*big group hug* Thank you for the comments, guys :) Buuuuuut you know what they say. . . one step forward, two steps back. . . or maybe not?

Chapter 18

The weather was disgusting and wet and incredibly cold for a day in May, so John's leg was aching more than it usually did. He had already come to terms with the fact that it was now sensitive to changing weather, but that didn't mean he liked it. His only hope for today was that a hot bubble bath might ease his pain, so he used the moment when Clara had retreated to her bedroom with a book to go upstairs into the bathroom.

John turned on the tap and adjusted the temperature, feeling somehow that the water couldn't be hot enough on a day as cold as this. When he had finally found the right temperature John began to strip out of his clothes. He had only just folded his plaid trousers and placed them neatly on the lid of the toilet when suddenly the door burst open. As if by instinct John reached for the nearest towel when Clara walked into the room without announcing herself, but she had already seen him before he had even had a chance to cover himself.

"Clara," he blurted out and tightened the towel around his waist, "I was. . . what are. . . Can't you knock?"

"Sorry," she giggled, however, there was no sign of remorse in her expression, not even a hint of it. Clara seemed more amused than anything else, something that only made him feel more bashful than he already did. "You do realize that I've seen you naked before, right?"

John paused and he had to admit that Clara wasn't entirely wrong about that. She had most certainly seen everything about him and vice versa, but the problem was that he couldn't remember any of that.

"Well, that's not entirely fair, is it?" he asked nervously, "I mean, I can't remember seeing you naked, so-"

"Would you like to?"

Her question hung in the air, unanswered for a long moment. John opened his mouth to reply, but no sound would come out while Clara was smiling at him. Why was she smiling? What was her plan? John felt so confused right now that he wasn't sure about anything, not even the answer to her question.

Then, before he had even answered at all, Clara raised her hands behind her back and opened the zip of her dress. John seemed frozen on the spot when the piece of fabric fell to the floor, leaving Clara in just her underwear. He was sure that there was something he had wanted to say, but it had slipped his mind. Yet she didn't stop at just her dress and John realized that it was too late to turn around in a vain attempt to be a gentleman when her bra joined her dress on the floor only seconds later. When she pulled down her knickers John finally found his voice again, if only for a brief moment.

"Clara," he uttered hoarsely, unable to tear his gaze away from the naked figure in front of him. Clara was so beautiful that once more John found it hard to believe she was truly his wife. So young, so perfect. For a second John wondered what it would feel like to touch her flawless skin, to feel her heartbeat with his palm under her beautiful breasts.

"We're even now," Clara said with a light shrug, smiling at him.

"I suppose so," he replied quietly, his eyes still glued to her naked body. John didn't want to look away at all. He wanted to take in the sight, study her, memorize all the little details about her body. She really was perfect and John felt glad that she allowed him to look.

Then suddenly, to John's surprise, Clara stepped forward.

"Do you want to touch me?" she asked kindly and John suddenly felt his pulse race, along with a surge of panic. He wanted to and yet he didn't. He would have been perfectly happy just to look for now.

"Come on," Clara said and attempted to reach for his hand, but John couldn't do it. It was too overwhelming, too much at once.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled before he grabbed his plaid trousers and hurried out of the room.

Clara rose from her bed and decided that it was time to finally stop crying, so she wiped the tears from her eyes and looked into her bedroom mirror. Her face was red, eyes puffy and her make up was all over her face. She should have known. She shouldn't have pushed John. They had been married for over a year and known each other for five, Clara knew that he was shy and that he needed time, especially now. But she just missed him so much that the situation seemed almost unbearable. All she really wanted was her husband back.

Clara took a deep breath and wiped the smudged make up away from under her eyes. It shouldn't be so damn obvious that she had been crying when she went to him to apologize.

Clara didn't even need to guess where he was when she heard the soft tones of a sad song come from his room and this time she knocked before she stepped inside. John sat on his bed, his cherry red guitar on his lap, and he looked up when she entered the guest bedroom.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

With a sigh John placed the guitar back on its stand and scooted over a little to make room for her on the bed. He gestured for her to sit down.

"I'm sorry, too," John replied, "I didn't mean to insult you."

Clara sank down on the bed next to him, but she didn't dare to look at John now. She didn't want him to see the remainder of her tears. They would only make him feel bad and that was the last thing she wanted because he was doing none of it on purpose. He was her husband and he needed her support, even though Clara wished she could have some in return.

"You didn't insult me. I pushed you and I shouldn't have. I know you need time."

"But you have needs as well," John noted thoughtfully, "And I can't fulfil them right now."

"It's fine, I'll be fine. It's not forever," she argued, "You will remember eventually."

"What if I-"

"Shut up," Clara interrupted him sternly and finally turned around to look at him, "You will remember."

John stared into her eyes for a long moment before he nodded. "I want you to know that I'm trying, Clara, but it's a lot."

"I get that," she replied, her voice almost a whisper.

"You've been so kind to me, you've taken care of me. I want to do something for you in return."

A small frown appeared on her face when he said those words and she wasn't exactly sure what John was implying right now. What was he talking about?

"Whatever you want, name it," John said.

Clara searched her brain for a good answer, but all she really wanted was for John to remember – and that wasn't something he could give her. So what else could she ask of him?

"Could I have a hug?" she enquired carefully, "I'd really like a hug now."

John hesitated, but after a few seconds a smile appeared on his face and he carefully spread his arms.

"From hand holding to hugs, that's a big step, but-"

Clara didn't let him finish in case whatever he was going to say could change his mind. She flung her arms around his chest and hugged him as tightly as she could. In return John carefully closed his arms around her back, his touch light and careful, but it was still so much better than Clara would have imagined and she vowed to enjoy every second of it. His body was warm and comforting against her own and the familiar smell of his aftershave let her forget about everything else for just a small moment. Clara closed her eyes and sighed. Right now she loved him so much that it hurt.