New story from me that I hope you guys like; I thought of it in the shower (and everyone knows that the best ideas come to you when you're in the shower). Eli's POV. Title inspired by the song "Gone Away" by Noctura (look them up). Read, review, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi or anything by Noctura.

Gone Away

I smirked as I observed the backside of my beautiful wife as she did the dishes. Why she was doing dishes in her situation I have no idea, but I could not deny that I found it alluring. I walked towards her and slid my hands over her waist until my fingers were brushing her enlarged belly as I kissed the nape of her neck; I heard her giggle as she rinsed off one of the plates. She had developed a habit of blushing every time I kissed her ever since she got pregnant and this moment was no exception; her face was glowing red in no time.

"Honey?" I whispered to her as I nuzzled on her neck.

"Yes?" Clare replied, a coy smile on her perfect lips.

"Remember what the doctor said about taking it easy?"

I was definitely the overprotective kind and I hung on to every word the obstetrician said, following all the instructions she gave. One of the key things on the list: any pregnant woman shouldn't overexert herself, so Clare doing housework was a big no-no for me. For months I've been doing the laundry, vacuuming, doing the dishes, and other chores around the house; but, despite the doctor's orders, Clare was scrubbing away at the plates we had dinner on that night plus more.

"I can handle one sink of dishes," she eased me. I rolled my eyes and rested my cheek on her shoulder so I could look at her.

"I can do them."

"It's fine," she said, grinning down at me. "I may be eight months pregnant, but I can still do things."

"I know," I said, recalling how last time she said that she had burst out into tears because of her hormones; I was so relieved that she was not feeling so emotional at the moment. "I'm just saying that I think our little princess wants you to relax," I explained, feeling our daughter kicking against Clare's stomach and my hand.

Letting out a gentle chuckle, Clare turned off the water, shook off her hands, and turned around to face me. I held her as close as I could, but not tightly so I wouldn't harm the baby.

"Why must you always play the little princess card?" she asked me, locking her fingers behind my neck.

"Because I know that you love her that much," I smiled at her, knowing how Clare had been in love with our child ever since she found out she was expecting.

"You got me there," she said before she prepared to lean in for a kiss; I met her lips and kissed them gently. Soon, however, I heard her moaning against my mouth, her tongue begging for entrance. Another thing that had changed since she had gotten pregnant: she was always emotional, overjoyed, horny, or combinations of one and the other. I allowed her to enter and we began to kiss heatedly, I carefully slid my hand under the maternity top she was wearing, feeling her stomach and tiny, excited movements beneath my palm.

"I won't do the dishes anymore if you take me upstairs," she then attempted to negotiate as she separated her lips away from mine by a centimeter.

"Hmm . . . I'm going to have to think about that one," I teased her as I moved my lips to her neck.

"You know better than to keep a pregnant lady waiting," she retorted, trying not to burst out into a fit of giggles.

I was about to come back with my own witty reply when the phone started ringing; I removed my lips from her neck and turned to the phone that was resting on the counter. I furrowed my brow; who would be calling us at eight thirty at night?

Then the worst idea crossed my mind: the hospital. What if they were calling to tell us that our baby was sick? What if something was wrong? I had no idea what to expect since Clare and I have done everything we're supposed to and avoided everything we were supposed to avoid. What could they say?

I was terrified that I did not even notice that Clare had walked out of my arms and had reached for the phone.

"Hello?" she answered. A second passed when . . . "Hi, Glen."

I instantly let out a breath of relief; it was just her stepfather. Clare and I's baby was fine . . . everything was okay . . .

So I thought.

I got behind Clare a put my arms around her like before and placed feather light kisses on her neck. When I did, however, she put the back of her free hand on my chest, signaling me to cease the kisses.

"Glen, what's wrong?" Clare then asked.

My stomach did an uncomfortable cartwheel, worry swarming through me; my arms numb, I dropped them from her body but continued to watch her carefully. Seconds passed when tears hit her eyes and her hand was over her mouth, muffling the gasp she let out. I then heard her breathing heavily. Terrified but determined to not assume anything yet, I put my hand on her upper arms in comfort, only to have her walk to the dining table and sit in a chair.

Tears were now flooding her face and she was shaking, the phone threatening to slip out of her hand at any second.

"H-How?" I then heard her stammer.

Within a second, I was standing by her side, watching over her.

"Bye," she choked out seconds later before hanging up the phone and putting it on the table. She buried her head in her hands and began crying harder than I have ever seen her cry before. I had the horrible feeling that I knew the reason why she was crying, but I did not want to believe it.

"Honey?" I said softly to her as I sat in the chair next to her, putting my hand on her back. She continued to cry and I felt horrible that I was going to ask her to repeat the awful news. "What's going on?"

Her breath hitched and she turned to me, waterfalls coming out of her eyes.

"My mom . . . she died an hour ago."

Ice consumed my body and my mind; it was as though someone had put life in slow motion. My heart was pounding in my ears and I could feel myself begin to shake. Helen could not be dead. Not Helen Martin. Not Clare's mother.

But who else could she be talking about? She only had one mother and that was Helen. It was an impossible concept to grasp. Helen Martin? Dead? How could it be?

"W-What happened?" I asked her, wishing there was another way for me to find out so she wouldn't have to say it aloud.

"She went to take a nap this evening . . . her heart gave out . . ."

She cried some more and I wrapped my arms around her and she clung to me, crying into my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," I said to her, rubbing her back.

"I don't understand it, Eli. She was fine when she and G-Glen came over for dinner yesterday; we were talking about the baby and everything was fine. Nothing was wrong with her."

I did have the slightest clue what to say, so I continued to massage her back and let her cry and talk for as long as she wanted.

"It's not fair!" she shrieked. "She was . . . she was making a blanket for the baby and now it's never going to be finished! She was going to be there when she's born, but now she won't be! She was going to help me when I became a mom, now she's not going to be there! Why did she go, Eli? Why did she leave me when I need her the most?"

"It was just her time," I whispered to her.

She cried more and more into my shoulder, letting out millions of tears; she needed console and I was doing my best to give it to her. But I had only been in this situation once because of Julia, but this was completely different; this was a death of a parent and I had yet to experience that. Hoping that it would help, I kissed her head and spoke softly to her.

"At least she went peacefully."

"At least? At least!" she shrieked as she rose from her seat. "There's no 'at least', Eli! It doesn't matter if she went peacefully, painfully, quickly, or slowly! My mother is dead! She's not going to be here when our baby's born! She's not going to be able to hold her granddaughter! That's all she talked about for months was her and now our baby's never going to see her! She's gone and there's nothing you can say that's going to make that fact any better!"

Without another word, she stormed out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into our room. I heard her slam the door and I heard her crying. My heart broke into several pieces, the reality now beginning to hit me . . . I had lost my mother-in-law.

We may not have been on the greatest terms when we first met, but once Clare and I got back together at the beginning of the second half of my senior year, she and I had a fresh start and I had grown very fond of her. Clare and her father's relationship was still a bit bumpy when I knew the time was right to ask for her hand in marriage, so I went to Helen.

I sat at the table, tears leaking out of my eyes, recalling that day . . .

I had never been so nervous in my entire life, but Clare was worth it. I took in a large gulp of air before telling myself that I was not going to walk away from this. I knocked on the door, trying my best not to shake in my combat boots. After several seconds of waiting, the face of Helen Martin greeted me.

"Eli, what a pleasant surprise," she smiled at me.

"Hi, Helen," I said; after Clare and I had been dating for three years, she had finally insisted that I started calling her by her first name. "Um, may I talk to you for a second, please?"

"Certainly, come on in," she allowed.

We both entered the house and walked to the living room. We faced each other and I saw her looking right at me; I was getting knots in my stomach, but turning away was not an option. I was going go to ask for Clare's hand today and I was going to propose to her tomorrow night on our anniversary. I had already purchased the ring, figured out how I would propose to her, and I was even prepared for what I would say if she refused. There was only one aspect that was left to take care of and she was standing right in front of me.

"What's on your mind, Eli?"

"Helen, you know I love Clare very, very much; in fact, I love her more than anything and, I swear to you, that I will never do anything to hurt her. So, I'm here today if I could . . . if I could ask your permission for Clare to marry me."

After I said those words that I rehearsed for hours, I found myself wishing I had thought of something better. I was appeased that I had finally spoken what had been in my head for months, but I was anxiously awaiting her answer. I was expecting her to smile, maybe even cry, but what I did not expect was the look of disgust on her face. Her eyes burned and I immediately wished that I had skipped this part and asked Clare to marry me without any consent.

"You and my daughter have been together for seven years and you're proposing?" she demanded, her arms crossed as her eyes burned a whole into me.

"I . . ."

I didn't know what to say or how to react. I was about to start emphasizing just how much I loved Clare when her face broke out into a wide smile and her eyes lit up.

"What took you so long?"

She then came to me and she hugged me just like how a mother would hug a son. Relieved, I hugged her like how I hugged my mom.

"Is that a yes?"

"Of course it is."

I began smiling like an idiot; I could not remember ever feeling this relieved yet overjoyed. It was so amazing and I just wished to live in the feeling forever. I was going to marry the woman I had been in love with for years and nothing was going to stand in my way.

"Thank you so much, Helen," I told her.

"Thank you for coming into my daughter's life."

I stood there, completely dazed, until I felt Helen release me. She looked at me, tears of happiness in her eyes.

"Just promise me something, Eli," she said through a voice that was coated with merriment.

"Anything," I said; she had just made my dream come true and I was willing to do anything I could to repay her for that.

"Take care of her for as long as you live."

"I will, I promise."

I was more determined than ever to keep that promise. I was going to take care of Helen's daughter and her granddaughter. She had done so much for me and Clare that I could not even begin to list it all and I owed her all of that plus more. I decided then as tears poured from my eyes and onto the table that I would keep that promise until my dying day.

My first part of doing this was rising from my seat and clearing the tears off my cheeks. I took in a breath and moved up the stairs to Clare and I's room. I heard her sobbing uncontrollably; I know it was what she needed to do right now, but I didn't want her going through it alone. I may not have the same level of pain she had, considering this was her mother and not her mother-in-law, but I could show some empathy.

"Clare?" I said softly, opening the door ajar. I saw her on her side, crying on her pillow. "Clare, can I come in?"

"I don't care," I heard her snap through her sobs.

Ready to do what I could, I lied on the bed next to her and rubbed her back.

"Sweetheart, if there is anything I can do to –."

"What? Make me feel better? Make it easier? You can't, okay?" she shouted.

"I know, I know," I said, not going to get mad since she was hurting and the fact that she was pregnant was not helping much either. "I just . . . I'm here. Okay? I'm here if you need me to be."

We remained in our same positions for hours; Clare spilled her many, many tears and I rubbed her back, giving her physical comfort. I would've talked to her, but I knew she did not want to hear it; she just wanted to get all her tears out.

It was really late at night when Clare stopped crying; midnight, to be exact. She rubbed her stomach, her eyes red and puffy. I think she would keep crying if she could, but her body had refused to create more tears. Her head was resting on her pillow as I continued soothing her tense back muscles. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep; I knew by the way she would release dry sobs.

"Eli," she said as she turned on her other side.

"Yeah?" I replied quietly.

"I-I'm sorry for being harsh to you earlier and for y-yelling at you."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Clare," I told her directly, putting my arm around her waist as much as I could.

"You were trying to help and I was a total monster to you."

"You're upset, that's all," I reminded her. "I know it's hard; don't worry about what happened, okay?"

She breathed in and out repeatedly, wiping her face clean of the trails the tears left behind.

"I don't . . . I don't want her to be gone."

"I know you don't," I said as she rested her forehead against my chest. "I'd bring her back for you if I could."

"I really wish you could; there was so much I still wanted us to do together as a family. And now that she's gone and the baby on the way . . . it's not the way I pictured it."

"Well, think of it this way: your mom left so that way our baby could be born."

"That's a nice way of thinking about it," Clare breathed. "My mom was just so excited about becoming a grandmother; I just feel like I let her and the baby down since she's not going to be able to meet her and the baby's not going to know her."

"Honey, you didn't let anyone down," I promised her. "It's not your fault."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"Because everything just happened," I eased her. "Trust me, you did not do anything wrong."

She breathed in a bit more air before staying silent; I was unsure whether she believed me or not, but I hoped that she would not feel guilty about letting someone down when it was impossible for her to do so.

"You know what I think?" I said, smoothing her hair over her neck, hoping that my words would help her a bit.

"What?" she asked.

"I think we should our baby after your mom."

She inhaled and then looked at me, her face surprised.

"Huh?"

"I think we should name the baby Helen."

I'm not quite sure what possessed me to suggest this, but it seemed to make sense.

"Really? Are you s-sure you want to do that?" she asked, clearly fond of the idea despite the recent tragedy.

"Well, we haven't picked a name yet and . . . maybe it can be a good way for us to always have a part of her with us and that way our little princess will have a part of her grandma with her at all times. Besides, it makes sense to name our baby after someone as amazing as your mom."

For the first time in hours, Clare revealed a small grin to me.

"S-So you want our baby to be named Helen Goldsworthy?"

"Do you?" I asked.

She nodded, fresh tears coming back to her eyes.

"Alright then," I said softly before making my head become level with Clare's stomach. "Helen, I can't wait until you're born."

Four years and several months later . . .

"Where are we going, Mommy?" the little girl asked as we stepped through the gates of the cemetery. Her hand was holding onto Clare's as I held onto the bouquet of roses; the sunlight was reflecting off the child's dark brown hair and sparkling in her blue eyes.

"We're going to show you something," Clare said to her.

"What? What? What?" she asked enthusiastically.

"You'll see soon enough, Helen," I told our daughter.

It was my mother-in-law's birthday and every year since her death, Clare and I had come here to lay flowers on her grave; this year, we decided to bring our little girl with us so she could get some idea about who she was named after.

I could not say that Clare had moved on from her mother's death, but she was coping with it. I suppose there's nothing more you can do other than that when it comes to the death of a loved one, especially someone who had been there with you your entire life. There were nights when Clare would really miss her mom and she would cry for some time; most nights, however, she was simply content with the small family we had and how we were planning to bring a second child into the world sometime soon.

I definitely saw a bit of Helen Martin in Helen Goldsworthy, but maybe that was because they shared a name. Whether it was fact or just my imagination, I'm glad we named our little princess after the woman who had meant so much to me and Clare; I would not have it any other way.

"Here we are," I declared as we stopped at the appropriate headstone. The three of us looked at it and not even three seconds passed us by when . . .

"That's my name!" Helen exclaimed delightedly, jumping up and down as she saw her name.

"You bet it is," Clare said.

"But . . . that's not my last name."

"You're right," she nodded.

"Then who is Helen Mar-tin," she said, pronouncing the last name that was carved in the stone.

"That's my mommy," Clare told her.

"Really?" she said, looking at Clare with astonished eyes.

"Yes."

Helen turned back to the stone and the grin she was wearing faded away when she came to a realization.

"If she's here . . . that means she's dead, right?" she inquired, facing me now.

"I'm afraid so, sweetie," I said.

"You see," Clare began, "she passed away a few weeks before you were born."

"Oh," Helen said sadly. "So this grandma won't ever come over to play like Grandma CeCe."

"No," I said. "But there is some good news here."

"What's that?" she asked me, thirsting to hear something positive so she would not feel so sad.

"Mommy and I loved your grandma so much that we decided to name you after her."

"You did?"

"Yes and there are times when you are just like her," I told her. "In fact, you smile just like her."

Helen smiled at that and I saw the smile that my mother-in-law had given me on several occasions.

"Where is she now?" she then asked, gazing at her own name on the stone again.

"She's in Heaven, sweetie," I told her. I may not believe in such things, but Clare did and Helen had chosen that road of faith, so I went along with it until she was old enough to know.

"So I'll see her someday?"

"You will," Clare nodded. "But the important thing to remember is that she is always watching over us."

"Always?"

"Always," I repeated.

She smiled at the gravestone and I just knew she was picturing her grandmother and her running on clouds as angels in Heaven. The idea brought a smile to my face, hoping that I was wrong and that our daughter would see her grandmother.

"You know what?" Clare then said to Helen.

"What?"

"Today is Grandma's birthday."

"Are we going to make her a cake?"

Clare and I smiled and chuckled at her innocence and how adorable she was at the idea of having birthday cake.

"No, but we're bringing her a present," I told her, lifting up the bundle of flowers a bit more. "Roses were your grandma's favorite."

"Mine too!"

"See, that's another way you're just like her," I pointed out, causing her to smile. "Do you want to put them on there?"

"Yeah," she nodded, taking the flowers from me.

"Alright, you just put them right there," Clare instructed, pointing at the base of the stone.

"Here?" Helen asked, putting them down.

"Perfect," I nodded.

I expected her to back away immediately after that. Instead, she straightened up and kissed the top of the stone.

"Happy birthday, Grandma."

I wrote this after watching the episode about J.T's memorial, so I was in a character death mood and then the plot came to me in the shower. This is my first character death fic, so some feedback will be highly appreciated. Review please!