A/N: Sorry for the lack of updating. I'm not even going to bother saying that I am planning on finishing this up right away because I always say that and then life gets in the way. Let me know what you think!
John never made a bargain that he didn't intend to keep. This one in particular, though, he was nervous about. Forget nervous, he was petrified. John was a self-proclaimed intimacy-phobic. He hated anything to do with sharing feelings or emitting emotion. A night like this one, though, held so much.
He urged Claire to get dressed and he did the same. When they left the hotel, neither said a word. He wondered if she knew where he was going to take her, but didn't have the balls to ask her. Instead, he jammed his hands in his coat pockets and crossed the street. The sky was clear now, and the moon was shining brightly causing Claire's skin to light up. A part of him didn't want to taint her with this. Her pain was so pure, so maternal that it was almost beautiful. Not that he considered her pain less painful, only that it seemed different when you missing somebody you lost who you loved so dearly. His pain was sinister and disturbing and so very dark.
When they turned the corner and started walking through a field heading toward a small forest of trees, he took her hand. He was very surprised when she never questioned him. The scene was set for a horror movie, but she kept by his side the whole time, perhaps worried that he would change his mind if she spoke.
Just before they came to the trees, in the clearing was a large boulder. The boulder was cut and polished and engraved with the words "BENDER: A devoted husband and loving father. Safe in God's keeping until we meet again." It was the first time John saw this stone in two years. Two years and he still felt the bile rise in his throat.
"I think I still hate him." He said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear. "And I hate that I can't forgive him." He was silent then, holding his breath waiting for her reaction.
"Maybe," she said delicately "You can start by forgiving yourself." She said as she gazed up at him, eagerly waiting for his reaction. He knew that she was frightened he would blow up at the suggestion, so instead he remained quiet about the suggestion. Instead, he sat down beside the grave on the dewy grass and pulled her down beside him.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean by that." John said, staring down at their joined hands in his lap.
"Only to say that there is nothing you could have done or not done to make him treat you as a father should. And, perhaps more importantly, there was nothing you could have done to have your mother stick up for herself or stick up for you. Your parents were who they were, and no amount of changing yourself would have changed that." When Claire stopped talking it was as if she bit her tongue. Like she had more to say, but reason was getting in the way yet again.
"Do you really think that's what's bothering me?" He asked, challenging her.
"Yes. I think it's the beginning, anyway." She answered with confidence. He liked that way she didn't back down. Maybe because his mother would have in a heartbeat.
"Maybe you're right." He said, sighing and turning to look at her. "But I don't really know where to begin." He admitted, sounding weaker than he could ever remember sounding before.
"I think this was a good start. And, I think you buying me an ice cream would be an even better one." Claire said with a smile. As if somehow she knew he needed to back away from the situation to see the forest from the trees, or whatever the expression was.
He rose to his feet and with one quick tug he had Claire to her feet and stumbling into his chest. For a split second he felt like turning around and saying "So there, Dad. Look at me now. I'm successful, I'm wealthy and I even got the girl." But he didn't, because this was something he had to work on. And because he didn't have the girl.
Because there was no ice cream shop open they decided to stop into a corner store, pick up a tub of Chunky Monkey and go back to the hotel.
So they sat on John's king sized luxurious bed, with a pint of ice cream and two spoons. The conversation was kept light, focusing on the last couple years of theirs lives, the portion where they were both successful and relatively pain-free. When the clock rounded five-thirty John decided they should turn in. He had a feeling that if he didn't stop it, she wouldn't have.
John was about to usher her through the adjoining door into her room before she uttered the words that were just about his undoing. "Can I stay here?" She asked. He turned to her quickly with a dangerous look in his eyes. "I mean, not do anything, I just don't really want to be alone."
When she looked at him, she started to flush from the bottom of her chest all the way to her eyebrows. He kept his voice low, a sort of warning, "That, Princess, is not a good idea."
She got the point pretty quickly and was through the door faster than he could say goodnight. They kept the door open, though, but neither acknowledged it.
The door being open penetrated John's dreams when her scent would waft through the opening and into his olfactory glands, yet again. The first time John woke up wanting, he placed his pillow over his head to block out her presence but it was no use. Eventually he had to reside with the uncomfortable suffering and her angel face haunting his dreams.