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FIC: Twilight [Chapter Four] (Heroes)
Twilight
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ashinae and linden_jay
Pairing: Nathan/Claire
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; prostitution, dub-con, mention and aftermath of rape (by original, not canon, characters).
Spoilers: Up to the beginning of season 2. This would take place within the first few episodes, but doesn't follow the established plot.
Disclaimer: Not written for profit.
Summary: "I wasn't trolling for a hooker. I just happened to bump into one."
Note: This is a multi-part, but complete, story. This is not a work in progress.
Previous Parts: Teaser, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Twilight: Chapter Four
The TV was still on, replaying the menu sequence over and over on the DVD. He rubbed at his face. It was otherwise completely dark in the apartment. He got up, nearly tripped over the coffee table. "Claire?" he called out hoarsely. She wasn't here. He frowned and made his way to the bathroom, squinting in the light, not daring to look in the mirror. He splashed water over his face.
The trip to the kitchen was difficult, and he opened the fridge to find a bottle of water. He leaned against the counter, twisted the top off, drank deeply.
And then hurried, best as he could, back to the bathroom for a spell.
The apartment was dark when Claire opened the door and crept inside, everywhere except the TV, since Nathan had left that on. She closed and locked the door, again leaving her keys, and the money on the table, boots just inside the door, then went to go move Nathan... who wasn't there." She frowned and checked the bedroom--no Nathan.
The bathroom door swung open, and Nathan stood there, silhouetted in the light. He stared at Claire's back. "Where've you been?"
She spun around, gasping and putting her hand over her heart when she heard his voice, clearly startled. "God... you scared me half to death," she complained.
"Where were you?" Nathan asked.
She bit her lip. "Out," she said, turning away and heading for the kitchen, opening the fridge for a bottle of water.
He followed her. "Out," he echoed. "Gee, let me guess where."
"It doesn't matter," she said, twisting the top off the bottle and taking a long sip, swishing it in her mouth, then spitting into the sink before she actually took a drink for real.
He stepped up behind her, one hand coming to rest on her hip. "Are you having a good time out there?" he asked. His voice was a rough growl. "Enjoying what you do, Claire--does it make you feel special?"
She went still, the bottle half-way to her lips, breathing picking up a little faster. "No, not especially," she said, her voice sounding strange, too loud.
His fingers slid down, dragged her skirt up. "No? When was the last time you really got off?"
She closed her eyes, making herself reach down and stop his hand. "Nathan... you don't... you're drunk."
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I shouldn't let you come in here smelling like other men."
Claire bit her lip hard, refusing to make a sound, refusing to move, even as much as she wants to. "I'm sorry. Go to sleep, I'll take a shower, and you can forget about it."
He pressed closer against her back. "I'm awake now," he said. "How many men gave you that extra twenty bucks?"
She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, needing a few deep breaths before she could speak. "Nathan, you don't want to know."
"I can't stop thinking about you. If I'd known..." He laughed, softly, in her ear. "If I'd known, Claire, I'd have given you the extra money."
"That's great, Nathan, but tomorrow you're not going to remember having had this conversation. Only I am," she whispered.
"You want me to stop?"
God help her, she shook her head, then laughed, the sound coming out more like a sob. "God, that is so fucked up," she whispered, looking up and blinking quickly. "But you do."
He had to mull that one over. "I want me to stop?"
"When you're not drunk, you don't even look at me. You'll hate me and I'll lose you too. I should... I should just go. It's not light yet. You can go to sleep, and you won't even remember that we talked about this." She took a step away and set the bottle down, heading for the door.
"Don't go, Claire," Nathan said, turning to follow her. "Don't go. I'll go to bed. And then I won't know that I... I won't stop wanting you. I don't look at you because I want you again."
She paused, her hand on the door handle. She wanted him again too. It was wrong, and it was fucked up, and it was dirty, and she knew it, and too much of her didn't care either way. But she couldn't help feeling that sleeping with Nathan when he was drinking so much he couldn't remember what they'd talked about the next day was some fucked up kind of taking advantage. Which was even more fucked up considering that she was the one in the room who was underage.
"You're gonna feel like hell in the morning... you should drink some water," she whispered, taking her hand off the door handle. "And get some sleep."
"Don't go," he said. "I don't want you to go."
"I won't go," she said, turning back around, but not looking at him. "I won't go. I'll take a shower and go to sleep, that's all. Okay?"
"Yeah," he said. He looked longingly at her, then turned away. "Good night, Claire."
"Good night, Nathan," she said softly, watching him walk back to the bedroom before she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She didn't let herself start crying until she was all the way under the water, so Nathan couldn't hear.
*
Nathan felt like shit.
He wasn't sure, exactly, how many days running now he'd woken up feeling like this, but something suddenly seemed to click in his head. He didn't like waking up feeling like shit. It was, frankly, a little ridiculous.
He crawled out of bed, cursed when he almost tripped over a sock, and dragged himself into the bathroom to puke.
Claire shifted on the couch in her sleep when Nathan swore, frowning, then tugging the blanket up a little higher, one leg exposed as it slipped down partly onto the floor. Her eyes were red, a little swollen, hair tousled from going to sleep with it wet.
A while later, Nathan padded into the kitchen, fumbling about for a glass of water, needing some Tylenol and unable to remember where it was. He dropped the glass to the floor and it shattered, followed by a shouted curse.
She gasped and jerked upright, piling off the couch and onto the floor, grabbing for something she could use as a weapon, only stopping when she realized what had happened. "Jesus Christ, Nathan, what a way to wake a person up," she complained, shoving up off the floor and padding barefoot to the kitchen, too sleepy to realize she was only wearing a tank top and panties. Grabbing him by the arm, she tugged him out of the way, looking around for something to clean up the glass with. "Move back, you'll only hurt yourself."
"You--you should have something on your feet," he muttered. He let his gaze move down over her body and he let out a little groan, stepped back, collided with the wall.
"Like it matters if I cut myself," she said, sighing and shaking her head. "Just... sit down, okay? Did you need water? Tylenol, maybe?"
"Yeah," he said. "Please." He watched her carefully as she moved through the kitchen. God. Oh, God. Oh God, he was going to hell.
She got him the water and Tylenol first, then started cleaning up the glass and mopping the water off the floor, only cutting herself once. It wasn't until after she'd finished that she clued into what she was wearing (or not wearing, really), saying nothing about it, but ducking her head and leaving the room, going to find the sweatpants of Peter's she'd been wearing. She really, really needed to get a pair of real person jeans.
He made his way to the table and sank down after taking the Tylenol with a mouthful of water. His mouth tasted like... something bad. He cradled his head in his hands and groaned again.
He couldn't keep doing this.
"Is there anything that helps?" Claire asked, going into the kitchen again. She didn't really want to start listing off food, just in case it made him sicker, but maybe there was something she could do.
"Cold facecloth," he said, quietly. "For my head. Or my neck. Or, hell, just try to kill me with it."
"You're doing a fine job trying to kill yourself on your own, without me chiming in," Claire said, mostly sympathetic. She headed for the bathroom, actually closing the door behind her when she ran the water and soaked the washcloth, figuring that less noise was better for Nathan right now. Wringing it out well, she opened the door and headed back to the kitchen, pushing his head gently forward and setting the washcloth at the back of his neck. "Better?"
He groaned, softly. "Tha'snice." His stomach was empty, and he wanted food, but even the thought of moving right now--yeah, no. He was just gonna stay where he was.
"Can you eat, when you're like this, or are you gonna barf on me if I mention food?" she suggested, keeping her voice low and quiet.
"I'm probably going to barf on you," he said. "I'll have some toast in a while. Sooner or later. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow."
"You should go back to bed. Give the water and Tylenol some time to do what it's supposed to do. If you'd looked on your bedside table, you wouldn't have broken things... I left them both there for you," Claire murmured.
"Which would be why I didn't find them here," Nathan said. "Oh. I'd go back to bed, but I'm pretty sure I can't move right now. So I'll just stay right where I am."
"Here--lean on me," she offered, moving in close. "Come on, I'm stronger than I look. Not like Niki or anything, but still... I can help."
He got to his feet, wavered a little, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Jesus Christ... you really should have just left me where I was."
"You'll feel better once you're lying down. And if I leave you there, you'll fall asleep on the table, get a crick in your neck, and be a bitch all afternoon--no thanks," Claire said, although it took more than a little effort to get the words out, because Nathan wasn't super light.
Eventually, they got him back into the bed, and he curled up onto his side without even bothering with the blankets. "Thanks, Claire," he said. "I'll... I'll just stay here for a while."
She replaced the cloth over his neck and double checked the blinds. "Okay. I'll be quiet... I won't disturb you, I promise. Just sleep."
"Yeah," he said, quietly. "Sleep..." He closed his eyes. It took him a long time to fall asleep again, but eventually he made it.
He dreamt about her. In that alley, again. But Peter was there, and he saw them, and he ran away. He didn't feel as guilty about it, when he woke up hours later, as he thought he should have.
Claire'd stayed in the apartment until she was sure Nathan was asleep, creeping in and checking on him a few times, then waiting for a good hour once he'd fallen asleep before she left the apartment. If she was going to stay here, she couldn't keep running around in Peter's sweatpants or her 'work' clothes, so she scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table for Nathan (with another bottle of water and a few Tylenol next to it), and went out to find a thrift store, somewhere she could find jeans and pyjamas.
Nathan smiled, just a little, when he found the note. It was starting to get late, and he figured she'd surely be hungry by the time she got back from spending money, so he set about making some spaghetti. It was quick, it was easy, and it didn't require a whole lot of him standing about to make sure it was okay. He pulled out a crossword puzzle book and tried to work on one of the puzzles, but his attention wandered. He couldn't stop thinking about her legs.
It was another forty minutes or so before Claire came back, her shoes and Peter's sweatpants carefully stored in one of her shopping bags, replaced by jeans and a pair of flip-flops, the cheapest things she could find. "You're up," she said, setting her bags down beside the couch, and putting the leftover money down on the coffee table, coming over to sit at the table with Nathan. "And you're cooking. Smells good."
"Yeah," Nathan said. "On both counts. You found some clothes, I see. All covered up again." He didn't sound disappointed. He was proud of himself for keeping his tone neutral.
"I was getting some funny looks when I left the building. I get the feeling this isn't really the kind of establishment that, well... anyway." Claire leaned forward, hair falling into her eyes before she pushed it back. "I had to walk a ways before I found anywhere I could buy stuff though."
"At least you did," he said. "And we didn't have to cannibalise anybody else's clothes to try to make something that would fit you." He carefully pulled a strand of pasta from the water with a fork, and walked it over to her. "Is this cooked enough for you?"
She looked up and opened her mouth, dragging the noodle off the fork and biting into it, chewing and swallowing before she answered. "That's good, just like that." She nodded.
"Okay, then," he said, staring at her mouth. (He wanted her. Oh, God, he wanted her; all of her. Sprawled out in Peter's bed, legs around his waist, her mouth against his own.) He swallowed, turned away, and drained the pasta into a colander. "Help yourself, Claire," he said, gesturing to a plate for her.
She climbed up off her chair and headed into the kitchen, filling a plate with spaghetti and covering it with sauce, a huge plateful. She hadn't wanted to spend money to buy food when she'd gone shopping, not when she'd just bought food for the apartment, so she was starving.
"Did you leave me any?" he asked, mildly, eyeing her plate. Then he dished out some for himself too--not quite as much as she had, but close. There was enough left over for a midnight snack, even.
"Sorry... I... you made lots at least," she said meekly, carrying it over to the table and setting the plate down, unable to wait until he'd joined her before she started to eat. "Hot food that doesn't come from a place with plastic cutlery really can't be over appreciated, you know?"
"I'm sure," he murmured. "Next time, I'll make some garlic bread, too. I wasn't up to much more than this. You're lucky it's not Kraft Dinner."
"I would have eaten Kraft Dinner." She couldn't remember the last time she'd had Kraft Dinner. She was slowing down a little bit now that the initial edge of her hunger was taken off, letting herself enjoy the meal.
"Well, that's good to know, I suppose. What about Brussels sprouts?" He must be feeling better. He was teasing. So he got up to get a glass of wine.
Claire made a face and took a bigger bite of spaghetti, her shoulders sagging a little bit as she realized where he was going. You should have known better. Did you think he'd just stop? He's an alcoholic, Claire. She took a deep breath and cleared her expression, straightening her shoulders again and swallowing the bite of food. "Vegetables are fine, but that's not a vegetable, it's punishment in food form."
"I couldn't agree more," Nathan said when he returned to the table. "Those things, and turnips. And cooked cabbage. Ways for people to punish their disobedient offspring." He took a sip of the wine, and set the glass down.
She nodded, taking another bite, then playing with her food, twirling the fork in the noodles. "You look better. The sleep must have helped," she said.
"I feel better," he said. He sliced a meatball in two with the edge of his fork. "The sleep helped a lot. Thanks, Claire. For making me get back to bed. I feel a bit more human."
"You looked like you needed it." She shrugged. Plus, he hadn't slept through the night, what with waking up and confronting her in the kitchen and all. Taking one more bite, she got up and carried her plate into the kitchen, setting it beside the sink.
"Yeah, I suppose I did." He finished his own meal, then carried the plate over to the counter. He topped off the wine glass, had another drink, then started to rinse the dishes. "I'm gonna give that movie another try," he said. "The one from last night. I think I fell asleep partway through."
"I think you did too. Go ahead, I picked up a book at the thrift store," she said, going and getting it out of the bag. "I'm well entertained."
He shrugged a little. "All right," he said, and after he finished with the dishes, he grabbed his glass and the wine bottle, and headed back to his usual spot on the couch.
Not even halfway through the movie, and his eyes were closed, his head back. He was fast asleep again.
This was beginning to be more than a bit of a pattern. Hopefully this time, Nathan wouldn't wake up to be sick, and be awake when she got home. Better for both of them. A few minutes in the bathroom and Claire was dressed and ready to go again, turning the TV volume off gradually so Nathan would stay asleep through it, then shutting the screen off as well. This time, she left Tylenol--and plastic water bottles--both beside the bed, and on the table, closing the door softly behind her as she headed out.
*
by
ashinae and linden_jayPairing: Nathan/Claire
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; prostitution, dub-con, mention and aftermath of rape (by original, not canon, characters).
Spoilers: Up to the beginning of season 2. This would take place within the first few episodes, but doesn't follow the established plot.
Disclaimer: Not written for profit.
Summary: "I wasn't trolling for a hooker. I just happened to bump into one."
Note: This is a multi-part, but complete, story. This is not a work in progress.
Previous Parts: Teaser, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
The TV was still on, replaying the menu sequence over and over on the DVD. He rubbed at his face. It was otherwise completely dark in the apartment. He got up, nearly tripped over the coffee table. "Claire?" he called out hoarsely. She wasn't here. He frowned and made his way to the bathroom, squinting in the light, not daring to look in the mirror. He splashed water over his face.
The trip to the kitchen was difficult, and he opened the fridge to find a bottle of water. He leaned against the counter, twisted the top off, drank deeply.
And then hurried, best as he could, back to the bathroom for a spell.
The apartment was dark when Claire opened the door and crept inside, everywhere except the TV, since Nathan had left that on. She closed and locked the door, again leaving her keys, and the money on the table, boots just inside the door, then went to go move Nathan... who wasn't there." She frowned and checked the bedroom--no Nathan.
The bathroom door swung open, and Nathan stood there, silhouetted in the light. He stared at Claire's back. "Where've you been?"
She spun around, gasping and putting her hand over her heart when she heard his voice, clearly startled. "God... you scared me half to death," she complained.
"Where were you?" Nathan asked.
She bit her lip. "Out," she said, turning away and heading for the kitchen, opening the fridge for a bottle of water.
He followed her. "Out," he echoed. "Gee, let me guess where."
"It doesn't matter," she said, twisting the top off the bottle and taking a long sip, swishing it in her mouth, then spitting into the sink before she actually took a drink for real.
He stepped up behind her, one hand coming to rest on her hip. "Are you having a good time out there?" he asked. His voice was a rough growl. "Enjoying what you do, Claire--does it make you feel special?"
She went still, the bottle half-way to her lips, breathing picking up a little faster. "No, not especially," she said, her voice sounding strange, too loud.
His fingers slid down, dragged her skirt up. "No? When was the last time you really got off?"
She closed her eyes, making herself reach down and stop his hand. "Nathan... you don't... you're drunk."
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I shouldn't let you come in here smelling like other men."
Claire bit her lip hard, refusing to make a sound, refusing to move, even as much as she wants to. "I'm sorry. Go to sleep, I'll take a shower, and you can forget about it."
He pressed closer against her back. "I'm awake now," he said. "How many men gave you that extra twenty bucks?"
She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, needing a few deep breaths before she could speak. "Nathan, you don't want to know."
"I can't stop thinking about you. If I'd known..." He laughed, softly, in her ear. "If I'd known, Claire, I'd have given you the extra money."
"That's great, Nathan, but tomorrow you're not going to remember having had this conversation. Only I am," she whispered.
"You want me to stop?"
God help her, she shook her head, then laughed, the sound coming out more like a sob. "God, that is so fucked up," she whispered, looking up and blinking quickly. "But you do."
He had to mull that one over. "I want me to stop?"
"When you're not drunk, you don't even look at me. You'll hate me and I'll lose you too. I should... I should just go. It's not light yet. You can go to sleep, and you won't even remember that we talked about this." She took a step away and set the bottle down, heading for the door.
"Don't go, Claire," Nathan said, turning to follow her. "Don't go. I'll go to bed. And then I won't know that I... I won't stop wanting you. I don't look at you because I want you again."
She paused, her hand on the door handle. She wanted him again too. It was wrong, and it was fucked up, and it was dirty, and she knew it, and too much of her didn't care either way. But she couldn't help feeling that sleeping with Nathan when he was drinking so much he couldn't remember what they'd talked about the next day was some fucked up kind of taking advantage. Which was even more fucked up considering that she was the one in the room who was underage.
"You're gonna feel like hell in the morning... you should drink some water," she whispered, taking her hand off the door handle. "And get some sleep."
"Don't go," he said. "I don't want you to go."
"I won't go," she said, turning back around, but not looking at him. "I won't go. I'll take a shower and go to sleep, that's all. Okay?"
"Yeah," he said. He looked longingly at her, then turned away. "Good night, Claire."
"Good night, Nathan," she said softly, watching him walk back to the bedroom before she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She didn't let herself start crying until she was all the way under the water, so Nathan couldn't hear.
Nathan felt like shit.
He wasn't sure, exactly, how many days running now he'd woken up feeling like this, but something suddenly seemed to click in his head. He didn't like waking up feeling like shit. It was, frankly, a little ridiculous.
He crawled out of bed, cursed when he almost tripped over a sock, and dragged himself into the bathroom to puke.
Claire shifted on the couch in her sleep when Nathan swore, frowning, then tugging the blanket up a little higher, one leg exposed as it slipped down partly onto the floor. Her eyes were red, a little swollen, hair tousled from going to sleep with it wet.
A while later, Nathan padded into the kitchen, fumbling about for a glass of water, needing some Tylenol and unable to remember where it was. He dropped the glass to the floor and it shattered, followed by a shouted curse.
She gasped and jerked upright, piling off the couch and onto the floor, grabbing for something she could use as a weapon, only stopping when she realized what had happened. "Jesus Christ, Nathan, what a way to wake a person up," she complained, shoving up off the floor and padding barefoot to the kitchen, too sleepy to realize she was only wearing a tank top and panties. Grabbing him by the arm, she tugged him out of the way, looking around for something to clean up the glass with. "Move back, you'll only hurt yourself."
"You--you should have something on your feet," he muttered. He let his gaze move down over her body and he let out a little groan, stepped back, collided with the wall.
"Like it matters if I cut myself," she said, sighing and shaking her head. "Just... sit down, okay? Did you need water? Tylenol, maybe?"
"Yeah," he said. "Please." He watched her carefully as she moved through the kitchen. God. Oh, God. Oh God, he was going to hell.
She got him the water and Tylenol first, then started cleaning up the glass and mopping the water off the floor, only cutting herself once. It wasn't until after she'd finished that she clued into what she was wearing (or not wearing, really), saying nothing about it, but ducking her head and leaving the room, going to find the sweatpants of Peter's she'd been wearing. She really, really needed to get a pair of real person jeans.
He made his way to the table and sank down after taking the Tylenol with a mouthful of water. His mouth tasted like... something bad. He cradled his head in his hands and groaned again.
He couldn't keep doing this.
"Is there anything that helps?" Claire asked, going into the kitchen again. She didn't really want to start listing off food, just in case it made him sicker, but maybe there was something she could do.
"Cold facecloth," he said, quietly. "For my head. Or my neck. Or, hell, just try to kill me with it."
"You're doing a fine job trying to kill yourself on your own, without me chiming in," Claire said, mostly sympathetic. She headed for the bathroom, actually closing the door behind her when she ran the water and soaked the washcloth, figuring that less noise was better for Nathan right now. Wringing it out well, she opened the door and headed back to the kitchen, pushing his head gently forward and setting the washcloth at the back of his neck. "Better?"
He groaned, softly. "Tha'snice." His stomach was empty, and he wanted food, but even the thought of moving right now--yeah, no. He was just gonna stay where he was.
"Can you eat, when you're like this, or are you gonna barf on me if I mention food?" she suggested, keeping her voice low and quiet.
"I'm probably going to barf on you," he said. "I'll have some toast in a while. Sooner or later. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow."
"You should go back to bed. Give the water and Tylenol some time to do what it's supposed to do. If you'd looked on your bedside table, you wouldn't have broken things... I left them both there for you," Claire murmured.
"Which would be why I didn't find them here," Nathan said. "Oh. I'd go back to bed, but I'm pretty sure I can't move right now. So I'll just stay right where I am."
"Here--lean on me," she offered, moving in close. "Come on, I'm stronger than I look. Not like Niki or anything, but still... I can help."
He got to his feet, wavered a little, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Jesus Christ... you really should have just left me where I was."
"You'll feel better once you're lying down. And if I leave you there, you'll fall asleep on the table, get a crick in your neck, and be a bitch all afternoon--no thanks," Claire said, although it took more than a little effort to get the words out, because Nathan wasn't super light.
Eventually, they got him back into the bed, and he curled up onto his side without even bothering with the blankets. "Thanks, Claire," he said. "I'll... I'll just stay here for a while."
She replaced the cloth over his neck and double checked the blinds. "Okay. I'll be quiet... I won't disturb you, I promise. Just sleep."
"Yeah," he said, quietly. "Sleep..." He closed his eyes. It took him a long time to fall asleep again, but eventually he made it.
He dreamt about her. In that alley, again. But Peter was there, and he saw them, and he ran away. He didn't feel as guilty about it, when he woke up hours later, as he thought he should have.
Claire'd stayed in the apartment until she was sure Nathan was asleep, creeping in and checking on him a few times, then waiting for a good hour once he'd fallen asleep before she left the apartment. If she was going to stay here, she couldn't keep running around in Peter's sweatpants or her 'work' clothes, so she scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table for Nathan (with another bottle of water and a few Tylenol next to it), and went out to find a thrift store, somewhere she could find jeans and pyjamas.
Nathan smiled, just a little, when he found the note. It was starting to get late, and he figured she'd surely be hungry by the time she got back from spending money, so he set about making some spaghetti. It was quick, it was easy, and it didn't require a whole lot of him standing about to make sure it was okay. He pulled out a crossword puzzle book and tried to work on one of the puzzles, but his attention wandered. He couldn't stop thinking about her legs.
It was another forty minutes or so before Claire came back, her shoes and Peter's sweatpants carefully stored in one of her shopping bags, replaced by jeans and a pair of flip-flops, the cheapest things she could find. "You're up," she said, setting her bags down beside the couch, and putting the leftover money down on the coffee table, coming over to sit at the table with Nathan. "And you're cooking. Smells good."
"Yeah," Nathan said. "On both counts. You found some clothes, I see. All covered up again." He didn't sound disappointed. He was proud of himself for keeping his tone neutral.
"I was getting some funny looks when I left the building. I get the feeling this isn't really the kind of establishment that, well... anyway." Claire leaned forward, hair falling into her eyes before she pushed it back. "I had to walk a ways before I found anywhere I could buy stuff though."
"At least you did," he said. "And we didn't have to cannibalise anybody else's clothes to try to make something that would fit you." He carefully pulled a strand of pasta from the water with a fork, and walked it over to her. "Is this cooked enough for you?"
She looked up and opened her mouth, dragging the noodle off the fork and biting into it, chewing and swallowing before she answered. "That's good, just like that." She nodded.
"Okay, then," he said, staring at her mouth. (He wanted her. Oh, God, he wanted her; all of her. Sprawled out in Peter's bed, legs around his waist, her mouth against his own.) He swallowed, turned away, and drained the pasta into a colander. "Help yourself, Claire," he said, gesturing to a plate for her.
She climbed up off her chair and headed into the kitchen, filling a plate with spaghetti and covering it with sauce, a huge plateful. She hadn't wanted to spend money to buy food when she'd gone shopping, not when she'd just bought food for the apartment, so she was starving.
"Did you leave me any?" he asked, mildly, eyeing her plate. Then he dished out some for himself too--not quite as much as she had, but close. There was enough left over for a midnight snack, even.
"Sorry... I... you made lots at least," she said meekly, carrying it over to the table and setting the plate down, unable to wait until he'd joined her before she started to eat. "Hot food that doesn't come from a place with plastic cutlery really can't be over appreciated, you know?"
"I'm sure," he murmured. "Next time, I'll make some garlic bread, too. I wasn't up to much more than this. You're lucky it's not Kraft Dinner."
"I would have eaten Kraft Dinner." She couldn't remember the last time she'd had Kraft Dinner. She was slowing down a little bit now that the initial edge of her hunger was taken off, letting herself enjoy the meal.
"Well, that's good to know, I suppose. What about Brussels sprouts?" He must be feeling better. He was teasing. So he got up to get a glass of wine.
Claire made a face and took a bigger bite of spaghetti, her shoulders sagging a little bit as she realized where he was going. You should have known better. Did you think he'd just stop? He's an alcoholic, Claire. She took a deep breath and cleared her expression, straightening her shoulders again and swallowing the bite of food. "Vegetables are fine, but that's not a vegetable, it's punishment in food form."
"I couldn't agree more," Nathan said when he returned to the table. "Those things, and turnips. And cooked cabbage. Ways for people to punish their disobedient offspring." He took a sip of the wine, and set the glass down.
She nodded, taking another bite, then playing with her food, twirling the fork in the noodles. "You look better. The sleep must have helped," she said.
"I feel better," he said. He sliced a meatball in two with the edge of his fork. "The sleep helped a lot. Thanks, Claire. For making me get back to bed. I feel a bit more human."
"You looked like you needed it." She shrugged. Plus, he hadn't slept through the night, what with waking up and confronting her in the kitchen and all. Taking one more bite, she got up and carried her plate into the kitchen, setting it beside the sink.
"Yeah, I suppose I did." He finished his own meal, then carried the plate over to the counter. He topped off the wine glass, had another drink, then started to rinse the dishes. "I'm gonna give that movie another try," he said. "The one from last night. I think I fell asleep partway through."
"I think you did too. Go ahead, I picked up a book at the thrift store," she said, going and getting it out of the bag. "I'm well entertained."
He shrugged a little. "All right," he said, and after he finished with the dishes, he grabbed his glass and the wine bottle, and headed back to his usual spot on the couch.
Not even halfway through the movie, and his eyes were closed, his head back. He was fast asleep again.
This was beginning to be more than a bit of a pattern. Hopefully this time, Nathan wouldn't wake up to be sick, and be awake when she got home. Better for both of them. A few minutes in the bathroom and Claire was dressed and ready to go again, turning the TV volume off gradually so Nathan would stay asleep through it, then shutting the screen off as well. This time, she left Tylenol--and plastic water bottles--both beside the bed, and on the table, closing the door softly behind her as she headed out.
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I think that Nathan's drinking is eating away at his resolve not to touch Claire; it's quite interesting to see him becoming slowly less able to deny his attraction to her ;)
As usual, I love the attention to detail in this fic. Great chap!
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Nathan's drinking is not helping with, well. Anything. But I don't know that there's anything right now that can keep him from noticing Claire.
And thank you! We like the detail too, so it's good that it's resonating. Thanks!
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But yeah. It's not something that happens overnight, and it was important to us to show that.
But the drinking ain't gonna make him stop wanting Claire. Kinda the opposite...
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