Who: Clare and Elias What: Checking in and going to Passages Where: Red Rock Villas -> Passages When: Recently, while Micah's been drinking, directly following this. Warnings/Rating: None? Some crankiness/hotel aftermath.
There had been light footsteps crossing the apartment, but after Elias’ last comment, they had stopped suddenly as Clare stared at the words. She looked across the living room at the front door, and then dropped the notebook to the floor when she brought her hands up to cover her mouth in surprise. The sound of the book hitting the floor carried in the space that was still rather sparsely decorated, neither she nor Micah having much in the way of decoration to bring to the rooms. After a minute of staring at the front door like she expected someone to burst through it at any moment, she bent to pick up the notebook again, her writing messy when she managed a quick scrawl.
The hallway? My hallway?
As soon as he had Jules’ information that Clare wasn’t aware of the change in Micah, Elias had pulled a shirt on over his bandaged shoulder with some difficulty and left the warehouse where he was overseeing the temporary storage of his larger pieces. It took him only a couple minutes in a cab to get to Clare and Micah’s address, and he counted it as a good thing that he only had one knife on him, a warehouse-functional, perfectly legal one. He set his back against the wall about five yards down the hall from the door and kept the black book open in one palm. Yes.
The response made Clare stare at the door again, but after a deep breath, she finally crossed the apartment, sock-clad feet making no sound as she crept carefully over the carpet. True to her word, she’d left the chain off the door for Micah, but she lifted it as slowly as she could and slid it back on. She knew it was Elias, someone she should trust, but the thought of someone lingering in the hallway made her nervous. After the chain was on though, she so-slowly undid the deadbolt. It made a soft click, but she was moving so slow that most of the sound was absorbed by the door. Easing the door open with her hand on the doorknob, she peered out into the hallway, half expecting him to be right on the other side of the door. When he wasn’t, she tried to peer as far as she could to either side.
“...Hello?” Her whisper was barely even a breath of sound, and she still was expecting something to jump out at her suddenly.
Taller and hiding it well with a comfortable slump halfway down his spine, Elias hadn’t yet moved from his station holding up the wall. He had the black book, with its canvas-colored paper, propped on one knee that he had tipped forward from the other. In his other hand he had the heavy-ink black pen with the silver tip, and he was writing a return message for Jules. He didn’t seem too much the worse for the chaos of the last few days; perhaps an extra line around the eyes, a certain set to his mouth that hinted at the taste of vinegar, but he was clean shaven and bright eyed.
At the faint whisper, he looked to his left. “Hey.” He rolled up to two feet.
Clare watched as Elias came into view, only one of her eyes visible as she peered out of the small opening of the apartment door. The rest of her body was mostly hidden, though it was obvious that she was wearing her pajamas - the same tanktop and capri pants she’d worn when Noah had surprised her in the kitchen some time ago. She relaxed a bit once she was able to see Elias, confirm that it was in fact him and not someone else lingering outside her door. But she was still wary, keeping the chain on as she spoke to him. “I didn’t expect you to be here so soon.” She knew that he’d had to have been on his way even before they’d started talking, and that fact alone confused and worried her. “...Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Not for the first time, Elias wondered what had so damaged this woman that she was incapable of even meeting an old friend without talking to him through a door. He reached for his patience, something that Sherlock thought as dull and unnecessary, and found it waiting at the bottom of his stomach. He moved down the hall and wandered toward the closed door. He didn’t immediately answer her question, and some of the sourness dissolved from his expression as he looked down at her, and at the chain. “Afraid of me?” he asked.
The wariness eased out of her own expression at the softening of his, and her eyes shifted down to the chain that spanned the small space between them. “No...” There was doubt there though, hinting at the worry that still plagued her. She hadn’t met him face-to-face since that time in the Bellagio gallery and a brief passing in the hotel on their way to London when she was more John than herself, and for as close as their alters were, even taking into consideration their conversations through the journals, he was still a stranger in person. It was what kept her still for another moment, rabbit in the face of a predator until she lifted her chin with a steadying breath and shook her head. She closed the door softly, the sound of the chain being undone filtering through the door, and then the door was open again, wider though she still half-hid behind it. “Sorry,” she offered as she stepped back, wide enough to allow him entrance.
The apartment was tidy in a minimalist sort of way, the common space a bland testament to two strangers living together, neither of whom had yet made the space a home. The furniture was there, enough to sit on, live with, but had very little personality. The signs of the space’s inhabitants were few and subtle - some books here, a pair of shoes there. But mostly it was quiet, and bland, and beige.
Elias told himself he shouldn’t be surprised at Claire’s reaction to him. She hadn’t exactly been warm to him even the last time he’d seen her at the hotel, and obviously she didn’t warm over time. He tried not to take it personally. It had been years since anybody had taken such a strong immediate dislike to him; if not dislike, then certainly not positive feeling. He rubbed at the bandage, gently, since the injury still hurt when it wasn’t driving him crazy with the itch. “You know, it’s fine,” he said, easing his voice into something like smooth, or as much as he could manage with that many cigarettes a day. “I’ll just stay out here. I want to talk to you about Micah, though.” He put both hands in his pockets and glanced back down the hallway, as if expecting the man to show up any moment. It wasn’t a nervous gesture at all, almost hungry, casual.
Clare simply blinked in the face of Elias’ refusal to enter the apartment, her posture easing enough in her confusion that she half-stepped out from behind the door. The shift in stance caused the hem of her capris to move just enough to reveal the parallel lines of scratch marks across her calf, her own much less-serious war wound from the previous week that didn’t even require a bandage. “You want to stay in the hall?” she asked, obviously not quite sure what to make of that, disbelief in her tone. Her eyes caught on his absent rub and a faded and detached memory prodded at her. “You’re hurt, that’s right. You could come in and sit while I get ready...?” It wasn’t a demand - she wouldn’t force him to come inside - but it was a genuine invitation, quiet as it was. Her wariness seemed to fade more and more in the face of her concern, now looking directly at him and waiting for his answer.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, firmly. He directed the dark gaze down the hall once more, contemplating it. “I know I make you uncomfortable.” He looked back at her, forward and down, and moved several inches forward so he was standing framed in the center of the hallway, arms akimbo, hands hidden. She looked exceptionally fragile, and he wondered if it was intentional. Maybe she didn’t notice. “But thanks. Listen, about Micah. What did he tell you about the other day in the hotel?” He was going to get through this, and he had a stubborn look on his face even through his obvious discomfort.
Her sigh was quiet and almost annoyed but it was short and she shook her head. Her voice was soft and she remained looking directly at him when she spoke. “You make me uncomfortable because I barely know you. And I’ve never met anyone like you before, and wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the people in our heads.” She paused, bit her lip, pulled on the tiny spark of confidence that had started to grow over the past weeks, and continued. “And maybe I’m a little slower to accept things than other people, but I’m getting there. ...you can stay in the hallway, but I’d feel better if I got changed, so...” She left the door open to him, but turned away, heading for her bedroom. That alone was a victory, having him behind her, knowing he could see at least the top part of her back. She needed to invest in different pajamas if people were going to keep finding her in the middle of the night.
His question about Micah made her stop and turn half-way back to him, looking over her shoulder with a frown. It was the same sort of question that Jules had asked on the journals, and it finally fit into place that Elias was there likely because Jules had contacted him.She gave a quick frown at the thought of people orchestrating things around her, but it didn’t stop her from answering his question. “Nothing. He says I’ll hate him, so he hasn’t told me anything. He just comes and goes and drinks more than I think anyone should...”
Elias stayed in the fucking doorway. He got that brief flicker of annoyance from her and it kind of pissed him off. Here he was trying to help her, and once again, he was the bad guy doing something wrong. Why was that always the way it was? How he looked? Old neighborhood all over again, with him on one side of the street and the small white girls on the other?
Elias lit a cigarette. This was not going to be a good conversation. “Yeah. He hurt some woman at the hotel the other night. The night that made us all crazy. He told me about it. I don’t think he’d do it again on purpose, but he keeps talking about the things she said, like she brought it on, and I don’t fucking know what to think.” He couldn’t see her any more, around the corner for her pajamas or whatever, and he preferred it that way.
There was silence in the apartment, deep and pervasive, not even the sound of one person moving around until her head peeked back around the corner she’d disappeared around, eyes worried. She paused there for a moment, staring back at him. After that moment, where it felt like the entire apartment was holding its breath, she emerged, still in her pajamas but holding a cardigan in one hand.Her arms were loose at her sides and the sweater nearly reached the floor, only caught on loose fingers. She was worried about too many things in that moment, Micah first, then her thoughts came around to the fact that between Elias and Jules, someone was worried about her. But one thing worried her the most. “How is she? Does anyone know?”
Elias breathed out a cloud of ugly smoke. His rough features didn’t look especially warm or kind at the moment, and it was very different from Sherlock’s cold, calculating anger and extremely violent revenge. The air around him seemed to seethe with his discontent with the world, as if he was just waiting for someone to start something with him about it. “Well obviously she’s not real interested in talking with anyone about it. I went down to the kitchen in the hotel just to see if she was there, and all I found was a whole fucking lot of blood.” Elias was not in the mood to spare Clare’s feelings. “Someone responded, so she’s alive, and that’s all we know.”
Something tightened around her eyes at the smoke, but she didn’t comment on it, simply remained across the apartment, staring at him. She knew, logically, that there was nothing that could be done for a stranger that didn’t want to be contacted, but the thought of the blood she’d cleaned out of the bathroom (blood she’d thought was Micah’s) made her stomach turn. She swallowed hard, chasing it back down, and took a breath. “I’m glad she’s alive.” It wasn’t nearly enough, and the words felt dusty and insincere in her mouth, but she meant them, and she just needed to say something to give herself time to think. “So,” she continued, “You came to tell me because Micah hadn’t?”
Elias watched his smoke filter back out into the hallway at his shoulder and nodded shortly. “Yeah. A friend of his thought he was drinking too much and probably shouldn’t be alone with a woman. Interesting, coming from somebody that wasn’t me. But it’s up to you.” He ran his fingers over the seam of his pocket where he’d tucked his journal, thinking about the decidedly strange conversation and wondering what it meant. He wondered what kind of person Micah was, if he really was a danger to anyone but himself.
Clare nodded and looked down at the sweater in her hand, at a loss for what she should do. Micah hadn’t seemed especially violent at any point in time, though the last few days he’d passed in a drunken cloud of alcohol, and she knew that could change things. The indecision was obvious on her face as she chased the thoughts around her head, and finally it was the memory of the blood in the bathroom that made up her mind. She nodded and turned away for a moment, before stopping, turning back to him to murmur “be right back”, and heading for her room. She had nowhere else to go, only to the hotel and into London, so she didn’t pack a bag. She just dressed, a simple sundress that went past her knees, and the cardigan she’d been carrying. It wasn’t more than a few moments before she re-emerged, pausing to slip her feet into her shoes.
“I thought it might be cooler in London,” Elias said, oh so casually, stepping back as she joined him in the hallway and trying not to look surprised about it. “I got things to do here, but a day’s not going to hurt me, and Sherlock is talking again so I think I better let him walk around before he starts going bad like an old orange.” He exhaled more smoke away and over his shoulder so she wouldn’t get a face full of it, and started toward the end of the hall and the exit. He was relieved he didn’t have to worry about her; he had enough on his mind.
She locked the door behind herself with only a nod at his thoughts on London, her own still on the news about Micah and the incident at the hotel. Keys were dropped into the small purse she carried, accompanying the hotel door key and the journal. “Yes, that seems to be for the best,” was her only vague reply regarding Sherlock. She was trying to plan in her mind how long she would need to stay through the door. Likely until everything was sorted, or until Micah stopped drinking at least. She suddenly realized she would have no way to know that, and she frowned to herself. After several steps of frowning, trailing just slightly behind Elias, she shook her head. She would figure it out when the time came. Maybe check in on the days when she needed to go to work. It was the only plan that emerged as she followed toward the exit.
Elias led the way out onto the sidewalk, still trailing smoke and falling into a contemplative silence that stretched all the way to the hotel. When they got close to it he seemed to tense and become even less likely to communicate. His eyes moved a lot even if his head did not, and he seemed to be waiting for something to come out and bite them from the doors or walls. He removed Micah from his mind and gave the building a wary look as they stepped inside the lobby. The repaired damage only made him scowl, but the stillness was reassuring. “Doesn’t sound like there’s anybody home.”
Clare was lost in her own thoughts on the walk to the hotel and didn’t notice Elias’ mood until they stepped inside the buildings. She, or more accurately John, hadn’t had a difficult time in the dark like so many others had, but Elias’ tension was contagious. Her shoulders inched up toward her ears, and she frowned at the scowl she glimpsed on Elias’ face. “Were you expecting someone?” Her eyes wandered around the dim lobby, taking in the changes to their surroundings.
“No, but then, I didn’t last time, and look where that got us.” He put out an arm to herd her in the right direction, remembered she didn’t like him to be within six inches, and backed off again. He pointed instead. “Let’s get through the door before something happens.”
She didn’t shy away from him, even though she’d seen the movement of his arm toward her. She turned and looked directly at him when he moved away again, but after a moment of trying to figure out if anything made sense about the situation, she simply nodded and headed for the stairs. Her steps were light on the carpeting of the lobby, and the sound was swallowed as she crossed the space. The silence itself was nearly overwhelming, but she knew Elias was right behind her, even if she couldn’t hear him. She did sneak a glance back over her shoulder, just to reassure herself that he was following, and then focused on climbing stairs and digging for the correct key in the hidden corners of a bag that was small but just big enough to conceal the gun that sometimes accompanied her upon her return from London. Nearing the landing, his words finally sank in, and she turned to look at him again. “Are you alright? After everything? I know the thing got you,” she gestured vaguely at his injured shoulder, eyes now trying to find any other injuries in the dim light. “Did anything else?”
The dark eyes regarded her direct look with some surprise, but Elias always seemed to look at his environment with frank, blanket interest, as if something incredible was likely to reveal itself to him at any time. It was probably the only childlike thing about him. Some of the edge and tension wore away, and he exhaled with a sound like the tide going out. “Whatever was sneaking around in here. Something... the same thing that made Micah lose it. I wanted to take people out, anybody that got near enough to threaten me. Fucking strangest thing.” His discomfort was clear, and it didn’t have anything to do with the wound on his shoulder.
The surprised edge to his expression made her self-conscious again, and she shifted her weight slightly, nervously. She wanted to ask why he was looking at her like that, with eyes that were more interested than almost anyone else ever looked at her with. But she shook the question from her thoughts and let out a steadying breath. “I heard that there was something like that. It... didn’t hit John. He felt the same as he always does. But the woman that tackled him mentioned not acting like she normally did.” She paused, trying to pull the courage to ask a question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to. “Did you hurt someone too? The way Micah did?”
Elias’ fingers twitched, one by one, knuckles flicking upward in turn and rippling the close dusty air in front of him as he rotated to face the correct door. His face went stormy again, rolling darkness behind the otherwise blandly reflective black eyes. “No. I said I wanted to, not that I did. I wouldn’t be here if I had.” He sniffed heavily, not to smell, just to get oxygen in, and directed his gaze at the closed door, pondering it. “Nobody knows how come it hit some people and not others.”
Clare wasn’t quite sure what Elias meant when he said he wouldn’t be there if he’d hurt someone, and she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know. “...Alright.” She followed his turn toward the door and paused when he stopped to stare at it. She figured that he wasn’t actually looking for an answer from her, but she replied, her voice soft in the silence of the hallway. “I don’t know that anything actually happens for a reason here.” She had to believe that most of the time. Otherwise the things that had happened to her would make her feel like she’d been targeted for some reason, and she doubted she would be able to continue on with her life if that were true.
“That’s really good news, Clare,” Elias said, sarcastically. He turned abruptly toward her, not making a move in her direction, just rotating on the spot. He felt old, and yet at the same time, wound tight, like a spring. He felt like he could break something just by existing, frenetic, pottery heated beyond capability. The dark eyes became abruptly unrecognizable, and then, without warning, he threw open the door and stalked through, braced as if for a blow.
The tone of Elias’ voice straightened Clare’s spine and dug out the annoyance from earlier. For the first time, she snapped at him, something she barely ever did with anyone. “Well I haven’t found a lot of good news since I moved here.” She took a step toward the door even after he crossed the threshold, continuing to talk as she moved. “So I’m sorry that I don’t have any for you.” She stared across the space at the man who was no longer Elias, the first time she’d looked at him not through John’s eyes and sighed. She didn’t want to have to deal with Sherlock. Not now. She stepped forward toward the door, hoping that John wouldn’t mind too much having to deal with everything for a while.