Prompt Post #1

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FILL: and in the endless pause 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

I am writing this on my phone while at work, and I work on-call, so, uh -- it may take a bit to get up? pls bear with my nonsense. also, bless u for this amazing prompt btw and apologies for my weak-ass attempt to fill it, but it's been burning at me since I started snooping around here a week ago

and in the endless pause



It's not like she ever pretended to be immune to bad decisions -- Claire fished a masked man out of a dumpster on nothing but good faith, after all -- but this is decidedly a different level of stupid.

Claireclarieclarie what are you doing?

Claire sighs outwardly, as Matt brushes his thumb over the corner of her mouth. He never just takes, he always needs her to -- he needs her to ask, and it's worse like that. It's so much worse like that, because it's one thing to be caught up, it's another thing entirely to make a calculated decision to do the wrong thing, and -- that's what the Devil of Hell's kitchen is, really. A calculated decision to do the wrong thing. Something she's encouraging by being here, by arriving in the nick of time every time the stupid thirty-dollar Nokia he gave her buzzes like a hive full of angry wasps.

Something she's colluding with him in every time Matt squeezes her hand, or touches her face, and she doesn't say: "this is the last time," and actually mean it.

A part of her likes what he's doing. She sees the evidence of a broken city day in and day out, the worst of what survives the ER filtering up to the ICU. It's hard not want to go past fixing, helping, to arrive at wanting to stop, to hurt, to punish. It's not hard to want Matt.

"Hey," Matt hazards from the couch, his thumb not moving. He's been sitting up for a while, his eyes lazy and unfocused, darting around the space of her body in a way that reminds her of startled deer. His voice isn't really back to normal yet, the mottled wring of ugly red and purple around his neck and clavicles, the little pin-pricks of red in his sclera, all ready to stand witness to this night's suffering. Claire can't stop a wry grin from twisting her face, because while it's probably the most visible mark of his nightly penance, it's not the worst of it.

and what are you gonna do the day he comes calling and needs an actual OR, pendeja?

"Hey," she parrots back, wrapping a hand around the wrist belonging to the fingers on her face and stands from where she was kneeling in front of him -- running her free hand over the knife wound she stitched up running a full three inches right in the middle of his fourth intercostal space. She runs her fingers over the catgut mattress sutures, wonders for a minute if it's wrong to think of it like a braille record of his guilt.

She lets her eyes dart away from his face. "I can't stay."

There's a short chuff of aborted laughter, and he threads the fingers of the hand she's holding through her own, squeezes gently. "You do remember I know when you're lying, right?"

There's a simple goodness to the warmth of his hand, to the gentleness of his face. Not for the first time, Claire wonders if this -- not the ratty black thing dumped by the washer -- is his true mask. Claire works her jaw trying to rephrase what she wants to stay. "Staying would be a really bad idea."

"You didn't seem to think so last time," and at that, Matt brings their joined hands back up to his face. Noses along her knuckles, breathes deep. She can see the stains from the iodine preps on her hands, and finds herself suddenly forgetting if she put lotion on before leaving to come here.

Last time Matt had called, Claire had come -- like she always does. And after she'd patch him up, she'd. They'd. She does her best not to sink into the memory of Matt's hands on her, Matt's mouth -- but can tell from the way Matt rumbles a breath out against her exposed skin that it's not working very well. She hadn't gone home like she should have. It was a miscalculation, a really damn lovely oversight, but --

"Claire," and Matt sounds somehow hoarser now, despite the hours between this moment between them and some thug trying to crush his trachea.