Leave Me If You Need To

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Clay mused, slowly buttoning up his jacket as if hoping someone would agree with the suggestion. His gaze was locked pointedly on Quinn, sitting on the couch again with her hands folded. She had been in silence too deep to be merely contemplative for a worryingly long time.

"You need to do this, honey," Lil told him, her tone gentle but firm. "Is leaving worrying you because of what happened the last time you left Quinn here? We'll keep an eye on her; that's a promise."

"Possibly," Clay shrugged miserably. "I know Logan will be a mess right now, and I have to fix it...but she's so quiet." He paced over to the couch and sat beside Quinn for a moment. "Come here, you," he said softly, her head sagged heavily against his shoulder. "I can stay, you know?"'

"No, you can't," she sighed. "This is all my fault, and I need you to help me to fix it, okay? Please bring Logan back so we can go home," she begged. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and squeezed so hard that he could barely breathe for a moment. "The last thing I want to do right now is let you go, but that's my punishment for snapping at Logan."

"Baby, you have got to stop punishing yourself," he said firmly. "You were sleep-deprived and heartbroken; Logan will understand."

"So were you," Quinn pointed out in a quavering voice. "I didn't see you get mad at him for no reason." She kissed his cheek, pulling her hand out of his grasp. "Bring him home, please. I'll be fine, I promise." Her smile was as forced as it had been on Halloween four years ago when the terror of Katie Ryan's return had ruined Clay's favorite holiday with the sight of his girlfriend in tears.

"Alright," he said reluctantly, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he stood up. "See you soon, babe...I'm going to bring our son home," he promised, putting extra emphasis on the pronoun. "Stay safe this time, would you?"

Quinn nodded silently, her eyes sparkling with more unshed tears. She waited until he was out the door to add in a choked whisper: "I have nothing left to lose." Out of sight around the corner, Sam and Lil exchanged a determined look. Despite their promises to take care of her, the time had come for an intervention in this pity party.

At Raleigh's local cemetery, Logan was brushing snow off the top of Sara's headstone, each stroke of his little, gloved hand slow and tender. Standing just behind him, Marie resisted the urge to squeeze her grandson tightly and never let go. Her instincts told her it would take more than doting grandparents to fix the damage Quinn's outburst had done. The cemetery was still and deserted on this Christmas Eve, not far from the church where the local choir would be belting out prayers and carols the next day. But for now, they were alone with an icy wind whistling all around them and snow crunching underfoot whenever she shifted her weight to try and keep warm. "I miss her," Logan said at long last in a small voice, stepping back to admire the clean headstone when he was finished. "Nana, why is Mom mad at me? I don't get it. Suddenly, it's like…like she hates me."

"Absolutely not," Marie interrupted firmly, but her grandson's warm hazel eyes glimmered with a level of hurt she had never seen before. "Listen, squirt, the thing was, when your mom landed up in the hospital last night, the baby was badly hurt. They're so delicate when they're growing, so your mom is okay, but the baby died, understand? So your mom's not mad at you; she's just...very sad. And she definitely doesn't hate you."

Logan's head was tilted to one side as he contemplated her words. "Oh," he breathed, and the single syllable made the air he exhaled a puff of warm fog. Marie could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as her grandson pieced together the implications of her words. "So there's no more baby?" he asked finally.

"That's right," Marie sighed. "Not for now anyway, maybe someday…you never know."

"That actually explains a lot," the eight-year-old mused. "I just…I guess I don't wanna lose Mom, too, you know?" He glanced at the headstone in thoughtful silence for a moment. "I asked Mommy to keep her safe at the hospital last night," he confessed. "Grandma says she can always hear me, so it felt right."

Marie was staring at her grandson, tears welling in her eyes, at how precious he was, when suddenly Clay's voice sounded from somewhere behind her. "Of course, she can bud," he said, in a low and subdued voice almost drowned out by the snow crunching on the gravel path as he paced towards his mother and son.

"Dad, you came!" Logan squealed and launched at his father immediately.

"I promised, didn't I?" Clay said softly and hugged Logan close for a moment before lifting him up. "Jeez, kid, you're getting heavy," he huffed teasingly, staggering two steps closer to the headstone and then letting his son go.

"Lame," Logan smirked at him; "If Mom is too long to carry and I'm too heavy, maybe you're just weak?"

"Watch it, Wolverine," Clay protested, but his smile when he ruffled the little boy's hair was strained.

Logan squeezed his father's fingers, sensing the sadness bubbling close to the surface. "Nana told me about the baby," he said carefully. "Is Mom still upset?"

"Mm-hmm," Clay nodded jerkily. "But it's just like I told you, she really didn't mean to take it out on you. She sent me here to tell you she's sorry and wants you to come home soon."

"Really?" Logan asked in awe, but his father didn't answer. The boy glanced from his grandmother's watchful gaze to the anguish in Clay's dark blue eyes and fell silent for a moment. "Never mind. Say hi to Mommy first," he urged, tugging Clay closer to the headstone. "She always listens, you know."

"Yeah, she does," Clay agreed absently, giving Marie a one-armed hug as he stared at the headstone. "How come you told him about the baby now?" he asked his mother wearily.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed with a wavering smile. "The kid is persistent and adorable; it couldn't be helped."

"Persistent and adorable, indeed," Clay echoed as Logan nuzzled affectionately into his side. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it, angel?"

"Do you call Mommy angel because she's in heaven?" Logan piped up curiously. "I think she'll look after the baby up there. Because she didn't get very long with me, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Clay nodded again, even the short answer muffled as he bit down hard on his quivering lips. "That would make Grandpa Ryan and Aunt Izzie angels, too," he said at last. "Your mommy was my angel, even when she was alive. She was exceptional. You know why?" With a faint smile at the wreath of red and white roses Clay had positioned at the base of the headstone, Logan shook his head and shot his father a questioning glance. "Her favorite song," Clay said softly, allowing the words to hang in the freezing air between them: "was called Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground, by an old guy named Willie Nelson. It was a very depressing song, but it happened to be the soundtrack of many big moments for us."

July 2011 – Seven Years Earlier

Clay was hunched over a pile of letters from wannabe professional athletes when the sound of a cheering audience rippled from the record player behind him and broke his concentration. Soft footsteps padded down the hallway connecting the living room to the bedrooms, and Clay shoved the papers aside when his wife came into view. In a short cream sundress and with one hand massaging the back of her neck, she was a vision of loveliness even before she shot him a bright smile. "I had a feeling this song would lure you out of the nursery like nothing else can," he smirked at her, dropping his pen in relief.

"I love this song," Sara said, stopping at the edge of the island counter to position the baby monitor in her hand behind the fruit bowl.

"I love you," he shot back with a grin. "You look so beautiful."

"Well, thank you, handsome," she said, smiling at him from across the room. The glint in her hazel eyes gave him a pretty good idea of what was coming. "You're not so bad yourself," she teased. "Dance with me."

Despite the loving lilt of her voice, it was a demand, and as the song continued in the background, the couple moved closer together. When her arms were clasped around his neck, their faces so close together that every breath they each took warmed the air between them, Clay asked: "So you're finally letting Logan get to sleep on his own, huh? You spoil him, angel."

"I can't help it; he's as irresistibly cute as his dad," she winked at him and then tilted her head against his shoulder. "You know when I first knew this would be our song?"

"When was that?" Clay asked, but the blissful feeling of love swelling in his heart would have been fueled enough by how her tiny frame felt in his embrace, even if she hadn't answered.

"After the graduation ceremony in my dorm room at Duke," Sara said softly. "Remember?"

"Of course I do," he replied, stroking her hair tenderly. "I remember how Jessica offered to pack up your stuff because you were too upset to get off my lap."

"She said it was easy enough because I was a neat freak," Sara laughed. "Yeah, that was a really rough day. At the hospital, when Izzie was dying, was the first time you met my mom, wasn't it?"

"Unfortunately, yeah," Clay nodded and squeezed her tighter. "Sometimes, I think your parents agreed to us getting married so soon because you begged me to stay that day."

"Quite possible," she admitted. "You make me feel so safe. This song…it's kind of the soundtrack of all those times I was most in love with you."

"Hey, why the past tense?" he pouted. Sara placed her hands on the back of his head, giggling as she captured his lips in a firm kiss. "I…love…you," he gasped, a word slipping out every time she pulled back for air. "My angel."

"I love you too, you pouty knucklehead," Sara smiled teasingly up at him. "Present tense. Hey, you know what I want?"

"What?" he moaned half-heartedly, sucking urgently on her soft lips. "Too much talking, not enough kissing."

"Behave yourself," Sara said, wiggling her finger mock-scoldingly in his face. "I really want grape Koolaid, and you really want to get back to work, am I right?"

"Ugh…no," Clay protested, rolling his dark blue eyes towards the ceiling when she wandered over to the refrigerator and tugged it open to get the pitcher of her favorite drink. He sat down at the kitchen table again and picked up his pen with a grimace, giving it a futile shake to get the ink flowing. "You know what I hate?" Sara was now eyeing him with a knowing smile as she poured herself the drink. "I hate these pens," Clay grumbled. "There's either way too much fluid or not enough, but never the right amount. And they cost like a fortune."

A soft clinking noise interrupted his rant, and Clay glanced up from his work to see that Sara had placed her full glass of Kool-Aid on the counter for some reason. Her face was turned towards him now, with no hint of the teasing smile left. Her dark brown eyes were eerily blank for that fleeting second, a second that would later seem like an eternity, but Clay smiled affectionately at her. "What are you looking at, you goof?" he asked. And then he felt his heart skip a beat as her whole body convulsed and collapsed out of sight behind the counter with a haunting thud.

Clay was ripped from the devastatingly intense memory by the sensation of his kneecaps becoming very cold and wet. Only then did he realize that the weight of his most significant loss had forced him to his knees despite the snow. He could feel his mother's hand trailing comfortingly across his shoulders, but her voice urging Logan to go and wait in the car felt like it was coming from a great distance. When his son's crunching footsteps had faded away, drowned out by the blistering wind, Clay finally allowed Marie to pull him to his feet. "You didn't have to think about that particular day right now," she pointed out. "Isn't the present sad enough?"

"Quinn thought this would help," he said dully. "Visiting Sara, I mean. Do you…um, do you think she's looking after our baby up there?"

"It helps to believe that, doesn't it?" his mother sighed. "Remember when those Russian thugs kidnapped Nathan? Sara didn't actually have anything to do with his safe return, but you still asked her to be his guardian angel. It's the same thing Logan did last night, praying that Quinn would be alright."

"Except that Quinn isn't really alright, far from it," Clay said bitterly. "She wants to go home now…I'm not ready to deal with this by myself." His face felt flushed, heated despite the icy wind, thanks to the exhausted tears finally breaking through the brave mask he had put up for Quinn.

"She needs her sister right now; it's understandable," Marie said gently, watching helplessly as he took gasping breaths to regain his composure. "I'm always a simple phone call away, sweetheart. Don't forget that. You're never alone."

"Yeah," he said slowly, clinging to her like a lifeline as fresh snowflakes swirled in the freezing air around them. "I wish I was as tough as you, Mom."

"You are," she said softly, dabbing at his cheeks with her gloved hands. "You just forget to believe it sometimes. You know, speaking of sisters, you should really give Lily a call. You know she'd want to hear about this."

"I'll think about it," Clay murmured, bowing his head against his mother's shoulder. Not for the first time, Marie wished it was possible to turn back time and found herself praying that Logan would be able to glue his parents' broken hearts back together eventually.

A/ N: Angsty Clay always shatters my shipper heart, enjoy everyone! xx