"My back hurts," says Gray.

Nothing.

"My back really hurts," he repeats.

She's directly across from him, still looking down at her cards as she absently chews the inside of her cheek. Karen sits beside him, leaning on her elbows firmly to try and unsuccessfully peek at his cards. He covers them with his shoulder in annoyance. Normally, he's really good at games like these.

Not when he's paired up with Claire, though.

It's Rick's turn to lift a card up from the deck. He scratches his nose, solemn hazel eyes glued to the new addition in his hand.

"Signal!" Karen calls, pointing and slamming down her cards. "Woooo!" Her husband drops his four identical ace of clubs on the table, flattening them out like a dealer in Las Vegas. Their fifth win is confirmed with the same stone-cold face that Rick's worn since the morning after his father's funeral.

The four of them are sitting at a table in the inn, having just come from Ann's mother's memorial mass. She told them to wait for her there so that she could deal with her blubbering father, and they've just been playing cards to overwrite the Rick-tension since.

Gray scowls, letting his matching queen of hearts fall out of his palms. "My back hurts… from carrying this fucking team! JESUS, BLONDIE, THAT WAS THE SIGNAL."

Claire stares at Rick's duplicated hand, then at Gray's, mouth agape. "What the heck? WHAT KIND OF A SIGNAL-"

"IT WAS A GOOD SIGNAL."

"THAT WAS AWFUL!"

"HOW DID YOU NOT GET IT?" He groans. How's he supposed to feed his competitive ego when the two of them paired together can't communicate or win for shit? "I'm never partnering with you again."

This is a lie. He's been saying this since the first round.

"Look, babe," says Karen, reaching across the table to touch her husband's arm. "We won! … Again. How 'bout it - six time's a charm?"

He says nothing though. He's still got a poker face on, not because he refuses to show any emotion for the sake of the game, but because he's pissed. Royally. Pissed.

Gray isn't going to entertain his bullshit attitude.

"How was I supposed to know that would be your discreet signal?" Claire mumbles, staring at her mismatched cards. She's got two six of clubs, a jack of diamonds... and a joker. You know, the one that's supposed to be discarded because you can't play with it? Jesus. They'd never stand a chance. "It's not my fault!"

Leaning on the frame of his chair, Gray flips his hat backwards while crossing his arms. "It's all your fault and you're ruining my goddamn reputation."

Rick scoffs, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses and merely hmpf-ing in response to something that was never directed at him. "A lot of you don't like to take responsibility in life, do you?" he finally mutters coldly.

An awkward silence ensues.

Gray glares. "What the hell's that supposed to mean, Rick?"

"Stop," Claire whispers nervously. She nudges him under the table with the tip of her worn-out white sneaker. Karen just looks down, swearing under her breath.

"I mean," he clarifies tightly. "That no one's owned up to my sister going away yet."

This statement is almost laughable to Gray. "Well, how's it any of our faults?"

"Mostly yours," Rick says, sorting the strewn-about deck into a neater pile. His fingers are stiff, causing each card to bend in the middle when he grips them like this. It's Doug's deck, and if he sees any kind of creased damage, he's gonna be pissed. "Your friend's the one who stole her."

What the hell.

"Jesus." Karen scowls. "Do you even know how ridiculous you sound right now? Enough!"

"You're part of this problem, honey. All of you are. You all knew, and none of you thought to lay me in on the details."Rick casts a serious evil eye on them, a vaskania as it's known in Greek dialect, but avoids his wife's face. If Gray's mom were here, she'd make him say one of those superficial prayers against the βασκανία. Hell, if Kai's dad were here, he'd throw them his collection of Hamsa amulets. Gray's not superstitious like that, but the possibility of someone casting malevolence over his mother before she got diagnosed has always lingered in his mind.

"We... look, I just think you need to calm down," Claire says, clearly unnerved by his if-looks-could-kill glare. She definitely believes in that shit. There's a look of guilt that stains her face; one that shouldn't even be there in the first place.

"I got a big mouth, I get it, but when someone confides in me... I'll promise to keep that a secret and take it to my grave," Karen snaps. "You know that, Rick."

His eyes are glued on Gray, who refuses to back down. Sure, Rick's mildly peeved with his wife and Claire, but a good 95% of his anger is solely directed toward Blacksmith Enemy Numero Uno. Like he's going to be intimidated by Rick. Please.

"Take it up with your mom," says Gray harshly. How is he to blame for any of this? The next words that he says are a jab too ruthless for a still-sore wound. "Or, maybe your sister."

Rick's neck gets all red, the colour creeping up to his rounded jaw. "How? She's not friggin' here right now."

"My God, build a bridge," groans Gray. How this loser scored someone like Karen is beyond him. "She wanted to go, so she left. This's got nothing to do with us. Or me, for that matter." Imagine if he even found out about the morning after pill fiasco. Pfft.

"If any of you told me, I'd have stopped her," Rick says angrily. His shaggy hair is falling into his eyes with each forceful word, but he makes no motion to brush the freed strands away. He looks like a deranged idiot.

"Rick." Claire carefully sounds his name out, trudging carefully, like she's trying to get out of a landmine. "I'm sorry if this is gonna sound… rude, but-"

"If that's the case, why don't you save it and just shut your mouth, then, Claire?"

"Rick!" Karen exclaims. "You're being such a jerkoff. Do not interrupt."

"And don't speak to her like that," warns Gray. Where does he get off yelling at a girl like that?

Claire shakes her head, tapping the pads of her fingertips on the table anxiously. If Rick's outburst bothered her, then she's mastered her own poker face of sorts. But she still makes sure to toss Gray a look to show that she's grateful. There's an unwritten agreement that the two of them have got each other's backs... y'know, as long as they're both not in the wrong or anything.

"I know you're hurting. Believe me, I understand." Claire sighs. "But you have to understand something. Popuri isn't a baby, and you're not in charge of her. It was her choice. I'm sorry, but please… you can't be mad forever."

"Save it, Blondie. Quit walking on eggshells around him," mutters Gray. She shouldn't carry this bad feeling on her shoulders at all, because he sure as hell doesn't. Rick turns to him abruptly. "Your sister left, she's with Kai now, get the fuck over it."

Rick's positively fuming. It's not as bad as bad as when the doctor lost it on Gray at the clinic, but it does possess that similar little-bitch energy.

"You know, ever since you moved from the city and brought that piece of shit with you, I knew, I knew you didn't belong," he says. Screw this freak. What the hell does he even know about belonging? He sticks out like a goddamn Revenge of the Nerds sore thumb. "Why'd you have to even come here anyway?"

Alright, eff this.

"'Cause my mom finished her end of life care here, dipshit," snaps Gray. Claire looks at Rick horrified, while Karen rubs her forehead, completely done and over this conversation.

"Play victim," he grumbles.

"Rick! Holy cow, leave him alone!" Claire slams her hand on the table. Everyone widens their eyes at her. "You're not the only one who's lost someone before. And you have no right being in charge of Popuri's life. Kai loves her and she loves him and you should be happy that she's got something so special. He's her rock just like Karen is yours. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Karen waves her hand flippantly. "You're solid, kid."

Claire unfurrows her brow. She stares at Gray, who's leaning back in his chair, all pissed off. But, he's secretly thankful for her words, even if he'll never admit it. He doesn't need her fighting his battles, but it's nice having someone standing by you... especially 'cause I'm not wrong. "Rick... I know you miss Popuri. And I know you think that we wanted to just hide it all from you. But we were respecting her wishes of privacy... because we knew- she knew- how you'd react. I'm so sorry. I really wish that things could be different."

Karen sighs. "I'm sorry, babe, but if even your mother allowed it… then you need to accept it."

Rick glowers at the two of them, before shifting his eyes irritably toward Gray. "You're not even the least bit sorry."

"Nope."

The two girls groan. "Gray."

"I'm not sorry." His palm runs through the rough stubble on his face. He hasn't shaved in days. "You aren't even pissed about the face that she didn't say goodbye; you're pissed that you can't control her anymore. Why don't you focus on the fact that maybe if you weren't such an overprotective shit, she'd be able to face you. Those two are lucky to have each other, so you'd better learn to get the hell over it."

Rick grinds his teeth loudly, so much so that Gray wonders if he cracked a molar or something. He rises from his seat heatedly, while Karen tries to stop him by tugging at the hemline of his green shirt. Gray gets up too, despite Claire's pleading eyes that silently tell him to sit the hell back down.

"You should have never moved here," says Rick, voice wavering. He can be such a little bitch sometimes, honestly. If the guy can't argue without shaking, then Gray figures that he shouldn't be arguing at all. It's just embarrassing at this point. What a goddamn pussy. "Neither you or Kai. Why don't you make like him and just go the fuck back home?"

"Home to where exactly, prick."

"Back to whatever rough-ass neighbourhood you two crawled out of."

"Rick, why don't you screw off before I hurt you."

The girls look like they're bugging out. "Both of you, enough!"

Rick gets all up in his face, spitting with each syllable of his words. They're the same height - actually, he's a little bit taller than Gray, but Jesus, what a whiny twat he is. "You belong in the South Side with Kai, not here, tainting our home, dragging my little sister into that shit."

"Just go fuck yourself, I bet you'd like that."

Excuse Gray for not growing up off the coast of Delaware in a shitty, unincorporated little town where people dedicated festivals to ranking who owned the best sheep. He really isn't even making any of this up; Mineral Town is the boonies. Chicago triumphs in every way possible. Jeez, anywhere else is better than here. Literally anywhere.

His fist clenches next to him, the rough callouses on his fingers curling together, indented against each other. He's ready to take a swing at Rick, but the sight of those urchin scars cause an imminent pain to sear through Gray's hand. He winces, hiding it well with his own poker face, but Rick just storms off abruptly.

Karen sighs, mouthing a sorry to the both of them as she begrudgingly turns to leave, but her husband whips his head around. "I need to be alone, Kare."

She retreats back, narrowing her eyes and fuming. Slamming back in her chair, she waves her hand at him. "Yeah, whatever."

And the door bangs shut, its vibration bleeding throughout the entirety of the inn.

"Don't listen to him," Claire says, wrapping her fingers around Gray's arm to give it a squeeze. He stays silent, leaning against her side of the table as he stares out the front door. "You do belong here."

A puzzle piece that's just being jammed, forced into a constraint that it was never supposed to fit in... isn't this essentially Gray rolled up into a nutshell?

"I don't give a shit about that," he tells her.

Claire just hugs her hand between his, eyes so earnest and sincere. No, seriously, what the hell would he ever do without her? "I mean it," she says firmly. "He's going through it right now, but it doesn't give him the right to say that. And it also doesn't mean that what he said was true. Please don't ever think that."

But Gray is well aware that he doesn't belong here. He was never meant to fit in with these middle-of-the-road, boring, countryside assholes. The city is his home, and while he's not dying to go back or anything, he can't pretend like he's homogenous to the residents here in Mineral Town. He was a piranha the second that he arrived, despite having a family member to associate with. It also didn't help that he fought tooth and nail with every individual that got near him, slept his way out of his problems, or spoke in that rough, Midwestern dialect of his.

It's not even like him, Kai, or either of their families are from a bad part of Chicago. They didn't struggle; they were regular, middle class people.

"I also moved here from the city, so I dunno why it's only a problem when it's involving you and Kai," Claire says in disbelief. "And you aren't even from the South Side."

How she remembers this shit, Gray doesn't know.

Karen's eyes stay fixed on the door even as she's speaking to them, like she's stuck in a trance. Her voice pipes up feebly. "Where're you both from, again?"

"Bridgeport. It's central," Gray tells her. He grabs his hat from the table, toying with the front of the cap as he turns to Claire. "You're from a rougher neighbourhood than where I grew up."

How he remembers this shit is also a mystery.

"Dorchester," she explains, shaking her head. "So it's not fair that Rick's only singling out you two."

Karen gives a small smile, finally looking the both of them up and down. "You guys have some pretty funny accents, now that I think about it."

"'Cause you guys all sound so goddamn boring here," says Gray.

"That's what it is," Claire agrees with a grin.

Karen skates her manicured nails through her hair inattentively. "Look, I'm not even gonna pretend to apologize on Rick's behalf. It's gotta be from him. But Gray, you ougtha relax too. You can't just threaten to deck people in the face 'cause you're pissed."

"Watch me."

"You got some reeeal anger issues, my friend."

"And what about your pussy husband?"

Karen's eyes flash. "Don't-"

The door drags open, with Ann slowly making her way inside. She smiles over at them, shimmying her arms out of the army patch jacket that she's wearing. And it gets hung up... right in the damn coat check closet. Jesus.

"Hi, guys," she says softly.

"How're you feeling?" asks Karen, tilting her head. "Carter did a good job with the mass."

"Yeah. He did. He always does."

Claire frowns. "Do you wanna talk?"

Ann shakes her head, removing the elastic that keeps the end of her braid secured. She tugs out the interweaved, russeted locks, loosening them all up. On her is a crisp polo top, and a pleated skirt that Claire lent her. "Nope. Rather get my mind off of this shit instead."

Cliff must be still sitting with her dad on Mother's Hill. Maybe he's just trying to win brownie points with him, or he's just dealing with his own shit as well. Regardless, Doug tends to spend his entire day there on the anniversary of his wife's death, just watching. Reminiscing.

Karen nods. "Well, you just missed a real shitshow."

Ann's eyebrows raise. "Huh, is that why I saw Rick storming down the road?"

"Has he spoken to you yet?" asks Claire with a sigh.

"Hasn't even showed his face here since the end of the summer. And it's fall now." Ann stares at a silent Gray. "What happened?"

"Jagoff over there's pissed. I'm not sorry that Popuri's gone."

"Well, shit," says Ann. "Neither am I."

Karen shrugs. "I'm his wife and I'm not sorry."

Claire agrees slowly. "I'm just sorry that she felt like she couldn't go to him." She chews on the inside of her cheek again. "I know that losing his dad must have been so hard and all, but he shouldn't be speaking to people like that."

"He won't even sleep in our bed anymore." In her Karen-way of trying to lighten the mood, she punches Gray's arm. He knows that she'd probably like to hit him harder, though. "I'll bet I get as much as you right now."

He just rolls his eyes at her, dropping his hat on the table once again.

Ann laughs. "I love that Gray gets all of those comments, and not Claire."

"Well, that's 'cause Claire gets at least some, right?"

Gray serves Karen with some major cut-eye (she's clearly still peeved at him for threatening to beat up her husband, which means that her extreme no-filter sirens are going off), but Claire just stands up, her eyes softening toward him. He turns to make a face at her, because he's not some punk bitch that can't take shit, but she just throws her arms around him: a silent reminder that she is, and will always, be there for him.

"What he said isn't true," she repeats soundly. "I promise."

A brief moment passes. It's silent, and her breasts are pressing against his chest, and the sweet smell of her lingers as it intoxicates his nostrils, and at this time, there's only her. He's not supposed to let this image enter his mind, but Gray can't help wonder if Claire's got herself wound against Trent's body at night, with little to no articles of clothing in between them. If they've even done anything, if he tells her that he prefers it raw, if he's bothered to try and get her to come. Why would Karen say something so stupid, or buy her that supposed racy underwear, if there isn't a smidge of truth to her statement?

Claire's even been talking about that jackass' birthday coming up. Doesn't she know what 90% of guys expect from their girlfriends on their birthdays? Jesus.

"Don't worry," she whispers. "Let's just watch something funny at my house. I'll tell Trent that I can't make it tonight. He'll totally understand."

She'll do that for him? Gray stares.

Well, it's not like that shithead's felt bad about cancelling on her before.

Claire's waterblue eyes always tell more than what she'll verbally reveal. His mother used to say that his were like that too, but lately, they're cold and empty: a physical manifestation of everything that he is inside. But right now, hers in front of him are worrisome oceans, crashing beneath the deep limbal rings of her irises.

And he just fucking needs her.

Gray nods, with Ann peace-ing them out as she and Karen are mid-discussion in something. He and Claire walk out, his hat a forgotten entity on the table.


"Where'd they go?" Rick mutters after returning. He's dug his hands into his pockets, staring at Gray's discarded cap in front of him.

"You're talking to me now?" Ann muses, French braiding a lock of Karen's hair.

"I came to your mother's service today, didn't I?"

"It wasn't a favour, it's for respect. Next time, I don't need your negativity there, thank you very much." Ann unconsciously starts tightening her fingers against the highlighted tresses of Karen's hair more forcefully now.

"Uhh, hello? My scalp!"

"Beauty is pain," she says.

Karen's brows look like they're being forced up as Ann intensifies the braid. In her seat, she narrows her eyes at Rick. "You're a real jackass sometimes," she snaps, not even bothering to give him a second. "You are not the only one-"

"Karen, it's a goddamn double loss. What don't you get?" Rick flings himself into the seat across from her, head in his hands. "I lost my dad, and now I lost my sister too."

Ann watches as they have this strictly-for-closed-doors fight right in front of her. "Um, I'm gonna g-"

Well, she's gotta finish the braid.

Okay, and she's also invested now.

"Popuri's old enough to leave and you're gonna have to get over it. And you're gonna go to Gray, give his hat back, and apologize. And, you're gonna stop being a douchenozzle. He was there for you when your dad died, and you take a cheap shot about his mom?" Karen scoffs. "You know damn well why he came here; that was just cruel. Who the hell did I marry?"

"You're mad because I don't wanna try for a baby."

Ann draws in a sharp breath. Yeah, maybe she should leave.

"We're not talking about that right now."

"Way to dodge it. I'm not stupid, y'know."

Karen just shakes her head in disbelief, and gives him an oh really? type of look.

It's like that Atari Pong game... ball gets served to one player, and it keeps shooting right back.

"He died from what you had, Kare."

Karen frowns, quickly glancing at Ann as though she's forgotten that she's there. Her hands freeze mid braid-twist. "What?"

"You both had an appendicitis. My dad... and you, all of those years ago. You could have died just the same way he did. And, if I lost you too…" Rick stares at her, grabbing her slender hand. "I'm sorry, hon. I'm sorry for being an asshole. I know I'm lashing out at you for Popuri leaving, I'm just not happy right now. And I know that I can't give you what you want."

"I want my husband to know that I'm not against him. That I love him," she murmurs. "And I get it. I'm so sorry about your father. I'm sorry that you miss Popuri. But I love her too, and she did what was best for her." She turns to Ann, who's secured a hair tie in her braid timidly. "Shit, you're still here?"

Ann shrugs. "Guess so." She frowns over at Rick, crossing her skinny arms over her body. "Please don't be mad. I've known you both my whole life, and I love you guys. C'mon. Take it from me, it's all gonna be okay."

Rick nods, as he and Karen rise up from their chairs to embrace. She buries her head in her husband's collar, reaching over to touch Ann's shoulder. When he pulls backward, his brow quickly furrows, as though contemplating how he's going to re-word this next bit. "Didja see how hard she came at my throat?"

"Who, Claire?" Karen arches her brow. "Well, she cares a lot about Gray."

"Are they... y'know?"

Ann looks over at him wildly. "She's with Trent, remember?!"

Rick makes a face. "Shit, right. So... they're not-"

"No!"

"Oh, c'mon. Don't pull my leg."

"I'm being real."

Rick looks dubious, but nods like he agrees. "Sometimes I forget, 'cause like, Gray'll just be looking at her, and... I mean, you'd think..."

His voice trails off. No one says anything. He finally gets up, and kisses his wife. "I'm gonna go home and start dinner for us."

Karen kisses him back, hand prodding her hip as she frowns. "I can tonight, y'know. My treat."

"Your cooking is so not a treat," says Ann with a wink.

Rick just shakes his head, giving a tiny smile. "I got it. Don't worry."

Karen sits back down on the table after he's left. "Sorry you had to see that."

"It's whatever," says Ann, taking the seat across from her. "Let's just talk about something else."

Karen leans forward on her elbows with newfound wicked eyes. "Okay, this is weird, this is gonna sound sooo weird, but like, you're my bitch, and I trust you, so I guess I'll tell you. I had this dream the other night, where I accidentally walked in on Gray and Claire... y'know-"

Ann makes a face. "Oh, my God, Kare! What's wrong with you? You are so weird!"

"Well, it's not like I control that shit."

"You control telling me, though!"

"Oh, c'mon. Like we're not all rooting for it to happen eventually."

"Yeah, but not to actually witness." Ann just giggles. "Was it hot, at least?"

"It was strange 'cause I couldn't like... see them, see them, but I knew it was them. And yeah, they seemed to be having a good old time." Karen laughs. "You used to sleep with him. Was it hot?"

She sucks up a breath. "Yeah, it was. It was always hot."

"Hotter than-"

"Alright, Imma stop you right there, 'cause I know exactly what you're gonna say next. I know you all too well." Ann rolls her baby blue eyes. "Cliff and I haven't yet. So there's no juicy details, and I'd never make comparisons regarding that. Likewise, I don't wanna hear about your sex life."

"My lack of a sex life," Karen corrects. "As a result of this, I took out some erotica at the library-"

"Aaand we're already beginning to break my stipulations."

"Anyway, back to my dream. I think what I'm reading like, influenced it? But basically, in the dream, I caught them, and I was like, a writer or something? And I wrote a little... prose, based on them doing the deed. Like, I changed their names and stuff, but it was based off of what I walked in on." Karen snickers loudly, leaning back in her seat while clutching her stomach. "Like, what the hell kinda dream was that? I can't get off to people I know."

A shocked Ann is in stitches beside her. "Please, God, stop! And get real for a minute here. I dunno if anyone would be ready to like... see a sex scene with them."

"You never know what the people might want," Karen singsongs, smirking.

"And how would you even describe it? Naïve virgin meets huge dick in the tagline of the story?"

Isn't that pun essentially how this whole thing began?


"I can't believe how chilly it is," Claire comments, trembling in her long sleeved shirt. Even her leggings aren't thick enough, the frosty air nipping at her lower half with each quick step that she takes.

Gray shrugs. He's in shorts right now, because... he's totally insane? They're approaching her farm, after having already done about ten laps, but he doesn't appear to be freezing at all. It may be because he's a self-proclaimed cold mofo, or that he's just keeping up with his front. "Not too chilly if you run quick enough."

Claire points to her shivering dog in between them as they run. "Even Maggie's cold."

He stays silent, his muscular calves propelling each stride forward aggressively. He's got a storm of emotion painted beneath his poker face; she just knows it. Claire runs faster to keep up with him, tilting her head and frowning. "Gray."

"Mhm."

"Tell me what's on your mind."

"I'm a little busy right now, Blondie."

"Tell me!" She tugs on the sleeve of his jacket with her hand that isn't clutching Maggie's leash, gaze boring into his. This merely occurs for less than a millisecond before he looks away. "Is it about what Rick said last week?"

He snaps his jaw forward, running even more swiftly, like he's trying to get away from her or his problems. Probably both. "No."

Again, she speedily runs faster, trying her best to keep ahead of him. Her thigh is healed at this point, thanks to all of the careful TLC she gave it, but it's throbbing beneath the constraint of her leggings. "You can tell me. It's okay to feel sad."

"I'm not sad."

"Gray." Claire says it softly, her voice getting carried away with the wind. She stops in her tracks, the cold autumn breeze picking up and biting at the exposed skin on her face. Adjusting her red beanie, she wonders what the heck ever happened to summer. Moments of her lying on the hot sand with saltwater coating her skin begin to flood her mind. "You know that I'm glad you moved here. And I'm glad that I moved here and met you. I really wouldn't want it any other way."

His shoulders slump for a brief moment, but as though he's not about let his guard down, he straightens his posture, halting his run to a steady-stop at the entrance of her farm. Walking toward her while they're both breathing heavily, Gray takes her wrists and positions them out. His grip is coarse against hers, but he's taken a step back, his own fighting stance apparent. "Don't get sappy."

Claire drops her hands, releasing Maggie's leash and frowning. Her dog starts running wildly around her property. "Focus."

"You gotta focus. I can talk and do at the same time. If you're not a multi-tasker, then that's your problem."

She sighs, caving and going back into this early-morning routine that she's come to know. Gray tries to grip her wrist, this time, in feigned attack mode, but she blocks it quickly and drives her arm out. This lands a blow near his sternum. She realizes it's a mistake the second that she does it, because he grips her enclosed fist.

"Why're you aiming for my chest?"

"I-I forgot. I'm not focusing properly."

"Well, then start to focus."

He's acting like such a jerk. She's just trying to help, trying to get him to face his problems, and he's being so distant toward her. Claire glares, moving her hips back to avoid him as she pushes her palm out.

"Okay, keep going," says Gray.

If he's ever going to "strike" her back, he does it slightly. Almost like a weak sort of proposition. She manages to block his "attacks" most of the time, but he'll never go hard on her the way that he instructs her to do for him. Gray's moves come out more like a suggestion, yet he'll encourage her to go as hard as she can when facing him. He says that even at her most forceful, she'll never injure him. Like he's some big tough guy that's incapable of getting hurt. As if.

"Talk to me," Claire says. "Why won't you even look at me? What did I do?"

"You did nothing." Gray eventually meets her eyes for more than a few seconds, and she finally sees all of the hurt plastered in them. He's upset. She freaking knew it! He averts his gaze back to his hands, effectively pinning Claire against the side of her house sporadically. Poker face = back on.

Claire looks up at him in surprise. She tries to wiggle out, driving her left elbow into him, which effectively releases her on that side. Her other hand is still in his tight grasp, but her free fingers just reach over to squeeze his arm gently. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Gray stares at her like the opposite of this is true. But he just takes this opportunity to pin her back against the frame of the house, staring down at her darkly.

"Gray."

"Do you see how easy I did that 'cause you're distracted? You need to keep training, Blondie."

His grip is too tight. Does he even realize it? "Gray-"

He swallows, still staring down at her. It looks like he's got to say more, like he wants to say more. "I'm serious... this shit is important. I don't w-"

"Gray, you're being really rough right now. Please, just-"

His icy eyes widen, releasing her from his grasp immediately, like she's on fire or something. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," Claire tells him, rubbing her wrist. He backs away slowly, and she just stares down at the surprising trail of blood on her skin.

Now, he looks like he's just about to fall to the floor and pass out. His face immediately pales, large frame swaying. "Holy shit. Jesus, Blondie, I didn't think my nails got you. I-"

She stares at him, perplexed. He didn't hurt her, he was rough and his grasp was snug, but he didn't hurt her. She would have scratch marks drawing blood if that were the case.

Gray's open palm on his right hand catches her eye. She snatches it closer to her, reeling when she realizes what's going on here. Claire pushes at his chest. "The blood's from you. You haven't been taking care of your urchin stings, have you?!"

He freezes, then scowls, squinting at her. "Here we go. Are you about to piss me off?"

Claire groans in exasperation. "You're always like, 'you need to do this for yourself. You need to take care of yourself.' Why don't you ever take a piece of your own freaking advice?!"

He retreats his bloodied hand pack, shoving it in his pocket. "Worry about yourself. Not me. I'm fine."

"You're such a stubborn... dumbass sometimes, Gray! You are so not fine." She clutches his arm, leading him toward her front door as Maggie trots along after them. "Inside, now, so I can wrap that up."

He jerks away from her. "Forget it, Blondie. Don't make me tell you where to go."

But she desperately looks at him, her eyes pleading with him silently. And he just scowls and caves like always.


"You won't let me take you to the clinic? You're seriously this pigheaded?"

"Guess so."

"Y'know what? You are just so exhausting, Gray."

"This is coming from the world's biggest ballbuster."

"As if." Claire shoots him a glare before rubbing some Polysporin over his cracked, open wounds. She uses a cotton swab to do so, gently gliding over his cuts. The fact that he works with his hands, and already has callouses which invade his rough skin definitely are not aiding in the healing process. "Okay, um, I don't think it's infected. Trent said that when the colour is still flushed red, like yours, it means, uh..."

"As if I'd trust what he'd say."

"I'm just telling you what he taught me."

"You guys get all medical with each other? That's hot."

"Like I said: exhausting." Claire clenches her jaw. "Can we at least go to Elli?"

"Whatever, Blondie. I'll just start doing those stupid salt soaks."

"Well, maybe you shoulda done them sooner. I can't believe you. I can't believe you won't take care of yourself, yet you expect me to-"

"Well, you matter a lot more than I do."

She just drops his hand angrily, reaching for the unwrapped gauze on her table. Her heart hurts. "I cannot believe you."

"Believe it, baby," he deadpans.

"Why would you ever say something so stupid? Don't you know how much you matter to people?"

Gray gives her a humourless chuckle. "Who, Blondie? Let's hear the list."

Claire sticks her thumb out to begin counting. "Your grandfather, for starters."

"Told me to eff right on off this morning and go back to Chicago. Try again."

"He didn't mean that."

"His life got uprooted when he had to take me on." Gray stares at her in disbelief. "What don't you get? If I went home, that weight'd be lifted off his shoulders."

Claire pulls the inside of her cheek between her top and bottom teeth. "That's not true."

"It is true," he says levelly.

"Kai, then."

"Ah, yes. Let's just recount the fact that he isn't here right now, and we don't even know where the hell him and Pope ran off to exactly. They failed to mention this."

"That's... well, he still cares. How about your father?"

"Stuck in rehab 'cause he keeps relapsing. And he picked that shit over me."

"Your… uncle?"

Gray scowls. "You keep listing people that aren't present, or that you don't even know."

"Okay, well, there's Ann."

"Yeah, I was just good for my dick-"

"Would you stop it? She didn't just see you as a way to… and you didn't see her… ugh, look, you're both friends and she does care about you."

"Your list is pathetic," he says. "Rick's right."

Claire lets out a breath, nodding slowly. "I knew it. I knew you were still thinking about what he said." She reaches for the gauze, taking his damaged hand again, as she winds it over and around the skin. "Gray, what about me?"

"What about you?"

"You matter to me. Your friendship… you being here matters so much to me."

He stares at her.

She presses her lips together, squeezing his hand once again. "Just... you have to believe me. You matter to all of those people, myself included. Please don't think that you don't. Don't ever forget that."

It's silent for a good few minutes afterward, with the exception of Maggie snoring and the morning wind whistling outside.

"I'm not tryna be dramatic, but sometimes... I genuinely believe that everyone would be better off," he finally says.

Claire shakes her head. "You're not allowed to say that."

"But, it's true. Like, if I didn't exist-"

"Well, who'd I argue with, then?" She offers Gray a smile, but he keeps his poker face on, stays stoney and cold. His head is void of any hat, rusted, shaggy hair falling into his light eyes. "You're not allowed to say that my life is worth more than yours. Because it's not."

"You're better than I'll ever be, Claire."

"I'm not, though." She rests his injured hand on the table, taking his other one between her own palms. "I let you down a lot, I make you mad, and I can honestly be such a crap friend. I'm so sorry for that."

"Would you stop? None of that's true."

"Well, then why do you-?"

"'Cause I'm a shit person."

"But you're not!" Claire says. "You're like, my favourite person ever." She smiles at him again, but the look on his face is so despondent. "I dunno what I'd do without you here. You're my best friend, Gray." She takes in a breath. "Rick's in his own place of hurt. It's… kinda like you, except he's lashing out on anyone who helped Popuri go." Releasing his hand, she draws her knees up on the chair toward her chest. "Please don't listen to him right now."

Gray just stays silent.

"What's on your mind?" she prods.

"I dunno if I could ever go back to Chicago," he says. "Sorry, that's just... that's the first thing that popped into my head."

"It's okay. Why do you say that, though?"

"Like, I grew up there… I felt at home there. But, it'll just be too painful to go back, y'know?"

She nods.

"Too many memories there... too many things that remind me of her." Gray's other hand traces over the gauze.

"You must miss her so much," Claire says softly. "I don't think that you've healed at all."

"I-" He stops himself, like there's no point in arguing. "I haven't. My dad sure hasn't."

"Ann told me how she handles it. Like, it comes in waves, 'cause she didn't know her mom, so there's not any memories to miss, but-" Claire pauses. "You have so much to miss."

"How do you handle it?" he asks.

"I dunno, Gray. I pray a lot. And you obviously don't have to do that. It's just that every time I go to church, I think of her." She smiles gently. "I like being reminded of her in little things that I do. I think I'm gonna ask Carter if he'll do a mass in her memory when the anniversary of her death comes in the winter… I feel like would kinda be nice."

Gray hangs his head low. "We never did that."

"You didn't?"

"Like… we did a wake and a funeral, obviously. But we haven't done any memorial service for her since. And I dunno why. I should have initiated it." He pauses. "She was Orthodox, and my cousin Flo told me that in Greek tradition, you bury the person with white flowers. And I mean, we did this for her... but that's all."

"I didn't know that." Claire smiles. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah. That's like, the only thing I remember about the funeral. Just... those white flowers, amidst all the black. Jesus... I was so high during it."

Her eyes widen for a moment, but she just nods, not meaning to pass any judgement. "You were hurting. Was it coke?"

"What the hell? No. Can you imagine? I'd have been bouncing off the goddamn walls." Gray lets out a low chuckle. "No, it was like an opiate or something… Elli gave it to me. And I felt better for a second."

She nods again. "Then your dad-"

"Took off. It was messed up, Blondie." Gray swears. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm not doing anything to keep who my mom was alive. I don't want her to be forgotten, but here I am, doing jack shit, not making her proud of who I am, and pretty soon it's gonna be all my fault, if… fuck, this sounds dumb, but if her memory dies."

"That's not gonna happen, nothing like that is your fault, and she would be proud," Claire tells him.

He looks at her dubiously, tucking his chair back. "You don't know half the shit I've done."

"Well, at least it wasn't coke," she says.

Gray chuckles again. "No, it was coke. Just, not at the funeral."

Oh. "Talk about her. What was she like?"

"Snarky... but caring," Gray finally decides. "Really selfless."

Claire grins. "Like you. What about your dad?"

"A friggin' goof."

"Also similar to you."

"I'm tellin' you, if you met my dad, you'd..." He just shrugs, giving her a half-smile. "How 'bout your mom?"

"Funny. She was super hilarious."

"If only you were funny, Blondie."

She just laughs, tossing some unused, wrapped gauze at his head, an idea slowly spreading across her brain.


"What the hell?" Gray steps into Claire's house as she opens the door for him, frowning while clutching her hammer in his fist. It's aromatic in her home, moreso than it usually is; like she's just finished baking something in her oven. "My grandfather said to just drop this off 'cause you'd still be at church."

"I got home from mass early." Claire grins, taking the hammer from him. She's wearing a long sleeved black turtleneck with a red plaid skirt, legs bare with the exception of some white socks that she's got on. Her hair is sleek like glass, spilling loosely down her back, with her bangs side-swept across her forehead. She looks good; this is to be expected, obviously, because she always looks good, but there's something about this fall outfit that makes her look better than good.

Nope. Stop right there. You're not allowed to think beyond that.

"I just thought…" Claire rubs at her clothed arm, looking up at him. "You seemed so down on yourself, lately."

He waves his hand in front of him like he's presenting something. "It's called depression."

"Gray, you're always doing nice stuff for me." She smiles, leading him over to her kitchen. "I figured I'd surprise you, 'cause I totally owe you one. Check it out."

"Ta-da!" Claire exclaims, pointing to her counter. There's a steaming hot pie plate, and in it, a golden crusted, thick, red... "Chicago deep dish pizza!" She claps excitedly. "It took me like… four tries to get the dough right, but I think I managed."

He just stares at it. He hasn't had one... hasn't even seen one since well over two years ago.

She rummages through her drawer, humming to herself as she reaches for a silver pie server. "So, you guys in Chicago are totally weird… it's a thick crust pizza, but it like, concaves. So, you first have to layer it with cheese, then you put the sauce on. It's so strange, but, the real trick is-" She frowns, walking over to him, as she unsuccessfully uses her sleeve to wipe some stray flour on her cheek away. "Gray, what's wrong? Did I mess it up?"

Did she mess it up. She took all of the care, completed all of the steps for him, to make it perfect. Jesus, she's perfect.

Gray's made it crystal clear that he doesn't want to get married. He's half convinced that the only reason his dad proposed to his mom is because he accidentally knocked her up when they were both in their early twenties, and they just happened to end up really clicking. His Uncle Kurt, a previous supposed playboy, simply prefers living with his long time girlfriend, Dia, because he doesn't need some piece of paper validating their relationship. Hell, his grandfather got married, and that didn't stop his grandmother from walking out. Marriage isn't the be all, or end all. It's a goddamn sham.

But, seeing Claire with such hopeful eyes in front of him, with flour smeared on her face, with the delicious scent that elicits from her kitchen throughout the house, Jesus, he wouldn't mind coming home to this everyday. He wouldn't mind at all having the ability to call her his wife, to craft her a ring that represents his bond. She's got him all going all soft, but it's true.

So he takes a step closer to her.

Takes the spatula out of her hands, looks down at her, swallows thickly.

"I don't say this enough," he mumbles, tone hoarse like gravel. "And I know we get under each other's skin, and I know we don't ever agree on shit. But... but I'm lucky to have you in my life, Blondie. I mean it, 'cause I really am... Thank you."

He chickenshitted out. He... he could have... he was so close to just letting her know how he feels, he-

"Well, I'm lucky too." Claire throws her arms around him for a hug as she braces herself for more to say. "And, okay, before I forget, I went to church to ask Carter if he could do a service for your mom. I'm sorry, I know it's not my business, and I know we didn't get a chance to do one in the summer for the second anniversary of her passing, but he said that he could, to make up for missing it, and then he'll do it every year after that. But, it's only if you want!" She pulls backward to view his unreadable expression. "Oh, and get this! Carter knows some Greek, 'cause he studied in Cyprus when he was younger, and he remembers some prayers. How cool!"

She's too good, there's no way. Who... who just does that? Who takes into consideration a dead woman that she never even knew, for his sake?

"You didn't have to do that," is all Gray can say. He doesn't mean for his tone to sound so flat. He's just... at a loss for words. Thankful doesn't even begin to describe what he's feeling.

"I dunno if you'd think that I was overstepping by doing that," Claire says quietly. "'Cause I know you're not religious. But, I mean, after hearing what you said... I wouldn't want you to feel like she's being forgotten. And you obviously don't have to agree to the service, but-"

"It's not for me. It's for her. She deserves to be remembered." Gray swallows the lump back in his throat again. "... Thanks. I really appreciate you doing that."

He'll sacrifice church one day for his mom... knowing this would have made her so happy. And he'd never have had it in him to ask Carter for that.

"Please, please know that I'm always here for you," Claire says.

There is constantly an overwhelming reminder in the back of his brain regarding how good she is. She's just... a good person, with good grace and a good soul. Kind, stubborn, and caring... overall, there's just not a bad bone in her body. She baked him a Chi-Town classic, told her boyfriend that she'd be busy tonight, approached Carter to create a mass in his mother's honour... she's there for her friends- she's got a good heart.

And he's convinced himself that he doesn't even have one of those.

"Even if I'm kind of a ballbuster," Claire adds, driving the pie cutter into the buttery crust. She keeps her eyes concentrated on maintaining the shape, mouth twisted in concentration.

"Kind of?" Gray repeats, grabbing a plate. The two of them are just leaning over the countertop, an accidental re-enactment of how his family used to eat pizza over their kitchen island in the city. When his dad would come home with a box of deep dish that they'd cut and serve, the cheese stretching and the sauce fragrant. Claire's managed to make it so much better than he actually remembers.

"But you're not, right?" she says coyly, serving a slice on his plate.

"Not what?"

"Not a ballbuster."

"Mm, nope."

She rolls her eyes, biting into her own thick slice while covering her mouth. "Get real. Do you want something to drink?"

Maybe the problem is that she's just too good, and he's the exact opposite. Not only in a morality sense of the word, because yeah, he's an asshole, but in the sense that he doesn't deserve her. With Trent, it's kind of like a given- that twat shouldn't even be allowed to come within three feet of Claire, but Gray is too tainted. He's not good enough for her.

"Do you have any booze at all?" he asks, trying to brush these thoughts away.

She makes a face. "Umm... a bottle of wine. That's it."

He doesn't like wine; it's for pretentious people that think tasting expensive variations of fermented grapes exclude them from being labelled as alcoholics. But he'd really like any kind of booze right about now. "Fine. By the way, this pizza is fantastic. You did it perfectly."

Claire smiles as she pours him a glass. "You're living it large. Wine and somewhat bread."

"It's just like church, then." Gray chuckles, drinking it back. "You're not gonna have any?"

"Nah." She turns around, reaching for a glass in her cupboard, getting on her tippy toes. The skin on the backs of her thighs is taut and slender, as she stretches out to make herself taller.

Gray is also terrible for thinking some of the stuff that enters his mind. He always pushes these thoughts aside, which arguably just manifests them in his dreams and makes things a hundred times worse. But he's finally, fully taking in Claire's pleated skirt that hits right above her knees, her turtleneck that is only tight around her breasts, her socks that leave the rest of her legs bare, and he's sorry to admit that he does want her. Yeah, he wants her romantically, and yeah, he's mentioned before that he doesn't want her like that because she can't do that... but if she suddenly gave him the green light, he realizes that he'd take it.

He thinks about kissing her, picking her up and tossing her on the countertop that's too high for her, waiting for the "okay" that would manifest in kissing him back.

And this is why Gray is not good enough for her. This is why he's awful, why he doesn't deserve her, why he can't tell her shit.

Because here Claire is, in her outfit that she wore to church, after she's done a plethora of kind gestures for him, and all he can think about is dirty things. He's not even fantasizing about making love to her, about being gentle like she at least deserves- no. He's considering what it would be like to... Jesus, what is wrong with him?

So, no, he can't tell her that he loves her. He can't tell her that he deserves her because that would be a lie. He can't reveal that he wants any of this because she's too good for him, and he's terrible, and he shouldn't have thoughts like this, but here they are, and he's sorry that they exist.

Claire gives him a puzzled face mid-chew. "Umm, what's up?"

Poker face on, the rest of the world off.

"Nothin'," Gray says, sipping his wine slowly, pushing it all out of his mind. "Nothin' at all."


She dreams of a touch that she hasn't experienced yet.

Not like the nightmare she had after her makeup date with Trent, where a shadowy figure grabbed at her. The person here is faceless, or at least, she can't see his face, but she can feel him and gosh... it all feels really nice.

Every trace of her skin makes her goosebumps rise, makes her heart thump wildly, but she's not nervous at all. She's smiling broadly the whole time, because apparently it's all good in her mind. Umm, since when did she become so brazen?

She feels a pair of coarse hands on her, the scruff of a beard drag against her delicate skin, searing it red. Her breath hitches when-

Oh, boy.

There's a build up... a pressure inside of her, but in the best way possible. She's never even tried... you know, with herself, but when this person does it, he-

Okay, why is she referring to them as "this person?" Isn't it safe to assume that it's, you know... her boyfriend?!

It just feels different than her boyfriend. The touch is different, the way his fingers linger over certain areas is different, and jeez, has he not been moisturizing his hands lately or something? Why are they so dry... what's this current cold weather doing to them? Why has he suddenly grown out his beard- Trent's always been clean-shaven. And why can't she see his face? Is it because she's too busy shamelessly throwing her head back to moan out little noises of desire?

Before long, Claire can feel her own hands reaching for his belt buckle, but it's hard to concentrate when she's feeling herself all hot and bothered.

Kissing Trent... did this to her sometimes, but other times, it didn't. She figures getting aroused isn't always a guarantee. But, she's often wondered what it would feel like to finally... well, y'know.

The dreams got fingers and tongues and rhythms entangled.

Her breathing goes shallow. Claire awakens to a knocking at her door, and the same wetness between her legs. "Oh, wow," she murmurs.

Damn it, why'd the Bible have to ban sex before tying the knot? Why couldn't they just ban meat on Fridays, or estrogen supplementation?

... Wait a minute.

She really just can't catch a break, can she?

"Blondie!" It's Gray, outside her door, jolted with caffeine and ready to train. "Are you up? Let's go."

There's literally no time for a cold shower.

Claire's just gotta put a poker face on, and the rest of the world can stay off.