[ When she looks up - which feels like it takes about eleven hours, every centimeter more excruciating than the next and why? - Claire catches the look on his face, however brief, and immediately experiences some unmitigated horror and half-formed, there-and-gone thought that she's actually caused some amount of pain by stepping on him which seems like it should be more awkward than stepping on him in the first place. Thankfully it doesn't last, and she doesn't have time or opportunity to ruminate on why this is so strange now in the first place. Not that she hasn't already had plenty of chances to do that since she came back. ]
Hey, I'm the one who stepped on your foot.
[ Claire offers the sort of smile that she gives to people out of obligation, though it's no less sincere, but she still feels like an asshole for doing it. Especially with him. She keeps trying to make things better only to suspect that she's making everything worse. And it's only been about twenty seconds. She steps back, too. ]
Going somewhere cold?
[ You know, because of the scarf. Although in the back of her mind she is pretty sure she knows exactly where he was planning to go. ]
My foot seems to have survived. [ .. is a little funny. You know, because they still joke around, she's one of the few people he can do that with - everything is normal and the same except for how it really really isn't. He's always wondered in a dark corner of his mind if they aren't just using their association to ignore other things and - well, maybe this is just making that really obvious.
(Even if he doesn't want that to be the case.) ]
No. [ ... ] I don't know what I was doing.
[ It seems really stupid in retrospect. It seems even more stupid now that he's said that out loud. ]
[ It's not the answer that she was hoping to hear, which she hadn't actually realized until it had come out of his mouth. She rolls her lips together, pressing them into her teeth and sort of half-shrugging and half-smiling, even with her mouth pulled into such a tight line, and wishes that she could just go back to avoiding the whole confusing swirl of whatever is going on, if only because that's easier than dealing with it all head on.
Examining how things have changed and shifted between them has given her a certain lens to gain some perspective on how much she wishes it really was no different at all, and that's sort of paralyzing in its own right. ]
Well, good for your foot. Limping around here seems like a really bad plan when everything is basically five minutes from impending doom. You might have to run for your life before you know it.
Severus realizes they're still standing six inches from the lift doors and he looks over his shoulder, awkwardly. He tries not to make it awkward, but it's unavoidable when he does something this dumb, looking around as if he's not sure where they are, as if maybe there's something in the corridor he's never seen before. Like a theme park, or a flock of geese. Who knows. ]
[ The expression on her face goes a little more relaxed at that, as if she is thinking the same thing. Fucking wizards. ]
Cheater.
[ Meanwhile, his question directs her attention down to the vaguely square-shaped, chocolate, plastic-covered lump in her hand. It is then and only then that she notices she has squeezed it a little on the bottom either in alarm at literally running into him or as some kind of unrealized, makeshift stress ball. When she looks back up, it's still just the two of them, no theme parks or geese to offer both welcome and unwelcome distractions. ]
Not technically. Darcy and I made one, and I figured I'd bring some up, because chocolate. [ Never mind her original intentions of letting it slowly turn into a stale paperweight. ] I think I smooshed it, though.
[ It's only by some grace of god that she doesn't hold it out to him to inspect, like a moron. ]
[ Cheater or not. Severus looks down, taking in the slightly smooshed cake and her demeanor and ... her being here, with cake. He wonders if she was having the same idea - of an idea half-formed, half-wanted. The fantasy easier to pretend and try at but ultimately abandon instead of realize. ]
I was, uhm.
[ ... ]
I thought you might like the scarf. You said it's too cold sometimes.
[ Yeah in hIS ROOM not hers, but he seems aware of how stupid he sounds. ]
[ No more stupid than someone using 'smooshed' seriously in a conversation. Claire isn't entirely sure if she is supposed to or even sure that she should take the scarf, regardless of whether or not he was coming down to give it to her - 005 is fine, temperature-wise, for the record, and she has her own thermostat, but - but she does remember being offered it once before and insisting that he should keep it then.
Now it seems rude not to accept it. She still doesn't reach out to take it. More than anything, Claire can't shake the fact that it feels almost like some kind of parting gift. ]
You're the one who keeps your room at like fifty degrees.
[ She points this out like it's a joke and absently pushes the hair out of her face to cover up the color that creeps up her neck. It's still overly long and definitely in need of a good trim, but. Priorities. Washing it had been enough of an improvement when she got back. ]
[ He hates that her hair is longer. It reminds him of how long the ship took her - really took her for. All so she can be upset like this. Great. Thanks, Smiley. ]
Dungeon. [ You know. Fifty degrees. Severus looks down for a moment, not sure what to say.
[ She thinks about maybe moving this conversation - interaction? - from the hallway to someplace that just blatantly isn't the hallway, someplace where she can at least no longer be holding a misshapen lump of chocolate. Her weight shifts from one foot to the other, debating asking during the silence.
All in all, she manages to move about two feet away from the lift door, just in case someone else wants to spill out and join the party, watching her own feet shuffle out of the way. When she looks up again, she's got a crease between her eyebrows. ]
[ Shit, they're still out in front of the elevator. Looking the tiniest bit sheepish, Severus steps back and makes the edge down the hall. Maybe just to a kitchen, so she can put the cake in a fridge. His room seems really presumptuous.
Merlin, why the hell did he say that about Darcy. ]
[ She follows, falling into step next to him but with enough space in between their shoulders and elbows that it feels like she could drive a car through the middle ground. Careful fingers try not to squeeze the cake that she carries in her hand, palm up. Maybe she should have grabbed a plate. ]
Did you tell her that? [ Probably not the response that she should be sending back, but it delays her enough that she might have time to think of something to offer that isn't totally asinine. ] What did she say?
It doesn't really matter what she said. [ He doesn't sound annoyed, which might be odd. He's not actually talking about Darcy, though, so maybe it's... not odd. ]
I know this is all-- bullshit-- I don't know how to go about-- do you want me to put that in a refrigerator?
[ Before you completely turn the cake you're holding into pudding, Claire. ]
[ She hands it over without ceremony, kind of glad that it's out of her hands and also impressed with her plastic wrap skills, as there isn't any frosting smeared across her palms. As for Darcy, in a weird way she feels a little panicked at the idea of someone actually understanding enough of what's going on with her and with Severus and with them as some sort of collective unit enough to say something to him and then get angry about it. It's very minute, however, as she's acutely aware of how ridiculous it is to feel that way when she can just be feeling sort of embarrassed Darcy would say anything at all. And then sort of annoyed because she can fight her own battles. And then sort of stupidly mad at herself because this isn't a battle.
This isn't even a fight.
This is just. Months.
Claire doesn't say anything for a minute or two, turning the hem of her shirt upside down and collecting a frayed bit of string and pulling at it. She's looking at her hands and her peripheral is all polished furniture and the glare of the overhead light on the floor and her own feet when she manages to come up with something. ]
I did need space. [ Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, like it's being forced at gunpoint. What follows doesn't come any more willingly. ] I was gone... what, three weeks? It felt like - [ She shakes her head dubiously. ] - months. I didn't know how to reconcile that, any of it. It was easier to just... I don't know. Not deal with it, on top of everything else. I didn't want to not see you. I don't want to not see you now.
[ She'd just spent months wandering in a tangle of dark hallways, having conversations - sometimes helpful, sometimes terrifying - with people and things that weren't there, having bad memories and suffocating fears paraded around whenever Smiley was having a bad day. The last exchange that she'd had with Severus had been the only real thing able to play on a loop in her head, and as it had been a text - good job, Claire - she hadn't even been able to determine how pissed off he was about her just up and bolting. She still isn't sorry about doing what she did, but maybe she is a little bit about her inadequacies when it comes to knowing how to try and fix it all. ]
I'm used to dealing with bad stuff by myself. Compartmentalizing, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing, here.
[ Putting away cake (which is certainly very good, since her baking always is) only serves as a distraction for half a minute, drawn out to that feeble extent by Severus moving a few other things aside. He leans with his back against a counter after, hands braced on the edge. Staring at the floor, then at Claire's shoes.
Those minutes of silence are appreciated and also torture. ]
I wanted to see you, too. [ Severus sounds just about easy-going as she does; words dragged out with all the grace of someone coughing up nails. ] I didn't want you to ... feel like some stranger was pressuring you.
[ Inevitably, she finds some square of counter to lean against, too, crossing her arms over her chest rather than letting them dangle at her sides or wrap around some other dangling string or anything else she can get her hands on to take away from the focal point of this conversation. Severus, of course, is an inky punctuation mark in all this bright and polished decor; he's not as easy to leave dangling. Initially, all she does to respond is nod, because she can't disagree with any part of that. It had been just what it was: being locked away from everyone she'd come to know even a little bit only to come back and basically be blinded with it all. Claire feels like she's been holding her breath since the jump before last. ]
I appreciate that, for what it's worth. You wouldn't have been pressuring me, but I don't know if I would've been able to give you what you wanted.
[ The distance that she maintains makes it feel like she has a reason to maintain it. In reality she would like to just say fuck it all and reach out, but she doesn't, can't actually initiate the steps in order to make it happen. Instead she falls quiet again, staring at the floor though visibly trying to figure out how to phrase things. Eventually she looks back up and tries to keep her voice as casual as possible. ]
When I was down there, it was your typical Smiley crap. He was helpful at first. I mean, like, encouraging levels of helpful, as long as I was playing along. I started to see through that pretty quickly, and obviously he didn't like that at all. It's like he could look into my head and see what was in there. Not even necessarily what I was thinking right then, but stuff that's been there for long enough that it's become part of your subconscious. I get it, I know, that's his MO. He knows things about all of us somehow and uses it to unsettle you, but - [ She chews on the inside of her cheek until there's a prick of copper flavor in her mouth. ] - when you're down there and there's no one else for so long and you keep seeing the same stupid shit over and over, it stops being subconscious and starts being just conscious thought.
[ Severus, you might want to pull up a chair or take a knee. She's gearing up for a long one. ]
At first I wanted to go along with him to see where it would get me, pretend like I believed in him to see if he would show me anything different than what he's shown us or told us before. That was stupid, and I knew that, so I stopped. Then he got pissed. [ Pause. Claire works her jaw until it cracks. ] I know I'm never going to die, and I know I'm going to have to watch the people that I care about drop like flies eventually. I know I'm not as good of a person as I try to act like I am, and people are dead because of me, but I just keep truckin' along. I keep thinking okay, I'm not normal, but maybe I can have normal things like everyone else. Maybe I can figure out how to do this thing with you, because I really want that, and it'll all be okay. But then I come back and the only memories I've made in the last few months are a bunch of Smiley talk and one-sided arguments, and all I can think is... how is it going to work? How can I actually do this thing and why do people do this to themselves? [ The effort it takes not to revert back to the girl that she used to be and burst into tears leaves her voice hoarse and uneven. She feels like an asshole and wishes that she could just put a lid on it already, but once the flood gates are open, it all just comes rolling out. She swallows, thick. ] He kept saying things like, they're all going to die, you'll lose them all, stupid immortality bullshit. And I know it's true, and I know he's some stupid insane thing but it's really hard to ignore him and get all that out of your head when you come back and people are looking at you like, wow, hey you've been gone a while, and you're like, hey, yeah you have no idea. And on top of that, the day to day stuff. The where do I fit in now stuff. The what did I miss stuff and the are you pissed at me for doing what I did stuff.
[ Claire scrubs her hands through her hair and then over her face, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. They are infuriatingly damp when she drops them and blinks at the sudden, bright kitchen light. ]
[ Severus doesn't sit down. He doesn't get a chair. He stays where he is, hands on the edge of the counter. He listens. His expression is unreadable.
(At some point he becomes peripherally aware of how hard he's gripping pressed steel, of how his knuckles are whiter than they should be, but he doesn't move.)
He lets her talk and doesn't interrupt, taking in what she's saying. The more dominant analytical part of him commits it to memory and takes highlighted notes about what to fit in where, what may need further elaboration, what should be investigated and pressed at. It helps him keep his shit together listening.
That's all it helps with. ]
Look at you. [ Quietly. His voice is rougher than he thought it'd be. ] Dealing with all that, remembering and believing and not breaking down. Look how bloody good you are at this and not terrible at all.
[ Oh god, don't look at her. She's aware of the two high points of blotchy red smearing across her cheeks like streaked paint, trailing all the way back over the shells of her ears and down the tendons of her neck. At least, that's where the heat is concentrated, flaring to life on a pulse point and then eventually subsiding. Claire is pretty sure her eyes are red, but not as badly as they've been in the past.
Emotional outbursts at sixteen were probably healthier than bottling at nineteen, though. Or however old she is now. After being lost in the dark and surfacing this disorienting amount of time later, Claire can't actually say with certainty where on the time line she is.
Like it matters anyway.]
I'm not. [ Her voice is a little more bitter than she would like or intend and still thick with the frustrated threat of a dam falling down somewhere, but she at least sounds a little less resigned. ] I mean, yeah. If you need someone to keep it together after being harassed by a psycho killer, I'm your girl. [ Thumbs to chest, then she folds her arms again. ] It's all second verse, same as the first. The only reason I'm not - I'm used to this. This is my life, but now in space. That doesn't mean I know how to do anything any better than anyone else just based on experience, or that I'm actually good at it. I think Darcy is handling whatever she saw down there better. [ Not to discredit Darcy as a strong girl, but Claire tends to think of herself as the unbreakable one and everyone else as fragile teacups that need to be handled delicately. ] Not dealing with it, pushing people away, keeping my distance. I can come up with whatever reason sounds good or makes sense, but I told you like months ago that you didn't get to do that, and now I'm doing it and I know I'm doing it. But I'm not trying to do anything differently, and it shouldn't be like that.
You're doing what you feel like you have to do. [ Defense mechanisms. Severus understands that. He's-- surprised, though, that she relates her current behavior to what he's pulled on her before. Maybe it is a little bit similar, but he thinks he was worse about it. By far. ] Even though you told me that, did you hate me forever for fucking up with it when I did?
[ No, obviously. And Claire hasn't even fucked anything up. She's just gone a little quiet, and... she's allowed. ]
I looked for you. [ In a more subdued tone. ] I'm not angry. I wasn't.
No. [ Her answer is almost immediate, but her tone and the arrangement of her face makes it clear there's more coming. She unwinds her arms from where they've been pressed up against her chest, fingers white-knuckle curled into the crooks of her elbows. ] But I was pretty pissed at you for a while.
[ Claire hops up on the counter, curling her fingers to the underside of the counter, letting her heels scrape against metallic paneling and watching them while hunching in on herself a little. When neither of them are saying anything, she's struck by how quiet it is on this floor. Distinctly, she doesn't feel any oppressive hatred creeping around like someone left the gas on, which makes it easier for her to look at him squarely. ]
Okay. [ On some level, she'd already known that he wasn't angry, but there's a difference in suspecting it and actually hearing it. No take backs. ] I don't want things to be weird and awkward between us anymore, but. What do you want?
[ This is probably very similar to a conversation that she should have had with Gretchen and never had the care or consideration to do. ]
He wasn't pissed at her. He's still not. It doesn't mean she's more harsh, it's just-- he knows he's worse, he understands that behavior response for what it is. If she gets mad at him for doing it, well, she's closer to a normal person than he is. Her reactions are probably more appropriate. His are always going to be skewed, whether that means getting disproportionately angry or disproportionately not angry.
She hops up on the counter and he pushes away so that he can face her, stretching out his hands only briefly.
What the hell does he want?
Severus slides his scarf off of where it's perched on his shoulder and reaches out to loop it around Claire's. Not close or touchy just-- there. ]
I'm terrible at wanting anything, [ he says quietly. She knows what. ] I want to not be an arsehole about everything. I want you to tell me if you need me around or if I should fuck off.
[ The fabric is scratchy, a little itchy, where it rubs up against the side of her neck while she straightens up and then folds back in on herself, pinching her fingers down the length of the scarf as it hangs down over her shoulders and then curling her hands over the edge of the counter, holding on. Her heel makes a little thumping sound every time she lets it swing back too far, which seems overly loud in the silence that passes for several seconds following his voice filling the kitchen.
Eventually the flesh of her cheek finds its way between her teeth again, not so hard this time, and Claire nods. ]
You haven't been an asshole about this. [ Being terrible at wanting anything doesn't make him any less deserving of it, regardless of how bad or good he is at it in its entirety or what it is that he wants. She decides to be upfront anyway. ] I don't need you around. That doesn't mean I want you to fuck off. I do want you around. I always want you around, even when it's awkward.
[ The distinction between want and need is met with a blank look, because Severus isn't developed enough in Relations With Other Humans to really get why that would be a hair she needs split.
(At least that means there's no ego to be bruised, or anything weird like that.) ]
[ This accompanied by a nod that starts at her head and works its way down through her neck and into her shoulders, almost a shrug. Her hands drop from the scarf to slip underneath her thighs, pressed flat between her jeans and the counter. ]
Your feet will probably suffer a lot less abuse, at least.
[ Claire gestures toward the one she had trod on in the hallway just a little while ago with the pointed tip of her own toe. ]
[ Yes, she responds, automatically, in her head, followed closely by Gotta be and Always am. But those feel like dodges, regardless of how true they might actually be. Yes, she's going to be alright, and yes, she and everyone else has to be. Claire wants to offer him a little more honesty than that. ]
I think so. [ Is the most genuine reply she can offer him. Because she does think so, and she always is, in the end, regardless of how long it takes her to get there. For as much as she's complained about her life and what's happened in it, the unfairness of it all, Claire is proud of what it's made her. Resilient. Strong. A fighter. She's thankful for that much. ] It would be helpful if we weren't voting on how to deal with another threat on top of all of this. And if I could walk into a room by myself without feeling like the room actually hates me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Hey, I'm the one who stepped on your foot.
[ Claire offers the sort of smile that she gives to people out of obligation, though it's no less sincere, but she still feels like an asshole for doing it. Especially with him. She keeps trying to make things better only to suspect that she's making everything worse. And it's only been about twenty seconds. She steps back, too. ]
Going somewhere cold?
[ You know, because of the scarf. Although in the back of her mind she is pretty sure she knows exactly where he was planning to go. ]
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(Even if he doesn't want that to be the case.) ]
No. [ ... ] I don't know what I was doing.
[ It seems really stupid in retrospect. It seems even more stupid now that he's said that out loud. ]
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[ It's not the answer that she was hoping to hear, which she hadn't actually realized until it had come out of his mouth. She rolls her lips together, pressing them into her teeth and sort of half-shrugging and half-smiling, even with her mouth pulled into such a tight line, and wishes that she could just go back to avoiding the whole confusing swirl of whatever is going on, if only because that's easier than dealing with it all head on.
Examining how things have changed and shifted between them has given her a certain lens to gain some perspective on how much she wishes it really was no different at all, and that's sort of paralyzing in its own right. ]
Well, good for your foot. Limping around here seems like a really bad plan when everything is basically five minutes from impending doom. You might have to run for your life before you know it.
[ Like right now. ]
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[ Fucking wizards.
Severus realizes they're still standing six inches from the lift doors and he looks over his shoulder, awkwardly. He tries not to make it awkward, but it's unavoidable when he does something this dumb, looking around as if he's not sure where they are, as if maybe there's something in the corridor he's never seen before. Like a theme park, or a flock of geese. Who knows. ]
Did someone order cake?
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Cheater.
[ Meanwhile, his question directs her attention down to the vaguely square-shaped, chocolate, plastic-covered lump in her hand. It is then and only then that she notices she has squeezed it a little on the bottom either in alarm at literally running into him or as some kind of unrealized, makeshift stress ball. When she looks back up, it's still just the two of them, no theme parks or geese to offer both welcome and unwelcome distractions. ]
Not technically. Darcy and I made one, and I figured I'd bring some up, because chocolate. [ Never mind her original intentions of letting it slowly turn into a stale paperweight. ] I think I smooshed it, though.
[ It's only by some grace of god that she doesn't hold it out to him to inspect, like a moron. ]
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[ Cheater or not. Severus looks down, taking in the slightly smooshed cake and her demeanor and ... her being here, with cake. He wonders if she was having the same idea - of an idea half-formed, half-wanted. The fantasy easier to pretend and try at but ultimately abandon instead of realize. ]
I was, uhm.
[ ... ]
I thought you might like the scarf. You said it's too cold sometimes.
[ Yeah in hIS ROOM not hers, but he seems aware of how stupid he sounds. ]
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Now it seems rude not to accept it. She still doesn't reach out to take it. More than anything, Claire can't shake the fact that it feels almost like some kind of parting gift. ]
You're the one who keeps your room at like fifty degrees.
[ She points this out like it's a joke and absently pushes the hair out of her face to cover up the color that creeps up her neck. It's still overly long and definitely in need of a good trim, but. Priorities. Washing it had been enough of an improvement when she got back. ]
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Dungeon. [ You know. Fifty degrees. Severus looks down for a moment, not sure what to say.
As ever.
This time it's weirder. ]
Darcy's mad at me.
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All in all, she manages to move about two feet away from the lift door, just in case someone else wants to spill out and join the party, watching her own feet shuffle out of the way. When she looks up again, she's got a crease between her eyebrows. ]
Why would Darcy be mad at you?
[ Of all people. ]
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Merlin, why the hell did he say that about Darcy. ]
I thought I was giving you space.
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Did you tell her that? [ Probably not the response that she should be sending back, but it delays her enough that she might have time to think of something to offer that isn't totally asinine. ] What did she say?
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I know this is all-- bullshit-- I don't know how to go about-- do you want me to put that in a refrigerator?
[ Before you completely turn the cake you're holding into pudding, Claire. ]
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[ She hands it over without ceremony, kind of glad that it's out of her hands and also impressed with her plastic wrap skills, as there isn't any frosting smeared across her palms. As for Darcy, in a weird way she feels a little panicked at the idea of someone actually understanding enough of what's going on with her and with Severus and with them as some sort of collective unit enough to say something to him and then get angry about it. It's very minute, however, as she's acutely aware of how ridiculous it is to feel that way when she can just be feeling sort of embarrassed Darcy would say anything at all. And then sort of annoyed because she can fight her own battles. And then sort of stupidly mad at herself because this isn't a battle.
This isn't even a fight.
This is just. Months.
Claire doesn't say anything for a minute or two, turning the hem of her shirt upside down and collecting a frayed bit of string and pulling at it. She's looking at her hands and her peripheral is all polished furniture and the glare of the overhead light on the floor and her own feet when she manages to come up with something. ]
I did need space. [ Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, like it's being forced at gunpoint. What follows doesn't come any more willingly. ] I was gone... what, three weeks? It felt like - [ She shakes her head dubiously. ] - months. I didn't know how to reconcile that, any of it. It was easier to just... I don't know. Not deal with it, on top of everything else. I didn't want to not see you. I don't want to not see you now.
[ She'd just spent months wandering in a tangle of dark hallways, having conversations - sometimes helpful, sometimes terrifying - with people and things that weren't there, having bad memories and suffocating fears paraded around whenever Smiley was having a bad day. The last exchange that she'd had with Severus had been the only real thing able to play on a loop in her head, and as it had been a text - good job, Claire - she hadn't even been able to determine how pissed off he was about her just up and bolting. She still isn't sorry about doing what she did, but maybe she is a little bit about her inadequacies when it comes to knowing how to try and fix it all. ]
I'm used to dealing with bad stuff by myself. Compartmentalizing, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing, here.
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Those minutes of silence are appreciated and also torture. ]
I wanted to see you, too. [ Severus sounds just about easy-going as she does; words dragged out with all the grace of someone coughing up nails. ] I didn't want you to ... feel like some stranger was pressuring you.
[ Months. ]
I don't know what I'm doing either.
WOW THIS GOT REAL LONG
I appreciate that, for what it's worth. You wouldn't have been pressuring me, but I don't know if I would've been able to give you what you wanted.
[ The distance that she maintains makes it feel like she has a reason to maintain it. In reality she would like to just say fuck it all and reach out, but she doesn't, can't actually initiate the steps in order to make it happen. Instead she falls quiet again, staring at the floor though visibly trying to figure out how to phrase things. Eventually she looks back up and tries to keep her voice as casual as possible. ]
When I was down there, it was your typical Smiley crap. He was helpful at first. I mean, like, encouraging levels of helpful, as long as I was playing along. I started to see through that pretty quickly, and obviously he didn't like that at all. It's like he could look into my head and see what was in there. Not even necessarily what I was thinking right then, but stuff that's been there for long enough that it's become part of your subconscious. I get it, I know, that's his MO. He knows things about all of us somehow and uses it to unsettle you, but - [ She chews on the inside of her cheek until there's a prick of copper flavor in her mouth. ] - when you're down there and there's no one else for so long and you keep seeing the same stupid shit over and over, it stops being subconscious and starts being just conscious thought.
[ Severus, you might want to pull up a chair or take a knee. She's gearing up for a long one. ]
At first I wanted to go along with him to see where it would get me, pretend like I believed in him to see if he would show me anything different than what he's shown us or told us before. That was stupid, and I knew that, so I stopped. Then he got pissed. [ Pause. Claire works her jaw until it cracks. ] I know I'm never going to die, and I know I'm going to have to watch the people that I care about drop like flies eventually. I know I'm not as good of a person as I try to act like I am, and people are dead because of me, but I just keep truckin' along. I keep thinking okay, I'm not normal, but maybe I can have normal things like everyone else. Maybe I can figure out how to do this thing with you, because I really want that, and it'll all be okay. But then I come back and the only memories I've made in the last few months are a bunch of Smiley talk and one-sided arguments, and all I can think is... how is it going to work? How can I actually do this thing and why do people do this to themselves? [ The effort it takes not to revert back to the girl that she used to be and burst into tears leaves her voice hoarse and uneven. She feels like an asshole and wishes that she could just put a lid on it already, but once the flood gates are open, it all just comes rolling out. She swallows, thick. ] He kept saying things like, they're all going to die, you'll lose them all, stupid immortality bullshit. And I know it's true, and I know he's some stupid insane thing but it's really hard to ignore him and get all that out of your head when you come back and people are looking at you like, wow, hey you've been gone a while, and you're like, hey, yeah you have no idea. And on top of that, the day to day stuff. The where do I fit in now stuff. The what did I miss stuff and the are you pissed at me for doing what I did stuff.
[ Claire scrubs her hands through her hair and then over her face, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. They are infuriatingly damp when she drops them and blinks at the sudden, bright kitchen light. ]
I'm sorry. I'm really, really terrible at this.
q_q
(At some point he becomes peripherally aware of how hard he's gripping pressed steel, of how his knuckles are whiter than they should be, but he doesn't move.)
He lets her talk and doesn't interrupt, taking in what she's saying. The more dominant analytical part of him commits it to memory and takes highlighted notes about what to fit in where, what may need further elaboration, what should be investigated and pressed at. It helps him keep his shit together listening.
That's all it helps with. ]
Look at you. [ Quietly. His voice is rougher than he thought it'd be. ] Dealing with all that, remembering and believing and not breaking down. Look how bloody good you are at this and not terrible at all.
mO.Om
Emotional outbursts at sixteen were probably healthier than bottling at nineteen, though. Or however old she is now. After being lost in the dark and surfacing this disorienting amount of time later, Claire can't actually say with certainty where on the time line she is.
Like it matters anyway.]
I'm not. [ Her voice is a little more bitter than she would like or intend and still thick with the frustrated threat of a dam falling down somewhere, but she at least sounds a little less resigned. ] I mean, yeah. If you need someone to keep it together after being harassed by a psycho killer, I'm your girl. [ Thumbs to chest, then she folds her arms again. ] It's all second verse, same as the first. The only reason I'm not - I'm used to this. This is my life, but now in space. That doesn't mean I know how to do anything any better than anyone else just based on experience, or that I'm actually good at it. I think Darcy is handling whatever she saw down there better. [ Not to discredit Darcy as a strong girl, but Claire tends to think of herself as the unbreakable one and everyone else as fragile teacups that need to be handled delicately. ] Not dealing with it, pushing people away, keeping my distance. I can come up with whatever reason sounds good or makes sense, but I told you like months ago that you didn't get to do that, and now I'm doing it and I know I'm doing it. But I'm not trying to do anything differently, and it shouldn't be like that.
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[ No, obviously. And Claire hasn't even fucked anything up. She's just gone a little quiet, and... she's allowed. ]
I looked for you. [ In a more subdued tone. ] I'm not angry. I wasn't.
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[ Claire hops up on the counter, curling her fingers to the underside of the counter, letting her heels scrape against metallic paneling and watching them while hunching in on herself a little. When neither of them are saying anything, she's struck by how quiet it is on this floor. Distinctly, she doesn't feel any oppressive hatred creeping around like someone left the gas on, which makes it easier for her to look at him squarely. ]
Okay. [ On some level, she'd already known that he wasn't angry, but there's a difference in suspecting it and actually hearing it. No take backs. ] I don't want things to be weird and awkward between us anymore, but. What do you want?
[ This is probably very similar to a conversation that she should have had with Gretchen and never had the care or consideration to do. ]
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He wasn't pissed at her. He's still not. It doesn't mean she's more harsh, it's just-- he knows he's worse, he understands that behavior response for what it is. If she gets mad at him for doing it, well, she's closer to a normal person than he is. Her reactions are probably more appropriate. His are always going to be skewed, whether that means getting disproportionately angry or disproportionately not angry.
She hops up on the counter and he pushes away so that he can face her, stretching out his hands only briefly.
What the hell does he want?
Severus slides his scarf off of where it's perched on his shoulder and reaches out to loop it around Claire's. Not close or touchy just-- there. ]
I'm terrible at wanting anything, [ he says quietly. She knows what. ] I want to not be an arsehole about everything. I want you to tell me if you need me around or if I should fuck off.
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Eventually the flesh of her cheek finds its way between her teeth again, not so hard this time, and Claire nods. ]
You haven't been an asshole about this. [ Being terrible at wanting anything doesn't make him any less deserving of it, regardless of how bad or good he is at it in its entirety or what it is that he wants. She decides to be upfront anyway. ] I don't need you around. That doesn't mean I want you to fuck off. I do want you around. I always want you around, even when it's awkward.
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(At least that means there's no ego to be bruised, or anything weird like that.) ]
Then.. we're on the same page.
[ Maybe? Apparently? ]
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[ This accompanied by a nod that starts at her head and works its way down through her neck and into her shoulders, almost a shrug. Her hands drop from the scarf to slip underneath her thighs, pressed flat between her jeans and the counter. ]
Your feet will probably suffer a lot less abuse, at least.
[ Claire gestures toward the one she had trod on in the hallway just a little while ago with the pointed tip of her own toe. ]
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[ So, you know. It's fine even if she keeps trodding on him, probably. ]
.. Are you going to be all right?
[ Slowly approached, but blunt. She knows he's not good at gentle emotional diplomacy. Might as well get it out point-blank. ]
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I think so. [ Is the most genuine reply she can offer him. Because she does think so, and she always is, in the end, regardless of how long it takes her to get there. For as much as she's complained about her life and what's happened in it, the unfairness of it all, Claire is proud of what it's made her. Resilient. Strong. A fighter. She's thankful for that much. ] It would be helpful if we weren't voting on how to deal with another threat on top of all of this. And if I could walk into a room by myself without feeling like the room actually hates me.
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