Who: Clare and Kieran What: A trip to the clinic Where: Free clinic where Kieran works, car to the Willows When: So long ago! A few days after the Masquerade. Warnings/Rating: Talk of injuries. AWKWARD Clare.
Clare wasn’t sure how she’d done it, but thanks to the cab the night before, she had made it home in once piece, even though her entire body had protested. She’d wanted nothing more than to climb into the shower and let the hot water wash everything away - the injuries, the memories, the phantom touches to a body that was hers but twice-removed from her own mind. It didn’t make the experience any less real or less traumatizing. She knew though that the water would soak into the bandages that had somehow accompanied her from London, and she didn’t have anyone to help her rebandage herself. So she simply washed as well as she could and soldiered on to collapse into bed for some restless sleep. She couldn’t honestly say where the gumption (as her grandmother would’ve called it) was coming from, the strength to not curl up on the floor and cry, but it was helping to keep her going. Maybe it was John’s subtle influence, though he had been mostly quiet since she’d crossed back to Las Vegas.
The next day at work was necessary as she simply didn’t have that much extra time to take off, and she couldn’t afford to lose her job. Not if she wanted to keep her apartment. She kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail so it wasn’t as easy to see how long it had been since she’d washed it, and the outfit she wore was layer upon layer of clothing. It was nearly oppressive in the Las Vegas weather, but the layers kept her cushioned from anyone’s possible touch, and made her feel as if her painful, vulnerable back was somehow protected. It didn’t stop her from being milk-pale from the constant twinges and aches, or from moving slow and stiff to try to keep the pain from escalating. She looked like she was on death’s door, a fine bit of perspiration curling tendrils at her hairline. She barely ate at lunchtime, and by the time mid-afternoon rolled around, her supervisor was telling her to take the rest of the day and either head home or to the doctor.
She hadn’t been planning on going to the doctor - how did a person explain the sorts of injuries she had on her back? - but she knew she needed more help than a few tylenol would provide. She had a regular physician in the Las Vegas area, but this didn’t seem like the sort of thing that she could expect her doctor to handle. So when she climbed into the cab that her supervisor had called for her, she told the driver to head for the free clinic.
Kieran was busy – but then again when was he ever not busy? When he wasn’t at one hospital, he was at the clinic, and if not at the clinic, off with Adam. And to be quite honest, he liked everything just this way. Idle time never suited him, getting too antsy when he had nothing better to do.
Still a little rest wouldn't be too unwelcome and he was looking forward to unwinding just a little. His shift had ended technically an hour ago but he hadn’t had a chance to be relieved of it until now. Just one more name to see, help, and he was done for the day. He grabbed the papers and opened up the door to the lobby. “James? Clare James?” Blue eyes, several shades darker than his navy scrubs, scanned the sea of faces for any kind of recognition to the name.
Clare had discovered that not having anything to distract herself with was the least helpful in trying to not think about the injuries on her back and the secondary throb of her foot and ankle. It was hard to think past the steady pulse that seemed to fill her entire body, so when her name was called, it took a moment for it to sink in. She shook herself once it did, head turning in the direction of the surprisingly deep voice for a nurse, and she blinked a few times when she saw the very male nurse standing there with some papers. She hadn’t quite thought that far - all of her doctors and nurses had been female to this point - but she couldn’t leave without some help. “Me,” she whispered, then cleared her throat a bit. “That’s me.”
She so slowly pushed herself to her feet, weight favoring one foot over the other, and by the time she had walked across the waiting room, the color had bled from her face again. Her teeth were clenched tightly as she limped toward the nurse, a greyish tinge under her eyes.
The response garnered a brilliant smile from Kieran, one that only faltered slightly when she started to hobble across the room. He set his clipboard on a ledge but she had made it most of the way already, and his hand steadied her arm and took her weight as he led her inside. He closed the door the to the waiting room behind him and gently seated her in a chair. “So, let’s hear it. Where it hurts. How it happened. And how tall are you?” He pulled back slightly to give her a quick glance, already guessing and making note. “We’re going to err on the smaller side of crutches, I bet.”
The final question was the easiest to answer, especially since she still wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell him about her injuries. Telling him about her back would likely lead to her needing to take off clothes to show him. And to him touching her back. She didn’t want anyone touching her back, and part of John agreed with her. But if she fibbed just a little and kept it to her foot, she might be able to get in and out with some antibiotics and maybe something to help things stop hurting quite so much. “Five-two,” she said, gaze down toward the floor to watch her steps as she walked and then eased down into the chair he offered. She couldn’t help the way she shied from his touch at first, but tried to force herself to stay calm.
“My foot,” she offered as an answer to his other questions. She pulled out the excuse she’d come up with on the way over. “I dropped a glass in my kitchen and stepped on it.” She’d gone to this clinic specifically hoping that she wouldn’t have to answer too many questions. While her foot had already had several days to heal on the other side of the door, she perversely hoped that it still looked bad enough to explain her current state. Plus, she’d worn long, thick socks instead of tights. They still came up to mid-thigh, but she would be able to just remove the one and keep the rest of herself covered. It seemed even more important now than it had even before the Masquerade. She felt awkward and flustered under his assessing gaze, but she carefully tugged the one sock down, slipping her shoe off as she did. Once the sock was sagged around her ankle, she delicately peeled it away from the bottom of her foot, also removing the piece of gauze she’d put there at the beginning of the day, wincing at how it looked and apologizing with a whisper. “Sorry,” she murmured, extending her foot toward the nurse, her skirt still draped mid-calf to cover her leg.
Kieran had no real idea about her other injuries. She looked bad but it could have been something else, or it could have been her injury and the strain of having it. She was limping and said it was her foot, so that was what he focused on, dropping to his knee before with a quick “May I?” even as he lifted it gingerly for inspection.
As he held it up, eyes, never drifting higher than her ankle, the questions continued. How long it ago it was, how she was taking care of it, just to get a better understanding of where they were at and what brought her there before he set her up with the doctor. “And are you taking any medication for anything else? Any other conditions we should know about?” It was a tone as innocent as ever but his eyes rested on her face to take in her answer. No suspicion at all in his voice, just a simple desire to know everything he needed to know.
She kept her hands clenched tightly in her lap as he started looking at her foot, and answered his questions as best she could. She faltered on a few answers, either needing an extra moment to think, or changing her answer slightly once she’d had a second to talk. It had the air of someone making excuses to hide something. She thought she was doing alright for the most part, but then he looked up at her, and between his fingers on her ankle and his eyes on her face, she froze for a moment. Yes, there was something else they should know about, but that would require more explanations than she could come up with. And also removing the layers of clothing she was using as protection from the world. “I... no. ...That’s it.” Her eyes angled down and away, not able to keep eyecontact with him as she said the words.
His expectant expression didn’t falter exactly, just a flicker of something across his face and a slight dip of his chin, catching her gaze just a little more intently. “Are you sure?” He wasn’t to pry, not so blatantly and not when she didn’t want him to. But there was something going on that she wasn’t telling him and it couldn’t hurt to ask just one more time.
Clare opened her mouth to respond, to try to keep up the deception she’d been attempting, but her voice caught in her throat. She tried to cover it just by nodding, but (to her horror) tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed, a choked few words, the tears spilling over as she reached up one sleeve-covered hand to swipe at them. Her sleeve slipped back as she rested her hand in her lap again, revealing a hand that was scraped along the palm. “I just...” She couldn’t keep up the charade much longer, so she tried for a half-truth. “My back hurts a little. That’s all.”
“Hey, hey now,” he said, spotting the start of tears and his voice softening immediately. He was a softie, sometimes, but at least it served him well in his line of work. And hopefully it would here. “Well let’s take a look at that back.” A little wasn’t so bad, but a little didn’t warrant tears of pain or shame or whatever else was lurking at the corners of her eyes. He had been in his field for years and had seen his share of bad scrapes, some of the worst coming from free clinics he had worked in, not just this one in Vegas. Though he kept his face mostly passive, quietly he was thinking back to the doctor on staff and how best to juggle the patients waiting, the patients they had, and Clare James’ supposedly small hurt.
Clare looked at him, panic and worry beginning to join the tears, and she shook her head slightly. “But... I came in about my foot?” It came out as a question, and the toes on said foot flexed a bit, even as his fingers were still gentle around her ankle. A soft nudge at the back of her thoughts betrayed John’s concerned presence there, urging her to comply. He was as quiet as he always was, but somehow having him there helped. He’d had to go through some of the same things in the hospital, and it felt like he was trying to tell her that it would be alright. She lifted her hand to linger against the buttons at the base of her throat, her sweater fastened as high as it would go. It was only the first of several layers, and she hesitated again. It had been hard enough getting dressed that morning, and she didn’t welcome another try at dealing with her clothing. The pressure in her mind grew more insistent though, so Clare finally began undoing the buttons.
“Well, we’re not ignoring your foot, exactly. Think of it more like saving yourself a future trip. I hear the waiting room is a bitch.” He kept his grin in place, hoping it would help ease of her tension. He watched her hesitation and frowned slightly, glancing over to the side to check on the rooms. They had one free. Maybe that would help. Sliding back up to stand, he held her a hand out to her and cocked his head down the hallway. “Would another room be better?” He assumed it was merely modesty that was keeping her from telling him anything.
She hesitated again, even at the offer of another room, but she finally nodded and slipped a slightly-trembling hand into his. Her steps faltered as she balanced the bare toes of her injured foot on the icy tile of the floor, but she managed. She didn’t say anything as they walked, and she obediently followed him into the room and waited until the door was shut. Part of her had hoped that he would wait outside the door, but when he showed no sign of leaving her alone, she turned away slightly to give herself at least the illusion of privacy and sat on the edge of the table in the room. She normally would have stood to undress, but she was exhausted from just that short walk, and sitting was infinitely better.
With her head bowed and heart beating erratically, she began to undo the buttons of the first thick sweater layer. It took long gasping-breath moments for her to work the sleeves down off her arms, and as she took the time to recover, she folded the sweater neatly and set it next to herself. The second sweater was thinner, the type of cardigan she usually wore to work, and she repeated the same painstaking, agonizing process, leaving it folded on top of the first. By that point, her breathing came quicker but shallow, and she took another moment to compose herself before continuing. The next layer was her dress itself, and even though she knew she had added an extra layer of a chemise beneath, she was reluctant to continue. She had already put in so much effort with her sweaters though, so she undid the buttons of her dress to her waist, easing herself out of it so that the fabric pooled around her hips as she sat. The chemise was still in place, but the bandages that had accompanied her from London were easily visible both through and above the thin material, covering her almost completely from neck to hip at some points.
Kieran was terribly patient, no rush on his face or demeanor as he looked away slightly, glancing back to Clare to see if she was finished undressing but no other push than that, easily seeing that this was something difficult for her. When she finished he spared her a small smile, trying to be nothing but reassuring. His eyes quickly moved to the bandages, not even one second spared to glance anywhere else than where he asked to look. For all his teasing, Kieran was still a professional, and with a critical eye he moved behind her to take a better look at her bandages. “May I?” he asked, not touching her back or the wraps or peeking below the top of her chemise until she said so.
Clare didn’t look up at all once she started undressing, so she missed the reassuring glance and the small smile that Kieran offered her. His presence behind her made her shift nervously, but she took a shaky breath and carefully hooked her fingers in the hem of the chemise. There was a tense pause before she so-slowly eased it up over her head as well, then held it in her arms to cover her chest. It left the bandages exposed as well as the raw-looking skin between the white fabric. She attempted to say ‘okay’, but the word stuck in her throat, so she simply nodded once, then kept her head bowed and her eyes shut tight, trying to pull on all the residual strength John might be able to give her.
Kieran was quick as he inspected the bandages and the skin beneath, taking great care to be as gentle as he could. He gently moved the wrapping to get a good look but quickly he saw how this was more than just a simple injury and gingerly pulled his fingers back. He couldn’t do this by himself. Or rather he could, but he wouldn’t give her the treatment she did actually need. He was but a nurse, after all. “You can put your shirt back on. I’ll go grab a doc.”
Clare kept her eyes squeezed shut tightly during Kieran’s short examination, breath catching every time she felt his fingers brush her back. She couldn’t stop the subtle shudders at the touches, and she forced her mind to a place that was able to ignore him while he worked. His voice filtered to her slowly when it came again, and he was nearly to the door by the time she reacted. “No!” she said, soft but urgent, and she turned her head just enough to catch him in her peripheral vision, still keeping the chemise clasped to her chest. “Please. Can’t you just... just you?”
“Welllll, I could...” was his immediate reply, elongated words most telling on how he felt about that option. “But the absolute best way to handle your back would be beyond my official capacity. I can patch you up and send you on your way but considering how hospital visits aren’t exactly the most fun,” and he gave her a conspiratorial look, as even he had days where he hated coming to come here, “you might want to try and get it all taken care of in one go. Or two. And that’ll need a doc. I promise I’ll get you the nicest one we have on staff right now.” Which was true, he would, though pickings were slim at the moment. “Or some candy. I think we still have some for the kids though I’ve eaten about 3 of them since my shift started so who knows how many we really have left.”
“But... it’s already been looked at.” Her protests were quiet, weak, the throb of the pulse along her spine making her rethink her objections. It was a matter of weighing people looking at her, touching her, and the possibility of getting enough help to have her able to function again. She turned to study him as he began to ramble about candy, distracted by the strangeness of it. She twisted carefully from the waist, trying to keep her back still, her slim shoulders angled toward him. “Thank you,” she said, “no. I’m... don’t need any candy. Just the doctor.” She trailed off, realizing she’d just agreed to what she had been arguing about. “...I suppose.”
Kieran knew a victory when he saw one and he softly thumped his palm on the door in time with his smile. “That’s the spirit. I’ll--we’ll be right back.” And off he he disappeared, only coming back five minutes later, a sweet tempered doctor in tow. He made the introductions and before Clare could protest, he hopped out once more, leaving the women to it and finishing up his paperwork. He would check in with them before she left.
Clare tensed even more with two people in the room, but then Kieran was gone and she was able to focus on the questions the doctor was asking as she examined the wounds on Clare’s back. She did her best to answer, though some of the questions made her uneasy. Most especially the ones about how she’d hurt herself. There was no good way to answer those, so she tried to hedge around them as much as possible. She also shied away from the strong suggestions that she go to the hospital to be checked more thoroughly and possibly kept for a few days. Not only could Clare not afford to miss those days of work, she also didn’t have the insurance coverage that would allow her such a luxury. She managed (somehow) to convince the doctor of that, and by the time they finished, she had several prescriptions for painkillers and antibiotics. The doctor took an extra few minutes to help Clare back into her many layers of clothing, and once most of her skin was once again covered, she began to limp back out, crutches rejected due to the strain they would put on her back, navigating the small maze behind the waiting room, looking for the exit.
Kieran, as promised, was on hand, looking up from the wall he leaned against to grin at Clare. “That wasn’t so terrible now was it?” At his feet stood a wheelchair, a temporary reprieve for her injuries but if she couldn’t do crutches, he would at least offer this. “Mind numbingly boring maybe, and a little nerve wracking sure. But terrible? Not so much. So how’s about a chair for all the trouble?”
She looked at him, surprised, for a long time, as if she couldn’t quite figure out why he was standing there with a wheelchair. “I... can walk,” she finally managed, blinking several times and surprisingly looking right at him, eyes wide and startlingly big when she was actually looking directly at someone. The doctor had given her an IV in the room, rehydrating her and slipping in a low grade (but effective) pain killer to help cut through some of the throbbing. Somehow, the lessening of the pain helped John to give her a little nudge, and after a moment of uncertain biting at her lip, she turned herself carefully and lowered herself into the chair. “Thank you. ...I’ll have to call for a cab.”
“Good thing I snagged you a wheelchair then,” he replied easily as he pushed her through the hallway. Cabs in Vegas were easy enough to hail but it would still take time and getting her off that foot was critical. “Or I can give you lift? I’m off my shift anyways. I can always drop you off somewhere. Provided you don’t live somewhere godawful. Or on the Strip.” Only tourists, cabbies, and the completely insane or desperate drove on the Strip at decent hours.
Clare angled a glance back over her shoulder as they moved through the hallways. She didn’t even know this man, and he was offering her a ride. That seemed like a recipe for disaster, one that her mother had warned her against when she was going to college and then again before her move to Las Vegas. But he’d been kind to her, and he was a nurse, a position that earned him at least a little bit of trust in her mind. The blue eyes that looked down at her were sincere, and while she knew that awful people could hide behind nice-looking exteriors, she was tired and still ached, and the offer of a ride that didn’t come along with a rude cabbie was too good to turn down. Her reticence was still easy to read in her expression, but she finally nodded. “I live in the Willows apartments. Not on the Strip.” Aside from the one excursion to the Bellagio art gallery, she’d barely even seen the Strip since she moved.
“Ah, easy enough. I actually live right there.” To take the edge off his creepy statement, or at least distract them both long enough, he made a big show of saying goodbye to the rest of the staff, promising that he’d return the chair later, maybe never, everyone deal. And soon they were out the motion sensored door and into the Vegas sunlight. His car wasn’t too far off and he pushed them across the lot as he casually asked, “So how long have you been here?”
Clare was reluctant to share any more about herself, but small talk was always a comfort to fall back on. She found herself answering even though she was unsure of how wise it was. “A few months? Less than a year.” She paused, watching as one particular car appeared to be their destination. “It seems longer than that some days.” She moved her gaze down to her hands, fingers hidden by long sleeves, but twisted together through the heavy sweatshirt fabric. She shivered at her thoughts, even in the sunny heat they had stepped into. “Especially lately,” she whispered, a piece of hair falling forward from her barrette to hide the side of her face. She didn’t say anything else as they drew to a stop next to the car, already pushing herself to her feet, weight balanced almost entirely on her good foot, not even waiting for a hand.
“Boredom or something else?” he asked easily, finally stopping by his car to help her inside, careful and steady movements lest she further injure herself. After he loaded her into the front seat, he dragged the wheelchair back to the clinic before piling into the front seat and heading to the Willows. “I would say that there’s always something to do in Vegas but you don’t really strike me as gambling, partying, type. But correct me if I’m off base.”
“Something else,” she replied as she climbed into the car, careful not to twist herself too much as she settled. She was about to continue, but the door shut gently on her words, and she was left watching his back as he returned the chair to the clinic. She peered around at the car she found herself in, but before she could start to form too many opinions about its owner, he had returned.
The thought of herself at the casino, or even attending a party recently, was bordering on ridiculous, and she looked over at the nurse with a smile that edged into a quiet laugh. It changed her face for that brief moment, lighting her eyes and causing some of the false years of stress to lift from her expression. “No. You’re right. I’m not really...” She trailed off and went serious, looking down at her hands again. Her clothing also received a look, and she wasn’t naive enough to not realize that he didn’t actually think she might be the partying type. Her fingers slipped out of their pretzel knots and smoothed down her skirt over her thighs.
He chuckled. “Can’t blame you. It’s not exactly my scene either. I happen to like keeping my money, not throwing it away on every half chance that comes my way.” He paused as he made his turns, driving slightly more careful than usual. Best not to scare off his passenger. “Course that sounds kinda weird, doesn’t it? Hating the nightlife but living in Vegas? But you go where the wind takes you, right?” He wasn’t quite prying, wasn’t quite talking to himself aloud though, but if she wanted to keep to herself he wouldn’t press her. “I’m just going to blame family, then. That’s my go to answer.”
Family could have been used for Clare’s excuse for coming to Las Vegas as well - her parents’ gentle yet insistent pressure to find a job and move out into her adult life. But she didn’t necessarily like to think of it that way, so while she nodded in response to him, she cleared her throat slightly. “I’m here for a job. ...Unrelated to the nightlife.” She offered him another smile, this one at the term ‘nightlife’. It seemed a safe way to encompass everything about Las Vegas that she felt she had no part in. She wouldn’t normally offer any more than that, but his smile was sweet and she’d been lonely with only John and her pain to keep her company since the Masquerade. “I work in an office. For a congressman. ...It’s pretty quiet work.” After another pause to look at her fingers, she offered another quiet bit of information. “They’re nice people though. They sent me home today even though I’ve already missed a few days.” It went without saying why she’d missed work.
Even before he could start with the small talk she was supplying all the information he needed. He nodded at all the right points, pausing only when the road stole his attention away from her. She didn’t strike him as someone working in politics, though the office shtick did fit the bill, more or less. They did sound like good people, though one question did remain. “Do you like it? Your work, I mean?” Her employers could be the nicest people in the universe but that didn’t mean anything really if she didn’t enjoy her work.
The question seemed to confuse her at first, her eyes turning back to him as she tried to find a response. She’d never quite thought of her job that way - she needed one, she had one. It wasn’t awful, and she was certain that there were much worse out there. “It’s a good job,” she finally replied, though it wasn’t actually an answer. She seemed to realize it soon after the words were out of her mouth, and with another nervous twist of her fingers, she searched for something more to say. “...I like that it’s quiet.” After a pause, she offered him another one of those sweet, shy, rare smiles. “I don’t have to worry about injured people stumbling in, at least.”
“Well the injured do have a certain way of making a racket,” he chuckled, tossing a wink her direction. Even though he hadn’t known her long, or at all really, he knew a rare smile when she saw one and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. “But that’s not liking your job still. So say you could have any job in the world. And you could have all your of your needs met. Quiet. No injured people. Enough money to get by, however you want to define getting by,” he lifted his hands off the wheel for a moment, just long enough to do air quotes. “What would you like to do?”
She looked over at him like the question didn’t make sense. In reality, it was simply nothing she’d ever thought about before. That may have been strange, but she had always ended up where life placed her and hadn’t fought it. She’d needed a job and had found one. When that one ended, she’d found another, even though she’d had to move halfway across the country to do so. She was suddenly back to being uncomfortable again, and she looked down at her hands. “I don’t know. ...is that strange?”
“Nah,” he replied easily, a shake of his head in time with the turn of his wheel. “Sometimes it just never occurs to you. If you had asked me, what, ten years ago, twenty even, I never would’ve said nursing as a career choice. Secret agent, maybe. Adventuring archaeologist, sure.” He chuckled quietly to himself at the memory of his childhood career choices. Could they be any further from his current position in life? “What do you like to do, then? When you’re not working and not partaking in the nightlife of our illustrious city?”
Clare was back to smiling again, picturing a smaller version of him in an Indiana Jones outfit, being chased down by a giant boulder. The smile spread to her eyes, soft and amused. She couldn’t remember what she’d wanted to be as a child - she always figured she would have a family or something equally “old-fashioned”. Her life hadn’t quite turned out that way, though, and it left her young yet, but adrift. “I like to read. I worked in the library when I was in high school, and that was nice. I like...” She trailed off. Surely she had more interests than just that. Didn’t she? “I... go to church on Sunday?” That didn’t really tell anything about herself though. And she went out of habit, not because she truly enjoyed it. Her face crumpled into a frown as her mind continued to draw a blank. “I don’t know.” Her voice wavered as she suddenly began to realize that her life must be lacking something if she couldn’t even answer that simple question.
“Reading’s good. Church is good.” He nodded and kept his voice warm, encouraging her to keep talking if she wanted. He wasn’t terribly keen on the latter but the former wasn’t bad and he could envision her working in a library. “Definitely quiet and without sick people,” he agreed under his breath. He quieted as he waited for her to continue, wondering what other hobbies she might have but she was drawing a blank. Just as well, as the Willows flickered in the distance, growing closer with every passing moment. “Not bad pastimes,” he reassured her with a grin. “Haven’t really read anything good in a while. Clinic tends to keep me up to date on women’s magazines but that’s not the same. Any suggestions?”
She was still shaken from this revelation about her life, but she was able to rattle off a few titles of some recent releases that she thought he might like, just based on the very little she did know about him. After those titles, as they pulled into the driveway of the Willows, she went quiet. “But... maybe those aren’t any you would like. You usually have to know more about someone before you can recommend books.” When the car finally pulled to a stop, she looked at him again, not rushing to get out of the car. Not that she was able to rush much anyway. “Thank you,” she whispered into the quiet of the car. “I appreciate this.”
He laughed softly as she rattled off titles, trying to keep them in mind lest he forget them. “I think you can recommend books regardless of how well you know someone. I’m pretty sure the guy in the newspaper does it all the time. But I could trust you. Besides, if something’s really bad I can just knock on your door and sigh at you.” He tossed her another wink as he stopped the car and help her get out, the process slow and steady, to take care of her injuries and simply to enjoy the pleasure of her company. “Don’t mention it. I’m just your run of the mill knight in shining scrubs.” At the back of his mind, Alistair groaned.
His gentle care of her as she climbed out of the car made her blush, and she kept her face down, hoping that it would fade again by the time she had to look back up. The entire process was exhausting in her current state, but she still had enough energy to look up and smile at his knightly comment. She even laughed a little, averting her eyes down shyly as she did. “Well... My hero, then.” It was so far from a comment that she would usually make, and it made her blush even more than his words, once she realized what she’d said. Her next stammer was horrified at herself, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean... The doctor gave me painkillers,” she finally managed, hoping that he would accept the excuse. It was the only way her tongue would ever have been loosened enough to let such a comment slip out.
“And rightfully so,” he grinned, knowing full well that it was the simple truth of it. He had been the one to show her to the doctor after all. “You rest, I’ll look up those books. We’ll cross paths and catch up another time. Deal?”
“Deal,” she responded automatically, but then paused before heading for her apartment, realizing one vital thing. “Um. ...I’m Clare. Which you know. But I don’t... You never...” Her questions trip-stumbled over each other, and it took her a moment to find her verbal footing again. “What’s your name?”
For a moment he was startled that he had forgotten such a detail, and his left hand came up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. “Kieran. Kieran Fulton,” he clarified, grasping her hand and giving her a gentle handshake goodbye. “I’ll see you around Clare.”