Phone Calls.
Her calls are becoming frequent, from monthly to weekly to daily. His voice grows weaker; hers grows desperate.
Nathan/Claire friendship, Peter/Claire, friendship or more depending on your own view.
-
"Hello
"Hello?"
Claire stiffens. His voice is gruff, harder than she remembered.
"Nathan?"
A brief silence falls between them, and Claire can hear her unsteady breathing rattle in the receiver.
"Claire?"
A wave of relief washes over her, but it vanishes quickly. Her heart begins to beat faster, her words choke in her throat and her mind, tangled full of questions only a moment before, goes blank.
"… Claire? Are you there?"
His low voice presses on her, and she knows she needs to say something. But it's blank. She can't think. She squeezes her eyes tightly together and swallows hard.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."
She swallows again, but it's really no use; her throat is hopelessly dry. The phone is slipping slightly in her clammy palm, and she tightens her grip around it.
"Right. So… What is it? You need something?"
Claire's brow furrows. Her eyes narrow gently in confusion.
"I just wanted to talk…"
She hears him breathe a sigh of impatience and his dismissive attitude almost angers her.
"Claire, look. I'm busy. Haven't you got someone else to talk to?"
"I-… Yes. Yeah, I do. Sorry."
"Okay. Well, I have to go. I suggest you don't call again. It might be too dangerous."
And with that he hangs up, leaving Claire feeling much more unsure than she did before the conversation. Or rather, lack of. So she, too, puts down her phone.
-
She leaves it a week before she calls again. This time she's not as nervous, and knows what to say.
"Hello?"
His voice is just as gruff as it had been before, though it doesn't intimidate her any longer.
"Nathan."
She hears him sigh and it annoys her.
"What is it, Claire?"
"Nathan listen."
"I'm listening."
Although it doesn't sound as he's listening. She hears the clink of a bottle to a glass, and the distant buzz of the TV on in the background.
"What if…" Claire pauses, and chooses her words carefully. "What if Peter survived, and h– "
Nathan interrupts her. "Don't, Claire."
His voice is quiet, but laced with anger and urgency. She stops, and swallows.
"I seriously don't think you should call again."
Claire blinks as he hangs up on her once again. She's hit a raw nerve in him, and she knows it. So she does what's best, and decides not to call again.
-
Her resolve lasts almost three weeks. Nathan recognises the number when it flashes across the screen, but answers it regardless.
"Nathan."
"Claire."
"Nathan just listen to me this time."
His eyes flicker shut and he inwardly groans. "Fine."
"Look. Is there any chance at all that maybe the coast guards didn't check everywhere?"
"No."
Claire decides to ignore his answer.
"Well maybe he didn't land exactly in the New York district. Nathan, are you sure you were in New York when you dropped him?"
"Yes."
She pursed her lips. His lack of co-operation was aggravating.
"Na–"
"Claire. Just… give it up. Please."
And just as she opens her mouth to retort, the empty dial tone fills her ears and she lets out a deep breath that she didn't know she was holding. Her phone drops on the bed next to her, and her eyes close. Nathan would not be easy.
-
Her calls are becoming frequent, from monthly to weekly to daily. His voice grows weaker; hers grows desperate.
She knows his number by heart now, keying it into her phone without a second thought.
"Nathan, he can regenerate! Like me! He knows me, he absorbed my power, so it's actually not possible that he's de–"
Click.
"Nathan, there's this girl, Molly Walker? She can find people! No matter where they are or anyth–"
Click.
"Nathan, look, the coast guards didn't find anything, right? Which means no body, so there's still a chance he's–"
Click.
-
Her final call is late at night. Nathan's drunk himself brainless and back sober again, and Claire simply can't sleep.
"Hello?"
His voice is as gruff as ever, but it's lost its edge, weariness instead taking its place.
"Nathan."
Her voice is nothing more than a whisper now, but the sheer desperation of her tone speaks volumes to Nathan. He knows she's about to break.
"Claire."
"Nathan, please. Just. Please…"
He can hear her crying, and he almost scolds himself for being so harsh with her before.
"I'm sorry, Claire."
His words are soft, almost caring, and she knows this is possibly the most kindness he's ever shown her. She sniffs, and wipes away her tears with one hand.
"Thank you."
And this time she's the one that hangs up.