A/N: Enjoy your extra-long Bender-centric chapter. : )

Chapter Sixteen: Pull Yourself Together

Bender pulled up to the stoplight at the corner of Smith and Vine and glanced over at Allison, who was slumped over in the passenger seat, gazing out the window. She hadn't spoken in nearly fifteen minutes and didn't seem to remember that he was there.

Bender didn't have any desire to remind her. She appeared lost in her own thoughts, and the somber look on her face suggested that they weren't very pleasant. She'd calmed down considerably since they'd left the parking lot, but when she'd first walked out of the store with the security guard on her tail and a bulge in her pocket, there was something in her eyes--something wild and desperate--that told him he didn't want to ask any questions. Besides, who was he to judge? He'd done some shoplifting himself, back in high school and middle school, before he had a job.

The light turned green again, and Bender released his foot from the brake, nudging the gas pedal with the tip of his boot. He didn't know where he was going. Allison hadn't mentioned needing to stop anywhere else, and he figured that it was unnecessary to ask at this point anyway. He considered taking them back to Claire's house, but Allison didn't look like she was in any position to be social, and he felt roughly the same way.

So, he kept driving. He hadn't seen much of Shermer in the past three years, having kept mostly to his side of town when he stopped in for one of his infrequent visits, and he was surprised to see how it had changed in his absence. There were more shops, more restaurants, more fast food joints. The tiny mall at the edge of town had undergone some major expansions, and it was nearly twice the size it had been when he'd avoided it in high school.

It took him about twenty minutes to get from one end of town to the other, taking side roads and winding in and out of neighborhoods like a snake. Before he knew it, he was back on his side of town, stopped at a light next to the Taco Hut, a hole in the wall place where he and his friends would hang out a lot during and after high school, taking advantage of the restaurant's free refills and stealing ketchup packets just because they could. Bender glanced over at Allison, who was still leaning against the door, staring out of the passenger side window.

At the next intersection, he made a U-turn and headed back to Claire's house.

"It was lovely seeing you, dear."

"Such a shame your father wasn't here. Poor man."

"Now you just let us know if there's anything we can do, sweetie. Anything at all."

Claire smiled as broadly as she possibly could. "I will," she lied. "Thank you so much for stopping by."

The women started making their way to the front door, purses clutched in one hand, talking amongst themselves about where they were going to have lunch. Claire followed them out of the sitting room and into the foyer, smiling as the women said their goodbyes and expressed their sympathies concerning her mother's passing. Then she heard the front door open, and someone exclaimed, "Calvin!"

Claire glanced up to see her father standing in the doorway wearing a light grey suit and carrying a briefcase in one hand. The women moved aside to give him room, and he stepped inside as they all started talking at once.

"Oh, Calvin, it's such a shame."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"You look like you haven't slept in days."

"You poor man."

Mr. Standish nodded politely, and Claire pushed through the crowd of women, stopping only when she reached her father. "Daddy," she said urgently, grabbing ahold of his elbow.

Mr. Standish looked down at her and smiled fondly, reaching around to wrap and arm around her shoulders. Claire felt a wave of comfort sweep over her, and she relaxed against him, ignoring all of the women clamoring for his attention.

"Thank you for coming over. Claire and I really appreciate your support," he said, flashing the group a sad smile. The women responded with fluttering eyelashes and sympathetic smiles, and, one by one, finally started filtering out of the front door. Claire hardly said a word as they left, just let her father do all of the talking as she stood there leaning against him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

When the last woman finally stepped onto the front porch, closing the door behind her, Claire let out a deep sigh. "Thank God," she muttered.

Her father chuckled and patted her on the back, releasing her from his embrace. "Was it really that bad, Princess?"

Claire took a deep breath. "Almost."

Her father smiled indulgently. "I'm sure you did a wonderful job."

Claire managed a weak, appreciative smile. "Thanks."

Mr. Standish nodded and glanced down at his watch. "I've got to hurry. I've got a conference call coming in at eleven, and I still have to--"

"I thought you just came from work," Claire interrupted.

"I did," he responded. "And I had to fight like hell to get back home in time to take this call here so that I wouldn't be stuck in the office all day."

Claire paused, momentarily at a loss for words. "I thought you would be home more," she said, knowing how pitiful it sounded.

Mr. Standish sighed. "I know, pumpkin. So did I. But this is a bad week at work, and everyone is really busy. I have to get stuff done or--"

"The viewing is tonight," said Claire, her jaw trembling with anger and unshed tears. "Mom's viewing."

Her father opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the phone ringing in his office. He glanced down the hall, then back at his daughter, his eyes heavy with indecision. "I know it's tonight, sweetheart. But I have to take this call."

Claire didn't say anything, just swallowed deeply, too tired and angry to even nod.

The phone rang again, and Mr. Standish sighed. "I'll make this up to you, sweetheart. I promise." He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, then turned and disappeared down the hall leading to his office.

Claire just stood there for a moment, too upset to even move. Then she felt the tears pricking the back of her eyes, and she made a break for the staircase, taking it up to the second floor. When she reached her room, she shut the door behind her and burst into tears.

She leaned back against the door for a few seconds, shoulders shaking, then walked over to the bed and grabbed her pillow, curling up around it in a little ball. The tears felt like they were coming up from her toes, and it seemed like they would never stop. She just let them flow, too tired to do anything else.

After a while, there was nothing left to let out. Claire stretched her arm out across the bed and let her eyelids flutter closed, completely spent of all energy. She didn't know how long she lay there like that, but it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. She just knew that the bed was soft, and her room was quiet, and there wasn't a quiche in sight.

She was wondering how long she could stay holed up in her room without anyone noticing she was missing when she remembered something her mother had told her once:

"Just go someplace private and have yourself a good cry. And then when you're done, you pull yourself together, go back out there, and smile as though nothing happened…but don't forget to fix your eye make-up first."

Claire sighed and sat up in bed. Easy for you to say, she thought to herself. You had a lot more practice than I have.

But she did it anyway. She hauled herself off of the bed and went into her bathroom, where she washed her face and reapplied her makeup, paying careful attention to her mascara and eye shadow, then she brushed her hair out and pulled it back again with a clip. When she was finished, she studied her appearance in the mirror, searching for evidence of her breakdown. There was none.

Satisfied, she turned off the light and went back downstairs to clean up after her guests.

Bender pulled into Claire's circular driveway just after eleven-thirty, noting with satisfaction that the Buicks and the Cadillacs were gone, leaving the driveway empty, with the exception of one Mercedes that he hadn't noticed earlier. He glanced over at Allison, who finally snapped out of her daze long enough to open the passenger door and climb out. He locked up after them, knowing that it was unnecessary to the point of being absurd, but refusing to care.

When they were inside, Allison glanced over at him. "Thanks."

Bender nodded. "Sure."

Allison didn't say anything else, just pulled her jacket a bit closer to her body and started climbing the steps. Bender watched her until she reached the top of the staircase and disappeared down the hall on the second floor.

When she was out of his sight, Bender turned away from the staircase and took a long look around. It wasn't the first time that he'd been to Claire's house; he'd visited her a couple of times during that last summer after she graduated. He remembered how foreign everything had felt to him at the time, how awestruck he'd been by the marble floors and the crystal chandeliers and the plush, unstained carpets. Almost as awestruck as he'd been by the idea of making out with the homecoming queen.

But Bender wasn't in high school anymore, and the things that impressed him at eighteen weren't the same things that impressed him at twenty-two. He'd done his fair share of work on rich people's houses during the past four years, and gradually he'd become desensitized to the expensive floors and the artwork that cost more than he made in a year. After a while, he felt almost as comfortable walking into one of the mansions in Lincoln Park as he did the run-down apartment of his own neighborhood downtown. Almost.

Bender spent a moment waiting around in the foyer before making his way into the kitchen, where he found Brian sitting on a stool at the counter reading a thick paperback book. When Bender walked in, Brian looked up, eyes wide. "Hey."

Bender walked over to the refrigerator and leaned back against the granite countertop. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, uh…" Brian looked behind him. "I don't know. Andy is upstairs sleeping, I think. I don't know where Allison and Claire are."

Bender nodded and glanced down at the countertop, running his callused fingertips over the smooth, glossy stone.

"So, where are you staying?"

Bender glanced up at Brian, who was watching him expectantly, his closed book sitting on the counter in front of him. "At a friend's house," Bender answered.

"The guy I talked to on the phone?"

"Yeah, that's him."

Brian nodded. "Where are you living now?"

"Chicago."

"Oh," said Brian, the almost comical expression on his face betraying his surprise.

Bender hesitated. "What?"

Brian looked up at him. "Oh, nothing. I just didn't realize that you were so close by."

"It's far enough," Bender said flatly.

Brian paused, then nodded slowly. "Right."

Bender cleared his throat. Already, he needed another cigarette. At this rate, he'd never quit. "Where are you at?" he asked.

"Cambridge, Massachusetts," Brian answered. He paused. "Harvard."

Bender nodded. "How's that goin'?"

Brian shrugged. "It's going well, I guess."

"You gonna be a doctor or somethin'?"

Brian's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I'm not." He paused. "I mean, I don't think so, you know? I don't know yet. Because I could just get my Bachelor's degree in English Literature and teach high school or something, but my parents want me to go further so that I can teach college." He stopped to take a breath. "I just don't know what I want to do."

Bender nodded solemnly. "Decisions, decisions. How will you ever choose?"

Brian nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I know, It's--" Then he stopped, glancing up at Bender uncertainly. "You were making fun of me, weren't you?"

Bender nodded.

Brian blushed. "Right."

Bender smirked. "So, you're gonna be a high school teacher?"

Brian nodded. "English teacher."

Bender nodded slowly. "High school English teacher," he echoed.

Brian hesitated, probably wondering what Bender was getting at. "Well, maybe…you know, if I decide not to get another degree."

Bender didn't say anything to this, just shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stared back at Brian, one eyebrow cocked doubtfully.

Brian watched him uncomfortably for a moment before speaking. "What?"

Bender shrugged. "Nothing."

"What?" Brian asked, more urgently this time. "Just say it."

Bender smiled. "I was just thinking about you standing up at the front of a classroom, reading some sonnet by Shakespeare or Dickens--"

"Dickens didn't write sonnets," Brian interrupted.

"--or whoever," Bender said irritably, eyes narrowed in Brian's direction. Brian nodded sheepishly and let him continue. "Anyway," Bender went on. "You're standing up there reading, and suddenly a spitball hits you right in the middle of your forehead."

There was a moment of silence before Brian spoke. "That's what you were thinking?" Brian asked finally.

Bender nodded.

Brian glared at him. "That's really nice of you."

Bender pulled both of his hands out of his pockets. "You asked."

Brian was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "That's probably how it's going to be."

Bender glanced up. "Oh, yeah?"

Brian nodded and smiled to keep himself from laughing. "Yeah, and it'll probably be your kid throwing the spitball."

Bender smirked. "Nah, not my kid."

"No?"

Bender shook his head, barely able to suppress his smile. "No, my kid will be the one out in the parking lot, super gluing your wipers to the windshield."

Brian burst out laughing, and Bender couldn't help but follow suit. The two of them stood there laughing for a few seconds until Bender heard a pair of high heels snapping against the marble floor.

"What's so funny?"

Bender looked up to see Claire standing a few feet behind Brian, smiling hesitantly.

Bender straightened up immediately and glanced over at Brian, who was wiping his eyes. "Bender was just being a jerk," he explained.

Claire glanced over at Bender uncertainly, and Bender let his face go blank. "Oh," she said lightly. "Imagine that."

Bender cocked at eyebrow, and she looked away, back at Brian. "Did everything turn out okay with Mr. Peterson?" she asked him.

Brian nodded. "Yeah, we gave him the envelope. He said he'll see you tonight."

Claire nodded and smiled. "Thanks for doing that, Brian."

Brian smiled and nodded. "Sure, no problem. Also, Mr. Peterson wanted me to tell you that…"

Brian started listing off a bunch of meaningless information as Claire nodded thoughtfully. Bender didn't have any idea what they were talking about, and he felt uncomfortable watching them carry on such a casual, private conversation while he was still in the room. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for them to finish.

"…and that he set up all of the flowers in the room where they're going to hold the viewing."

Claire nodded. "Okay, thank you."

"Sure," Brian replied.

Claire glanced over at Bender, who was still watching her closely. "The viewing is tonight," she explained.

Bender nodded.

"It's at five…if you wanted to come."

Bender nodded again. "Okay."

Claire nodded briefly and looked back at Brian, who was watching the two of them silently. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going to, uh…" He glanced at the book in his hand and held it up. "I've got to finish this. I'm going upstairs."

"If you want, we can have lunch in a little while," said Claire. "I've got leftovers from the D.A.R.," she said rolling her eyes.

Brian smiled and nodded, waving goodbye with the hand holding his book.

When Brian was gone, Claire turned back to Bender and cleared her throat. "Well…"

Bender lifted an eyebrow. "Well," he echoed.

Claire glanced up at him briefly, then looked back at the kitchen counter, which was covered in platters of food. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No, we stopped for food earlier."

Claire looked up from the platter of lemon bars in her hand. "You and Allison?"

Bender nodded, and Claire looked away again, back at the tray of desserts. "Did she get what she needed?" she asked, her voice betraying nothing.

Bender remembered Allison walking out of the supermarket, hands empty and pockets bulging. "Yeah, I think so."

"That's good." She reached for a box of Saran Wrap from the edge of the counter and started pulling a thin piece of plastic over the top of the tray.

"Don't you have someone that does that for you?" Bender asked.

"Sandra?" Claire asked. "She's cleaning the sitting room."

"Hmmm," Bender murmured thoughtfully.

Claire moved the tray of lemon bars off to the side and reached for a bowl of creamy white dip. "So, how is your friend?"

"Which one?"

"The one you're staying with."

Bender nodded. "He's fine."

Claire looked up at him, and their eyes met. "And how are you?" she asked.

Bender just stared back at her, hoping his eyes weren't giving anything away. "Fine," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Claire held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then looked back at the dip. "Where are you living now?"

"Chicago."

She nodded. "Do you have your own apartment?"

"Yeah," he said, not bothering to tell her how small it was, or what it smelled like.

Claire nodded again, and Bender wondered if she was going to ask him what he'd been doing for the last three years. He wondered what he was going to say if she did ask, if he would lie or not. No, of course he wouldn't lie. He wasn't ashamed of himself.

But it didn't matter anyway because she didn't ask. She busied herself with the plates of food in front of her, wrapping them up and putting them into the already overloaded fridge. Bender watched her work, and for about five minutes neither one of them spoke.

When she'd finished putting all of the food away, Claire walked over to the counter beside him and pulled a glass down from the cabinet next to his head. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No."

She stepped closer to the sink and filled her glass halfway, then leaned back against the counter and looked up at him. "So, did you and Brian catch up?"

Bender shrugged. "I guess."

"Have you seen Andy today?"

Bender shook his head. "Brian said he was asleep."

"Oh." Claire looked down at her drink and brought the glass up to her lips to take a sip of water. Bender watched her closely, noticing all of the ways she'd changed and even more of the ways that she'd stayed the same. Her hair was long and straight, pulled back from her face with a clip. Her lacey top was cut just low enough that he could see the swell of her breasts just below the edge of the fabric. He let his eyes skim the rest of her body quickly, taking in the curves, one by one, stopping when he reached the hem of her skirt. Finally, he let his gaze drop down to the floor, staring at the patterns in the marble, at the swirls of pale grey on milky white.

He really needed that cigarette.

"So, when will you go back to Chicago?"

Bender looked back up to see her watching him. He shrugged. "When's the funeral?" he asked.

Claire's expression flickered. "Tomorrow."

"Probably tomorrow then."

Claire blinked, then looked down at her drink. She swallowed a sip of water, and for a moment Bender couldn't tear his eyes away from her throat. The skin there looked so soft, like satin.

When he looked back at her face, she was watching him again. Bender noticed for the first time how tired her eyes looked, how they were rimmed in red. She'd been crying recently, he noted. Crying for her dead mother.

"I have to go," he said, more harshly than he'd intended. He noticed that her face fell slightly when he spoke. Part of him felt bad if he'd hurt her, but the other part was glad.

"Okay," she said quietly.

He looked away from her, busying himself with the zipper of his jacket, trying to decide who he was more angry with, Claire or himself. "Where's the funeral place?" he asked gruffly.

Pause. "Woodlake Funeral home. On Woodlake Boulevard."

He nodded curtly. "I'll be there." He started walking towards the front door, and she followed him. He could hear her shoes snapping against the floor, echoing loudly behind him. When he reached the door, he jerked it open and stepped outside, refusing to look behind him. He dug the keys out of his jacket pocket and started walking out to the car.

"John."

He swallowed deeply and turned around. Claire was standing out on the front porch at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the railing next to her hip. A light breeze whipped past him and blew her hair away from the nape of her neck. "Yeah?" he asked.

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but the expression on his face must have stopped her. She pursed her lips together and swallowed. "I'll see you later," she said finally.

He nodded, then turned and walked out to his car. He didn't look back at her as he got in and turned the ignition. He didn't even look when he drove past her. But when he reached the end of the driveway, he let his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. She was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, watching him.

Bender dragged his eyes away from the mirror and pulled out onto the street.

A/N: Please review! Thanks.