I'll Tell My Ma [Thornton]

[Clarisse Prideaux]

It had really been one of those days. You know the day. The day where you get up in the morning, bright and shining, have a lovely breakfast…and then it all goes to shit. A influx of transfer students from Kocher had issues with their medical records, an issue that Clarisse was forced to have a hand in despite the fact that she wasn’t the school’s nurse on call. After that, she’d spent her lunch hour trying to help a phasing student get themselves unstuck from inside the locker room walls. The boys locker room. Finally, she’d been late for a telephone appointment with other researchers regarding her work with Eli, the librarian, and made herself look like a complete fool.

Needless to say, Clarisse was rather tired. While she normally spent her time –well into the night, in fact--- in her office, she’d dipped out earlier than usual to simply head home and have a quiet dinner, vowing to turn in early and sleep off the wretched day in favor of starting again tomorrow. She turned onto one of the more deserted side roads in Pilot Ridge to avoid some bike traffic, sighing softly against the hum of the engine.

And that’s when the day continued.

Clarisse blinked as she felt a rumbling in the car. Through the steering wheel and the gas pedal she felt the tight vibrations clanging up her arms and legs. Worried, she took her foot off the gas, but it was too late. The car bumped frantically as her tire blew out, rattling Clarisse in the car and causing her to squeal in half-surprise half-fear.

When she managed to wobble to a stop, she had come to the curb. Taking a deep breath she stumbled out of the car and surveyed the damage. It was just a flat…just a flat. She couldn’t quite see what had happened though. Looking both was on the street to see if anyone was coming, Clarisse scurried daintily to the curb and crouched down as lady like as she could manage, adjusting the skirt of her blue swing dress over her knees. She precariously planted one foot on the curb and one on the street and braced herself, reaching out to lift up her car as subtly as she could.

This was not something smart to do in sling-back stilettos.
Predictable, the foot Clarisse had braced on the curb slipped, her foot catching painfully in the street. She cried out and dropped the car, falling very un-gracefully onto her butt on the sidewalk. Immediately tears filled her eyes. Her ankle hurt. It hurt badly. Sniffling, she tried to move her foot, electric tendrils of pain gripping the area immediately.

“Oh no…” She sniffled, tenderly touching her ankle. Sprained, if not broken. Now what was there to be done?

[John Thornton]

Days off were, in John Thornton’s mind, the best days. It was worth working hard just to be able to enjoy a day were all you really needed to do was the household accounts and the grocery shopping. They were both done, the account log was in his study, the groceries were unpacked, and he was winding down with a copy of The Financial Review and a generous glass of scotch. In a display of pure extravagance, he’d removed his grey tie and undone the top button of his shirt. He had even contemplated rolling up his sleeves, but America had not corrupted him that much, heaven be praised.

Years of being a hair away from invincible had left John with an ability to be extremely un-start-able. He did not jump at a gunshot, or at a loud noise, because honestly it was never really going to hurt him, was it? Still, that particular loud noise had come from outside his house, and there was the sound of a car knocking something. Setting his drink down (on a coaster, of course) the gentleman rose and began to make his way to the door.

Then, he heard a woman’s cry and he broke into a run. It said something of his level of urgency that he did not even notice he was leaving the house in a state of, in his opinion, unacceptable dishevelment.

It was her! He would have recognized that head of hair anywhere, let alone that face. Still, a woman in trouble was a woman in trouble and his own personal mortification would have to wait. ”Doctor Prideaux,” he knelt beside her after checking for obvious injuries. ”Are you alright? Do you need an ambulance?” She was clutching her ankle, and while Mr Thornton was a man of honor and was not about to gawk at the legs of a woman who had, he was quite sure, said some rather nasty things to him in French, he still case an eye over it. In a medical manner.

Dispute his sister’s enjoyment of some show called Top Gear or Top Gun or something, John was not exactly a car expert. Still, necessity and an immunity to burns had lent themselves to persuade him how to handle the basics. With humans, he was less sure. Everyone just seemed so... well.... fragile.

Compared to him, in any case.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse could only stare. There she was, crippled on the sidewalk, with really only a thought that it couldn’t get any worse. Then there he was. Quite possible one of the most unpleasant people she’d ever accidentally met. After a moment she arrested herself, rapidly shaking her head to clear it of the cloudy surprise. “I…Uhm. Yes. I mean no, I fairly certain my ankle is broken---but I don’t need an ambulance.” She stammered, clearing her throat.

“I was changing my tire and…well. C’est la vie.” Clarrise was avoiding looking directly in Thornton’s eyes (she was a bit ashamed of the rather unlady-like things she’d said), and so instead stared down her car. “It’s just a flat, I can call for someone.” Apologetically, she looked up to Thornton and actually managed a hesitant smile. “I don’t want to trouble you, Mister Thornton.”

Chuckling wryly, she shook her head. “It’s just been---how do they say?---one of those days.” She refrained from adding your presence doesn’t help, because frankly…she was glad to have a familiar face. Even one she didn’t like. In fact, the simple act of disliking Thornton made it easier for her to keep the tears that were shining in her eyes from falling, however obvious they were otherwise.

[John Thornton]

Given the cost of hospital visits in this country, Thornton could not blame the doctor. Still, with careful hands he removed the shoe from the offending leg and, with a ”May I?” felt along her ankle for the break. The bones under the skin were intact, which was fortunate as there were far too many little bones in the ankle for it to heal quickly. ”Just a nasty sprain,” he said, in an attempt to reassure her. He was even making an effort not to frown too much because that, as his sister had told him on the many times he’d patched her up when they were children, was not comforting. ”You need to ice it. I have a first aid kit at my house, if you would like somewhere more comfortable then then the pavement to sit.”

By jove she was lovely. It was very unfair of her, really, to be so attractive and passionate yet so.... french.

And to imagine such a woman trying to change a tire. Picking up the shoe he’d removed he glanced at it, and then at Clarisse and raised his eyebrows. ”In these? Your choice in footwear is exquisite, but not really appropriate for mechanics, Doctor Prideaux,” She had lovely eyes, ”No need, if you have a spare I can take care of it. It’s no trouble.” he rubbed at the bridge of his nose in thought, looking over at her car with a frown of concentration that melted into real concern when he saw the woman was in tears. ”But that can be taken care of later.”

No tears, oh please no tears.

He had been wanting to ask if she thought she could walk but the tears changed that. ”Pardon me,” He said by way of an apology, then hooked an arm under her knees, then the other around her waist and as gently as possible hoisted her up, bridal style.

She was so soft. He’d forgotten how soft women were. Still, while he was careful not to hold her with the slightest hint of roughness, he did not let his expression shift from the scowl that seemed permanently etched there and with extreme self restraint he did not let his eyes flick down. Luckily, he’d left the door open and so was spared the awkward fumbling that would have come about from trying to operate a handle while carrying a fine specimen of a woman.

Able to hide his reluctance, Mr Thornton set down the invalid on his leather couch, pulling a nearby footstool over to rest her leg on. ”I’ll get some ice,” he said quickly, for nothing appealed to him as much, at that instant, then putting some distance between them before he could do something to humiliate himself further. ”Something for the pain? I don’t have any painkillers, but I have scotch, brandy, there might be gin...” Occupying himself with the business of wrapping blocks of ice in a blue tea towel he closed his eyes briefly and exhaled slowly.

She had soft skin. And she had been so warm, even he could feel the heat from her.

He was screwed. She disliked him excessively.

He really needed a drink.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

“Really, Mister Thornton you don’t have t---“ She stopped herself as she looked over his face. It was slightly softened by genuine concern. Slightly, but still. It was something she hadn’t expected, and it was enough to get her to shut her mouth. After a nervous glance to the sidewalk, and back to her coworker, she nodded weakly. “Thank you. You’re very…generous. Mister Thornton. I can’t thank you enough.”

She’d hesitated. Despite his particularly tender treatment of her, she couldn’t quite use the word ‘kind’ to describe him, even if that was exactly what he was being. She’d even managed to forget that he was feeling up her ankle. Fancy that; he had a bit of a bedside manner in him!

Clarisse blushed sheepishly. “I wear them everyday, Mister Thornton. I hard think of them as anything less than an asset. It hardly ever occurs to me to do anything barefoot, especially in the dirty street.” She managed to look him in the eye, which, despite his sternness, was oddly easy. “I suppose you could they’re just an extension of my leg. I forgot I was even wearing them.”

There was a moment of silence, and as she brought up her hand to dab the tears from her eyes, Thornton suddenly swept her up against his chest. She squeaked quietly, clinging around his neck and forgoing all concepts of personal space in favor of burying her face against his shoulder with surprise.

She didn’t chance to peek up at him until he’d managed to get her through the doorway, all with the gentle grace that one would carry a bride over the threshold. Certainly not the way someone would treat one who disliked them. She peered up at him curiously as he set her upon the couch, gingerly placing her hands down to ease herself into a comfortable position. Her eyes followed him as he quickly bustled away.

“Forgive my frankness, Mister Thornton…but this is---“ She paused, collecting her thoughts. “You’re doing so much for me. I’m incredibly thankfull and well I…well I wasn’t expecting it but—“ She chuckled nervously. “Mister Thronton, I was not very nice to you. You are very…a very good man to overlook that to help me. Thank you.”

When he wandered back into the room she was sitting in, she scrutinized him briefly before turning her attentions to her ankle. “No painkillers? You do not feel pain then, is it?” She venture to ask, really by way of conversation. Clarisse didn’t want to seem like she was prying…even though she was. She tried to wiggle her toes, wincing briefly before her foot and ankle became still again. “No painkillers…not yet, I don’t think. I’ll simply have to make due for now.” She smiled encouragingly over at him.

She didn’t want to admit that she’d have to drink a little more than average to feel the painkilling effects of any alcohol.

[John Thornton]

”Don’t mention it,” John said flatly as he ran the pads of his fingers over her slim ankle. Really, don’t mention it.

The disapproval he felt at a woman trying to do mechanic work was slightly overshadowed by his mild amusement of anyone forgetting they wore mini stilts on their shoes. ”You have a lot of experience in mechanics, Doctor?” he asked mildly, raising an eyebrow. However, he quickly remembered that they were not friends, in fact, she did not even like him, and so the faint smile that was threatening to curve his mouth faded.

It started to come back when, as he was carrying her, he felt her head against his shoulder. His eyes widened and his adams apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed hard. He could pretend, for a minute, that she did not hold him in complete distain.

The cloth covered ice in his hands hardly registered as he made his way back over to the invalid, kneeling to press the compress to her ankle. He kept his eyes down as she spoke, for fear his expression would give something away. What, exactly, he was not sure, but his jaw tightened slightly as his eyebrows lowered.

”I would have done the same for anyone, Doctor,” he said finally, after a pause. While Thornton opposed blaspheming in all cases, he did send a quick thank you to god that his powers didn’t allow any excess blood flow to let his expression betray anything like a blush. ”Honestly, I can only express my apologies that you’re stuck in the home of someone you find, ah,” he raised his eyes for a moment with a thoughtful expression, ”unpleasant to talk to.”

Still, there was the matter of the car to address. Pausing for a moment, Thornton scowled at nothing in particular and turned his back on Clarisse as he started to unbutton his shirt. It was a nice shirt, and even changing tires lead to grease marks. They were exceedingly difficult to remove. He folded the cotton garment and set it on the sink. ”Beg your pardon,” he said finally, turning back to the frenchwoman, ”Do you have a car jack and spare tire? I have the rest of the tools under the sink.”

Well, if he’d felt uncomfortable before, that was somewhat amplified as he stood before a woman he was very attracted to, shirtless and asking for her car keys. ”And no. No pain. Not since I was twelve.” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. ”First aid kits seemed to be, well, a waste of money. I can’t even offer you a bandage, unless,”...

Well, he did like her, a lot. He could use one of his ties....

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Really all she could do was stare at him in bewilderment. He’d made a joke (granted, it was at her expense) and he seemed to be expressing some genuine remorse that their first meeting had gone so terrible. He’d even extended an apology. She didn’t even know what to say! What came out certainly didn’t seem right, but it was the truth, and she tried to say it in the nicest way possible.

She gently cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you were more…upfront…about how caring you seem to be, you wouldn’t come off as unpleasant?” She offered. Shaking her head. “You’re manners, Mister Thornton, are impeccable. So I hope you’ll forgive mine for being so blunt.” She reached out and laid her hand softly on his wrist as he pressed the ice against her ankle. “You’re doing something for me that the man I thought you were wouldn’t ever do. And I appreciate it greatly, regardless of the fact that I may or may not find you unpleasant.”

And with that, he had turned away. She didn’t realize exactly what he was doing until his shirt was sliding down his shoulders. She colored a bright pink and quickly averted her eyes. Really, it was just his back, and she didn’t have an occasion to be so embarrassed, but Clarisse’s modesty was well beyond that of the average American. Well. He clearly took care of himself.

“I---uh, yes.” Clarisse managed after some minimal stuttering. “Its all in the trunk.” She explained, managed to look him in the face at his sheepish admission regarding pain. Looking back and forth between her lap and Thornton was getting tiring, but she couldn’t seem to hold a glance at him. “There’s a first aid kit in my car. I always have one.” She paused, narrowing her eyes slightly at him. “But I won’t need a bandage just yet.”

Her nursing instincts were really kicking in. There was always the patient or two who wanted to hide something about their medical history, and Clarisse could always tell. This seemed to be the same sort of situation. “Do you feel anything, Mister Thornton?” She pried sweetly, her soothing voice rather trademark of the nurses office.

[John Thornton]

Any lightness or softness in his expression hardened in an instant as Thornton heard his patient’s opinion. ”I am aware that my,” he paused as the furrows between his eyebrows deepened, ”my conduct is not friendly. That does not mean I am uncaring, or uncivil.” He was almost barking by the end, and looked away in frustration at his outburst, as well as her comments. Friendliness had never exactly been a priority in his life, nor had it been a quality in him that had been nurtured. It slowed you down, got in the way of important things. Got in the way of work.

Still, it was obvious she had written him off as a complete Neanderthal, or at least a villain, and it was hard to listen without taking offense. ”You really thought so little of me?” he huffed, looking up briefly from his position at her feet. Even as he scowled, he knew the slight hurt he felt showed. It was a relief to put some distance between them, even as he fished a handkerchief from his pocket at handed it back to the lady. It was unused, as he never had to sneeze, but old habits died hard.

It seemed though that she was having as much of an issue maintaining eye contact as he was, though her reasoning he could not imagine as he made his way to the sink to pick up his small tool kit. ”It’s all unlocked?” he asked as he pulled open the door, glancing over one bare shoulder. Pulling open the door, her question hit him like a bullet between his shoulder blades. Bracing himself against the door frame, the englishman seemed to shudder slightly. Some things were not to be talked of, especially with women who found him unpleasant.

”I hope I have not proven to be so cold as to make you think that, doctor,” he said finally. ”I won’t be more then a few minutes.”

The door slammed shut behind him as he hunted for the jack and set it in place. This, at least, would not require him to be friendly.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Ah. Well that had done it.

She winced at his harshness, and her heart sank at his look. Clearly she’d damaged his feelings. “…I won’t lie to you. Yes.” She took the handkerchief from him and knotted it nervously in her delicate fingers. “I was trying to apologize, not antagonize.” She said meekly.
He was moving to the doorway, and with each step she felt worse and worse. There wasn’t any bad guy in this, but really she was starting to dislike him simply for making her feel bad. But that was just as rotten as he was acting, wasn’t it?

“Yes.” She barely pronounced, her voice caught in her throat behind tears that were starting to leak out of her eyes.

Clarisse couldn’t help but feel that the tables had been turned on their little meetings. First, he had seemed short, cold. Now it seemed that she was giving him the same treatment. And that simply would not do. Who was she to expect everyone to be as chipper and pleasant as a spring day? She had her down spikes—big ones. Granted, they were a chemical imbalance, but it was still no excuse.

When he slammed the door, she jumped, and burst in to tears. For one thing, Clarisse had never liked the slamming of doors. Her husband had done that with fair regularity. For another, she’d just actually accused a man who was doing her a great service of being heartless, though she hadn’t meant it that way at all. She had wanted to help.

Loss of sensation, of feeling was a common side effect of invulnerability based powers. If Thornton was as invincible in body as he seemed to have indicated…well there was a way to fix things. For him to regain a little semblance of sensation. Though now she doubted he wanted to hear it. Sobbing quietly into his borrowed hanky, she peered about the sterile, lonely room.

It was clean. Really clean. Not just so far as dirt went, but in the way it was organized. Everything had its precise place, even things that didn’t seem to quite belong. She had stared at his DVD collection through her tears, catching the odd cartoon now and again (something she certainly hadn’t expected). But it wasn’t until she caught sight of a chest in the corner did her curiosity really peak.

It was a little chest, too small really for anything of use to Thornton, more made for a child. Little paintings of teddy bears dancing along the sides only fed that notion. She didn’t have time to really examine it before Thornton returned to the room. She quickly dabbed her eyes, careful to quiet her hiccoughing breath

[John Thornton]

It was fortunate the shirt had been spared. Looking over the grease marks on his arms, Thornton huffed disapprovingly (at what it was not clear) and, with a final twist, finished with the tire and rose to his feet. First aid kit in hand, and with a much calmer frame of mind then he had had while leaving the room, John pulled open the door and reentered his house ready to face the rather fetching woman he’d left.

He was not ready for more tears. All thoughts of his shirt aside, he strode back to his couch and it’s occupant, practically flinging open the first aid kit. ”Are you alright?” he asked, all thoughts of reproaching lost, or at least delayed, for now. ”Did you knock it?”

Thankfully for his tie collection, there were bandages in the green first aid box, as well as some sort of pain killer type pill. He pulled those out, then rose to his feet as swiftly as a jack in the box. Water, you twat. Not quite racing, as that was undignified, Thornton hurried to his kitchen and procured a glass of water before returning to present it, (with a coaster) to Clarisse.

”The car is all done,” he offered, not really sure what else to do. ”Your suspension does need some tuning though.”

Useless useless useless

It occurred to the englishman that he was still without a shirt, and with a muttered curse he rose to his feet once again to find some sort of cloth to wipe off the soot from the car. It would be much more comfortable if he had his shirt on, for both of them.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse winced again when he was suddenly in front of her, she’d all but forgotten the ice on her ankle. It was doing its job of numbing her pain. “No I-i…I jus-st.” She hiccoughed again and sniffed weakly, letting out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t trying to
be hostile, I want to help.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye and pouted slightly.

“And I want to apologize for our…the bad start.” Wringing the handkerchief in her hands again, she blinked rapidly to clear her tears, peeking out sideways at the window. “I’ve had a wretched day and you, you really have been so…” She cleared her throat. “So kind.”

She smiled weakly and huffed a bit of a nervous laugh. “I suppose what I am trying to say is---is to please not be cross with me for being so rude. And that I…” she paused, looking sheepish. “And that whatever makes you…you.” That was just a nicer way to say unpleasant. “Is none of my business.” A bit of a silence set in, and to fill it, Clarisse took a sip of the water. It calmed her nerves and helped her clear away the tears, and before too long the sniffling had completely died down.

[John Thornton]

”I don’t seem to be the one in need of help,” Thornton said with a hint of, somewhat ironically, hostility. Why would he need help? And why would a woman with a badly sprained ankle think of helping someone else? Still, it was hard to look at her pouting like that and remain looking at all stern. Were women aware of what it did to men, drawing attention to their mouths like that? His brows furrowed as he tried to concentrate on her ankle.

That wasn’t helping.

Still, as she went on the furrows shallowed out and he looked up in surprise. It was the first time she had referred to him being anything that wasn’t, well, insulting. ”It must have been a hard day, for this to be considered in any way a highlight,” he said, in complete seriousness. She had not exactly said this was a highlight, but he was still reeling from the ‘kind’ comment.

With a sigh he rose to his feet and began buttoning his shirt up, starting at the bottom and making care that he had not misaligned them, and that it had not been too badly creased from its short time on the bench. ”I was never cross with you, Doctor,” he said honestly, looking up as he finished off the top button and checked his collar. ”I just... I’ve never been good with people.” And yet here he was as a teacher. All part of God’s mysterious plan. And HE always knew best.

The crying was abating which he was extremely thankful for, as in all honestly it made him feel extremely uncomfortable in a sort of should I be doing something chivalrous way.

”Now, is there anything else I can get you? More water? Or, well, anything?”

He should offer to drive her home, he knew that, but, well, that would involve her leaving. And she had just started to stop insulting him too.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse chuckled slightly, a drained, almost mirthless sound. “You’re right. I am the one nursing a sprained ankle.” She conceded, growing quickly weary off all these emotions. She was just too tired of all of this nonsense. “But science is finding answers to side effects. Prevention, cures, I suppose.” She shook her head. “It’s presumptuous of me, isn’t it? Not everyone wants to lose them.” She murmured, more to herself. She waved her hand to dismiss the subject.

“This—“ she gestured at her ankle. “Is in no way a high light.” She turned her gesture to the space between her and Thornton, indicating the pair of them in turn. “This…isn’t so bad.” Clarisse admitted. It wasn’t great. “It could have been worse?” She added hesitantly.

Goodness this was unlike her! She was so…so awkward in John’s presence. Treading eggshells for fear of his reaction. It wouldn’t do. Not at all. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat slightly when he admitted he wasn’t good with people. The urge to reply I can see that was strong, but she resisted.

“Well…Why don’t I take you up on your offer for dinner? Then we can spend some time rebuilding some bridges I may have…accidentally burned down.” Clarisse muttered. Looking Thornton in the face, she smiled warmly. “I insist you let me prepare a dinner for you. As a thank you for your hospitality, and your care.”

It was a brave move, considering she didn’t really know if she actually wanted to spend any alone time with Thornton or not, but it would have to do for now. Perhaps over dinner she could ask about the trunk, or at least find out something about it. Or better yet, she could find more of Thornton’s softer side…anything to make him personable.

[John Thornton]

Oh. The side effect topic. He’d assumed that topic had been dropped. Why did she want to talk about that? ”I’ve tried,” he said, speaking to her ankle. ”But the nerve deterioration appears to be unstoppable.” He ran a hand over his face, eyes cast down as he sighed. ”I understand this is your area of expertise Miss, but there are some things that I do not talk about.” Steely blue eyes glanced up under dark brows, a look that meant one thing; the topic was closed.

And yes, it could have been worse. She could have been cursing him in french again. He tried for a reassuring smile, and was mildly successful in so far as the frown actually left for a few seconds.

The smile managed to reemerged properly at her offer, though as he realized it was a peace offering for friendship, and nothing more. It was a start, and even if she cooked chinese he would eat it. ”Well, if you insist,” he said, the smile turning a little crooked. ”though I still seem to think more highly of you then you do of me.”

Still, her apprehension was not perhaps as well hidden as she would have liked, and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, John sighed softly. ”I’ll run you home, if there is nothing else I can do for you.” A thought occurred to him and the englishman frowned thoughtfully. ”Do you drive an automatic, or a manual? I assume you wont mind me driving your car?” It seemed that the thought of having to visit him again, if only to get his car, would not be something she would look forward to, meal preparations aside.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse was surprised to find what a nice smile he had. Now if only he would just let it loose more often and not go about scowling at the world on a constant basis. She returned it with a graceful smile of her own. “At least I can take back all the things I said before?” She joked, wincing a bit as she shifted and jostled her ankle.

Truth be told, she did want to go home. She was tired, her ankle was sprained, and she still had work to do. And now Thornton was offering to drive her home. “I drive an automatic, but I think I can drive home, Mister Thornton.” Earnestly, she shook her head. “I would hate to inconvenience you any further. You’ve already done so much for me.”