AN Matt and Claire have so many feelings. Protect them.
Matt turned the heat down on the stove as the eggs finished cooking. Nothing felt real. He was moving through the motions of getting ready for work, but his thoughts were stuck on the night before.
Seeing Claire fall apart had gutted him. Matt had watched countless men break down, the chaos and stress of the war wearing them into nonexistence. But last night had been different. Holding Claire on the bathroom floor as she sobbed into his shoulder had cracked open something inside of Matt that he couldn't quite explain. It wasn't the dull hurt of ignoring a soldier's tears, it wasn't the continual ache of pretending the war hadn't damaged something inside of him, and it wasn't the hopeless misery of sitting in the trench and never knowing if he would see again. It was closer, it was smaller, it was a pain that was almost precious.
He had wanted to kiss her. Not like before, not when his heart had been thumping and he was drawn in by the soft, enticing shape of her lips. It had been a cleaner, more wholesome compulsion this time. He had wanted so badly to press his mouth into her hair, a promise that he would take care of her, that he would do everything he could to make things right. But that wasn't a promise he knew if he could keep. So he had held himself in check and let her tears slide down his neck and past his collar to disappear somewhere around his heart.
He couldn't take care of her, but he could at least keep her safe.
The floorboards creaked in the living room, indicating Claire was awake. He turned to find her in the doorway. She didn't look so defeated as the night before. She was wrapped up tight in his robe, though he couldn't tell if it was to keep warm or to pull her armor a little closer. Her hair wasn't in its usual bob of curls, but it had been tied in a neat over-the-shoulder braid. He swallowed and pushed away the urge to undo the braid and run his hands through her hair.
"Morning," he said. "Sleep well?"
"Uhm, yes. Thank you for your bed. I didn't mean to make you sleep on the couch," she said. He smiled, glad that the tragedy hadn't made her self-conscious. It wouldn't have fit on a woman that strolled into a wolf's den every few days.
"Not at all. I figured you could use some privacy."
"How long have you been up?" she asked, accepting a plate of eggs from him.
"Not long. I'm not sure if I'll go into work today, but I thought it'd be good to be prepared, just in case."
"You're not sure?" Claire frowned at him as she settled into one of the chairs at the table.
Matt buttered a couple pieces of bread and put them in the pan, fighting to sound casual. "If you want me to stay…I wouldn't say no."
Claire considered for a moment, staring at her food. Then she shook her head, dragging in a breath as though preparing herself to speak. "No, no, go ahead to work. I'm fine, I just…need some time."
He watched her for a moment, trying to decide if she really meant it. Then Claire huffed out a laugh, a quick smile flashing across her face. That was good. At least she didn't have to fight to remember how to laugh.
(It had taken Matt months to remember how without it tasting wrong on his tongue.)
"I'm sorry, I just…I don't know, the idea of you going to work seems funny," she said. "You have an office job?"
Matt raised his eyebrows in surprise, hesitating as he flipped her piece of toast. This was the beginning of a conversation he wasn't sure he wanted to have.
"Your clothes," Claire told him. She glanced up at him from her lashes, like she was finally embarrassed. "They're not the sort of stuff a dockworker would wear."
"You thought I worked at the docks?" he asked, a laugh startled out of him. "Do I smell like fish all the time?"
"No, of course not, no. I was only saying…"
"I'm a lawyer," he said. He didn't look at her as he moved her piece of toast from the pan to her plate. He wasn't ready to explain that it wasn't the money but the fighting that he craved, the passable release for the filthy animal he hid behind the polite smiles.
She straightened, eyebrows raising. "That's really the cat's pajamas." Then her brow furrowed in confusion. "But you still go to the boxing hall?"
He grimaced out a smile and pushed himself off the counter. "We all have our reasons to fight."
Claire give him a bemused look, but didn't push. Matt took the opportunity to change the subject. He sat down in the chair opposite her, voice gentle. "Before I go, though, we should…discuss some things."
She heaved a sigh and sat back in the chair. "Alright, sure. Go ahead."
"We don't know what Mr. Solano was involved with, but Claire…it looks like gangsters did this. I don't know of anyone else who would go after him like that."
"That's what I don't get, though," Claire said, shaking her head. "He's a good man. Gangsters…they'd never give him the time of day. He's a dress maker."
"I know, but they did come for him. Since they didn't look for you, I'm guessing they're not interested in making an example of you both."
"But if they find out I was there…" she agreed glumly. She tore off a piece of toast and ate it, mulling things over as she chewed. "So, what can we do? If it was gangsters, can we go to the police? I didn't see those men's faces. I can't tell them anything beyond those men being white and wearing suits." She worked her jaw, expression souring as she spoke.
"I don't know. We'll figure it out. But right now…I think it's a good idea to lay low, keep out of sight until we know for sure."
"And when will that be?" she asked, meeting his eyes. "When they knock on my door?"
Matt grit his teeth. He couldn't say 'I don't know' one more time. "We'll figure it out. There are some people I can talk to, we'll sort it out, I promise."
"Okay. Okay," Claire said, closing her eyes. "Right. I just…things are kind of scary right now."
"I know," he said, wishing he could reach over and touch her face, show that she wasn't completely alone. "But we'll take it bit by bit. I'll pick up some clothes for you when I get back, okay?"
"Get me some clothes?" she asked, straightening.
"Mm-hm. Write down your address and I'll—"
"You're going to my home?"
"Yes. You need clothes and your family deserves to know you're alright."
"What—yes, but you're not going alone," she said.
"Claire, you shouldn't go back there. If those thugs do know you were there, they might be watching your home. They might hurt you. Your family might be at risk."
"Because they won't be otherwise," she scoffed. A bit of her old iron came back as she put down her toast and glared at him. "I know how these things go, Matt. Everyone does. There is nothing we can do to stop them if they think my family needs to be hurt. My family is in danger no matter what I do."
"But if you—"
"If I go, what might happen? You pack them all here like you did with me?" Claire asked. She waved a hand around at his small kitchen. "Face it, Matt. We can't do anything for them, so it doesn't matter. And if they come after me…" Claire stalled a moment, fear choking her words. "Well, that's what happens. But I'm not hiding from my family. I've been gone all night. They'll be worried sick, even if no one found Mr. Solano yet! So yeah, they deserve to know I'm okay. But they better hear it from my own mouth."
Matt worked his jaw. It would have been so much easier if she was as docile as she had been when she came in. But that was just wishful thinking on his part. Claire had no qualms glaring down two-hundred pound boxers until they behaved. There was no way she was going to cave because it was him, and especially not where her family was concerned.
"If they find you, Claire—"
"I promise you, I'm much less conspicuous in Spanish Harlem than you would be."
Matt clenched his teeth. He couldn't exactly argue with that.
Claire shook her head, seeing the obstinacy in his face. "Look, Matt. Either we both go tonight, or I leave while you're at work. Those are the options."
He huffed out a sigh, searching for an alternative for a few seconds before giving in.
"Fine," he said. "We'll go when I get back. I'll…I'll bring you a change of clothes for the night, if I can."
Claire looked a little doubtful, as though she couldn't imagine where he might find clothes that would fit her (hopefully Karen was willing to make a donation), but didn't question him. Clearly, the idea of her putting on the faintly stained outfit in the bathroom repelled both of them.
"Alright. And thank you," she added. Some of the fight drained out of her, leaving her exhausted once more. "I know this isn't…thank you."
"Of course," he said, wondering if he could have ever made a different choice.
Matt paused in front of the office door. He had been wondering how he was going to handle seeing Karen and Foggy after last night, but now that he was about to do it, Matt knew he'd handle it like he did every other day. Standing feet from a murder and giving shelter to the witness was no worse than crawling through the trench. Until he knew what he was going to do about everything, he would keep this to himself. They didn't need Claire's plight weighing on their minds.
He dragged in a breath, then opened the door.
"'—say they saw a tall, Caucasian male enter the store after hours'—oh, good morning," Karen said. She looked up from the newspaper she was reading and offered Matt a smile.
"Morning. What do you have there?"
"The Bulletin."
"Apparently they stumbled onto something big," Foggy said. He was sitting on the corner of Karen's desk, toying with one of her paperweights. He turned back to Karen and gestured for her to keep reading.
"Big as in how?" Matt asked. He hung up his hat while he spoke. Just a game of pretend. Simple as always.
"You know how someone's been fighting against bootleggers?" Karen asked.
"Yeah?"
"Well, they struck again. But this time, instead of interrupting a trade off or smashing up a distillery, they attacked a civilian."
"What? Why?"
"Here, listen," Karen said. "'Witnesses say they saw a tall, armed Caucasian male enter the store after hours. Detective Christian Blake from the Fifteenth Precinct told this reporter that it was likely the work of the prohibition supporting vigilantes. "They're acting outside of the law," the detective told us this morning outside of the precinct. "They believe that just because they agree with one law, they're fine to break others to support it. Lately, these criminals have become more violent, and I wouldn't be surprised if they started involving civilians." Detective Blake went on to say…' blah blah, stay safe, trust police officers, be wary of strange individuals." Karen looked up from the paper. "It's not good, whatever the reason."
"The paper's saying the victim was some sort of informant, but I dunno," Foggy said. "To have his throat cut open and left on his shop floor…"
"Wait—his shop floor?" Matt asked, stomach sinking.
"Mm-hm. They killed him and left him there. But it feels kind of weird. Obviously, these vigilantes haven't been nervous about spilling blood before, but a civilian," Karen said. She shook her head in disgust. Karen had an amazingly thick callus when it came to the barbarity of the world. Matt had to wonder if that was her naturally or some gift of her dubious past. "He didn't do anything. He was a tailor."
"That's why I think he's involved with something big. Maybe he was laundering money for them—"
"Don't be all wet," Karen said, rolling her eyes at Foggy. "Some little shop in Spanish Harlem isn't doing anything lucrative enough to serve as a front for a mobster. And this doesn't feel like them. Unless this tailor is somehow holding everything together, why leave the actual rum running alo—Matt, are you okay?"
"What? Oh, yeah, of course." He squeezed out a quick smile, trying to smother the horror in his chest. "Just thinking about what happened. It's—it's tragic."
"Yeah," she sighed. "What's happening to the world?"
"I don't know," Foggy said. He shook his head and sighed. "Makes you want to buy an extra lock for your doors, doesn't it? But," he said, clapping his hands, "until swarms of locusts and frogs come from the sky, our legal pursuits still stand. Dugan's trial's coming up, and I want to refine 'drunk misconduct' into something a little more jury-friendly."
He slid off the edge of Karen's desk and loped into his office. Matt watched him go, mind churning over what Karen had told him.
He and Claire hadn't even mentioned the case going public, but now that it had it was all wrong. Teetotalling crusaders might have been responsible, but that didn't explain the other obvious inaccuracies…
"Matt?" Karen asked, giving him a concerned look. "Are you really okay?"
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine. Why?"
"You still haven't taken off your coat."
"What? Oh, I—just lost in thought, is all," he said. Matt hurried to pull his coat off, then turned back to her. "Could I see the paper after you're done?"
"Oh, yeah. Here, you can have it now."
"And…could I ask a favor of you? It's nothing big, but it is a little…odd."
"Oh?" Karen raised an eyebrow. "I hope it's an exciting odd."
Matt scoffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Probably not. A friend of mind fell on some bad luck, so she spent the night at my place. Her clothes were ruined and she needs something to wear to go back to her place. Could she possibly borrow a skirt or something? Like I said, it's a little odd."
"Is she alright?" Karen asked, concern instantly changing her features.
"Yeah," Matt said. He was exhausted just thinking about it, which he supposed was good. It was easier to lie when he was too tired to worry about the truth. "She's fine, it was just…a bit of bad luck."
"Oh, okay. Well…if she needs anything—or, you said she was going back to her home today?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Alright. My door is always open, though, if she needs it. And I'll get a dress for her on my lunch break. How tall is she?"
"Uhm…a few inches shorter than you?"
"Okay," Karen said, looking at the ceiling and nodding. "Alright, yeah. I think I have something that could work."
"Thank you, Karen, really."
"Yeah, no problem. If you need anything else, just ask."
Matt gave her a smile, picked up the newspaper, and retreated to his office. He closed the door and sat at his desk.
Nothing made sense. There he was, staring at the morning paper which detailed a murder he had witnessed the night before. And the details were wrong. And yet, enough of it was accurate to put Matt's teeth on edge. Solano was found dead on his shop floor after a neighbor noticed the shop was still open after hours. But then it fell apart.
Anyone witness near enough to speculate about the identity of the attackers must have seen that it was two men and not one. Or even if they had assumed Matt was the attacker after hearing the news, it would have been impossible to miss him immediately being pushed back outside by Claire. And, on top of everything else, there was no mention of Claire. Surely any reporter or detective worth their salt would have searched for the missing shop girl.
Why had the article appeared in the morning paper at all? Matt looked over the article, heart speeding up at the thought. It had taken less than a day for the story to appear in the papers, barely a handful of hours, really. That was not enough time to investigate the crime scene, find and interview witnesses, talk to a police detective, and then get it to print.
He itched to call Claire. He needed to tell her what had happened, but he kept himself in check. There was no point in worrying her. She deserved a day of rest, especially after last night. Images of her sobbing into his shirt flashed to mind, making his chest squeeze.
No, he shouldn't call her. And she probably wouldn't pick up the phone, anyway. No, he had to wait, see what else turned up. The Bulletin was the only paper that had the story now, but once the evening edition came out, maybe there would be more to add.
Maybe the reporter had merely found inconsistent witnesses, but something in Matt's gut said this was a cover up. There were too many things that didn't add up in too many crucial ways. Matt didn't know what he and Claire had stumbled into, but it was looking more serious all the time.
Matt struggled to focus on his work, the news article mocking him from where it sat on his desk. He kept turning it over in his mind, alternately trying to puzzle out what it meant for them and trying to decide how to break the news to Claire.
"Hey, Matt," Karen said, knocking on his office door.
He looked up in surprised, mind scrambling for level footing. "Uh—hey. What—what do you need?"
"I have the dress," she said. She held up a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "I hope this works. And I hope she's okay."
"Yeah," Matt said distantly. "She'll be fine."
Karen handed him the dress, then lingered by his desk. He glanced up at her, not sure what to make of her expression.
"Is…everything okay, Karen?" he asked.
"That's what I want to know."
"I don't understand."
"You've been distracted lately. And today, you've barely said three words since you sat down."
"It's that murder, I guess," he said, hoping the complete truth wouldn't show on his face. "It's got me a little rattled."
"Matt, you worked through lunch and didn't bring anything to eat."
"Did I—oh. Right. It's lunch," he said dumbly. Matt sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I meant to buy something, but I've been…"
"Distracted, I know."
"Really, it's fine," Matt lied. Maybe if he said it enough to make Karen believe, he would believe it, too. "I'll just…here. I'll go now."
"Foggy got you something while he was out."
"He did?" Matt asked, perking. "He didn't say anything."
Karen sighed through her nose, as though to say she had too much on her plate to also wrangle Matt into healthy behavior. "Maybe he thought the smell of food might lure you out to talk to him."
Matt opened his mouth, then closed it again. Other than running out the door to grab his food, he couldn't really see a way to escape the lecture Karen had planned.
She must have seen his reluctance to talk, because she softened slightly. "Matt, I don't mean to be a wet blanket, really, I don't. But you don't look well. Did you sleep at all last night? You look like a raccoon."
"Yes, I did sleep."
Karen sighed yet again, a worn smile on her face. "I'm just trying to look out for you guys. Foggy's easy, he just needs good food and he's happy. You, though…"
"It's a little more complicated," he said, smiling in understanding. "Thank you, Karen, really, but you don't have to go through the trouble."
"It's the least I can do after the help you guys gave me. I mean, I was lost before I came here. You guys gave me the foothold I needed. It'd be wrong of me to just look after myself when you both have given me so much."
Matt made his smile a little more sincere. "I know. I just need a few days sleep, is all."
"Yeah, okay," she said. He could tell she didn't quite believe him, but Karen let the subject go.
Matt sat in his office for a few moments after she left, trying to gear himself up for Foggy. He probably had his own lecture in store, but the promise of food was tempting enough to make Matt get up.
To Foggy's credit, he didn't try to drag information out of Matt. He handed over a sandwich with a thin smile, then simply watched him.
"Everything okay?" he asked after a long moment.
Matt was getting very tired of that question. He looked at Foggy, considering what to say. Foggy would know a lie the moment it passed Matt's lips, but he couldn't possibly guess Matt would be lying to cover a murder.
"For the moment," Matt told him, a happy halfway point that kept him with the truth. "I'll keep you updated."
Foggy smiled at him, then nodded. "I'll hold you to it. Now, go eat, you look like you're gonna blow away."
"You sound like your mom, Nelson."
"Hey, I'm just looking out for you. Need your strength up to knock out those palookas later."
Mat snorted and shook his head, then left Foggy's office.
The rest of the day went slow. Matt tried his best not to appear distracted, if only for Foggy and Karen's sake. He wanted to tell them, but there was too much of a risk. If this was bigger than he or Claire thought, which was proving more and more likely, Foggy and Karen could not be caught up in it. And it wasn't really Matt's story to tell. He had merely witnessed what had happened, he didn't have any connection to Mr. Solano. Claire would have to give her permission before they brought anyone new in.
Matt hurried home, Karen's dress in hand and the newspaper in his pocket. A part of him dreaded breaking the news to Claire, but another part wanted to see her as soon as possible.
Matt slowed in the street.
That wasn't right. Claire was there for her own safety, not because they were important to each other. Not like that.
But they were important to each other. Important enough for him to value her safety over his desire to kiss her. Important enough for her to want to be kissed.
He shook his head. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She wasn't there for him.
Matt entered his apartment building, nodding at the people he passed in the halls. He unlocked his front door, then stepped inside. The apartment smelled wonderful, something savory coming from the kitchen.
"Claire, I'm back," he said, forcing himself to keep from relishing every word.
"Oh, Matt. Welcome home," she said, appearing in the door way to the kitchen. She still had the bathrobe on, but her hair appeared to have been washed and re-braided. She held a wooden spoon in her hand, tilted up to keep it from dripping on the floor.
"What're you making?" he asked, taking off his hat and coat.
"Just…just something for dinner. I hope you didn't have any plans for the chicken in the ice box."
"No, no, nothing."
"Good. It's stew," she said, leading him into the kitchen. "I wasn't sure how you liked your food seasoned, but I think it tastes nice."
He smiled as he examined the pot. "I'm sure it'll be great."
"So how was your day?"
"Not bad," Matt told her. He watched her, searching for signs of strain. She still looked tired, a bone deep weariness that sleep couldn't fix. "How was yours?"
"Not bad," she repeated, offering him a thin smile. "I read some, made dinner, cleaned a little…"
"My place that dirty?" he laughed, raising an eyebrow.
"No, no I just…couldn't be still, you know?"
Claire cleared her throat and turned back to the pot. Matt realized how close they were standing and eased back. Distance, distance. He could do this, he just needed distance.
"Anyway, the food's ready now, if you want some. When…when were you thinking about leaving?"
"I think we should eat first, just to be safe. And Karen lent you a dress," he said, proffering the bag still in his hand.
"Karen?"
"My office secretary. She's a bit taller than you, but hopefully…"
"I'll make it work," Claire said. She took the bag from him, but didn't move. She stared at the brown paper, gaze unfocused.
"It'll be alright, Claire," he told her.
"Yeah, of course, I know," she said, starting slightly. "I better get a wiggle on, if we're going to get there before dark."
Claire hurried to the bathroom and shut the door. Matt sighed and went back to the kitchen. He served stew into two bowls, then set them on the small table.
A short list was sitting before one of the chairs, a pencil lying beside it like it was a work in progress.
Get clothes
Get sewing kit
Get toiletries
Journal?
Talk to Santino
Tell mama about the clothes to be mended
Claire's handwriting was neat, the Spanish looping cleanly down the page. Matt smiled slightly and pulled milk from the fridge.
Claire returned form the bathroom wearing Karen's dress. It was a little small, the fabric showing her shape more than was fashionable. Still, it was better than a bloodstained dress.
"Alright, let's eat, then," she said. She smoothed her hands over the pink pleats in her skirt, like she was trying to hide her nerves. She had put on her best face, though. Her hair had been braided yet again, this time to look a little more neat. Her face was free of makeup (he hadn't actually realized she wore makeup until he saw her now), making her eyes looking a little bigger, a little less fierce.
Matt touched her on the shoulder, one small gesture of comfort he felt allowed to make. "Come on. Let's eat then we can see your family."
AN Claire's appearance is a hybrid between her conservative home life and the more liberal fashions of the time. The story is set in 1926, so drop waistlines, bobbed haircuts, and makeup were more trendy than deviant. Still, they carried the connotation of the outspoken, risque flapper girl, so more conservative women either remained with a softened Edwardian style or a very muted version of the flapper look. With Claire, she wears very subtle makeup and pins her hair to mimic a bob. It's enough to be fashionable, but doesn't put the envelope too much with her family.
