Charlie walked up to them, albeit stiffly, just as the nurse handed Lucien the discharge forms, which he duly handed to him. He was wearing a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, lacking a belt, jumper and coat to complete a customary Charlie ensemble. He hadn't changed his hair, no surprise, and Mattie very much liked the way he looked, like he was less guarded somehow. A flicker of pain registered on his otherwise calm face as he took up the pen to sign his name, before handing it back. The foursome then began ambling towards the exit and the car. Jean had the paper bag with the lake-water-soaked garments, and Lucien gently took Charlie's arm to help him along.
Mattie heard him let out a sigh as he settled in the back seat (an unusual expression of discomfort in movement usually absent from his lithe form), where the two of them sat for the short ride back to the Blake house.
"Oh, we called the station, and Lawson said you can have a week off, and to let him know later if you'll need more time. He and Constable Simmons wish you well, too," Jean said.
Charlie was surprised. "A whole week? What am I going to do for that long?" he wondered aloud. At least he didn't seem offended or something. Hopefully he would find some way to enjoy his little holiday.
"And you have three more days, Mattie, until you're expected back," Lucien added. The nurse raised her eyebrows but passed no comment. Three days seemed excessive given her lack of substantial injury, but since it was time to spend looking after her fellow lodger, she was disinclined to complain.
Charlie didn't help with dinner that night, spending the rest of the day sedately reading on the couch next to Mattie. He was reading Pride and Prejudice, to her surprise. He looked a little embarrassed, but said his aunt had given him a copy years ago and it was one of his favourites. They discussed it and come of the other classics they had both read, but mostly passed the time in quiet. He offered to make tea, which she insisted he allow her to do it, only to have Jean insist they allow her to do it.
The next day, Charlie didn't appear until almost midday, dressed but hair still left unchecked. He opted to read outside while it was warm, where the two women accompanied him for an hour, until Jean had some other task to address. Mattie stayed, and they chatted more than read. Today he had an adventure novel, and she a textbook from which she learnt little over several hours. They moved inside, helping Jean peel vegetables and then watching television until dinner. The bruises and all were healing well, according to the doctor, who demanded that Charlie let him check his condition. He retired to bed early though, and Mattie did too only an hour later.
The following day, being a Tuesday, meant the doctor had patients and then some kind of meeting in the afternoon, and Jean had a list of errands and a social call or two to make. She verified multiple times that her children-of-sorts would be fine, caring for themselves for a few hours until she returned. Mattie declared she was completely capable even if Charlie wasn't. He threw her a dirty look at that.
Again they sat in the lounge, apparently waiting for the sound of the door closing behind Mrs Beazley. Then in silence. After about five seconds, Charlie heaved a sigh. "I don't know what to read," he complained – his voice back to normal, she noted.
"What about the adventure novel?" she asked. He had claimed it was a very compelling read, and she didn't see why he would abandon it.
He frowned. "Finished it yesterday," he answered. He looked out the window, against which there was a gentle patter of rain.
Mattie raised an eyebrow. "You started it yesterday," she pointed out.
The piercing blue eyes met hers again. "I didn't sleep much last night. I read the rest of it then," he explained.
"Are you in pain?" she rushed, sitting up straighter with concern creasing her brow.
Charlie shook his head, a lock of hair falling against his forehead. "Nah, I just can't sleep when I don't do anything all day. It's like if you've got all this energy, and you don't use it, the day can't feel like it's over yet," he struggled to explain.
"But healing can be draining."
He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I know. And I feel tired now, but it's not a case of mind over matter, you know," he countered.
"Fair enough," she replied with a shrug, letting the point go. She wandered over to a bookshelf, reading out random titles and receiving gentle knockbacks from the policeman who watched the plants outside bob and sway in the rain.
Eventually he let a chuckle escape him after she suggested the works of A. D. Hope. She turned with a questioning expression. "Yeah that one. Do you remember that spy who had a poem in his suitcase, and Lucien obsessed over the book it was torn from? That's the book," he recounted with a wry smile.
Returning it with an amused grin of her own, she pulled the slim volume down and sat back down near Charlie. He rubbed his non-blackened eye (though that was more yellow-ish green now) with a fist in a childlike gesture, and then held out his hand for the book. She hesitated, then spoke. "You seem tired. How about I read to you?"
He looked shocked for a second, then blinked and nodded. He settled back into the cushions as Mattie cleared her throat and started to read. She drew one leg under the other so that she sat facing him more. As her smooth voice flowed through the first poem in the compendium, the man beside her relaxed. Two poems later, he was lying with his eyes closed and his head on her lap.
Between stanzas, she touched his hair lightly. He raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. "You haven't done anything with your hair," she noted quietly.
He shrugged, and she felt the tendons work in his neck and his shoulders push against her thigh with the movement. "Didn't seem much point when I'm staying here all day and it hurts to even wash my hair. I didn't think any of you would mind," he said, a frown pulling at his mouth at that thought. He really was opposed to behaving in poor form.
"It's fine. And you know what I think," she teased lightly, drawing a pout from his pale face, the expression making her forget to see the bruise or cut that marred the almost translucent skin. She accompanied her comment with an ever-so-gentle tug on a curl.
She went back to reading, the book in one hand and the other playing with the soft mane resting on her legs.
Soon enough, Mattie went back to work, a little dismayed that it took a serious chunk out of the time she could spend with the other border at her home. Charlie did too, as agreed, luckily the raw skin on his wrists having healed enough to bare long sleeves.
A month went by, and life returned to much the way it had been before the whole incident, except that the three men who had tried to harm him were now awaiting trial for attempted murder and a number of far pettier criminal charges.
It was Saturday afternoon, and light footsteps bounced down the stairs. Like that day weeks ago, both Mattie and Charlie had the time free, and Jean was knitting and listening to the wireless. Lucien had a few errands of some kind to run, but those were blissfully non-murder related. Charlie stuck his (fully-healed) head in the door.
"I'm just going for a run," he said, smiling and ducking back out.
"I was just about to start lunch," Jean called after him.
Stepping back through the door, he nodded. "I won't be gone long, only half an hour," he assured her, and strode away and out the door, having received Jean's approving nod.
Mattie felt restless, like the past was determined to repeat itself, with Charlie wearing much the same clothes even. She walked out the front door, seeking fresh air to help calm her needless worry. The sun was out, rustling leaves and lighting up Charlie's form where he stooped to tie his laces.
He gave her a quizzical look. "You alright?" he said, still crouched.
She bit her lip. She was alright, mostly, but she was frustrated underneath her more immediate concern. She wanted her friend to be safe, but she had also become impatient with respecting his vulnerable position in terms of pushing their relationship. Well, if he was well enough to resume his running, he could deal with what she had to say.
She approached him and he stood. She came a little closer than was normal, but he just waited for her explanation patiently. She took a breath to speak, but no sound came out. Her eyes left her twisting and untwisting fingers to meet his, and he stared back.
"Mattie?" he prompted gently.
The movement of his mouth was distracting, and she leaned closer without deciding to. He picked up on her intentions, whether she meant to do it or not, and his fingers came up to slide along her jaw and into her hair. Breath hitching, she closed her eyes as he leant down towards her. Their lips met gently, and Mattie put her hands around his neck as he kissed her slowly.
After a few sweet moments, he pulled back, smiled wryly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked teasingly.
She whacked him on the shoulder, stepping out of their embrace. He laughed, pecking her mouth again before jogging up the driveway. She watched him go, returning inside to her previous position, grinning the whole time.
"What are you smiling so much about?" Jean asked, a speculative expression on her stern features.
She pressed her lips together to try to hide her smile. "Nothing," she replied sunnily, failing completely to convince the housekeeper. Not that it really mattered, but she spent the next half hour with the kiss her own little secret, smiling uncontrollably at a book she couldn't focus enough to read.
(A/N: Welp, that's it. I'm not really happy with the flow of the second half of the story; it feels both cramped and like it drags, but guess who was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing. Hopefully it is enjoyable enough for someone, anyway. Yolo, amirite?)