This Good Life, a following fanfic

Title: This Good Life (1/1)

Author: fais2688

Universe: Alternate/Post-The Following

Pairing/Characters: Claire Matthews/Ryan Hardy; Jenny Hardy, Joey Matthews, OC

Rating: PG

Summary: "He didn't think he'd ever get sick of seeing her smile." AU. Ryan and Claire take a much-needed vacation. Fluff. Established relationship, set after the events of The Following. No spoilers.

Author's Note: I won't lie to you guys. I absolutely adored writing , please enjoy!

She smiled at the shoreline as they drove along it, alternating between letting her eyes trace the curve of the beaches and allowing them to skip from boat to boat as they rode up the on-ramp of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Up and down the coast, she could see all manner of seafaring vessels tied to their moorings, but even more in the water—everything from Beetle Cats to yachts to freighters were spread out across the bay. Though the afternoon was nearly over, the water was still bespeckled with boats; all their inhabitants seemed intent on milking this fine summer's day for all it was worth. She didn't blame them—with the end of September quickly approaching, everyone wanted to appreciate these last few days of summer as fully as they could before the transition into autumn began and then, faster than one always expected, the arrival of winter.

She turned back to her companion only after inspecting every inch of the spectacular view their position high above the water offered her. He was studying the road when she shifted her focus, so she had a few moments to herself to take him in. Her eyes traced over him closely, and she couldn't help it—the small smile that had appeared on her face upon seeing the beautiful landscape around them expanded tenfold when she looked at him.

It had been over a year since they had stopped being characters in a horror film and returned to their normal lives, but on some days, reality hit her especially hard. This was one of those days, and it felt oh, so good.

He smiled at once when he glanced over to her briefly, clearly pleased to have caught her gaze by surprise. His own eyes lit up as they met hers as if to whisper silently, Hey. She could even imagine him saying it; she could hear the way his voice was always rough and clouded with sleep in the mornings. Hey. She could almost feel the touch of his lips against hers when she closed her eyes for a second.

She opened them then, turning back to the boats to clear her head, but they no longer held any interest for her. That fact only made her smile widen, and she had to bite on the inside of her lip to contain it. No reason to make him think she was having that good of a time cooped up in this car.

"How long until we're there?" she wondered, facing forward now and watching the cars move around theirs, each one staying in their designated lane.

"A little under an hour," he replied. His eyes scanned the road ahead for a brief second before he added, "We got lucky; there's barely any traffic."

She chuckled softly propping her elbow against the window to support her head. "Thanks for the jinx."

He shrugged it off with a smile and a shake of his head, dismissing her worries. "We'll get there," he promised.

And, just as she did with every other word that came out of his mouth, she believed what he was saying.

It was so easy—and therefore so incredibly wonderful—to be able to trust him so wholly again, about anything and everything. A weight lifted, as they said. She hadn't felt so light in years.

Getting there, as it turned out, didn't take very long. They ran into some traffic just off the bridge, but he didn't seem to mind. Apparently hitting every red light off the Bay Bridge was normal, but she more suspected that he'd grown used to all the traffic in Brooklyn and couldn't tell the difference between a good traffic day in the city and a bad traffic day anywhere else. She kept her amusement to herself, however, for they'd had more than a few long and involved conversations about the benefits and pitfalls of living in New York City. She wasn't keen to start up another one, certainly not this weekend.

"So…" She drummed her fingers against the handrest on the passenger's side of the car. "You've never told me you had a place in Maryland."

"I've never told you a lot of things," he replied.

She raised her eyebrows at that, unsure as to whether she was more surprised or impressed that he owned up to things so quickly. He caught her eye with a smile, and a knowing glint in his blue eyes.

"What?" he challenged amiably. "You think I don't know I keep things from you? Your complaints don't fall on deaf ears, you know."

"Yeah, well, you sure have fooled me these past ten years," she replied automatically, not even giving a thought to the words coming out of her mouth or how he would receive them. "I'm sorry," she hurried to apologize a second later, her begrudging tone disappearing immediately. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that. Ryan, you know I didn't—"

She fell silent as he reached out for her hand across the seats. He kept one hand on the wheel as the other brought her hand to his mouth, where he pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I know," he murmured, pulling back and letting her hand go. "And it's okay. Even if you did," he added quietly, catching her eye for a brief moment.

She swallowed that in silence, not having even the smallest reply. What was there to say that hadn't already been said a hundred times? They drove along the two-lane roads with that silence still unbroken for a full minute before she muttered sadly, "I didn't want us to fight. Not this weekend." Her happiness from earlier was already sinking in her stomach, and putting a sour taste in her mouth. Can't you lay off him for just three days?

"Then let's not fight," he replied simply, turning the car off the main road and onto a considerably smaller one-lane-only strip of asphalt.

Being unsure as to how to reply, she simply stared down the road, and soon found herself preoccupied with wondering what in the world they'd do if another car came in the opposite direction. The road was barely big enough for their car; it seemed impossible that it would be capable of fitting two.

Thankfully, though, no one came down the far end of the road, and by the time they'd turned off onto yet another side street, she'd finally found her voice.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, keeping her eyes on the road and thankful he was doing the same. It still made her nervous, sometimes, when he stared at her during conversations like these. For being such a reassuring presence in her life these past years, he still could—on certain occasions—make her very nervous. "I know you keep things close to your chest and I know you always do it for a good reason. That's who you are and I respect—" She broke off with a guilty sigh. "I try to respect that," she corrected herself. "It's just… Well, we're together, Ryan. I would appreciate being let in a bit more than just when it's necessary."

"I understand that," he replied quietly. "And I am trying to respect it as well."

She exhaled a sigh of relief; that had been considerably easier than she'd expected. "Thank you. That's all I'm asking for."

"Hm," he murmured, sounding pleased with himself as he pulled the car off the road and down onto a gravel pathway that cut its way through the surrounding woods. "Then I think you'll doubly appreciate this," he informed her, maneuvering the car down a slightly winding path, loose gravel crunching beneath their tires.

"I will?" Claire wondered, instinctually leaning forward as they wove their way through the surrounding trees and bushes. "What do you—Oh, wow," she murmured as the trees cleared and the house was revealed.

It was a small building—just a square-shaped two stories—but size barely seemed to matter here, surrounded as they were by farmland and woods and water. There wasn't enough space for a big house and besides, what use would the two of them have with all those extra rooms? The property was beautiful, and made especially so by its minimized stature and seclusion. She could see a large clearing in the back—it looked like it might even open out onto the water—but besides that, they were surrounded by trees and little else.

"When did you buy this?" she asked with a disbelieving laugh as they pulled up. Her amusement was immediately followed by self-ridicule and shame—who was she to say he didn't have enough money to buy himself a home that wasn't rented by the month?

"I didn't buy it," Ryan answered, putting the car in park and cutting the ignition. "It was passed down." He opened his door, getting up, and she followed him out.

The air surprised her by being warm and muggy—summer, it turned out, was less ready to pack up and leave than its fanatics. She grabbed at the hem of her shirt, flapping it so the fabric wouldn't stick so securely to her skin.

He shut his door and locked the car before walking around to meet her at the hood. "It's a family place," he explained as they stared up at the house. "My parents' place."

"Your parents?" The mention of his long-deceased mother and father made her stomach seize for a moment. She'd known about their untimely deaths for over a decade now, but the mention of them still unnerved her. She knew it was because he barely ever spoke of them. Each time they had been brought up in the past, he'd been terse with her, but unlike other subjects he was close-lipped about, his family was one where she didn't feel confident or comfortable enough to pry. If he ever wanted to tell her more, he would—so she could only hope. "And you… wanted to bring me here?" she asked hesitantly, as if he might still have them jump back in the car and drive all the way back to Virginia. "You wanted to bring me to your parents' place?" In the space of two seconds, the hesitation in her voice had transformed into wonder. He'd been the one who had suggested this trip; he'd made the plans. He wanted her here.

He nodded. "Yeah. I have for a while now, actually." She felt his hand reach out for hers, and she looked down, watching as she spread her fingers to accommodate his. Their hands fit together snugly. "I thought this long weekend would be a good opportunity," he added. His voice was quiet, and when a light breeze rushed through the area—ruffling the leaves of the trees and her hair—the sound of it almost disappeared completely.

Looking around, she could see how easily just that could happen—how easily he or she or even the both of them could lose themselves entirely in their surroundings. She tugged on his hand, eager again as she had been many times in the past to bury herself in the unknown—this time, she'd do it with him.

"Come on," she called. "Show me around."

"There isn't much to show," he replied, but she didn't let him leave it at that. She waited by his side, her arm linked with his, as he sifted through all his keys for the right one. When he found it, he shoved it in the deadbolt and reached for the knob. He paused for a moment before turning it. "It's nothing special," he warned her, inwardly cringing at the thought of what the house might look like after so many months of neglect. He knew he should've headed down here to check on the place before he brought her, but there never had been time.

You could've made time, a voice nagged in his head.

He had always loved coming to this place, and so he had been looking forward to bringing her here for weeks since the idea had first popped into in his mind, but who knew if she'd ever want to come back after this visit. If things weren't perfect…

He took a breath, and turned the knob. "Sorry," he began, pushing the door open and standing aside so she could walk in—and so he wouldn't have to face whatever was there to greet them right away. "I haven't visited in a while, so the house might be…"

"What are you apologizing for?" she wondered aloud, and he looked up when he heard the amused confusion in her voice. "There's nothing wrong, Ryan."

"There… isn't," he agreed reluctantly, surprised to find the place looking nothing less than presentable. He cast an eye around the living room the front door opened up into, searching for anything out of place. There was nothing. Not even one misplaced magazine or stray cobweb. He thought for a moment, trying to remember if he'd driven out here and spruced things up—and then somehow forgotten—but he knew he hadn't. That left only one answer…

"This place is amazing, Ryan," Claire enthused, moving about to inspect the room. She walked around the sofa, the coffee table, and bypassed the small kitchen to peer around the corner. He knew what she'd come across walking over there, but nonetheless, he still felt a smile turn up the corners of his mouth at her reaction. He could hear her gasp across the room. "Oh, my god…"

He shut the door quietly, moving across the carpeted floor silently. She jumped when he put his hands on her waist, instinctively moving away from the unexpected contact, but quickly relaxed. He wrapped his arms around her middle, hugging her to him as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Like the view?" he whispered in her ear.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. Her hands moved to meet his, and she laced the fingers of both of her hands through both of his. For a silent minute, they stared out at the creek—which more resembled a river, if one judged it by its width—and watched the water flow to and from the main bay. The sun was getting ready to set, and its reflection glimmered across the water, creating a view gorgeous enough for a painting.

The peaceful moment was broken, though, rather unexpectedly, when she turned around in his arms and abruptly shoved him away. Her hands were none too gentle, and he stared at her in shock, not knowing at all what to say or even what to think. What had he done? But before he could put just two words together in his own defense—or to question her assault—she'd reached forward and kissed him, pulling him to her just as purposefully as she'd pushed him away a second ago.

"Why have you been hiding this place from me for so long?!" she demanded, her hands shaking his shoulders after her lips left his. "What is wrong with you?"

He smiled, finally understanding, and kissed her again before reaching forward and wrapping his arms around her back. "If I'd known it would have made this good of an impression on you," he teased, "I would've brought you here on our first date."

She smiled, remembering. She leaned her head against his. "I liked our first date, you know."

He shook his head, replying flatly, "Our first date was a disaster, Claire."

"That's why I liked it."

"You have the advantage of hindsight right now," he reminded her. "Looking back, I'm sure it seems like an… adorable blunder or something." Claire snorted. "But remember," he added seriously, "that was the first date. Usually when the first date is bad, there isn't a second."

She grinned, holding him close, her hands cupping his neck. "What, you thought I wouldn't give you a second chance?"

He smiled, leaning towards her. "Well, for a long time, you had me wondering why you'd even given me any chance at all in the first place, so…"

She kissed him, teasing, "It was nothing more than simple curiosity." She laughed at the frown on his face, stepping back and taking his hand. "Come on," she encouraged with a smile, pulling him with her. "Let's go out to the water."

They sat in a couple of chairs set out on far the edge of the dock, and looked out at the slow-moving waters of their little tributary as it fed out into the main bay. Though every other dock along the creek had at least one sailboat or motorboat moored to its surface, there were no boats on their dock. There had been, once, but Ryan's father had had to part with them years ago to keep up with his wife's medical bills and later, funeral expenses. He'd refused to sell the house—it meant too much to all of them, no matter how absolutely it would've solved their financial problems—but the absence of the ships hardly mattered. It was nice just sitting there, watching the water come and go, and the people along with it.

Ryan recognized nearly everyone that went by—all these neighborhood faces had been ingrained in his mind during his many childhood visits here—but it became clear after he waved to the first person and didn't receive a wave in return that they didn't recognize him so easily.

Only one person waved back with a knowing smile—Roy Sanders, a neighbor he'd recognize anywhere, who'd always been good to their family when Ryan had been a kid—but he was on his way home and didn't have time for much more than a brief, "Good to see you again!" The rest, as they floated on by, weren't able to identify him quick enough to call out. Occasionally Ryan caught their eyes—watching their expressions change from confusion to recognition to disbelief—but by the time they'd matched their memories of pre-teen Ryan with the fully-grown reality, they were already halfway down the creek, too far to greet him.

Ryan didn't mind.

With the exception of Roy, it was nice to be in a place where so few people recognized him. When he glanced over at her, he could see Claire smiling serenely at his side, and he knew she appreciated it, too. The whispers and stares had died down quite drastically in the past year or so, but nothing beat coming to a new place and not having a single person look twice at your face, knowing they were picturing someone far more sinister.

"Do you want to go out to dinner?" he asked finally, after the last boats had been secured to their docks and the water was nearly as still as a pond's. "There are some nice restaurants in town. We haven't driven through it yet," he added, not wanting her to think he was referencing the chain franchises they'd passed on the way here.

She shook her head, though, reaching out for his hand. He let her take it, fit their fingers together, and then let their arms dangle in the space between the chairs, linked together in the warm night air. "Let's just stay out here for a while," she murmured, squeezing his hand softly.

Ryan nodded, clutching her hand briefly in return. He turned back to the water, the setting sun, and all the familiar surroundings, not having realized until she'd said it that he didn't want to go anywhere else, either.

They were just finishing their makeshift dinner—a leftover box of pasta and some thankfully unexpired tomato sauce—when his cell phone rang. Ryan was going to silence it—they had had a lovely night alone together so far, and they didn't need any intruders—but Claire caught his eye and he knew she worried it was Joey. He'd be lying if he said his mind didn't jump right to her son as well, though he hoped the fears that popped into her mind were only those of a typical parent, and not recreations of all the atrocities they'd seen over the years.

He accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ry." The bit of worry that had seeped its way into him immediately evaporated at the sound of his sister's cheerful voice. He mouthed the word Jenny to Claire with a quick smile, and watched her features relax. Say hi, she mouthed back. He nodded, and stepped away into the living room to complete the call while she cleared the table.

"Hey, Jen. What's going on? Joey okay?"

"He's fine," she answered, a slight laugh buoying her words. He could practically see her rolling her eyes at him in amusement, and he knew if he and Claire been home and not out of state, his sister would've teased him and called him Dad for worrying so much. But they were out of state, and Jenny knew better than most how much they worried about leaving Joey behind, even in her exceptional care. "Nothing's going on here, but I just wanted to check in and see if you guys got there all right."

"We got here," he affirmed, "Safe and sound." He smirked, adding, "Over three hours ago."

"I wanted to give you time to settle in," Jenny shot back, her voice rising a bit higher as it always did when she defended herself despite knowing she was guilty.

"We're settled," Ryan replied, glancing over his shoulder. Claire was across the room, putting the dishes in the sink and running the water, but even so, he walked to the far corner of the living room and lowered his voice so she wouldn't hear. "About that… Thanks for picking up the place for me, Jenny."

She laughed softly on the other side of the line, and Ryan could almost see her smile. "No problem," she answered happily. "The place was a mess," she admitted, "and I knew you'd forget. But we couldn't have her seeing it like that," she finished, sounding just as determined as Ryan guessed she had been when she'd stopped down to spruce the place up however many days ago.

"I appreciate it, Jen," he reiterated. "I really do."

"Well, you're welcome," she replied. There was a pause on the line for a moment, the static hanging between them as they both searched for something more to say, but Jenny quickly broke it, deftly removing them both from what would have just been a repetition of all they'd already said. "I'm about to put Joey to bed, but he waned to talk to his mom first. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Ryan replied at once, grateful to be able to pass the phone off. "I'll get her right now."

He said his quick goodbye to his sister before moving across the room. He tapped Claire on the shoulder, swapping the sponge in her hand for the phone in his. "Joey wants to say goodnight," he explained, taking over the chore of washing their few dishes. He only half-listened to her side of the conversation as he did the dishes; every once in a while he could hear Joey's voice come through the other side of the phone, and it made him smile. He knew she worried about Joey still—they all did, after what he'd been through—but it seemed like the kid was doing all right. From what little Ryan could hear, at least, he sounded happy.

He was just finishing up drying the last of their water glasses when she came up beside him. He glanced over, briefly, but then did a double take when he saw the look on her face. She appeared to be supremely happy about something. He was just about to ask what it was when she held out the phone, and, never taking her eyes off him or losing that bright smile on her face, whispered, "Joey wants to say goodnight to you too."

Ryan blinked at her for a frozen second in time, not fully understanding what she was saying. The words went in one ear and out the other, but then he understood—he understood—and he'd be lying if he said his pulse didn't jump a bit upon realizing.

He'd faced down death countless times; delivered it, too. He knew he shouldn't be so anxious to get on a phone with an eleven-year-old boy, but he was. Nonetheless, he took the phone. He turned away as he brought it to his ear both to give himself the illusion of privacy and deny Claire the chance to see just how nervous he actually was. She'd gotten too good at reading his face over the years. "Hey, Joey. Getting ready for bed?"

"Yup!"

Ryan's mouth flickered up into a slight smile at Joey Matthews's enthusiastic reply. It didn't sound like he'd be falling asleep anytime soon. He wondered idly how much sugar Jenny had smuggled into his little body after they'd left. He supposed it didn't matter—she was the one who would have to deal with him bouncing off the walls, if it came to that.

"Well, I'll let you get back to it, then." Ryan could feel himself relaxing again already; what had there been to be nervous about in the first place, anyway? It was the simplest of conversations. "Goodnight, kid. Sleep well, okay?"

"Okay," Joey replied. "Night, Ryan."

"We'll, uh, we'll be back by Monday afternoon. Sounds good?"

"Sounds good." There was a pause on line before the boy wondered, his voice quieter than before, "Are you staying over here on Monday?"

"I… was planning on it," Ryan replied automatically, not wanting to lie, but neither wanting to garner an adverse reaction from Joey. They'd been on good terms recently—very good terms, Ryan had to admit—but he was still waiting for the day when things would fall apart. Because it would happen. It had to happen.

"The rest of the week, too?"

"I'm not sure yet," Ryan replied carefully, not certain if he trusted himself to be honestly interpreting Joey's curious tone as excited. "We'll have to see how things shake out." The question, Do you want me to? was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew he couldn't ask it. He couldn't do that to Joey, or, really, to himself. What was he supposed to do if the answer was No?

"But you'll be back Monday?"

"Yeah," Ryan replied, relieved to be back on solid footing again. "Your mom and I will be back on Monday."

"Okay. Bye, Ryan."

"Bye, kid." He thought for a second and then added, "Get some sleep," but he couldn't tell if Joey had already hung up or not. He ended the call himself, and stared down at the phone for a few seconds before pocketing the device. Joey's words were still running through his head, and the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't help but think that maybe Joey had sounded excited when he'd asked how long he'd be staying. Maybe Joey wanted him to stay.

Or maybe he was just making it all up.

"What are you smiling about over there?" Claire wondered happily when he returned to the kitchen. "What happened?"

Ryan shook his head, entering the room but not meeting her eye. He hadn't realized he'd been smiling until she'd pointed it out. He hoped he wasn't jumping the gun on this. He leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, his arms folded, before lifting his head in her direction. "Did you say anything to Joey about what we're doing this week?"

"This week?" Claire asked, her forehead creasing in confusion. "No… Why? Are we doing something special?"

Ryan shook his head. "No. We're not." He paused. "When we were on the phone, he asked me…" Ryan glanced down at the floor, speaking to his shoes, as he was unable to look her in the eye, as he admitted, "Joey asked if I was staying over this week."

Claire watched him closely, first not understanding his enforced distance, and then watching as everything was illuminated. Ryan couldn't keep a smile off his face when he talked about her son. And even watching him, she couldn't, either. Seeing him so happy—about Joey—made her heart twist in the best of ways.

"Maybe… Maybe I was imagining it, but he kind of sounded like—like maybe he wanted me to." Ryan's eyes briefly surface from the floor, finding hers. "You know?" he wondered quietly.

Claire bit down on her lower lip so she wouldn't shout and tackle him in a hug. Of course I know! she wanted to scream, but she kept it in. She simply smiled, and stepped forward to kiss him. "Yes." She wrapped a hand around his back, hanging onto the back of his neck as she kissed him again. "I know." She shut her eyes, biting her lip again as she reached forward to hug him. First she pressed her face into his shoulder, and then leveled her chin atop it. "He and I have talked," she confessed softly. "He doesn't want you going anywhere." She paused, biting her lower lip for an entirely different reason this time. She could feel her stomach rolling with nerves. "And neither do I," she finally told him, holding her breath as she waited for him to respond.

It didn't take long. Almost instinctually, his arms wrapped around her as well, pulling her close and holding her there—just where she wanted to be. She heard his reply as it fell over her shoulder as he embraced her: "Then I won't be going anywhere."

He brought a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn hours later, careful not to bump her head as he moved. Her body rose with his as he inhaled, and fell as his fell, but she didn't stir. He craned his neck, lifting it from its resting place against the couch's armrest, but he couldn't move his head enough to get a good look at her face. He supposed it didn't matter; she was probably already asleep.

He stared out at the view in front of them, looking through the windows and past the yard towards the water. It was late now, probably around ten or eleven, and the night was pitch dark around them. The only light he could see came from neighboring docks and the moon; only a few windows in a few houses were still lit up this late.

The moon's reflection shimmered on the water, creating a pale stripe highlighting the moving, blue-black darkness of the water. Hours earlier, they'd moved the couch, shifting it so it faced the windows at the back, and they'd watched—first as the sun set, then as the moon rose. They'd talked, too, having slow, rambling conversations about whatever came to mind.

More often than not, it had been stories of his family that left his lips.

She had stayed silent most of the time, interjecting only with outrage when appropriate, or laughter, but mostly, she had just let him talk.

He had told her about all the childhood memories he had of this place, surprising even himself with all the ones he could remember. He hadn't thought about this place in a while, hadn't visited in years, but the moment they'd pulled up to the house, he'd been assaulted by memories. They'd come rushing back—first in full force—and then more slowly, trickling out at just the right moments.

"I feel like I'm in a perpetual state of déjà vu here," he had told her, but it wasn't a complaint. Most days he tried not to think about all the people he'd lost—doing so would only lead him nowhere, as he well knew—but here, it was different. Here, he didn't remember being at his mother's deathbed in the hospital, or seeing his father bleed out on that convenience sore's scuffed linoleum floor; he didn't remember watching the South Tower collapse, knowing Ray was trapped somewhere inside.

Instead, he remembered other things: running through the grass as a child, chasing his siblings; his father showing him how to raise the flag—just him, because it was their thing; his mother drilling the simplicities and complexities of sailing into each of them until they knew the boat stern to bow, port to starboard, and everything in between.

He hadn't realized he was smiling so widely until his cheeks started hurting. Happiness snuck up on a person like him, taking him by surprise each and every time. This had been no different.

And, as always, its twisted cousin grief was quick to follow—but thankfully much easier to recognize. Grief sent its messengers. They were never welcome, per se, but he was grateful for their punctuality nonetheless. The stinging warning in his eyes was always given in enough time so that he could run before he really lost control.

But this time, she hadn't letting him go. He had tried to get up, but she'd held him still. He'd tried to excuse himself, but she'd ignored it.

"It's only me," she had whispered. "It's just me and you here." He could hear her unspoken pleas—Let me in, please let me in—but he couldn't. He couldn't. Not this, not now. Not here.

"I'll—I'll be right back—" He had tried hard to sound convincing, but the false words had caught in his throat, revealing the truth. Once he was gone, he wouldn't be back, not until long after this spell had passed—and who knew if it ever would, in this place so close to home?

"Just stay," she had whispered, her voice soft and soothing as she laid her head against his chest and wrapped her arm around his back, effectively blocking his entire body with hers. If he had still wanted to leave, he'd now have to physically move her off of him, and they both knew he wouldn't do that. So he had laid there, with her, and cried as silently as he could manage while the memories and grief overwhelmed him, one after the other after the other.

Now, minutes—or perhaps hours?—later, his tears had long since dried and silence had once again descended between them. Neither of them had spoken a word in what felt like a very long time, but the lapse was not resentful, or unhappy. Somehow—and he didn't know quite how— he still felt comfortable with her, in the quiet like this, even after breaking down like he had in front of her. If he hadn't already known that they belonged together, this moment after would have sealed that fanciful notion into steadfast belief.

He shifted slightly now, pushing himself up against the armrest so he was more sitting than lying down, and craned his neck to whisper in her ear. "Think it's time to go to bed?" he asked quietly, hoping not to wake her too harshly from sleep.

But she shook her head against his chest before he'd even finished speaking, proving him wrong in his assumption that she'd been asleep the entire time. "Just a little while longer," she murmured. She paused, her mouth stretching in a yawn, too, before adding softly, "It's so peaceful at night here." He knew without having to press her again that she wanted to stay here and enjoy it until she said otherwise.

He nodded, both in agreement and understanding. "Okay." In all honesty, he didn't really want to leave, either. He'd grown so comfortable here, lying with her, having things out in the open like this. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and then moved his lips as close to her ear as he could manage, teasing, "But I'm not carrying you to bed, so you better stay awake."

There was a short pause before she replied—mimicking a loud snore—and for a few seconds, the precious stillness of the night was broken by their even more precious laughter. Somehow, it ended up sounding just as peaceful—if not more so—than the all-encompassing silence.

He was almost asleep—he could feel the drowsiness starting to drown him—but he knew he had to say it before he fell completely away. He had to say it today. So he opened his mouth and pushed the words through his fatigued brain.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She yawned, burrowing the side of her head against his chest. "Hm? For what?"

"For giving me a second chance."

She laughed quietly, her body shaking atop his. "Is this still about our first date? I remember it perfectly, Ryan. And it wasn't that bad."

He shook his head, turning his body on its side to be closer to hers. "Not just about that," he muttered softly.

When she lifted her head from his chest and sat up, he knew she understood what he was talking about. He opened his mouth to say it again—to really, truly thank her for all she'd done for him, especially tonight—but she beat him to it: "You don't need to thank me," she told him. "You never need to thank me, Ryan." Her solemnity died away as she added with a smile, "And you'll always get a second chance with me, no matter what. You should know that by now."

"I don't deserve that," he argued, unable to hold back from saying what he knew was the truth. He didn't deserve it. He really didn't.

She sighed, tilting her head to the side as she wondered aloud, her voice full of pleasant disbelief, "How many more times am I going to have to tell you that I love you before you start believing it?" She asked the question good-naturedly, but he could still see a hint of desperation hiding in her eyes. She wasn't smiling when she asked again, her tone harsher, "How many times, Ryan?"

"That isn't what this is about." He shook his head, not wanting to get into it right now, and yet unable to let such an important subject go. Unable to let her let him go, let him off the hook. "It isn't about how many times you say it, or how much I believe it—because I do," he added before she could ask. "I do believe it. But that isn't what matters here—what matters is whether or not it's warranted. Whether or not I deserve it. And I don't. I just don't, Claire. Not after what I did."

She stared at him for a long minute in silence before surrendering quietly: "Fine. Maybe you don't deserve it."

"I don't," he affirmed, incapable of letting that 'maybe' hang in the air.

"So then be grateful for my lapse in judgment," she snapped in reply, annoyed at his interruption, "because there's no reversing it now, got it?"

The ring of finality in her voice told him the question was rhetorical—the subject was now closed for tonight, and probably forever—but he could no more leave her question unanswered than her 'maybe' uncontested.

He bent forward, tilting his head to the side, and held her eye as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. With that anger burning bright in her eyes, he worried she might shove him away if he tried for her lips. "Got it," he murmured against her skin. He was going to pull back, but then he felt her hands cupping the back of his neck, and he stilled himself. He moved his arms to wrap around her as well, to hold her close, and even though the words didn't need to be said, he said them anyway: "I love you."

If she didn't want to leave, he would never, ever make her, but he was relieved she at least knew the score now. He would always be on the losing side, he would always owe her something; that was just the way of it, whether or not she believed it as wholeheartedly as he did. And despite the fact that he knew she'd just been throwing words at him earlier for the sake of it, he hoped she knew that he took those words at face value. He had always been and would always be grateful for her.

"I love you too, Ryan."

He was grateful every single day.

Despite his empty threat to leave her on the couch if she fell asleep there, it turned out that he would be the first to succumb to unconsciousness. Though she felt the weight of fatigue weighing down on her as well, she stayed awake a while longer, just lying there with him in the silence of the night. Every once in a while she could hear an owl call from somewhere across the creek, but apart from that, the only noise that existed in the world was the sound of his breathing, rhythmic and steady, moving along with hers. She watched the moon for a long time, seeing it shimmer across the water and glow in the sky.

When she finally couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, she closed them and rested her head fully against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat drumming in her ear, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, and it was even more comforting than hearing him breathe.

When she eventually fell asleep, she did so with the knowledge that he was alive, just as she had every single night for the past year. She had never realized just how much she'd craved that unwavering certainty that he was alive—and the ability to simply lean over and check—until it had been snatched from her.

It had been over a year since that had all ended, yes, but the nightmares still came—sometimes only occasionally, and sometimes with terrifying regularity—and they always told the same story. She'd stopped alerting him to their existence months ago, in part because she knew how they upset him, and also because there was nothing he—or anyone—could do to stop them. They had slept in the same bed more nights than not these past couples months, but his proximity when she went to bed didn't seem to change the outcome of her mind's nighttime wanderings. And if that couldn't help, she didn't know what could.

She was always relieved, however, to find him lying next to her in the morning. It was easy to rid her mind of its tormentors when all she had to do to prove their non-existence was check his pulse or watch him breathe.

Time, they said, heals all wounds. She hoped it would, eventually, do away entirely with her lingering scars and phantom pain.

When he woke the next morning, he was alone.

Panic didn't shoot through him immediately—it had been long enough now that he'd stopped waking in a cold sweat, imagining demons in his home that were now, thankfully, put to rest—but worry still nagged at him. It wasn't until he heard a pair of bare feet moving across the kitchen tile and the clink of what sounded like glasses banging together that the worry disappeared entirely.

He got to his feet, shaking his sore body loose and stretching his muscles within the confines of his clothes. He smirked to himself, realizing that they really had spent the night on the couch. No matter how tired—or lazy—they got tonight, he promised himself that they wouldn't sleep on that couch again. He thought his back might break if they did.

"He's awake."

Ryan smiled at the sound of her voice, and made his way towards the kitchen. "I'm awake," he affirmed, stepping through the doorway.

She glanced at him with a smile turning up half her mouth. "Morning," she greeted, passing him a mug. "I was hoping I didn't wake you when I got up. The sun got me early; it's so bright here."

"It is," Ryan agreed, squinting his eyes as he reached out to yank down the kitchen window's blinds. "Especially when we don't pull down any of the curtains. Coffee?" he wondered, eyeing his empty mug as he sniffed the air. He could smell it.

"Almost done," she replied. She nodded towards the windows in the living room, and he followed her gaze out towards the lawn and the water. "I saw a couple chairs sitting out there on the grass; I was going to go sit and enjoy the sun."

"Mind if I join you?"

She smiled, pulling the coffee off its burner and filling their mugs. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"It really is beautiful here," she whispered, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat down in the wooden lawn chair a minute later. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye as she blew on her coffee. "It makes me wonder what other secret Hardy family properties you've been hiding from me…"

He laughed, shaking his head. "There's nothing else," he promised, sipping his drink. "Just the one."

She smiled, reaching over to place her hand on his forearm. "Well, I love it all the same."

"I'm glad."

"But you know who would really love it?" She turned her head over to meet his, her eyes shining.

Ryan already knew the answer, but he asked anyway, just because he wanted to hear her say it, "Who?"

"Joey."

He smiled. "Then we'll have to bring him down sometime." She nodded, sighing happily next to him in agreement, and they looked out at the water for a minute before he asked, "Last night, after Joey called and I told you what he said…"

Claire turned her head away from the water to look at him when he trailed off hesitantly. "Yes?"

"You said you and he had talked about it," Ryan prompted. "What exactly have you been talking about?"

Claire smiled, straightening up. "Nothing, really. It's just…" She reached out for his hand, enclosing it within hers. "When you're not around, I've noticed he looks for you." She looked at to the water for a moment, attempting to hide the fullness of her smile from his concerned eyes. "He asks about you, too, if you're gone for a while. 'Why isn't Ryan here?' 'When's Ryan coming back?'" She rubbed her fingers against his hand, the corners of her mouth turning up in a nervous smile. "So one day, I just sat him down and I asked him about you. What he thought of you, what he thought of us—all of us—and he… He had answers that I really liked hearing."

"If…" Ryan frowned, struggling to match all these half-stories together. "If you liked what he said, why didn't you tell me about it? Why didn't you let me know he wanted me there, too?"

"You already knew that," Claire excused. "You knew he liked having you around—"

"No," Ryan corrected, interrupting her, "I assumed he liked having me around. Inever knew for sure."

"Oh, Ryan…" She sighed, shaking her head sadly.

"Tell me why you didn't want to tell me." He tried to speak commandingly, but the words came out sounds as soft as a plea: "Just tell me why you didn't trust me with that."

"It's not about trust," Claire replied at once. "It's…" She faltered, eyeing him nervously before finally admitting in a low whisper, "I was just nervous. It meant so much to me, that he liked you, that he wanted you around… I just didn't want to scare you away by telling you too early. It would've killed me if that's what scared you away, if that's what made you leave."

"Claire," he muttered under his breath, upset with the implication of her reply. He could almost hear the added Again in the silence.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "but that's the honest answer. I didn't want you to think it was too much too soon." She didn't stay silent this time: "Not again."

He bent forward, looking her in the eye. "It isn't too much too soon," he assured her. "And that wouldn't have scared me. Not then, not now."

She swallowed. "It wouldn't have?" she asked, holding her breath.

He shook his head. "No, not at all." A slow smile spread across his face; it lit him up even more than the summer sun could. "Actually," he confided softly, skimming the pad of his thumb against the back of her hand, "it would've made me very happy."

"Yeah?" she asked hopefully, hardly being able to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirmed, and he met her halfway when she leaned across their chairs to kiss him.

It was broad daylight, and they were out in the open, and they were surrounded by other homes, but still, the moment their lips touched, she couldn't help but pull him closer. She would have liked to say it was a culmination of things: the stress of travel, the acclimation to such a new, beautiful place, the fact that they hadn't spent a real night together in a over two weeks… She would have liked to say all that was the reason she was kissing him so fiercely, the reason her body was already tingling with want and need, but it wasn't all that.

Really, it was just relief. Relief that he was okay with Joey's opinion of him, relief that he even seemed to want more; relief that this was all real, was all happening. Relief that he was hers and she was his and nothing—not anyone, not anymore—could pull them apart. Relief in the realization that, if they played the rest of their good cards right, they could spend the rest of their lives like this: Together. Happy.

"I love you," she whispered between kisses, struggling to get the words out and simultaneously keep her mouth attached to his at all times. "I love you so much."

He grinned, his tongue teasing her lips before murmuring sensually, "Then why don't you come over here and show me."

She smiled back, but was too intent on kissing him to laugh, or, really, to even think of the offer as much of a joke. She could feel the fire, the urgency, in his kiss and she knew he felt the same. They would have to get inside, quick, or else she really might end up coming over there to show him. In the back of her mind, she wondered if they'd fail to make it to the bed again. Maybe they'd end up on the couch a second time. God knew it had happened before…

"Good morning!"

Claire jumped in surprise, a frightened yelp escaping loudly from her mouth now that it was no longer attached to Ryan's. Embarrassed, she clasped a hand quickly over her lips, but the damage and humiliation were already done. As her eyes searched frantically for the intruder, she struggled to piece together how much—and just what—they had seen. She hadn't exactly been on top of him, but she'd been damn near close enough, and not-so-secretly thinking about more. Oh god… She could feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment, and she knew soon that her face would be turning pink. Why didn't we just stay inside?

"Lovely day, isn't it?"

Claire's eyes zeroed in on their visitor as her eyes scanned the waters before them and—to her worsening embarrassment—recognized him. He was one of the people who'd sailed past them last night; he'd been the only one to return Ryan's wave. The only one that was close enough with Ryan to still recognize him after all those years. The one who might've served as a surrogate father after Ryan's father's death. The one who'd just seen them all over each other as if they'd been alone in their bedroom.

"Lovely," Claire repeated weakly, her voice barely carrying across the lawn. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest again, though it was no longer from her boyfriend's touch. Her eyes reluctantly moved from the man afloat in the small sailboat to the one at her side. She might've laughed if she'd been removed from the situation—she could swear Ryan's face, too, was going red. She'd known him for over a decade now, but she couldn't remember one time that she'd seen his face flush with such color. She supposed if they'd known each other when they were kids, and his parents had caught them making out in the basement, he would look like this.

"Morning," Ryan finally called back, coming to his senses and clearing his throat as he straightened up in his chair and got to his feet. He gestured to Claire at his side. "Roy, this is—"

"Talk later," Roy interrupted as the wind shifted, carrying him more quickly towards the mouth of the creek. "You two have a great day."

Claire was essentially watching the exchange out from behind her hands, but even so she could swear she saw the man wink before he offered a parting wave and was off. She blinked, trying to pretend she imagined it, but the more she went over it in her head, the more sure she was she saw it.

Ryan's back was to her, and so she was left only to wonder what color his face had turned. Purple? Her cheeks felt hotter than they would have if they'd been sunburned; she couldn't imagine what he was feeling.

She remembered all the stories he'd told her last night, recalling each one featuring Roy Sanders and his wife with extra attention to detail now. She knew that after their parents had died, Ray had been old enough to be Ryan and Jenny's legal guardian, but that hadn't stopped others from stepping in. While Ray had been combative with some—confident that he could take care of his family alone, because he had no other choice—he'd never turned down assistance from their neighbors in Maryland whenever they visited. Ray could never be a second father—he was their brother, first, foremost, and always—but Roy… Over the years, Ryan had come to accept him like a substitute father. And in a household of men, Jenny had attached herself to Roy's wife at once. Before even the first year anniversary of their parents' passing arrived, they were spending more summer nights across the creek than in their own home.

They all had known what was happening, but after all the heartbreak and the grief and the hopelessness, sometimes it had been easier to just let go and be cared for by someone who loved you than to do it all alone, every day of the week.

Ray, Ryan had told her, shaking his head, had been the last to learn that lesson. Claire hadn't contradicted her boyfriend at the time, but she had suspected that he might've overlooked some of his own faults. She'd never known Ray Hardy, but she knew his younger brother well enough to sense when he was projecting his own problems onto others.

She sat behind the middle Hardy sibling now, watching over his shoulder as his surrogate father disappeared out into the bay. She hardly knew the man, but she could picture him laughing to himself nonetheless as he sailed away. She wondered how much longer he'd keep them in suspense before finishing their 'conversation.'

"So…" Claire sucked in a breath, leaning forward in her chair. "Do they have breakfast restaurants in that town you were talking about? Because I think it would be a good idea for us to get out of here for a little while."

Ryan laughed quietly, hanging his head before turning around to look at her. "What?" he wondered jokingly. "You don't like the shore anymore? That's all it takes?"

Claire shook her head with a smile, taking the hand he offered and stepping to her feet. "Don't pretend like you weren't mortified. If I was, then you surely…"

"Oh, I'll be having nightmares," Ryan assured her grimly, leading the way back to the house. "And we're going to be keeping the curtains closed at all times from now on," he added as they stepped inside.

Claire laughed, but secretly, couldn't agree more.

She was standing by the kitchen sink when he returned, the successfully retrieved car keys held aloft in his hand. "Found them," he called triumphantly, stepping into the room. "They were under the table; I think they fell out of my jacket…" He trailed off when he realized she wasn't listening. "Claire?" he called softly.

She didn't move.

"Claire?" He approached her slowly, placing his feet carefully, as if walking across a stretch of land dotted with mines. "Are you okay?" he asked when he finally arrived at her side. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her lips were pressed tight together—he could tell from the crease of her forehead that she was thinking hard about something. He tried not to let his mind spin out of control with the countless possibilities. "Don't tell me Roy turned you sour on this place," he half-joked, hardly able to manage even a half-smile.

Thankfully, she shook her head. "No," she replied softly. "I don't dislike the place. I don't think I ever could, and especially not because of him."

Ryan's lungs released a breath of oxygen he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. "So what is it?" he asked, his words treading as lightly as his feet had moments ago.

"I love it here," she told him earnestly. "I really do."

He waited for her to continue. "But…?"

"But…" She stared out the window for a few long seconds before finally turning to him. "But I want to stay in Richmond. I want to live there; that's home for us."

Ryan's eyebrows knitted together, confused. "Claire, I wasn't asking you and Joey to move here. That's not what this weekend was about. I just wanted to show you—"

"I know what you wanted to show me," she interrupted quietly. She took his hand, squeezing it gently. "And I'm so glad you did; I'm so glad you trusted me with this—" she looked around "—with all of it." She slowed down, gnawing on her lower lip for a second. "Like I said, I love it here. It's heaven; it really is. But when I think of home…"

Ryan nodded. "I know. You and Joey belong in Richmond." He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment as he struggled with what to say, how much to let go. "I knew you'd never move to Brooklyn. I knew that. But I was hoping… I don't know…" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I thought I could win you over with this place," he muttered despondently.

Claire smiled, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. "You did," she told him quietly, watching his head shoot up. "You won me over…" Her smile widened a bit. "Just maybe not in the way you were expecting."

"What do you mean?"

She stepped closer, reminding herself silently to stay calm. "Before, you didn't hear me correctly," she told him. She took a breath. "When I said Richmond was home for us, I didn't just mean me and Joey."

He stared at her for a long minute, hardly doing anything more than breathing and blinking in his shock. "You want…" His lips mouthed the words, but no sound came out. He tried again: "Are you saying that you want me… You want…?"

"I want you to move in with us," Claire finished for him, her confident words not even beginning to betray the nervousness that hid beneath the surface. "I want you to live with us. I want you to be there, every single day and every single night."

"When… When you said you talked with Joey…"

Claire nodded. "This came up." She took his other hand, and held them both tightly. "He wants you there too, Ryan. This isn't just me. I know you won't let yourself see it, not yet, but he does want you around."

"If he changes his mind…"

Claire shook her head vehemently. "He won't."

"But if he does—"

"If he does," Claire interrupted heatedly, "then I'll kick you to the curb without a second thought; how does that sound for fair?"

Ryan stared at her, initially too shocked to be insulted, but then he grinned, laughing. She couldn't help but smile a bit, too. "Sounds fair," he allowed with a chuckle.

"Good." She smiled, tugging on his hands to pull him close for a kiss. She could feel him grinning, still, against her mouth, and she lifted her hands from his to wrap them around his neck to anchor their bodies together. His hands, freed from hers, ran up her sides, crossed over her back, and buried themselves in her hair.

His hands and kisses made her feel undressed even with all her clothes on, and by the time she'd managed to separate their lips, he'd already stolen her breath.

"We… We were going to…" Her eyes fell shut as his mouth moved to her neck, pressing hot kisses against her sensitive skin, and she struggled to keep her head on straight. "We were going to go out to breakfast," she reminded him finally, though the hands holding on tight to his back hardly seemed intent on letting go to pick up a knife and fork.

"We can go out for lunch," he suggested, and with just that offer, the plans they'd started out in their chairs on the lawn were solidified.

Her hands cupped his cheeks, bringing his lips back to hers. She kissed him with renewed passion, as if only now just recalling how long it had been since they'd had time alone. And it had been so long—at least, it felt that way. After those eight years of silence, it always felt that way.

They stumbled up to the bedroom, bumping into walls and doors on their way, for each was really more intent on laying hands on the other than finding the right piece of furniture upon which to do the deed. The floor had served before, and so had various walls. Maybe even the stairs would work at this point.

When she finally pushed open an unmarked, plain wooden door to reveal a perfectly-made and as-of-yet not slept in queen-sized bed, she nearly sighed in relief. They stumbled inside the room as they had stumbled to the door, and she broke their kiss for only one second, just long enough to say, "Get the curtains."

It was the last intelligent sentence that was uttered in the house for some time.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. I had such a blast writing this, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. Reviews, as always, are more than welcome!

[A/N Edit: Wow. I just realized I wrote an entire Following fiction without even one mention of Joe. I don't know whether I deserve a pat on the back or a slap on the wrist for that…]