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Saturday nights are prime time for the bar, so Luke's working, as usual. Still, it's not as busy as usual tonight - Knicks are playing the Celtics, everybody wants to go see the big men banging the boards down at the Garden and he doesn't have a TV in here since it got busted last week over a game of checkers. Lowdown John still owed Luke for a new set.
He's clad in a bright gold t-shirt, the cotton stretched over his thick musculature and broad shoulders. He's polishing a few glasses with a white towel, glancing up at the front door when he hears the bell, "Well, well, if it ain't the Angel of Hell's Kitchen. Somebody call about a boo boo?"
*
It was rare that Claire had a Saturday night off. No one really at home, she picked up the shifts no one wanted and then some. But after working three doubles in a row, they pretty much kicked her *out* of the ER with several jeers about the fact that she could go have a life if she just tried, for once. Her sleep schedule flipped enough now that going home to crash out wasn't really an option and her co-worker's words echoing in her head, Claire finally decided to go out and simply get a drink.
The fact that the bar isn't overly crowded for a Saturday is actually a bit of a relief, and she's clearly not trying to impress anyone as she's still in her scrubs from her shift, the plain blue doing little to compliment her form. But it certainly makes her recognizable. A slightly smirking smile crosses her lips as she hears that greeting and moves over to the bar, "…As the owner, don't you actually get to take *off* the bad nights? Go watch the game instead of being stuck here?" She murmurs huskily, slipping up onto a free barstool with motions that are just slow enough to say she's half aching with exhaustion. A drink will help a lot.
*
Luke puts his big hands flat on the bar, grinning slightly, "I could, but truth is, I'd rather watch it on TV, if I could," he says. "Too crowded down at the Garden. Too many rowdies, wanna be tough guys. Too many Irish chowderheads comin' down on the train from Boston lookin' to take out their frustrations on anybody darker than them. No thanks," he says.
"Anyway, you should know I prefer more gentlemanly pursuits. Reading. Listening to fine music," he says, getting a glass, "I see you didn't feel the need to dress up to come visit. What can I get you?"
*
Dark eyes flicker down to her outfit with a deeper, full lipped smirk, "I didn't know that you instituted a dress code? I guess I'll have to find a post-shift drink somewhere else. Or pack a change of clothes, when I can't resist seeing your handsome face." That smirk melts into just a touch of a fond smile. Claire did like the bar. She liked *him*. She didn't feel like quite so much of an outsider here than she did in some of the other places, closer to the midtown hospital, and he gave a certain level of safety a lot of other places in the kitchen or Harlem did not. So, teasing or not, she does actually relax in her lean against the bar.
"…Mm… don't suppose you have any coffee on? Mug of coffee with a good dash of whiskey would be nice right now. Winter decided to come back around, it's damn cold out again." There is still high rose on her cheeks from having walked here all the way from Metro General.
*
Luke grins and slides the glass away, "I got some coffee back in the kitchen. More than happy to pour you a cup. Free of charge," he says. "It's not on the menu, so I can hardly ask for money for it, can I? Just don't let it slip, I don't need a bunch of late nighters trying to take up my counterspace looking for free joe," he says.
He steps away for a moment, returning with a mug and adding a splash of whiskey to it before he slides it across, "You'll have to take it black, but I figure you're okay with that," he says.
*
No charge or not, Claire has a dollar out which she's pushing across the bar towards him and she quickly waves off any protest, "A tip, then." She insists. Working as much as she does has it's advantages. She then huddles fingertips around the mug, leaning gratefully over it as she takes in the bitter, stinging scent of coffee and whisky. She clearly has no complaints about it being black. The scent alone seems to relax her a touch more than she was previous, some tension dropping from her shoulders. "And I'll keep your secret, I promise." That comes with another, thankful smile as she finally takes her first sip of the stuff.
It's a few minutes later, letting him handle a few other guests as she nurses her coffee and just stares around the room, considering his actual patrons and what trouble may be on the streets tonight. Her dark eyes have the wary look of someone always working, waiting for someone to scream her name who can't afford to actually go to the hospital. It's simply habit, the last few years, and she's got a reputation for it. "…no trouble tonight? I almost feel like I'm jinxing us, asking that…" She mutters when he passes her again.
*
Luke has been attending to some of the regulars, spending a little time talking with some guys playing cards over in the corner, sharing a cigar and trading a few jests. Luke's careful, making himself friendly while never getting too personal with them. They all feel like they know him, but none of them really do. As well known as he is, he doesn't have a lot of friends. Maybe not any at all.
He shakes his head when he hears her words, "Seems like it's quiet, knock wood," he says, doing just that with a rap of his knuckles. "At least, not around here. There's always trouble someplace. That's why some of those guys in the funny underwear go running around the rooftops looking for it," he says.
*
A somewhat unhappy sound comes in her throat as she hears that, dark eyes less than thrilled, "Yeah. Seems there's more and more of them lately. Or maybe they just got more fond of my couch." Of course, Claire is the one that keeps opening her door. Enough that she's got a nick name on the street these days — the Night Nurse — while she's denied it any time someone's called her that, it doesn't mean they've stopped calling her it. She takes another deep drink of her coffee, watching him a bit longer than she does the others. Worry in her eyes.
She's always worrying.
"…and you? How are you holding up?" Claire asks quieter than before, the statement meant just for his ears, after a pair leave her end of the bar, leaving her mostly alone against that corner. She searches his eyes as she asks it, this being the first night in a long while she's actually seen him with enough time to almost have a conversation.
*
Luke smiles, "Your couch is comfortable, from what I recall. Maybe some of 'em get themselves bruised up just to see your pretty face. You're encouraging vigilantism," he teases a little bit. He gets her another cup of coffee and pours one for himself, taking a sip before he answers her more serious query.
"I'm getting by. You don't really have to worry about me," he says, meeting her gaze directly. "I handle myself plenty good. I might make the occasional enemy, but that's really their problem more than mine," he says.
*
"Been a while since you've been laid up, I might have gotten a new couch, you never know…" Claire half teases him, but the worry is still there, beneath her husky voice and over the edge of her half drank coffee cup. She doesn't even blink at the hard taste. After years of hospital coffee, this is probably kind. "And I always worry about you, you know that… Someone's got to. You sure as hell don't do it yourself, I know that." She nods towards the half filled bar, some of the other patrons. "You worry about them. Take care of your people… I know how it goes. Doesn't give you a lot of time taking care of yourself." Takes one to know one.
*
Luke leans back against the wall beside the mirror, cradling his mug in his large hand, "I appreciate it," he says. "I don't get laid up that easy. I know there's some stuff brewin' around here - not tonight but soon - probably gonna get messy soon enough. Not looking forward to it," he says.
"What about you? You getting any sleep or you too busy lettin' other folks sleep on your couch and in your bed? How many times have you slept at the hospital this month instead of at home?"
*
The commentary about things getting messy gets a deeper frown from her and a slight straightening of her shoulders. No matter how tired she might be, how long she might have worked today, news like that is enough to bring her to attention. "…What's brewing? I'd rather be ready for it than walk into a blood bath one night." Her body is more alert but her voice is softer, that question truly meant just for them. She knows it might not be safe to speak publicly.
Then he's asking about her schedule and she waves it off with a bit of a short breath. "No one sleeps in my bed, you know that. I… ain't that kind of girl. The couch… eh. And it's just easier to stay at the hospital some nights." Not really an answer about how much sleep she's getting, but the implication is enough.
*
Luke looks around for a moment, as if taking in who's listening before he speaks, "The usual. A rich man with a smiling face. Claims to be one of ours, but only out for himself. Looking to buy as many people as he can and suck 'em dry while they thank him for it,' he says. "Time's comin' when he either runs the table or he runs into a wall. I'm startin' to think I might have to be the wall," he shrugs, "It is what it is."
To the last, he raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, "Didn't mean to imply like that. Just meant you'd give up every inch of space you got for somebody else if they're bleedin'," he says. "An admirable trait, Angel, but you ain't got wings to keep you afloat. Just that cloud you call a pillow," he grins."
*
"…Fisk." Claire keeps her ears to the ground, even if it's never her face on the front lines. She cleans up a lot of blood after and knows her city like the back of her hand. It's not even really a question, she's seen the press conferences, the news paper articles. Worry lines form between her brows for a moment as she studies him a bit deeper, "Luke… don't. Just… don't. He's got a lot of power and a lot more friends than you or I will ever have, no matter how much good we do for this city." Also known as he's the right color, they aren't. Different shades of brown were still brown. She seems a lot less worried about her self now and more concerned for him. "You have a good thing going here… lots of people depend on you, even if it's just for a drink and an ear. Don't risk that."
*
Luke puts down his mug, takes a moment to polish some glasses, "Him, yeah. Not just him. He ain't the only one out there, playing the game, playin' the system. Us little folks are just supposed to sit there and let them move the board when they think nobody's lookin'. They should be reminded that we see them," he says.
He flashes a smile, "But not tonight. Maybe not for a while yet," he says. "But the folks that depend on me depend on me doin' the right thing. If I don't do the right thing…then what are they dependin' on me for? Ain't I just as bad as any of the thugs shakin' 'em down for money, only I'm askin' for respect and thanks? Nah. I'd rather earn my keep," he says.
*
Another sip is taken of her coffee and then she fully sets it down, it less important that trying to talk some sense into him. "Luke, I'm serious… What do you think you can do, honestly? Just because you're not out there… scaring the shit out of some corporate big wig doesn't mean your just paying lip service to them. You're… you're taking care of the people they don't give a shit about. Just like I am. You're still doing good work. Look at what you've done with this place." Claire nods back to the room, trying to keep her voice soft but she gets fired up about things, especially when it's protecting the few people she almost considers a friend. "Saturday night in Harlem and no one has beat the shit out of anyone else here yet. Hell, no one's even THOUGHT about starting something. Not here. Do you know how god damn…*Important* that is for people here? To have an honestly safe place? How rare it is?"
*
Luke listens to her words, genuinely does, even if he doesn't much like them. He takes a moment before he answers, cleaning up the table after the card game, washing a few dishes. He isn't the type of man to rush, a 'slow hand' some might call him. That's okay. Still waters run deep and all that.
"You might be right," he says. "But I'm not sure I'm the man for the job, if that's the case. I'm not Pops and I don't think I can be. I like protecting people, I like doing my part, looking out for people. I like gettin' to know the faces and the names," he says. "But I can't just…take it," he says. "I can't smile and get along. I can't duck my head and take the knee when some puffed up wannabe king starts striding through. Was a time I could, but that time's past. I'm not that many anymore."
*
The look in her eyes is aching. Claire knows he's being honest, but she doesn't like it any more than he does. She shakes her head slowly, "…they'll kill you, Luke. Stand up to guys like them one too many times… they don't care. They'll just kill you. I can put you back together if you're bleeding. I can even set a leg or an arm. But I can't fix you if your dead or bleeding out in a street somewhere. You gotta be smart enough to at least make it to my couch, okay?" SHe reaches out as he comes back to the bar, moving to gently grab his hand, to stop him working for a moment so, hopefully, he can actually level eyes with her and make her that promise.
*
Luke meets her eyes as she grabs him, resisting the instinct to shake off the grasp. That's not about her, it's just about him - he wasn't a man who tooked being touched lightly. Too may secrets, too much bad road. Still, he lets her hold his wrist, the arm before her thicker than most men could dream. "I know where to find you," he says. "But it won't be a problem. Only one's gonna get hurt will be them, if it comes down to that," he says. "Hopefully, it doesn't. I may not be willing to lay down, but it doesn't mean I'm looking to make a big noise either. The cleaner we can get things solved, the better. I don't want any blood on my hands."
*
He might not be a toucher, and Claire generally isn't unless it has meaning — to prove a point, save a life — she's not one for a casual brush or hug. She searches his eyes a few heartbeats longer before nodding slightly, giving his wrist one last, slightly more gentle squeeze, then letting go. She seems content with that response, if still worried. "…If I can help… let me know. I'd rather it clean too. If things get messy, it'll end up in my lap, at home or at work." And from the look in her own eyes, she really didn't have much more work left in her. She's already pushing exhaustion most days. But coffee gets her through, fingertips retaking her mug and knocking back the last gulp from the cup.
*
Luke takes a sip of his own, more of a night owl himself by nature, "You need me to call you a cab? Or I got a couch of my own, upstairs, if it's too much trouble getting back to the Kitchen tonight," he says. "No strings. And yeah, if you can help, I'll let you help. I'm not some lone wolf cop out of a movie, looking to prove something. Backup, in my experience, is usually a good thing."
*
A slight nod to that, the part about helping, not the cab, and Claire slips back up to her feet. She waves off the offer of the cab, "Nah, it's not that cold. Few blocks. I've walked it before, I'll be fine." Claire gives him a reassuring, if slightly drowsy smile. Only she could have a full cup of coffee and still be tired, but the warmth and the whisky probably helps. "…Don't be a stranger, Luke. It…it's good to see you. As ever." She gives him a little salute and shrugs back into her winter jacket before making for the door.
*
Luke raises an eyebrow and frowns, "Hold up a sec," he says. He grabs one of the stragglers and pats him on the shoulder, "I'll put it on your tab," he says, grabbing his own hoodie and throwing it on, "Lemme walk ya. Late at night, cold or not - doesn't hurt to play it safe," he says. "Humor me."
*
A slight roll to her eyes, full lips pulling into that half smirk, half smile that's so familiar on her face. "Mm… you're lucky you're good company, and ain't half bad looking, or I'd get offended you think I can't take care of myself. I lived in the kitchen my whole life, Luke… but…" She shrugs as she zips up her coat, "Won't complain about a walk with a handsome man." With that, she settles in at his side as they head down the street towards the next ghetto over. Both tired enough that it's companionable silence, but Claire seems content for the company. And, for once, she doesn't even come home to someone bleeding at her doorstep. It's a miracle Saturday night indeed.
*