CHAPTER 9

Quil:

Guilt and anxiety twisted in his gut as he tugged a hand through his hair for approximately the million and twelfth time. He used his fist that was still balled (and had been for basically the last twelve hours straight) and smacked it against the Camaro he was leaning against, barely having the presence of mind to exercise restraint and not actually dent any of the body of the car.

He hadn't slept for more than a combined total of five hours in the last three horror filled days. He was dead on his feet and yet he knew instinctually that he'd never be able to rest at all until he'd at least seen Claire and tried to lay some initial groundwork to repair the damage he'd done. He'd screwed up in Vegas… he knew it and he needed to find Claire and figure out how to fix it…. Or at least work on fixing it… or something.

He'd been at her house for the last forty minutes and his quick search from the first thirty seconds of arriving proved that only a passed-out Susan was to be found anywhere.

He'd already tried every possible thing he could think of to try to find Claire. He'd called and left messages. He'd texted. He'd emailed. He'd gone to Bennett's house only to find his mom and a concerned Jamie. He'd gone by his shop to see if she'd gone there even though he couldn't imagine why she'd ever want to anymore. He'd called Sam and Emily. He'd called his mom to see if Claire had come by just to kidnap Butch.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He couldn't even be sure that she'd flown back to Washington at all. He wasn't getting anything out of Leah. That was for sure. She'd resentfully told him that Claire had left after he'd knocked on the hotel room door for forty minutes straight refusing to leave until he'd seen her, but Leah sure as hell wasn't going to give him more information than that. That of course had been after he had punched Collin in the gut though, he was lucky that it was Brady that'd been the one to swing the return punch that had resulted in Quil's currently black yet healing eye before Leah had made it to him…. She definitely would have broken his nose if she'd reached him first. All hell had broken lose after that with the manager of the restaurant kicking them out as he called security and Sophia screaming at him as Brady held back Leah. It was when Collin had finally caught his breath enough to stand back up and make his way to Quil, who was sure they'd need to find a place to phase, but had looked him right in his eyes and said,

"You're going to lose her, and I hope you do. She deserves a hell of a lot more."

That had been the moment that something snapped into place for Quil, and he suddenly saw the entire weekend in a different light. He had turned and walked away without a word. He couldn't think of what to say anyways.

He'd never blown up like that before. Ever. He'd never lost control in that way before. The only times he'd ever lost control in his life, he'd turned and become the wolf inside that was demanding release… he'd never experienced losing control while still in his human form though. But something about the thought of that jerkoff that'd been leaning into a smiling Claire the previous night, coming to meet up with her in a club had set him off in a way he'd never had before. And then while he was still reacting to the thought, Sofia had said the thing about Claire looking at that guy the way she'd only looked at Quil and he'd just lost it. Claire shouldn't have been in Vegas in the first place and then the idea of that look, that tiny subtle smile as she'd turn and look at Quil like she didn't even realize she was smiling, she hadn't looked at him like that in weeks and the vision of her in that soft, subtly-sexy outfit, dancing in her heels as she looked at that random douche that way…. Well, he'd lost control… he'd snapped and gone in for the kill.

He'd sat at a slot machine and barely pressed the button for the next hour as he downed at least six coke and bottom shelf whiskeys and tried to process the last six weeks in his sleep deprived brain. At some point he realized he'd picked the very specific words she'd shared with him just that morning. In the heat of the moment he'd justified that it was the best way to finally get his point across to her… in hindsight he realized that he was just shooting to kill, and he knew they'd hurt her the most. All he'd wanted was to keep her from going to that club… he'd definitely accomplished that…. and then some.

He'd caught her scent at the airport. Just barely, it was obviously a few hours old and almost brushed away by the passing of so many other people but when he'd described her to the ticket agent it was clear Claire had been there. She also refused to give out any information about when she'd left or where she was heading to, but she did helpfully offer that she'd been trying to take off like a bat out of hell.

Claire had left. She'd really left. She said she was going up to the room and by the time he'd gotten his shit together two hours later and started to realize how much he really needed to apologize, she was already gone. That was when it'd fully hit him. He'd pushed her to a breaking point and managed to chase her out of the city, onto a plane headed to Bermuda for all he knew.

.

He switched his fist from abusing his car to smacking against his forehead in frustration, carefully avoiding his left eye that Brady had managed to nail so perfectly. He'd gone through an entire gauntlet of emotions since he'd boarded the midnight flight back to Seattle. From frustrated and angry (just a tiny bit at her for just taking off but mostly at himself), to scared absolutely shitless when he realized there was zero chance she was going to take his calls and he had no way of knowing where she was or how to find her, to the immense feelings of guilt and self-loathing he was currently struggling with.

His head snapped up when he heard a car door open and realized in his extreme anxiety, he had somehow missed the sound of it pulling up.

"Claire?!" he choked with an embarrassing mixture of relief and every other single emotion he was struggling with as she stumbled out of the passenger seat of Bennett's car and almost landed on her ass on the sidewalk the car was barely hovering over since Bennett hadn't even pulled into the driveway.

"Just go!" she mumbled as she looked at Bennett reaching a hand across the car to try to help her out. "I'm fine! Just go!" she continued in an almost angry tirade.

"What about your bag?" Bennett asked with a sigh as Quil stay rooted transfixed to the spot on the pavement barely a step in front of the Camaro.

"You keep it! Burn it for all I care! I sure as hell don't want the memories."
Claire yelled loudly as she finally turned to acknowledge Quil only feet away from her. "What are you doing here, Lassy!? Can't you see I don't want you anymore?"

"Claire?" Quil asked in mostly just complete shock, "Are you drunk right now!?"

It wasn't even eleven am, but she started cackling as Bennett defied all of Quil's expectations and backed out of the drive without a word to him so that the passenger door shut with the momentum when he stopped and put the car in drive and then left without even an acknowledgement of Quil standing there with Claire.

"… I don't need you! I don't even want you!…." Claire continued as she straightened up to her full height and Quil got a good look at her face with the slightly swollen, bloodshot eyes and the makeup smeared in dark circles surrounding them, the sight felt like the worst punch to his gut and stood as a reminder of what he'd clearly put her through. She looked like she was only wearing Bennett's weird hoodie and she had her heels from the night before with her purse in one hand and her other hand resting purposefully on her hip as if the pose alone was giving her power as she continued on without letting him respond,

"…Okay well we both know that's a lie…. It's like I can't not want you, but do you have any idea how much I absolutely hate myself for that!?"

Quil automatically took a step towards her in response to the pain in her voice, and she shook her head angrily in frustration as she continued,

"I'm so mad at you! I freaking hate you right now and I hope I never have to see you again in my entire freaking life, Quil Ateara, and yet I can't even look you in the eyes and tell you I don't want you anymore! What the hell is wrong with me!? You're toxic! You're broken and you're awful and you're….. you're mean!" she spewed like it was the worst insult she could possible think of and Quil's heart ripped painfully in response as he took a step toward her again just as the tears started to spill uncontrollably out from her.

It didn't seem to slow her down though as she continued on while standing barefoot on the wet pavement yelling at him as she gestured behind her in the direction Bennett had left in. "I don't need you anymore! Can't you see I've replaced you with a new puppy!?"

"… Claire…" Quil tried to cut in in a truly regretful voice. She had no idea how sorry he was. How much he'd rather set his own hand on fire than to have ever been the asshole to her he knew he'd been this last week.

"NO! You…. You're just the worst." She said as she cried harder but somehow ended up with her head against his chest while he put his hands on the tops of her arms to try to support and hold up some of her weight.

"I hate you!" she cried, and she started sobbing against him as his heart dropped to somewhere in the very pit of his stomach and the first tears of the very long night suddenly made an appearance, burning hot in his eyes. "… I hate you." She whispered as she leaned into him and he finally wrapped his arms around her. She dropped the purse and shoes in her hands to land on the pavement beside them.

"… I hate you." She sobbed, truly sobbed so that she was crying it more than saying it as she wrapped her arms around herself like she could hold herself together if she could hold on tightly enough as she leaned into him.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." She sobbed into his chest and Quil nodded his head in regretful agreement even though she couldn't see it.

"I know, Baby. I know." He whispered back as he held her and though he hadn't thought she'd been holding anything back she suddenly let go and was sobbing so violently in his arms that he had to support all her weight as she wordlessly cried harder than he'd probably ever seen.

"… I'm so sorry, Claire." He mumbled and when a tear ran down his face, he realized he was crying too.

He wasn't sure if she could even hear him as she shook violently against him and he just held her and tried not to cry along with her, positive he hated himself more than she ever could.

When she just suddenly stopped and jerked forcefully away from him, he immediately tried to protest.

"Claire, wait. Don't-" he started to say before she curled over on herself and started puking right into the gutter where the street met the sidewalk.

He sighed as he knocked the most recent tear clean from his face and leaned forward to hold her hair back just as she started gagging again.

He'd seen her sick with the flu dozens of times, but that sort of sick had nothing on her drunk projectile vomiting. It was almost concerning except for the fact that he knew how low her alcohol tolerance was and it felt inevitable.

The only good thing about the ten minutes they spent with Claire trying to regurgitate her own internal organs was that she stopped crying while she was doing it.

When he was pretty positive there was no way she could possibly have anything else left to expel inside of her, he pulled some more of her hair back that had gotten stuck to her damp forehead and asked softly,

"You think you're done now?"

"I think so…." She moaned miserably.

"Let's get you in the house." He suggested.

She nodded without looking at him as she used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth and then her cheeks under her eyes before she allowed him to wrap an arm around her and slowly led her to the walk leading to the front door. He stopped for a second to bend over and grab the shoes and purse she had dropped at their feet.

It was quiet with the weight of all the things left unspoken between them and yet he knew she wasn't ready to hear his apology yet. She was still half drunk and walking in a straight line seemed to be beyond the scope of her current capability.

He opened the front door and led her inside just in time to seem a fairly rough looking Susan digging in the fridge. She looked up when the door opened and stared at them in confusion for a second before saying, "There you are! Finally! I didn't think anyone even lived here anymore."

Claire didn't even look up to acknowledge her as she leaned against Quil's side and moaned painfully. Quil looked down to notice her eyes closed with a light sheen of sweat and probably a mix of the drizzle from outside that were sparkling on her face.

"We're almost there, babe. You're doing fine." He muttered softly to her as he dropped her purse and shoes by the door and then used his free hand to wipe the hair out of her face again.

"You called me 'Baby'." She suddenly sighed sadly as she managed to take another two steps forward and Quil scrunched his brow in confusion before looking up to see Susan watching them carefully from behind the kitchen counter.

"Um…. I think I said 'Babe', actually." He replied in the same quiet tone Claire was using.

"No, outside. I heard you call me 'Baby' again." She replied wistfully.

Quil didn't know what to say as he looked down at her only being held up vertically by his arm around her. There were so many things he felt and yet so many irrefutable facts that seemed to negate those feelings. He had called her baby. He still thought of her that way. He still loved her. He'd never not love her. He was still definitely attracted to her and yet he still hated himself for it. She was still a minor. A minor whose father he'd promise that he would take care of.

How could he possibly do that if he was the one taking advantage of the situation… of her?

He opened his mouth even though he had no idea what could possibly come out of it when he was saved from responding by Claire's sudden moan. He quickly looked back down from where he realized he'd been staring lost at the ceiling to see her looking at the stairs in front of them as if they were the biggest hurdle she'd ever encountered in her life. Her eyes filled with tears again as she stared at them and suddenly leaned fully against his side as if she was simply too discouraged to hold herself up or move forward any farther.

"It's going to be okay, Claire." He said with a sigh before he leaned over and used his free hand to softly sweep her legs into his arm, standing up with her in his arms resting against his chest.

She moaned again as her eyes closed and the silent tears that yanked forcefully at his heart started to leak out of them.

"Uh, where do you think you're taking her?" Susan asked in a mix of confusion and accusation.

"Just gonna put her to bed." Quil muttered over his shoulder as he made sure to lift her weight with his arms so that she wouldn't sway so much as he started climbing the stairs.

"Um I'm really not comfortable with you in Claire's room-" Susan started to say in a phrase that sounded much more like the Susan from a year ago than anything he'd heard from her in months.

"Mom! Just shut up! Okay?" Claire cut across her with a surprising amount of energy as she suddenly used her hands to pinch at her temples like she was in incredible pain.

"Um excuse me, young lady!?" Susan started to reply in obvious anger and frustration though Quil didn't stop or turn around to face her even though she couldn't see more than Claire's bare legs hanging out of her sweater while she was in his arms.

"Just mind your own business, Mom, and I'll mind mine. Okay? That's worked out great so far so don't try to step in now." Claire muttered with just enough dark energy for it to travel down the stairs to Susan.

He'd expected Susan to reply but was surprised when instead she chose to march across the room to the doors that used to be Robert's office and shut herself in with a sharp click of the handle and rattle of the glass panes.

Claire sighed in a mix of pain and relief when Quil made it to the second floor and turned down the hall toward her bedroom he hadn't been in since she'd completely freaked out at him the week before when she'd gotten out of the shower, though he'd had no idea why, since it'd been obvious he clearly hadn't seen anything.

"Ugh!" she moaned, and he looked down at her in surprise since she'd seemed relaxed once they were past the stairs, her face was pressed into his chest as she continued, "I hate the way you smell."

He stopped walking as the comment sank in before the surprise wore off and he smiled in slight amusement as he reached for the doorknob in front of him and let the door to her room fall open.

"Well there's some honesty." He remarked offhand with a laugh, "I haven't showered for over twenty-four hours and I hoped on a flight to chase you home…"

"I didn't ask you to- I didn't want you to do that!" she opened her eyes and sat up straighter in his arms against him to defend.

"I know!" He replied certainly already regretting saying it, as he carried her to the bed. "I wanted- No, I needed to come find you." He took a deep breath knowing it wasn't the right time but that he couldn't stop himself before saying, "To apologize to you."

Claire just shook her head as she looked up at him. He was trying to get a read on her and where her head was at, which was especially difficult while she was drunk, when she suddenly said, "You misunderstood me anyways. I meant I hate how you smell because I hate that I've never gotten over how much I like it."

She was so clear when she said it, she almost sounded sober. Well that certainly has a different meaning. He thought to himself as he tried to think of an appropriate response. He had to admit that when he'd broken up with her, he'd felt shame over his attraction but had never once stopped to think about how to deal with her own attraction to him. She'd never admitted to it after the fact, she still probably never would have if she'd been sober.

She moaned as he set her on her bed while still at a loss as to how to reply. She immediately rolled away from him onto her bed until she was spread eagle face down with her face in her pillows. "My feet are soo dirty!" she moaned out without lifting her face up to even breathe and Quil looked down to see that the soles of her feet were indeed pretty much black.

He suddenly wondered how long she'd been carrying her heels instead of wearing them and why she wouldn't change her shoes before her flight. When the thought suddenly occurred to him, he reached forward and grabbed the knit hem of Bennett's hoodie he hated to see her wear and lifted it up over her ass until he found the black shorts and then a tiny glance of the sparkly top she'd been wearing at dinner the night before. His stomach was suddenly filled with a hot swirling when he realized she'd been in such a hurry to get away from Las Vegas – to get away from him- that she hadn't even bothered to change her clothes or at least grab a pair of sneakers out of her bag because of what HE'D done.

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts of absolute shame and self-loathing when her hand came out of nowhere, smacking his wrist and forcing him to drop the material he was holding so that it fell back on top of her again though landing high enough that the hem of her shorts were still hanging out.

"Sorry." He muttered as he shook his head and then blinked at the ceiling to suddenly clear his burning eyes. Though he wondered if that tiny apology even began to cover it. He'd just meant to apologize for lifting her hoodie without permission to look at what was underneath, and yet he knew that didn't even scratch the surface on the apologies he owed her.

She didn't even respond, and she laid motionless and doing a fair impression of a corpse with her seemingly non-breathing-necessary pose. Quil turned and made his way into the bathroom she shared with Rachel. He flipped the light on and blinked in surprise at the papers tapped to the entire right side of the mirror. It only took a second to process the black and white ultrasound pictures and printed calendar with the red marker crossing off weeks as he reached into the drawer and pulled out the washcloth he was reaching for. He set the faucet to hot and let the water run as he studied the photos closer. The obvious fetus didn't even look like a baby yet but was suddenly just another painful reminder of one of the many things he needed to apologize to Claire for.

He reached forward and tested the water that was hot enough to burn before he stuck the washcloth under it and added hand soap directly on top.

He'd been so relieved when he'd finally realized it wasn't Claire who was actually pregnant and yet that feeling had also been accompanied by so many more confusing emotions that he'd refused to exam…. like maybe some guilt and remorse… He'd figured it was just over what he'd put Claire through just to prove she wasn't having his baby, but now he questioned it as the feelings hit him again as he stared at what was obviously the beginnings of Rachel's and Travis's child.

Would it really have been the WORST thing in the world? He suddenly and very unexpectedly questioned himself as he looked at the pictures of the ultrasound.

Yes! It would have! He immediately replied emphatically as he locked eyes with himself in the mirror and nodded with conviction.

But you'd have gotten to keep her….. the same voice replied regretfully in the back of his head.

At what cost!? He argued back with horror as he dropped the washcloth in the sink and placed his hands on either side of the counter and leaned his weight against them as he let his head drop in frustrated discouragement.

At the cost of bringing a life into the world…. Your child with her? You'd get to keep them both forever. The voice reasoned and his shoulders tensed and shrugged above his neck with tension both at the truth and weight of the unwanted words in his head.

I could never do that to her. He thought certainly as he stood back up and rolled his shoulders back up while refusing to look in the mirror again. It's too late now anyways. He argued as he grabbed the washcloth again and turned back toward the door.

Too late anyways. The voiced in the back of his mind agreed, and he suddenly froze in the doorway to her room at the thought. It hit him in waves over and over again as he stared at Claire clearly asleep with her head finally turned to the side and hair completely blocking her face. It hit him again that he might be permanently losing her to someone else when he noted the large hoodie that belonged to another man that she was snuggled up in.

Yet she'd just admitted to still wanting Quil….

Maybe he could salvage this before he was really too late.

HOW!? She's still a minor, you moron! his brain screamed, and he looked at her again, so soft and fragile, curled up with her long legs hanging out of her shorts and laid out on top of her comforter as she hugged a throw pillow to her chest.

He shook his head in confused frustration. The truth was he had no idea what the right thing to do was. Maybe he would lose her to someone else, but if he loved her, didn't he have to be willing to do what was best for her even if it hurt?

Maybe someone like Bennett…. He almost growled at the thought…. Or someone else her age, was what she needed. She didn't need to be alone, like she clearly felt now, maybe someone else, a placeholder, could help keep her company until he could be everything she needed again….. it had been what worked the past year, maybe that was all she needed now….

He tried to reason with himself even as the thought of her with someone else, even temporarily until she was an adult, had his hands shaking again like he was gonna break something. He sighed again. He blinked and shook his head in frustration as he forced himself to move instead of lingering as he stared at her.

He moved back to the end of the bed and used the now cold washcloth as he lifted first her left foot and stroked gently down it a few times, scrubbing the grime off in smooth motions before switching to her right foot. He'd expected her to react to the wet sensation especially against her very ticklish feet, but she seemed completely comatose as he worked all the black dirt and grime off onto the cloth. He didn't get it all, but it was definitely a marked improvement, when he set her right foot back down on the bed and reached over to grab the empty glass on her nightstand.

He made his way back to the bathroom as he tossed the dirty cloth into the hamper and then filled the glass from the tap. He opened first Claire's medicine cabinet before switching to Rachel's and bypassing the prenatal vitamins to grab the bottle of Tylenol that he took with the water back to her nightstand. He placed them gently on the surface before turning to look down at her.

He knew he needed to go since he no longer had a reason to stay but everything inside of him hurt at just the thought. He was so tired. Everything inside of him wanted to stay with her, to curl up beside her and hold her. She was sick, she was hurt, and it was all because of him. Surely, he could justify staying and holding her and trying to make it just a little bit right as he slept in her bed with her just like the hundreds of times he had before, before he'd ever even crossed that line into obviously inappropriate territory with her. It'd all been so innocent then, the love he'd felt for her, the way he'd touched and held her. Now he didn't see how it could ever not be wrong to hold her while she slept off the obvious effect of the alcohol plaguing her system.

He sighed in frustration as he shoved both hands in his hair and thought of Robert again, his voice in his head, asking him to always take care of her and the ulcer he had now developing in his stomach because of it. He had no idea how to fulfill those promises he'd made to Robert, had never expected him to not be here.

When his hands started shaking in his hair, he realized how exhausted he was and blinked his tired eyes open as he dropped his fists and realized where he was. Still frozen by the side of Claire's bed with her passed out. He was lingering where he had no business to be, and he needed to get some sleep and get his shit together before he had any clue as to how to try to make up this weekend for her.

He looked down at her one last time before he suddenly couldn't stop his hand as it reached out and softly flicked the hair out of her face. He'd actually thought the way it had fluttered every time she blew a breath out of her nose was really cute and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself from getting one last look at her peaceful, sleeping face not held together by the mask of restraint he hadn't seen it without in weeks. He tucked the hair behind her ear and let his fingers rest for just a single second before he gave it all up to hell and crouched all the way over to barely touch his lips right beside her ear on the skin of her cheekbone. He let his lips linger in a soft kiss for a single moment before he pulled them back just enough to whisper in her ear.

"I still love you, Claire. I'll always still love you. Even if you hate me." He barely whispered in a painfully tight voice to her and jumped a little when she suddenly whimpered in response.

She hadn't moved an inch when he'd scrubbed her comatose feet, but one barely breath of a whisper and she was suddenly waking up.

"Don't go!" she whimpered in such a quiet broken whisper he knew she'd never be this vulnerable if she were actually awake and sober. "I don't want you to stop calling me baby. Just stay with me!" she begged.

The tears hit his eyes so hard he could barely see as he crouched beside her bed so he wasn't hovering over her and placed his hand back in her hair behind her ear.

"I can't." he whispered back painfully, feeling like the words were tearing apart his throat as he forced them out. "It's not fair to you."

She hadn't even opened her eyes, but she started to cry again, this time like a small child too exhausted to behave in any rational form.

"But I miss your smell so much!" she cried in a broken whisper.

Quil blew out all the air in his lungs as he hovered in front of her with his hand still in her hair, paralyzed for a moment by the pain in his chest. His arms shook as he finally moved to reach behind his head and yanked the t-shirt off his back and over him. When a single tear escaped his restraint, he suddenly realized his shaking was from the pain inside of him instead of the heat usually present in his gut.

He quickly dropped the shirt in front of Claire on the bed before he stood up and walked out without looking back. His entire body was shaking from the pain and he had a hard time shutting the door behind him so it wouldn't snap as he tried to manage the handle in unsteady hands. He shoved a hand at his nose and then palmed his eyes to try to force the moisture back in that was leaking out and stinging his skin, especially his injured eye, as he made his way quickly down the stairs.

When he made his way out the front door without running into Susan again and headed back towards the Camaro parked in its usual spot, he realized why this march of death felt so familiar to him.

It was an almost exact déjà vu of the day he'd walked out of her life the year before when she'd started dating Bennett.

That day she'd sent him away. Today he'd sent himself.

The thought wasn't comforting even as he tried to argue with himself that it wasn't the same as he unlocked his car with still shaking hands, that he'd see her tomorrow, as he got in, barely managing to start it.

It took all the will power he had left to start the engine and put the car in drive but once he did, he pulled out and drove away without looking back.

There wasn't much to see anyways, just a brokenhearted sixteen-year-old in pain because he'd managed to make her fall in love with him.