#halechief

"i don't need that." she's battled worse and won — deep oak benches and feedback-squealing microphones with a testimonial swear on the constitution. she's stared into the rabid eyes of whatever's inhabiting the carcass of her brother with cameras pointing in every direction. she's offered evidence after evidence, stack of paperwork after stack of paperwork, torn open the books and sifted her own fingers through each fine print to provide damnation enough to send him down for life. that takes courage. (she tells herself this over three fingers of whiskey and imagines his curt oh dear, sis, what would mother think? as she drinks alone in her office in the low light, perhaps you are a Iuthor after all and forces a few mouthfuls to twist the turn in her stomach back upright.)

"tell me what you need me to do, and i'll decide if i'll do it." each conversation is a calculated chess match — pawn to e4, knight to h6. it touches close to home in a way that Iena can' t pin, but when her fingers rap on the edge of the desk and one stiff leg is crossed over the other knee, she nods.

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 . he's over fourty . there had to come a point where the other wisdom teeth would finally start to bud , and the irresponsible twenty something he'd left back in college to make way for a man more observant would slough off like an molted skin . why all the way up there , she's asking him not further by much of a margin from where he stood with that bar cart herself ; why put that big thing all the way in those deep , lonely mountains ? he tells himself she truly wants to know , that it's a real curiosity that he's happy to satiate , and just about drunk enough to . hell , he'll even sit up a little . there comes tales of the appalachian woman that was his grandmother and her candies that tasted like wax dusted in chocolate flakes and the steel worker who stole her away to dustbowl arkansas --- a gnarled man who stank like cigarettes . the trips from the little house in albany he'd grew up in , put blood into , down to pennsylvania , to the house that would go to his kids after he'd put this earth behind him . something in that soil , he'll marvel to claire as she leans out to fill his sagging wine hand , ruddy eared and pink in the button of his sharp nose , something it was feeding those folk made for strange children . ancient roots , ancient ways , as his father had put it . not so lonely after all , is it , she says , planting a gentle grasp on his wrist to help upright his cup and rewarding herself with a throaty chuckle to come bucking out the breadth of his shoulders . heugh shakes his head , watching her hand as she does . no , not that lonely at all . where it had started , who had begun , it couldn't possibly matter . but it happens again , her hand is bracing herself on the density of his thigh a weight he can feel , coolly seized , skin buzzing , and will still be thinking of when it's happening again . and then it's not , but he still tastes her and the way that she smells in her day worn perfume , the bergamot in the wine . she's pulling away , and that's just fine . claire tips his glass back towards him , expression carefully manicured , even now . heugh won't pry . drink . then go home .

"slim to none." there's a small feeling she has that tells her claire had expected to hear something different ; not that she hadn't known that natasha had already made up her mind, had already planned this for god knows how long, but that she had already understood how much natasha needed to do this, and that perhaps had expected her to spare her the sharp knife of her honesty ( or maybe natasha is overstating her own importance, assuming that claire might think of her in softer ways than perhaps she might in reality ).

"look, i ... appreciate everything you've done for me, and i don't expect anything more from you. hill is paying back a favor by keeping the rest of langley off my back, and coulson is turning a blind eye. all i'm asking is for you to pretend like this conversation never happened."

you stayed? she is uncharacteristically out of sorts and rumpled in a way he cannot remember ever seeing before; her skirt is creased at the back of her knee, heels discarded and left where they've tippled over on the floor, the coffee table and spare couch cushions scattered with papers and documents. some of it are proposals, some of it is reports. there are a few meeting minutes in stacks on the side that, really, she could ignore but -- well. it's claire. so of course she's running through it all.

( if there is one thing he understands, it is the compulsion to understand everything about the ship you're helming. he had been the same. combing through level one reports, level eight budget requests, state department memos, inter-office requests. he knew it all. no surprises. that compulsion ended up incredibly useful when it came to being interrogated by a senate committee. )

she sits up slowly and runs a hand through her hair, looking between her watch and the muted television, palms smoothing her clothes as she tries to claw back some semblance of put-togetherness. it's futile, pointless, given its just them. (it doesn't occur to him she might be embarrassed to be caught so unawares, to be seen so intimately by accident, even by their standards; are they there yet? are they prepared for that yet? can he open that door yet? there's a resounding no echoing off the walls)

i thought i told you go home two hours ago. he finds the remote and turns off the tv, wishing to wong foo, thanks for everything well. "i was just heading out - wanted to make sure there was nothing else you needed." there's a pause and it's heavy but he's unsure why. she looks up at him and there's a split second where he thinks she might invite him to stay... but then it's gone. no, phillip, thank you. there's nothing else. he nods. "then i'll see you in the morning."

he hesitates for only a moment but finds he cannot resist the pull -- bending at the waist, hands still tucked into his pockets, he presses a chaste kiss to her cheek. "goodnight, claire." and then he's gone.

CHARACTER QUESTIONS

generally, natasha is good at maintaining a routine of keeping herself fed, hydrated, and clean ( if she has the time, she makes a ritual out of bathing / skincare / the like because it's both culturally ingrained as well as a way to help herself relax ). however, if she's busy, fixated on an assignment, or just stressed, she will go as long as she is able without eating. it's a leftover habit from a more difficult time in her life when she both was not able to eat often, nor wanted to, for reasons of various body issues. having a friend to remind her to eat or to make / pick up something for her and eat with her is one of the best ways to make sure she gets fed.

she is huge on water, though. she keeps as hydrated as humanly possible and always has a bottle or canteen with her no matter where she goes.

deep dives

i think it takes a lot to make him laugh - his sense of humour is so dry and very sarcastic - but when he does laugh, it's quiet and to himself. private smiles type thing. on the rare occasion that he does have a belly laugh, it's one loud ha! and then a more muted laugh behind it.

"is my choice meant to be so limited?" she doesn't so eagerly answer her earlier question, to tell her how she feels. it's far too late in the evening for that. "you don't have to infer or be informed. you can let me be."

"i can tell."

she leans back against the resolute, ankles crossing over one another just as her arms do the same over her chest. natasha watches her, quietly and carefully, as claire writes away at her notepad with the index of her free hand idly pressed to her temple. one might have said the way she watches her is scrutinizing, with how her brow furrows just so as if in critique. perhaps, in a way, one wouldn't be mistaken.

"i'm not going to tell you that the bill can wait, but ..." natasha unfolds her arms, scoots that much closer along the edge of the desk until she's practically in front of her, nearly pushing the papers away. "i'll tell you the more obvious thing."