A/N: So part of the reason this actually took so long was because my editing of the chapters screwed the layout and I just wanted to avoid it. Also, I lost chapter 2. So to those who have already read and this is different - and bad different - than I am sorry. I'm also sorry this took so looooong! To everyone who has reviewed, I love them. I love reading them, and your kind words.
Claire's new assistant is George. He has a kind face, and an even kinder smile. He puts her at ease, and he is efficient and good at what he does.
But he is not Zara, and that's what sets him apart. She wants to distance herself from him, and the space of Zara he represents, but she made a promise to Owen. Besides, there are other things that call her attention, and she cannot put her own selfish wants above them. So they quickly pick up a system that seems well oiled. The work becomes easier, and is finished at a much faster pace. Days turn into a week, and then two, and the couple of times that she has seen Mr. Smith have been with a room full of people, and with George himself. If George picked up on the tension he does not say anything. He is everything she would have wanted two years ago.
Zara intruded with her observations not just with her work life, but her personal life too. There were times where Claire would snap at her, and Zara would remain quiet from hurt. Then, as the two grew to know each other, there would still be the snapping, but not so harsh, and Zara would argue until she drove her point home. In fact, it was her that forced Claire to go on the first date with Owen.
It is on that day, with that particular thought, that Claire chooses to visit Owen. Perhaps on a deep level of consciousness, she knew what would happen. Perhaps this was her way of trying too help herself - by giving her the means to withstand what would come.
She stands at the viewing over the park, a lone figure, standing tall. Owen is feeding what she calls the baby raptors. He is a mother hen, an alpha, herd of the pack - father to all. He is kind and gentle, patient and loving. He does not anger, but works slowly as he teaches. Claire sees the look in his eyes - and she knows that it will be not if she has children, but when. Denying Owen to a family would be wrong. It's not something they've had a chance to talk about yet, and Claire wonders exactly how that conversation will go. She is a monster - but monsters can give birth to children. She's seen it, in humans and in animals. Sometimes, there is a fine line. Would her child be like her? Would she pass this on? Or would she be unable to love her child - be the cruel and cold woman she used to be? There is enough blood on her hands. The very thought of it terrifies her, so she does what she does best. Closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Represses it. Opens her eyes.
Owen is staring at her, a little smile on his face, but his eyes cautious. As if he has has seen into her mind, or some of it. She puts her hand on the glass in greeting, and then turns. As she walks back, she keeps the image of Owen cradling the small creature to his chest, eyes bright with awe and something close to love. This image is what she will use when she has her moments. When closing her eyes is simply not enough. When she feels as if she is on a small boat, on rough seas, nauseated, sick and scared. This will be her anchor.
She hands George the last of the documents.
"So if you can write that up, and have it emailed to me in an hour, that would be really appreciated."
"Not a problem." George says smoothly. He turns to the door just as it opens, and Mr. Smith slips in. Claire pulls up short, shooting a glance first at George, and then back to the older man.
"How can I help you?"
"You can take a seat." Mr. Smith says to her, and than looks to George. The two exchange nods, and Claire knows there is something wrong by the familiarity of it. She opens her mouth to question it, but Mr. Smith beats her to words.
"And you, my son, have done wonderfully. You can leave now."
Claire feels as if she's been sucker punched. She slips into a seat, not because of the order, but because she cannot stand after that revelation.
"Alright father," George's voice is quiet. He doesn't sound thrilled, but that doesn't matter much to Claire. He is in on this to some extent. He's not going to stick around for whatever his father has planned for her, but he's not helping her, is? That makes him just as involved.
George shoots her an unreadable look, and then he is out the door.
Claire folds her arms on the table. Her hands hidden, she begins to clench and unclench them.
"Isn't it quite ironic? That your new assistant is my son?"
"No, I don't find that ironic at all." Claire chooses her words carefully. "I'm sure there's some special meaning in it, besides being able to get close to me."
"Yes. There was a very special meaning to it." Mr. Smith says in a low voice. Claire looks at him closely, and this time she sees it, not hears it. There is raw hate, real and so close that she could touch it. Instead, she flinches back from it.
"This is very personal to me." He says softly.
"For one who is about control, I'm surprised it's almost gone already." Claire murmurs. She does' know what she's trying to accomplish in her responses. Is she trying to stall him, or change his mind? It would be stupid of her to think that of him - that he would come this far, just to change his mind from a few words.
"I'm all about a different kind of control right now. Aren't you even curious as to why it's so personal to me?"
Claire already has a strong idea of why it is.
"Someone died that day."
"Yes."
"A very loved and cherished someone."
"You speak as if you know what that's like. From what she told me - you had no idea of the matter."
Claire frowns at this. There is no one she knew well enough to pierce together that information. Unless...
"That's it. Come on, you can get there. You're smart; you've had to be to get this far and still be surviving." The words are not complimentary; she's meant to be insulted, but all she can feel is the growing horror of realisation. It makes sense in a twisted way. Using George for intel, also getting some sense of satisfaction knowing that Claire had liked him. The only thing that had been wrong with him, was that he wasn't his sister.
"You're Zara's father."
"Was. I was her father. I'm not anymore, because she's dead."
Claire looks down at the table. She cannot meet his eyes, because he is right. The truth only hurts if you don't want it to be real.
"Nothing to say? No fake polite chit chat? No denial? Come on, I've heard you're a real spitfire. I'm disappointed."
Claire lifts her chin. He wants a fight, but she will not give it to him. Let this be over, let it be done. She deserves what's coming to her, and she'll welcome it with open arms. She's been waiting for justice; Owen and the management team and everyone else can say it wasn't her fault and she did what she could, but she knows the truth: if she had listened to Owen in the first place, if she had just done everything differently - then things would be different.
Mr. Smith wants to knock her off a stool. What he doesn't understand is that the legs have already been broken, and only remain with glue that is Owen and her small family. It is not her that is holding herself together.
"I have nothing to say. What happened... I didn't get to rehearse and do over when I made mistakes. It was real, and I handled it how I could. I'm more sorry than you could ever know about Zara's death. I loved her. Back then, I loved her the best way I knew how. You'll never believe me about that. Or how Zach, my nephew, sees her death over and over. How I see it over and over. You don't see my nightmares. You see me as a living reminder that your daughter is dead. I see it in the mirror, too. So no, I'm not going to fight you." Claire stands up, pushes the chair back, and moves to the middle of the room. She is seconds away from opening her arms in an invitation.
Maybe she's crazy. It's not like she wants what Mr. Smith is giving her. But she is tired of fighting the inevitable. If not him, than someone else. If not someone else, than herself.
Mr. Smith almost looks like he is going to hesitate. But then he is moving, locking the door and turning to face her with a hungry expression.
Claire swallows back more than just fear and words. She swallows back some part of her old self that is rising up. She urges it down and away again. She is ready.
Or so she tells herself, until the first punch is thrown.
