a/n this was supposed to be longer... And it was not supposed to go this way. But this is how Claire felt and this is what happened. Merci beaucoup to Livin on the EDGE, Mistress Merows and Jessica-Angelbaby-Bautista for their reviews! =D

-October 8, 2010-

I was panicking. I had been panicking all week. He shouldn't have told me that he was going to come see me. He shouldn't have even said that he going to be home for his birthday.

I got him a birthday present. Nowhere near as extravagant as the watch I bought him last year, but still.

I had no clue what time his flight was coming in. I didn't know how long he was going to spend at his house before he came to see me. Maybe I was supposed to go see him. Je savais pas.

I sat in my kitchen sipping a cup of coffee, contemplating the two weeks that had passed. I had spent most of them in Stamford, listening to people pitch ideas for future storylines, scripts for pormos and the "Old-School" show that would take place in November. I will be completely honest with you and say that I'm disappointed I won't be part of it. I loved the old ring, the entrance; I loved the atmosphere it created. It's what I grew up around, after all.

It was five o'clock when the front door opened. I was halfway through ironing when I froze. I looked up slowly and saw Michael walking into the living room.

"I forgot you have a key."

"Sorry, I probably should have knocked." He apologised, pushing the set of keys back into his pocket.

"No, it's fine… Er, une boisson?" I turned off the iron and pushed the ironing board against the wall, ready to step into the kitchen.

"Uh, yeah, water's fine." I nodded and walked through the archway, unsurprised when he followed me in.

He sat down on one of the stools and watched as I grabbed two glasses from my cupboard and filled up the water.

"Hi." I smiled with a laugh as I noticed him staring. "Ça va?"

"You know, good, sore, exhausted." They were common adjectives to come out of a wrestler's mouth; the last two were never said in contempt. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfect, absolutely perfect."

"Everything's good, then? Nothing to worry about it?"

"Double mastectomy virtually took care of that." I mumbled quietly, sitting down beside him and placing his glass in front of him.

"I still can't understand why you didn't tell me." He said quietly and sadly. I sighed.

"Are we really going to get into this again? Because I did it to not worry you and I can't really give any other explanation."

"I know, I just… No, I'm going to get into it again." He was telling himself more than he was me. He span around on his chair and smiled at me. "Hi."

"Hi," I repeated, laughing at his cheesy smile. "Joyeux anniversaire." I said with a small smile. "Thirty, you're an old man."

"Hey! Watch it!" he exclaimed, feigning hurt by putting his hand over his heart.

"I can't believe you're finally getting the title." His smile grew and he looked happier than I had ever seen him. "That's so great."

"I'm pretty excited. I have to admit, I didn't think it was ever going to happen."

"Reality TV punk." I whacked his thigh and he chuckled. "You've worked hard; you deserve it more than anyone else."

"That is one of the most bias things you've ever said." He told me, but I only shrugged. Yes, I thought Michael was very deserving of the title – he worked very hard to get to where he was, and he was one of the best (maybe a slight exaggeration) heels in the business. "But I appreciate it."

He stayed for dinner. We enjoyed Chinese take-out – because he had been craving it and it was his birthday – with wine by candlelight.

Every time I looked at him I felt my heart flutter and I smiled uncontrollably. This wasn't the first time we'd done something like this for a birthday. We'd been on the road for so many birthdays that take out or room service had always been the best option, and on my birthday the first year, the power had gone out and the candlelight dinner tradition had been born.

"What are we even doing?" I asked myself quietly, sighing and tilting my head back to look at the ceiling.

"Eating dinner?" he answered, unsure of what I was exactly asking.

"You have a girlfriend." I reminded him and he nodded, his eyebrow furrowed.

"I do, yeah. That's never stopped us from having dinner."

"I love you." I shook my head hopelessly, "You know that I love you. And you at one stage loved me, too. A couple of weeks ago, tu m'as embrassé."

"Kiss?" he only understood one word in that phrase, but he was able to piece it together. "I did, yeah."

"Why?" I asked, pushing my plate into the middle of the table and crossing my arms in front of me. He looked at his empty plate, "Well? C'est pourquoi tu est ici, non?"

"What?"

"Dites-moi Pourquoi? Pourquoi avez-vous m'embrasser? Pourquoi êtes-vous ici? Do you love me? Ou pas? Parce-que je ne sais plus!"

"You're going to have to speak English if you want to have a conversation with me, because I have no fucking clue what you're on about."

"Why are you here? You told me that you were coming. You walked into my house. I didn't invite you over. I didn't ask you to come. Obviously you wanted to be here for some reason, I want to know what that reason is."

"I just wanted to see you." He breathed out in exasperation and I laughed. It was almost wicked.

"Wrong answer." I pushed my chair back and stood up. "This happened last time, too. Didn't it? You had to break up with her to go out with me. Why is she always in the way? You always go back to her."

"Because she's my girlfriend and she didn't fucking leave for seven months without telling me."

"You seem to be holding onto that. I've told you why and if you can't let that go, then I suggest you leave." I motioned to the foyer and stared him down. "I'm serious, get out of my house."

The chair scraped against the floor boards as he quickly pushed the chair away from the table. He glared at me as he walked by, through to the front door. He threw it open and I had to catch it before it hit the wall. I crossed my arms, both to show how angry I was and to fight the cold wind.

"I want my key back. And I don't ever want to see you again."

a/n for translations you should use Google translate, or just make it more realistic and be as confused as Miz. Please review, vote on my poll and check out my 'What If?' project...

I started writing one involving Claire - what if she never got cancer? And considering that is the premise of this whole story, that changes a lot. Would you be interested in reading it?