Chapter Two: ... or a Stairwell

Neil sits with her for almost an hour on that stairwell, close enough to comfort but with a respectful distance so as not to crowd.

Shocked and shook by the intensity of Claire's sobs, it takes Neil a moment to pass her the towel Park had given him when he saw Neil go after her. He'd also assured Neil that he'd finish rounds and contact him if anything came up. They both knew that at the moment, Claire needed him more. As far as Neil understood, Claire and Park were friends, but Park freely admitted being better at tough love than nurturing comfort. And maybe Claire would open up to Neil in a way she hadn't with her peers.

So, he sits and waits, holds her shoulder until he feels the shaking recede. In its place, a weariness settles on her as she leans against the wall and wipes at her face with the towel. Although they hear the echo of steps farther up, no one passes by their section of the stairwell. People rarely use the second floor access with it being so out of the way and with two closer alternatives at both ends of the hospital floor. When Neil is sure the tears have subsided, he moves down a step, remaining above her so she won't have to face him if she doesn't want to – and also a signal of his openness to listening if she wants to talk. She glances over quickly, eyes red, face blotchy and filled with sadness yet still so pretty.

Something has broken her. And realizing that it had happened right under his nose, that guts him.

After a few moments, Claire sniffles and, in profile, he sees an attempt at a weak smile. "I'm really sorr—"

"No, don't apologize. You get to have feelings, even at work."

She snorts and looks away. "Not like this. I just …" Sighing, she seems unable to finish the thought, likely unsure herself of how she feels. "My mom died," she abruptly says, the revelation sounding course and hollow in the echo of the stairwell.

"Oh Claire, I …" This time, Neil feels like the one who can't find the right words.

Of course, he'd heard about Claire and her mother's complicated, mostly traumatic relationship. They'd only met the one time when Breeze Browne serenaded and charmed the staff while waiting for Claire to answer her page. The playful, carefree woman seemed hard to reconcile with his sketchy impression of her from when he'd first bumbled onto the subject with Claire. That night, and every other time her mother came up, he'd notice this haunting, sad resignation to her. Yet he also had a vague memory of her mother staying with her a few months ago – he'd raised a humorous eyebrow as he'd approved Claire's request for outpatient addiction screening that allowed her to regularly administer a drug test as a condition of her staying. Thinking back on that, he realizes she hasn't mentioned anything about the woman in months. Now he knows why.

Claire does genuinely smile at his stammering. "Don't worry, I haven't figured out myself whether it calls for condolences or relief or … whatever," she waves absently over the ambiguity.

"It's still a difficult thing to deal with no matter how you feel about it from day to day."

"Or moment to moment," she scoffs. Tensing again, she flashes him another furtive glance. "I do need to apologize for my personal problems getting dragged into work. I …"

Neil allows the silence to linger between them, letting her talk – or not talk as she wants. He has so many questions and things he wants her to tell him. But it can wait. He'll do what he can to let her know she doesn't have to carry the weight on her shoulders alone.

"Claire, you don't have to talk about anything right now if you don't want to. But if you do, it's not going to change my opinion of you or my respect for you as a colleague."

He notices her deflate at that. "I was with him last night. The patient. I should have said something. It's how I knew about the MDMA." She glances at him again, worry filling her expression. But Neil remains neutral, committed to keeping an open mind. "He told me this morning that he took it," she quickly adds. "I don't do that kind of thing. Never have."

Neil nods and waits for her to continue.

"It was supposed to be the best day of my career. My first surgery was a success. My mom and I were working on our relationship. I'd managed to help out my colleagues and my friends were doing well and it was everything I wanted for myself. I thought I'd finally be happy."

Nothing described like that ever ends well, Neil thinks to himself and braces for the worst. Looking down at Claire, he can see her doing the same even knowing – having lived – the experience of the terrible story unfolding.

"My mom texts me how proud she is of me and leaves me this sweet voicemail to congratulate me." Claire laughs bitterly, wiping at her eyes again. "Then she finds the one bottle of booze I hadn't thrown out; that I'd hidden because I selfishly wanted to save something special for myself. And she thought, 'hey wouldn't it be a great idea to drink a whole bottle of champagne in my car and then wrap it around a pole? Won't that be a nice surprise for Claire? End the day with a bang.'"

"Jesus." Even the warning signs hadn't prepared him for something so terrible. He notices fresh tears flowing freely down her cheeks now.

"Why didn't I just put it in my car or throw it out with the others?" she cries. "I spent so much of my life taking care of her and hating her for it. It was this crappy co-dependency, always rearing its ugly head when I least wanted it. And now I don't even have that. I'm all alone, and it's at least partly my fault."

She turns away from him, avoiding showing him her pain, but also failing to see the sympathy he feels for her. "Claire, you have to know that it's not on you. Your mom was her own person."

"It doesn't help to know that. The only thing that's helped is pushing it so far away that it can't touch me. And what happened last night? That's what I do now. I go to bars, I have a lot of drinks, I pick up guys. And it keeps me from being in that apartment by myself thinking about one of the last things she said to me. About how she told herself to 'Just be like Claire.' And then she goes and gets herself killed."

She starts sobbing once more, and it breaks Neil's heart all over again. He moves down another step and puts his arm around her, uncaring about anyone seeing them this way. To his satisfaction, Claire immediately leans into his shoulder, crying quietly.

Neil lightly rubs her arm, feeling his own eyes tear up a bit at witnessing her misery. For a moment, he thinks Audrey or Glassman would be so much better than him at dealing with this and knowing the right thing to say. But they aren't here. And while he's sure they both like the good-natured, talented resident, they don't know Claire like he does. Don't care about her in the same way.

The only thing he can think to do is to be honest with her.

"I don't know what'll make you feel better. Or if those words even exist. I do know that you're a good person. One of the best I know. I have no doubt you were a good daughter. And you're struggling right now. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you."

"No, I'm glad you haven't seen me like this," she sobbed. "You've been busy with other things - real things - and I've been a total mess. I'd hate it if you thought of me as some kind of …"

He squeezes her gently, not letting her finish that thought. "We're all a mess sometimes. And you have a better reason than most. You feel cornered and exposed. I get it. It makes you human, though. You'll get through this, hour by hour, day by day, until this pain and everything that's come about because of it is just another thing you've overcome to be the wonderful person you are."

Neil thinks of his own struggles in the past few months. Having to explain to a stunned husband and father how he's failed so miserably as a surgeon. Having his heart broken out of the blue again. Ending another relationship because they insist they love him too much to cause him pain, but really it's because he isn't good enough to be who they need.

He'd said those words to Claire, but meant it for the both of them.

They sit side by side, Claire's tears eventually drying up and his side cooling from her moving out of his embrace. After a while, she wipes at her face once more with the towel and smiles shyly at him, a quiet reassurance that she's okay. He tells her to go home – their shift is almost over and he and Park could handle the rest of the day's work. She nods and silently leaves his side, slipping out the first floor door without looking back.

Neil remains sitting there for a few more minutes after she's gone. Stunned. Exhausted. And so sad for the young woman whose happiness and well-being he's come to care about.

Finally, he returns to the patient floor and catches up with Park, carefully avoiding any of the nurses' prodding eyes. No one asks about what happened, although surely there's a lot of speculation. He has no intention of confirming any idle gossip and suspects Park won't either. The nurses generally like Claire, so maybe they just also want to know that she's okay.

Later, coming out of the locker room after showering and changing clothes, he catches a glimpse of Claire enveloped in a full bear hug from Park. Before he walks out, he overhears his other resident telling Claire to call him if she needs anything, no judgement. "I got your back, Kid," Park says, making her smile.

He still has a bunch of paperwork to complete and his stomach reminds him that he needs dinner soon. Before he can leave, he'll have to meet with Audrey about the report she's no doubt seen of a patient assaulting a staff member. That'll require his dancing around the issue a bit. Yet, he knows he's done a good thing today, something he knows is important to Claire and to himself.

That's what bosses do.

A ghost of discomfort at the thought flits across his nerves, slowing his pace for a moment before he dismisses it and continues on to his office.