Corday had been furious when he arrived two months prior and had been turned away, told by men with machine guns that no one could see patient 142. He’d assumed the worst, and practically charged the North Wing’s gates. Alpha guards had forced him off. Biting down on his temper, he had come back in the night, using the ventilation ducts to break in... and found the real reason he’d been denied entry.
She was in estrous, contained to enforce her desire for celibacy. He distanced himself immediately, already far too close to the scent of her slick. Claire had never known he was there, but Corday stayed nearby for the entire three days it took for her to come through the heat... because she was crying, and scared, and he could not bear to leave her.
Twice a day she was attended by her physician, vitals taken, the Omega injected with something she readily offered her arm for each time. The man never touched her inappropriately; he never responded to her scent. Considering Corday had always found Premier Dane to be an absolute shrew, he had to admit, the amount of care she’d guaranteed his friend seemed almost unbelievable.
“You have a grand piano in your room...” Corday gaped, seeing the hulking thing set up in the corner.
Claire chuckled. “Is that what those are called. I just thought it was a fancy new table.” Setting her flowers aside, she moved to the bench and began to play a song that had been popular before the first Dome had been erected.
While she played, he looked over the wall to see what paintings had been removed and replaced. They never discussed it, Corday’s appraisal, but he could read her life on that wall. It was one filled with Shepherd. Many of the most offensive paintings had vanished to be replaced with watercolors of flowers, what looked like the foam of a cappuccino, and a sea of silver eyes.
As always, the bloodstained portrait of the man held a position of honor.
“You know,” Corday spoke over her music, “you’re much more fun to hang out with when you’re not drooling on yourself.”
He heard her laugh and trill the keys in that comic riff old films added after shitty jokes.
It was one of her better days, so Corday chose to take the initiative and slide onto the bench next to her, pretending he didn’t notice when she stiffened at the physical contact and swallowed nervously. When all he did was start to play chopsticks, she loosened up and laughed.
Shoulder to shoulder, they screwed around, banging on her pretty new instrument like misbehaving children until out of the blue, Claire froze. At first, it was as if she was trying to hide that her gaze was darting around to all the shadowed corners. Moments later, she put her hand on his to make him stop with the noise, and closed her eyes.
Scowling, Corday asked, “What are you-”
“Shhhhh,” she hushed him, face serene, softly smiling. Over the next few seconds she seemed to melt, all her tension faded as she breathed slowly and kept her eyes closed.
Corday was angry. “He’s not there, Claire.”
Her dark lashes lifted and she peeked at the man at her side, a little sad, and very lonely. “Yes he is. He is there.”
It was not the first time she had done this, and it was so fucking frustrating. How do you compete with a ghost?
“Shepherd is not there!” Corday climbed off the bench to glare down at her. “Do you hear me? Shepherd is dead. He was a monster. He hurt you! He hurt a lot of people! What you think you felt for him was forced by the pair-bond and the baby he drugged you to create. Pure manipulation. You didn’t love him!”
Corday had figured out a long time ago that she’d need time, having sat in the hearings as the government officials pieced together what they had learned from inspecting her cell, her paintings underground, the nature of her rape. There was a reason so few Follower bodies were found. They had used the ancient transport ships docked atop the Citadel. They had abandoned Thólos... Shepherd had tried to get her out of the city. Even the letter on the wall made that clear. It was the only good thing he’d ever done for her, and Shepherd had failed at it. And in the fucked up half-drugged reality the doctors kept her in, his Claire could not see what was right before her, as if she had shifted the blame to that bitch Svana and didn’t remember the truth of her history.
Fighting to control his temper, Corday put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, purring as loud as he could to cut through whatever sound her mind was creating. “Claire, I am a living breathing man and I do love you. I would never hurt you. And I am willing to wait for you to get your head together, but you have to open your eyes and accept facts.”