Eight days.

That was how long Claire had spent without texting, talking, or seeing Natasha since their last interaction.

She'd been distracting herself the few ways she knew how. She knew working herself to the bone wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but the alternative was tequila, and the last time she'd tried that, it hadn't ended so well. Her relationship with alcohol was officially on the rocks (pun unintended).

Overworking herself wasn't so bad. There was an important surgery coming up that she needed to prep for, and the patient happened to be one of her favorites.

"Dr. Claire!"

Alex Chang had bags under his eyes, but the eleven year old still managed to give her a wide, gap-toothed grin when she peeked into the room. He was a bright kid with a weak heart, and had been in and out of New York Presbytarian since Claire was a resident. On top of that, they'd recently discovered that he had spinal osteomyelitis, a nasty spinal infection that required a risky surgery with a low mortality rate.

The kid had rotten luck, but he was so optimistic it was hard to feel sorry for him. It was a quality Claire hardly saw in mature adults. He'd weathered his rough times, and he'd been a trooper through his previous surgeries. His parents were devastated to learn of his new condition, but Claire was determined to do her best to get them through this.

Followed by her resident, Claire entered the room, greeting Alex with a smile and a warm nod to his tense-looking parents. "Hey, Alex. Doing alright?"

Alex struggled to sit upright in the hospital bed. His ill-fitting hospital gown looked much too large for him. His collarbones were protruding over the neckline, and he was dangerously thin. His skin was sickly and pale, but the gleam in his eyes reminded Claire of the healthy, mischievous kid she'd met five years ago.

"Yeah. I mean, being here sucks, but it's been okay."

"Hey," Claire said with a mock-frown, "are you saying you're getting tired of seeing my face around here?"

"Kinda, yeah. But the cafeteria experience has definitely improved since the last time I was here." He lifted a chocolate pudding cup and grinned. His teeth were stained with chocolate.

"When the cafeteria ladies heard you were visiting, they modified the menu specially for you."

"Well, tell them thanks from me."

"I definitely will." Claire finished checking his vitals, made a note on her chart, and passed her clipboard to Dr. Roy. "Don't tell me you've been eating chocolate pudding all day."

"He is," Lana, Alex's mother, said. Her words were admonishing, but they were dulled with a fond look she casted at her son.

Claire reclined the hospital bed. She took mental note of Alex's wince as he lowered himself back down. "Okay, Alex, I'm going to have you turn to your side…" She unbuttoned the back of his hospital gown. "Now, does it hurt when I do this? Good, how about now?"

When she was done with her checkup, Lana Chang turned a pleading gaze on Claire. "Dr. Benson, do you have news about the surgery for us?"

"I sure do. Dr. Lewis, Dr. Roy, and the rest of our team will be operating on your son's spine next week."

"Oh!" Lana clutched her husband's hand, the other hand pressed to her heart. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Dr. Roy, would you like to go over the surgery with Alex and his parents?"

Roy was one of Claire's most competent residents. She wouldn't have picked anyone but the best for Alex's surgery. There was no doubt that it was going to be a complicated one. Spinal surgeries were always risky due to the danger of paralysis and death, so it was crucial that everyone was prepared. She listened as Roy recited the details of the surgery to them. They knew of the risks beforehand, but they'd decided to proceed anyhow. Alex held onto his mother's hand, his expression serious as he paid rapt attention to Claire's explanation.

He looked scared, but hopeful. Claire knew he trusted them to do whatever they needed him to do. Claire knew she could fix this for him.

Ultimately, even work wasn't enough to let her ignore the sinking feeling in her chest every time she glanced at door 9C before heading into her apartment.

She'd sent Natasha three carefully-worded messages since Natasha's cold response to her last text, all of which had been responded to curtly and with an undertone of impatience. She'd even tried calling once, pressing Natasha's contact before she had time to chicken out, but had ended it before the line had time to ring twice.

The day she'd informed Alex's parents of the surgery, she'd returned home late— what else was new? But this time, she paused before unlocking her door.

Her feet propelled her forward until she was standing in front of apartment 9C, fist raised to knock. This was getting to be a very familiar position for her.

Three knocks. No response.

Claire clenched her jaw. She was being iced out, and she didn't like that at all. Natasha hadn't given her a chance to explain herself or apologize. She'd turned right to giving her the cold shoulder like they were in junior high and Claire had slept with her boyfriend. It was bitchy and it was petty, and Claire would demand an audience and force Natasha to listen to her explanation before she let Natasha ignore her forever.

Claire paced in front of her door, coming to a hastily made decision in her head. Natasha was either inside the apartment or out. Whatever it was, she had to pass through the hallway at some point, right?

"Claire?"

Claire's heavy head, which had been slowly dropping to her chest, snapped up at the sound of the voice. She blinked the drowsiness out of her eyes.

Somewhere between now and… an hour vaguely close to midnight, she'd fallen asleep. Her back was pressed against a wall, and there was a crick in her neck. It was chilly— she had folded into herself, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. Her shoes were flat on the ground, her knees drawn up against herself.

"Nat," she croaked, her voice coming out less confident than she would've liked. She suppressed a shiver as she unraveled her limbs, shaking out the numbness.

The slight surprise in Natasha's tone was the only indicator that she hadn't been expecting her. The rest of her face gave nothing away. She stared at Claire like she was a stranger. It reminded Claire of the first time they'd met, when Claire had been bitching about the noise coming in her apartment. Natasha had the same displeased narrow to her eyes.

Claire's eyes did an instinctive once-over, and she instantly lost her trail of thought. Natasha was wearing a full-on suit. Fitted black blazer, puffy white blouse, pressed black slacks that fit her perfectly. Claire was careful not to be too obvious, but she couldn't help it if her gaze lingered in… some places. She had a weakness for a nicely tailored suit, and Natasha did not disappoint.

But god, this was so not the time to be noticing that.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at her, an action that was more familiar than it should've been. "Is there a reason you're parked outside my door? At..." She checked her watch. "2:15 am?"

Her words could be mistaken for amusement, but her tone was unwelcoming.

"I…"

Claire, realizing that her mouth was still hanging slightly ajar, clicked her teeth together. She clumsily got to her feet— Natasha staring down at her like that wasn't doing much for her confidence. Normally, she was about an inch or so shorter than Natasha. When she stood, though, her eyes were level with Natasha's shoulders.

Claire blinked at the sudden height difference. She had to tilt her head slightly to look her in the eye. "Did you get taller?"

"I'm wearing five-inch heels."

Claire looked down and realized that she was. "Wow. Those look like torture. I don't think I'd even be able to stand in them. How do you manage to—"

Natasha cleared her throat.

Claire's babbling came to an abrupt stop. Right. She crossed her arms, gathering up her nerve. She opened her mouth, but the words got stuck in her throat. The dialogue she'd prepared sounded flimsy in the face of Natasha's stony expression. But she looked like she was getting impatient, so Claire decided to just come right out with it.

"You've been ignoring me."

"I've been busy." The words were so flat that no one in their right mind would've considered it to be the truth. It suggested Natasha didn't care enough to think of a better lie.

"You haven't been replying to my texts." Claire didn't care how pathetic she sounded. "And you don't answer when I'm at your door." Feeling a rush of boldness, she said, "I thought about getting Mrs. Macabee to ring your doorbell and then just ambushing you when you opened it—"

"Creepy," Natasha commented, the snark making her sound more like her old self.

"I know, that's why I didn't do it. I just don't know—" Claire broke off, something on Natasha's blouse catching her eye. The dark red stain was half hidden by the blazer. "Is that blood?"

"Pomegranate juice," Natasha said without missing a beat.

The surgeon part of Claire's brain went off— the part that knew when a patient was lying. Her first instinct was to check for further injuries, but something told her Natasha wouldn't appreciate that.

She folded her arms. "I know what blood looks like."

"Good. I'd be concerned if you didn't."

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Natasha said. The look on her face said, Drop it.

Claire couldn't help glaring a little. Fine. Be that way. Why was she even here? Natasha clearly didn't want anything to do with her, and she knew it had something to do with the Serena incident.

She sighed. "Can I come in? I know it's late. But I owe you an explanation for the other night, and I'd rather not do it in the middle of the hallway."

For a moment, it looked like Natasha was about to refuse. Claire waited for her response with bated breath, expecting to be told to go to hell or worse. Then, with barely a second glance at Claire, she nodded and pulled out her keys.

Natasha's apartment was cold. The smell of Indian takeout and Natasha's perfume brought Claire back to the other night, as she'd started to refer to it. It wasn't a great memory. Claire noticed that Natasha's heeled feet barely made any noise as she walked— no, with the absence of noise it was more of a glide— in and set her keys down in a little basket next to the coat hanger.

She kicked off her heels and shrugged off her blazer, hooking it onto the hanger. She pointed to the couch. "Sit."

It drifted too close to an order for Claire's liking, but she wasn't in much of a position to demand more respect. She took a seat, sweaty hands clasping together on her lap. She tried and failed to not let the last time she'd been on this couch resurface in her memory. She couldn't help but squirm a little, feeling a little kick in her stomach when Natasha undid the top buttons of her blouse.

Claire took the opportunity to study the blood— it was definitely blood— on Natasha's blouse, now that the blazer was off. It was less of a stain and more of a splatter, but Claire didn't want to think of what she'd done to get it on her. Another fight? Or, as Natasha liked to put it— a "disagreement?" She didn't seem to be injured, though. That was good.

Natasha leaned back on the kitchen island, staring unblinkingly at Claire. Claire thought it was a bit unfair of her to remain standing while she was still seated, looking up at her. Was it some sort of power play?

"Aren't you going to sit down too?"

Natasha sighed. She crossed the room and took a seat on the armchair one or two feet away from Claire.

"You're going to sit there?"

Natasha looked down at the chair. "What's wrong with here?"

"I feel like you're my therapist."

Natasha moved to where Claire was sitting. "Happy now?"

"Very." Claire took a breath. Now that Natasha was no longer towering over her in heels or wearing a full suit, she looked a lot less untouchable. "First, I want to apologize about the other night. I know Serena and I violated your apartment, and I am so sorry about that. It was an accident. We didn't mean to get your apartment. It was really dark, and I was, well… kind of distracted—"

Natasha scoffed, the first crack showing in her indifferent mask as fire flared behind her eyes. "You mean when you were fucking your girlfriend in the middle of my living room?"

She threw out the words so casually, like she was discussing something trivial and unimportant. Most people raised their voices when they got angry, but hers had gotten low and silky. Claire wasn't sure if she'd rather be yelled at.

Claire flinched at the vulgar choice of wording. "Well, we didn't get to that point, but—"

"You were about to?"

Shit. She was making this worse. "We didn't." There was a spark of surprise in Natasha's eyes. "And she's not a girlfriend. We broke up months ago. I was drunk. It was a moment of weakness."

"Hmm."

"Again," Claire tried, "I am so sorry, but it was completely unintentional. We were both a little drunk— well, a lot drunk— not that that's an excuse for anything." Claire sighed heavily, feeling the fatigue of the day catch up to her. "You must think I'm so irresponsible. I don't usually drink… that much. Never on a work night, anyway. I didn't have work the next day, so I thought I'd let loose a little. We were at a bar, and—"

"You don't have to explain." Something in Natasha's face had softened— not enough to pass for friendly, but the tightness around her eyes was gone. "I'm not mad about that part. I know it was an accident."

That was… strangely understanding.

Claire deflated in relief before it was replaced by confusion. "But then why have you been avoiding me?"

And just like that, the walls were back up. Natasha turned away. "Like I said, I've been busy."

"Oh, come on." Claire felt a swell of anger in her chest. Were they seriously back to this again? "That's bullshit."

"You don't know everything about me, Claire."

"Everything?" Claire said with more bitterness than she'd intended. "I barely know anything about you. I know how you take your coffee, that you're capable of beating up a man twice your size, and you like running. But I don't actually know you. We've been friends for weeks, but you never talk about yourself at all. I don't know what you do for work. And all the cuts and bruises I stitched up? And when you first moved in— those noises I heard? What's all that about?"

Claire hadn't realized how truly upset she was about how little she knew about Natasha's life until the words were spilling out of her mouth.

"We're getting off track." Natasha stood up. "I think you should leave."

Claire realized she'd taken it a step too far. She knew Natasha was a private person. She didn't have any right to Natasha's personal life. "Wait," she said, softening her tone. She grabbed Natasha's hand, then froze, surprised at her own daring. It was rough and calloused, but surprisingly warm. Claire expected resistance, but when none came, Natasha allowed her to pull her back down to the couch.

Claire turned slightly to face her. "I'm overstepped. I'm sorry. Your friendship means something to me and I don't know why you're mad at me." She stopped to reconsider the words out of her mouth. "I know that sounds really cheesy, but—"

Natasha scoffed. "You don't know why?"

"No! I don't! And I'd appreciate it if you could just—"

"Claire, I've been flirting with you for weeks," Natasha interrupted, finally raising her voice. "What do you think my reaction is when I find out you've been leading me on this whole time, only to turn and sleep with your boss?"

What?

Claire had froze after the first sentence. She was sure she was no longer breathing. She had forgotten every word in the English language. So much for those fancy doctoral degrees. She was at a loss as to which part of Natasha's sentence she should focus on. She was still having difficulty processing all the other things she said. Because nothing, absolutely nothing, in there made sense. She was so tired, she had to be hallucinating.

Nothing made sense. No, this had to be some cruel joke of the universe. There was no way, absolutely no way, that this impossibly beautiful woman she'd been pining over for weeks had…

Wait. There was no way. Because what about...

"What about that guy at the bar?" she blurted. Natasha's features stiffened. Claire's anger returned. "Yeah, I saw you with him. Tall, dark, and handsome. You two looked real comfortable."

The mood shifted. Natasha pulled back abruptly. Something flashed over her face, but it was gone too quickly for Claire to discern what it was. Her voice was sharp and accusing. "Why were you at the bar? Were you following me?"

Claire was taken aback at the sudden switch in persona. "What? No, no, why would you even think—" she sputtered. She gathered herself. "It was a coincidence! The point is, you were all over him. So no, you don't have any right to be mad at me for what I did with Serena after you go and do the same damn thing!"

Natasha sighed, her hard expression melting a little. "That situation's complicated. But there's nothing there."

"You didn't sleep with him?"

"No, Claire." Great. She was back to being annoyed. Great going, Benson. "Do you need me to spell this out for you?"

Claire's breath was stuck in her throat.

"I don't give a fuck about tall, dark, and handsome." Natasha had gone back to the soft, vicious tone. "I was jealous of Serena."

Claire fumbled for a response. The shock had seized her muscles, paralyzing her. "But…" she stammered, unsure of where she was going with this sentence, "you're straight."

Truly the most idiotic thing she could've said. She wouldn't have blamed Natasha if the woman had decided to get up, walk out of the apartment, and never lay eyes on her again. Claire evaluated the logic of flinging herself out of the nearest window, debating whether or not it'd be a significant height to cause instant death.

Natasha stared at her for a full three seconds. She kind of looked like she wanted to throttle Claire. (Which was fair. Claire wanted to throttle herself as well.)

Instead of doing so, she leaned forward. Their faces were inches apart. Her lips smelled like strawberry chapstick. Claire's useless brain had short-circuited. Everything was on fire, every klaxon was going off, and the only thing she could focus on were the calm green eyes in front of her.

"If I was straight," Natasha said slowly, like she was testing out the feel of every vowel rolling through her mouth, "would I do this?"

It was at the exact moment when Claire's slow brain realized what was going to happen that Natasha closed the gap between them.

Claire had kissed a lot of girls before, but it had never felt like this.

Natasha was by no means a gentle kisser. Her mouth was rough and efficient, moving against Claire's with a hunger that made her stomach coil up in excitement. There were so many things happening, Claire was at odds to what to focus on— Natasha's hands on her, warm but firm, the taste of her lips, the feel of their bodies being pressed together—

And then it ended. Much, much too short and leaving Claire wishing that it had lasted longer. She wished she had more time to savor the moment, but Natasha was pulling back before Claire had time to register exactly what was going on.

Natasha studied Claire for a long moment.

A silly grin spread over Claire's face. "Just so we're on the same page… you're not straight?"

Natasha kissed her again. Not for the first time that night, Claire lost all capacity for speech. When Claire leaned back from the kiss, gasping, Natasha gave her a smirk.

"Did that answer your question?"

"...I think I'm going to need you to do that again."

When they broke apart for the fourth or fifth time, Natasha stopped her with a French manicured finger to her lips.

Claire settled back a little, frowning at the rejection.

"As much as I'd like to continue this," Natasha said, lowering her hand, "something tells me I should ask you out on a real date first."

"Fuck that."

Claire pulled Natasha towards her, aching for another kiss, but again Natasha stopped her. Claire shifted back for a second time, now thoroughly confused. She didn't want to force her into anything— consent was cool and all— but she was receiving mixed signals.

"Fine," Claire relented. She schooled her features into a more serious expression. "Natasha, will you go on a first date with me?"

"Give me some time to think about it."

Claire kicked her leg. "Asshole."

"So charming." She pretended to think for a couple of moments. "Okay, I've thought about this long and hard, and I've decided to accept."

"Lucky me."

Claire secretly hoped she would kiss her again. Natasha seemed to read her expression.

"I don't want you falling asleep on me, Benson. You look like you're gonna drop," Natasha said. "The bags under your eyes have bags."

Claire rubbed at them self-consciously. The makeup she'd applied to conceal them was obviously wearing off. "You sure know how to charm a lady."

"When was the last time you got a respectable eight hours of sleep?"

"Last night."

"Liar."

"I get plenty of sleep," Claire said. "I crash in the on-call rooms."

"Not enough. You're crashing here tonight."

Claire didn't have it in her to complain. "Fine," she mumbled. "Thanks." She shifted on the couch, pushing the pillows so that there was enough room for her to sprawl out on the couch.

Before she could lay down, Natasha snorted. "Not on the couch. There's a perfectly good bed in there."

Claire raised her eyebrows.

"For sleeping, of course."

"If you say so."

Claire let Natasha lead her to her room. She'd never been inside. If she was in a more awake state, she would've taken the opportunity to look around. Once she saw the bed, however, she could hardly focus on anything else. She all but collapsed face-forward on the sheets, not bothering to throw them over herself.

"Thanks," she told the pillow.

"No problem," Natasha's voice said.

Claire let the edges of her mind go fuzzy as she sunk into the incredibly well-made mattress of Natasha's bed, tiredness taking over her body as she allowed every ounce of stress holding her together to fade and fell into an immediate unconsciousness.

Thank you mezzieb1, smh204, liv, and J0E for reviewing!

J0E: Actually, I had a similar idea to this one that I've been planning for a few chapters now. I absolutely love your suggestion so I will incorporate elements of it into the chapter I'm planning. I couldn't use your suggestion in this chapter because I had already planned out the way this conversation was going to end, but thank you for leaving it anyway!

liv: claire and nat fixed it in this chapter! (for now) hm i'm not used to writing "steamier scenes" but i will consider adding more in the future