Rating: R
Characters: Claire, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett
Summary: "Oh honey," she says and the pain in her mother's voice dislodges something hot and tight in Claire's chest.
Authors Note: This fic deals with the loss of a child. Beta'ed by veracity.
It's Mohinder that tells her, words quiet and hushed as he holds her hand tightly and stares at the flat expanse of her stomach. The set of her jaw is strong, determined and this is how he likes to think of her, proud and beautiful, able to withstand anything. It's hard to reconcile her with that desperate, clawing girl he found at his doorstep with blood between her thighs and that keening voice of why why why.
"It's your abilities," he says and Claire's glad for the clinical nature of his voice, for the distance he puts between her and the news he's telling her. She doesn't think about her parents or Zach waiting on the other side of Mohinder's door. She's still trying to forget his terrified eyes in the car when she made him take her here and not to a hospital when the bleeding didn't stop. "You can't have children."
Claire doesn't cry, she nods numbly and feels for the first time a sharp prick of pain inside her chest. It blossoms; fresh and new, a wound she knows will never heal. "Can you tell them?" she asks and thinks about her family's expectant, worried faces.
"Of course," he says and she feels like a coward perched on the edge of his bed, delegating this news to him.
When he leaves she cries into her hands, long sobs that don't end until the bed dips under her father's weight and his arm is a solid warmth around her and suddenly she's 10, not 24, again. "Dad," she chokes out, throat tight around the sound of his name. He kisses her forehead, lips cool against the heat of her face and rocks her against his chest until she's all cried out, grief laid bare.
In the silence, minutes ticking by, she hears her mother come in, hand gentle and comforting on her cheek in balance to her father. "Oh honey," she says and the pain in her mother's voice dislodges something hot and tight in Claire's chest. "It's going to be ok," her mother promises, cements those words inside Claire.
"How can it be?" She asks and hates how small and needful she sounds.
"Because," her mother starts, "Because you and your brother were our miracle, our gift long after I'd given up hope. They said it was impossible." Her mother's smile is bright, blinding and Claire sees the gentle hand her father lays over her mother's trembling one and the way her mother's face softens, opens up under her father's love.
"I feel empty," Claire says but that's not the right word, not what she wants to say. She can't describe this strange hollowness inside her body, the heavy weight of some failure she doesn't understand.
"I know," her mother says, "But this isn't the end."
Her eyes are fierce but understanding and Claire believes her. This is her mother, silly and flighty but firm now when Claire needs her most. Her father had always been the strong one for them who held the world at bay when it threatened to come crashing down around them but this is something he doesn't understand and Claire is so thankful for her mother, for her support and things that don't have to be said.
This is something they share now but Claire can see that behind her mothers hopeful cadence there is fear too. She recalls suddenly, a long forgotten memory from childhood, how her mother had hovered so carefully the days after her father had told her about the adoption. She'd been afraid of rejection then, something Claire can understand now. Something she can fix too.
The hand she draws from her mother trembles but her grip is strong, sure. "Thank you," She says and those words are simple, easy but they mean so much more now, and Claire sees her mother's tears, her joy when she kisses her, hugs her close. This will not be easy, Claire knows this now but for the moment, here in Mohinder's apartment, Claire feels safe, protected in the shoal of her parents love and ready for anything.