The explanation for why John was so tired in the last chapter, and a second date. First date was all from Clarice's point of view, so this one is from John's, and there are surprises in store for him.
Sitting down on the bathroom stool to get dressed after his shower, John sighs and rubs his eyes. The physical therapy session he's just come back from was exhausting and painful again, as all of them have been recently. He winces when his back protests at the contortions needed to strap his braces on and pulling on his pants.
The face looking back at him in the mirror has bags under his eyes and a rubble he can't find the energy to shave away. John tries to make his hair look presentable at least, but it doesn't really help.
He doesn't know if his current bout of insomnia is brought on by the pain in his legs from his physical therapist pushing him harder than usual, or from knowing that this is Sharon's last effort to get him to walk without the braces. He's spent many a sleepless night thinking about it.
The idea of needing mobility aids for the rest of his life doesn't scare him as much as it once did, though the chronic pain that looks less and less like it's going to ease does. Spinal chord injuries are fickle enough that things could still evolve one way or another, especially with his mutation in the way, but for now it looks like he's reaching the end of what physical therapy can do for him.
Walking is easier than last week, if only because he spent two whole days doing nothing but resting over the weekend, but he hasn't had a proper night in a week. Clarice spots it the moment he comes down. She waves him to his table and comes over as soon as she's finished with her customer.
"Are you okay?" she asks. "You look tired."
"I am," John answers honestly, because there's no point in lying. "But I'm fine."
He sips the coffee she brought him, with the vague hope that it will give him some energy. It doesn't, of course−caffeine has never done anything for him−but the heat does feel good coming down his throat.
Clarice starts to turn away, but John hurriedly puts down the coffee and grabs her wrist gently.
"Hey, how are you doing?" he asks. All this worrying about him shouldn't make him forget that Clarice has her own stuff to deal with.
Clarice turns back and smiles at him. A real, genuine smile that warms John's heart.
"I'm good," she says. "I'm glad the weather is getting good enough to stay outside."
"Me, too," John says. The warmth also makes the pain in his back ease a little, so that's a good thing. "We could go to the park with Zingo after your shift, if you want to."
"Let's do that," Clarice nods.
Zingo bounces up and down all the way to the park, happy to get outside earlier than usual and in the warmth of the sun. John lets her run before she makes him stumble by pulling on the leash. It wouldn't usually be a problem, but he's still feeling the strain of this morning's PT session in his legs and back. And he's too tired to focus on his balance properly.
"Do you mind if we sit down?" he asks Clarice, pointing at a bench. He winces, apprehending her reaction. She may have been amazing about his disability so far, but she still doesn't know that much about it. And even if his pain doesn't trigger mockery, pity can be just as bad.
"Sure," Clarice says simply. She immediately goes to sit on the bench, before John can even start changing his course. He joins her and tries to smile, but the irrational guilt and anxiety is still eating at him. He knows it's ridiculous, that just asking her to sit down isn't going to make Clarice run away, but that doesn't make the fear disappear.
She picks up on his hesitation.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"Just tired," John answers absently, still lost in self-flagellation.
"No, I mean why do you look like you want the ground to eat you right now?"
John refocuses his gaze on Clarice and snorts in surprise. He shakes his head, annoyed at himself now for letting his feelings show through.
"I'm sorry. I just...I hate how limiting this is sometimes," he points down at his legs. "And that it doesn't affect just me."
Clarice bites her lip.
"You know, I've been on my feet all day, so I'll welcome a bit of sitting in the sun," she says. "And you never need to apologize for this."
"I just don't want to hold you back," John says.
"I'm here to be with you, not to walk in a park aimlessly," Clarice jokes, but she also nods to say she understands what he really means. "I'd much rather sit down than you being in pain for my sake, John."
"Yeah," John laughs self-deprecatingly. "I do know that. It's just hard to remember sometimes."
"Our brains are really terrible, aren't they?"
"Tell me about it."
Their eyes meet, and they both smile. It's moments like these that John cherishes most with Clarice, moments of empathy and understanding. They're more different than they're alike, yet a real link is growing between them that's deeper than any romantic attraction.
Letting the tension in his body go, John reclines against the back of the bench and puts an arm around Clarice's shoulders.
"What are you doing this weekend?" he asks.
"I don't have plans yet. I usually volunteer at the shelter on Saturdays, but Shatter asked me to switch with Mondays, because they have enough people on the weekends and I'm free anyway."
"And that way you can sleep in on Saturday."
Clarice laughs. She confessed her love of sleeping in to John at the center the other day, and he's been gently making fun of her ever since. "I admire you," he said as an apology. "I'm lucky if I get to sleep as late as six."
"There's that," she smiles. "What are you doing on Saturday?"
"As usual, PT in the morning then I'm at the center for classes and youth club until four," John answers with a shrug.
"Busy day," Clarice winces. While John loves the mutant teenagers and children who come to the youth club, he's complained a few times before that spending several hours with them can be exhausting.
"Yes," he answers. "Sonya is usually the one who organizes most of the activities, but she won't be there for the next few weeks. I'll need to come up with something myself."
"I'm sure you will," Clarice smiles. "By the way, you doing anything in the evening?"
"No, why?"
"You know how we were talking about dates the other day."
"I remember."
"I'm not sure I'm ready to try another restaurant just yet, but−" Clarice hesitates.
"What is it? You have an idea?"
"Well, there's this concert on Saturday evening. But I'm not sure−"
"Clarice," John turns to face her fully. "I'm all ears. Tell me."
Clarice takes a deep breath. "Okay. I don't really know what kind of music you listen to, but there's this band I enjoy, they do something of a mix between baroque and modern indie stuff, it's a bit niche, but−"
"It sounds interesting. And they're having a concert?"
"Yes. At the Botanical Garden. It's outdoors, so we could just stay on the fringe and leave if you don't like it."
"I can behave," John smiles. "I can tell you want to go, and I'd love to come with you. As long as it's not really loud music or something."
"No, not at all, but...oh, you don't like loud noise because of your mutation," Clarice understands.
"Yeah," John says, slightly embarrassed. "It gets...painful, or overwhelming."
"Well, this should be fine, it's mostly older instruments and, you know, bamboo flutes, that sort of things. No heavy metal."
"I had a heavy metal phase at one point," John says. "Just never went to an actual concert. Or rather, I went once and ran away after a few minutes."
"Heavy metal? Really?"
"I still have the AC/DC tee-shirts somewhere."
"So you probably won't like this kind of music−" Clarice starts, wringing her hands.
"Hey, don't worry so much. I'm willing to try. And being with you would make any day great, anyway."
"Even when we get thrown out of restaurants?"
"Even then. I've been looking for a place I could take you to for over a week that won't be a risk, but that concert sounds like a perfect idea."
"Okay, then," Clarice smiles.
Getting to the botanical garden on Saturday, John barely hesitates before parking in the disabled parking spot. Clarice has seen his car's manual commands, she's seen his leg braces, the cat is out of the bag now. Disabled parking is probably not going to make her run away. And given the layout of the botanical garden, if he parked in the closest free spot, he wouldn't even make it to the concert.
"The concert is at 8 p.m., but there should be a snack bar open, if we want to grab a bite before then," Clarice says, after they've paid and made their way inside the garden.
"We can do that," John nods. "Lead the way."
They're an hour early for the concert, but the weather is warm enough that just being outside is enjoyable. The garden seems mostly empty since it's normally close at this hour, but Clarice has her sunglasses on anyway. John puts his own on too, the glare of the descending sun too strong for him to go unprotected.
Walking down the pathway, Clarice comes closer and shyly touches his hand with hers, like a question mark. John smiles at her and intertwines their hands.
"Is that okay?" she asks softly.
"More than okay," John murmurs back.
John can already feel the pull in his legs by the time they get to the snack bar. He wishes he'd dared to take the cane he left in his car, instead of stubbornly trying to hide this from Clarice. He's careful not to lean on their linked hands, but Clarice must feel him slow down.
"We won't need to walk much more, the concert will be right over there," she says, pointing to the small platform on the lawn, a couple hundred feet away.
"Do we just sit in the grass in front of it?" John asks.
"That's why I brought a blanket," Clarice pats the bag she's carrying. "It's not...it's not a problem, is it?" she frowns, suddenly worried.
"No, it's fine," John smiles reassuringly. It's not the best arrangement, but as long as he's sitting, he'll be okay. Concerts where you have to stand are out for him, though they're usually so loud and crowded that he avoided them long before his injury.
"I didn't think to ask before," Clarice winces.
"It's really okay, don't worry," John says. "Sitting on the floor isn't a problem."
"We could get food and go right over there, that way we don't have to move later and we'll have a good spot?"
"Sounds good."
John wonders if eating junk food is going to become a pattern in their dates. After the pizza last time, they now get burritos from the snack bar. At least they turn out to be pretty good.
As time passes, they watch more people choose spots on the lawn, thankfully none too close to the two of them. Clarice snuggles close to John on the blanket, removing her shoes, and he wishes he could easily do the same. His braces make his feet too stiff to sit cross-legged properly, but he doesn't dare unstrap them and find himself unable to stand up quickly. It's hard enough not reacting to having people at his back.
Clarice is more relaxed than he is, her anxiety seemingly melting behind the protection of her shades. John knows that's not really how it works, that it probably has to do with his presence and other factors he can't even think of, but he has no wish to bring it up right now. He wants to enjoy the moment.
The musicians start coming on stage not long later, tuning their instruments. They, as much as their audience, are very different from any concert John has ever been to−not that it has been such a frequent occurrence. It was usually Lorna who dragged him to the quietest performances of the bands she likes when he was on leave from the Marines.
Clarice, lighting up in a way that shows her interest, names him each instrument as the musicians takes them out of their cases.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for a baroque music nerd," John says in her ear.
Clarice shrugs. "I'm full of surprises," she says. "It's just a random interest, I don't even know why. I enjoy their music."
"I can tell," John smiles.
The lead musician, putting aside an old-looking cello−"viola de gamba," Clarice mutters−stands up.
"Tonight we are welcoming a special guest," he says, waving to a middle-aged woman. "Mahvash Karzai comes to us from Kabul. She will sing and play the rubab, and we'll interpret pieces from her homeland."
"Kabul. That's in Afghanistan, right?" Clarice asks, biting her lip.
"Yes," John says. "Though I never went there."
"You ever heard Afghan music?"
"A couple times," John answers. "But they have different traditions in different places, so this might be nothing like what I know."
Clarice nods and John adjusts his arm around her, watching the singer prepare her rubab.
He doesn't expect the wave of memories and emotions that assault him the moment the woman starts singing. Her voice is powerful and beautiful, but the melody and the language are haunting to John. It's not flashbacks, not really, the music just resonates with something deep in him.
There's the hot, unforgiving sun of the desert, and sitting in the shade of a building with Pulse, close but not touching. Someone playing a rubab somewhere close. Just flashes, images. The feast John and his unit once stumbled onto, colorful and happy, the musical language of the locals. The bombed out houses and the bodies and the gunshots. Pulse.
John blinks, and he's back in the present, with Clarice half-lying on him and the captivating voice of the singer.
"Are you okay?" Clarice asks softly, turning to look at him.
John realizes he has tears running down his cheek. He dries them with the hand Clarice isn't holding. "Yeah," he nods. "I'm fine. It's beautiful."
"It is," Clarice agrees, turning back toward the stage.
John doesn't know if it's the music, but as he stares up at the face of the singer, he can almost feel Pulse beside him, like they once were in the desert. But no image of his death, of the explosion that took John's unit, come to him in that moment. The song is about war and loss, from the little Pashto John can understand, and he cries for the destruction and the deaths, but this image of Pulse, this sensation, is at peace.
He's happy for John. It may just be a hallucination, or a trick of his connected sense, but John can see him wave and smile, before the song ends and the desert disappears, leaving only the lawn and Clarice in his arms.
John has been feeling like he's betraying Pulse for a while, so I wanted to address that. The concert itself is inspired by one I went to recently that also mixed baroque/medieval instrument with Middle Eastern music.
If you've enjoyed this chapter, don't hesitate to leave a review, even a very short one, I love hearing what you think!