Claire knows she’s never going to get him to stop. It’s why she walked away to begin with. He has her hands, her skills at mending what’s broken, and her care, like anybody else who steps through the hospital’s doors; but she can’t give anything else. It’s hard enough keeping that phone by her bed, always half-expecting it to ring, worrying when it’s been too long between calls.
Despite herself, something unknots in her chest when he finally does come staggering through her door (she gave up on getting her deposit back a long time ago), because however torn-up he is, she can put him back together. So much for professional detachment at this point, she thinks, pulling out what she needs from her kit. They try not to touch any more than necessary, but they’re both human, and it’s hard for her not to offer a hand to grip when they’re waiting for a pain med to kick in, or lean in when he brushes her cheek in thanks. His fingers trace the outline of her face, light and reverent. She wonders if he has to concentrate to sense those little changes in the flow of air when she closes her eyes.
Stay, she almost asks, but she leaves the spare blanket at his feet and goes back to her room. Despite the late night, she lays awake, and wonders what her childhood padre would say about the nature of temptation. ("It's one thing when the devil appears in front of you, but something else entirely when you keep putting yourself in his path, my dear.") She sleeps eventually, and dreams of fire, and angels falling; their wings burning off on the way down.
Light is streaming through the windows when she looks up from her pillow. She stretches, shaking away the feeling of uneasy dreams. On the couch, Matt's getting up, wrapped in the blanket. He smiles when he hears her, tilting his head in her direction. It's a little sleepy, beautifully unguarded in a way she rarely sees, and she walks over, catching his face in her hands. She kisses him, soft but unmistakable in intent, and hears a little noise in the back of his throat. He reaches for her, and hisses as his stitches pull. She helps him into a sitting position, tucking herself against his side. He brushes his lips against her forehead, and she closes her eyes. They lay on the couch together, the sun a gentle warmth on their skin.
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Despite herself, something unknots in her chest when he finally does come staggering through her door (she gave up on getting her deposit back a long time ago), because however torn-up he is, she can put him back together. So much for professional detachment at this point, she thinks, pulling out what she needs from her kit. They try not to touch any more than necessary, but they’re both human, and it’s hard for her not to offer a hand to grip when they’re waiting for a pain med to kick in, or lean in when he brushes her cheek in thanks. His fingers trace the outline of her face, light and reverent. She wonders if he has to concentrate to sense those little changes in the flow of air when she closes her eyes.
Stay, she almost asks, but she leaves the spare blanket at his feet and goes back to her room. Despite the late night, she lays awake, and wonders what her childhood padre would say about the nature of temptation. ("It's one thing when the devil appears in front of you, but something else entirely when you keep putting yourself in his path, my dear.") She sleeps eventually, and dreams of fire, and angels falling; their wings burning off on the way down.
Light is streaming through the windows when she looks up from her pillow. She stretches, shaking away the feeling of uneasy dreams. On the couch, Matt's getting up, wrapped in the blanket. He smiles when he hears her, tilting his head in her direction. It's a little sleepy, beautifully unguarded in a way she rarely sees, and she walks over, catching his face in her hands. She kisses him, soft but unmistakable in intent, and hears a little noise in the back of his throat. He reaches for her, and hisses as his stitches pull. She helps him into a sitting position, tucking herself against his side. He brushes his lips against her forehead, and she closes her eyes. They lay on the couch together, the sun a gentle warmth on their skin.