In the week since that night had happened, Elliot had done entirely too good of a job of avoiding Clara. He knew it wouldn’t help matters, but what the hell was he supposed to say to her after he’d let things go so far? They may not have actually taken any of their clothes off, but that loophole hardly held the same conviction in the light of day. He felt...wrong. Like one of those perverted older men who took advantage of the young, pretty girls they hired. He couldn’t face her. And so far, he’d been lucky — he was on the phone when she walked by his office, she was cleaning up Gabe’s dinner mess when he tucked into the kitchen to grab his own, he lingered in his bedroom in the morning until he knew she was in the shower. He’d managed, thus far, for one of them to be occupied anytime they were actually within speaking distance of each other. But the streak had to end, and end it did when he came home late that night to find her asleep on the couch, curled up beneath a fluffy throw. He couldn’t leave her. It was an expensive and sleek piece of furniture, great to look at, but he knew it wasn’t comfortable. With a sigh, Elliot set his briefcase on the floor and shrugged out of his jacket, laying it over the armchair as he stepped towards the sleeping girl. “Clara?” he said softly. He reached up to touch her shoulder gently, hesitating for just a moment before promptly ignoring the way his skin buzzed when it came in contact with hers. “Clara, sweetheart? Hey, let’s get you to bed.” he whispered gently.