So Long

Claire stuffs her earbuds into her ears, waits for the chiming noise to sound, then connects her phone to the laptop. She knows she should actually talk to her brother, that he is most likely worried about her after finding out she went to the diner for the massive ice cream dish, but all she wants right now is to focus on work and not the conflicting thoughts in her head.

Once she has the files transferred to the computer, Claire sets about transcribing the recordings. She loses herself in typing up what she’s hearing, the steadiness that the task provides. Her fingers don’t stop moving across the keyboard even as the room slowly darkens; her back twinges, but she stays still - if she shifts to relieve the tension, she will lose her momentum, and she’s so close to being done.

It isn’t until she’s reached the last one that she takes a break, stretches out her fingers and arms. Claire puts the laptop aside and pads her way out to the kitchen for a drink. The sound of laughter causes her to look away from the fridge, and she sighs when she sees the balcony doors are wide open. At least her roommates are smoking outside for once. She grabs a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, making sure the door is shut once the can is in her hand, and heads back to her room. Duke calls after her, but she ignores him. She really doesn’t have the patience to deal with them.

“Hello?… Hey. Yeah, things are good, just finishing up a meeting… Yeah, well, sort of. She’s just gone to the toilet… No, why would I? That’d be stupid, don’t you think?… I’m not going to tell - Look, she’s coming back. I’ll call you later.”

Claire frowns at the laptop screen, replays the audio clip. The words haven’t changed since the first playthrough, and she wonders who Niall was talking to - and about. After listening to the clip three more times, she grabs the work phone, locates the file, and Air Drops it to her personal phone. A sense of wrongness fills her at the notice of the transfer being complete; is it appropriate to be saving the recording without permission? Does Niall even know he was recorded speaking to whoever was on the other end of his phone call? She bites down on her lower lip as her stomach churns more forcefully. She doesn’t delete the file, though.

Things are awkward and tense when Claire shows up for work the next day. They seem to be playing a game of “Who can avoid looking at the other the most?”, and Niall is definitely winning. Though they still converse, they don’t have that back-and-forth banter they had before the whole hotel situation, and she tries to not let it affect her too much. She forces herself to do her job, to keep her thoughts from straying too far from whatever task is at hand.

It works, for the most part, as long as she’s working. When she’s home alone, in bed and trying to sleep, it’s a completely different story. Her mind wanders where it wants to go, no matter how hard she fights it, and her dreams are filled with fragmented recollections of that night in the hotel room - the pillow fight, the unreadable expression on his face before she turned away, the easy way she’s finally accepted what she feels for him… the kiss that she still can’t quite figure out if it was a figment of her imagination or not. Claire is still no closer to determining whether it was a dream or if it really happened, though she’s almost ninety percent sure that it was nothing more than fantasy.

By the end of the second week after coming back from New York, there is an uncomfortable buzzing constantly in the back of her mind, so Claire does what she does best: She wakes up bright and early on Saturday, dresses in a pair of comfortable denim shorts and an old T-shirt, and drives to her parents’ house; the messenger bag with the laptop and work phone ride shotgun in the passenger seat, and she says a quick prayer that she doesn’t get called into work today. She makes her way through the front door, stopping to pluck a dead leaf off of the African violets that hang from the ceiling, and sets the bag on the kitchen table.

Walking through the patio door, Claire finds her mother out in the backyard. She pauses at the edge of the brick, inhales the scent of flowers and earth. The morning is warming up rapidly, though a breeze floats by in an attempt to dispel some of the heat. She toes off her sandals and crosses the yard, toes wiggling in the grass as she goes.

“Grab some gloves,” Melissa orders lightly without bothering to look up at her daughter, and Claire does as told, kneels down in the soil to wrap her fingers around the base of a nearby weed. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“What, I can’t just come see my mom?”

Melissa snorts, shaking her head. “You never come over all ready to garden unless you need to talk. So… tell me what’s wrong.”

Claire sighs but eventually explains in stilted words about her feelings and the awkward situation - she doesn’t say anything about who she has feelings for, though. It’s hard enough to admit it to herself. Her mother listens carefully, doesn’t interrupt, and slowly, Claire’s words dry up. The pile of weeds next to her leg has grown significantly in the time she spoke, and Claire scoops them up and tosses them into the pail at the edge of the flowerbed. Her mom sits back on her heels after Claire falls silent.

“Honey, if you really care for this guy, just talk to him. Ask him what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that.” Her mom sends her a questioning look, and Claire sighs, ducks her head as she confesses, “It’s my boss.”

“Oh! Well. You’re in a right pickle, aren’t you.”

“Mom, what do I do? If things keep being weird between us, I’m going to lose my job, but worse, I’ll lose him as a friend.”

Melissa reaches over, grabs her daughter’s hand. Claire exhales slowly as their fingers entwine together. When she looks back up at her mother, her lower lip wobbles at the sympathetic expression on Melissa’s face.

“I think… maybe you’ll just have to pretend things are fine until they are. I know it’s not ideal, no, but it might just be your only option. Then, once everything has settled down and you’re a little more clear-headed about the circumstance, when things aren’t so close to the surface for either of you, you could try to bring it up to him then.”

“So fake it till I make it?”

“Precisely. Now come on, we should get some lunch. I’m starving.”

Claire follows her mom into the house, Melissa’s words rattling around in her brain. As logical as the advice is, Claire isn’t so sure she wants to pretend there’s nothing between her and Niall. It may be uncomfortable right now, but acting like he is little more than an employer holds no satisfaction. Losing that friendly battle of wits, stifling any sort of camaraderie… the thought alone is painful. She stares out the window over the sink as she washes the dirt off her arms. No closer to an answer that she’s happy with, Claire decides to push it aside for now.

Claire takes her mother’s advice on Monday. As mixed up as she feels inside, she puts on a show that she’s fine, there isn’t anything wrong in the relationship she has with Niall. The strain gets to her by noon, though, so she takes a break in the middle of responding to an email to send a text message to Deirdre; her sister-in-law usually has good suggestions to give.

<< Hey, you busy?

>> Not too busy for you. What’s up?

<< I dunno if Mom has told you or Tim anything, but things are awk rn with my boss and I’m trying to figure out how to fix it.
<< Deeeeeee, how the hell do I stop things from being so weird?

>> Nope, Mom never told us. At least not me. And idk what to tell you, babe. Talk to him??? Would it be so bad if you had to quit?

<< Y E S.
<< I love this job, I really do
<< Even when I’m dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to take care of his drunk, emotional ass and get him into bed
<< I LOVE what I do. And I don’t wanna lose my job…

The typing bubble appears at the bottom of the screen, and Claire sits back to wait for whatever guidance Deirdre is going to dispense. After ten seconds of waiting, Claire sighs and turns back to the laptop, finishes up the email. She deletes half of what she’s written, thinking over what needs to be said. Niall drops into the chair beside her, and she wiggles her fingers at him in greeting even as she continues typing. His sharp exhale is loud in the quiet, and she waits until she’s finally sent off the email to turn to him.

“You okay?”

“Okay, I’m sorry for, er, accidentally reading your texts to your sister. The screen was just there, and I didn’t mean to.” He pauses, twists his fingers around themselves. “And I’m sorry for you having to take care of me that night. And that I didn’t remember it or show appreciation. I mean, you came over in the middle of the night because I asked you to and dealt with me that way.”

“No worries. Really. As I told you when you called, it’s my job to do what you ask of me. Besides, I didn’t really mind. I liked being able to be there for you as a friend,” she admits after a slight hesitation, and he nods slowly.

“Did… did I say anything?”

“All you did was threaten to fire me for not getting you more alcohol. Nothing embarrassing, I promise.”

“I’m still really sorry you had to deal with that. Usually, Mully is around to stop me from using my phone while I’m drunk.”

“Niall, c’mon. Stop apologising. It’s fine. I just, I want things to not be awkward between us. That’s all I care about right now.”

Niall shrugs, staring down at his hands. Claire’s heart races in her chest, and her throat tightens. She swallows thickly the longer he’s silent, but then he catches her eye.

“I want that, too. I just… don’t know how.”

“Well, we could figure it out together?”

“I’d like that,” he murmurs, and Claire feels like she could drown in the beauty of his smile.



The sound of a door slamming open and shouting brings Claire abruptly to consciousness. She bolts upright in her bed as her bedroom door swings inward; a bright light shines directly in her face, and she narrows her eyes and holds up a hand to block the light. It takes a moment, but she finally understands what’s being barked at her. Claire stumbles out of bed and toward the door, managing to grab both of her cell phones on the way.

“Hey, watch it!” she says when a hand roughly drags her out into the hallway. “What the fuck is going on?”

No one answers, but she expected the silence. What she doesn’t expect is being forced face-first against the wall, her arms twisted behind her back as someone yanks the phones from her hands, and the cold cuffs click as they tighten around her wrists. The air outside is cool and heavy with moisture, the scent of rain, and Claire shivers with the goosebumps that rush up her exposed flesh. Her neighbours stare through their windows as the officers lead her to one of the vehicles out front. She catches sight of Duke, Flop, and Matt in the other. Tears burn in her eyes, but she keeps her mouth shut on the drive to the station. Chuck avoids looking at her as she’s shoved unceremoniously into the backseat, and she just barely gets her feet into the car before the door is slammed shut behind her.

Well, fucking fuck.