A/N: Yay, new chapter. Sorry for the delay; I hit a patch of writer's block, but I'm back on track and ready to stir things up! Also, the BC fandom has a forum! It's just like a message board where you can talk to other readers and writers or debate which couple you like best, where they'd be in ten years, etc. You can access it by going to the BC main page, then clicking on the forum button in the top right hand corner of the screen.

Chapter Twelve: Never the Same

Claire blinked once, then sat up straight. "Hey."

John nodded in greeting, his eyes never leaving her face. Claire sat there for a moment, too surprised to say or do anything except stare at him. It had been three and a half years since she'd seen him, and he'd changed a lot. His hair was short and messy, and he looked as though he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He was wearing a pair of dark, faded jeans and a black leather jacket with a couple of t-shirts layered beneath it. His expression was unreadable: distant, but not cold, just…cautious. She couldn't say that she blamed him. "I didn't know you were coming," she said finally.

John didn't respond, just kept watching her. Claire cleared her throat and stood from the sofa, smoothing out her skirt. "Did you just get here?"

"Just now."

Claire glanced behind him. "Did Sandra let you in?"

He nodded. "She said you were expecting me."

"Oh." Claire felt her face flush with embarrassment. She'd mentioned to Sandra that she was expecting another guest, hoping that he would show up, but knowing that he wouldn't. "Well…I'm glad you're here."

John's expression flickered, but Claire couldn't tell what he was thinking. She wondered if he could tell what she was thinking. Of course he could. He always could.

"Are you staying here?"

John shook his head. "With a friend."

Claire felt disappointed, but she tried not to show it. "Well, if you change your mind…" When he didn't respond, she changed the subject. "Have you seen the others?"

He shook his head.

"We were eating dinner, but the phone rang and I had to answer it." She took a couple of steps towards him. "They're in the dining room."

John moved out of the doorway, and she edged past him. Her bare arm brushed against his jacket, and she felt her stomach twist itself into knots.

God, he still smelled like cigarette smoke.

John followed Claire into the dining room, where the others were eating in silence. At the sound of Claire's heels snapping against the stone floor, Brian glanced up from his food, his eyes widening in surprise when he caught sight of their new guest. "Bender!"

Andy and Allison glanced up simultaneously, but neither of them looked very excited. Andy looked stunned, and Allison mildly curious, but neither of them said anything.

"How are you?" Brian rose from his seat and gave Bender a hug. Bender looked a bit surprised, but he accepted the gesture and patted Brian on the back.

"I guess you, uh, I guess you got my message, huh?" Brian asked.

Bender didn't answer. He looked back at the table, where Andy and Allison were sitting silently, watching the reunion. "What, I don't get a hug from you, too, Sporto?"

Andy rolled his eyes, and Bender looked over at Allison. He greeted her with a nod, and she offered a small smile, the first Claire had seen from her since she'd arrived.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Claire asked him.

Bender looked over at her. "No," he said flatly.

Claire paused. "Well, we've got plenty if…"

Bender nodded politely, but didn't say anything else. Claire looked back at the table, where the others were watching them curiously. Claire felt her face flame, and she looked back at Bender, who didn't seem fazed in the slightest. He looked down at his watch. "I'd better go."

Claire nodded. "Okay."

"I'll come back sometime tomorrow."

She nodded again. "Thank you."

He nodded and turned back to the others, giving them a casual wave goodbye. Brian returned the wave, Andy nodded stiffly, and Allison just watched him walk through the doorway leading out to the foyer.

Claire followed him out into the hallway. "I'm glad that you-"

Suddenly, the door opened, and Daniel walked in carrying a large red suitcase. "Hey, did you save me some of that chicken casserole?"

Before Claire could answer, her Aunt Irene walked through the door clutching a small red travel bag. "Hello."

Claire smiled and rushed up to her, throwing her arms around the older woman's neck, which smelled strongly of Coco Chanel. "Hi."

Irene pulled away and grasped Claire's shoulders to keep her in place so that she could get a better look at her. "You look beautiful, as always."

Claire smiled. "So, do you."

"Never lie to old people, darling. They always see right through you." Irene let go of Claire's shoulders and turned back to Daniel, who was waiting as patiently as he possibly could considering he probably hadn't eaten in at least two hours. "Just leave the rest out in the car. We'll get them later."

Daniel nodded. "I can take these up to your room if you want."

"Nonsense. I'm sure Calvin would love to take care of it for me." She looked back at Claire. "Where is your father, anyway?"

"In his office."

"Of course he is." Irene sighed. "I'm starving. All I had to eat on the plane was a package of peanuts and two glasses of champagne."

Claire glanced over at Daniel, whose eyes widened. He held up a four fingers and mouthed "four glasses". Claire stifled a giggle and looked back at her aunt. "Well, we've got plenty of food here, so-" Suddenly, Claire stopped and looked around. At some point during the commotion, John had slipped away. Claire went to the door, which was cracked open slightly, and pulled it open just in time to see the red taillights of a small black car disappear as the car pulled out of her driveway and into the street. She bit back her disappointment, then turned back to Irene and Daniel, who were watching her expectantly. Claire took a deep breath and forced a smile. "So…dinner."

Claire prepared plates for her brother and aunt, then went back into the dining room. The others had already finished eating dinner by the time Daniel and Irene were ready to eat. Andy went back upstairs right away, mumbling something about catching up on his sleep. Allison waited a few minutes, then made a similar excuse. Brian stayed at the table as Claire, Daniel and Irene ate.

"So, where do you go to school, Brian?" asked Irene.

"Harvard."

Irene's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

Claire glanced over at Brian, who nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's impressive."

Brian blushed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"What are you studying?"

"English."

"You must spend every waking hour with your nose in the books."

Brian paused uncertainly, then nodded stiffly. "Just about," he said quietly.

Claire paused, but kept watching him. Brian hadn't told her much about how he was doing in school, but she knew the pressure his parents had put on him in high school, and she wondered whether they were doing the same when it came to college. Watching him fidget with the table cloth, she felt a rush of protectiveness sweep over her. Irene opened her mouth to ask Brian another question, but Claire interrupted her. "How is that casserole?"

Irene looked over at Claire, momentarily thrown off balance. "Oh, it's good. Very good. Certainly better than peanuts."

Claire smiled at her aunt, then looked over at Brian, who looked distracted, lost in his own thoughts. She started to say something to him, but then her brother asked if there was enough food left for seconds, and Claire forgot what she was going to say.

The guest bathroom on the second floor was almost as large as Allison's entire apartment.

She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was anyway. It had been a long time since Allison had seen a bathroom that size, and it was a little bit overwhelming considering it had been more than three years since she'd taken a real bath with hot water and real bubbles and clean towels. Her apartment in New York had a bath tub, but she never used it for anything except showering, and even then she kept her showers as short as possible since the edges of the tub were covered in rust and mildew, and there was only one small space in the center of the tub where she could stand and not have to worry about getting some sort of foot disease from all of the bacteria.

But Claire's bathroom was perfect, clean and shiny and fragrant. Allison picked up a bar of soap from a small basket on the sink and took a sniff. Roses. She looked back in the basket and was pleased to find several small bottles of shampoo and conditioner for her to use. Allison had packed only clothes for the trip and had forgotten about toiletries. At the time, she'd assumed she was doing good by remembering to bring her toothbrush.

Allison sampled each of the bath creams and finally settled on one that smelled like violets, then started running the bath water and climbed in. After a while, her thoughts turned towards the Breakfast Club. Everyone was so on edge. Claire looked frazzled and lost, Brian had bags under his eyes, and John…well, John was still John. Allison couldn't quite tell what he was thinking, but he'd always been good at hiding things.

Then there was Andy. He looked so thin and tired and angry. His facial expressions, his body language, the tone of his voice--all of it screamed for her to back off and leave him alone. She could tell that something was wrong with him and wondered what had happened to him over the last three years for him to act that way. More than likely, she would never find out.

When she'd first heard Brian's message on her answering machine, the first person she thought of was Andy. When she'd made the decision to go back to Shermer after all those years, her reason was Andy. On Monday night, lying there in the bathtub watching her fingers wrinkle, all she could think about was Andy. She knew that she should probably feel stupid about thinking about someone so obsessively when she was pretty sure that he wasn't thinking about her, but she refused to be embarrassed. It seemed like such a petty emotion to focus on, considering the circumstances. Anger seemed more appropriate to her, or sadness. Maybe a little bit of both.

Bender pulled into a parking spot right in front of C.J.'s apartment complex and cut the engine. He sat there in the darkness for a few minutes finishing his cigarette, then opened the door and flicked the stub into the icy grass. He didn't take his duffel bag, just left it in the backseat and walked up to the front door.

It took a few minutes for C.J. to answer, most likely because he had the music turned up so loud that he couldn't hear anything else. When he did finally open the door to see Bender standing there, he looked a bit surprised. "Oh, hey, man. Come in."

Bender nodded and stepped into the apartment. "Thanks."

C.J. shut the door behind him. "I thought you weren't comin'."

"Changed my mind." Bender looked back at his friend. "You mind if I crash here for a couple of days?"

"Yeah, no problem." C.J. grabbed a box of crackers off of the couch and went over to the stereo to turn down the volume. "The couch is yours, but if you find any money stuffed between the cushions, don't get any funny ideas."

Bender smirked and took a seat. "Thanks."

C.J. grinned. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

C.J. went into the kitchen, but kept talking. "So, what was it you were coming in for? A funeral?"

Bender sighed. "Yeah."

"Anyone I know?"

"A girl I knew in high school. Her mom died."

C.J. walked back into the living room and handed Bender a beer. "Who's the girl?" he asked, taking a seat in a recliner a few feet away.

Bender took a sip of the beer before answering. "Her name's Claire."

"Ah, that's right. Claire." C.J. propped his feet up and leaned back in the seat. "What's the story with her?"

Bender shrugged. "No story."

"Fuck that. There's always a story when a girl's involved. She an ex?"

Bender paused thoughtfully. "Kind of," he said finally.

C.J. nodded slowly. "You hoping to start something up again?"

Bender didn't answer the question, just took another sip of his beer and leaned his head back so that it was resting against the sofa cushion. They sat there for a few minutes, not talking, just listening to the music, before C.J. sat up in his chair and looked over at Bender. "You got a bag?"

Bender nodded. "In the car." He stood up from the couch and put his drink on the coffee table. "I'll be right back."

Outside, Bender pulled out his cigarettes again and lit a fresh one. He stood on the pavement for a while, leaning against his car as he smoked, and looked out over the apartment buildings further down the street. Two blocks from C.J.'s apartment, the apartment buildings gave way to duplexes, and two blocks after that, the duplexes gave way to houses, one of them being the house that his father still occupied. Four blocks. He could get in his car and be there in two minutes, maybe less. Two minutes. Four blocks. Three years.

After a couple of minutes, Bender finished his cigarette, grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat of the car, and went back into the house.

Claire spent most of the evening helping Irene get settled into one of the guest rooms on the first floor and talking to Florence Gerald, who finally brought over that potato casserole she'd promised. By the time she got to her bedroom, Claire was exhausted. She changed into a pair of cotton pajamas and a matching camisole, then climbed into bed and pulled the comforter over her shoulders.

She'd been lying there for about ten minutes when she realized that she wasn't asleep yet. Sighing, she turned over to face her nightstand, and her eyes fell on the framed picture of the Breakfast Club, which was hardly visible in the semi-darkness. She stared at the photo for a long time, her eyes flicking from one face to another, and wondered what they were thinking about and what was going to happen the next day when they were all together again. Most of all, she wondered about John, if he was safe at his friend's house, if he was awake or asleep, if he was thinking about her. She tried to imagine him at his friend's house, tried to picture him lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, but something wasn't quite right. Instead of the man with the short, dark hair and the unreadable expression, she saw the teenager with the denim jacket and the cocky grin. She tried, but couldn't get the image straight in her head.

After a while, the day finally caught up with her, and Claire fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A/N: Also, I just wanted to mention that I've gotten a lot done for my pre-detention story 'Friday Let Me Down' and I've posted through chapter 15 of that story. This is just a gentle reminder. ;) Thank you.