Who do you think you are?

Clare's hand on the doorknob went limp and fell to her side. How many times had she pictured this moment? How many times had she fantasized over this exact monumental event, this reunion after their disaster of a breakup? And now her well rehearsed, planned word-for-word speech fled from memory. In its place, her mind grew inundated, recalling these last few years. The recollections of all she tried so hard to repress only to be drudged up yet again after all this time.

He was back. And so were the memories.

.

.

Freshman year. Months after KC came to this very doorstep, dumping her for Jenna. Dawes came to her for assistance. There was a student in desperate need of a tutor. It didn't matter that Baby Edwards was a grade younger than the alleged student. Advanced classes and a kind heart were enough to make up for it.

A few passing grades later and Fitz got it in his head that maybe Baby Edwards wasn't so little anymore. A few sweet smiles and admiring words later, and Clare thought maybe there was more to Mark than everyone else first typically thought.

Just a few more innocent thoughts and shared smiles later and the two were "together," making the rounds through the Degrassi grapevine and not caring in the slightest.

.

.

Their six month anniversary. Clare searched up and down for Mark but it seemed he wasn't at school. He hadn't texted to tell her he was sick. Or called to wish her a happy anniversary—not that he exactly seemed like the type to. But still, Clare had let herself hope for at least an acknowledgement from him, and in this moment, she regretted having done so. Disappointedly, she sat through her first four classes before plodding her way to her locker before lunch. With her eyes trained on the floor, she didn't bother looking up until someone rather obviously and conspicuously cleared his throat.

Perplexed, Clare's head shot up. At her locker, Mark Fitzgerald held a dozen yellow daisies and a shy smile.

"You remembered," she whispered, struck with awe, letting herself smile for the first time that day.

"How could I forget?" he asked her, right before her lips met his.

Pulling away with reluctance, the two smiled. Suddenly, Clare smacked his arm playfully. "Why did you let me think you weren't here? You know, you could have called or texted at the very least," she informed him with a teasing grin, though not quite bold enough to look him in the eye after such an admission of worry.

"Couldn't," he shrugged boyishly—simply. "I was out getting you these." Diffidently, he held out the daisies as Clare's heart melted.

.

.

Months later and Clare's heart was still melting. Mark and Clare almost seemed attached at the hip. By now it was sophomore year.

First day, the new kid, Eli Goldsworthy complimented her "pretty eyes." Fitz overheard and connected a fist to his jaw. Alli squealed excitedly for her friend while Clare watched in horror. Jealousy was supposedly a good sign, right? It meant that Mark Fitzgerald, the picture of teenage apathy, really cared. Like an actual boyfriend was supposed to. Right?

Clare apologized repeatedly as the new Eli kid shrugged it off and walked away.

Bewildered, Clare looked to Fitz. "Mark…" She didn't even know what to say.

He looked up towards the sky. "Look, I kind of really like you a lot, Edwards," he sighed, and Clare got the not altogether unpleasant itching sensation that he was about to breathe words he wouldn't dare to another soul. She felt honored. "And I think I love you." He still hadn't looked at her. Clare's mouth dropped. Love? Had he really said he loved her?

"Mark," She took a step forward, never looking back. "I think I love you, too."

He looked at her then, and the reluctant smile she'd grown to love made its appearance. "Good," he slung an arm over her shoulder. "So don't go macking on other guys, you hear?"

Clare laughed as Fitz knew she would. She certainly wouldn't.

.

.

But those were part of the "good" times. The "good," exceptional and completely more than tolerable parts of their relationship. On her porch steps, the rain dripped from his face. Another crack of thunder roared and in her mind's eye, Clare remembered in sharp, painful clarity, all the other times.

She was supposed to be working on an English project with Eli Goldsworthy when she heard the doorbell ring, several times. Apologizing, she got up, assuming it to be her obnoxious seven year old neighbor who rather enjoyed ringing the doorbell fifty times for every occasion his mother needed to borrow one of the Edward's coveted family recipes.

But instead there stood Mark, high as a kite in the sky, on her doorstep. "Clare!" he grinned, goofily at her as he let out a child-like laugh. "You're home!"

Despairingly, Clare closed her eyes in disbelief. After a moment, she led him by the hand in to the living room and sat down with him on the couch. She thanked the good Lord in Heaven that her parents weren't home yet.

"Mark," she squeezed his hand gently, "I thought you said you were done with this stuff?"

Fitz laughed like before, as if he didn't have a single care in the world and every word coming out of Clare's mouth was Comedy Central. "What stuff?" he asked, snickering.

Again Clare closed her eyes. She forced back tears. How could she trust him?

"Oh," he said knowingly with the same foolish grin as Clare's silence lengthened. He pulled a plastic baggy out of his back pocket. "You mean this stuff." He grinned.

Clare's eyes widened but she forced herself to stay calm. This wasn't the same Mark she knew. She had to be careful. "Mark," she began with circumspection, pointing to the plastic bag, "May I have that please?"

"Sure!" he acquiesced enthusiastically, handing over the weed.

Clare muttered a "thanks" and told him to stay right where he was. Quickly, she made her way upstairs to the bathroom but not before running into her English partner. Clare felt like she could cry. How could she be expected to work on a project with Eli when she was too busy worrying about her lying boyfriend who was sitting on her couch high?

Clare dropped her head and Eli's eyes took in the contents of the bag, saying nothing. Desperately, Clare felt the need to explain. After all, Eli was her friend now.

"He…" she began unsteadily. They both knew who 'he' was. "He told me he was done with this stuff. He… he said he didn't… need it anymore."

Eli's expression softened as he nudged Clare's shoulder. "C'mon." He opened the bathroom door and held out his hand for the plastic baggy. Handing it over, Clare tried to smile, watching as he flushed its contents down the toilet.

You broke all of your promises