So Long
eighteen.
Niall is already standing outside when she approaches. Claire’s head pounds in time with her heartbeat, the edges of her vision having gone blurry. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his jaw is set as he watches her come closer. She ignores the fiery anger in his eyes that makes them cold, hard, and her fingers shake as she holds out the work phone. He stares down at the device.
“You're four hours late, and you show up in your pyjamas. You really want to make this memorable, then?”
Her bones feel like they are about to turn to dust, and her breath rattles as she forces herself not to dwell, not to drag this out. “Th-the PIN is the same as when Abby was your assistant, but I wrote it down anyway. For you. Um, this is a list of meetings you had this morning, and they've been rescheduled - the times are on there, too. I'm… fuck, Niall, I'm sorry. Today’s been a shit-show, and I know it isn't an excuse, but…” She shrugs, squirms under his gaze. “I am sorry.”
She lets go of the paper once it's in his hand, turning to walk away. Her shoulders shake violently as she starts crying again. This has been a day full of surprises, none of them good, and she feels like she's crumbling under the weight of the last eight hours. Pain radiates up her legs with every step; she sniffs and steps off the hot sidewalk into the grass, though it isn't much help. Her steps slow as mortification and anger swells, mixes and bleeds through her veins. Suddenly, she turns on her heel, biting back a hiss as the grass scrapes roughly against her tender skin, and raises a finger to point at him.
“No. Know what? You wanna talk about unprofessional? How about the fact that you didn't even bother hearing my side even though I've seriously never been late in the eight months I've been working as your personal assistant. Hell, I've always been early. I got here at six-thirty on the nose every day and I rarely went home before nine in the evening. That's not including all the time zones I've had to get used to, the various tasks assigned to me by people I don't even work for so you could do your events. I've done more than what the job description ever said I'd have to do. And I do it all while handling your quirks and watching your friend’s kid every time they're over, and I did it damn good. I did it without complaining. I did it with a fucking smile on my face, no matter how utterly and completely annoying you were.
“So for you to throw it in my face about the one time I'm late, and for things that I literally could not have less control over… it's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit of such a low grade, farmers wouldn't even spread it over their damn crops. I'm fired, sure, whatever. My actions were ‘unprofessional’. But guess what, buddy! So were yours. Now, if you don't mind, I’m going to wait by the side of the road for an Uber and wave at all the fucking people who wanna stop and stare at the girl with Eeyore pyjamas and burnt feet. Fuck you very much, Mister Horan.”
The shock that crosses his face does little to fill her with satisfaction; instead, Claire is consumed by regret at losing this job, because as demanding as it was, it's the best one she's ever had. She nods determinedly and turns around again, grateful that he can't see the wince when she takes a step or the tears that threaten to slip down her cheeks. Her eyes fall closed when she is pulled to a stop, tugged until she’s facing him.
“I'm sorry. You're right. I should've listened first.” Niall scratches at his eyebrow. In any other circumstances, Claire would have found his awkwardness endearing, but right now, she's still too irate. “What happened?”
His question breaks the dam, and the words come spilling out of her. “Well, besides being jobless, I’m also officially homeless, because my stupid-ass roommates decided that growing a small pot farm in their bedrooms was a terrific idea. On top of that, one of them became a dealer sometime in the last few months and, once again, proved how amazing his ideas are by fucking over one of the biggest narcs in the city, so our apartment got raided at the very lovely time of two in the goddamn morning.
“I was dragged out of my bed and arrested with them, and it took the officers approximately seven hours to realise that, hey, maybe the chick who’s saying she had nothing to do with the drugs? Doesn’t actually have anything to do with the drugs!” Claire snorts and shoves a hand through her tangled hair. “Will wonders never cease. But now the apartment is literally being ransacked right now, so I can’t take a shower or get clean fucking clothes, which is why I’m here in my pyjamas yelling at you, and I’m really sorry, I know the situation - well, the one regarding my apartment and dumb-ass roommates - is not your fault, but… yeah. Today has sucked. So bad.”
Niall’s arms are warm as they wrap around her shoulders, and she doesn’t try to fight the embrace. She presses her forehead against his chest, sighs when more tears slip down her cheeks. Her skin heats up with the contact and the sunshine overhead. Eventually, he steps back, but his hands stay curled around her biceps. There’s an unreadable emotion in his eyes this time, and she doesn’t care to figure out what it is. All she knows is that she’s immensely glad that it isn’t the disgust from earlier.
“C’mon, I think you could do with a long soak in the tub.”
“I don’t have clothes here.”
“Yeah, you do. You left some behind the last time you stayed over because our flight didn't get in until three. You left them in the bathroom hamper when you showered, and I put them in the guest room after washing them.”
Claire hesitates then waves vaguely toward the house. Niall takes it as the acceptance that it is and guides her toward the front door. No matter how slowly they take it, or how gingerly she puts her feet down, she can't stop the hiss of agony with each movement. He bites his lip, staring between her and the house, and turns his back to her. She lets out a disbelieving laugh when he tells her to hop on.
“There's no way.”
“It'll be a lot easier and much less painful.”
That alone causes her to cave. She tiptoes carefully to him, and he ducks down as she jumps slightly. It's uncomfortable for a moment until his arms hook below her knees, shifting her so she settles against his back. She feels wobbly as he takes a step; she says a silent apology to every child she's ever given a piggy-back ride to, because she definitely understands why they always screech at first, swallowing thickly at the sensation that she is going to fall backwards and die at any moment.
Thankfully, they manage to make it inside without any problems. The coolness of the floor under her feet eases some of the pain, and Claire lets out a soft sigh when the burning abates just a bit. Niall keeps one hand steady on her elbow as they make their way up the stairs; he disappears into the guest bedroom while she steps into the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a pair of black leggings and an oversized long-sleeved shirt. His cheeks flush as he shrugs.
“You don’t have any, er, underwear here, sorry.”
“It’s okay. Thanks.”
He leaves her then with a gentle smile, and she turns toward the bathtub. Once the basin is full of water, steam spiralling from the surface in thin curls, she strips off her pyjamas, bundling them into a ball, and sets them on the counter. She steps carefully into the tub, hisses at the fire that engulfs her feet. A low groan escapes after she sits down and leans back. The stress of the morning suddenly seems so far away, and she closes her eyes and lets the heat and isolation relax the tension from her body. Her mind is still in overdrive, though, between the raid on the apartment and finding out she’s lost her job and maybe has it back? Claire drags in a long breath and sinks below the water.
Niall looks up from his phone as she pads into the living room twenty minutes later. He waits until she’s sat down to pass over a bottle of water, and Claire takes it from him, flashing him a smile of gratitude. They don’t speak as she cracks the lid and sips at it. Her brows furrow when he wiggles his fingers in her direction. He rolls his eyes, huffs out a laugh, and gingerly grabs her ankle, pulling her foot toward him. She lets him examine the bottoms of her feet, no matter how uncomfortable she feels at having his hands near them. After a moment, he releases his hold on her, and she hesitates but curls her legs up toward her body.
“I’m not a doctor or anything, but I don’t think there’s too much damage done. Might be tender for a while, though.”
She nods slowly. “Thanks. I, I have to ask. Am I still fired?”
“No. That was… that was an overreaction that should have never happened.” Niall pauses, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Am I still Mister Horan?”
“Hm. That’s a tough question. No, you’re Niall again,” she laughs at the expression on his face, and he swats at her leg playfully as she yawns.
“Why don’t you take a nap?”
“Because it’s the middle of the day.”
“Sleep, Claire. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”
“You're four hours late, and you show up in your pyjamas. You really want to make this memorable, then?”
Her bones feel like they are about to turn to dust, and her breath rattles as she forces herself not to dwell, not to drag this out. “Th-the PIN is the same as when Abby was your assistant, but I wrote it down anyway. For you. Um, this is a list of meetings you had this morning, and they've been rescheduled - the times are on there, too. I'm… fuck, Niall, I'm sorry. Today’s been a shit-show, and I know it isn't an excuse, but…” She shrugs, squirms under his gaze. “I am sorry.”
She lets go of the paper once it's in his hand, turning to walk away. Her shoulders shake violently as she starts crying again. This has been a day full of surprises, none of them good, and she feels like she's crumbling under the weight of the last eight hours. Pain radiates up her legs with every step; she sniffs and steps off the hot sidewalk into the grass, though it isn't much help. Her steps slow as mortification and anger swells, mixes and bleeds through her veins. Suddenly, she turns on her heel, biting back a hiss as the grass scrapes roughly against her tender skin, and raises a finger to point at him.
“No. Know what? You wanna talk about unprofessional? How about the fact that you didn't even bother hearing my side even though I've seriously never been late in the eight months I've been working as your personal assistant. Hell, I've always been early. I got here at six-thirty on the nose every day and I rarely went home before nine in the evening. That's not including all the time zones I've had to get used to, the various tasks assigned to me by people I don't even work for so you could do your events. I've done more than what the job description ever said I'd have to do. And I do it all while handling your quirks and watching your friend’s kid every time they're over, and I did it damn good. I did it without complaining. I did it with a fucking smile on my face, no matter how utterly and completely annoying you were.
“So for you to throw it in my face about the one time I'm late, and for things that I literally could not have less control over… it's bullshit. It's absolute bullshit of such a low grade, farmers wouldn't even spread it over their damn crops. I'm fired, sure, whatever. My actions were ‘unprofessional’. But guess what, buddy! So were yours. Now, if you don't mind, I’m going to wait by the side of the road for an Uber and wave at all the fucking people who wanna stop and stare at the girl with Eeyore pyjamas and burnt feet. Fuck you very much, Mister Horan.”
The shock that crosses his face does little to fill her with satisfaction; instead, Claire is consumed by regret at losing this job, because as demanding as it was, it's the best one she's ever had. She nods determinedly and turns around again, grateful that he can't see the wince when she takes a step or the tears that threaten to slip down her cheeks. Her eyes fall closed when she is pulled to a stop, tugged until she’s facing him.
“I'm sorry. You're right. I should've listened first.” Niall scratches at his eyebrow. In any other circumstances, Claire would have found his awkwardness endearing, but right now, she's still too irate. “What happened?”
His question breaks the dam, and the words come spilling out of her. “Well, besides being jobless, I’m also officially homeless, because my stupid-ass roommates decided that growing a small pot farm in their bedrooms was a terrific idea. On top of that, one of them became a dealer sometime in the last few months and, once again, proved how amazing his ideas are by fucking over one of the biggest narcs in the city, so our apartment got raided at the very lovely time of two in the goddamn morning.
“I was dragged out of my bed and arrested with them, and it took the officers approximately seven hours to realise that, hey, maybe the chick who’s saying she had nothing to do with the drugs? Doesn’t actually have anything to do with the drugs!” Claire snorts and shoves a hand through her tangled hair. “Will wonders never cease. But now the apartment is literally being ransacked right now, so I can’t take a shower or get clean fucking clothes, which is why I’m here in my pyjamas yelling at you, and I’m really sorry, I know the situation - well, the one regarding my apartment and dumb-ass roommates - is not your fault, but… yeah. Today has sucked. So bad.”
Niall’s arms are warm as they wrap around her shoulders, and she doesn’t try to fight the embrace. She presses her forehead against his chest, sighs when more tears slip down her cheeks. Her skin heats up with the contact and the sunshine overhead. Eventually, he steps back, but his hands stay curled around her biceps. There’s an unreadable emotion in his eyes this time, and she doesn’t care to figure out what it is. All she knows is that she’s immensely glad that it isn’t the disgust from earlier.
“C’mon, I think you could do with a long soak in the tub.”
“I don’t have clothes here.”
“Yeah, you do. You left some behind the last time you stayed over because our flight didn't get in until three. You left them in the bathroom hamper when you showered, and I put them in the guest room after washing them.”
Claire hesitates then waves vaguely toward the house. Niall takes it as the acceptance that it is and guides her toward the front door. No matter how slowly they take it, or how gingerly she puts her feet down, she can't stop the hiss of agony with each movement. He bites his lip, staring between her and the house, and turns his back to her. She lets out a disbelieving laugh when he tells her to hop on.
“There's no way.”
“It'll be a lot easier and much less painful.”
That alone causes her to cave. She tiptoes carefully to him, and he ducks down as she jumps slightly. It's uncomfortable for a moment until his arms hook below her knees, shifting her so she settles against his back. She feels wobbly as he takes a step; she says a silent apology to every child she's ever given a piggy-back ride to, because she definitely understands why they always screech at first, swallowing thickly at the sensation that she is going to fall backwards and die at any moment.
Thankfully, they manage to make it inside without any problems. The coolness of the floor under her feet eases some of the pain, and Claire lets out a soft sigh when the burning abates just a bit. Niall keeps one hand steady on her elbow as they make their way up the stairs; he disappears into the guest bedroom while she steps into the bathroom. He returns a moment later with a pair of black leggings and an oversized long-sleeved shirt. His cheeks flush as he shrugs.
“You don’t have any, er, underwear here, sorry.”
“It’s okay. Thanks.”
He leaves her then with a gentle smile, and she turns toward the bathtub. Once the basin is full of water, steam spiralling from the surface in thin curls, she strips off her pyjamas, bundling them into a ball, and sets them on the counter. She steps carefully into the tub, hisses at the fire that engulfs her feet. A low groan escapes after she sits down and leans back. The stress of the morning suddenly seems so far away, and she closes her eyes and lets the heat and isolation relax the tension from her body. Her mind is still in overdrive, though, between the raid on the apartment and finding out she’s lost her job and maybe has it back? Claire drags in a long breath and sinks below the water.
Niall looks up from his phone as she pads into the living room twenty minutes later. He waits until she’s sat down to pass over a bottle of water, and Claire takes it from him, flashing him a smile of gratitude. They don’t speak as she cracks the lid and sips at it. Her brows furrow when he wiggles his fingers in her direction. He rolls his eyes, huffs out a laugh, and gingerly grabs her ankle, pulling her foot toward him. She lets him examine the bottoms of her feet, no matter how uncomfortable she feels at having his hands near them. After a moment, he releases his hold on her, and she hesitates but curls her legs up toward her body.
“I’m not a doctor or anything, but I don’t think there’s too much damage done. Might be tender for a while, though.”
She nods slowly. “Thanks. I, I have to ask. Am I still fired?”
“No. That was… that was an overreaction that should have never happened.” Niall pauses, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Am I still Mister Horan?”
“Hm. That’s a tough question. No, you’re Niall again,” she laughs at the expression on his face, and he swats at her leg playfully as she yawns.
“Why don’t you take a nap?”
“Because it’s the middle of the day.”
“Sleep, Claire. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”