Hardest of Hearts [Thornton]

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse liked to think that she wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t, but…on some level she still felt like it. Her conversation with Sean had been both helpful and revealing. Helpful in that she gained a bit of insight into John’s workings (and really only a little bit. Not even Sean knew what to do with him sometimes, it seemed), how he dealt with certain things, clarification on some things that he’d said. It had stuck with her, but not so much as the things she’d learned about herself.

Those things that she had dwelled on had led her to Mister Thornton’s doorstep.

And had also led her to use the breadmaker.

Cradling a loaf of French bread (not burnt, as it were) and a bottle of wine in her arms. She had originally planned to leave them on his doorstep with a note, but that had seemed cowardly. Instead she braced herself for what was to come. Her hand shook over the door as she balled it into a fist. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

This needed to happen.

Avoiding him at work wasn’t going to fix things.

She needed to apologize.

She knocked shortly, softly, as if praying he wouldn’t actually hear.

Indeed, she was praying. But only for the strength to continue with her plan.

Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle..

[John Thornton]

Thornton's house was always quiet. He listened to music rarely, as it was distracting, and while he did watch the news the sound was never turned up very loud. Besides, the news had been over for a while and Thornton was just finishing the dinner he'd just zapped in the microwave when he heard knocking on the door.

If it's the Mormons again, I will have some strong words for them and none of them will be God Bless

As soon as he opened the door, he was wishing for the Mormons. It did not help that it was the last person he'd want to see him at the end of a saturday he'd spent at home doing the books. He hadn't shaved and had a 5 o'clock shadow that he would never leave the house with, his shirt was rumpled and he'd undone the top button while eating, his hair wasn't smoothed down... he was a mess. He looked a complete....

Brute.

Fitting, really. "Doctor Prideaux," he said flatly, eyebrows snapping together like a bear trap. "Can I help you?" Unable to completely keep the bitterness out of his voice, Thornton glanced down at saw the bread and wine. His scowl darkened. "You are on your way somewhere?" he asked, then glanced to see if her car was smoking, or on fire.

Even seeing her here, it was like she was trying to twist the knife. He knew she was lovely and sophisticated and completely unsuited to someone who was rough and rude, was it really necessary for her to show up on his door to remind of of the fact?

[Clarisse Prideaux]

The prayers were not helping. He opened the door and she felt like shrinking, hiding. Her throat closed off, and all the words she’d practiced on the way fell like heavy stones in her stomach. She cleared her throat, looking at him breathlessly.

Disheveled and brutish (to use her own words), he looked more human. More approachable. But yet now she felt like a million miles away and approaching him was such a journey. “I’m sorry to call on you this late, but I…was hoping I could…t-talk to you.” She gripped the wine a little harder, swallowing again.

Looking to his face was even more difficult, but she managed to do so. The momentary silence that followed seemed like forever, but she managed to break it. Her voice came meekly, but it came. “And…apologize.”

Almost awkwardly, she held out the bread and the wine. “I used your breadmaker.” She cleared her throat again, tears starting to close in on her as she stared at her peace offering. “It’s lovely.” Clarisse whispered.

[John Thornton]

"You'd best come inside then," Thornton held the door open, not willing to let any woman waiting on a doorstep let alone Clarisse. She looked worried, even scared. Of him? The thought was not pleasant. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, he just.... he just didn't want to continually be reminded of his failure as a man which she seemed to bring out of him.

His scowl dropped away almost instantly as he heard her next words though. She wanted to what? His eyes widened and the Englishman opened his mouth to say something, but closed it with a snap as she held out the bread and wine. It was like being offered communion for the first time all over again, and with slightly unsteady hands he took her gifts.

"I... I'm glad you liked it," he said slowly, looking down at the bread with obvious confusion. "I thought, I mean, I am not sure I understand, Doctor."

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse stepped inside, clasping her hands in front of her when he took the gifts. She didn’t know what else to do really but stand just inside the door, far enough inside that he could shut it. As glad as she was that she had been invited inside, she didn’t exactly feel welcome. “Thank you.” She murmured.

Thornton’s signs of surprise were simultaneously encouraging and off-putting. Did he believe her when she said she’d wanted to apologize? She wound her fingers together to give herself the courage to look at him again. “I…You thought right. I was fairly…direct.” She said, being rather generous with how mean she’d been.

“But I was also insensitive. And…wrong.” Clarisse exhaled slowly. “You…must have thought really hard about it.” She chuckled softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And to even have remembered our first meeting. It was very thoughtful.” Clarisse looked up at Thornton, anguished it seemed. “And I was so…not.”

“I’m sorry.” She breathed. “I was…I didn’t bother to---“ She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. “Everything that I accused you of I was guilty of myself.” She looked down for a moment, to her knotted hands, before back to him. “I’m so sorry for jumping to conclusions about you. And for treating you so poorly. I’m so so sorry.”

[John Thornton]

"Oh," Thornton managed to get out, even as he set the bread and wine down because it was not exactly the easiest thing to hold, and made the whole situation just that more ridicules. "I don't think I've ever been described as thoughtful before," Thornton said honestly, his hands ruining the lining of his pockets as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He was frowning again, but it was a frown of confusion. This was rather unfamiliar territory for him.

It seemed he felt that way a lot around Doctor Prideaux. As she looked up, he felt a funny little lurch inside and a sudden desire to sweep her off her feet.

Settling for merely taking her hands in his, he pressed them quickly then let go before he could be thought improper. "I'm also sorry for how I spoke to you," he said with honest intensity, "And, I understand I am not, I am not a gentleman but I never meant to offend you."

He very much wanted to kiss her, or something but an apology was not some declaration of adoration, and besides, it would be unseemly given his present state. She was a colleague and he was a fully grown english man, not some teenager with uncontrollable hormones!

"And Doctor, there are several words one," he coughed slightly, looking away for a moment, "one might use to describe you but a brute, or uncivilised? Never."

He had managed to make a fool of himself not two minutes after she had apologised. It was enough to drive one to madness. Why did he keep slipping up infront of her?

[Clarisse Prideaux]

The urge to admit that she wasn’t surprised no one had ever considered him thoughtful was strong, but she suppressed it. No need to be catty now. “Well, at least in this case you were.” She murmured. She flicked a tear out of her eye before it could fall, determined not to cry all over Thornton again. Setting her jaw, she managed to keep the leaking at bay.

It was much easier when she looked at him with a shocked expression. “Not a gentleman?”
She repeated, dumbfounded. “You may be…ah…short. But you treated me so…g-gently when I hurt my ankle.” Unconsciously she tucked her feet together in a ‘T,’ the heel of her left foot against the arch of her right, her satin heels brushing lightly. Her ankle was finally healed enough that she could wear them again.

She laid her hand over her chest, closing her eyes in earnest. “And you were so honest during dinner.” Swallowing she opened her eyes again. “I did not afford you the same openness. I…” ashamed, she took to her toes again. “I have an unfortunate dislike for sharing too deeply.” She closed her fist over her heart. “and I believe that is why I was so short with you.”

Shaking her head, Clarisse let her hand flop by her side. “But I felt I was being brutish. And accepting your apology…know that I mean it. And that I meant my own in earnest.” Closing her hands in front of her again, Clarisse managed a subtle, weak smile. “You deserved better than I offered. A better chance than I gave.”

[John Thornton]

Thornton looked at her carefully, with serious consideration. She had been open, as far as he could remember. She had gone so far as to say she had never told anyone the fate of her friends which had made him start to at least hope...

She was so passionate, so, well, french with her arm movements. He watched in fascination, as if observing some strange bird. Yet he was starting to feel that familiar twinge of awkwardness as she spoke being open. He had been frank, he was always so.... "I accept," he said hurriedly, "Of course. It's over and done, in the past and all."

He'd say just about anything to stop her looking so heart broken, (wishful thinking?) looking so destitue. "I know I'm not... not very good at, well," he gestured at nothing, jaw tight, then sighed. "Would you like a drink?" he asked somewhat anxiously, not sure what else might be said, and even less sure if he'd have any idea how to respond. "Least I can do, really."

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Of course. Of course he’d said. Like it was nothing. It finally nothing. The past.

Damn it all.

With such relief, abandoning whatever manners she’d decided on for the evening she launched herself and Thornton and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if his acceptance of her apology were the very breath in her lungs. She felt so much better! Still hanging tightly to him, she breathed. “Thank you.”

And then she realized what she was doing, and to whom she was doing it. Stepping back and biting her lip with nerves, she nodded quickly. “A ---ah,” She cleared her throat. “A drink. Would be lovely.” She concluded. “Thank you.”

[John Thornton]

Dear god in heaven.

Thornton froze, not sure at first what was happening, or why there was a beautiful frenchwoman around his neck. She was hugging him. She was hugging him! Thornton couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him, and he most assuredly could not remember the last time a woman had hugged him. Was hugging him even as he had that thought.

"You're welcome," He managed to reply, not sure if he should hug her back. He might not be willing to let go, if he did. And such a lack of self control was not very english.

Still, he was unable to keep a slightly shocked smile on his face that, if he had seen on someone else, he would have written off as insipid. Even his self control was not enough though, and it stayed on his face for a good few moments after Clarisse had stepped back until he managed to turn quickly and hunt down some wine glasses, quickly opening the bottle and pouring two very generous glasses.

"Your health, Doctor," he said with feeling, and took a large sip. She was in his home, she wanted his forgiveness.... she'd brought bread. It was all slightly unreal.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

His smile, however faint, was encouraging enough to coax out one of her own. A blush momentarily colored her cheeks before she was lucky enough for John to turn his back. She certainly felt like drinking now, if only to take the edge off of the strange moment they’d just had.

Clarisse looked down into her wine glass, wondering what had really possessed her to hug John so tightly. And for so long, compared to the fleeting hugs she gave out as greetings. It had certainly completed her catharsis, in a way, but it was a bit out of place given the situation.

She took the class, holding it in a delicate toast. “And yours, Mister Thornton. May we both smile more often.” She matched his drink, and sighed blissfully when the toast had finished. “I’m glad I bought two bottles of this wine.” She murmured, swirling it absently in her glass. “It’s served well more than once.”

[John Thornton]

That drew another, bigger smile from Thornton, the declaration of more wine widened it still. "It may be pushing my luck," he said slowly, "but I am very glad to have you in my home, by your own choice I mean." He gestured to the couches, then realised the remains of his dinner were still at the table and rushed to clear them out of the way.

The loaf of bread was sitting there, looking rather wonderful really. "I'd offer you dinner but I know I eat later then most," he confessed, "And I'm not much of a cook. I mean..."

He was getting flustered again, and busied himself with the wine glass. What if he managed to say something again, that proved to her she'd been right, that he was too rough and brutish...

[Clarisse Prideaux]

He really ought to just smile more often. It really was lovely.

Clarisse followed his gesture, hovering near the couch until his return. “Thank you for having me.” Looking around, her eyes fell to the chest she had noticed the first time she was in Thornton’s living room, the one painted with little teddy bears, but quickly flicked back to him. “Is there anything I can do to help? I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.”

She took another drink from her wine, careful not to smudge her lipstick on the glass, an art she had practiced and perfected over years. “And I have already eaten, though I appreciate the offer.” Smiling and chuckling softly, Clarisse cut in before John could say much else.

“I’m sure you cook just fine. Especially if you feed yourself. I’m willing to bet you don’t make things that taste bad, at the very least.” She pointed out. No one wanted to eat a dinner that wasn’t at least somewhat pleasing to the taste buds, even if they had made it themselves.

That was why Clarisse fed her cooking failures to the fish. She was pretty sure they didn’t have tastebuds.

[John Thornton]

"No, no it's no problem," John said quickly, and with obvious seniority as he scraped the plate and slide it into the dishwasher. The last fifteen minutes had proved to be much better for his well being then a reheated meal would ever be.

Thornton lifted a shoulder passively at Clarisse's comment, not sure how to explain that a lot of the time he was so preoccupied with work he hardly tasted his food. "Not bad exactly," he agreed, "but it's a little harder to, well, summon a large effort when it's just you eating."

Still, when she had laughed he had not been offended. It had been with him, not at him.

Maybe he could hope, just a little bit.

[Clarisse Prideaux]

Clarisse had, admittedly, never felt like that. Food was something to be enjoyed! Was there anything else needed to summon the effort. She looked at him quizzically. “Really?” She inquired, blinking a bit as she mulled the thought over. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it that way.”

When he finally settled enough to sit down, Clarisse joined him, crossing her legs gently and taking another sip of her wine. “But when you do summon a large effort, would you say you are a good cook?” She asked, hoping to drive the conversation in a benign direction for now.