Clara woke to find herself curled up next to Bear. The dog was snoring lightly. She turned her head, but the armchair was empty.
"Good morning."
Clara jumped, startling Bear awake. John was standing by the window, coffee in his hand.
"How are you feeling?" He added, walking over to stand beside the bed.
Clara sat up slowly, coughing into her sleeve. "Better?"
She did feel better, but she also felt awful. Weak and lightheaded and sick and….a mess. Her hands went nervously to her dark hair, trying to smooth it down. It was knotted and snarled and probably sticking out at all angles. And John was standing there in his nice suit, looking very sharp and put together and why was she even thinking about this?
She glanced up to find him watching her, an amused expression on his face, and felt her face flush.
"How much longer do I have to wear this?" She said quickly, raising her arm with the IV needle.
John glanced at the machines behind the bed. "You don't. Would you like me to remove it now?"
Clara nodded, feeling slightly squeamish. John set his coffee down and switched off the IV drip. He pulled on a pair of gloves and took her arm. He worked quickly with practiced hands, as if he'd done this many times before. He disposed of the needle and turned back to Clara, applying pressure with a cotton pad.
"Not so bad?" He asked, smiling. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Not so bad." She repeated just above a whisper.
"Would you like breakfast or perhaps a bath, Miss Haywood?" Harold said from the doorway.
Bear jumped off the bed to greet him enthusiastically.
"I can have a bath?" Clara asked slowly.
"You certainly can." Harold smiled. "I'll go start the water. There will be towels and some fresh clothes for you to wear in the bathroom."
Clara watched him limp out of sight. This whole situation was...odd. A bath? Fresh clothes? She was being treated like a guest at some lavish hotel. It felt foreign and unsettling.
"Are you alright?"
She blinked, realizing she was chewing on her lip. "Oh, um, yes."
He studied her, eyes unreadable. "Let me help you to the bathroom." He said, offering his arm.
She hesitated, then took his arm. When she stood up, the room spun again, but John steadied her. They made their way slowly down the hallway, Bear following closely. Clara looked around in awe, wondering if this was a castle. The ceiling was so high above them, held up with curved marble arches. When they reached the bathroom, her mouth dropped open in surprise. It was beautiful. Intricate tilework, a large clawfoot tub. It was like something from a movie. John pointed out her clothes and the towels, then hesitated in the doorway.
Clara stiffened instinctively. Don't let your guard down!
"I'll leave you to it." John said. "I'll be right outside the door."
Clara nodded, a bit uneasily, wondering if the door had a lock.
"Bear will alert us if you need help." John turned to the dog. "Bear, af! Bewaken!"
The dog immediately laid down, eyes on Clara.
"What…language was that?" Clara asked, startled.
"Dutch." John answered smoothly. "Enjoy your bath."
He exited, shutting the door behind him. Clara stared at the door for a second before tip toeing over to turn the lock as quietly as she could. Only then did she feel safe enough to undress.
She stripped out of the hospital robe and climbed carefully into the tub. The water was hot and so wonderful it made her want to cry. She sunk down until just her nose and eyes were above water, gratefully breathing in the steam. How long had it been since she'd enjoyed a bath? She showered around once a month, as quickly as possible in YMCA locker rooms and shelter bathrooms. Baths were like a long forgotten dream.
Harold had supplied a variety of soaps and shampoos. Clara started to work on her hair. She'd been tying it back or stuffing it under a hat for years now. It was long and terribly snarled. She had to wash it three times before it felt clean. She tried to work conditioner through the knots, but finally gave up in frustration. She wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers brushing the uneven scars on her back. They must have seen them. What would she say if they asked?
Stop it. She told herself fiercely. Don't go there.
She could have stayed in the tub for hours, but her stomach was growling. So she climbed out, still a bit wobbly, letting the tub drain. Bear stayed at his station, watching her vigilantly with his dark eyes. She wrapped the towel around her torso and picked up the brand new hairbrush on the sink. Then she braved her reflection in the giant set of mirrors.
Her hair was worse than a mess. It was so snarled, she appeared to have sloppy dreads. Her face was thin and pale, dark circles under her eyes. Her collarbones protruded skeletally. Swallowing hard, she turned to look at the scars on her back in the reflection. She forced herself to look, really look, before quickly pulling the towel back up with shaking hands. There was no way they hadn't been noticed.
Don't. Push it away.
She took the hairbrush and raked it through her tangled hair, wincing with every stroke. The brush refused to move through her hair. Frustrated, she gave it a savage yank and the handle of the hairbrush came completely off in her hand. The head of the brush went flying towards the sink and knocked the fancy glass soap dish to the floor where it shattered. Bear leapt to his feet and barked.
Clara stared at the mess, her heart pounding in horror. A sharp rap on the door made her jump.
"Clara?" John's voice called.
Clara froze. Bear was looking back at the door, ears perked up.
"Clara? Are you alright?" John's voice was louder now, a warning.
The handle rattled, and then the door burst open with splinters of wood flying in every direction.
/ /
John shoved the broken door out of his way and strode into the room, his eyes searching. When he spotted Clara standing terrified at the sink, he reacted instinctively.
"What's happened?" He asked, his eyes doing a sweep of the room. He saw the glass and immediately approached her, looking for blood or…
She flinched. She was looking at him in terror.
He took a step back, softening his voice. "Clara, it's alright. It's just me, John."
"It was an accident." Her voice sounded like a scared child.
John crouched down. "Are you hurt?" He asked.
She didn't answer. The way she was standing, not meeting his eyes, it was like she expected him to hit her.
Realization clicked into place.
"Clara, I'm not angry." He said gently. "I don't care about...whatever that was." He gestured towards the glass.
She was blinking rapidly, her cheeks flushed, eyes cast down. She had the towel wrapped around her torso. The bones in her shoulders protruded sharply. He had to swallow a rush of fury towards her father. He couldn't be angry now. It would only frighten her.
"Are you hurt?" He tried again.
She shook her head.
"That's all I care about. Why don't you get dressed in your room so you don't step on any glass. I can clean this up."
She looked up at him, and he was relieved to see the terror was fading from her face. She gingerly made her way around the glass, clutching her towel against her chest. She picked up the neatly folded clothes and disappeared through the door, Bear on her heels.
John stared at the mess without seeing it, fists clenched.
"Everything alright, Mr. Reese?"
John looked over at where Harold stood in the bathroom doorway. "This thing broke." He said voice tight with anger, gesturing to the broken glass. "And she thought I was going to hit her because of it. What've you got on her father, Finch?"
"Not yet, Mr. Reese. For now, let's care for our guest." Harold said softly.
John just looked at him, his face dangerous. Harold quietly handed him a broom.
A few minutes later, John knocked on Clara's door, entering when bidden. She was sitting on her bed, Bear laying with his head in her lap. She was dressed in black yoga pants and a deep plum colored shirt. The color was beautiful on her with her dark hair and fair skin. John blinked. What am I doing?
"Hey." He said, moving to sit at the end of her bed.
She looked up at him, determination in her face. "Will you cut my hair?"
John blinked, taken aback.
"It's too snarled. See?" She pulled out a piece of hair to show him.
He shifted closer, moving his hand through her tangled hair, examining. His fingers brushed her neck and she shivered. He paused, suddenly wanting nothing more than to gently run his fingers down her neck to see if she would do it again. What the hell is wrong with you?
"I'd have to cut it pretty short. Are you sure?"
She nodded.
"I'm not exactly a skilled hair dresser, are you sure you don't want to wait-"
"No." Clara interrupted. "Just cut it."
John studied her face for a minute before getting up to open the drawer in the nightstand. It was stocked with bandages and various medical things, including a pair of scissors. Clara moved to the edge of the bed, sitting on her knees, her back to him.
He started with the parts of her hair that were snarled into ratty dreads. Once he'd cut those out, he moved on to cutting the rest of her hair to match. He'd never cut a woman's hair before, but he did a pretty damn good job in his opinion. Her hair was chin length now, shortest at the nape of her neck where most of the snarls had been. Free of the ratted mess, her hair had a slight wave to it. He stood, walking around to look at her from the front. She watched his face nervously.
She looked like, like what? A china doll? He couldn't put his finger on it, but it suited her. Her hair curled softly around her face, accentuating the fragile structure of her nose and cheekbones.
"Well apparently I am a skilled hair dresser." He said playfully.
He was rewarded by a tiny smile creeping across her face. "Yeah?"
"See for yourself." He gestured to a mirror hanging in the hallway.
Clara made her way to the mirror as John cleaned up. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she examined his handiwork. She looked surprised.
"I like it." She said, turning back to look at him, her face lit up with a smile.
It caught him off guard. That smile. He smiled back. He couldn't help it.
"Ready for breakfast?" He asked, still smiling like a fool.
She nodded, following as he led the way, Bear at her side.
Finch had begun converting the library into something resembling a home. He'd added a kitchen, and several bedrooms over the past year. Shaw moved into one and John into the other. Finch hadn't asked, but it'd been a sort of unspoken plan that they'd all followed. It was easier, having them all in one place. And it seemed to make Finch happy.
When they entered the kitchen, Harold was behind the counter, slicing up some vegetables, and Shaw was sitting at the counter, drinking coffee. Both of them looked at Clara's short hair, and then at John.
"Your hair looks very nice, Miss Haywood." Harold said, recovering first. "Would you like tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please." Clara said, flushing a little, but looking pleased none the less.
John pulled out a stool for her and then sat beside her, putting himself between Shaw and Clara.
"Welcome, officially, to the Library. I'm making omelets." Harold said, gesturing with a spatula. "Any requests?"
Clara shook her head and took a sip of coffee. Shaw was openly staring, which irritated John more than it should.
"No mushrooms." Shaw said to Harold, then, "You must be Clara."
She leaned across John, practically in his lap, to offer her hand. "I'm Shaw." Clara shook her hand and Shaw grinned. "Nice to have another girl around here."
John cleared his throat lightly. Shaw slowly sat back up, smirking at him.
"When can I schedule my next hair appointment, John?" Shaw said slyly.
"Sorry Shaw, closed for business." He responded flatly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
Her grin widened, but thankfully she just tucked into her omelet.
/ /
Clara watched the interaction curiously from behind her coffee cup, trying to determine the relationship between John and Shaw. Siblings? Partners? Lovers? Shaw was very pretty, but in a dangerous sort of way. Very much like John.
"Here you are."
Harold placed a steaming plate in front of Clara. Her mouth immediately watered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a proper meal. She picked up her fork and forced herself to slowly take a bite. It was amazing, real eggs and vegetables and cheese. She wanted to shovel the entire thing into her mouth at once.
"Is something wrong, Miss Haywood?" Harold's voice was worried.
Clara realized her eyes had welled up. She ducked her head, embarrassed. "No. It's...it's just really good."
"Excellent." Harold said, smiling kindly.
After breakfast, Harold insisted she return to bed to rest. Shaw left with Bear to take him for a walk, so John and Clara walked back to Clara's room alone.
"Without the I.V., you'll have to take your antibiotics orally." John was saying, very businesslike. "There is a bottle of pills in the drawer of the nightstand."
Clara wasn't listening, noting his red-rimmed eyes. "Have you slept at all?"
John looked down at her, looking slightly confused. "What?"
"Have you slept?" Clara repeated patiently. "Were you awake all night?"
"I can go a long time without sleep."
Clara frowned. "You need sleep."
"I'm fine-"
"I'm not resting unless you get some sleep." Clara said stubbornly.
"Alright. You win." John said mildly, his lips twitching slightly as if he was trying not to smile.
She climbed back into her bed as John pulled the drawer open and fetched the bottle of antibiotics.
"Two tablets, twice a day." He said, handing her the bottle.
Clara carefully read the label, then shook out two tablets. After she took the pills, she gave him a knowing look. John's lips twitched again.
"I'll be just down the hall. If you need anything."