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HANDS CLUTCHING THE crinkled map tightly, a sigh fell from past her lips. She dragged her eyes up to the tiny glass window of the door, the peep-hole, and wondered if they were making eye-contact in that very moment. Was he on the other side of the door, intently choosing to keep it locked? Because it was taking longer than it should to just open a door.
Maybe it was just a bad time?
No, she told herself, it couldn't have been. As someone who was constantly needed for something, someone who was supposed to be keeping an eye over everything, he couldn't possibly have a "bad time."
Another impatient huff escaping her, she considered raising her hand once more to knock again, but that would seem too assertive; after all, they were almost strangers. What if he wasn't a morning person and she just ruined their acquaintanceship? She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't.
The door abruptly swung open.
Bringing her eyes down from his disheveled hair to his bloodshot eyes, Clara was quick to ask, "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"I don't have the freedom of sleeping in," Maxson breathed, bringing his hand up to rub one of his eyes. A pang of guilt hit Clara's chest; of course, she'd woken him up. The answer was clear. Maybe she was just dumb for asking. She watched with remorseful doe eyes as he stepped to the side, opening the door wider to allow her entrance, asking, "What can I do for you?"
Quietly, she stepped into his room. It was silent for a moment, as she couldn't help but be taken back by the simplicity of his living quarters. As the leader of the entire establishment, she unconsciously expected more from his room - maybe paintings or a few rugs. It was identical to the room she shared with Parker, minus one bed. Unfolding the paper as she sat down at his table, she cleared her throat. "Sit with me," she looked back at him, trying to make her instruction sound more like a suggestion for the sake of formality.
Nonetheless, he obliged without a word. She noted that.
Once he was sat across from her, she turned the map to face him and pointed to a large red circle and the small note of 'over-run.' "This is that hospital, right?" she inquired.
"Hold on," he muttered as he stood up, letting out a groan that made him sound much older than he seemed, and began to walk towards his bed. He rifled through his bedside table for a few moments before returning back to his seat, now sporting a thin pair of reading glasses. Clara was sure there was a joke out there somewhere about the intimidating leader with the power of a thousand suns, but who couldn't read without his prescription reading glasses. "Yeah," he nodded as he took the map into his hold. "What about it?"
