[ Being held onto is less strange than suddenly being let go of, never mind that she shouldn't really expect anything less given her present company. She realizes, belatedly, that her hair is in her face because she's bent toward him automatically, leaned forward to follow his trajectory and make sure that he sits when told to and she's... right there. Her wrist is turning over under the circle of his grip to catch his wrist in return when the pressure is suddenly gone. Claire is left holding onto open air and then her pant leg, palm pressed into the fabric pressing into her skin. ]
I was just down the hall from - [ Her thumb is jutting back over her shoulder to indicate direction, and her bottle is clutched loosely in the opposite circle of thumb and forefinger. And then. Just. Fuck it. She wants to sit down next to him, so she's going to. ] Here? I guess. For a while? Maybe?
[ It's not so much a clarification request as it is asking for permission. One of them is going to have to suck it up eventually; the way Claire looks at it, it might as well be her. ]
Severus stares up at her for a moment with an expression that's almost comically wide-eyed. For someone who's basically been a terrorist, has fought in a war and killed people, is a triple agent, he's absurdly inexperienced in so many other realms. ]
All right. [ Their catch phrase, apparently. But-- ] I mean, of course. If you want to.
[ Could he be more awkward. (Probably, actually.) ]
[ The problem, of course, with getting somewhere is that eventually you get there and then you are just there and then what happens? For Claire's part, she tries to act as casually as possible, leaning back until her spine connects with the wall and she is more or less propped up. She thinks that she feels the beginnings of a headache coming on, but that actually is impossible and just attributes it to pressure and feeling like a moron.
If he's worried about feeling awkward, he shouldn't, because she's doing enough of that for the both of them. ]
Is Corvo okay?
[ Is a safe question to ask when she is effectively sitting in his bed. Although he has sat in hers before. To be fair, though, she doesn't live in that room anymore. ]
[ Quietly. Severus really doesn't - which is frustrating. The assassin's magic is unfamiliar and chaotic, and he feels like he's running through a forest blind when he tries to untangle it. But it doesn't mean he's going to give up.
After what feels like a long stretch of silence, Severus glances over his shoulder - sort of looking at her, almost - and holds out his hand. It's probably the fever giving him the balls to try it, but-- she's sitting on his bed, and he grabbed her hand already, he might as well actually offer. ]
[ Not actually knowing the guy doesn't stop her from feeling some amount of sympathy for him. Anyone who voluntarily asks to be put up must have more than just run of the mill stuff going on, and yet Claire's brain is so full of cotton and her own misgivings about her current state and the state of those she's closest to - she hasn't actually managed to get through to Peter or Nathan - that she hasn't bothered to even make her way down to where Corvo has been. Maybe she should. Or maybe she could push herself into a standing position and go take a nap rather than sitting around here and making an ass of herself.
Or she could stare at some point beyond and through the hand that Severus is extending for long enough that it begins to drag out. Somewhere after that point, Claire leaves the guava bottle somewhere near the end of the cot and leans forward to lace her fingers with his. It's a bold move on his part, and not because she might reject it - even before she makes the decision, Claire already knows she's going to reciprocate - but because she doesn't expect it. In return, once she's more or less sitting up and forward again, she lets herself lean again him, temple to shoulder. Her head feels too big for her body, and she doesn't say anything. ]
[ The last time Severus was remotely intimate with someone - the rarity of it means this counts, yes, quiet and sedate as it is - he'd paid for it; the distance of a professional transaction had comforted him so much more than the other kind, all infidelity and violence. He holds Claire's hand, fingers pressing against hers, and doesn't flinch away when she leans against him.
It's probably funny that they're both ill. Then again, the relief of it when feeling miserable is even more welcome than it might be otherwise.
He still feels like an idiot. Like she might yank her hand away and laugh at him. But he hopes not. His thumb brushes over the back of her hand where they're joined. ]
[ She's watching, sleepy and relaxed. Comfortable. And that in itself is such a strange and rare thing for her that her brain snags on it and doesn't let go of it. It doesn't get sharpened or amped up into anxiety - although it would be easy enough to let it slide in that direction, to panic and push him away and leave - but rather Claire finds herself submerged in it. Maybe it's backwards and sideways that the only person she has managed to relax around while she's been here is someone who she shouldn't, by all accounts, even trust as far as she can throw him, and yet -
Claire isn't stupid. This isn't a friendship, not anymore. Probably not since before their conversation in the oxygen garden. Whatever it is has transmuted, had some kind of chemical breakdown and reformation. Last time that happened, she messed it up. Now, all she can focus on is trying very hard not to sneeze. Her nose itches, and she wants to turn her chin up and press her mouth to his jawbone but her throat tastes like artificial fruit and her tongue like paste. She can't imagine that her breath smells like anything other than a foot, so she only angles up enough that her eyes can catch the side of his face while he isn't looking at her directly. Still, it feels like hours before she says anything. When she does, her voice is very quiet. ]
It could be like this more often. [ And then there is a prickle in the back of her throat and behind her eyes and in her sinuses, and she jerks away quickly to sneeze, twice, turned away, into her sleeve, more air than anything. Reflexively, small fingers tighten around his momentarily before they resume normal pressure without letting go. ] Maybe with less of that.
[ The moment they're having draws out, suspended in time, held apart from the current chaos of their lives in space, tucked away in this little room. Severus feels like he should try and talk her out of this again. He also feels like he doesn't want to do that at all. He doesn't know.
It could be like this more often.
Merlin. That's both terrifying and--
Severus startles, sitting up as Claire pulls away, but he doesn't let go over her hand. He stares for a moment then has to clear his throat, trying not to laugh, then ends up choking slightly on that since he's just as sick as she is. This is all very attractive. ]
I.. [ .. have to cough again - still trying not to laugh - and turns his head to do so, finally shaking the remnants of almost-laughter. Ehhem. ] I don't think we're getting away from that anytime soon. Maybe we should just go to sleep.
[ She's rubbing her nose, not wiping but trying to relieve the itch that's started up behind it. It's like this that she turns to face him, the wrist of her sweatshirt pulled over her thumb springing back into place when she lets go of it to narrow her eyes at him. ]
I think you're just trying to cover up the fact that you're trying not to laugh at me.
I'd have to be laughing at myself, too. [ As if demonstrating, his voice is still rough from trying not to cough further - it almost covers up how strangely shy he feels, hand still in hers. What the fuck is he doing? ]
I'd whack you on the back if I could. [ But she can't, because they've still got their palms pressed together, lines crisscrossing and intersecting, and that hand that would be useful is otherwise occupied. ] You know, to be helpful. For your cough. It sounds very serious.
[ Eventually, she has to let go, regardless of whether or not she wants to. It's a slow process, but Claire slips her fingers out from between his as easily as she had intertwined them. In the absence, she feels awkward and ungrounded, but she makes a decision all the same and swings her legs up onto the cot, using her free hand for leverage and straightening herself out, head plopping back down on the pillow it finds behind it. Green eyes stare up at the ceiling, catching him in her peripheral but not enough to catch the full expression on his face. She glances over at him, not entirely sure what's going to happen next. ]
[ It probably is serious, this illness he can't figure out. It's safer here for all of them behind his quarantined wards - Severus keeps an eye on the network, but he knows there's nothing he can contribute. Unless he wants to rant and rave about the evils of muggle technology and, frankly, he just doesn't have the energy.
Severus just sits there for a while. He stares down at the floor, and while his expression is unreadable, the set of his shoulders betrays his indecision. He's not sure what to do. He's not even sure what he should want to do. He can switch a flip in his brain, like he accidentally did with Odessa, but-- he doesn't want that, in truth he hates that.
After an extended period of silence, he presses both hands against the edge of the cot and pushes himself up. Only a bit, because he lowers down to sit on the floor, his back against the spindly bedframe, head tilted against it. ]
[ As always, indecision is better than flat out rejection, or whatever getting up and walking away or - well, sitting on the floor - might constitute. Claire lies on her back with her fingers laced over her stomach feeling like an idiot and like a very smart person all at once. She's never actively been in this position before, and it's a surreal and strange feeling to be the one who's pushing rather than the one who's jerking away. For a while, she stares at the ceiling, counting the groves in whatever material it is that makes up the top of a storage room, and then she turns her head to look at the back of his and spends what feels like ages making up her mind but really can only amount to a couple of seconds. ]
Hey. [ Her hand falls a little heavier on his shoulder than she means for it, owing mostly to the angle and the way in which her body just wants to collapse in on itself like a neutron star. She's too tired now that she's actually horizontal to dance around anymore. Sickness and exhaustion make her bolder. ] You're running a fever. You're not gonna sit on the floor. Get up.
[ She's already pushing herself upright, which is a process in and of itself and which results in her hand folding back onto the cot. Her head swims a little but she sits upright, waiting for him to move. She'll leave if she has to, but - and Claire has made up her mind very specifically about this - not until he asks her. After all, he started it. ]
It's fine. [ Murmured-- because it is, and his eyes were closed, and he squints slightly at her now that she's poking at him. After a moment, realizing she's sitting up and-- intent on doing something, but he has no idea-- ]
I don't know what I should be doing.
[ Bluntly. Awkwardly. But she's made a point, before, to ask him to just tell her, so. That's what he's doing. ]
[ Bluntly, but gently. A suggestion rather than a demand. She covers up apprehension and stage fright with a sarcastic lilt that sounds like it's comprised of cotton and bubble wrap considering the state of her nose. Her legs fold in front of her as she folds into herself. ]
Will you just - [ She reaches forward again, to catch the fabric of his shirt in clumsy fingertips. ] Don't sit on the floor. Come on. Please?
[ He seems stunned for a moment, wide-eyed and more than a little lost. His uncertainty is making him inconsistent, which he realizes is probably really annoying, distantly. Severus turns to face her, still on the ground, one elbow on the mattress. ]
If you want me to. [ Quietly-- this time it's not a question, just clarification. Severus would like to stay with her, that's obvious by how he doesn't get up and leave, probably (maybe, hopefully). At twenty-four he should be better at this. He's just not.
That she's asking him is a marvel. He doesn't deserve this kind of gentleness, he thinks. ]
[ The corner of her mouth turns up, a little, and she leans back against the wall and rearranges herself so that there is an opening for him to leverage himself into, when he makes that decision. She's not going to force him, or push him. Common sense and experience together dictate that he'll make the call on his own, and she'll just have to wait for him to do it. It's better than risking doing or saying the incorrect thing and having him bolt. Or just stay where he is.
At nineteen - she has to be, by now - she isn't any good at this either, but Claire recognizes that for how shitty her experiences have been in this department, they're leaps ahead of what he's been through, even without knowing specifically. She's not even sure entirely what they're doing, but she does know she's less freaked out about it than he is, which is saying something. For right now, she's just reach forward and pluck one more time at the collar of his shirt. ]
[ His movements are slow, sitting next to her on the small bed - and then taking a moment to adjust to the lightheaded daze he feels despite his care. Fucking illness.
For a moment he sits very still and just considers. But then he shifts to lay down on his back, still slow. Maybe it would be more dramatic if everything didn't vaguely hurt already. (Again: fucking illness.)
[ She stays sitting upright for the time it takes him to straighten his body out, to present some semblance of relaxation even though apprehension might run just underneath the surface of his skin like a current of electricity. Her head might still feel too big, padded and packed, everything is gross, and she would like to wash her face, but whatever this is takes precedence.
There's no certainty regarding it, and Claire doesn't press for any, but she's glad that he is at least off of the floor. And that she doesn't have to walk back to her cot judging by the way he takes her hand again once she's laying down again. Her head feels less humongous this way, and she moves around, slowly, until she is able to line her temple up with the rounded slope of his shoulder. Trying to knock out some of the anxiety in her chest, Claire takes a breath and then lets it out. Her head swims, so she shuts her eyes. ]
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[ Being held onto is less strange than suddenly being let go of, never mind that she shouldn't really expect anything less given her present company. She realizes, belatedly, that her hair is in her face because she's bent toward him automatically, leaned forward to follow his trajectory and make sure that he sits when told to and she's... right there. Her wrist is turning over under the circle of his grip to catch his wrist in return when the pressure is suddenly gone. Claire is left holding onto open air and then her pant leg, palm pressed into the fabric pressing into her skin. ]
I was just down the hall from - [ Her thumb is jutting back over her shoulder to indicate direction, and her bottle is clutched loosely in the opposite circle of thumb and forefinger. And then. Just. Fuck it. She wants to sit down next to him, so she's going to. ] Here? I guess. For a while? Maybe?
[ It's not so much a clarification request as it is asking for permission. One of them is going to have to suck it up eventually; the way Claire looks at it, it might as well be her. ]
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is happening.
Severus stares up at her for a moment with an expression that's almost comically wide-eyed. For someone who's basically been a terrorist, has fought in a war and killed people, is a triple agent, he's absurdly inexperienced in so many other realms. ]
All right. [ Their catch phrase, apparently. But-- ] I mean, of course. If you want to.
[ Could he be more awkward. (Probably, actually.) ]
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[ The problem, of course, with getting somewhere is that eventually you get there and then you are just there and then what happens? For Claire's part, she tries to act as casually as possible, leaning back until her spine connects with the wall and she is more or less propped up. She thinks that she feels the beginnings of a headache coming on, but that actually is impossible and just attributes it to pressure and feeling like a moron.
If he's worried about feeling awkward, he shouldn't, because she's doing enough of that for the both of them. ]
Is Corvo okay?
[ Is a safe question to ask when she is effectively sitting in his bed. Although he has sat in hers before. To be fair, though, she doesn't live in that room anymore. ]
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[ Quietly. Severus really doesn't - which is frustrating. The assassin's magic is unfamiliar and chaotic, and he feels like he's running through a forest blind when he tries to untangle it. But it doesn't mean he's going to give up.
After what feels like a long stretch of silence, Severus glances over his shoulder - sort of looking at her, almost - and holds out his hand. It's probably the fever giving him the balls to try it, but-- she's sitting on his bed, and he grabbed her hand already, he might as well actually offer. ]
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[ Not actually knowing the guy doesn't stop her from feeling some amount of sympathy for him. Anyone who voluntarily asks to be put up must have more than just run of the mill stuff going on, and yet Claire's brain is so full of cotton and her own misgivings about her current state and the state of those she's closest to - she hasn't actually managed to get through to Peter or Nathan - that she hasn't bothered to even make her way down to where Corvo has been. Maybe she should. Or maybe she could push herself into a standing position and go take a nap rather than sitting around here and making an ass of herself.
Or she could stare at some point beyond and through the hand that Severus is extending for long enough that it begins to drag out. Somewhere after that point, Claire leaves the guava bottle somewhere near the end of the cot and leans forward to lace her fingers with his. It's a bold move on his part, and not because she might reject it - even before she makes the decision, Claire already knows she's going to reciprocate - but because she doesn't expect it. In return, once she's more or less sitting up and forward again, she lets herself lean again him, temple to shoulder. Her head feels too big for her body, and she doesn't say anything. ]
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It's probably funny that they're both ill. Then again, the relief of it when feeling miserable is even more welcome than it might be otherwise.
He still feels like an idiot. Like she might yank her hand away and laugh at him. But he hopes not. His thumb brushes over the back of her hand where they're joined. ]
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Claire isn't stupid. This isn't a friendship, not anymore. Probably not since before their conversation in the oxygen garden. Whatever it is has transmuted, had some kind of chemical breakdown and reformation. Last time that happened, she messed it up. Now, all she can focus on is trying very hard not to sneeze. Her nose itches, and she wants to turn her chin up and press her mouth to his jawbone but her throat tastes like artificial fruit and her tongue like paste. She can't imagine that her breath smells like anything other than a foot, so she only angles up enough that her eyes can catch the side of his face while he isn't looking at her directly. Still, it feels like hours before she says anything. When she does, her voice is very quiet. ]
It could be like this more often. [ And then there is a prickle in the back of her throat and behind her eyes and in her sinuses, and she jerks away quickly to sneeze, twice, turned away, into her sleeve, more air than anything. Reflexively, small fingers tighten around his momentarily before they resume normal pressure without letting go. ] Maybe with less of that.
[ Good job, cheerleader. ]
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It could be like this more often.
Merlin. That's both terrifying and--
Severus startles, sitting up as Claire pulls away, but he doesn't let go over her hand. He stares for a moment then has to clear his throat, trying not to laugh, then ends up choking slightly on that since he's just as sick as she is. This is all very attractive. ]
I.. [ .. have to cough again - still trying not to laugh - and turns his head to do so, finally shaking the remnants of almost-laughter. Ehhem. ] I don't think we're getting away from that anytime soon. Maybe we should just go to sleep.
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I think you're just trying to cover up the fact that you're trying not to laugh at me.
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[ Eventually, she has to let go, regardless of whether or not she wants to. It's a slow process, but Claire slips her fingers out from between his as easily as she had intertwined them. In the absence, she feels awkward and ungrounded, but she makes a decision all the same and swings her legs up onto the cot, using her free hand for leverage and straightening herself out, head plopping back down on the pillow it finds behind it. Green eyes stare up at the ceiling, catching him in her peripheral but not enough to catch the full expression on his face. She glances over at him, not entirely sure what's going to happen next. ]
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Severus just sits there for a while. He stares down at the floor, and while his expression is unreadable, the set of his shoulders betrays his indecision. He's not sure what to do. He's not even sure what he should want to do. He can switch a flip in his brain, like he accidentally did with Odessa, but-- he doesn't want that, in truth he hates that.
After an extended period of silence, he presses both hands against the edge of the cot and pushes himself up. Only a bit, because he lowers down to sit on the floor, his back against the spindly bedframe, head tilted against it. ]
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Hey. [ Her hand falls a little heavier on his shoulder than she means for it, owing mostly to the angle and the way in which her body just wants to collapse in on itself like a neutron star. She's too tired now that she's actually horizontal to dance around anymore. Sickness and exhaustion make her bolder. ] You're running a fever. You're not gonna sit on the floor. Get up.
[ She's already pushing herself upright, which is a process in and of itself and which results in her hand folding back onto the cot. Her head swims a little but she sits upright, waiting for him to move. She'll leave if she has to, but - and Claire has made up her mind very specifically about this - not until he asks her. After all, he started it. ]
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I don't know what I should be doing.
[ Bluntly. Awkwardly. But she's made a point, before, to ask him to just tell her, so. That's what he's doing. ]
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[ Bluntly, but gently. A suggestion rather than a demand. She covers up apprehension and stage fright with a sarcastic lilt that sounds like it's comprised of cotton and bubble wrap considering the state of her nose. Her legs fold in front of her as she folds into herself. ]
Will you just - [ She reaches forward again, to catch the fabric of his shirt in clumsy fingertips. ] Don't sit on the floor. Come on. Please?
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If you want me to. [ Quietly-- this time it's not a question, just clarification. Severus would like to stay with her, that's obvious by how he doesn't get up and leave, probably (maybe, hopefully). At twenty-four he should be better at this. He's just not.
That she's asking him is a marvel. He doesn't deserve this kind of gentleness, he thinks. ]
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[ The corner of her mouth turns up, a little, and she leans back against the wall and rearranges herself so that there is an opening for him to leverage himself into, when he makes that decision. She's not going to force him, or push him. Common sense and experience together dictate that he'll make the call on his own, and she'll just have to wait for him to do it. It's better than risking doing or saying the incorrect thing and having him bolt. Or just stay where he is.
At nineteen - she has to be, by now - she isn't any good at this either, but Claire recognizes that for how shitty her experiences have been in this department, they're leaps ahead of what he's been through, even without knowing specifically. She's not even sure entirely what they're doing, but she does know she's less freaked out about it than he is, which is saying something. For right now, she's just reach forward and pluck one more time at the collar of his shirt. ]
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For a moment he sits very still and just considers. But then he shifts to lay down on his back, still slow. Maybe it would be more dramatic if everything didn't vaguely hurt already. (Again: fucking illness.)
Severus takes her hand again. Lightly. ]
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There's no certainty regarding it, and Claire doesn't press for any, but she's glad that he is at least off of the floor. And that she doesn't have to walk back to her cot judging by the way he takes her hand again once she's laying down again. Her head feels less humongous this way, and she moves around, slowly, until she is able to line her temple up with the rounded slope of his shoulder. Trying to knock out some of the anxiety in her chest, Claire takes a breath and then lets it out. Her head swims, so she shuts her eyes. ]