Cataclysm

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

Chapter One

The keys made a delicate clinking noise as they fell into Eli's hand, and he immediately closed his fist around them. He gave a half-smile to the landlord, and the older man nodded disinterestedly before leaving the young couple alone in the dark blue hallway. Eli turned towards the door, key poised to unlock it, when he felt a gentle hand on his arm. He paused and turned towards Imogen's expectant eyes. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"Am I doing this wrong?" he asked lightly. Imogen had a way of turning mundane actions into memorable events, and Eli often found himself taking her instructions to do the same. Her own lips formed a curve and a tiny giggle escaped from her smile. "No," she assured him, shaking her head, "I'm just excited." Her eyes were suddenly gleaming and Eli couldn't help but lean forward and kiss her softly.

"Me too," he whispered against her lips. Imogen laughed again and pushed on his shoulder, her giddiness impossible to contain. "Now open it!" Eli sighed lightheartedly, finally pushing the key into the slot and turning, while Imogen, forever impatient, rushed forward and turned the knob herself.

Eli had met Imogen Moreno on his way out of the Yorkville Public Library. She had stopped him on the steps, her bubbling excitement somewhat intimidating while she demanded that he sign her copy of his book. His novel had turned out to be something short of successful and he'd never been recognized like this, so he stood back uncomfortably and scrutinized the bouncing pigtails on her head, and the speed with which her lips formed high-pitched words. She must have interpreted his uneasy silence as interest, or just didn't care, because she all but dragged him twelve blocks to her "favourite coffee place, just down the street."

Somewhere between her never-ending stories of the theatre program she was enrolled in at U of T, and patronizing giggles when he all-but-stuttered out brief anecdotes from his own life, Eli had made plans to see her again the following week. Her strong-will and disregard for minor obstacles reminded him of a character he once read, and her pushiness and flare for dramatics slowly turned endearing and lovable.

Eighteen months passed, and they found themselves debating over locations and bedroom sizes and hardwood flooring. When they had finally settled on the fourth story apartment with laminate floors and one bedroom, right between the Yorkville library and that coffee shop, Eli packed all of his belongings and abandoned the grungy basement apartment that had been his for 6 years.

Eli wrapped his arms around her small frame while she admired the empty living room. He could see on her face that her mind was a whirlwind of decorating ideas, and he just smiled inwardly, resting his lips against her forehead while she tensed with anxiousness.

"Eli, this is ours, it belongs to us. It's the headquarters of our romance! We've found our own small corner of the world, a piece of the universe for us to have and to keep and be a part of-"

"Imogen, it's home." She stopped speaking, and fell into his hold, relaxing at his words. "And you're supposed to be the writer," she joked.

"Well, what would you like to call it?" he asked. She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off when her felt her entire body contract in excitement once again. "One word," he laughed. She gazed at him, her usually animated face dressed in a natural contentment he rarely saw but always welcomed.

"Home."

"Damn it!"

Clare cursed under her breath, groaning as her keys fell from her hands and plunged soundlessly into the snow. She crouched down the grab them, removing one worn mitten to rake through the endlessly deep slush around her. Just as her fingers met the icy captor of her keys, she felt a hand on her coat.

"Here, take mine and I'll search for yours-it's freezing out here." Clare looked up over her shoulder and smiled at her considerate boyfriend, nodding silently and smiling as she stood. "Thank you," she whispered, leaning up to kiss him. He bent his tall body to meet her lips, and quickly threw his arms around her, holding her against him a moment longer. Clare laughed, pulling away and snatching the keys from his hand.

"I'll be right here," she called to Jake from the lobby just before the glass door shut. She watched and smiled at his hunched frame, while his long arms dug through the fresh snow to no immediate avail.

Jake Martin was 38 years old, three months divorced, with two children and no visitation rights. Eleven years his junior, Clare Edwards was the younger girlfriend he was too embarrassed to introduce to his parents. His back gave out too often, he spent at least twenty minutes searching for gray hairs each morning, and he would no longer take his shirt off at the gym. His age was refreshingly irrelevant to Clare, as she was passed the point of utilizing her youth for bars and beaches and yoga.

Clare had met Jake at a diner when she couldn't afford to pay for her coffee, and he'd assumed the role of a knight in shining armor by offering to pick up her tab. Clare was reluctant, instead insisting she could wash dishes, or floors or something, and that he needn't worry. Smiling broadly, he rebuked her efforts and handed the impatient waitress a 20 dollar bill, "in the name of good karma." Clare had been taken aback by this stranger's uncommon kindness, and her intrigue must have shown because Jake immediately offered to pay for her dinner, too, so long as she ate it in his company.

It was only eighteen days before Clare told Jake that, no, she had not just forgotten her wallet that day, but she was on the verge of eviction because she hadn't made rent for four months. Lonely and trusting, Jake never hesitated to move Clare into his place and Clare bid farewell to the familiar apartment she had loathed for years.

Clare wrapped her arms around her torso, still thawing from her walk home, and grinned as Jake held up her keys in victory. She gave him a dramatic round of applause as he entered the lobby to join her, and he swiftly tossed the loop of cold, wet metal at the side of her head. Clare burst into laughter, joining their hands as they headed for the elevator. She absentmindedly moved to stand in front of the doors at the far left. "Really, Clare, you've lived here for almost 12 months and that elevator has been broken for all of them," Jake chuckled, tugging on her arm and pulling her into the next elevator with him.

"So, how was your day?" Clare asked menially, stepping out of the open doors and into their fourth floor hallway.

"Ordinary, met one of the new neighbours this morning. Energetic." Clare raised an eyebrow at where this was going. "Maybe you should go say hi, she lives in 413." Clare groaned.

"Jake..."

"Clare, I'm not trying to make friends for you, I swear. Just say hi." Clare sighed, unlocking the door to their apartment. "Fine," she grumbled, peeling her coat off of her body. "I'll go later." Jake gave her a look that was discomforting in its resemblance to those she had often received from her father growing up. He put his hands on her shoulders, and spun her around pushing her into the hallway. Clare stumbled into one of the blue walls, caught by surprised, and when she turned to look at Jake, he was staring back pointedly. "Just say hi," he instructed before shutting the door.

Clare muttered to herself as she stomped along the soft carpet. She read the door numbers as she made her way down the hall, stopping when she found 413. Breathing deeply, she raised her fist and knocked softly 3 times in quick succession, secretly hoping it would go unnoticed. She shifted her feet for a moment, inspecting the worn out wood of the door when it suddenly flung open and she was met with a man's pale, naked chest.

Momentarily speechless, Clare stared a few seconds too long until distinctly female arms snaked around the chest, clothed in what appeared to be the gray, button-up shirt it was missing. She raised her eyes to the out-of-breath, laughing couple, feeling thoroughly embarrassed and not the least bit prepared to face the person before her.

Eli had felt his heart skip beats before. It had stopped, and sped up, slowed down and even broken as situations indicated. But his heart had never felt such a surge of electric pain as it did when he opened his apartment door to Clare Edward's bright red face.

"Clare," he whispered, his voice failing him. He felt Imogen's arms around him and immediately shrugged them off. Clare's blue eyes narrowed at him, before shifting to the cheerful girl peeking out from his side. Clare's eyes opened slightly, confused almost, as she stared at Imogen, but her anger was quick to reappear when Eli said her name.

Imogen slowly stepped around her boyfriend, trying to gauge the strange interaction was she witnessing. She watched for a second, puzzled by the intense stares being passed in her presence. Clearing her throat, she suddenly extended her hand.

"Hi, I'm Imogen, this is Eli. Nice to meet you," she offered awkwardly. Clare was pulled from her infuriated trance, and furrowed her brows at the tanned fingers reaching for her. "Clare." It was quick and clearly annoyed, and Imogen suddenly recoiled at the unfriendly introduction. Ignoring Imogen's presence, Clare quickly returned to her hateful scrutiny of Eli. Acknowledging her unnecessary presence, Imogen retreated inside, her head swimming with questions.

"Clare," Eli tried again, his voice louder but still hoarse. "Clare, I know-"

"Do not!" The volume and ferocity of her words shocked them both. Clare was now shaking with her emotions, and Eli feared she would hit him. "Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't try... to do this. Hell, if you really want to help? Don't live here!" She was speaking through gritted teeth, and Eli didn't know how to respond. He looked to the floor, and then back to Clare.

"Look, I... know... how you must feel, and I know what I did... But when Julia died, I-"

"Eli, say what you want about her death... it should have been you." Clare wiped a tear from her eye, her hands still shaking from the overwhelming influx of emotion, and turned to stomp her way back down the hall.

Eli nearly stumbled from the hurt of her words, but maintained his composure as he shut the door softly and turned into his own apartment.

"What was that? Who is she?" Imogen was quick to pester him. Suddenly not in the mood to indulge her speaking addiction, Eli shrugged off her questions just as he had shrugged off her touch. "Nothing, just an old friend. Forget about it."

Though he sincerely hoped that Imogen would do just that, he knew from experience that Clare Edwards was impossible to forget-he had been trying for ten years.