The next few days were a blur. The endless hours of sleep only interrupted by my need to eat and replace the bandage with a fresh one. I've always had a nagging thought, while nursing people all these years, about how it would be nice to have someone else take care of you when you were injured so you could just rest and have a moment of peace, but only now do I realize I would never wish that on anyone; It's dreadfully boring.
After two and a half weeks, I could barely see the original tear beneath the stitches. Standing in front of my dirty bathroom mirror, I could see my ragged reflection. My head had a rat's nest appearance, and my face was slightly ghoulish but that wasn't anything I couldn't fix. It was time to go back to work, I was done wallowing around in misery, waiting to heal. I could finish that process while I busied myself in doing something productive.
Attacking my hair with a comb, I attempted to get my mane in check. Then I shimmied into my uniform, flattening out the front one last time, slipped on my coat and threw my messenger bag over my shoulder as I went out the front door.
After I locked it, I turned around and hesitated. Forever more will the memory of Mr. Jenson's reveal haunt this hallway. Nothing looked different really, the walls still peeling slightly, showing hints of the building age. The light two down from the elevator was still blinking on occasion, and the air still smelled of the usual dewy must, but it felt different. Things I would have never seen before if I hadn't known it occurred now seemed painfully obvious. The slightly roughed up edge of Mr. Jenson's flat keyhole, or the tiny hole on the door frame of the stairwell.
I took a deep breath, pushed every thought about it out of my head, closed my eyes and forced the first step.
A few minutes later and I had hailed a taxi and was pulling out from the street below my flat. There was no way in hell I was going to walk today and just end up giving myself more time to reflect on everything that has happened in my life the past few months, good or bad.
When I arrived, it was raining. Great, just my luck. I hiked my jacket up over my head and made a stumbling run for cover.
The day flew by with a whirlwind of medicine calls, new patients and pounds of paperwork. Walking to the locker room I could see countless people in bandages with different stages of damage and couldn't help but think how many might be Matt's doing. There is no judge and jury in the medical world, we have to be impartial and save, or at least try to save anyone who comes through the door.
I pushed open the locker room's door and saw that it's empty. I groaned, almost missing the nonsense chatter that I hear on an everyday basis about who got what patient, or what new drama Mrs. McCarthy had to offer, the old lady who had been watching over her husband who has been on life support for a month now.
I flipped open my locker and gazed at its harsh grey lines. I had never been one to decorate it with pictures of family or friends. My coat from the morning hung lonely on the single hook, with my bag nestled into the bottom corner. I sighed, maybe it was time for me to put something interesting in here, seeing as I was trying to keep my mind preoccupied. I scooped the jacket, taking my time to stretch my arms through the sleeves, then grabbed my bag and shut the door.
"Hello there" a voice called from right next to my ear.
Speak of the devil. I stifled a scream as my hand flew up to cover my mouth, my eyes widening. Turning slowly I saw Matt casually leaning across the adjacent looker, his perfectly sculptured arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his lips with matching crinkles by his eyes.
"Whoa there" he continued, playing oblivious to what was out of the norm here, "Is that how you say hello to a friend?"
I continued to stare at him. I noticed a small cut that extended slightly past his t-shirts sleeve and a bruise forming on his right eyebrow. He had been busy. After what felt like a millennia, I forced my feet to turn around and walk in the other direction.
"Claire wait" he called after me, as I heard the shuffling of footsteps. I paused at the door, imagining him with his outstretched arm and a longing face, begging for me to stay. I laughed quickly, thinking how we weren't that much different. We say we want or believe one thing, but still end up doing the other. He said he was too dangerous for me, but he couldn't seem to stay away, and as for me, I say I'm done chasing after and putting all the effort, but my pull towards him is undeniable.
I turn slowly, keeping my arms tight at my sides. I looked up and catch his gaze, or as close of a gaze as he could give me. His crinkled forehead and slight pout shows me that he is conflicted. I try to imagine his view of me right here, right now. How his world on fire would portray this moment. As a mere blimp in our timeline that we might get over, or a whole other road forking off to start fresh, or as fresh as we could with the unquestionable history between us.
I waited for him to take the first move, but he seemed to be studying me just as much. Probably regulating my heartbeat, the amount of heat my body was giving off, my breathing patterns. All of a sudden it's just too much. I feel invaded. I spun on my heel again, but this time I felt a warm, strong hand grip my wrist. Not tightly, but firmly.
"Claire" he repeated, much softer this time, just above a whisper. "Can we talk?"
I hung my head and focused my eyes on my shoes. "There isn't much I want to say to you." I paused for a moment. "Is that all you came here for? To talk?" I can't help it, my voice is rising as I get more frustrated. I know that I am an open book right now, but to hell with it.
"Please," he pleaded, his voice getting gruffer as his volume decreased, "then just hear me out."
He waited, probably hoping for a response. When none was given, he gently tugged on my wrist, but enough that it spun me around so that he could place both his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. I could feel his breathe on the top of my head, so I knew he was facing me but I couldn't lift my head up yet to look back because I didn't think I would be able to hold it together. I'm was trembling now.
"If not to listen, let me show you something instead" he breathed. I chanced a glance up, but I became stuck, mesmerized by his almost perfect face. Despite the bruise on his eyebrow, and tiny white scar on his lip, his skin was a beautiful color, like the perfect balance of milk and honey. It almost seemed to glow slightly. His recurve bow of lips looked so soft and pink, seeming almost out of place for a man with such a harsh reality. Surrounding them was his soft stubble, a hint that he hadn't had time recently to take care of the normal personal needs. Probably had been caught up in some business that I definitely didn't want to know about, I chided myself.
I could feel my resolve starting to flake away with every second and within the next moment I was letting him trail me out of the locker room and down the hallway. We made our way to the stair well at the end of a few turns and started to head up.
"That should have been locked…" I trailed off, just momentarily letting my eyes linger on the door as we started to ascend. By the time we made it to the roof, I was glad that I had had enough time to grab my coat because the wind chilled my body almost instantly. I hiked it up over my shoulders and wrapped my arms around myself, looking around. Matt strolled over to the edge and looked out into the distance as if he was waiting for something.
"So what are we doing here?" I asked, slight irritation underlining my words turning them somewhat toxic. I was annoyed at him and his mind games, and at myself for letting him pull me along through this with my emotions, mind and body. Any and every way he would have been able to get a reaction out of me, he had with something as little as a smile.
We stood in silence for a few minutes when he finally spoke.
"Fear" he stated so determinedly that I looked up at him in surprise. "Fear, pain, anger…I hear it all. I feel it all."
I took a few tentative steps towards him, my mood changing to a more wary one. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, that worried look that I've come to know all too well started to spread on his face.
When he spoke again his voice was deep with a past agony. "When I was a kid and had the accident, I was scared, I was angry and I was in pain. The fact that I lost something so valuable at such a young age struck me as wrong. It got me thinking that about what I had done to deserve it. But it always came back to the truth that it was an accident and I made a choice."
The world seemed to have gone silent, as if it had been put on pause just for this moment.
"Now," he gestured to the city below, "ever since I met Stick and was able to hone my other heightened senses, I've been able to see the world and a whole new way."
I was by his side now, looking down the street in front of us. It was lined with skyscrapers whose brilliance, from the light of the dying sun reflecting off the windows, made it look like the whole city had been set on fire.
"Every second of every day, I'm tuned in with the world around me, but that's the good with the bad. When I hear the scream of a child being hit by an abusive parent, or a robbery with shattering glass and gun shots, I can imagine the scene so vividly it's as if I'm there witnessing it."
I shuddered. Just the thought of being haunted by any event like that sent shivers right down my spine. I was used to helping pick up the pieces or clean up the aftermath of such scenes, not help stop or prevent them.
He turned towards me now, his presence overbearing, demanding my undivided attention. I faced him and looked directly into his eyes.
His brow furrowed, pleading with me to understand. "If you heard, or knew the things that the world couldn't see, all the things being done in the shadows or behind closed doors, wouldn't you want to do something about it?"
My mouth parted but no sound came out. It was if I was incapable of getting my mind to match with my mouth, or my windpipes for that matter because I was finding it difficult to breathe suddenly.
"If you had the capability to do something about it, wouldn't you believe it was your responsibility to do so?" His eyes closed and his mouth parted slightly in a moment of peace. "And if you did so," he breathed, "would that make you a hero?"
He turned so suddenly that I took a step back. Striding over to the corner of the building he stopped and put his hands in his pockets and I saw the infinitesimal difference of his posture as his shoulders dropped ever so slightly into a slouch. His t-shirt hugged his back, exposing his beautiful curves and carved out shoulder blades.
"And you know what they all say," he huffed. "The hero never gets the girl. It's all about the sacrifice. Can't have everything, the universe isn't that fair."
I stood frozen, not because of the cold air or the wind but rather by his words. Slowly, I inched towards him, step by step. When I stood right behind him I hesitated for just a second, then whispered, "Then let's be the exception."
He pivoted so slowly that I thought time had slowed down. My senses seemed to heighten as I started to notice every detail and could sense the almost tangible charge between us. I couldn't help but feel a sudden connection of understanding about his way of experiencing everything.
Slowly, his hand reached up and cupped my cheek, which I nestled into, closing my eyes in a moment of bliss. A feeling of déjà vu swept through me, but then the change that I had been hoping for last time made its way to reality as I was brought back to the moment by the soft touch of his lips on mine.
The sweetness engulfed me, his warm lips pressing against mine seemed to warm me up from the inside out. His other hand had gone behind my head and he held me there, poised in the perfect moment, like a neoclassic sculpture, meant to portray the image of passion for all eternity.
Too soon he pulled back, but kept his forehead pressed to mine. I could see a smile form in my periphery and then heard him say, "You're too good for me Claire."
I laughed, "And you are the literal devil of Hell's Kitchen , so are we even?" I challenged.
If his eyes could have truly met mine, they would have in that moment for I swear I could see something almost spark up in them. He pulled me in tight, as if, if he let go I would change my mind and leave, but there was no chance of that. Any doubt that I had had brewing in my mind over the past couple of weeks or months vanished with the fierceness of our embrace.
One hand wrapped around his back and gripped his t-shirt in a knot as the other climbed up his torso, to his shoulder, then back of the neck and finally into his slightly unruly hair, wringing my fingers in the loose locks.
Our lips were crushed together with a sudden passion as to make up for all those denied moments, to make sure it was real and to make a promise that it would last. I could feel his hands sliding down my sides and come to rest on my hips. He pressed one palm to the small of my back and soon my hips were thrusted against his so that I could feel his erection through the fabric. Shocked, I pulled up for air, searching his face for any sign that this was as much of a surprise to him as it was to me, because for months I had dreamed of anything progressing and he had almost made a conscious effort to avoid anything that led in that direction.
He didn't wait a second, as his mouth nestled in my neck and made a trail of kisses down to my collarbone, each one sending little sparks of pleasure running through my body. I moaned slightly and could feel him smile in return against my sternum. My hands kept ruffling his hair with clenching and unclenching fists.
"Take it easy Claire," he teased, "we are still just above the clothes. Wait till things get interesting. It's so much better when I get the hands-on experience."
My eyes snapped open. I had not been ready for that amount of tantalizing play from him so early on. I guess he had wanted it as much as I had for some time now, it was only a matter now of following through.
He pried my fingers gently out of his hair, slipped one in his hands into mind and led me off the top of the hospital's roof to what I hoped would be a much more practical setting.