Chapter 151 - The Reunion

"Hi, Migs," Claire mutters softly, uncertain about how to proceed. She seeks Gabriel's eyes for reassurance; he nods and stands up and taps Miguel on a shoulder.

"I'll let you two catch up," Gabriel says, smiling, as he slips out the door.

"How are you?" Claire says, and she really means it. Miguel still looks pale, as though he's able to sit here only through great effort. The bandage around his head looks freshly applied, and the bag of IV fluid is full. The machines look normal. But for some reason, she has to hear it straight from Miguel's mouth how he's feeling, how he's taking all of this.

"I'm…I'm fine," he mutters sheepishly. He avoids her eyes. He couldn't look at her now, knowing what he did and the trouble he has caused.

"That's…That's good," Claire says, smiling. "We did everything to find matching blood for your emergency transfusion. I was glad my blood matched yours."

Miguel's ears perk up—it is new information. Something the doctors, nurses, or even Gabriel failed to mention. "You gave your own blood to me?"

Claire also realizes it even as Miguel throws her the question: she could feel him picturing her own blood, once a part of her body, her life, coursing now through his own veins, being pumped by his own heart. She doesn't know what to feel about it. "Yes, fortunately so. It was plainly bad timing. Your blood type was quite rare, the rarest in the world. The hospital didn't have any stocks of it, not even the nearby blood banks in the city. But as it turned out, mine was, too." She smiles. "I didn't hesitate, Miguel. I was afraid of needles and all, but I couldn't stand the thought of losing you."

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes ringed with tears. And yet, he says nothing.

Claire meets his eyes and holds it for a second, then she looks away. She tries to stop her own tears, but it falls down her cheeks, like a drop of diamond. "Do you remember what happened?" she asks at length.

"Yes," Miguel says quietly. "Painfully so. Gabriel told me. I can… I can sit here and pretend I don't know what I was doing, that I was hopelessly drunk. But that would be an outright lie." He looks at her. "I'm sorry, Claire. I was weak. I let myself be blinded by my emotions. I had a strong sense of entitlement. What Miguel wants, Miguel gets, and all that baloney. I didn't realize I was being so utterly foolish."

Claire sighs. All the while she had been standing a meter or so from Miguel's bed, but now she takes the chair right by the bed. She takes Miguel's hand and squeezes it. "I will be very happy if we can all move on from this."

Miguel squeezes back her hand. He has to admit, holding her feels good. Being near her feels good. He could smell her perfume, and he has always ȧssociated that scent with Claire. And now, he could breathe her in. He smiles to himself; it's not possible to just suddenly declare he has lost all his feelings for her. It doesn't work like that. Even now he swoons; he's giddy from the feeling of holding her hand like this. As though something's going on. But no—in the end, his foolishness must stop. He's in this hospital room because he was foolish. He was the one who had the injury, but he had hurt his brother and he put Claire in danger. Miguel closes his eyes; yes, maybe it is possible to continue on with life without the possibility of ever having Claire in his arms. Maybe he'll take one day at a time. Little baby steps, but that could work. That could help him look beyond the pain of the present.

"Yes," he mutters finally. "Don't worry. You'll see a new Miguel from now on. Once I get out of this darned hospital room, I'll prove to you what a changed person I am."

"Promise me you won't ever try to do that thing again? Grabbing me in a dark place?"

Miguel laughs. "Oh, no. Please, I don't even want to remember that. It was a dark episode in my life. I just want to look at light and love from here on."

Claire laughs, too. "Then allow me to be the one to 'grab' you this time." She throws her arms around him in a friendly embrace, just to reassure him she's fine, that everything's fine. "Thank you so much," she whispers. "I will be your most loyal friend, Miguel. You can always count on me. If ever you're dating someone new, you can ask me what I think about her. I might be a good judge of character, you know."

"Sure," Miguel says. His eyes are ringed with tears, but he's finally smiling. Like a load has been taken off his ċhėst. "But I don't think I'll be dating anyone soon. I might choose to stay alone like this for a long while. Think about where I am, where I'm headed to, what's my place under the sun."

"Oh, no, you don't," she says. "You should start meeting other girls as soon as you get out of this room. Just have fun. Just promise me and your brother that you won't do anything silly and dangerous like last time, okay?"

Miguel nods. "Sure."

Claire raises a pinky finger. "What do you say we solemnize that with a pinky swear?"

Miguel laughs, but he obliges. "Pinky swear, Claire. A promise that will never be broken."

They're both laughing and giggling when the door opens and Gabriel returns. "Any joke I missed?" He smiles.

"Oh, nothing, really. We talked about really serious stuff, Gab," she says., winking at Miguel.

"Oh, really? Like how serious?"

"Like Miguel here wants to date a ton of women the moment he's out of this room," Claire says, laughing. "Make up for lost time and opportunity."

Miguel seconds it. "Yeah, I have to prop back up my reputation, Gab. I gather my street cred has taken a nose dive ever since I slipped into this hospital room."

"Go get 'em, tiger," Gabriel says, laughing.

The three of them exchange laughter. It feels good, as they have not had this kind of unburdened banter seemingly for a long while. Gabriel talks about the previous day's press conference, and how he finally admitted to the world the real score between him and Claire. "Really, you admitted that?" is Miguel's response, to which Gabriel responds with a more elaborate story, until he comes to the clincher: how Michelle Alcantara pounced on them in the hallway, only for Claire to throw her down the floor like some trash.

Miguel's laughter is the loudest; each time he pictures Michelle on the floor with her feet sticking up like some dressed chicken, he explodes in giggling fits.

Claire watches the brothers make inside jokes that only the two of them know, laughing as though they were kids again, and she could only sigh—how she wished for this, for the two to get back to where they were before she entered their lives. It's a beautiful thing to see, really. And she feels utterly proud of how Gabriel recalls what is now known as "The National Confession." Even now she couldn't believe it actually happened, that those words really came tumbling out of Gabriel's mouth, recorded on video for posterity, to be told and retold for generations to come. Not to mention that part about Michelle—they haven't seen her again, except on TV late last night on an ambush interview. It would be interesting to go back to the office, with her "Bella" persona finally retired, and the real Claire walking the hallways as what she's supposed to be doing in the first place.

They're in this feel-good state when, as if on cue, they hear some kind of disturbance outside. Like a group of people yelling. They exchange a look; Gabriel is particularly mortified, as though he knows what is coming. "I think it's—" he starts to say, but the door opens and their jaws drop on the floor.

"So what are you stupid boys up to this time, eh?" Matilde Tan, matriarch of a business empire that spans half the globe, stands by the door like some matron version of a conquistador, her eyes bright with fire. Behind her, Albert the butler stands ready for whatever the matriarch orders, his face deadpan, as always. "Didn't I tell you I hate seeing your shenanigans on the television? You boys better explain before some aneurysm kills me."

"I…" Gabriel opens his mouth, but Matilde turns and finally sees Claire standing there.

"Oh, it is you," she mutters, her words dripping with venom. "You, the subject of my son's embarrassing confession. How dare you—"

Claire has blanched; she tries to speak, but the only thing she manages is open her mouth.