when the stars go blue [john]

august 2002 | teresina, brazil

It’s just dinner.

Nothing wrong with it; they were both adults, they could enjoy dinner together as colleagues without it needing to mean anything else.

And yet, this whole trip had felt just a little… strange. John had told her he’d offered his spare ticket around the office and nobody else had been interested or able to get the time off. Was it coincidence that her rostered days off had fallen on exactly the dates for the tickets? It hadn’t occurred to her until later that John was the person who set her schedule. Still, it could have been a coincidence, right? Clara wasn’t necessarily an insecure woman, but nor was she egotistical or vain. The idea that her superior had orchestrated this for some reason, especially that the reason could be her, was met with denial -- how could she possibly be interesting to someone like him?

No, it was simply a case of having a ticket and not wanting it to go to waste. She was sure she had probably mentioned playing quidditch at Durmstrang when treating a patient who’d had an altercation with their broom. That would be all it was -- knowing she liked the sport enough to actually enjoy going to the match, not just a trip to Brazil. And she had offered to pay. The fact he hadn’t accepted payment had made her feel guilty, of course, but again, she reasoned, he earned more than her. Perhaps he was taking pity on the fact she was a newly-qualified healer and presumably didn’t have much in the way of money.

It was all very nice. But John was nice, always. To her. And it was always John, not ‘Healer Lennox’ unless with a patient. She recalled some of the other healers-in-training who had been on his ward during rotation discussing their mentors, and none had had such a high opinion of John as Clara had. Maybe, she thought, they simply hadn’t been as good as she had been, in that particular area of healing. She didn’t like to think too highly of herself, but it was plausible. She had scored very highly in Artefact Accidents, after all. It would make sense that he was nicer to her because she didn’t make as many mistakes.

Clara smoothed her hands over her navy blue dress one more time, then turned from the mirror in her room to head downstairs to the bar in the lobby; where John had said they should meet. She was prompt, as always, and entered the bar with her head aloft, looking for him. Despite the influx of tourists for the Quidditch World Cup, he was easy enough for her to spot; tall and broad, with the auburn in his hair catching the light. She walked towards him, inwardly forcing herself to act normal. Unlike when in her healer’s robes, Clara’s hair was down in soft waves and she had put on makeup -- not caked on, just enough to enhance her features. The Swede’s dress was form-fitting, the hem just above her knees, and she was wearing strappy heels to boost her short height.

“Hello, John.”



@John Lennox

It surprised no one that Carina hadn’t come. John knew it when he bought the ticket, and knew Amelia knew it when she offered the invitation to their daughter, but it still stung a little to know that another year was gone, and she still wasn’t talking to him. He promised to write her a letter and send her a gift, but he doubted she would even open the present. It made him feel better to send things, though. He sent letters like clockwork and presents just as often. He liked to think she took the presents, despite everything. Even if he never heard a word or a thank you, the idea that she would think of him for a second was  so intoxicating. He missed her like a drowning man missed air, so he would take anything he could get from her. He liked to pretend that she read the letters, too.
 
Instead, John had done precisely what he had planned to do with the ticket all along.  He had found the prettiest girl in the office and asked her if she wanted to go with him. Clara was gorgeous, she was foreign and stunning, a Durmstrang graduate, which made her exotic and unique. She was talented, too, and smart. She was a great Healer and had learned under him as an intern when she was still training. He had always favored Clara, as he did with the pretty ones in general, but it was more than that. He could tell she had a talent for it, and he was happy to make her a permanent member of his team. In all truth, this trip was not simply a ruse to lure the young woman into bed. He just wanted to spend time with someone. He wanted someone to travel with, to eat dinner with, to go to the match with and talk to. He wanted that person to be intelligent enough to hold a conversation, classy and elegant, interested in the things he was interested in, and as beautiful as she could be so long as she fit the rest.
 
Her mind was what was important to John, not her body, not really. He was lonely, and wanted for company. He wanted someone to spoil, too, even if just a little bit. He wanted to buy dinner and drinks, a nice hotel room, maybe a jersey for the game or something fun like that. Perhaps they’d make a wager on who would win the game, though he had a feeling they would both be rooting for Bulgaria. After all, Clara was a Durmstrang graduate, and John knew that Carina loved Krum. He was standing by the bar, nursing a scotch and water, when he saw Clara from across the room, and he felt his heart beat in his chest.
 
In her work robes, he knew she had a pretty face, but she didn’t usually look quite this elegant. He felt like he was seeing her for the first time, like she was the only girl in the room, and for a moment he was frightened. He hadn’t intended for this trip to be overtly romantic. It was normal for colleagues friends to spend a weekend abroad. This was meant mostly to stop him from wasting his ticket and given him some company that he would appreciate. If he felt this way already, it would be a long weekend. He took a long sip, draining his glass and placing it on the bar when she approached him. He smiled warmly at her, despite the flush beginning on his cheeks.
 
“Look at you.” He praised. “You look so elegant. Absolutely ravishing.” He complimented. “Do you want a drink, or shall we head on to the restaurant?” The restaurant they were dining at was inside the hotel, so it didn’t really matter if she got a drink now or later. It had good reviews and served what was referred to in the brochure as ‘traditional Brazilian fare with a gourmet twist.’ He expected it to be very modern with exotic flavors, and that sounded right up his ally. Of course, he might want another drink. He decided to wait until she ordered hers to get his second. He felt nerves in his belly and quieted them.
 
He offered her his arm, standing up straight. He felt like the luckiest man in the room to have her for his company.

Clara glanced quickly at John’s now-empty glass before meeting his comforting gaze with a demure smile. “Thank you,” she blushed, the apples of her cheeks taking on a warm pink tinge through her light-olive skin. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Clara was unused to hearing compliments of that nature, even less so from her boss. Was that what was making her skin practically crackle with electricity? That John was her superior? It was a little taboo, wasn’t it? But he was more experienced and more worldly than she, and he spoke with such confidence and charm that it was so easy to be ensnared.  Who didn’t want to be told they looked ravishing?

At his offer a very small, unusually forward part of Clara wanted to skip dinner entirely and spend the night here in the bar with John, but she heeded her more sensible conscience: not on an empty stomach, or she’d make a fool out of herself. “We can head through,” she tipped her head towards the restaurant, “I can order something with our meal.”

John offered his arm and Clara only hesitated for a brief second before taking it. The moment her arm looped around his and she felt his solid form beside her, her breath caught a little in her chest and her cheeks flushed again – hopefully not so much that it was noticeable. She wasn’t some immature schoolgirl who’d never been kissed, but they’d never touched before, not like this. She knew that this was hardly wildly inappropriate, he was just being a gentleman – but gone was the invisible barrier that had existed between them up until this point.

As they walked through to the restaurant Clara kept glancing between John, the people they passed, and the floor. She knew nobody here was looking at them as anything out of the ordinary – they blended in with all the other tourists – but she couldn’t help but think about what her colleagues would say if they saw her and John arm-in-arm like this.

The maître d’ led them straight in to their reservation, and John politely released Clara’s arm to pull out her chair for her. The petite witch sat, smoothing her dress under her, and tucked her hair behind one ear. They were presented with menus and a wine list, and given a few moments to peruse before the waiter would reappear. Her dark eyes flicked up to look at John, “What’s your poison?” she asked, twisting the drinks menu around to face him.