So Long

nine.

It is unacceptable how cold the conference room is. Sleek lines meet her eye everywhere she looks, and the enormous glass table stretches out between Claire and Niall and the small group of executives they’re meeting with today. She suppresses a shiver and subtly tugs her blazer tighter around her, though it does no good in warming her up. She’s well aware that it’s summertime, and the temperature outside is in the nineties, but that’s no excuse for having the air con on to the point that the room feels like the Arctic.

One of the execs lets out a booming laugh, and Claire grits her teeth, forcing herself to remain quiet. They’ve only been in this damn meeting for less than half an hour, and she’s already so ready to be gone. Niall’s chuckle sounds fake, even to her ears; she wonders how the execs can’t hear the lack of genuine humour. Another of the big-wigs cracks one more crude joke, and Claire hates it, she hates that she can’t bite back the words any more.

“I’m - no, I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all, and I won’t lie and say I am. Your jokes? They’re highly inappropriate. They’re making anyone with even the slightest grain of decency very uncomfortable. You are all supposed to be setting an example for how your employees are expected to behave, yet you’re acting… Quite frankly, you’re acting like I’d expect frat boys in college to act at a kegger. So if you could please show a higher level of professionalism, I’m sure everyone here would appreciate it.”

Her breathing is heavy, ragged, by the time she finishes, and her anger grows when two of the executives exchange looks, rolling their eyes. Only the one closest to her seems to care; he catches sight of the recording app on the phone still going, blanching as his skin goes blotchy and pale. He clears his throat, leans over to whisper to his colleagues. Claire is flooded with a vicious sense of pride at the way they all squirm in their seats. The assistant in the corner catches her eye behind the mens’ backs, flashes her a look of gratitude as she stifles her giggles.

Twenty minutes later, Claire and Niall are ushered from the conference room. Claire’s outburst had seemed to spur the men into rushing through everything they needed to discuss, and they seemed surprisingly ready to agree to anything. Now that her anger has subsided, her skin is hot and prickling with her mortification. She waits until the elevator doors slide closed before turning to Niall.

“I’m sorry.”

His lips pull down at the corners, and Claire brushes off the urge to kiss away his frown. “Why are you sorry?”

“For that,” she answers, gesturing toward the doors even though they’re now two levels down from where they were. “I mean, that’s probably gonna make your business relationship with them at least a little strained and difficult.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Niall...”

“Seriously, Claire, it’s okay. Look, they needed to be made aware of how uncomfortable they were making everyone. You did the right thing. My only regret is that I didn’t say anything sooner.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I... I didn’t realise it was that awful. I mean, I know men tend to not consider women’s feelings towards thing, especially when it’s a man in power with a woman in a so-called ‘lowly’ position, but I guess I didn’t find anything he was saying out of the ordinary.” Niall presses the button to keep the doors closed after the lift jolts to a stop, and Claire raises a brow. He doesn’t notice. “I can usually tune them out, y’know? Do what I need to do to keep things going. But then I saw his assistant’s face after you said something, and it made me think: If he’s that openly crass in a meeting, what’s he like behind closed doors?”

“So... I’m not fired then?” Claire asks hesitantly, bringing her shoulders up around her ears in what she hopes is a successful attempt at looking innocent; a pleasant warmth spreads over her when Niall laughs.

“Trust me, if you were fired, you’d know it.”

The work phone buzzes in her hands, and she glances down to see a notification of a new email. Niall’s hand is gentle on her arm as he guides her from the elevator, and she murmurs a thanks even as she skims over the message. It’s from the assistant they’ve just left, bearing only her name and a number and the line If you ever need to complain about your boss. Claire snorts out a laugh but saves the phone number in her personal phone and starts typing out a new text.

“Watch it,” Niall warns lowly in her ear, tugs her to the left a little, and Claire looks up in time for a man in a sharp suit to brush past her. “Maybe you should do that in the car.”

“You might be right.”

It isn’t a surprise that Niall immediately flops down onto the couch once they reach the hotel they’re staying at; Claire sets about making a cup of tea for her and refilling his bottle of water. He gestures vaguely when she sets the bottle down on the coffee-table, but she is savvy enough in Niallese to be able to decipher it as “Golly gee, thanks, Claire, you’re an amazing PA, what would I ever do without you?” Or maybe that’s just Tim’s influence on her inner thoughts.

She curls up in the armchair and digs out her phone to finish the text to Tina.

<< Sorry if my outburst makes your job difficult! Your bosses just pissed me off.
<< It’s Claire, btw

>> Noooo do not apologize to me. Trust me it’s worth it to remember how stunned they looked lol! Hope your boss is better

<< He’s alright, I guess d:

>> Good. But yeah I thought I’d give you my number in case you ever needed someone to commiserate with you about how annoying and awful bosses can be

<< I appreciate it (: I’m always available if you need to vent, too. Who else is gonna understand more than another PA??

Niall’s soft snores fill the room moments later, and Claire rolls her eyes. His meeting with Modest! is supposed to start in less than an hour, so why he’s decided to nap is beyond her. She double-checks the time then shakes her head. He grumbles when she calls his name, but his eyes don’t open, so she pushes herself to her feet and steps closely enough that she can nudge him. He swats at her in his sleep, rolling over to face away from her. She shakes his shoulder harder.

“Niall James Horan, wake up. We don’t have time for this.”

He groans and scrubs at his face with one hand. His voice is slurred with the remnants of his sleep as he asks, “Did you just use my middle name?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. Now come on. You need to eat something, then we have to get to the meeting.”

He stares up at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and Claire worries about what he might say. He doesn’t speak, however, just nods slowly and stands. She looks away as he stretches his arms over his head, the rippling of his muscles enough to make her a little weak in the knees. Her skin feels tight, and she clears her throat awkwardly as she heads to the kitchenette for rinse out her mug.

The next few days are a blur; between bouncing from meetings to interviews to photoshoots, Claire’s head is spinning, and she’s ready for a break. Niall, thankfully, has the same idea. They spend the evening in the last hotel, doing nothing but listening to music and texting and not talking. It’s a comfortable silence between them, one that Claire is unwilling to break with idle, awkward chitchat. Their flight back to LA isn’t until noon tomorrow, so the pair is making the most of the lazy hours before they have to be on the move again.

Deirdre opens the door a few minutes after Claire’s knocked; her sister-in-law’s hair sticks up in wild loose strands from the messy bun she’s pulled it back in, and deep bruise-black smudges circle under her eyes. Claire instinctively reaches for the toddler on her hip. Paul doesn’t fuss even as he’s passed from mother to aunt, and Dee gives Claire a thankful smile.

“You’re a lifesaver. Minnie brought home a cold from preschool, which means it’s only a matter of time before Paulie and I get it, too. Don’t worry, your brother is quarantined until further notice.”

“Mamaaaaaa.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart. I had to let Aunt Claire in.”

“What do you need me to do?” Claire asks, hefting Paul up more securely in her arms, and Deirdre shrugs.

“Make the other parents learn to keep their crotch goblins home when they’re sick?”

“I really don’t think I can go beat up your daughter’s classmates’ parents, babe. Sorry.”

“Fine. Can you at least bathe your nephew? My mom’s on her way to take him until this virus is out of the house.”

“Of course I can do that, can’t I, munchkin?”

Paul scrunches up his face in a wide grin, and Claire blows a raspberry against his cheek before setting off for the stairs. She sings quietly to Paul as she carefully rinses the shampoo from his hair, and he slaps his hands against the surface of the water, squeals when his sailboat and unicorn figurine bob up and down with the waves. He does it again, causing the bath water to splash back up into his face. Claire shakes her head affectionately, reaches for the towel to wipe the droplets off her cheeks, and readies the shower poof to scrub his little body.

Once he’s sufficiently cleaned, Claire sits on the closed toilet lid and lets him play for a few minutes. His screeches and laughter reverberate off the walls, echo in the room, but Claire doesn’t bother shushing him. She knows he’s probably feeling a bit neglected while his father and sister are sick. Deirdre is a wonderful mother, but she’s only one person taking care of three people. Claire just wishes she’d known that Tim and Minnie were under the weather; she may not have been in the state when they first fell ill, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have tried to catch an earlier flight back to help Dee.

The doorbell rings downstairs, and Claire grabs the towel. “Okay, Paulie, you ready to go to your NanNan’s?”

“I p’ay!”

“You can play at NanNan’s.”

Paul squirms in her hands as she lifts him from the bathtub, and she nearly drops him a couple of times before she gets his feet steadily on the mat. He pouts but lets his aunt dry him and dress him in the outfit that sits on the counter. Claire brushes his hair to make it lie flat against his scalp.

“Y’know, you keep making that face at me, it’s gonna get stuck like that, and then we’ll have to sell you to a museum as a work of art.”

“No! No sell!”

He’s still shouting “No sell! No sell!” by the time Claire reaches the bottom step, and Deirdre and her mother stop talking. Claire shrugs awkwardly and sets her nephew on the floor; he instantly toddles across the room to bury his face against his mom’s leg, and Deirdre’s brows raise.

“Are you threatening to sell my child?”

Claire starts to deny it, but she can’t without lying.So she merely gives her sister-in-law a bright grin. “He was mean-muggin’ me, what was I supposed to do?”

“Stop threatening to sell the child,” Ariel lovingly scolds before holding her arms out toward Claire, who steps forwards and accepts the embrace willingly. “You look wonderful, honey.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what happens when I’m not stuck with Dee all the time.”

Deirdre gasps and claps a hand to her chest. “Rude! I’m telling your brother you’re being rude!”

“Then I won’t ever babysit again.”

“I’m not telling your brother you’re being rude.”

Ariel ignores the two bickering women and scoops Paul into her arms, carries him into the entryway. The diaper bag is already sitting by the front door, and Claire watches as Deirdre walks with her mother and son outside. The door closes behind them with a quiet sound; it’s quiet in the house now, and Claire doesn’t like it. She’s too accustomed to noise - at her apartment, there’s never a silent moment, and even when she’s at work, she’s surrounded by music or people talking. She shuffles awkwardly to the kitchen sink.

“Why are you doing my dishes?”

“Because you need to rest.”

“Belle, I don’t need you to do my dishes.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to win, am I?”

“Nope. Now shut the Hell up and go sit down. Relax. You know your daughter or husband is going to want something from you within the next thirty seconds.”

“I hate you,” sighs Deirdre as Tim calls for her hoarsely from the bedroom before Claire’s even finished speaking.