Disclaimer: same as last time—I do not claim to own The Breakfast Club, nor do I make any sort of monetary profit from this. It is purely for my entertainment as well as (hopefully) the entertainment of others.

Author's note: FYI, I got tired of editing this—I've been through it many times, so if there are still mistakes…oh well. :) Enjoy!

Update, 12/22/12: I edited this to have a different ending because I want to take this story in a different direction than I initially planned. Chapter Three coming soon. :)

Chapter Two:

First Ray

"Allison told me that he was in New York City! I mean, what the hell?" Claire whined, kicking the wheel of Sonia's car.

"Aright, Strawberry Shortcake, calm down—it's not the end of the world… And if you don't stop abusing my car I'm going critically injure you."

Claire looked up at her dark-haired friend and glared.

"I can press charges for battery and assault, you know," Sonia added with a sharp hand motion, her pointer finger directed at Claire, who rolled her eyes.

"That's only for people."

"Are you trying to say that the well-being of my car doesn't matter?"

"Actually—"

"Because you know that I could argue that aliens induced the headless horseman to kill you and win."

Claire just stood there with her jaw hanging open for a moment. "Why are we suddenly making this all about your car?" she finally asked.

"You're the one who kicked it—you tell me."

Claire rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Sonia sighed, her face becoming a bit more serious.

"So you're really telling me that you ran away from home because of a guy?" Sonia questioned.

Claire clenched her jaw. "There's more to it than you think, Sone," she replied.

"Really? Like what?"

Claire sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. "It's just… a really long story."

Sonia rolled her eyes and gave Claire a pointed look.

"It's a long story that I don't want to talk about, okay?"

"That's what I thought you meant."

Claire grinned, rolling her eyes again.

"Claire Standish—do you remember when we talked about running away from your problems?"

"Sonia Sanchez Delgado—yes, I remember," Claire teased.

"Well," the small Mexican woman went on, "If you avoid them long enough, they'll come and find you. That Bender guy isn't here so that you can run away from him some more. You need to talk to him, face-to-face. Tête-à-tête."

Claire rolled her eyes. "You're Mexican."

"So?"

"So why are you using the expression tête-à-tête?"

"Why are you continuing to avoid your problems by knit-picking petty aspects of my life, like the fact that I'm Mexican and trying to speak French?"

Claire's jaw muscles visibly tightened. She wanted so much for things to be okay between John and herself, but she was afraid. Lord, was she afraid.

"Sonia, I don't know if I can go talk to him. Do you know what the last thing he said to me was?"

"Does it matter, Claire? That happened a year ago."

"Two."

"Okay, two. It was two years ago. Have you changed in the last two years, Claire?"

The cherry-haired girl lifted a shoulder, but eventually nodded her admission.

"So doesn't it follow that he has probably changed in the last two years?"

Claire shrugged and nodded. "I guess I see your point." She looked down at the ground. "I just don't know what I'd say to him.

Sonia smiled one of her rare smiles. One born out of pure happiness and not sarcasm or the fact the she was enjoying poking fun at Claire. It only lasted a moment before a smirk tugged at the edges of her lips.

"Well," she said, "you could think about it while we mosh, right?"

Claire smirked back. "Since when have we ever done any thinking while we were moshing?"

Sonia burst out laughing and Claire soon followed.

Claire agreed to go back inside and finish out the concert, but John was on Claire's mind every second of that time. Sonia was right; the band was pretty awesome, despite their douche bag lead singer. (He was really good—but still way creepy).

The concert was over at about one in the morning. The entire audience trickled out—probably all going to some bar to get smashed. John was still onstage along with most of his band mates, already starting to take his drum set apart with his back to the two young women hanging in the shadows of the back of the hall. Claire still didn't know what she was going to do. Really, what could she say? 'Hey, John. It's been a long time. I know that the last time you saw me, I was completely self-absorbed, but don't worry—I'm no longer a bitch.' Yeah. That would be awesome.

"I'll be waiting for you outside in the car, alright?" Sonia notified her. Claire was sure that she looked as nervous as she felt. Something was squirming inside of her stomach, making her feel like she was going to throw up. Sonia put a hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"Relax," she ordered. "Remember that you need to breathe. You will be fine."

Claire still did not appear to be too keen on the whole idea. "Don't you think that you could stay with me?"

"No."

"But why?"

Sonia raised an eyebrow at Claire as if to ask, 'Are you kidding me?'

"Alright. Fine," Claire pouted at Sonia, who responded by opening the front door and flashed her cherry-haired friend a grin.

Not one second after Sonia left, the door that lead backstage swung open and out swaggered Derek, the meat-head.

Oh, shit on a Ritz cracker.

Claire's eyes flickered to the stage, hoping to see John, but he was nowhere to be seen, his drum set fully broken down and packed.

Dammit.

Claire swiftly maneuvered herself close to a nearby door and tried her best to enter stealthily. She did not want to deal with this blonde douche bag. Claire felt the side of the wall and found a light switch. She flipped it. Oh, swell. She was in a janitor's closet. But she didn't have time to ponder her suckish situation for long.

The door opened behind her and there stood one of her least favorite people in the world—he wasn't number one yet, but he was sure working on it.

"Cherry," he said cheerfully. "What are you doing hiding in here?"

It really was disturbing; the fact that he thought that he was being charming.

Claire started to roll her eyes but realized that this wasn't a situation in which she should purposely provoke him. "I'm not hiding, I was looking for the bathroom."

Derek grinned. "What, you didn't see the door with the picture of a woman in a triangular dress?"

Claire swallowed thickly and tried to come up with a plausible answer.

"Um," she fumbled for words. "It was still kind of dark, and I'm just really tired, so I think I'll just be going. You know, I need my solid eight hours," she smiled, trying to be nonchalant and go around him, but he maneuvered himself so that he was standing in her way again. Claire's smile faltered.

"So, Cherry," he began, completely ignoring everything she'd just said, "I've been wondering—have you ever been with a realman?" Derek moved towards Claire in a prowling manor, obviously attempting to back her into the corner. Claire immediately found herself on the defensive. Memories came rushing back. She was sent hurdling two years into the past. She could still feel the passenger door stamping its outline into her right side as a bulky figure reached out and wrapped his fingers around her throat. Squeezing. Threatening. Claire's throat began to tighten.

She forced herself to remove herself from her feelings and focus on how to get out of the situation. Alright, Claire, she told herself, you can figure this out. You've dealt with worse. Though she couldn't remember everything from self-defense classes, she did remember that she wasn't supposed to let him trap her. So she tried to maneuver herself away from the corner of the room, but Derek wasn't allowing it. He had her right where he wanted her and he wasn't about to let her go.

"My name is Claire." There was only one person she ever wanted calling her Cherry. (And it was annoying even then.)

Derek grinned as he flipped his hair back. She knew that it was supposed to be seductive, but she was far from being seduced. Instead, Claire backed further away from him and felt her back skim over the wall. She knew that she could be in some real trouble now. He could kill her.

"Cherry," he provoked her, a malicious grin painted across his face.

On the inside, Claire was a trembling little girl and she was fairly sure that she didn't look all that different on the outside, however much she tried to square her shoulders and stand tall.

Derek laughed heartily at Claire's attempt to seem like more of a threat. "You don't scare me," he said in a low, silky voice as he began to lean in towards her lips. The redhead put a hand flat on his chest and pushed him back a bit, giving him a piercing glare.

"Stop. Back off," she ordered, her throat thick with the fear she hoped he couldn't sense. Derek merely raised an eyebrow as he leaned in again. This time Claire gave the cocky blond singer a strong shove and delivered her command with more confidence and force.

"Back. Off." She tried her best to remember all of the different self-defense moves she could use in this situation, but could only think of one…

"Whatever, Cherry," he said as he leaned his face towards hers for the final time. She acted subconsciously, her mind completely taking over. Her leg moved upward with break-neck speed towards the one place where she knew she could hurt him the most. Hopefully this would finally get her message through his thick scull. Her knee made contact with its target and immediately Derek was doubled over in pain.

"You fucking bitch!" He hissed as he clutched the area between his legs.

"Thank you, you pervert," Claire replied calmly. Derek growled and lunged at her, an action to which her hand responded by reeling back and swinging forward, the heel of her hand making hard contact with his nose, breaking the cartilage on contact.

"Ah!" Claire yelped in pain as Derek fell to his knees. Fucking pointy nose.

As Derek nursed his broken nose, Claire made her getaway. She wrenched the door open and suddenly she felt like she could breathe again. Funny. She hadn't realized that she'd been having trouble with that. Claire threw herself through the doorway and stumbled into a table as she did.

She quickly regained her footing and looked around, making a split-second decision because she could hear Derek clamoring behind her. It was only after she started running away from the front door, turning down a hallway that lead to a dead end, that she realized that outside had been the better choice. But it was too late and she had to make herself scarce. So she grabbed the handle of the first door she came to, pulling it open just enough to slip in, and carefully shut it behind her. She leaned against the door with her ear pressed against the cool metal, listening carefully for Derek. Claire faintly heard the closet door bang open, followed by a long string of curses. She then heard the distinct sound of the front door opening and closing heavily, and only then did she let out the breath that she'd been holding.

So after all of this, it only made sense that hearing the sound of a man's voice from behind would cause her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"I do believe, Cherry, that this is the gentlemen's room." The voice was familiar, but unexpected. Claire whirled around, and realized—she was in the men's bathroom.

Oh, for the love of—

But as she caught sight of the person who'd spoken, the realization that he was actually there sunk in. Claire looked up at him, breathless and totally speechless.

But John Bender was never speechless, of course, and continued speaking where he left off.

"You, however, are a little cherry, so I think that this room may be the wrong fit for you. Try the one with the more feminine picture on the front," he went on, gesticulating the shape of a woman's body. Normally, Claire would have given him a disgusted look. But they were still not on good terms, despite the fact that John was seemingly in good humor.'

Claire tried to say something, anything, (not necessarily anything intelligent) but she couldn't force any words out. Her mouth just gaped open and shut like a fish. She looked like an idiot, no doubt, but John said nothing about it, settling for crossing his arms and leaning against one of the stalls behind him. Smirk in place.

After a moment of Claire's fish-out-of-water experience, John apparently decided to put her out of her misery.

"What are you doing here, Claire?"

"I happen to live here," she responded, slightly indignant.

"You live in the men's bathroom? Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your place sucks. I think you need to hire a maid."

Claire scrunched up her nose. "Ugh! Gross! You know what I meant."

"Do I?"

Claire's face took on her unique-to-Claire angry clenched-jaw-pursed-lipped quality.

"What about you? Why are you here?" Stupid question. John apparently thought so too by the look on his face. He raised his eyebrows. Claire bit her bottom lip nervously.

More silence.

Claire had no idea what to say to him. She'd hoped that she would figure that out once they were face to face. But she didn't. She had no freaking clue.

"What the fuck are you doing, Claire?"

"What do you mean?"

John flipped his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he dug around in his pocket, giving her a 'don't play stupid' look. He finally pulled out a cigarette and a match from his pocket, using his teeth to light it. He looked back up at her expectantly as he took his first drag.

Claire pressed her lips together as she thought about how she could put it into words. "I'd rather not talk about it," she finally replied.

"Oh, gee, you'd rather not talk about it, huh?" he replied rather nastily.

"No, Bender, I don't want to talk about it," she replied firmly, clenching her fists, trying to convey that she wasn't going to take any of his shit.

"And here I thought that all you ever do is talk. My mistake."

"Fuck you."

John made a faux-thoughtful face before he said, "Eh, I've had preppy bitches before, but I kicked the habit. So although I would really like to take you up on that offer, thanks, but no thanks."

"Gross pig," Claire muttered as she rolled her eyes. She knew that was the reaction he'd be expecting, but her encounter with Derek was still fresh in her mind, so it didn't feel as 'hypothetical' as she knew John had meant it. Her discomfort with the comment must have been obvious because John's smirking face slowly turned to a frown.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me? What's the matter with you? You're the one who just up and left Shermer!" she shouted defensively, trying to change the subject. It was the first thing that came to mind, so she just blurted it out. That was never a good move, she knew, but it was too late to take it back.

Anger painted itself across John's face. "You know why, you fucking bitch!"

Claire clenched her teeth at being called a 'fucking bitch' for the second time within ten minutes.

"So that's what people like to call me these days I guess."

John had to have seen the sudden change in her demeanor. But he was still angry, so he was running with it.

"Well, if the shoe fits."

Claire didn't even have time to give John a nasty glare before the door swung open again, and there stood a completely worn out and defeated Derek Abel. But the moment he laid his eyes on Claire, his expression brightened. Claire turned to face him, since her back had been to the door, and took a few steps backward to stand parallel to John.

"There you are," he said smoothly, standing up straighter. John, Claire noticed, was immediately tense. Derek turned to John with a look of gratitude as he stepped forward, grabbing Claire by the bicep and started to tug her towards the door.

"Eh, Bender, thanks for finding her for me. I've been looking everywhere. Man, you have no idea—this little bitch needs some serious discipline." And then something seemed to click in John's head. He turned his head to look at Claire, and seeing the fury in his eyes, she knew that he understood.

And was pissed.

"You should probably let me go," Claire warned.

But the blond simply laughed. "Aw, come on, Cherry. Don't be like that. Just cooperate and I promise, scout's honor," he added seriously, then reverted back to his jackass demeanor, "that this will be enjoyable for the both of us."

"No," Claire said as she frantically attempted to get him to let go of her arm.

"Hey, get your fucking hands off of her!" John said menacingly as he roughly pushed Derek away from Claire. The blond seemed astonished that John would ever dare to do such a thing. Bender responded by throwing him a 'you think I give a shit?' look.

"I suggest that you mind your own damn business," Derek spat, as if John were some popper to his princedom.

John glowered. "Who are you to tell me what is and is not my business?"

Derek looked the shaggy-haired drummer up and down, sizing him up threateningly. "You'd better watch it, Bender."

Claire knew that she shouldn't have interjected at that point in time, but the words were already out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Derek, you're such an ass. Why don't you just leave?"

"I'm gonna fucking finish you," he seethed, taking a step towards her.

"Finish this, asshole." John reeled his arm back and swung.

And then Derek was clutching yet another part of his body in pain. It would have been really funny if the situation had been less serious.

Claire turned to look at John in wonder. He stood there, staring back with an unreadable expression on his face.

"John," she said his name quietly. It was so completely spectacular to say his name, not just to in reference to him, but to him—as in, to his face. With him there. In the flesh. He knew by the way she caressed his name with her voice that she was thanking him. John nodded his head in acknowledgement. But, of course, the moment was shattered by the dirty blond who was still in the room.

"What, you know this bitch?" Derek asked in an accusatory manner.

John turned to look at Derek as if he just realized that he existed. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?" he asked quietly, and that was when he was at his most dangerous—most malicious. Claire knew this all too well.

Derek chuckled. "Oh, come on, Bender. I think that you and I both know that this tease wanted—"

Unimpressed. "Bull-fucking-shit, Abel. And don't you ever make the mistake of comparing yourself to me, okay? Because I may be just a simple drummer," he said mockingly, "but you are an arrogant, smug, self-righteous, pretty-boy rapist." John spat in disgust. "Get out of here, you piece of shit."

"You can't tell me—"

John placed his cigarette between his lips and grabbed the dirty-blond man by his white tee-shirt. And got right. In. His. Face.

"I don't think that you heard me, Abel," John said with a dangerous calm, his cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips, "and since I'm such a swell guy, I'll say it again so that you can hear it: Get the fuck out of here. And if you aren't out those doors within the next ten seconds, I will hand you your ass."

For a moment, Derek looked awe-struck and his mouth hung wide open.

"Gee, Abel, you look a little confused. Well, I can't get any clearer than that. Sorry," he finished unapologetically. Derek glared at John, as if promising retribution, but he slowly and silently made his way over to the door and left they way he came in.

There was silence for only about a moment. John was not pleased.

"What the fuck were you doing with Abel, Claire?" John questioned demandingly. And now it was back to fighting.

"Me? What about you?"

"Can you not see that I was forced to play in a band with that schmuck?"

"Forced, right. Just like you were forced to leave Shermer," Claire said, à la I-now-have-the-upper-hand. But she didn't. She never really did with him.

"Oh you want to play games, Cherry? Well, why aren't you in Shermer? I'm sure that you have a better reason than me." Claire knew that he was getting angry again, but for the time being his anger lurked just beneath the surface.

Claire clenched her jaw. "You don't know my reasons," she ground out.

"It's a simple question, Cherry. Why. Aren't. You. In. Shermer?"

A long pause. "I told you—I live here in Phoenix, now." Claire said with a touch of defeat in her voice.

"No, what you told me was that you live in this marvelous abode," he smarted, gesturing at the slightly grungy bathroom they were in.

Claire forced herself to swallow her anger. He was baiting her, trying to lead her away from the conversation that he didn't want to have. Well she wasn't about to let him do that.

"Please, John. Why did you leave?" It was an ambiguous question, but he knew what she was talking about. She was asking why he dropped out of school during their senior year and disappeared from Shermer. His anger made itself obvious now.

"Why the fuck do you get to ask me that? If there's anyone who has the right to ask me that, it is definitely not you."

"Oh, and why not? Don't you think I deserved to know why you were leaving? But no! You just up and left without saying anything!"

"Why would I say anything to you?" he spat.

"Do you have any idea how it felt to wake up one day and you were—just gone?"

"Have you seen John today?" Claire asked Brian in biology. It was February of their senior year, almost a year since Saturday detention. None of her "friends" took biology so she knew that she wouldn't have to worry about any messy conversations where they would make fun of Brian and then she'd be forced to choose between her popularity and a true friend. Not a situation that she really wanted to deal with.

Brian shrugged helplessly. "I—I don't know. I mean—well, we don't have, you know, many classes together, but he wasn't in the ones that we do—do have." He still had the nervous habit of losing all articulate thought when trying to communicate verbally.

Claire nodded disappointedly at his response.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"No, it's fine. It's not your fault, Brian," Claire responded, making it clear that he shouldn't beat himself up.

And as it turned out, no one had seen John for days.

Claire was down to her last resort. There was only one way that she would know for sure where John went.

She walked up the pathway to a house that looked like it had once been really nice, but years of neglect had taken their toll. It wasn't a large house, but big enough for a family of three. It had a front porch and a garage, the door of which was dented in a few areas and looked like it was about to fall apart at any given moment. John had never taken her to his house for obvious reasons, number one, his dad was an alcoholic and a jackass to boot. But now that she was seeing the house, she was pretty sure that his father wasn't the only reason. Not that she would have looked down on him for it or anything, but she knew that he was touchy in the area of his family and anything remotely related.

As she put her weight on the porch steps, they shrieked so loudly that Claire was shocked when no one was already waiting for her by the time she got to the front door. She knocked three times and waited. It took about five minutes, but eventually a tall, unshaven, restless-looking man who was definitely related to John came to the door. He had a beer in his hand and took a swig before speaking.

"What?" he snapped impatiently.

"Is John here?"

"Who wants to know?"

Claire pursed her lips. "A friend." John's dad raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting her to elaborate. "My name is Claire."

"Claire, huh? Why do you want to know about Johnny?"

She furrowed her brow. "He's my friend." Understatement. And anyway, didn't that explain it?

"If you're such good friends, why didn't he tell you where he went, Pippi Longstocking?"

Primate, Claire thought as she rolled her eyes. "John Bender doesn't exactly tell me everything about his life."

Bender Senior downed the rest of the beer in his can, then crushed it, throwing it carelessly into the yard. "He's gone."

"What?" Claire blurted, her eyes almost popping out of her head.

"Is there a problem with your eardrums?"

Claire narrowed her eyes. "Where did he go?"

"Do I look like I give a rat's ass?"

The redhead was so angry that she could slap him.

"You should."

"Why should I care about that lazy son on a bitch? I'm glad he's gone. Do you know how much money I've wasted on his sorry ass for the last eighteen years?"

Claire knew that she shouldn't have expected anything else based on the way John spoke about his dad, but right about then, she wanted to punch his lights out. She crossed her arms and shook her head.

"You don't even know what you're saying."

"What the fu—" John's dad was indignant.

"No! You really don't understand! John—he's a great guy! You have no idea what you're losing!" Claire turned on her heel and walked down the steps to leave, but she couldn't help herself.

"You know—maybe if you weren't such a blind asshole you could see that John isn't a pain or an inconvenience—he's a human being and he deserves to be treated as one." Claire paused, shaking her head at the irony. "You know what? Now I'm beginning to feel happy that he's gone too. He wasn't getting the treatment he deserved from either of us. I hope you rot in hell."

Apparently the man was too stunned by her words to do or say anything as Claire walked away from him, never once looking back.

"You went to my house?"

Claire looked a bit sheepish. "Yes."

"You talked to my old man?"

"Yes."

"Why the fuck did you even bother?" John scoffed.

Claire was good at keeping her feelings bottled—pretending that nothing bothered her and making herself amiable to the ideas of others for the sake of not creating strife.

None of this was true about her in that moment.

"Because you matter to me!" Claire yelled in his face at the top of her lungs.

John's eyes widened infinitesimally at this revelation. It was barely noticeable—but to Claire it was obvious. After a moment, John rolled his eyes and smiled his sarcastic smile as he flipped his hair back. He was trying to act cool, she realized. Claire could tell what he was thinking. That she was just making things up as she went along.

"John," Claire grabbed him by the crook of his arm. He looked down at her hand, then back up as he shook off her touch, giving her a hard look. But she had his attention. Albeit, he acted as if he would rather be wasting his time on something else, like spray painting the F-bomb on a blackboard. Claire took a deep breath and tried to choose her words carefully.

"I really do care about you, okay? I went to your house to find out if you were okay—I cussed your dad out because he was being an ass about it. You don't think that I was afraid to go there? I didn't know what the hell to expect! I didn't know what your father would be like other than what you'd told me, and what you'd told me wasn't exactly comforting. I mean, you can be pretty intimidating yourself sometimes, but your dad—I had no idea."

John smirked. "You cussed my dad out?"

Claire's face scrunched up in frustration. "That's not the point, alright?" she exclaimed.

"Then tell me, Queenie of the Richies in your infinite wisdom, what is the point?"

Claire narrowed her eyes, slanting him an annoyed look. "My point isthat I faced your father."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. He's pretty ugly and that part's scary enough on its own, but his breath? Now that is terrifying."

Now Claire was hurt. "Why do you have to do that? It wasn't some joke."

John shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He seemed unable to make a decision about something. An indecisive John Bender? Interesting.

"John."

He stared for a moment at one specific point on the ground before looking back up at her, appearing deeply moved, but the sarcasm behind his mask was overwhelming.

"Well this is all very deeply touching and affecting," he said, brushing her off. Claire's brow furrowed and she could feel the hurt swelling up in her stomach.

Fine, she thought. Be that way.

"Well," Claire shrugged her shoulders in uncertainty, "Thanks, I guess, for chasing Derek off."

John looked at her indifferently. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, and it bothered her to no end.

"I guess I'll see you around." Claire looked at John expectantly.

"I guess you will," he replied, finishing off his cigarette before snubbing it out in a stall and letting it fall to the ground.

Claire nodded curtly and left, the door thudding firmly behind her. Her vision began to swim with tears as she walked quickly out of the building to Sonia's car. She opened the door and slipped in. Sonia looked at Claire with concerned eyes, but remained silent, waiting for the redhead to speak first.

"Let's just go home," Claire finally whispered.

Sonia nodded as she put her car into gear. "Okay."