Together

147. Your son is worried about you

But I had it all, because you were adderall
You kept me up, you ain't never made me mad at all
And when we fight again, you're vicodin
Because you kill my pain everytime I feel like losing sight again
-Jared Evan

Pixie cut, or he guesses Janet, now that her name has been said, gives a pointed stare at JJ after his outburst of a declaration that he is a family member of the man that was brought in. She obviously has her doubts, but what real proof does she have that he's lying?

Wasn't even like it was really a lie, anyway. Shoupe was his foster parent at one point, called him son more often than his own name.

Clair visibly flinches at the directness of the statement, it being guided at her in a way that feels more pointed than probably intended. At least she doesn't think JJ was trying to send her a message. But honestly after the last week she has no idea what to make of the person in front of her.

Her hope was diminished when she was at the beach and was turned away. Part of her wonders if the girl he was with even told him she was there. Part of her hopes she didn't. That kind of obvious rejection would be difficult to swallow, and she's not sure she wants to hear about it quite yet.

Janet doesn't seem to pick up on the tension in the room that is making it difficult for Clair to breathe all of a sudden. She keeps her obstinate expression and set her brows in a scowl.

"Well," she hums. "I'll go check on that."

"That would be great, thanks," JJ bites back, expression hard.

Clair takes a step back as Janet pushes past her to leave the front to go supposedly check in on the man that was brought in the ambulance. Her eyes reflexively glance towards the young couple on the other side of the desk. Her son is rolling his eyes, presumably at Janet, and running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration.

It's more than annoyance he's going through, however. Clair can see how he's distressed, worried. It tugs at her heart, and she finds her words are coming out before her head can stop her.

"He's okay right now," she says. "It was a mild heart attack. Not nothing, but it could have been worse. They're just running some tests, but he seems okay."

JJ doesn't say anything, isn't ready to say anything, or perhaps is just refusing to. But the girl, whose name she is trying desperately to recall from when the man called out to her on the beach, is generous in offering a small smile of gratitude.

That kindness hits Clair in the heart. She nods, a sympathetic smile on her face to mask the storm of emotions inside her. She was expecting coldness from the girl that ran her off the beach. Was expecting her to want nothing to do with her or to say anything at all to her own son.

The shift from distrust to grateful catches her off guard, and she feels the rush to get out of the area before she says or does anything that will be pushing her luck. This isn't the place for any kind of reconciliation. This isn't the time for forgiveness.

But she feels like she was offered something. It mattered that someone so obviously important to the child she doesn't know can be gracious, right? That's a good sign?

Her responding nod is quickly followed up with her departure back to the triage space, away from the prying eyes of patients wanting updates and the son she abandoned. She finds refuge near a cart of medical supplies, hand to her forehead after she wipes a stray hair from her ponytail out of her face and closes her eyes to take deep, settling breaths.

It does little to actually calm her, but the space away from the scrutinization of the blue eyes that matched her own was welcomed. She couldn't take looking at him if she couldn't say anything back. Didn't know how to walk a line of recognizing but not knowing. Of seeing but not expressing. Of wanting but not having.