Driving back to Shermer was a completely different experience for John than it had been one month ago. The unsettled feeling was gone. This time, he knew exactly what to expect from his hometown. Shermer would be the same as it was when he left, and he wouldn't be made to feel as if everything had changed without him. He was no longer an outsider, and returning to Shermer actually felt comfortable. Normal, even. However, there was one slight issue preventing him from being completely at ease.

Claire was involved, and that made things complicated. It also meant that in the span of five hours, John's emotions had run the gamut of everything from giddy anticipation to sheer terror. His feelings currently resided somewhere in between the two, which he imagined was how bomb-makers must feel while waiting for an explosion to go off.

The problem was, no matter how much he wanted to see Claire, or how much he wanted to believe, the realist in him knew that anything could happen. Good or bad. The weekend was either going to be a new beginning or their final chapter, and both scenarios scared him. He didn't want to lose Claire, but at the same time, he didn't know if he could hold on to her.

They hadn't spoken in a week—not since the morning she had called him out of the blue. The plan was for him to let her know when he got in to the city. Unfortunately, a week's time had turned him into a wuss. He'd made it to Chicago a half-hour ago, but instead of stopping at a payphone, he'd kept on driving. Claire hadn't explicitly invited him to stay with her for the weekend, and he hadn't bothered to call and clear that little detail up. He knew if he called, she would ask him to stay, and he knew if she asked, he would say yes.

If he stayed with Claire, he would have to deal with the fact that he had gone back to square one without erasing any of the past. He knew all of intimate details, from which side of the bed Claire preferred to which part of E.T. always made her cry, but he didn't know any of the basics. He had no idea where in the kitchen she kept the coffee mugs, or even what kind of car she drove. He didn't know the kind of things that anyone would have a passing knowledge of if they had been a part of her life in the past six years.

He felt like a fraud.

There was no solace to be found in Chicago that evening, but John knew that Shermer would welcome him back with open arms. As long as he was willing to swallow his pride.

xxx

To say Pete was stunned when he answered his front door would be an understatement.

John grinned. "Honey, I'm home."

"Well, shit. Satan must be strapping on his ice skates right about now."

John scratched the back of his head. "So, look, I know this is kinda spur of the moment, but, uh… you got a couch I can crash on for the weekend?" He felt a little like he was back in high school and asking his friend for a place to stay to avoid his parents. He half-expected Pete to laugh at him.

But Pete just moved aside and opened the door wider. "Yeah, sure, man, c'mon in."

Last year, when Pete told him that he had done a 'very adult thing' and bought a house, John teased him. He called him an old man, and joked that he had sold out. But after looking around the place, John couldn't help but feel a little envious.

"You want something to eat?" Pete asked. "I just finished supper, but there's some ziti leftover. It's probably still warm."

"Sounds good."

Pete led him into the kitchen and pulled out a plate from the cupboard. "So, I've got a bone to pick with you, Bender."

"Yeah?" John took a seat at the table. He tried to think of what he could've possibly done to upset Pete, other than to insinuate himself into being his houseguest.

"Yeah. How come I had to hear about your triumphant return to Shermer last month from my brother and not from you?"

John winced. After the wedding, he'd stopped into Pete's older brother's music store for some guitar strings. It was probably a mistake not telling Pete about the encounter, but it wasn't as if he'd had the chance. John hadn't talked to him in the past month. "Eric mentioned that he saw me?"

"Damn straight he did. It was a momentous occasion. It was a good thing I was sitting down when he told me, or I might've fallen over from the shock."

"Jesus, it's not like I had some big plan," John said. "The store was on my way and I was only in there for five minutes."

"A likely story." Pete set the plate in front of John and handed him a fork.

"Likely because it's true. I needed some new strings and I thought maybe he'd give me a discount."

"Did he?"

John nodded. "Fifteen percent. And like I said, it was on my way out of town. I would've come by your place if I'd had the time."

"Which brings me to my next question," Pete said, as he carried a casserole dish over to the table. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I told you, I need a place to cra—"

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

John did know, but he didn't really feel like explaining. He could tell from the look on Pete's face, however, that the discussion was far from over. "Whatever it is, just say it."

"I've been trying to get you to come back and visit for six years. Then, all of a sudden, you show up twice in the span of a month? And I don't find out about it until after the fact? That's some messed up bullshit right there."

Ignoring him, John spooned some of the pasta onto his plate and took a bite. It wasn't bad. "Is this your grandmother's recipe?"

Pete crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't change the subject."

"What do you want me to say?"

"How about you start with an explanation?"

John poked at the ziti with his fork. "You know why I couldn't come back," he said, unwilling to meet Pete's eyes.

"And what, you just woke up one morning and decided that your self-imposed exile was over?"

John shrugged. "I guess."

"No," Pete declared.

John looked up from his plate. "'No'?"

"N-O. As in, no fucking way did John Bender, who was too scared to come home on the off chance that he would run into 'you-know-who' around town, come back willingly. Who died?"

John rolled his eyes. "Nobody died."

"Then what happened?"

John let out a resigned sigh. "Do you remember how I told you last year that Andrew Clark tracked me down?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I may have let him convince me that it was a good idea to be in his wedding last month."

Pete leaned forward. "Aaaand?"

"And, I wouldn't have done it, except that he told me Claire wasn't going to be there." John stabbed a piece of sausage, imagining it to be Andy's face. "Turns out he lied."

"Shit, how did that go down?"

"How do you think? It was a fucking disaster. But I explained some stuff to Claire and then we talked."

Pete didn't look impressed. "And everything's okay now? Just like that?"

"It wasn't 'just like that', but I think so. More or less."

Pete still wasn't convinced. "Uh-huh, and you're gonna what? Start things back up again? Pick up where you left off?"

That was the question of the century, and John had been wondering about the answer to that himself. He told Pete the only thing he did know for certain. "I've got a date with her on Sunday."

Pete shook his head. "I dunno, man. Don't you think this is a bad idea? I mean you guys had a good thing for a while, but then it just turned really unhealthy."

John's guard back went up. "I'm not going to hit her again."

"I know you're not," Pete said calmly. "But what about her? Is she still the same?"

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't forgotten, even if you seem to have. Claire screamed as much as you yelled, and I remember things being thrown at you on more than one occasion. That phonebook barely missed your head."

And had left a sizable dent in the apartment wall. John would have fixed it, but he left two days later. "She doesn't drink anymore."

"You actually believe that?"

"Yeah. I do."

Pete chewed on that piece of information for a while before asking, "Does this means that you're going to stick around?"

"For this weekend at least. After that, I don't know. I guess it all depends on whether or not I can join the new band," he said with a smirk.

"Real smooth, Bender."

"Hey, I had to try."

"I've actually got practice tonight," Pete said, glancing at the clock on the stove. "I'd invite you to come along, but…"

"I'd be too much of a distraction?" John guessed.

"That, and Eric banned anyone else from being in the room while we're practicing."

"Why, what happened?"

"Spezz happened," Pete replied. "It's a long story, but let's just say that he royally made a mess of things, and we had to finally kick him out."

Spezz was the only person John knew in high school who was more messed up than he was. He dropped out of school during their senior year, but they'd kept in touch until John moved to Detroit. "How's he doing?"

Pete sighed heavily. "If he's not back in jail, then he's probably on the street looking to score some heroin. I know we were friends with him and all, but he is a lost cause."

"That could've been me," John said. "Hell, that probably should've been me."

Pete gave him a thoughtful look. "I guess Claire's influence on you wasn't all bad."

"She was the best thing to happen to me."

"That's debatable," Pete said under his breath. Then, with a wide grin asked, "You still writing lyrics about her?"

John held his face in his hand. "One song, that's all I ever wrote about her. One. And it's only because your dipshit brother got writer's block after what's-her-face dumped him."

Pete laughed. "Those were the days. The last time he was dumped, he wouldn't stop writing lyrics. But, hey, at least we got some good songs out of it. Speaking of which, do you want to come to our gig tomorrow night? I can put you on the list."

"Sure."

"And if you ask nicely, maybe we'll play your song," he teased.

"I am never going to live that down."

"Nope." Pete stood up. "I've gotta get going, but you're welcome to hang out and watch TV or whatever. I shouldn't be gone more than a couple hours."

"You mind if I use your phone?"

"Not unless it's long distance."

"Is a 1-900 number long distance? Because I can't sleep at night unless I talk to Candy at the Hooker Hotline."

"Funny."

xxx

Claire was in the middle of cleaning her apartment when she heard the phone ring. She turned off the vacuum cleaner so that she could answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

John's voice sent shivers down her spine, and she didn't even try to hide her enthusiasm. "Hi! I didn't expect to hear from you so soon! Are you calling from the road?"

"No, I'm already here. Lou let me out of work early once he heard where I was going. I'm, uh, I'm at Pete's house. He said I could stay with him."

"Oh." Claire's enthusiasm deflated in an instant. She'd just assumed that he would want to stay with her, and had been looking forward to seeing him that evening. In retrospect, it was a stupid assumption, and perhaps for the best that they didn't try to push things too fast. "That was nice of him."

"Yeah, well, I didn't give him much of a say in the matter."

"Do you two have plans for tonight?"

"Sadly, no. Pete's going to band practice and I'm probably going to play his Super Nintendo for the rest of the evening."

"Still addicted to video games, I see." She had fond memories of late night Atari sessions with John in her bedroom. She was never very good at most of the games, but she liked to watch John play.

"You know that's right. So, tell me baby, what are you wearing?" he asked in a low, seductive voice.

Claire was puzzled by the bizarre turn the conversation had taken. As she was opening her mouth to ask what was going on, she heard a scuffle followed by Pete's muffled yells.

"Dude, I thought you were joking! I'm not paying for your perverted fantasies! Hang up!"

"No."

"Bender! Give me the phone!" Pete must have ripped it out of John's grasp at that point because the next voice Claire heard on the line was his. "Hello?"

"Hi, Pete."

"Oh…Claire. How's it going?"

"Not bad. How are you doing?"

"Good," he replied. "Running late for practice, though. Here's Bender."

There were more muffled sounds, as if one of them had their hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and then she heard John's voice. "Me again, Sweets."

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"Pete somehow got the wrong idea about who I was talking to."

Suddenly, all the chaos made sense. "Did you tell him that you were going to call a phone-sex operator?"

"I might've implied…"

"Uh-huh."

"What? It's not my fault if he's gullible."

Claire shook her head in amusement as she walked out onto her balcony. It was a clear night, and she hoped the weather would hold for the whole weekend. Which reminded her, "How much trouble are you going to cause for me on Sunday?"

"Well, that kind of depends, doesn't it?"

"On?"

"Who's doing the provoking," he said. "Do your parents know I'm going to be there?"

"Not exactly, no."

He let out a wry laugh. "Well, at least I'll be able to say that I know where I was when World War Three started."

"It's not going to be that bad," she assured him. "And anyway, Rick will be there to help run interference between you and my mom."

"Or to help run me out of town."

"He said he was going to give you a chance."

"Does he know—"

"Yes."

"Then there's no way I don't end up with at least a few broken bones."

"He's not going to break anything. I just said that he—"

"No, you're right. He's a doctor. He could poison me and make it look like an accident."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Well, then I promise if something happens to you, Rick's name will be at the top of the list that I give to the police."

"That's all I ask. How's he doing these days, anyway?"

"Good. He and Kate have twin boys. They turned five in March."

"God, your brother's been married for…"

"Six years," she supplied. Rick and Kate's wedding was the last place they had gone as a couple. Barely one month later, John left.

"Feels like a lifetime ago," he murmured.

Claire's memories of her brother's wedding day were hazy. She'd had a couple of drinks before the ceremony and then taken full advantage of the open bar at the reception afterwards. "I wish I remembered more about that day," she said with heavy regret.

"No, you don't," John replied. "You were pissed at me for most of it."

"I don't even remember that. I know we danced, but I don't remember watching them cut the cake, or throw the bouquet, or—"

"Why do you think you were so pissed at me?" he asked. "I dragged you out of there before all of that."

"To keep me from making a fool out of myself," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "God, I was so unfair to you."

"Hindsight, Princess. It doesn't do any good to dwell on it, trust me."

She wanted to hug him. "I wish you were here with me."

There was a pause, and then, "Twenty minutes and I could be."

She gave his offer a considerable amount of thought. It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but she swallowed her response. It probably wasn't a good idea.

John must have reached a similar conclusion because he changed the subject. "Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"No, why?"

"You asked me out. It's only fair that I return the favor."