AN - Well, I've finally managed to finish a piece and actually post it (thanks for the nudges!). Let me know what you think, I love hearing from you!
101
You will fly and you will crawl;
God knows even angels fall.
No such thing as you lost it all.
God knows even angels fall.
(Even Angels Fall - Jessica Riddle)
The door opened slowly and Clive blinked, he had been expecting yet another nurse to enter, not Martha, and his surprise continued when she crossed the room to sit in the chair at the side of the bed.
"How is it?" she asked quietly, one hand gesturing to his knee, the other dropping her bag to the floor.
His face showed something between a grimace and a smile, "Torn, some ligament they said. They'll operate, but tomorrow, not now. It should be fine, crutches for a bit but that's about all. No football apparently".
"I'm sure you're devastated about that," she remarked lightly, knowing he hated the sport and had always played cricket instead. "Painful?"
"Not so bad now," he admitted, "They gave me painkillers and it's in some support thing overnight. It's worst when I try and move my whole leg".
Martha nodded, sympathetic, "Awkward. Can you get out of bed?"
"I've not tried, but I don't know if I'm actually allowed to," Clive shrugged, "Probably not".
"Do you need anything?"
He hesitated before replying, unsure whether she was just being polite, but decided that it wasn't really her style, "What I'd love is something to eat, but I'm not allowed until afterwards," his face showed his disappointment, the canapés at chambers could hardly be classed as proper food. "Umm, I guess, if you wouldn't mind, I could do with something to wear when I leave. They said I should be able to go tomorrow afternoon".
"Ok," Martha agreed, "That's fine. Are your keys at work?"
A nod, "Yeah, everything is actually. Are you sure that's ok?"
"Yes, I'll come by tomorrow". Her words could have sounded final, but she stayed sitting next to him.
"Marth?" he broke the silence, a question gnawing in his head, "Why..."
The look she gave him was part exasperation, part affection, with a hint of anger flashing in her eyes, "Because that's what friends do. Don't think I'm not angry, I'm bloody furious about what you were doing earlier, but I'm not just going to stop caring about you. If I were you, here, I wouldn't want to be on my own, so..."
He flushed and turned his head away from her, unable to meet her eyes for the first time in a long while. They had never stayed angry at each other for long, but he couldn't help but wonder if this was different; he knew he had been stupid, doing something like that, especially in a place where someone could find him. He had done it before, three times; twice at university, because it was popular and he couldn't bear being left out, and once about two months ago. People said it was no different to smoking or drinking, something to use to relax, forget about things for a little while. When he had tried it at university it had been at parties, he was drunk anyway and couldn't really remember how it had felt, but the more recent use of it hadn't really made him feel any better. For a while it had made him feel invincible, a sudden burst of energy, but after that he had felt like a shadow, lower than before he had taken anything. He hadn't intended to do it again, but the little bag was tucked into a rarely used drawer of his desk and he had found it after rummaging around for the spare key to his car. It had suddenly seemed like a good idea, he could only remember the energy high it had given him, not the feelings when he came down, and the party happening outside his office door seemed like a good reason to perk himself up a little. Of all the people that could have walked up those stairs, he mused, it had to be her. Anyone else would have walked straight back down, muttered a quiet word in Billy's ear and probably ignored it. Not Martha. As much as Clive disliked Nick, he was sort of grateful that the pupil had walked up the stairs when he did; Martha wasn't one to bluff and he wouldn't have been surprised if she had gone through with the phone call she had started on the stairs. Virtually none of the fine powder had actually made it into his system and he had merely told the doctors that he had been drinking more heavily than he actually had been; they had accepted his words at face value and left him with painkillers and water and the promise that his knee would be fixed by the same time the following day.
"I was stupid," Clive's voice was unusually subdued and he concentrated on the bed sheets rather than looking at Martha. "And I'm sorry".
"Are you apologising because you got caught, or because you regret doing it?" Never one to mince words, Martha questioned him outright.
"Because I should never have done it, because I was a fool to do it, because I wish I hadn't; not just because I've ended up here but because I hate the part of me that made me do it, the part that was bullied and left out and only ever wanted to belong and would do anything to be accepted," his voice was animated and she could see the torment in his eyes, even though he still wouldn't face her, "Because I hate disappointing you. You make me less of an idiot, make me feel like a better person who can stop being so insecure and egotistical and stupid, and then I go and do this. You're...you're my...mine...and..." he tailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence or what he was trying to say, other than to apologise for something he knew he should never have even thought about doing, and make her see how much she meant to him.
Clive fiddled with the sheet covering him until Martha curled her fingers around his to stop the nervous movements, meeting his apprehensive look with a smile.
He knew then that she would forgive him. Maybe not immediately, maybe not until well after his knee had healed, but at some point they would be able to slip back into the slightly over-familiar friendship they had always shared. Perhaps, he idly thought, it would change; he wouldn't push it, certainly not after this, but Nottingham was still fresh in both their minds, and he couldn't help but hope that the week they had spent together, acting as far more than friends, would spill over into their real lives and change their relationship.
Martha didn't let go of his hand, even when a nurse came in to administer more painkillers and remind them that visiting hours only lasted for another fifteen minutes, and the warmth of her touch made him feel more at ease than the morphine that trickled into his system. They were quiet, the silence between them easier than it had been at first, and after a while Clive's eyes drifted closed and his breath puffed out in little snores that made Martha smile as she watched his face relax into sleep.
After a while she slid her hand from his and picked up her bag, hesitating next to the bed before she made up her mind and bent to brush her lips over his cheek.
As her hand closed around the door handle he spoke her name, voice raspy from dryness and sleep, and then, when she turned back to him, carried on, "Well done, on your murder".
Martha smiled, as nonchalant and blasé about it as she had been earlier, it was nice to hear the praise; a quiet word meant more than declarations in chambers, as the others were wont to do, and from his words, she knew that he had checked the file, seen the red lipstick letters scrawled on the front. It meant something, the fact that he had looked, and it was the little things between them that made their relationship different to others; it wasn't showy or obvious or something other people would even understand, but their closeness and affection went far beyond that of colleagues.
They didn't need to say anything more, eye contact was enough for them both to know that his words meant more than they appeared to, and she returned to his bed, perching on the side of the mattress and letting him slide their hands together.
"Thank you," she bent to kiss him properly, lingering against his mouth and obliging when he deepened it, teeth catching her bottom lip. "You're mine, too".
The quiet cough from the same nurse interrupted them, and Martha slowly pulled away with a final chaste kiss, easing their hands apart and standing up. "See you tomorrow".
"I won't be going anywhere," Clive joked as she slung her bag over her shoulder, "Night Marth".
