up raised an eyebrow, unamused and disbelieving, as if to ask if Clover was being serious. Nonetheless he shook his head and approached his locker and began sorting himself out for the day, keeping a watchful gaze on Clover out of the corner of his eye.
“I could’ve guessed. What’s got you feelin’ all so..” He paused, gesturing at him with a vague hand. “Jittery?”
Clover’s shoulders tensed briefly before slumping again and a dry, humourless chuckle fell from his lips again as he adjusted his glasses out of nervous habit and began over-gesticulating with his hands.
“I’ve just been a jitterbug these past few.. Uh..”
“Weeks?”
“Yeah. Weeks.”
Silence fell between the two men as if it were a non-verbal understanding of how much stress all the sudden changes have been giving Clover. He sighed and glanced away again, nervously opening his locker and giving himself another once over, dusting his trousers off and forcing a smile at himself in the mirror. How long could he keep doing this to himself, he wondered?
The rest of the locker room fell into background noise, static blending with static blending with static into a near-mute cacophony of every single little thing from the annoying hum of the fluorescent lights that did virtually nothing for anyone’s morale, the unbearable stench of dried sweat and other scents Clover had no interest in even remotely trying to identify it. They stared down at their hands as their vision narrowed, their pulse racing in their ears and–
“Hey,” Punch Up’s voice called out from behind him, softer and kinder than he would’ve expected. That softness yanked Clover out from his momentary spiral and he glanced down at his coworker, eyes unintentionally misty.
Despite the height difference, while not significant it was a height difference nonetheless, Punch Up tenderly reaches up to carefully wipe away a tear that had rolled down his cheek. His breath hitched involuntarily, the kind gesture catching him off guard.
Colm would naturally deny such a thing had ever happened if ever questioned, but right now, he was more concerned about his teammate. He had heard rumours. Against his will, mostly, he wasn’t up for gossiping anyway, but.. He wasn’t an idiot. He could tell Clover was more on the sensitive side than others, so he’d have to tread carefully. No big deal.
“Take it easy, will ya?” Punch Up asks quietly, his hand moving away but only reluctantly. He dusted it off before glancing back up at Clover. “You look fine,”
Clover, still a bit too stunned for words, settles for nodding dumbly, watching as Punch Up retreats to his locker and continues on readying for another gruelling day of heroics. He places his hand against his cheek in a subtle attempt to replicate the warmth of Punch Up’s hand against his skin to minimal success. He looked down at his outfit. Fine, he says.
…
Clover was gonna take it as a compliment, and take it in stride. He shuts his locker with a bit more force than what would be necessary, and walks off up the connecting staircase, feeling just a bit better about himself.
Unbeknownst to him, Colm couldn’t help but watch, a small smile gracing his features. He could sympathise the hell his teammate was going through, and if there was anything he’d be more than happy doing, it was at the very least making sure Clover felt like he was doing enough.