"Oooooohh," sang the teasing chorus of nurses clad in their green scrubs. Most of the lights in this wing had been turned out for the night. They stood and sat in faint shadows behind their U-shaped desk, behind computers and phones, waited for the flash of call lights over doors to signal a job to be done, to break the quiet monotony of the medical clinic. One shook her finger in an exaggerated gesture. Shame, shame.

"Do as I say, not as I do," Raj told them, a cigarette between his thin, knobby fore and middle fingers. "I'll be right back."

The June air was spongy, uncomfortably warm when pitted against the cool circulation of the medical facility's climate. The cigarette didn't help Raj focus any. He knew it had precious little positive effect on the body; you could say the vasoconstriction of vessels in the brain might help with focus some, but that was junk science and mostly psychological. But the cigarettes still forced him to slow down and breathe, even if what he was breathing in was straight cancer. They gave him excuses to come outside, to take a break from the clinical blear of the computer screen, too dark and too light all at the same time. He smoked the cigarette down to the filter, tossed the butt to the pavement and ground it to pieces with the bottom of his shoe, then walked back through the automatic doors.

Raj walked back down the hallway, the soles of his sensible doctor's dress shoes tapping against the light brown tile, speckled with gray like a robin's egg. He passed the nurses' station, now empty, the staff having departed to answer one light or another. Raj rubbed his forehead. He lived in this place, more than his own house. He never seemed to be able to get away. The smell of cleaning alcohol and the insistent drone of the lights were with him even in sleep, these days. With the trial finally here and hopefully over with within a week's time, whatever way it went, he vowed to spend more time with his family. They hadn't believed him. Probably shouldn't have — he'd made that promise before many times, always broken by the insistent needs of a world that refused to stay saved.

Raj walked to his office, sat in his swivel chair, and sighed. Pulled it up to the desk. No sooner had his fingers poised themselves over the keyboard to type had a polite knock sounded against his door.

Raj looked away from his screen to where a nurse poked her head through the crack between the door and its jamb, the dim halogen lights of the overhead tube bulbs casting a white circular sheen on her dark hair like a halo. "Dr. Behara?"

"Yes," he said, "did you need something, Riley?"

"I noticed you were here late, so I brought you some coffee." She offered him a styrofoam cup with a thin plastic lid, perforated in a rectangle where one would punch out a drinking spout. "Here."

"Hm." It was nice to have someone do something thoughtful for you just because; normally these came with an "oh and I've got this rash…" or something similar. Not so from Riley; flighty, sometimes. Sometimes she would call you at three AM for a new order and forget important details — a death knell for a nurse. But she was kind and responsible, which were the cornerstones upon which all else could be built. "Well, thank you. I can definitely use it." Raj took a drink and searched the overstuffed Rolodex of his brain for her personal details, took a risk on what he found. "How is school going, anyway?"

"It's… hard," she said, "we've been doing our OB-peds rotation and I do know one thing for certain, and that is I do not want to birth babies."

"It's not for everyone, that's for sure."

"There's… a ton of pressure, you know? That's someone's baby. They're always watching you, and then you've got all the family members, and…"

She talked, unaware of the tarantula creep on either side of her face, black legs spreading over each cheek in a dwindling dance until they found their perfect spot. Raj opened his mouth to say something — hey, there's something on your face just there — but they seized on her head before he could, jerked it to the side in one smooth, practiced motion. The deep crunch of breaking bone flooded the air like a stink. Her eyes still open, unseeing, Riley tumbled to the floor with a hard slam. The moment Raj's eyes left her body, shocked, a muffled electrical sizzle sort of noise — bzot — drove a straight line through the bulk of his forehead. He too fell back, against his chair but only halfway, sending it flinging out from under him against the wall. His body toppled onto its back on the floor tile. The man with the red eyepieces holstered his pistol, stepped over the bodies like stepping over children's toys strewn about the room, with a mild breed of annoyance. He ripped out the electric blue ethernet cable from the back of the late doctor's computer and attached a piece of electronic equipment to one of its ports, then set upon its keyboard.

His radio crackled to life. "How long?" A voice asked.

He didn't respond.

"I asked how long, Hunk," said the voice, annoyed, "I don't have time to shit around here and wait for you. If you're not out in ten—"

"Five," Hunk responded. "Southeast roof."

"Five it is," the man said, exasperated, "at 5:01 if you're not on board, you can kiss your ass goodbye."

Hunk shut off his radio. While the files moved in animated flight from one window to another, Hunk knelt to his bag on the floor, square and stuffed with angular shapes. Freed one, programmed the bright red timer with his thumbs — five minutes. He stuck it to the wall with a hard slam, then retrieved the length of copper wire from the hallway where he'd left it. He stretched it and hooked it to the box on the wall, its digits scrolling down like a warning.

As the timer struck 3:30, Hunk retrieved his flash drive, tucked it into an armored pocket, and melted back into the night from which he'd come. By 4:50, as promised, he was back on board.

Capitol Hill
About three hours earlier

June was warm and fragrant and mild that year, caught somewhere between May's soft froths of rain and the whispers of humidity that promised a hot, oppressive July. Some people seemed dedicated to making the most of the early summer, wearing shorts and tank tops despite the relative chill. D.C. in general seemed ready to celebrate the season's change that was still stubbornly hiding around a corner like a scolded child after the endless grey storms of winter. Even at five o'clock in the afternoon when the sun was still bright and warm, a soft, cool breeze fluttered.

"How are you getting home?" Claire asked as they descended the steps. "Subway?"

"Probably a cab — didn't drive. The traffic in this city is insane. Not worth the gas." As if to illustrate Leon's opinion, another car pulled up behind the snarl of traffic currently sitting at a gridlock on the street leading away from the Capitol Building. The new driver honked their horn in outrage, which lead to a choral response of curses and retaliatory honks.

"Hm… are you far away from here?" Claire asked. Leon was used to seeing Claire with her hair tied in a ponytail; as she descended the steps her loose curls bounced and swayed, the bright afternoon sunlight pitching them a color closer to red than her natural rusty auburn. "We could split a cab fare."

"Not far… maybe a twenty-minute drive. Might have to wait a while for one, though."

"It's so pretty outside," Claire's eyes were on the beeping, screaming conga line of cars, clotted together like an immovable obstruction in a blood vessel. She laced her fingers at her lower back and turned to face Leon, took a few steps backwards at his pace, the low heels of her shoes clopping against the pavement. "Do… you want to walk? Might make you feel better."

Leon considered this. "…how would you get home?"

"I meant with me," Claire laughed, "you could… I dunno, show me around. If you're feeling up to it."

Leon didn't much feel like walking, buffed down by mental exhaustion so absolute it made his body think it was tired as well. Claire was right, though. It was nice outside and traffic was gridlocked in a hopeless tangle. An hour's walk wasn't so bad, not compared against the alternative. Maybe he needed to shake off the nerves after an entire afternoon of inert stress. He followed after, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants. "Sure. We could take a walk."

"Okay! Come on," Claire smiled and turned back around. "Bet you're hungry, too?"

It was true, but these days, that was basically always a safe bet.

Claire was expecting Leon to trudge along behind her, exhausted. She probably would have, had she a day like he did.

Leon didn't. In fact, getting out and legging it seemed to give him an infusion of energy. A while back he had removed his suit jacket, and when Claire noted she'd wished she'd taken the forecast into account when choosing her own outfit, Leon offered to carry hers as well. Claire accepted this offer as the quasi-chivalrous kindness it was; while it wasn't a huge deal, she couldn't remember the last time a guy had offered to hold a door or give up a seat to her, and she regarded it as strange and flattering. Leon walked with both of their jackets slung over one of his forearms, him in his navy dress pants and fitted pale blue shirt and his tie, she in a pair of tight black slacks and a sleeveless white blouse that exposed the explosion of freckles on her shoulders, a froth of lace at her throat. Claire thought they looked good together, walking in their fancy clothes in the picturesque oil painting sunset, and then forced herself to shake the thought from her head.

A gracious if quiet host, Leon took her by a meal truck nearby where they dined on crepes (she had no idea they made crepes with chicken in them and they were amazing) rolled into cones and stuck in little cardboard holders. Their walk wasn't exactly a sight-seeing tour, but the sights weren't the point, and D.C. was interesting and new enough that everything was a sight to Claire for the first time. They passed crowds of people dressed in bright neon colors who yelled in happy chatter over the booms of electronic music while rainbow flags fluttered from lampposts in the breeze. As they exited downtown, the parties became muted and then petered out. The walk was only supposed to take an hour, but they'd cut enough detours and spent enough time looking at harbors and landmarks that when they ambled down the street towards Leon's apartment building, the sky had faded from the hard, clear blue of afternoon to lavender and pink, a smattering of thin clouds hanging on the horizon like spun sugar in a carnival stall.

"What's that?" Claire asked, indicating a neon sign in the shape of a geisha in white-and-red tubular lights, hung over a corner restaurant. The character moved her hand between two positions that made her look like she was waving a fan at her face. "That looks cool!"

"Mexican-Japanese fusion," Leon said, "If you can believe that."

"Huh. Like tacos and sushi?"

"Exactly like that. It's actually not bad."

"I mean, I like both of those things," Claire said, though she had a hard time imagining what that would taste like in practice. "Maybe we could go there sometime before I leave. It sounds really good."

Leon was quiet for a moment, and then looked ahead and peered up, one of his eyebrows cocked and his mouth in a slight frown, his customary expression.

"There's one of the FBC buildings," he pointed to a squat high-school sized compound of tan brick. The floodlights had turned on for the evening despite the sun not having completely hidden away behind the horizon, and the wide spots of pale yellow highlighted a single figure in a lab coat, leaned against the wall. Smoking a cigarette, it looked like.

"That's where you work?" Claire asked, and took a bite of her crepe, wiped a drop of sauce that had escaped to the corner of her mouth with the pad of her finger, sucked it off.

"Nah," Leon said, "I think that's their CDC liaison office. If they find someone with the T-virus, that's where they take them for treatment. They're the ones that scooped us up after RC."

"They were nice," Claire said. "Weird to see it from the outside. It looks so… small."

Leon said nothing to that. Their trip came to an end about ten minutes around the corner when Leon gestured to a tall building that poked up to the sky through the tangle of small restaurants and grocery stores packed on the block, standing like a brick-red tooth jutting through tan and white skin. It was packed with windows, so tall that just the idea of living on the top levels gave Claire a kind of vertigo. "That's my building, right there. Did you want to come in for a beer before you go? It was a pretty long walk. I can drive you home if you want."

At first Claire was extremely surprised. Pleased. She wasn't sure if she would; taking a nice sunset stroll with a handsome guy and then going up to his place for drinks when she had a boyfriend back at home struck her as inappropriate in the instinctual levels of her brain, the outermost layers of tissue. But as the concept filtered deeper, she found reasons it wasn't weird: Leon was just an old friend. A beer was a beer. She was tired and thirsty, and they hadn't seen each other in almost a year. Couldn't a guy and a girl just be buds and have a beer together? Nothing wrong with that. In fact, if anyone did think it was weird, they were the weird one. It was 1999, get a grip.

"Sure," Claire said, "I'd love one. You, um… up top?"

"Pretty high up," he nodded, with a soft laugh, "it's okay. I can keep the blinds down. You'll be safe with me."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Me? No way." He tried to keep his face neutral, but couldn't stop a smile from budding.

"Oh shut up," Claire said, and shoved him, playfully. Leon jostled along with her shove. His smile however quickly faded into an expression a man might wear when he's heard something strange; Leon's eyes flicked around the street, then up to the sky, tracing the thin pulled-cotton clouds.

"You okay?" Claire asked, and touched his shoulder.

Leon nodded. "Just thought I heard something," he said, mild and thoughtful. He sounded unconvinced. "Come on, let's get inside."

His apartment was small, but tidy, decorated with furniture that struck Claire as familiar; there was at least one piece of Ikea shelving in here. College habits died hard, no matter how important you became, it seemed. There were no posters or sculptures or art, just a level of paperback novels with well-worn spines and pages fluted from repeated use on a TV stand, under a medium-sized television set across the room.

"Beer okay?" Leon asked, placed their jackets down on the arm of a brown leather loveseat in a neat pile. He walked into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to work out a kink. Claire allowed herself a moment to stare at the line of his shoulders, how it tapered down to a strong, trim waist, and considered the idea she could rub his neck for him if he wanted — she wouldn't mind. Not at all. She entertained the idea of following him in there, but thought better of it; the kitchenette looked small, and the way around these situations was to not put yourself in harm's way in the first place. Wasn't that what they said? Not to give temptation a chance to take hold at all was 90% of the fight. Cramming yourself into a 3x3 kitchen with someone attractive was probably the opposite of that.

"Sounds great," Claire said, distraction clear in her voice.

Leon came back with two cans of some sort of brewery IPA with an illustrated label, handed one to Claire, and sat in a reclining chair catty-corner to the arm of the couch. He looked tired enough to fall asleep sitting up, rubbed one of his large, long-fingered basketball player hands across his eyes and brows, down the side of his face. She sat against the couch arm closest to him, curled in his direction.

"I'll ask again," she laughed, "you okay?"

"What a damn day," Leon said. He leaned his forehead on his hand and looked back to her. "My brain feels like mush. Like someone ran over mush with their car."

"No kidding. I can't imagine handling that for a half an hour, let alone five. You did good."

Leon didn't move, just smiled at her. "Thanks."

"Here," Claire said, and extended her beer to him, "to a job well done?"

Leon was quiet for a moment. He leaned forward and clinked his can against hers; as he moved, the fit of his dress shirt pulled just so against his shoulder, distracted her for a split second. "I'll drink to that."

To her surprise, he was the first to speak again, to cut the silence. "So... that fusion place outside, with the sign. Do you think Sherry would like it?"

Claire considered this. "Maybe not," she said, wrinkled her nose. "She's a chicken nuggets and french fries kind of kid. I don't think she's even had ramen before. We should go, though, for sure." She took another drink.

"So… correct me if I'm wrong," he said, "but that sounds like you just asked me out to dinner."

It wasn't meant as an opening, of course, it was just the answer to a question. Claire was so certain she'd hidden her interest in the proverbial sheep's clothing of close co-ed friendship that the suggestion shocked her like a slap, almost choked her on the bitter froth of her beer as it slid down her throat.

Claire was a strange case; with someone to protect, some goal to achieve, she was indomitable, incisive and goal-oriented. But pitted against someone her equal socially, romantically, all her predatory instincts fled. She fancied herself more rough-and-tumble, more masculine than most girls their age, but flirted in a way that was fluttery and flustered, coming close to the point but never touching it because she hoped the other party would get there first.

"Oh—no," Claire said, quickly. Her skin was so fair that when she flushed red it was noticeable, even under the failing light. "No, nothing like that. I'm sorry, did I—?"

"Good," Leon said, gently cut off her ramble, "because then I can ask you and it's not weird."

Claire stared at him. "I…" she stammered. The look on his face indicated he was enjoying her reaction, or at least found her stumbling charming. "I… that… okay, that was smooth."

Leon just smiled, raised his eyebrows as if to say he knew.

"I mean…" Claire laughed, "…are you being serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Trial witness, remember? I could even still be under oath, if you want to think of it that way."

This was new. Uncharted territory. Basically every boyfriend Claire had, serious and not, had hair longer than hers. Or had been in a band. Or lived with five other people and worked at a gas station, earning money for art supplies or weed while they pretended to study or write poetry. Some of them checked all of those boxes.

Like Jamie. Jamie, who was still back in Colorado, who had taken her announcement that she'd be gone for a month to help with her brother's almost life-ending injury with a mild "oh, bummer" and told her he would call her when he could, then asked her for a parting blowjob. Those calls had been every night the first week, at first, slower since then. But he was familiar. His breed was familiar. She knew what to expect from Jamie and guys like him. Getting snuggly with someone so far in the opposite direction that she wasn't sure what to expect seemed like a terrible idea. Claire, however, brimmed with the unwitting optimistic arrogance that she was much more in control of her own destiny than she actually was.

Claire stared at Leon for a few more moments, as if trying to determine if he really was messing with her. He just drank his beer and watched her.

"…yeahhh…" she said, slowly, with a laugh of nerves, "okay. Okay! Yeah. Let's do it."

Leon just nodded, smiling. "Okay. Good."

Immediately, the justifications began. I mean… dinner is just dinner, you know? You could call it a date but nothing was going to happen — it was Leon, for chrissakes, Mr. Boyscout himself — so no harm no foul. Besides, Jamie wouldn't know — he was all the way in Colorado, what would he care if she went out for taco sushi with an old friend? He wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't. He didn't care about that stuff. It would be fine.

Sudden like a thunderclap and much more destructive, a massive cacophonous BOOM followed by a chorus of blood-curdling screams stole any further words, shook the building as if a giant force underneath it were trying to break itself free of a tomb. Leon was half on his feet in immediate reflex, as if to give chase, and then Claire was on her side; her face slapped against the cold leather of the sofa, and she bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. Everything was dark and warm and smelled like human, like sweet summer sweat and the stiff, heavy smell of freshly-laundered material. A sharp, explosive noise like a rack of dishes crashing to the floor rang out with such closeness that Claire thought the very apartment was now exploding. Leon grunted, pulled her tighter in the circle of his arms, so tight that it hurt, his forehead pressed against her cheek. After a moment of tense silence, filled only with ragged breaths and the soft roar of fire, Leon pulled back from where he lie on top of her.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," Claire nodded, and looked him in a strange way once the world stopped spinning. "Just got my bell rung a little, I think. I'll be fine. What the hell was that?"

Leon climbed off of her and walked across the apartment floor, glass crunching underfoot. He strode to the window facing the street, pulled a white nylon cord hanging at its side. Thin plastic blinds stacked into a bank at the top of the window and he leaned to get a better look.

"Jesus," he said, then turned to her. "Come here. Look."

"What?" Claire asked, disbelieving, and drifted to his side. In the distance, the foundation of a building roughly the size of a medium-sized high school was all that stood amid a trash-heap pile of white-and-tan rubble. Plumes of fire ate what combustible materials were strewn about. Smoke poured into the sky like a volcanic eruption, tipping under its own weight. The alarms of nearby cars wailed and screamed in a dissonant chorus, their carapaces stacked thick with layers of gray ash that fell into the street around them. Claire shook her head. "But that's... that's where..."

"The FBC satellite office," The ease in Leon's bearing was gone. It all clamped down into an iron-hardness that made Claire wonder if she was looking at the same person as a moment ago. His phone was in his hand, his thumb already dialing a number with rapid-fire speed. "Give me a minute."

Claire turned to respond. A constellation of glass splinters twinkled in the orange light against Leon's shoulders, in his hair — he hadn't yet noticed the blood running down the back of his dress shirt from where the nape of his neck had been laid open. Comet-tail streaks peppered his back where the glass had hit him, the cornflower blue of his shirt eaten by spreading purple-red blood that bloomed like a bruise. Claire reached up and brushed the sparkling pieces away, his hair thick and straight and smooth against her fingers. "You're hurt," she said.

"I"ll be fine," Leon said, "go take shelter in the bathroom. You can hunker down in the bathtub in case anything else blows in, okay?"

Claire's world split apart and then swung back together. She didn't understand his words. Her ears hurt; it sounded like someone had wet a finger and slid it around the rim of a giant wine glass. Everything smelled like sulfur, like someone had lit a thousand matches all at the same time and snuffed them out. The distant whine of a siren.

"Claire?"

"Yeah," she said, "yeah, I'm…" she turned back to the window, her eyes on the scene outside, the summer's breeze blowing in through the empty space where glass used to be. The red lights of fire engines flickered across her face as their trucks squealed down the street. One woman ran to the truck, wildly pointing in the direction of the compound. Claire wasn't sure how she got there, but the next scene that made sense was her sitting on the cold coral floor of a stand-up shower, arms around her knees, the white plastic curtain pulled shut.

"…just now… it's gone. Tons of smoke. I think I saw a… …can't be sure. No, before. I should have… …yeah. One civilian here, with me… think she's in shock… but… there has to be something I can do, I can—" a pause, "yes, sir. Understood. We'll stay inside and await further orders."

Leon returned to her. His shadow moved on the other side of the curtain. He put his phone down and then his form, long and lean, bowed his head over the sink. The tap began to run, and he rinsed his face.

"What's going on?" Claire asked, raising her voice. That was a mistake. It bounced back to her from every angle of her cocoon, and that wine glass started singing at her again, angry. He came closer, stepped around the curtain and lowered himself to sit beside her, fell the last half-foot with a defeated sigh. Claire looked to him again, to his neck. The divots and scratches had stopped bleeding entirely, dark brown blood dried and caked against his shirt collar. Angry red-pink tissue criss-crossed under his fair skin, but there were no open wounds.

There were lacerations there just a few minutes ago… Claire thought, I saw them. Didn't I? They were there. He was bleeding, and...

"Your neck," she said.

Leon rubbed the back of his neck like he'd felt an insect crawling, then looked at his hand, which came away with a few flakes of brown blood. "Guess one or two got me," he said, dismissive and unconcerned, leaned his long arms on the points of his knees, his hands latched together by their forefingers. "Don't worry about me. Are you okay?"

Claire nodded and leaned her head to the side, against his shoulder. He didn't tense against it, didn't move away.

"Can I ask you a question?" It was easier when she wasn't looking at him.

"Is me telling you no going to stop you?" He asked with his familiar sarcastic edge, a tiny scoff of a laugh.

Claire thought about this. "Probably not. Was what you said true, today? About why you joined the FBC?"

His confusion was palpable. "About Harris?"

"About Sherry."

The air had a tentative vulnerability Claire thought she could reach out and touch, run her fingers down like touching the fabric of someone's garment. "Yeah," Leon said. "It was."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you."

"Didn't occur to me to," he said, "I just do what I have to. That's all."

"You know…" Claire said, "I keep waiting for you to tell me something… crazy. Like you have a collection of gerbil skulls, or something."

Leon laughed, sudden and confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've gotta have something weird banging around in your closet. Because otherwise… I didn't think guys like you existed," Claire said, "not just guys, but people. You're just a really, really good person. You just… dove in front of broken glass for me. I don't think I've ever met anyone like that before you." There was no reply, and the silence quirked Claire's curiosity. She looked up at his face, cut from hard, sharp angles, softened by a somber tranquility as he stared at the wall with unfocused eyes.

"Just…" He spoke in response to her imploring look, by way of explanation. Something sounded strange in his voice. Off, like she'd plucked one of his strings and it still reverberated through his throat. "Not sure if I should argue or thank you, I guess."

"When you've got those two choices, you should always do the thanking thing."

Leon blinked and then turned his head and looked down at her. It became clear in an immediate, nervous way how close their faces were, close enough to feel the warm breath as he exhaled it. From this distance she could see how long his blond eyelashes were, normally so light she couldn't see them at all. "You think so?" He asked.

Claire nodded.

The quiet persisted. For all his self-assured manner, for his lapse into hard direction and focus when the time called for it — Leon didn't seem to know what to do with closeness. He just looked at her in a way that read as thoughtful nervousness, of knowing what you should do, but being blocked by a body that wouldn't move in tandem with your mind. In the many times Claire had thought about a situation just like this with this particular man, she had assumed she'd have the strength to say no, to stand firm as a bastion of fidelity, no matter how sorely tempted. She needed little convincing to discard those ideals. As hesitant as Leon was, Claire could never be accused of the same; she took two steps forward to make up for his step back. Laid one of her hands against the far side of his face, turned his head towards her, and kissed him on the mouth. When she pulled away he followed with automatic intent like a flower turning its face towards the sun, hoping to repeat the experience. No fidelity, no shame, no bastions of either. Not here.

Her mind still reeled, clipped in and out of present reality under the pressure-cooker of nervousness and arousal, some moments stretching out and some artificially shortened by her brain's sense of perception and time. It took every fiber of willpower from every synapse in her brain, already firing overtime. Claire broke away from him and pushed him gently away by his shoulders. A thin string of saliva joined their mouths and then broke as he pulled back from her. She forced her breaths to still. If nerves could speak English, hers were screaming in betrayed shock and grief: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! It was RIGHT THERE! Look, he's still right there, tell him to get back over here and...

"Is everything okay?" Leon asked. His voice was almost a whisper, thick with something vital.

"I don't—" Trying to form words was like speaking to him over some sort of jangling, overwhelming noise; Claire supposed it was noise, just not the audible kind. Leon stopped, and listened to her while she spoke. "I don't think we should." She said. An electric shiver fired down her spine.

There was a moment of unpredictable silence. Leon cocked his head just slightly. "What's wrong?" Concern. It seemed like a silly question in the context of the day, once it was said.

Claire had experience with this. Five years' worth, in fact. Claire knew it wasn't right, and in a perfect world, a woman could engage in whatever pants-free tomfoolery she wanted and not have anyone think less of her for it. And why not? It was fun. Fun to be the hunter, to chase down targets under a bright Summer moon and have yourself validated in a whirlwind of humid affirmation.

However, Claire was also young. Her formative years, not yet through but close to being, had been tainted by other young people who had not yet learned to leave those close to them in a better position than they'd been found. In that tender experience, one of the unwritten rules of Being a Girl was, well… if you liked the person the fingers were attached to… this was not the way to tip the scales of something more happening in your favor. Not on the first night. At least… this was the truth for the guys she hung out with. Most would take what you gave when you gave it, drain you dry until you could give no more. Cuddle up, speak sweet words, let you wear their t-shirt. Do all the right things boyfriends did while you were in their bed, while you were still within grabbing distance. But then under the light of day, like magic, the goal posts would be dug up and moved. Like a different person had taken their place sometime between the setting and the rising of the sun: oh I didn't know you wanted to… uh… I mean, I'm just in a really complicated place right now and…

Men didn't even really have to like you to fuck you. That was the sad truth. To conflate the two often lead to heartbreak. To use one to get the other even more so, a wildly misguided mistake Claire had no intention of ever making again. She wasn't interested in just being handled by this man; she was interested in being liked. Maybe more than that.

"I just—" Claire fought with it. "I just don't want you to think I'm… you know. Easy? I guess?" She cringed at the word. It was a little late for this, she thought, and she waited for some sort of anger. Some sort of begging or cajoling or pleading. Something that started with wow, like she had led him on and now was denying him something he was entitled to.

A slow sort of understanding dawned on Leon's face, instead. He always looked like he cared about what she thought; really considered it. "I don't think you are," he said, "but if you want to stop, we can stop." Then, "Sorry if I was too... you know. Got caught up in the moment, I guess."

Claire tried to catch her breath, pounding with blood all over and groping for mental purchase. Her heart hammered like a beast locked in the cage of her ribs, screaming to be let out, her lips raw and wet and swollen. It felt like she'd just won the lottery only to tell the dude with the confetti and massive clown-sized check they had the wrong house.

"No, no," Claire said, "ha ha… no. That was really hot, actually. I didn't know you had that in you, that whole… take charge thing. I'm a fan." She fiddled with his collar, smoothed it down. His expression softened at her words, perhaps a touch flattered or bashful… or both. Part of her wished desperately that he would try to convince her so she would have an alibi. I didn't want to get fucked within an inch of my life in this really hot guy's shower but you know what happens when there's drama and explosions, that's amore I guess. "I think I'm just a 'have at least one date first' kind of girl, you know?"

Leon didn't need to be told "no" twice, true to form. "Of course," he said, and looked suitably abashed. Regret flared hard and bright in Claire's chest. "We can wait."

Leon slowly sat back onto his knees, hands on his thighs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood, and helped Claire to her feet.

"Is the option to take me home still on the table?" Claire said, tried for a brightness that vaulted the gap too fast and arrived as nervousness. "I'd stay, but… you know..."

Leon chuckled. "I get it. Probably not a good idea, if... 'you know'."

Like a tic, wincing. "Sorry."

Leon just smiled again. He had a presence you could feel, clean and tucked-in with no messy hems. Where before the way he regarded her was mild and polite, now there was something else behind his eyes, behind the way he moved, as if everything had been shifted just a little bit closer, the heat dialed up by just a few degrees. Claire thought again about her tendency to think of it as hunting… but she wasn't sure she was the chasing party. Not anymore.

"It happens." He said. "I'll go down and check. If my car is still working, I can take you."

So much for Mr. Boyscout, Claire thought, bewildered, wonder where he earned THAT merit badge?

Once the glass was cleaned off the seats, Leon's car was indeed capable of movement. It was parked far enough away that the windshield avoided being smashed in, but he avoided the highway in case it had taken structural damage that high speeds would exacerbate. He was full of practical, quick smarts like that, always thinking a step or two ahead and adjusting accordingly.

The drive was awful. Torture, even. Every nerve in Claire's body from her waist to her toes was upset, their complaints becoming duller and more muted with time, stretched into a dissonant ache. More than once she spotted a place that they could pull off the road, into an abandoned lot or onto the back road of a park where she could finish the job for both of them, her mind preoccupied, on a loop with the idea.

Saying no was a bad choice, but it was the right one. While sure, what had happened was cheating, cut-and-dry in the clearest black and white that could be expressed, anything past that would have made it real. Would have made it her fault. There was something about getting carried away in the moment, but something else entirely about making a conscious decision to carry it through to its conclusion. It was the justification her brain stuck to.

There was also a white elephant: she doubted Leon, with his stubborn adherence to justice and truth would approve of it. Or her. Doubted very much. With a note of shame, Claire realized that Jamie's feelings hadn't factored in at all.

When they arrived she pointed out Chris' house, a small shotgun-style townhome on the outskirts of a decent suburb. She'd managed to score this place by combing through the paper, and even then it was a lucky break for a market like D.C. It was a place Chris could settle in, and maybe the stability would help his recovery.

Leon pulled to a stop, put the car in park. They were both quiet, waiting for the other to speak. Simultaneous, they both laughed, embarrassed.

"I hope your guys are okay," Claire said, "and you. Go home and rest, okay?"

Leon nodded. "I've got a date with a certain mattress, I think." He paused, again with a thoughtful expression. "What do you think, Friday?"

Claire blinked. "For..."

"You offered me dinner," Leon said, "I intend to collect."

Collect, you say? I got something you can-

Claire smiled, heartened. He still wanted to. "Oh! Yeah. Yeah, of course! That sounds great! I'm sure Chris can watch her."

Committed to stamping out any weirdness or awkwardness before it took root, Claire unbuckled her belt, leaned over the center console, and gave Leon a hug. It wasn't a new gesture between them — she'd grabbed him in so many surprise embraces that she probably qualified for a Judo blackbelt by now — but it felt new. There was a lingering that translated, too long or too hard or not hard enough. When Claire pulled back, he brushed one of her curls away from her face.

"Okay." He said, but made no further moves. "Thanks for uh... walking with me, today."

Claire averted her eyes and then gave him a pointed look like she knew what he was up to. That same expression on his face from earlier - I know what I'm doing, I'm just enjoying watching you not enjoy it.

"Sure." She said. "I liked our walk too."

They said their goodnights and Claire climbed out of his car, stunned and dreamlike. He waited until she was safely inside to pull off, and she stood in the shadows of the foyer, thinking of nothing and everything all at once.

"Claire," Chris' voice, surprised and questioning, from the kitchen where he was looking through the mostly-barren fridge. "There you are. You okay?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah…" she said, and fought back a smile as it tried to emerge on her face. "I think so."

((Alright, so doesn't allow adult content. The adult content in this one was extremely mild, but I don't want to trip any alarms. The entire chapter is available on AO3 under the same story/chapter title if you're so inclined.))