Disclaimer : I do not own Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife in any way. This is a fan fiction created by a fan.

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(Oneshot)

By : Bexsta

I stroll through the front door, letting the screen door whisper shut behind me. My feet feel as if they're gliding over the surface of the hardwood floors. I still feel as light as air.

It's been weeks since the Jason incident. I haven't forgotten it. I don't expect I ever will. A little instinct in the back of my head tells me that this part of my life will stick with me forever. For some reason, this doesn't bother me as it should.

I skid to a halt in front of the staircase. The afternoon sun casts odd shadows on the carpeted steps. Some creep like demons about to take bad people to an awful place. Some cling to the edge of the step, quivering.

The top of the stairs is glowing. The sunlight glares off the glass encased pictures of my childhood. Etta must have opened all of the upstairs windows to air out the smell of cleaning supplies. She tells me the summer compels her to clean. Oddly, something about the heat restricts her from staying still for too long.

I haul my school bag over my shoulder and get a better grip on my textbooks. I start to slowly climb up the steps.

I rushed home specifically to finish my homework early so that I could go out with the girls tonight. We want to see the new summer flick with that cute new actor. I forget his name. If I'm lucky, I can have all my work done by dinnertime and still have time to go to the Meadow afterwards. I can't remember if Henry was supposed to meet with me today. I'll have to consult the list.

I'm suddenly shoved to the side. My elbow hits the wall awkwardly and I feel the sting vibrate through the bones. Ugh. Funny bones aren't that funny.

"Get out of my way," an annoyingly familiar, deep voice drawls.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," I retort, cradling the injured limb.

He glances at me over his shoulder and narrows his eyes. "Bite me," is his intelligent response.

I roll my eyes. Mark isn't exactly a supportive, mature older brother.

When I get to my room, I find that Etta has swept the laundry off of my floor again.

I dump my school stuff on my desk and fall onto the pink and yellow comforter that shrouds my bed in all of its queen sized loveliness. A relieved sigh escapes me. You know what would make this amazing Friday even better: if Henry unexpectedly dropped into my room right now. What's stopping him? Without much thought I slide towards one side of the mattress and turn onto my side to face the unoccupied end. I stare intently at the thread that lines the pattern of flowers and frilly shapes.

I know it won't work. It doesn't work like this. But in this moment I have total faith in this happy mood. I feel that I can will Henry here with just my mind. When I wanted him that night after what Jason did, he was there. He appeared like a vision. It was perfect timing. I wanted him and he came to me out of nowhere just for me.

Truly, I don't have an important reason for Henry to be here with me. I can't even think of one that would make him come to me. I just want him. I want to lie next to him. I want to look into his eyes. I want to hear his laugh. I want to be held. I want him with me.

Is want enough?

Time passes before I notice that the afternoon shadows have grown to cover my entire room. I can't see the setting sun anymore. Has it set? The sky is dark.

Abruptly, I feel depressed. My good mood is gone and I'm left with an empty feeling.

Nell calls from downstairs. Dinner's ready. I drag myself into Alicia's room. She glances up from her sheet music and gives me a perplexed look. I don't talk to Alicia much. She's always busy. I ask her to tell everyone that I have too much homework and I'm going to skip dinner.

She nods slowly. She's trying to figure out my mood. Her eyes squint in concentration.

"Oh," I remember my plans. "And if my friends call tell them I'm sick and I won't be able to make it tonight."

This time she can't resist.

"Why?" my curious little sister asks.

I shrug. "I'm not feeling right, I guess." I don't have enough energy to make up a more convincing excuse.

I can't handle her knowing stare. I feel transparent, like she can see right through me.

I slump back to my room and crawl under the covers. I'm asleep within seconds.

That night I have a weird dream.

The dream is hazy with swirling colors and textures. The pictures are unclear and I hear voices—lots of voices. The voices are very quiet and I have a hard time hearing them. Some are whispering, some are laughing. They surround me. I feel I'm being spun in never ending circles. There's a blindfold over my eyes. I don't like it. The fabric irritates my eyes. It rubs against the sensitive skin of my eyelids. It burns me.

It's burning me!

Before I can scream, it's all gone. Silence descends upon me and I slowly become aware that I'm lying down.

I inhale sharply. My forehead is damp with sweat. Bad dreams always make me perspire.

I feel warm and safe. I'm in my own bed, in my own room. I can recognize the smell of freesia detergent on my bedding. The night breeze gusts through my open window and brushes my temple. It feels nice.

I shift, trying to get more comfortable – which seems impossible. Something solid and warm stops me.

I open my eyes and gasp.

Familiar dark eyes stare back at me.

"Just a bad dream, Clare." He whispers softly. "I'm here."

I smile slightly and feel my eyes drift shut. I'm suddenly overcome with drowsiness. This is too perfect. I must be dreaming still. How would he know?

I'm here.

AN : I know some of the points in this oneshot don't go with the actual story. (Henry doesn't visit Clare's room till..? I don't actually remember.) It just came to mind one day. Hope you enjoyed it!

Feel free to comment / review! Love to hear from you wonderful people.