Dedicated to jjrw1998 for winning the oneshot competition thing on one of my stories, I'm not sure what it was now. Fragile Web, I think.
Ok, so this is a MichaelxClaire that is set in an AU world; it's where they fell for one another, and then she ended up in hospital...anyway, I'll let you read it!
"Hi, Claire," Michael says quietly as he slips into the seat next to Claire's bed in Morganville General, taking her left hand as he does so. Sometimes, he likes to pretend that she's got the engagement ring that he bought for her on her fourth finger, because that's where they'd be right now, if she hadn't…
…if she hadn't been attacked.
He still doesn't know who it was; Amelie hasn't been able to trace the vampire who did it—either that, or she knows and is protecting them—and so the only thing that she has done is pay for Claire's escalating hospital bills. She's been unconscious ("it's a coma," they say to him whenever he asks, "she could be out for the rest of her life") for over three months now—ninety three days, four hours and ten minutes, he thinks it is now—and Michael's beginning to wonder if the memories he has are going to be the only things he has left of Claire Danvers.
He grasps her hand tightly, as he always does, hoping that she knows he's there; they were meant to meet before this happened to her…but he had to stay at home and find his guitar pick—and the engagement ring that he was going to give her. It was something he bought on the spur of the moment, something that he knew wouldn't be able to happen, not really (she was—still is—with Shane; the same can be said for him and Eve) but something that he wanted with all his heart.
"Today, I went to Common Grounds and ordered a cup of coffee, and had to sign three dozen autographs," he tells her, his mind wandering back to the time that they first did anything.
.
They're sitting on the sofa in the Glass House, about a week after Claire moved in, and they're sitting in silence; neither of them know what to say, because if they speak, they'll end up telling the other that they think that they have feelings for the other—and that's wrong.
She's sixteen and he's almost nineteen (or he would be, if he wasn't a ghost) so Michael thinks that she's too young, and Claire thinks that he's too old for her—and anyway, Eve's falling for him, and Shane's already hooked on Claire; it's wrong for this to happen, isn't it?
It only takes their eyes locking, though, to make them realise that this lust that they feel, this strange sensation that neither of them has felt before, is real, and that they need to act on it.
Eve's at work. Shane's…somewhere, not here though. It's safe.
Their lips meet, and neither of them regret it, even when Eve comes in later and somehow persuades Michael to have a date with her, and Shane presses his lips to the same ones that Michael kissed only an hour before.
.
Michael pretends that Claire's answered his statement; he always does this—he's here every day, for the entirety of the visiting hour designated for vampire visitors—and so he continues hastily. "Well, you see, remember when I had to leave early, because I had that concert at Common Grounds? I apparently didn't spend enough time signing autographs, so they wanted them all for their friends—not that people outside of Morganville really know who I am, since I won't leave." He smiles at Claire, willing her to move her lips even a fraction, to show that she's listening.
She doesn't.
She never does.
"So, anyway, Oliver then comes across to me and is really sarcastic with saying how popular I am, and if I can make my fans buy drinks, that could keep him in business," Michael continues, laughing slightly at the memory. "So I said that yes I would, as long as he told everyone that he loves bunnies. I can't remember what he said to me before he kicked me out."
.
"You're a musician, Michael!" Claire says to him as they sit together on the sofa; it's one of their illicit moments, one of the ones that they know they could have officially if they weren't too afraid to tell Eve and Shane…
"So what?" is his reply as he pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth, tapping her nose in almost the same movement. He knows that she should be repulsed by what he's only recently become, just as his girlfriend and best friend are, but she isn't, and that's perhaps what makes him love her even more.
"You need a proper signature!" she tells him, laughing as she shows him one of the scrawls that he currently hands out when he signs autographs. "It looks unprofessional, and to be quite honest, if I saw that, I wouldn't sleep with you."
He's shocked that Claire—Claire, the genius, the innocent one that he's always trying to protect—has come out with this, and he can barely splutter out, "what? Why would you say that?"
She laughs again, a tinkling sound that's music to his ears, his new inspiration, and explains. "I don't want to, you know, do it with you, Michael; that's too soon! But you should know that the mark of a good musician is that the groupies want to sleep with you—I've read about it—and this signature…it ain't making that happen."
He reaches out and tickles her, pressing a kiss to her lips as he does so, and murmurs, "fine, it can change—if you teach me."
He's taught her things; he wants her to be able to teach him as many, if not more.
.
A tear runs down his cheek as this memory pops back into his mind, and it's with great effort that he forces it back down into the rough sea of recollections about Claire and himself that feel the need to rise whenever he's not focused on doing something.
"So, I hear that you've been having fun in here, just having a little nap!" he says brightly, trying to force himself to believe that she's just sleeping, and that she'll be back conscious in a few minutes. It's the only way that he can get through the hour visit without wanting to rip his heart out. "And that you'll be out of here soon…maybe. You need to get better first, though, and I need you do that…please Claire. I need you."
He doesn't like getting emotional like this so early on—he has another fifty minutes to keep his composure on the off chance that someone he knows could come by and visit her—but he can't help it.
He never can.
.
She sits in his lap as they watch one of the old movies his parents left him, and Michael knows that she's content with it—for now.
This thing that they've got—the sneaking around whenever they're both free, the secret declarations of love and admissions that they aren't happy in their official relationships—isn't going to last much longer; it's too intense to keep it a secret any longer. He gets insanely jealous when Shane even touches her, and she's whispered into his ear that when he and Eve are together, it feels like her heart's breaking.
It's destroying them both to be in two relationships at once, and soon, whenever she says that she loves him (and that he loves her back), they'll break things off and manage to be together.
It's been almost four months since their first kiss, four months since she moved in, and Michael's not sure where he'd be without her.
.
"You don't understand how much I miss you," he whispers into Claire's ear, unable to say the words at a normal volume for fear that his voice will break. "Eve, Shane, they don't understand. They think that I'm taking it too hard because…because I was the one who found you. It's not that though, it's not that…that I missed the chance to save you—it's because I cannot live this life without you, now that I've experienced you in it. You're everything to me: special, endearing, charming, a genius, adorable, perfect, and loving. You're everything that I almost lost in myself when I was turned into a ghost, and then into this thing I am now.
"You're the only person who loved me for who I was, no matter what that was, and for that, I need you, Claire."
He doesn't think that she can hear him, and that this speech, a variant on its usual form, isn't going to be processed in her mind—she's too far gone for that. She almost died, and it was only his insistence that had her put on the life support machine, but soon, that insistence is going to be overruled by the facts: there's almost no brain activity whatsoever.
She's going to die soon, and he can't do anything about it.
.
"I love you," he whispers to her one evening as they sit in the secret room, his arms around her, wishing that there was a way to watch the stars from where they are. More than once, Michael's dreamed of just ripping a hole through the roof and exposing the world above—but that would be impractical come morning.
"I know," she whispers back, and he can already feel his immobile heart swelling. "I love you, too."
.
Silence.
It stretches for almost the remainder of their time together, because whatever Michael wants to say, he can't; he's told her that he needs her, but the rest…if he admitted it out loud, he would never be able to stop. He would have to tell Shane that Claire and himself had something going on, and then he'd lose the two rocks that are the only reason he hasn't gone completely insane.
She doesn't say anything either, naturally, and so Michael stares at the magenta walls, trying to discern what exact shade it is, because that's better than thinking, better than letting the memories that are already slipping into his conscious mind have easy access.
They do, though, and he has no control over what he remembers.
.
"Some day, Claire Danvers, I'm going to make you my wife."
"I can't wait for that day."
.
He can't help the fresh tears that stream down his face as he recalls this promise he made her.
And how he can never make it come true.
.
"I'll be a few minutes; you can wait for me inside."
"No, I'll stay outside," Claire says in response, her tone adamant. "It's not like it's exactly vamp central 'round Common Grounds tonight—Oliver said that he would clear them…ARGH!"
Michael abandons his search for the ring and the pick as he pelts out of the house and down Lot Street towards Common Grounds, the continued sounds of Claire screaming piercing through the phone.
By the time he gets there, she's already lying on the floor, puncture marks in her neck leaking a little blood onto the pure white snow around her.
He can't help but think that she looks like an angel.
.
"I'm going to go now," he has to say as ten pm rolls around, unable to stay any longer. The nurses wouldn't throw him out, given what he is, but he can't stay more than this; it would make Eve and Shane suspicious as to why he would stay longer than he was meant to.
"I want you to know that I love you so, so much, and that whenever you come out…well, the ring's yours for the taking," he tells her, unable to help himself because he can't admit that she's gone. If he does that, then he's got nothing to live for; she's his everything.
His lips press to hers gently, and he tries to push every ounce of his love for her into the tender meeting of their bodies, though he's not sure how successful he is. If he was successful, she'd wake up, after all.
"I'll be here for you, Claire," he whispers, reaching into his pocket and setting something on the side: his newest CD, Angel…with a picture of someone lying in the snow.
He couldn't help himself.
"You know that I'll never, ever leave you." He believes the words he's saying, and knows that if Claire can hear him, she will too.
He just doesn't know that there's someone at the door, listening
as they do every night, someone who also believes every word he's saying.
Eve.
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