has this been a shorter gap? I'm not sure but HEY GUYS I'M HERE.
chapter title from Overtime, by Seafret and I'm putting the credits here because I really, really, really recommend you listen to it before reading this chapter.
Jumped in the water
Thinking you'd be safe
I can't stand to watch you fall
We don't plan for disaster
We don't plan for earthquakes
I wonder if you think at all
Air. Kissing Claire is like coming up for air. Like taking a good, deep inhale after being under water long enough that you think you're a step away from drowning.
The woman's stomach flushed against hers, their thighs brushing, Tasha's fingers on the blonde hair.
Kissing Claire is a needed inhale.
She pulls away an inch. Because it feels like coming up for air, but only metaphorically. Her lungs are actually screaming for oxygen. For a pause. The woman doesn't allow her, though. Gives her two seconds before chasing her lips down again.
Tasha feels something on her lower back. Something warm and soft and exciting. Claire's hand. Claire's hand has made its way under her blouse and she wants it all over her skin. She wants warmth and softness in every cell she can possibly expose.
She uses her free palm to guide the touch upwards.
That's something she'll regret, later on.
Claire snaps away. All the warmth and softness disappearing at once.
Tasha opens her eyes. Looks at the woman.
Lips pinker than usual, hair a little messier.
Shit, she doesn't want to stop seeing Claire like that ever again.
"I-"
A whisper, a frown, a step back.
"I don't know how to handle things very well." Tasha watches as the blonde walks to a mirror on the hallway, watches as their eyes meet on the glass for a second before Claire starts tucking her clothes back in place, brushing her messy (lovely) hair into submission.
"Yeah."
Hoarse voice. Tentative.
"But I'm sorry about today."
"Yeah." Claire walks to her kitchen. Tasha follows. "I'm just glad we didn't suffer any losses."
"Tavarez?"
"Got out of surgery. He's bad, but he's safe."
The woman checks the oven, pokes a fork into what appears to be meat balls.
Tasha wants to breathe again. She wants to kiss Claire again.
She knows they need to talk, first.
"Anyone coming over?" She remembers the time frame, notices the extra food and she knows Claire's pattern, knows the woman hates waste.
"My grandparents and my mom."
"I thought that was last week?"
"I guess you miss out on a lot of things when you stop talking to someone."
Tasha feels the sting intended. She deserves it.
"I guess so, yeah." Hands shoved deep into her back pockets, heart flickering when she meets blue eyes again.
"Why, though? I don't get what happened."
She sighs.
("...there'll be a smaller chance of her getting tired of you.")
"I thought we were headed one way but you up and left out of nowhere. So I tell myself it was all in my head and- and then that thing in the living room just now." Claire gesticulates, a palm on her forehead, fingers pointing to the spot they'd been standing at moments earlier. "That messes everything up and I just. I don't get it, Tasha. What happened?"
blue eyes staring at her. Shaky lips, furrowed brows. She wants to run her fingers through the blonde locks and kiss the lips into stillness, she chokes on her words, instead.
"Everyone that decides to stick around, gets tired, eventually. My dad left. My mom didn't, but she lost herself in a bottle of whiskey, so it's kinda like she did. Suddenly you had the choice to stay and-"
Nope. She shakes her head. It's too much. Too much heat, too much longing. Claire has too much free space on her chest and she can't do this. She can't be this vulnerable when it comes to something that wouldn't last.
"It was easier." Tasha finishes.
"To be scared?" Claire chuckles. It's bitter. Tasha knows that sound. Grew up listening to it coming from her mom, her brother, abuela.
A nod. A look.
A forehead smoothing back to normal.
"The last person I was in a relationship with looked at me dead on and said my son wasn't the son he wanted to have." Another chuckle. Claire steps closer. "Some people don't stick around for me either, Tasha but others do. And if we don't stick, if I don't stay like that, it's because we didn't work, because something went sideways, not because you're cursed or- or whatever it is you've convinced yourself you have going against you."
Her partner is mad. Tasha feels like coming up for air another time.
She's about to say something, she really is, she can sense it on the back of her throat, when the apartment door opens.
"We're here and we're hungry!" A male voice rings out. It reminds her of christmas and country music.
Someone walks into the kitchen. Not the man she was expecting, but a woman, a little taller than they are, body fuller and hair pinned in a tight bun.
"Clairie." The woman smiles, walks with open arms to the owner of the apartment. Only then does she notice the blonde has widened the space between them.
"Hi, mom."
Three silhouettes zip by the entrance of the room, mumbles about dropping suitcases before greeting everyone. It's not until she hears her name that she tunes back into herself.
"Agent Zapata, nice to meet you." The woman extends a hand in her direction, Tasha stares for a moment before taking it.
"Nice to meet you too, ma'am."
The silence is loaded and the older blonde looks between them before focusing on her daughter and
"What, did you think I wouldn't look into who's supposed to have your back?"
"Mother."
"It's not like I haven't checked Rousller and Palov too. I just wanna make sure everything is in order."
"I did mention my mom is military, right?" Claire looks resentful, Claire's mom seems tired of the subject.
"Either way, it's nice of you to join us for the family dinner."
"No, actually. She's not here for that." Her partner shakes her head repeatedly. Well, at least one thing is clear on this mess. "We were finishing up some work things, but Tasha was just about to go."
"That's a pitty. Claire's a great cook. God knows she's better than me."
She chuckles along to the woman. Says her goodbyes and, when it comes to it, Valerie is the one who shows her out.
"You are an idiot." The redhead whispers. "And I don't like seeing my sister crying. So pull it together."
Closed door, a click of the lock.
Yeah, Valerie truly is usually right.
She takes one look at Weller through the peephole and decides she's too drunk to tell him to leave.
She pours him some scotch, he declines it and she arches an eyebrow at that. He takes the glass from her hand. Tasha props herself up on the kitchen stool again, the view of the city better from that spot.
"How are you?" Kurt leans against the wall, eyes on her. He's so much like Henry. Protective and caring and, also, an asshole.
"How's Nas?" She watches as he shifts, as the comment has the desired effect.
"She's sore, but fine." He defies her, just like Henry.
Tasha looks back out her window and tries to pay attention to the sight. To the lights and the deep blue, to buildings outlining for miles and the airplanes moving. She tries to pay attention to that instead of thinking about Claire. Instead of thinking that maybe Weller could help, that maybe his messy love life could be of some use.
Tasha is damaged goods, so it doesn't matter how much she tries, something always leaks.
"How can you trust her?" Her cup is empty. Maybe she needs a refill. Maybe she needs to stop feeding into her addictions. "After everything? After Omaha and the bug? How is it worth it?"
Maybe he'll lie. Maybe he will shift again and play dumb.
Maybe she doesn't know him as well as she thought.
"She makes sense. With Sandstorm and Jane and Allie, there's not much I can find logic in. But she helps. Helps me find it." He shrugs. Not a shift, not nervousness and surprise, but acceptance.
"And when Sandstorm is over? When your life goes back to how it was before?"
What happens when the team is supposed to pick up where they left off? When tattoos and ecoterrorism are no longer their focus? What happens when there's nothing else left for Nas to do alongside them, what happens when there is no more frequent plot twists that Patterson will be enough? That Claire will be wasting her talent?
Kurt chuckles. Somber. Taking another sip from his drink.
"Life is not going back to how it was. We both know that. I'm not even sure I'll have a life left to guide, let alone put on reverse."
He thinks he might die on this war they are fighting. Maybe he's right. That doesn't help, though.
"So she's worth it because it might be your last shot?"
"She's worth it because she's a future. And because of everything else that makes a relationship worth it."
"Please don't go all rom-com on me."
It's a detour. An obvious detour. He takes it. Kind of.
"Did you really go into that building alone thinking you'd get out alive?"
"They were clearly morons. The door was opened for two minutes and no one was there to close it.."
"No, they weren't. They were good. And had big guns." Kurt finishes the remaining of his drink with a swing, places the glass on the counter. "The only reason you didn't get a bullet on your ass was 'cause you had a very competent team at your back. If anyone had been half as good or hesitated for half a second, you'd probably be dead. Nas too."
"That's what you came here to do, then. Reprimand me."
"No, I came to see why you acted like a jackass today." He pushes himself off the wall, sits beside her.
Apparently, Valerie is not the only one who thinks she's an idiot. Maybe that means something.
"I was doing my job."
"No, that was Acadamy training shit. You don't do that. You wouldn't be on the team if you did."
"Kurt-"
"You're a good agent with a bad history. That's not new." There it is, the assholeness she can compare to Henry's. The putting the finger where it hurt twisting it. "But you stood out because of your judgment on cases. Because you were clear headed. Today? Today wasn't you." Weller puts a hand on her shoulder, not prone to touching, but known for bending the rules. "She makes sense, Tasha. Nas makes sense to me and I have no clue what's gotten into you to think Claire doesn't."
Claire makes sense.
Claire isn't leaving and Claire had been flush against her and claire makes sense.
Claire makes sense.
°°•°°
"The spaghetti is delicious, honey." Nana smiles, places a hand atop Claire's.
"It really is." Pops winks.
Her stomach is behaving, now. No more twists, no more nausea. Her grandparents actually bring a warm feel to it. A good warm feel.
"Thank you."
The sound of silverware meeting dishes fills the atmosphere again. She eats, keeps an eye on Sam, making sure he's taking slow bites.
"Val said something at work shook you up. Are you okay?" Mom sips her wine. Claire clutches her fork a bit tighter.
"Yeah." Another glance at her son, to make sure he's distracted (he isn't), to buy herself some time to measure her words. "A friend of mine got into trouble, but she's alright."
"Not Natasha, I hope?"
Mom tilts her head slightly, looks at her with soft, calculating eyes. Claire wishes she didn't recognize herself in that gaze.
"Tasha." She corrects, putting more pasta into her plate. She's going to hit the gym pretty hard, tomorrow. "And no. Thanks for asking, though."
"Who is Tasha, again?" Her grandfather tries to break their staring contest, always seems to know when tension is rising underneath the surface.
"She's my partner at the Bureau, Pops. The woman that was here when you guys arrived?"
"Oh, she seemed nice."
"Must've been the lighting." Valerie mumbles, a piece of meat halfway to her mouth. Claire quicks her sister's ankle and thanks God that her grandparents aren't old, but are old enough to not have great hearing.
"She's very nice, once you get to know her."
"Mamma?"
Eyes turn to the boy, her boy, her little bubble of innocence and light.
"Yes?"
"I'm done. Can I go play?"
"In the living room." She runs her fingers through his hair, watches as he skips away. Nana has adoring eyes. So do Val and Mom. Pops has his best poker face on, but she knows better. He'd never been a fan of kids leaving the table before the adults were finished.
Oh, well. It's her home, so it's her call.
"How are things with our warriors, Hannah?" Her grandma turns their attention to her mom. Claire shares a contained smile with Valerie.
The conversation evolves around the war and implications in other parts of the world. Dinner ends. Mother shoots her a question or two about her work, about her partner, more specifically. She answers all of them.
She'd figured out long ago that it is easier, and safer, to tell her mom lighter versions of the truth, than to of beat around the bush.
Later, she cleans up the table with Valerie.
"So…" Her sister piles up the plates, keeping a low tone so no one can eavesdrop. "What happened?"
"What are you talking about?"
"About Global Warming, of course." Val stares at her. Claire sighs, takes the rest of cups and motions to the kitchen. She tries not to see her partner standing next to the microwave, a few hours earlier.
"You probably know more about it than I do."
"Don't start. I'm talking about Tasha and you know it."
She breathes. Pulls open the dishwasher.
"She came over, we fought and then sort of kissed." Claire loads up the cups, the silverware. "Can you pass me the plates?"
There's a moment of delay, so she looks back at her sister. The redhead's mouth hangs open.
"You kissed?"
Valerie sets the plates she'd asked for on the counter and Claire groans.
"We did." She takes the dishes, scraps the leftovers into the trash before setting them on the rack to be washed. "You guys showed up a little while after that."
"What does it mean?" Val crosses her arms, seems as confused as Tasha.
"That you can never say I'm scared of relationships ever again."
It's after her sister takes their grandparents to her own apartment, Sam is tucked in bed and Mom is asleep in her room that Claire calls Tasha.
She dials the number by hand instead of just clicking on the woman's name on her contact list. Two rings.
"Hello?"
"Hi."
She hears the breathing coming from the other end of the line.
"You called."
"I called." Claire fumbles with her sheets, curling her toes against the back of the couch. (She'd die before she let her mother crash on her sofa.)
"I'm really sorry."
A whisper. She closes her eyes. Thinks about talking to Tasha like this, in her pjs, ready to sleep. Thinks about not only hearing the breaths the woman takes, but feeling them, too. She thinks about Tasha's lips against hers and she forgives her partner.
"Okay."
Forgives her because Tasha had been honest and broken and the resentment the woman had towards her parents reminded Claire of similar things she held inside.
"How did the dinner go?"
She laughs. She can sense the smile on her partner's voice.
"As well as can be expected. It would have been tougher, had my grandparents not come."
"Your mom?"
"We've got issues."
"I get what you mean."
"She was never around long enough for me to know her, or for her to know me." Claire turns around, an eye on the corridor to make sure her mother isn't up, for whatever reason. "So now there are bits and pieces missing and everything feels…"
"Forced." Tasha agrees. God, she's missed this. The pouring thoughts out that don't necessarily make a lot of sense and having someone understand what she's saying even so, having someone complete her logic naturally, instantly. "Like the instincts that should be there are calculated, unnatural."
"Are we bad people? For resenting them?" Claire wonders about it, now and again. Sometimes she concludes that no, that she's not. Sometimes she'd rather push the subject away.
"Not worse than them, for not staying."
("Everyone that decides to stick around, gets tired, eventually.")
"Tasha?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not leaving."
"I know."
"No, you don't. But I'm still not leaving. Not now."
Breaths. Claire thinks about feeling those against her skin.
"Okay."
The corners of her lips pull up. She's missed that too. Smiling at her partner. Smiling about her partner.
She bites the inside of her cheek, makes a plan in her mind. A loose one. One that is not tactical and doesn't involve guns and vests and three yellow letters on their chests. It involves risk, though, but one of them has to be willing to get used to that.
"Hey."
"Uhm?"
"Sam's with his dad for the rest of the month. Wanna come by next weekend?"
"I do, yes." Only a second of hesitation. No trembling words.
Claire's missed that.
not as long as the previous chapter but shit gets sortted, so I guess that's good too? Anyways, tell me your thoughts and I'll see ya later maybe (probably) with something other than cursing to justify the rating.