[ oom ] restless

[nocturnalmedicine]

When Matt trades his dress shirt and trousers for his all-black attire, Claire isn't naïve enough to tell him to be careful.

"Keep the Dumpster-diving to a minimum," she says, watching him tug his mask into place.

He smirks — crooked and cocky and annoyingly appealing — and even as she rolls her eyes, she can't completely ignore the fist that tightens around her heart.

"Don't wait up," he says over his shoulder, mounting the stairs.

"Lawyers," she murmurs, eyes on him until he disappears, knowing he can hear her. "Always getting the last word."


- - - - -


She doesn't change for bed, though she knows she should.

She's too awake to simply stare at the ceiling, so, after a perfunctory inspection of Matt's cupboard, she makes herself a cup of mint tea, and tucks herself into one corner of the couch to read the latest headlines from the Bulletin on her phone.


- - - - -


One cup of tea turns into a second.

Outside, the city's nighttime thrum ebbs, flows, potential energy clamoring to kinetic. Two sirens scream a couple of blocks away, and she can't help but wonder if Matt's caught up in the middle: if he's attracted the worst kind of attention, or sent someone else to the ER.

(Knowing Matt? Could be both.)


- - - - -


When she can no longer stomach another stupidly addictive round of Alphabear, Claire gives her eyeballs a much-needed break, closes the app, and puts down her phone.

She swaps out her jeans and peasant blouse for a pair of Matt's boxers and a gray cotton tank, and restlessly stretches out her sore, tight limbs as much as she dares.

Resettling on the couch, she picks up a battered Bic she rescued from Matt's junk drawer.

Writing might not help, but it certainly can't hurt.

Comments

[man_without_fear]

Tonight was eventful, if not exactly fruitful.

Landing on the rooftop of his building Matt is aware before he even reaches the door that Claire is awake. Rather than make the effort to remain quiet as he opens the door and descends the stairs, he makes enough noise to let her know he's there, hoping not to startle her.

Velcro teeth grate apart as he removes his gloves while he passes the couch Claire is in, heading for the kitchen.

"Those night shift hours really must be tough to shake," he comments as he opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Something loosens in her stomach at the thunk of Matt's boots on the weathered wood.

("You worried about me?"

"And what if I were?"

"I'd tell you I'm a big boy, and not to be.")

As he makes for the kitchen, she glances up from the yellow legal pad propped on her lap.

"Seems you'd know a thing or two about that," she says, adjusting the blanket draped around her shoulders with one hand.

[man_without_fear]

He drinks thirstily, the cold liquid welcome down his parched throat.

Letting the fridge close behind him, he moves over to the sink; dropping his gloves on the counter and turning on the faucet.

"I might," he comments, putting his hands under the water, letting the water soothe swollen knuckles.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She twirls a pen between her fingers, quiet bemusement curving her lips.

"Neither confirming nor denying over there."

[man_without_fear]

"I told you before, I don't sleep," he replies with a smirk.

Shutting off the water, he dries his hands on a paper towel then removes his mask before taking up the bottle of water again to finish it off.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her eyes flick to her watch; it's later than she realized.

"And I still say that's a terrible lifestyle choice."

While Matt rustles behind her in the kitchen, she sets the legal pad aside on the coffee table, and caps the pen.

[man_without_fear]

Finishing the bottle he tosses it, grabbing another then rounding the counter, leaning back against it.

"Something keeping you up?" he asks, cracking the seal on the new water, taking a slow sip this time.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She pauses.

"Habit," she says, a heartbeat too late to be entirely believable.

Nights have been more difficult than she'd like to admit; she's raw and edgy, unable to fully relax in a bed that's not her own, the specter of Sergei and his fucking bat haunting the black behind her eyelids. She's sleeping during the day, mostly, while Matt's at the office.

"You know how it is."

[man_without_fear]

The line of his mouth slants down in a slight frown.

He takes another drink and when the bottle lowers the expression is gone.

"Yeah."

He wishes he had something to offer her, comfort, a promising update, assurance that he's getting close, but tonight and the previous nights have yielded very little.

He doubts the news of a Russian losing his head, literally, will do much to help her rest easier.

"The cat's fine."

[nocturnalmedicine]

She breathes out a chuckle that catches in her too-tight throat.

(At least the little shithead likes Matt.)

Gingerly unfolding herself from the couch, she lays aside the blanket; she stands with only a minor wince, followed by a stuttered exhale.

Empty mug in hand, she pauses when she reaches Matt on her way to the kitchen.

Her tired eyes flicker over his face, partially lit in yellow and white from the electronic billboard scrolling on the brick building next door.

Another half-step closer, and she rises on her toes to brush her lips against his stubbled cheek.

[man_without_fear]

He doesn't move, but he's ready to; listening to her and making sure she's all right without any support.

Matt stands, water bottle in one hand, the other at his side as she comes over. He's expecting scrutiny and holds still for her, glad he got through tonight without injury.

When she leans in instead and brushes her lips against his cheek a small, warm smile breaks through.

"For the cat?" he asks, turning slightly so that his nose almost brushes against her.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her eyes close, lashes fluttering against his cheekbone.

"For you."

[man_without_fear]

His smile widens for a moment, then relaxes. He bends his head, his forehead resting against her crown, breathing in her closeness.

"You weren't worried about me, were you?"

[nocturnalmedicine]

Leaning into him, she hides a smirk he can probably feel against his collarbone.

"Hoping for a yes up there, aren't you?"

[man_without_fear]

There's a heartbeat of hesitation, then his arm wraps around her and his empty hand settles lightly on her waist.

"I told you, I'm a big boy."

And not if that's what's keeping her up.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She hums in acknowledgment, her stomach contracting under the warmth of his palm.

"You're a lot of things."

Gently bracing her free hand flat against his sternum, she straightens, tipping her chin to look at him.

"In desperate need of a shower, for one."

[man_without_fear]

He draws back a bit to angle his head down at her when she looks up, then cracks a smile on her words.

"Yeah, probably."

Squeezing her hip, he takes a step back.

"Cleaning up the streets out there is dirty work." And fighting armed mobsters is sweaty business.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her palm trails down his chest when the distance widens between them, her fingertips grazing his abdomen before she pulls away.

"Scrub-a-dub-dub," she teases, complete with an eyebrow waggle.

She mostly manages a straight face as she rounds the counter to rinse her mug.

[man_without_fear]

His muscles flex beneath that trailing touch, and it's that more than her teasing that brings a bit of warmth to his features.

"I'm just gonna grab some clothes," he announces, then pauses a moment to make sure that's all right with her.

It's his bedroom, yes, but she's living in it now so...

Sometimes, Matt has manners.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Sensing that pause, she glances up while she shuts off the faucet.

"Okay, you are not waiting for my permission to go into your own room," she says, as touched as she is bemused.

"Just watch out for the laundry basket at the foot of the bed."

[man_without_fear]

"Just being a good roommate," he says over his shoulder as he heads for the bedroom.

It doesn't take long at all to grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and soon after that the bathroom door is clicking closed and the shower spray turns on.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, a shadow of a half-smirks tugs at her mouth as she places the cup in the drying rack.

She pads back across the hardwood in her socked feet, tidying up the detritus of her evening: refolding the rumpled blanket, returning a bowl of fresh blueberries and raspberries to the fridge.

Gathering the legal pad and pen to take into the bedroom, she almost leaves on the lamp burning in the corner of the living room, and back-tracks to flip it off when she remembers Matt doesn't need it.

[man_without_fear]

The hot shower spray is great, but Matt doesn't linger under it too long. All kidding about running 24/7 aside, he's exhausted.

Exiting the bathroom his damp hair is a tousled mess and he has his clothes under one arm, and boots held in the other. The boots are placed in the green trunk set back against the wall, the clothing needs to be washed.

Bare feet padding on the floor, Matt crosses the living space to the bedroom, knocking lightly on the frame of the sliding partition door.

"Mind if I dump some stuff in the hamper?"

[nocturnalmedicine]

Claire is sitting up in bed, her back against the brick wall and her legs drawn up, the yellow pad resting on her thighs.

At the rap of his knuckles, the Bic stops scratching against the paper. Her eyes flick to Matt — sweeping down, and then up, returning to his entirely too earnest expression.

"C'mon," she says, low and fond. "No need to state your business."

[man_without_fear]

He cracks a smile and steps into the room, moving to the closet and depositing his clothing in the hamper inside.

"It's not too chilly for you, is it? I can pull an extra blanket for you," he offers, taking the opportunity to go ahead and retrieve a suit for tomorrow so he won't have to disturb her in the morning.