So Long

Somehow, the next month flies by. Abby was right: The job certainly is a lot easier than Claire feared. He doesn’t require much from her most of the time - they usually just hang out, and though she still has to keep up with professional correspondence even when there aren’t any meetings on the schedule and occasionally make trips to the grocery store or drycleaners’, she feels awkward accepting a paycheck for basically doing nothing but relaxing. Niall has even allowed her to spend a few lazy afternoons swimming in the pool while he did whatever in one of the rooms she’s not permitted to enter.

She’s also been working to build a friendship with Niall. He’s her boss, sure, but he made it a point to open the door for a relationship beyond just employer-employee in the first place. She hates the discomfort she feels before she manages to lose herself in the conversations, but she has to admit that it’s fun to spend time with him and Mully, to get to know the two Irishmen and their incredibly hilarious sense of humour. She can’t find anything to complain about so far, and Claire knows it’s ridiculous, but she’s still hopeful it remains that way.

With a groan, Claire rolls over in bed and fumbles blindly for the phone buzzing across the nightstand. She pushes herself onto an elbow and peers blearily at the screen. It tells her that it’s just before midnight and that her boss is calling. She slides a finger across the screen, lifts the phone to her ears.

“Hey, Boss Man, what’s up?”

“I need you to come over.”

There’s something in his voice that doesn’t sit right with Claire. Her sleepiness disappears in a flash, and she sits upright, frowning. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, just… get here.”

He hangs up before she can say anything else. Her heart hammers beneath her ribs as she hurries out of bed. Something tells her she doesn’t have time to worry about changing into something other than the cotton shorts and oversized band T-shirt, so she just grabs up the messenger bag and her personal phone, runs through the dark apartment, and slips her feet into a pair of flip-flops as she hurriedly unlocks the door. It isn’t until she’s in the hallway and trying to lock the door with keys she doesn’t have that she realises she’s forgotten something in her rush. She ducks back into the apartment to grab her keys.

The road stretches on in front of her, the black of the night interrupted at random intervals by the occasional passing car. Claire glances at the clock on the dashboard; it has been twenty minutes since Niall called, and she’s only halfway to his house. Her mind has been racing the entire time, wondering what could possibly be happening that he would phone her in the middle of the night. She can’t fathom what would require so much urgency. Her hands tremble violently, and she clutches the steering wheel more tightly, drags in breath after unsteady breath in an effort to calm herself down.

“You’re drunk,” is the first thing she says when she lets herself into the house, and Niall snorts derisively, swallowing down another mouthful of his drink. “Niall, why are you drunk?”

His accent is thicker than normal, almost impossible to understand, when he says shortly, “Because I wanted t’ drink.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps out.

“Niall -”

“I need more. Go get more.”

“No.” His eyes, the blue so icy with anger that it causes Claire’s breath to hitch, snap to her face, and his lips turn down in the corners. There’s a flush to his cheeks that isn’t solely from his alcohol consumption. Claire swallows thickly but stands firm, no matter how much she wishes Mully were here to help - if he even would. “I think you’re drunk enough, Niall.”

“Fine. I-I can just call an Uber to take me.”

His coordination is shot to Hell, which makes it ridiculously easy for Claire to snatch his phone from his hands before he can even unlock it. He clumsily swipes at her to get it back, but she shoves it up the bottom of her shirt and slips the phone into her bra. He scowls, grumbling under his breath, and finishes off his drink. Claire knows this is a bad idea, but she offers to make him another one. Niall’s doubt is evident, though he doesn’t decline, just holds the glass out to her.

She sits on the end of the couch and watches him closely. He seems to be getting angrier the more he drinks, his cheeks growing redder with time. His scowl grows darker every time he glares at her. Claire sighs and takes the glass from him once it’s empty again for the third time. His sloppy smile is tinged with hope - hope that shouldn’t exist. He evidently comes to that conclusion when she comes back from the kitchen empty-handed.

“Where’s m’ drink?”

“You’ve had enough. So, no more.”

“I’ll fire you.”

“You can try.”

“You can’t just hold a hostage man's liquor!”

“I’m not holding your liquor hostage, Niall. I’m telling you that you’re drunk enough. I’m preventing you from causing liver damage or alcohol poisoning.”

Niall stumbles to his feet, and Claire takes a large step back. The alcohol on his breath is enough to make her eyes water when he stops in front of her. Glazed-over eyes narrowed, he presses the tip of his finger to her collarbone, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shakes his head as his face twists up in disgust. Her hand trembles as she wraps her fingers around his wrist; he blinks owlishly at the contact. Claire thanks whichever god happens to be listening when he follows her to the stairs. Words bubble out of her - nonsensical, disconnected, but it’s enough to distract him. He leans heavily against her once she loops her other arm under his armpits, and they take the steps slowly, carefully. Claire has to forcibly remind herself that he’s her boss, even as she revels in the solidity of his body against hers, even as he stares at her the entire time.

He lets his body fall onto the bed, and his eyes flutter closed as his body relaxes into the mattress. She hesitates then starts pulling back the covers, pushing at him to move him out of the way. Her heart thunders in her chest as she tucks the comforter up around his chin. His breathing evens out after a moment, and Claire exhales slowly and turns to the door.

“Stay. Please.”

The whisper, slurred and so broken, brings her to an abrupt stop, and she looks back over her shoulder. Weak moonlight plays over his face, turning his blue eyes nearly white in the glow, and the expression on his face causes her throat to tighten and stomach to clench. She nods shakily and makes her way back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she lets out a heavy breath then pushes her fingers gently through his hair. She keeps the movements slow, rhythmic, and his lips curl at the corners into a thankful smile. He falls asleep rather quickly, but she doesn’t move for a long moment even after he starts snoring softly.

This is a side to him that no one warned her about. She wonders idly if Abby ever had to deal with this and, if not, then why is Claire experiencing the drunken and emotional Niall? With a soft sigh, she cards her fingers through his hair once more, whispers a soft goodnight, then crosses the room to the bathroom. After retrieving his phone from her bra, she dampens a washcloth and wipes the device down. There’s a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet, so she pours two into her hand as quietly as she can then fills the glass by the sink with water. After she sets them on the bedside table, she stares down at Niall, watches as he sleeps on.

It’s almost two in the morning by the time she exits his bedroom, carefully pulling the door closed behind her, and a yawn forces itself from her. Niall and Abby both said the guest room would be hers whenever she had to stay over, and if this isn’t a reason to stay over, then what is? Claire pads on silent feet across the hall and slips into the room. She sets an alarm for six o’clock then sprawls out on the bed. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

Mully glances over his shoulder from where he’s about to enter his bedroom when she steps out into the hallway the next morning, and she forces a smile. Her eyes burn with exhaustion, and she knows she looks like an utter mess, but he doesn’t say anything. She clears her throat quietly and asks that he pass the message on that she’s gone home and that she’ll see Niall bright and early Monday morning. Mully nods, tells her to drive safely.

The morning air is brisk and cool against her bare skin, and she shivers slightly as she runs to her car. Driving home takes all of her concentration, and even then, she still finds herself losing focus repeatedly. It’s a wonder she doesn’t get into a wreck, but eventually, she pulls into the parking garage for the apartment building. Her nose wrinkles at the scent of motor oil, body odour, and piss that seems to get worse with each passing day, and she quickens her pace to get to the fresh air that waits just outside.

She whines aloud at the insistent buzzing, smacking at the nightstand until her fingers wrap around her phone. Barely opening her eyes enough to accept the call, she brings the phone to her ear and snaps, “What?”

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, Niall. I’m just always this grumpy. What’s up?”

“I, er, I just wanted to call and apologise for calling so late last night. I honestly don’t remember doing it, but my phone says I did. So I want to say I’m sorry for waking you in the middle of the night. I hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” he says with a sheepish chuckle.

Suddenly, Claire is wide awake, and she bolts upright when the realisation hits: Niall doesn’t remember her coming over. Mully never told him she was there or that she is the one who got him into bed. She can’t put a name to the heavy, murky, intangible weight that takes residence in her gut. She swallows the lump from her throat.

“Don’t worry, you’ll never know if you did. I think I’ll take that secret to my grave.” The joke feels wrong on her tongue, but it makes Niall laugh, so she considers it a win. “Seriously, though, it’s okay. It’s literally my job to answer when you call.”

His voice is flat, emotionless, when he speaks after a pregnant pause. “Yeah, guess it is. Sorry again. You can come in a bit later tomorrow, as a way of me making it up to you. Have a good day, Claire.”

“Niall -”

But he’s already hung up. Claire stares at the screen of her phone, but it gives no answers. She tosses the device back onto the nightstand and lies back down. She knows she won’t get any more sleep, though, so she stares at the ceiling and wonders what exactly is going on. Shaking her head, she tells herself firmly that whatever Niall’s problem is, it’s his to deal with unless he says otherwise.

Niall stares at her, surprise written all over his face, when she walks into the kitchen at the same time as usual on Monday morning. She passes over the coffee she bought for him on her way, glad that she made that choice. Dark smudges spread in semi-circles under his eyes, and his hair is in disarray - completely at odds with how he usually looks when she arrives in the mornings. He thanks her quietly, sips at the drink, and Claire settles into a chair at the table. She considers asking Niall if he’s okay, but she doesn’t want to dredge up the awkwardness.

As the hours pass with no acknowledgement of what occurred Saturday night, Claire slowly relaxes. She does, however, continuously land on the question of How did Mully explain the ibuprofen on the nightstand if he didn’t tell Niall I was here? She bites back the words. It just doesn’t seem like the right choice, especially not when things are getting back to normal.