This chapter is for eveningspirit, without whom it wouldn't have seen the light of day (or been abysmally terrible). Thank you for helping me figure things out.
"Okay. It's time to cough it up, brother."
"What?" John frowns, dragged brutally out of his musings.
"John, you've been distracted and in a weird mood ever since yesterday," Marcos says. "And don't think we didn't notice you bringing Clarice up here."
John sighs and looks over to Lorna, who just nods encouragingly.
"What happened?" she asks.
"Not much. We talked, and we're going on a date on Friday."
"That sounds like good news to me. So why are you so hesitant?"
"I...I told her about my legs," John says slowly.
"Did she say something? Because if she did, I swear I'll−"
John doesn't know whether to touched or annoyed by Lorna's protectiveness. He settles for amused, giving her a small smile before answering.
"No, it's not that. She was fine. Better than fine."
"Then what's wrong?" Marcos asks.
"I didn't tell her about Pulse."
"You wanted to tell her? Isn't it a bit early? I mean, we know it's still hard for you to−"
"Exactly. I feel like if I want to date her, I need to be upfront about all of it."
"So you're going to drop on her, at the same time, that your last relationship was with a man, that he died in the explosion that paralyzed you, and that you still regularly destroy half your room in your sleep because of it?"
John looks away. "I suppose when you say it like that, it's a bit much," he says, reining in his emotions at the mention of Gus.
"Maybe she doesn't need to know every little thing about your past before you start dating."
"Pulse isn't a little thing," Lorna says, before John can even react to that.
"No, of course not, I didn't mean that, but−"
"It's not a very good first-date topic," John states.
Thinking about Pulse doesn't hurt as much as it used to, he can even smile at the good memories now. Marcos and Lorna knew Pulse for long enough that John knows they're not belittling him even when they tentatively joke about him.
Talking about his death, about the bomb John led him onto, is another matter entirely. That's why John left him out of the story he told Clarice. It was enough of a sob-story as it was, honestly, but John just couldn't add Pulse in it without completely losing his composure.
"I guess I could...wait. But I'll have to tell her at some point, and it just feels like...like I'm not being honest, you know?"
"John, is it because you feel like you're betraying Pulse by going out with Clarice?" Lorna asks, putting her hand on his.
John opens his mouth to deny it, but closes it again. Is it? Does he somehow want Clarice's approval of what he's doing because he can't get Pulse's?
"It's okay to be ambivalent about this, you know. You're allowed to not know right away what you're okay with or not."
John hangs his head. "I don't want to forget him," he says.
"You're not going to forget him," Lorna says softly. "You never will."
"I know, but−"
"You're not betraying him by living. By getting better."
Sighing, John covers his face with his hands. He still feels, some days, like time should have stopped the day Pulse died. Like life can't be going on, not without him.
And some days, lately, he finds himself feeling grateful that he's still alive, that he survived. And those days, he hates that he's starting to move on.
The days leading up to their planned date are both sweet and awkward. John spends his days in the café as usual, after his morning appointments at the hospital, and Clarice is always there when he comes in, looking more and more relaxed with Marcos and Lorna and even with the regular patrons. She's almost part of the Underground family now.
There are the little looks and smiles they exchange whenever Clarice comes close to his table, or he looks up at the right moment. But there's also the way John feels even more self conscious than before every time he stands up, not missing Clarice's gaze on him. Now that she knows, is she waiting for him to stumble? Or using his gait to gauge his pain levels, the way Lorna and Marcos have learned to do?
John asks both Lorna and Marcos to keep quiet that they know about the date. He doesn't want Clarice to feel pressured to perform one way or another, to feel like her job here is in any way linked to how it turns out. He catches Lorna giving Clarice long looks behind her back, but she seems to manage to hold her tongue, so John decides not to call her out. He's not sure he wants to have yet another conversation with her about this.
John and Clarice sit together for lunch every day. They haven't kissed again, or even touched each other since the hug Clarice gave him, but they talk about everything and nothing comfortably. They don't come close to heavy subjects, since Marcos or Lorna are always somewhere close, but it's nice to get to know each other like this.
On Friday, John waits for Clarice in the back room for her lunch break, taking advantage of Lorna's absence.
"I made reservations for tonight," he says when she walks in. "You're still on?"
Clarice drops onto a chair.
"Of course! Where?"
"This restaurant Marcos and Lorna like. It's not far, but we'll need to drive there. Should I pick you up at your place?"
"Um, yeah, sure. I'll be ready," Clarice smiles.
"I'm going to need an address for that, though," John says.
Clarice laughs, embarrassed. "Right. Let me write it down for you."
Clarice is fretting far too much by the time John is supposed to pick her up. She's spent the whole time since coming back home trying to decide on an outfit−not too smart or overly sexy, because that's not what their relationship feels like yet, but she wants to feel pretty. And that's a sore point.
No amount of make-up can make her feel good about her face, since, paradoxically, trying to hide her marks just makes her feel untrue to herself. Her unending love-hate relationship with her appearance has lead her to do many things she regrets.
And John doesn't look at her like other men do. The boyfriends she had before either claimed they found her pretty in spite of her atypical appearance, or had a fascination for visible mutations that always turned unhealthy, one way or another. John hasn't made her feel like a zoo animal or someone to be pitied, and she already loves that about him.
And she hates that her bar is so low. John seems like a truly good man, but only time will tell if he turns out to be just like everyone else. Clarice really hopes he doesn't, but she's long learned not to trusts her instincts on this.
Her intercom buzzes at this point of her reflection and she scrambles to answer it.
"Yes?"
"It's me," John's voice says, in between the crackles of low quality sound.
"I'm coming down," Clarice says. "Just give me a minute."
Hanging up, she takes a few deep breaths and grabs her purse and her coat. Checking that she has her keys and her sunglasses with her doesn't take long enough for her to calm down, but this is just nerves, not real anxiety.
John is waiting by the building's entrance, leaning against the wall. Clarice grimaces briefly that she unthinkingly made him wait standing up−she has no idea if it's painful or hard for him. She tried to do some research on spine injuries after what he told him the other day, but she quickly got lost in the sea of incomprehensible medical information.
He's wearing a shirt and a jacket, a step up above his usual tee-shirts and leather vest, but no tie. Clarice is glad that she read the unspoken dress code for the evening right.
"Hi," he smiles when she pushes the door open.
"Hi back," Clarice answers.
"You look nice."
Clarice looks down at herself briefly. This is just the regular niceties of first dates, she knows, but John actually sounds like he means it. Her knee length dress is nothing special, but it's one that she likes. She forbids herself from checking if her ears are properly covered by her hair.
"You too," she says. And she does mean it. John would look good wearing anything, but he obviously made an effort, tying back his hair in a neat bun. He's still wearing combat boots even with smarter pants, but Clarice can guess there aren't so many shoes he can wear with his leg braces.
"You ready?"
Clarice nods and smiles. She hesitates to put on her sunglasses for a moment, but it's late enough that she can't justify it with the sunlight, and it's not like she's going to be able to keep them on all night long. She'll just have to do without and pray that everything goes well.
"My car is just over there," John says, indicating a black sedan parked in front of the building.
Clarice slides into the passenger seat, trying not to look around her too obviously. She doesn't know what kind of car she expected John to have, but it's not that−Lorna, for some reason, drives a large SUV, and she probably imagined something similar.
There are a few things on the driver's side that she doesn't recognize, though. The steering wheel has a sort of ball affixed to it, and there's a second stick beside the gear stick.
"What is this?" she asks, pointing to it.
"Hand controls," John answers, not quite looking at her. "I can't use pedals well."
"Oh. I'd never seen that."
"You can have a look if you want."
Clarice bends over to see the system of rods that connect the stick to the pedals−coming very close to John in the process, though not quite touching him. She sits back up a little flustered.
"So, how does it work, you can do everything with that?" she asks to cover it up.
"Pull for gas, push to brake, steer with one hand," John answers. "It's pretty easy to learn."
"You've been driving with this since−"
John shakes his head. "Not at first, but Marcos and Lorna got tired of driving me to PT every day after a couple of months. That's when we looked into it."
Clarice can't help observing him drive, though she can tell it makes him uncomfortable. "I'm just curious," she says, trying to reassure him.
"I know, it's fine," John says. "I haven't really taken anyone for a ride beside Marcos and Lorna, so it's new for me too."
As John promised, the restaurant isn't far, and they get there within a few minutes. It's a fairly small place, and the waiter, after a short moment of hesitation when he sees Clarice, leads them past several seated couples to their table. Clarice wonders if John notices the curious and fearful looks they attract−or rather she, and her exposed eyes, attracts.
John gentlemanly takes her coat and pulls out her chair. He takes the seat with his back to the wall, and his eyes dart around in a way that tell Clarice it's not a random choice. She hates having her back to people too and briefly wishes they could both face the room, but she realizes it would mean being even more conscious of the way people are looking at her.
John smiles at her, but she has a hard time smiling back, feeling the eyes on her back.
"Are you okay?" John asks.
Clarice nods a little too fast. "This seems like a nice place," she says.
John frowns, but lets it go. "I haven't been here in a while. Last time it was a different owner, but I think the cook is the same, and her food is amazing."
"So why not come more often?" Clarice asks the first thing that comes through her mind. Her anxiety has risen enough now that all she wants is to get out of here, but she tries to calm herself down for John. A few looks shouldn't spoil their night.
"It's not accessible," John answers. "But mostly I didn't have anyone to bring."
Clarice smiles at him distractedly.
"Clarice," John tries to meet her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Clarice lies.
The waiter comes back with menus, saving her from having to convince him. "Will you want an appetizer?" he asks.
"Yes, please," John answers. "What do you want to drink?" he asks Clarice.
"Whatever you're having," Clarice says, shrugging.
She doesn't listen as he orders, instead turning her head to catch the eyes burning into her back. The woman, two tables over, glares at her for a moment before she turns away, making a rude gesture. Clarice freezes.
She looks back at John when he puts a hand on her arm. "Clarice?"
"I'm sorry," she says. "You were saying?"
"I didn't say anything," John says. "You just seem distracted."
"Sorry. I'm fine."
John looks unconvinced. "If you don't like this place, we can go," he says. "Same if you've changed your mind about us. The last thing I want is to force you into anything."
Clarice shakes her head hurriedly. "No, it's not about us," she exclaims. "I want this. I told you."
"Then what?"
"I feel like...people are looking at me."
John sighs. "I noticed. I'm sorry."
"Me too," Clarice mutters. "But I'll try to ignore them."
That mostly works through getting their appetizers, talking lightly about the café and how John came to start doing the books.
"Marcos is just hopeless at math," John says. "He was doing such an awful job that the café had only been opened for five months and they were already lost."
"And Lorna?"
"She was actually the best in her math and physics class at school, even started studying engineering, but she just doesn't care. If she finds something boring, there's no way to make her do it."
"She's something else, isn't she?" Clarice laughs.
"That she is," John answers.
"Why did she stop her studies?"
John hesitates. "It's not my story to tell," he says.
"Oh."
Does it have to do with the mental health issues she mentioned to Clarice the other day? She won't pester John for details if he's not comfortable talking about it, but she doesn't think she'll dare ask Lorna outright, either. Well, it's none of her business, anyway.
She looks down at her menu instead, still trying to decide what to get. She doesn't want to get something too expensive. John hasn't said explicitly whether he intends to invite her, but even if he does, she has no idea how he earns a living−is he on some sort of disability pension?−but he must not be making much more than she does. But going for the cheapest option would be too obvious, and in any case she hates shrimp.
She's finally starting to relax into the moment, almost forgetting the woman still glaring at her back. Except that things start to go pear-shaped when the waiter comes back, without an order pad, looking highly uncomfortable.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, which I don't do too often, but that date grew long enough for two chapters. So you'll have to wait until next week to find out what happened.
In the meantime, please tell me what you thought!
A reminder that you can find me on Tumblr (theemmaarthur), where I post writing updates and thoughts.