Title: So Happy Together
Summary: AU. Charlie completes his mission, successfully retrieving Claire and reuniting her with her husband and son at the mansion in the woods. "And then she remembered that, with the exception of her son, she was surrounded by psychopaths, and by their standards, this was probably the epitome of romance."
Rating: M
Pairing(s): Pseudo-Claire Matthews/Joe Carroll; eventual Ryan Hardy/Claire Matthews
Author's Note: This fic was born by an idea I had of an alternate take of the last few episodes that popped into my mind while I was rewatching 1x08. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if Charlie had brought Claire to the mansion as well, and how she'd react when she saw Joe.
Inspiration: The song "Happy Together," covered by Filter.
Song note: I found "Happy Together" by Filter through watching trailers for The Great Gatsby. I thought it was too weird/creepy when I first heard it, but then it kept getting stuck in my head. When I started watching The Following, I remembered it and it immediately became my Joe/Claire(~/Ryan) theme song.
I ask that all of you please listen to this song BEFORE reading. I don't think the story will the right feel without it. There is a link on my LJ, or you can simply Google the song title and artist. This version is nothing like The Turtles' original; you'll know it when you hear it.
.
.
.
Imagine me and you—I do.
I think about you day and night.
It's only right
To think about the girl you love,
and hold her tight.
So happy together…
.
.
They'd been driving for what felt like days. In her head, Claire knew it could only be a few hours, but being stuck in this cramped, old car with a man she knew only as "Charlie"—she guessed it was a fake name—made time seem to stretch on and on endlessly. Seconds became minutes, minutes turned into hours, and hours, days.
She split her time between staring at the unremarkable surroundings that flitted past and studying the man who had called himself her Follower. He'd told her to trust him—back before she'd realized who he was, and exactly what that meant, back before the FBI had shown up and raided his lair. Back before he'd taken a gun, forced her into the nearest car, and sped off. That last encounter had just about erased all of the tiny bit of trust she'd foolishly built up for him in her mind.
The more they drove, the more certain Claire became that Charlie had been lying all along. He said he'd bring her to Joey, but where was Joey? First she'd been held captive in some stalker's underground hideout, and now she was being driven—at her best guess—across state lines to only God knew where.
She tried to stay calm, but her patience and her composure had left her just as quickly as Charlie had peeled out of that underground garage. She watched the trees, underbrush, and distant hills flash past as they sped along yet another deserted country road. Idly, she found herself wondering when it would finally end—when would he have had enough and pull over, put a bullet in her, and leave her by the side of the road for the crows? Eventually, when the silence got to be too much and the surroundings too familiar—and yet still completely unknown—she opened her mouth to speak.
It was the first word either of them had spoken in what Claire assumed had been at least four hours.
"Why haven't you told me where we're going yet?" She pressed her index finger against the glass, pointing towards a grove of trees she could swear they'd driven by at least twice before. "We've passed those trees three times now." She turned towards Charlie, who was staring ahead, his hands set perfectly at the ten-and-two hand position at the wheel. "What's the point of driving me in circles if I already don't know where I am? Isn't this going a bit overboard?"
He didn't answer, but she did notice how his eyes flickered over to hers for the shortest second. Well, Claire thought, suppressing a sigh, at least he can hear me.
"You blindfolded me when we got in the car, Charlie. I have absolutely no idea where I am; I don't even know where I was when we left. You don't need to keep driving me in circles to disorient my sense of direction. I already have none."
"I'm not trying to disorient you," he replied curtly, his voice sounding just as strained as his hands looked clutching that steering wheel.
"So… You're… lost?" Claire wondered dubiously. Her eyes roamed over him: lean, muscular, clean-shaved; his hair was perfectly parted and every word that came out of his mouth was measured. Even his sideways glances were calculating. He didn't seem like the type to get lost.
Charlie shook his head at once. "No." The finality of his tone told Claire what she'd already guessed: that this Charlie was a man who didn't get lost. She eyed him from across the seat, wondering what would happen if they really were lost. He was mentally unstable—she'd seen the proof of that multiple times during the day—but would he hurt her over such an ordinary misunderstanding, would he kill her just because she had pointed out his apparent deficiency in geography?
Her stomach clenched inadvertently as she looked away from him and out the window. It seemed to be getting darker and darker by the minute. Had her wayward thought been correct—was he really taking her out in the woods to kill her and dump her body? She could feel her hands begin to shake, and she clutched them tight in her lap to stop the involuntary tremors. No, she tried to tell herself. Charlie won't kill me. Joe wouldn't let him.
But who was to say that Charlie was still listening to Joe? He'd taken her and ran when the FBI arrived. She could tell he hadn't been expecting them, so maybe his former plan was moot now. Maybe it was just him and her left, and this was Charlie's time to do whatever he wanted with her. Claire curled her hands into fists, unable to stop the shaking now as she remembered how suddenly and sharply he'd kissed her when she'd confronted him about his extensive knowledge of her life. How much more would he do before he finally got rid of her?
Just as she was struggling to think of a way to escape—maybe she could smash his head against the steering wheel and then jump out while he was dazed—the car began to slow its breakneck speed. Claire squinted at their surroundings, trying to spot some sort of marker of civilization—at the very least, a cabin in these dense woods—but she couldn't see anything. Just as she was making up her mind to make a run for it, though, civilization came into view. Appearing out of the darkness—as if it had just materialized into thin air—was an enormous wrought-iron gate. Claire stared up to it as the car slowed a crawl and crossed the narrow lane to enter. It was one of the largest gates she'd ever seen, and from the faint glow of the car's headlights, she could see that equally enormous and impressive stone walls met and supported it on either side. They stretched on into the blackness, and Claire wondered how much ground was locked inside these imposing barriers deep in the backwoods of whatever state or county they were in.
She swallowed, feeling a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. Her right hand rested on the handle of the car door, but she couldn't make herself pull it. Only one thought kept her sitting in her seat and her mouth from protesting: maybe Joey was hidden behind these walls. Maybe they'd been holding him out here to keep him safe.
Charlie hit a button clipped to the sun visor in front of the driver's seat, and much like a garage door opener would function, the old metal gates swung back at the push of the button. Charlie drove forward, hitting the same button again once they'd moved past the large gates. He didn't look over his shoulder to check that the gates had closed, but Claire did. She regretting doing so just as she heard the two metal sides clang shut against one another. She couldn't erase the uneasy feeling that she'd just done something she would very much regret in the future. She told herself it was just the unfamiliar surroundings, the gathering darkness of the night, and her unstable companion that were making her feel so uneasy, but even she wasn't sure if that was the whole truth.
As he had for the majority of the ride, Charlie remained silent as they drove up the curving road towards whatever lay at the end of it. With each bend that they passed over, Claire thought she would be faced with their final destination. Every time she was proved wrong, she tried to imagine what she was looking for. Would it be a small cabin in the woods still? Maybe another underground lair like Charlie's last place? Or would it be nothing—just an open field into which he'd dump her body? Were those gates and stone walls protecting only the dead?
Having spent the last few minutes preparing herself for the worst, Claire felt both her lower lip fall open as she took in the sight before her and her forehead crease as she inspected it. Charlie was maneuvering the car towards what appeared to be an enormous mansion—big enough that it would've been a castle, had it not been built in such a modern architectural style. Even as Charlie drove past it and towards an outbuilding on the far side of the main entrance road, Claire couldn't help but turn in her seat to look at it.
While being kept prisoner by the man the entire day, Claire had gotten the impression that Charlie was… well, poor. From his shabby surroundings, cheap attire, and slightly outdated machinery, he didn't appear to have money, nor did he act like he was or had ever been rich. But if this was his house… If that underground lair was just that—a lair—then she had somehow completely miscalculated him.
She looked over, scrutinizing him more closely now, struggling to make out his sharp features in the gathering darkness. His hair, the set of his jaw, his complete confidence and usual composure… Maybe he wasn't the mentally unstable peeping tom she'd first suspected he was. Maybe he was different from the rest, more elevated; maybe he was normal and rational…
Maybe he really was bringing her to Joey.
"Stay in the car," Charlie ordered once they'd pulled into the garage.
Claire opened her mouth to protest, but he'd turned off the car, shut his door, and locked her door before she could even utter a word. She tried the handle, even though she knew it was probably useless, and was met with nothing but a dull thud that proved her assumption correct. She sighed, closing her eyes as she leaned her head back against the passenger seat's headrest. Maybe it was good that she hadn't tried to escape before. He'd choked her once already today; he'd probably beat her until she couldn't breathe if she tried to run away now, after all that had happened today. She breathed deeply, trying to ignore the dusty smell of the car that infiltrated her nostrils with that first breath. She'd figure a way out of this. If Joey was here, she would take him and go. And if he wasn't… She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't need to think about that right now. He had to be here. She'd been through too much for it all to mean nothing.
.
.
The redhead was waiting for him on the porch, like they'd discussed. Charlie took notice of her mood as he walked across the barren pavement towards her. Her thin arms were crossed, with her elbows pushed combatively away from her body, and her chin was jutting out unhappily. She spoke before Charlie had even reached the steps.
"What the hell took you so long? I've been waiting for hours, and I barely got out myself." Her nostrils flared, and after a second's hesitation, she begrudgingly admitted, "I could've used you back there, you know."
"I had uninvited guests to deal with myself," Charlie replied shortly, closing the matter. He didn't have time to save her from every mistake she and her two cronies made. He had his own part to play, equally—if not more—important than hers.
The redhead stared at him, her calculating eyes taking as much stock of him as his had of her. "Did they follow you?"
"No," Charlie replied at once. He tilted his head, looking up at her as she stood on the top stair and he on the bottom. They were almost the same height, standing on different levels like that. "You?"
"I got away clean."
"And the boy?"
She jerked her head towards the house. "He's inside." Her eyes passed over Charlie and lingered on the garage. "Do you have her?"
Charlie nodded. "How long do we have until he's expected to arrive?"
The redhead looked at her wrist, untangling her crossed arms as she rolled up her left sleeve to check her watch. "About an hour. If things are going according to plan."
Charlie digested this, running over the last few hours in his mind. He hadn't gotten any contact from Louise or David, and for that he was thankful. Usually no news was good news, never more so than on a day like today. He took a moment to do the math in his head. "That should be enough time," he replied after a moment. He nodded towards the house. "Bring him out."
The redhead pursed her lips, bristling at being ordered around, but she didn't refuse. She had already turned to go when Charlie called after her, having remembered why she had seemed so offended at being on the receiving end of a command—usually she gave the orders with those two she'd been partnered with. He recalled how she had spoken in the singular and not the plural to describe what had happened at the farmhouse, and he figured the other two must no longer be in the picture. "I'm sorry." He spoke loud enough so that his voice would carry to her, but no further. He watched her steps falter as she listened. "About Jacob and…" He searched his mind for the second name. "…and Paul, I… I know how hard it can be to lose your Friends." He paused a moment, waiting for her to say something. She didn't speak. "We've all been through it," he added when she didn't respond immediately.
He waited more than half a minute, but by that time, she hadn't spoken and didn't seem like should would be doing so anytime soon. Charlie had other words of comfort; anecdotes, stories to tell, sympathy and empathy to express… He'd been through all that so many times before… But he figured even his best attempts would fall on deaf ears. It was no matter. She wasn't his responsibility. They were two opposite pieces of the same puzzle, alike in some ways but alien in too many to be perfectly compatible.
He turned and walked back to the garage in silence, listening to the crickets chirping in the grass as he counted down the minutes, the seconds. Less than one hour now…
He tried not to frown when he thought about what the conclusion of the next hour would mean: his separation from her and her final, long-awaited reunion. He should not mourn the end of his time with her, he knew, but rejoice because a greater relationship was being rekindled. He'd always known his time with her would be brief, and now was his chance to accept it. He had no reason and absolutely no right to want more. After all, he had achieved the goal that had been set before him. He had been specifically chosen, and he had excelled at his task, evne brining it to a successful conclusion. That was something worth taking pride in, something to be celebrated.
And he would celebrate. He would be happy, so happy, and he would smile along with the rest when the time finally came tonight.
There was not another option.
.
.
"So he's… he's really here?" Claire fidgeted, alternately wringing her hands together and smoothing her rumpled blazer and blouse. She hadn't been this nervous in a very long time. A old memory floated up to her—a low-lit room and a table in the corner, Ryan sitting across from her, smiling faintly at a pathetic joke she'd employed to try to ease the tension; neither of them knowing what to say but the both of them painfully aware of everything not to say—and she smiled faintly to herself. It seemed both unbelievably strange and rather quite sad that now, even eight years later, they still couldn't quite figure out how to talk to one another.
"Yes, he's really here." Charlie's voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and she glanced over at him, surprised to hear a hint of disgruntled offense in his voice as he added, "I told you to trust me, Claire. I said I'd bring you to your son."
"I know," Claire replied at once. "I just…" She forced a smile in his direction, touching his hand lightly with hers in a quick apology for offending what she assumed to be his honor. "I'm just nervous, I'm sorry. I thought you were lying."
"I… I was…n't." Charlie's reply came out sounding uncharacteristically awkward, lacking in his usual imperturbable confidence, but Claire hardly noticed. She could hear little feet running across the pavement and her nervousness turned to joy the second she heard his voice; her heart burst in her chest when she saw his smiling, unhurt face careening around the corner and into the garage.
"Mom!" Joey shouted, running towards her. "You came!"
Claire bent down, practically falling to her knees, and wrapped her arms tight around her son as he jumped into her arms. She could feel tears fill her eyes suddenly, and even before she could blink, they were spilling over her cheeks. She buried her face into Joey's little shoulder, holding him as tight as she could. She made a silent promise, both to herself and to him, that she would never let him out of her sight again.
"Mo-om," he complained, "your hug's too tight."
Claire released him immediately, pulling back. "Sorry, baby," she told him quickly. "I didn't meant to hurt you."
"Mom…" A sad frown sprouted on the little boy's face. "You're crying." He touched her cheek with his small hand, streaking a few of her tears across her face. "Why're you so sad?"
She beamed, not having to force it this time. "I'm crying because I'm happy, honey, not because I'm sad." She took his small hands in hers, pressing kisses to his palms, and then moving to kiss his cheeks, his forehead; any part of him that she could touch. "I'm so—so—happy to see my brave baby boy."
He smiled shyly over at her when she finally managed to pull back and attempt to compose herself. "Brave?" he wondered, puffing his chest out importantly.
She grinned, taking his hands in hers again as she nodded vigorously. "So brave, Joey. So, so brave." She crushed him to her chest again, but instead of burying her face into his miniature shoulder, her eyes rose and found Charlie's. "Thank you," she whispered, no longer caring what he'd done to her or what he was going to do to her. He'd brought her to her son, and that was all that mattered. He'd kept his word. "Charlie, thank you so… so much." She smiled at him, unable to believe that he'd really done it. Unable to believe that he had really been honest with her through all this. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to her son's and breathing in his familiar scent of freshly laundered clothes mixed with the familiar aroma of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She could talk more with Charlie later, and give him a proper thank-you, explaining what this meant to her—if he somehow didn't already know.
When she opened her eyes again, and got ready to stand, she froze in place. Next to Charlie stood a slight, pale woman with bright red hair. Denise, her mind offered up at once, but was quickly corrected: Emma. She swallowed, attempted to contain the white-hot rage that had suddenly combusted within her body at the sight of that woman. Her real name is Emma Hill, she remembered Ryan telling her. But he had said more, hadn't he? What else was there?
She could feel Joey pulling away from her, jabbering excitedly about this or that, but she could no longer concentrate on anything or anyone except the woman who had infiltrated her home and kidnapped her son. What was it Ryan had said about her operation? She hadn't done it alone, right? What were the names of her accomplices; the two gay men? Paul was one, and… Josh? Jacob? Jack? It was something with a J.
Claire shoved her wonderings about the other man's name away. He wasn't here right now so therefore he didn't matter. Denise—Emma—was here, and she was the one who had kidnapped her son in the first place. She was the one who deserved to be punished for their collective actions. Claire wrapped her arms tightly around her son again, pulling him close as she moved her lips to his ear and whispered into it. It took a few seconds for him to catch on, but eventually he understood. Close your eyes. Cover your ears. It's just like hide-and-go-seek, yes, exactly. Count to ten, sweetheart.
Slowly, Claire got to her feet. She rested her hands lightly on top of Joey's hair as she stood, kissing the top of his head quickly before holding him in place so he faced away from the two people standing near the door of the garage. She could feel Charlie looking at her; she knew he was trying to puzzle out her actions in his mind, but Claire was confident he wouldn't realize fast enough. Emma was less than five feet away, and Claire was positive she could cross that distance before Charlie could stop her.
Not wanting to waste a moment in hesitation, and therefore giving Charlie a moment to catch on, Claire made a beeline for the slender redhead, moving quickly across the few feet of cement floor that separated them. She clenched her right hand tight, making sure to keep her thumb outside of her fist like she'd been taught as a girl. As she took the last step, she shifted her arm back, lifted it, and—
WHAM!
It was one of the more satisfying things Claire Matthews had ever done in her life—punching that smug look off of her former nanny's face and staring down at her as her unsuspecting body hit the concrete floor. Shock wiped Emma's face clean of emotion at once, and Claire almost smiled, proud to have gotten the upper hand with the psycho-bitch.
Her shock didn't last long. Emma was scrambling to her feet in seconds, snarling curses, and Claire didn't even have time to move before Emma had gotten to her feet again. She lunged forward—Claire was certain her own head was going to be the next to hit the concrete floor—but then Charlie suddenly moved between them. He pushed Emma back, grabbing her arm tightly as he wrenched her away. "Don't touch her."
Claire watched, equally stunned and grateful, as Emma backed off. The woman met Charlie's eye just briefly—some sort of understanding seemed to pass between them—and then Emma shook off his tight grip and stalked back toward the mansion without another word. Claire turned to Charlie, opening her mouth to thank him, but someone else spoke before she could.
"Ten!" Joey shouted, and Claire felt relief tinged with guilt flood her body. She'd practically forgotten Joey was even there, but at least he hadn't heard or seen anything. She turned around, plastering a serene smile on her face as she flexed her throbbing hand behind her back.
"Mom, why aren't you hiding?" Joey asked, sounding disappointed.
Charlie didn't even pretend to humor Joey as he cleared his throat and nodded towards the mansion. "Take him inside."
Instinctively, Claire moved towards her son, sheltering him behind her as she eyed the imposing building over Charlie's shoulder. "Why? What's inside?"
"Food," Charlie replied simply, and the response was so anti-climactic and non-threatening that for a moment Claire thought he might smile, and that she herself might laugh. Instead, his face remained emotionless, and as still as a statue. She didn't so much as chuckle. "You have to be hungry," Charlie pointed out, and it was only then that Claire realized she was. She hadn't eaten since going out to lunch at noon—something that felt like it had happened ages ago now—and it had to be at least eight or nine at night now. She took Joey's hand, encouraging him through the dark and towards the mansion. She could sense Charlie walking behind them, shadowing her, and she couldn't decide whether to feel safe or scared.
I'm your Follower, he'd said, but she still wasn't sure if that meant he was here to protect her or harm her.
.
.
Dinner passed far too quickly.
Claire spent most of it—like she had with lunch earlier—worrying. She tried not to pester Joey with questions about his time with Emma and the other two, for she didn't want to frighten him when she still wasn't sure if they were out of harm's way here at this mansion or not, but it was proving incredibly difficult. Each silent moment that passed made her feel like a failure as a mother—what parent wouldn't demand to know if their kidnapped child was okay? What parent wouldn't sit their son down and have him recount every second that he'd spent out of their care?
Claire was glad there was no one here for her to talk to. If there had been anyone remotely friendly, they would've asked why she didn't press Joey for details. The answer was simple: she didn't want to know. She had seen enough already to know what sort of people Joe's Followers were and what they were capable of… She didn't want to think about what they'd done to her son. He was healthy and happy now—she had made sure of that—and that was all that really mattered. Once they were safe in their own home, she would talk to him. She would listen to every little detail about what had happened at that farmhouse, and then she would find Ryan and demand to know why he hadn't gotten her baby out sooner.
She had to fight to keep calm when she thought about how close she'd come to losing her son for what very well might've well been forever. If she hadn't listened to Joe's lawyer, hadn't slipped away from the FBI, and hadn't gone along with everything Charlie had said, she might never have seen him again. Periodically, she had to bite down on her lower lip or pinch her fingers together to keep her emotions in check. Joey had already seen her cry once today, and that was more than enough. He was here with her and he was safe. All she had to do was keep repeating those words in her mind, over and over again, until she forgot what it had been like when they were separated, forgot what it had felt like not to know if her baby boy was dead or alive.
"You need to come outside now. It's time."
Claire looked up at the voice, turning around to find Charlie standing in the doorway. She opened her mouth to reply, to ask what exactly it was time for, but she never quite managed to speak. Her mouth was left hanging open as she caught sight of movement just beyond his shoulder. She pushed back her chair, getting slowly to her feet as she stepped towards the other room. She blinked, hoping she was imagining something, but even shaking her head didn't make all the people walking through the entryway and down the front stone steps disappear.
There had to be hundreds of them. They kept coming and coming, and the more Claire watched, the more certain she was that the flow of people would never end. She stared at them, wondering where all of them had come from. She hadn't seen one other person on the property besides Emma, Charlie, and Joey… Yes, it was a huge house, but Claire had assumed that it was just Charlie's, and that Emma was visiting to bring Joey to her. She'd assumed it was empty. Had all these people been inside the house the entire time? She hadn't heard one creak of the floorboards or a single footstep in the last hour.
"Who are all those people?" she wondered, her eyes reluctantly returning to Charlie's as the mob continued to move outside. "Where… Where did they all come from?"
Charlie nodded towards Joey, ignoring her questions as he ordered, "Bring him and follow me outside."
Too confused and curious to refuse, Claire grabbed Joey's hand and followed Charlie to the door. People were still streaming through it as they stepped out, and Claire looked across the gathering crowd, wondering what they were all doing, standing out on the street in the middle of the night like this. No one spoke; they all stood in one large cluster, facing a car and a figure that was walking slowly towards the group. Claire squinted in the darkness, her night vision disrupted by the blinding brightness of the sedan's headlights, and struggled to identify the man moving towards them.
A tremor rocked her entire being when she realized who it was. She could feel the lightning bolt of terror that struck her heart when she identified him spread out from its epicenter. Each beat of that vital organ pumped fear and dread through her bloodstream, and as it picked up speed, she could hear its thumping in her ears. Her fingers shook, her knees turned to liquid, and her mind filled with hot, empty air. A few octaves above the low tenor the pounding of her heart gave off, Claire could hear a sustained, maddening buzzing fill her ears. She blinked, feeling like she might very well pass out.
"Go inside." Her own voice sounded in her ears as if coming from a great distance away. She couldn't even feel her lips as they moved. "Joey, go inside right now."
"Why?" His young voice sounded so confused and worried at her harsh tone, but Claire couldn't find it in herself to comfort him. It was taking all of her concentration and strength to keep breathing and keep still. She knew she wouldn't get more than five feet if she ran.
"I don't have time to explain," she told him quickly, for Joe was still walking towards them, growing closer with every measured step, "but I need you to go inside and find a place to hide, okay, honey? Do not move until I come and get you."
"Are we playing hide-and-go-seek again?" he asked, and she could tell from the pitch of his voice, not from looking at him, that he'd lifted his head to speak directly to her. She wished she could look down, look him in the eyes, and say that yes, they were playing hide-and-go-seek, yes, this was all just a game, but she could not move and she could not find the will to lie. They both might be dead in the next ten minutes, and she couldn't let her last words to her son be a lie.
"Please just go inside," she tried to whisper, but her voice died in her throat. Joe had stopped walking now, and was beckoning to someone to come forward. Claire clutched her hands instinctively around Joey's shoulders, aware that she was most likely hurting him with her firm grip, but unable to let up. She stared ahead, praying to God that he wasn't waving to her, and felt relief wash through her body and soothe her tense nerves as she watched someone break away from the group to approach Joe.
Claire's stomach turned when she realized who it was that was walking towards him, and she nearly threw up when she watched them embrace with such pleasure and enthusiasm. The little satisfaction she'd gotten from hitting Emma before evaporated along with her previous feelings of ease and safety. Ice trickled down her spine and spread out across her skeleton as she became aware, all at once, of a series of truths that made her feel as broken and empty inside as she now suspected Joe had always been:
She was never again going to be able to say with confidence that she felt safe or happy or healthy.
She was never going to watch Joey grow up and become a man; she wasn't going to witness him fall in love for the first time, or get married, or have children of his own.
She was never going to hear what Ryan had wanted to say to her before he'd left for the farmhouse, and she was never going get a chance to tell him that, despite everything that had happened in the last eight years, her feelings for him hadn't dulled or disappeared in the least.
No, she was never going to do any of that.
Instead, she was going to die, here, at the hands of her murderous ex-husband, most likely very painfully and very slowly, exactly like her mind had predicted in every nightmare she'd had the misfortune to dream up in the last nine years.
.
.
Charlie watched Joe embrace the redhead in silence, not quite sure of what he felt. He could feel the tenor of the crowd around him as he stood among them; some were jealous of the girl's connection to Joe, others proud, still others looking for their own way into their leader's inner circle. Charlie wondered if that last group knew their objective was hopeless. They hadn't been there at the beginning, and so they would never be as close to him as the original Friends. The feeling the originals felt, their connection to their leader, was nothing like what the novices proclaimed to have—a spiritual and unbreakable link. The original Friends, Charlie among them, knew that such a close relationship with Joe was not something to brag about, or a status symbol to hold up above others. It was something deep you felt in your being; it was a bond that was forged the very moment you met him. It could not be faked or artificially created and Charlie wished the new ones would stop doing that.
They will learn in time, he told himself, repeating words of comfort that the others had shared with him long ago. Just as we all have.
His mind wandered as the redhead launched herself into Joe's arms and let her joyous laughter echo across the still clearing. As it always did when he let his mind roam, his first thoughts went automatically to Claire. Memories of their brief kiss flashed through his mind immediately, and he struggled to force them away. This was not the place and certainly not the time to remember such inappropriate behavior. He shook his head, digging the nail of his index finger into the skin of his thumb as his hand rested inside his pants pocket. He was here to celebrate and he could not do that if he was thinking about his past transgressions—especially ones that involved her. She was more off-limits starting tonight than she had ever been in the last two years.
Charlie took slow, even breaths as he watched Joe and the redhead break apart. He could see a look of stunned wonder take over his leader's face as his gaze landed on his family, and very privately, Charlie thought that he couldn't blame him. Claire looked beautiful—as always—and Joey seemed like a perfectly satisfactory son. If Claire was his wife and Joey their son, he was certain he'd look at them with just the same degree of awe that Joe exhibited now.
His conscience flared inside him at that last thought, and for a split second, he was alone, and he could dash his head against the stone pillar in punishment for his sinful thoughts—but then he returned to himself. He bottled his rage, bottled his need for self-discipline, and stared straight ahead. Joe was closer now—just a few feet away from Claire and the boy she clutched in front of her—and Charlie suddenly became aware of just how uncomfortable she looked. Her entire body seemed to be shaking, and he had spent enough time watching her with her son to know that she was holding him much too tightly to be simply comforting him.
Charlie blinked, confused, as his mind came to the only logical conclusion as to what she must be feeling to act like that: terror.
He barely had time to process this—or understand it—before Joe was standing before them and speaking. To the former corporal's immense surprise, it wasn't Claire or his son that Joe addressed first. "Charlie…" His name came out of Joe's mouth so slowly, so sweetly, and Charlie felt his heartbeat increase slightly as he listened.
"Sir." He stepped forward, inadvertently brushing his arm against Claire's as he moved. He took special notice of the fact that she didn't flinch away from him and briefly basked in the pleasure of that realization for the shortest second before adding it to his list of indiscretions that would be later punished.
Joe held out his hand. "Thank you so much for all your help, Charlie."
"You're welcome, sir," he replied, clasping his hand with Joe's. He felt a shock, much like that of electricity, when their hands closed around one another's and their eyes met. He couldn't help but smile; this was the connection the new ones would never feel in all their silly declarations of a joined spirituality. Either they felt linked to Joe when they encountered him or they did not; it was that simple, that real, that pure. And it meant the more to true Friends than the entire world and everything in it. "I thank you for the opportunity."
Joe nodded with a quick smile, and then their hands broke. Charlie watched as Joe's eyes left his, passed over Claire, and immediately fell to the boy who didn't come up higher than his waist. Joe stared at his son for a long moment before squatting down before the boy, a wavering smile turning up his lips. "Hey, Joey."
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Claire sniffed, biting down hard on her lower lip as she looked away. She blinked rapidly as she stared off into the night, determined not to let Joe see her cry. He didn't need one more advantage over her, not while he had her surrounded by his minions at a clandestine hideaway in the middle of nowhere.
It didn't seem like her situation could get very much worse as of this moment, but she was aware that it could become more dire later. She could be separated from Joey; she could be put in a room alone with Joe… She pressed her lips together tightly, trying not to think of the hundreds of other horrifying possibilities that awaited her once this perverted version of a family reunion was over.
"I know you." Joey's voice floated up to her, cutting through her earlier nightmares only to create new ones. He continued before she could stop him: "You're my Dad."
"Oh, Joey—" Claire broke off as soon as she'd begun, but it didn't matter. Where Joe had been completely focused on Joey just a moment ago, he was now looking up at Claire, and she could feel his eyes boring into her soul, polluting it with just a look. She wished she hadn't spoken, she wished she hadn't said a word… But she couldn't stand there and listen to her son accept Joe as his father without any questions. You're my Dad. Hearing him say those words had been like a knife in her gut, and as Joe stared up at her, Claire realized that she might very soon understand the literal meaning behind the figurative expression.
His eyes flickered to Joey's just briefly as he replied, his voice shaking slightly, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm your Dad."
To Claire's immense relief, Joey didn't smile at Joe's words. He didn't move forward to hug his biological father; he didn't show any sort of pleasure or affection for the man. Claire shut her eyes momentarily, sending the smallest prayer of thanks out into the world that her son hadn't been completely brainwashed yet.
"Do you know I haven't seen your Mom in almost ten years?"
Claire's eyes snapped open, and she watched as he slowly rose to his full height before her. She stared at him, hatred and disbelief battling for dominance within her being. Ten years? Had he somehow forgotten his direct attempt on her life at the prison, not more than a week ago? She wanted to ask what the hell he was talking about, but as she stared at his eyes, she found something else to fear besides his apparent lack of memory.
She recognized that look entering his eyes, recognized the way his lips curved just so, and she turned to run automatically because she knew what was coming. She twisted her body towards the mansion's open front door—poor a choice as it was, it was still the only exit she saw—but before she could move, someone grabbed ahold of her left arm and twisted it so abruptly and tightly behind her back that her breath caught in her throat. The back of her left hand was splayed against her right shoulder, and the tension was so great in the limb that she felt tears prick her eyes at the pain. She knew that if she moved even an inch, the bone would break. She looked around frantically, but no one seemed to even notice that she was being hurt. No one cared.
She felt a tear fall from one of her full eyelids as she noticed that most of the members of the crowd around her wore encouraging smiles on their faces. Those few who didn't show outward signs of happiness displayed no sign of being perturbed at what was happening or concerned for her well-being. She caught Charlie's eye as she turned her head, desperate for anything resembling a friendly face, and she realized why no one had come to her aid or even seemed aware of her condition. Charlie was standing right beside her, blocking her back from view and therefore hiding the fact that he was the one holding her left arm at an angle she didn't even know it could bend. She felt her chin tremble in bone-deep fear now; out of all the crazy people she'd known to be linked with Joe, Charlie had seemed the most normal, the most honest. She had felt like she could almost trust him—not to kill her, and maybe even to take care of her, if only for a few hours—at least long enough to bring her to her son. He had seemed to genuinely regret every time he'd showed malice towards her in the past day, and for the most part, he wasn't outwardly threatening—not like the others were.
But now he was forcing her arm behind her back so roughly that she didn't even think she could breathe, let alone move, without breaking it, and she supposed this is what she deserved for being stupid enough to trust someone so unstable in the first place.
"Oh, my dear…" Joe's voice cut through the silence of the night, cut through the sound of her blood pounding in her ears. "You're crying. Are you really that happy to see me?"
Claire clenched her teeth together when he lifted his hand to wipe the fallen tear off of her cheek. His hand left behind what felt like a very real trail of grime, and as much as Claire wanted to lean away, she was very aware of the fact that any deviation from the long-lost lovers farce Joe had apparently created out of their divorce to feed to his Followers would immediately result in a broken arm—and most likely more, once the crowd has dispersed and he'd taken her to a back room.
She didn't speak as his hand cupped her jaw, lifting it and forcing her eyes and mouth to be level with his. She didn't blink as he bent forward, didn't shudder as he brushed his nose against hers, and didn't scowl as she listened to him take his time to inhale her scent.
When he finally pressed his mouth against hers, it was little like she remembered and much like she'd dreaded. His lips were hard and demanding against hers, and she found herself wondering, as he forced himself on her, if their kiss looked as aggressive to onlookers as it felt to her. But then she remembered that, with the exception of her son, she was surrounded by psychopaths, and by their standards, this was probably the epitome of romance.
She kept her lips pressed tight together, refusing to take part in the kiss even as his mouth succeeded in prying hers open. It was just as she could feel his tongue slipping into her mouth that she'd had enough. She no longer felt empty inside, but filled with fury. Her fear and inability to save herself and Joey morphed into something stronger, louder, angrier, and though she felt that Charlie's grip had loosened on her arm, she knew it wasn't enough leeway for her to shove Joe away.
Instead of moving away as every instinct within her being told her to, she lunged forward, biting down hard on his lower lip and digging her teeth in until she could taste his blood in her mouth. When she let up, so did he, and they stared at each other for a breathless moment. Then he stepped back, spreading his lips in an amused grin as he looked at her. Even in the darkness of the night, Claire could clearly see blood shining on his teeth from where she'd bit him.
Unlike punching Emma, hurting Joe brought her no satisfaction, and his pleasant response to what she had thought was quite a formidable attack at the time only made her skin crawl instead of bolstering her pride. She felt like screaming, demanding to know what was going on and why she was here, but she could feel Joey leaning into her, pressing his little body against her left leg, and she knew there was no other option except to remain calm, even as she stared what she knew would be her death in the face.
The right side of his mouth rose higher than his left, spreading his smile wider than before as his dark eyes roamed over her face. "Ah, Claire…" He paused, taking a moment to sweep the blood away from his teeth with his tongue. His eyes never left hers and his grin never faltered as he sighed contentedly, "How I have missed you."
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Imagine me and you; I do.
I think about you day and night
It's only right
To think about the girl you love, and hold her tight.
So happy together…
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Author's Note:Thank you all so much for reading! As Joe would eagerly point out, there's still so much to come. I hope you'll come back around for updates. :)
Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism will all be greatly welcomed! (Simple "I hate it!/I like it!" messages don't help.) I would really love to hear what you all thought of this first chapter in a review or comment below. Again, thank you for reading. :) Get ready for tomorrow's episode!