Talk Me Down
As soon as she saw her sister amble lethargically into the bathroom, Quinn James darted back down the corridor connecting the master bedroom to Jamie's. "How's the drawing coming, buddy?" she asked in a low voice. "Your Mom just went to the bathroom, here's your chance to sneak it onto her pillow."
"Done," her nephew grinned triumphantly and lowered the pink pencil he had used to color in the dress on the stick figure representing Haley.
Quinn looked at his handiwork proudly; "It's perfect, kid," she beamed. "I'm sure she'll love this."
Jamie traced the blue crayon message on the page with a sad smile. "I hope so; I miss her smile. Thanks for today Aunt Quinn, it was awesome."
"The real victory will be if it makes her happy, huh?" Quinn asked, putting the drawing carefully to one side as Jamie wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. She pressed a kiss into his hair; "Everything's gonna be okay, alright? Love you buddy."
"I love you too," he returned softly, reaching for the drawing and scurrying towards his parents' bedroom. Quinn grabbed the gold star they had saved as a souvenir from the treasure chest and quickly followed.
"Don't forget this," she reminded him, placing the ornament on Haley's pillow, which Jamie had fluffed to make the drawing lying on it impossible to miss. "Now that's done, I think it's bedtime for a certain treasure hunter. Come on you," she scooped the seven-year-old up affectionately and carried him back to his own bed. She flicked on his nightlight before pulling back the covers so he could crawl into the warmth.
"Are you sure Mama will like the star, Aunt Quinn?" he asked quietly, before she could pull away.
"You are her star, Jamie Scott, even though she doesn't show it at the moment. You went through such an adventure to find that thing, it's lucky now," she winked. She pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead to hide how sad his worried expression made her. "She'll love it, I promise!"
With that, she made her way to the door, but Jamie still wasn't done apparently. "Hey, Aunt Quinn?" he said, as she turned out the light.
"Yeah kiddo?" she replied.
"Stay for a while, okay?" Jamie said, so seriously it hurt, he was too young to be going through this. "I think Dad is kind of stressed about Mama's pain; it's not fair."
"You're a very good man, Jimmy Jam," Quinn echoed what she had heard Nathan say to him many times. "I'll be right here, promise!" With that, she blew him a kiss and smiled when his fist grabbed at the air; "Sweet dreams, buddy."
Before returning to the living room, Quinn crept back across the landing and peeked into the master bedroom again. "You are our treasure, Haley Bob," she recited Jamie's message under her breath at the sight through the slightly open door: Haley, perched on the edge of the bed with her eyes closed and the gold star held up to her heart. She just had to be okay, anything else was unthinkable. With a sigh, Quinn turned and set off in search of Nathan, right now she had another promise to keep.
Down at the beach house meanwhile, Clay Evans was glued to the television, tormenting himself with the video footage of the day he married Sara. The box of her things had been ransacked when Katie broke in, and Clay couldn't bear to put everything back in order after what the deranged girl had just put him through at the docks. The very fact that the wedding tape was in the player meant that Katie had been watching it, the thought made Clay feel physically sick. The minister's voice prompting their wedding vows went right over his head as Clay stared transfixed at Sara's huge smile. "To love and to cherish until death do you part," recited the minister and Clay looked away quickly as the happy couple they used to be sealed the vows with a kiss. Just words, barely three years after that he had failed to save her life after all.
Frustrated at the swell of bitter and resentful feelings, Clay snapped off the television and allowed the even more painful silence to surround him. His tortured gaze swept over the room and came to rest on the kitchen counter, where the untouched pitcher of grape Koolaid still stood. Propelled by agitation, Clay stomped over to the counter and clumsily poured the jug's entire contents into the kitchen sink. The sticky fluid gurgled noisily down the drain, but watching it seep out of sight; Clay knew the damage was done. Clinging to the edge of the sink for support against the assault of memories, Sara's defense of the grape drink floated into his head as vividly as if she was right there.
July 2011 - Two Years Earlier
It had been a fast-paced day, as many were since his first big job as an agent took off. Clay enjoyed making dreams come true, but the height of summer approaching and a huge pile of hopeful clients to get through was not a fun combination. The permission to work from home that day was the one upside to a daunting task, and the urge to turn every single one of the applications down was increasing dramatically when Clay's favorite voice interrupted the job; "Where's my favorite boyish grin?"
Sara was leaning casually against the big island counter, looking incredibly cool in a cream sundress. To complete the vision of perfection she had their eight-month-old son Logan curled sleepily against her shoulder. "Can Daddy afford a break?" she asked.
"Absolutely," Clay beamed and shoved the pile of applications away with a luxurious stretch. "At least if you want the grin back, a break is needed. These pens suck," he quipped matter-of-factly.
Sara rolled her eyes as she led the way over to the couch; "Sure they do, honey," she said sweetly, the complaint was routine. "Are you sure it's not the stubby fingers using the pens that are the problem?" she winked.
"You weren't complaining about those fingers in the bedroom last night," he shot back readily, and Sara giggled and shifted the baby in her lap.
"You're not hearing this, okay Logan?" she cooed, stroking his soft hair affectionately. Clay grinned and tried to sit down next to her but Sara quickly wiggled her finger at him; "Not so fast you goof, your baby mama wants a drink," she demanded.
"Look at you two ganging up on me," Clay sighed dramatically, throwing Logan an adoring look as the baby's eyes popped open. "Grape Koolaid?" he guessed knowingly.
"You know it," Sara grinned, even when Logan tried to start pulling her hair.
Clay returned with her glass in a minute but held it out of her reach with a smirk; "Fair trade, angel," he said; "The drink in exchange for my son."
"That's so not a fair trade," she pouted, giving Logan a doting stare. "Sorry baby, Mommy's thirsty!" With that, she grabbed the glass triumphantly from Clay as he settled the toddler on his lap.
"See Wolverine, your Mom is only really loyal to the creator of grape Koolaid," Clay explained, smiling at his son's wide brown eyes, so like his mother's. "Maybe your real Dad is wandering around making grape-flavored powder somewhere."
"As if any father would have gotten away with naming my son after a superhero," Sara sighed affectionately, leaning against his shoulder contentedly. "And just by the way, the creator of grape Koolaid died in 1961, so that's ridiculous," she informed.
"You disgust me, Sara Kay," Clay teased, as she dipped a finger in her glass and let Logan suck the sweet liquid off her fingertip. "Look at you, making our baby biased already."
"Deal with it, Mr. Evans," she said, leaning in for a kiss. He could still taste the grape juice on her lips and grimaced; "And quit demoting me, it's Sara Evans, and I happen to love the title," she grinned. "Don't you dare forget who proposed in the first place."
Clay, who had covered Logan's eyes gently when Sara kissed him, now propped the baby up straighter on his lap and said; "Take note Wolverine, this is why your mother is an angel, no matter what. My angel no less."
"Listen up you goof, there are only two important men in my life, and neither of them created grape Koolaid. Are we clear?" Sara said firmly.
"Crystal," Clay laughed as Logan stretched his tiny fists in Sara's direction once more. "Neither of your favorite men can resist you, see this?" he faked offence at the favoritism and reluctantly handed the baby over to her. "Go on you traitor."
"You got to name him, it's only fair he loves Mommy best," Sara said fondly, pressing a kiss to Logan's smooth forehead gently.
"I don't blame him at all, I'm kind of madly in love with his Mom myself," Clay confessed. "I love us, you know? And I love how happy he makes you," he said, watching the toddler suck on Sara's finger instead of his own tiny ones.
"You both do," his wife sighed contentedly, staring down at Logan, whose eyes were drooping shut again. "Make me incredibly happy, I mean." With that she carefully stood up, smirking at Clay's deprived grimace. "Back to work Daddy, this trooper needs a nap," she winked.
"Oh, you suck," he groaned.
"Not as much as your pens, have fun," she laughed and hoisted Logan more comfortably into her arms. "Love you, my knucklehead."
"I love you more," he called after her, relishing the delighted giggles trailing away as Sara headed for the nursery. Clay, meanwhile, cranked up the record player and got back to work, waiting secretly for her next interruption.
A sharp knock at the front door jerked Clay out of the bittersweet reverie, Sara had dropped dead not long after putting Logan to bed that day. He washed the sticky Koolaid residue off his hands with a frustrated frown and answered the door, trying hard to neutralize his expression. The police officer who had taken his statement when Katie was taken into custody at the bridge stood on the doorstep, fist poised to knock again. But the man wasn't alone, hovering awkwardly behind him was Katie's room-mate, looking bitterly regretful. "Hello officer," Clay said calmly. "Would you like to come in?"
"That won't be necessary," the official replied. "Katie Ryan has sufficient evidence against her to be temporarily committed for mental treatment. I'm just here to ensure the return of your wife's journal, it was discovered at Miss Ryan's apartment in Atlanta," he rattled off. "Miss Sharma insisted on accompanying me, she has something to say to you, I believe. Good evening to you, Mr. Evans," he said and vanished with a curt nod to acknowledge Clay's hurried thanks; that was law enforcement types for you.
When the official was out of sight, Katie's room-mate stepped hesitantly forward; her dark skin flushed in humiliation. She had Sara's red, leather-bound journal clutched protectively to her chest, Clay suddenly realized with a twinge of relief. "Hi, Mr. Evans," she said softly. "I just wanted to apologize in person for what Katie did to you…I truly wish I could have stopped her. Once her meds landed in the trash she was a hopeless case," the girl shuddered. "I don't know why I didn't just move out, but I guess I was raised to believe the best of people."
"Aren't we all?" Clay sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name," he said apologetically. "It was very nice of you to warn me about Katie's behavior. She even confronted my girlfriend once; it's a relief to see her getting help."
"It's Tanisha," the girl introduced herself, handing over the journal so she could shake his hand properly. "She sure as hell won't live with me anymore when she gets out of custody, that girl needs serious help!" Dark brown eyes penetrated the floor with a flustered gaze; "I hope she didn't damage the journal, once again, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I should have kicked her out when she got banned from competing in the tennis tournament."
"You said it yourself, we all prefer to see the best in people," Clay managed to be soothing, even while clinging to the journal like a life-line. "Take care of yourself, alright? Thanks for coming by," he said.
"Least I could do," Tanisha smiled awkwardly; "Goodnight."
"Thanks, Tanisha," he gave a strained smile back and waved her away. The farewell choice of word alerted him to how late it was for the first time, brooding tended to kill time fast and it was dark outside already.
Feeling very drained all of a sudden, Clay shut the door and carried the journal over to the big box of Sara's things, deposited on the coffee table in a fit of despair. He stared sadly down at the framed wedding picture at the top of the pile in the carton and flipped idly through the journal as a distraction from the sight. Pages and pages of his late wife's neat hand-writing passed before his eyes in a blur of various ink colors. Clay turned the pages without really reading the words, until he reached the last entry before her death. It stood out painfully for being obviously incomplete, something about Logan and how much she adored him. But even worse than that was the glaring red ink on the previously blank page opposite: I can't wait to be together again. Have a little faith, you goof! Love, Sara xx
The untidy scrawl, so obviously not from his wife, completely took Clay's breath away. The journal hit the floor with a solid thud as his hands pressed against his eyes, but the messy new words in the precious book were imprinted in his mind, this time Katie had gone too far. Tears began to mist his vision, and Clay fumbled blindly for his phone, somewhere on the surface of that same coffee table. "Quinn…," he choked, punching her speed dial number with uncontrollably trembling fingers.
Over at the Scott household meanwhile, Quinn had located Nathan sitting wearily at Haley's piano after she tucked Jamie into bed. He was frowning studiously at a pile of paperwork and barely even noticed her entrance. "What's that, Nate?" she asked hesitantly.
He looked at her with such a deep frown it hurt; there was too much pain going around in this house. "Phone bills," he said. He glanced back at the bill, trailing the listed costs with his finger. Quinn had pulled up a chair and sat down by the time he spoke again. "What happened to Lydia's phone, Quinn?"
"Nothing," she replied in surprise; "It's with the rest of her stuff in a box at the gallery. Why?" By way of answer, Nathan pointed in silence at the bill and Quinn gaped: There were at least thirty calls from Haley's cell phone to Lydia's disused one listed there in plain black and white.
"Because apparently Hales is having a harder time letting go than we realized," he said. "Voicemails, look!"
Quinn rubbed her eyes; "Oh God, I'll bring the phone over first thing tomorrow," she promised. "It's too late to look into anything now."
"Yeah," Nathan agreed absently, his pale blue eyes darkening with concern. "Thanks for taking Jamie out today, it did him good to get away from all this, I'm sure."
"He's worried about you," Quinn confessed. "You're doing a great job, Nate." She stood up and hugged him; "I know Hales is gonna be okay, because she has two great men behind her."
"One of those great men can't handle the laundry," he chuckled tiredly; "I turned the socks pink today, took a visit from Brooke to get told what I did wrong. I wish Haley would just let me in," he sighed.
"She will, eventually," Quinn said, with a confidence she didn't quite feel. Nathan shifted on the narrow piano stool, and she sat down beside him and let her head brush against his shoulder, their hands clasped under the piano in solidarity. "She just has to…I convinced Jamie the gold star he found on our treasure hunt today would work magic. Really it's up to Haley to fight the despair," she said sadly.
"She's a James girl, the fight is in her blood," Nathan said with a forced and wavering smile. "Speaking of which, shouldn't you be getting home? Someone else must be missing his own James girl, don't you think?"
"I promised Jamie I'd stay as long as you need me," she shot back, smiling in spite of herself at the light teasing. "Just in case…," she trailed off and pulled out her phone, the smile fading at the blank screen before her. "Shit, I forgot to charge it yesterday," she groaned. "Such a scatterbrain," Quinn bit her lip at the stupidity.
"Use mine?" Nathan offered, but even as he pulled out his own cell phone and handed it over, the doorbell clanged. Quinn watched Nathan stroll over to the front door and pull it open; "Speak of the devil," he grinned when Clay barged in, but Quinn rushed to her feet. Something in those deep blue eyes she loved so much screamed anguish…something was horribly wrong.
"Nate, could you get him a drink or something?" Quinn requested over her shoulder, where Nathan stood gaping at the scene unfolding before him. Clay lurched towards his girlfriend without looking left or right and drew her into a tight hug, choking her name barely coherently. Quinn held on in silence for a long minute, his trembling figure unnerving her extremely. Finally, she backed up carefully and led him over to the couch; "Clay, what's going on?" she asked softly.
Clay just stared at her for a moment, a kind of tortured shock written all over his face. Quinn took his hand and gently squeezed, the touch forced out a single word, a word enough to make her blood run cold. "Katie," he said. "She…she was waiting at the beach house when I got home from work." Quinn's jaw dropped, but Clay kept talking as if on auto-pilot; "She'd put Sara's song on the record player, and there was grape Koolaid in the fridge. Sara loved the stuff," he said bitterly.
"Did she hurt you?" Quinn asked anxiously, squeezing his fingers tighter as they trembled in her grasp.
"Not physically," Clay mumbled. "I got rid of her and told her never to come back to the house, but that wasn't even the worst of it!"
Quinn's over-active imagination raced to a thousand worst-case scenarios as he paused again, eyes squeezed shut in agony. "I'm sorry, baby," she breathed, gently turning his head so she could press a kiss to his lips. He returned it with alarming weariness, making her heart race for the wrong reasons.
"Did I ever tell you how I met Sara?" Clay asked suddenly. Quinn shook her head mutely, and he continued; "It was this freshman initiation stunt thing in college, we had to jump off a bridge into the lake." He smiled nostalgically in spite of himself; "We were both terrified to jump so I held her hand and told her we could do it together, on the count of two," he explained. "After that, we did everything on the count of two…I still do," he admitted.
Quinn nodded; she had already noticed that on a few occasions. "Sweet," she smiled. "What does that have to do with Katie though?"
Clay's expression darkened again, making Quinn wish she hadn't pushed the question. "A few hours after I kicked her out of the house, I got a call from the cops. They'd spotted Katie standing on the wrong side of the bridge by the Tree Hill pier." He paused and took a deep breath; "I told them she was my wife," he muttered resentfully.
Suddenly Quinn could see where this story was going and her arms tightened protectively around him. "She believed she was Sara, right?" she guessed, knowing from personal experience that Katie Ryan was deranged.
"She stole the count of two," he moaned, covering his eyes again. "She kept threatening to jump off the stupid bridge. My Sara was terrified of that jump; she would never have done it without me there!"
"All the more proof that Katie was disturbed," Quinn said, trembling with a surge of anger at the psycho as Clay leaned desperately into her arms. "I'm so sorry, babe; I wish I had been there with you when she pulled all this crap."
"Jamie needed you more, I can take care of myself," he said firmly, even as he continued to hold her tightly, still shaking. "The good news is when I convinced her to take my hand on the bridge, the cops grabbed her. She's now officially been institutionalized indefinitely," he said with that same bitter edge to his voice, the irreparable damage still hadn't been told.
Quinn heaved a relieved sigh; "That's fantastic," she said. Clay kissed her again, the calmness of her voice soothing his own frayed emotions. "Your day was somehow even more eventful than mine," she joked.
Before Clay could respond to that, Nathan finally re-surfaced with a chilled beer in his hand. "Sorry that took a while, I was checking on Haley," he said. "You alright, Clay?"
"I will be," the agent replied, staring adoringly at Quinn. She touched his cheek with a loving smile, and he leaned into the touch. Suddenly the bold red addition to Sara's journal didn't matter enough to mention. She was gone forever, but with a bit of luck, so was Katie now. Words in a book couldn't change how lucky he was in this moment, to have had those precious years with Sara and to have Quinn now. "I love everything you are, Quinn James," he said out loud. "Thank you."
"Oi, Evans, no going soft with an audience, you know the rules," Nathan laughed, and Clay finally managed a genuine grin back.
"Whatever man," he smirked and then added more seriously; "Is Haley doing okay?"
Nathan exchanged a look with Quinn, and together they echoed Clay's earlier words; "She will be." Because they were all family and together they could overcome anything.
A / N My longest one-shot in ages, the feels really went up and down with this one. The title is after a Westlife song and as usual, I Clinn and Clara multiship. I'm hardcore Team Clay and what Katie did to him on the bridge in 7.21 inspired this, the man deserves way more sympathy than he gets. Enjoy all! xx