You Make It Real To Me

"You should go to bed," Clay suggested, smiling into his nearly empty beer bottle. "You know you sleep like a rock and you're too long for me to carry. This cannot end well."

Quinn frowned without opening her eyes. Even though it was July, the cardigan wrapped around her shoulders added to a feeling of content coziness. "You're mean," she mumbled. "You say I'm too long, and you say I lose things."

"But I also love you," Clay continued, stroking her arms when she folded them around herself. "And the truth is that without you, I'd be the one who is lost."

"Nice save." Quinn opened her eyes at last and smiled up at him. "Don't leave me alone in that bed too long, okay?"

"I could never. I'll be right behind you, sleepyhead." Carefully putting aside his beer, Clay nudged his girlfriend upright and instantly missed her solid weight across his lap. "You are a temptress, Quinn James. I'm even less comfortable over here without that pretty head on my knees. But that's the price to pay. If I have to carry you to bed, we'll both regret it soon enough."

"Wouldn't want that," sighed Quinn sleepily and made her way up to their bedroom. From his spot in the living room, Clay could just make out the bedroom light turn on in the distance, and then the bang of a gunshot tore through the peaceful night.

"Quinn!" The haze of relaxation gone in an instant; Clay ran up the stairs. He reached their bedroom just in time to see a flash of blonde hair whipping out of sight around the white curtains fluttering with the ocean breeze from the open window. But the sight just a few paces from the bedroom door seemed to suck all the air from the room. Quinn lay in a crumpled heap on the carpet, bright red blood oozing from her breast onto the grey carpet. "No, no, no…," Clay gasped, fumbling for his phone with one hand while trying to apply pressure to Quinn's chest with the other. Her chest was barely moving already, and when her breath stilled once and for all under his trembling palm, Clay felt as if his own airways closed, too.

Clay lurched upright with a gasp, terror stealing his breath as severely as being shot might have. He glanced urgently to his right, his fingers reaching for Quinn before he could stop himself. Breathing easier at the mere sight of her chest rising and falling steadily beneath the sheets, Clay stroked her hair in rhythmic motion, trying to still his racing heart. And worse, the tears still threatening just below the surface, brought on by the sheer panic of the nightmare.

"Clay?" Quinn's voice was thick with sleep, but the mere sound of it soothed his frayed nerves. The sheets rustled as his wife scrambled upright, gripping his hand firmly. "Baby? What happened?"

"Another nightmare," he whispered. "Bloody ridiculous, one would think I'm five years old or something."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Quinn sidled closer and pressed herself into his arms.

Clay stared at his wife with a tortured expression, torn between sharing his agony and adding to her pain. "It was weird," he began monotonously as if talking about someone else's story. "It was like an alternative version of the day Katie shot us. This time, you…you bled to death in my arms, and there was nothing I could do about it!"

"What?" Quinn stared at him, and Clay was sure he wasn't imagining her pallor at the confession. "Where did that come from?"

"I saw her," he admitted, and now Quinn physically flinched. "When I went to pick Logan up from school the other day. I don't know why she's back in town, but I guess seeing her unexpectedly messed with my head. I'm sorry, Q."

"Why are you sorry?" Quinn pressed, looping her arms around him. "We can't control what that woman does or where she goes. I guess it was naïve to expect she would stay locked up forever. All we can do is stay as far away from her as possible."

"I wasn't sure whether to tell you she's back," Clay confessed softly. "She's the reason you almost died once before. I won't ever let that happen again, okay? I promise you that! I don't know why she's back in Tree Hill, and I really don't care. I just need you to be safe, understand?"

"I'm fine, honey," Quinn promised, sealing the comforting words with a kiss. "I know it might not seem like it lately, but this family is all I need. She can't hurt us anymore; we're too strong for that now."

"It felt so real," he choked, pressing his lips to her exposed shoulder blade. Quinn reached for his trembling palms; even half-asleep, she could tell that this nightmare had just been the catalyst for a lot of things Clay had been refusing to let himself feel since their loss.

"I'll tell you what's real," she said firmly, squeezing his fingers tightly. "This. Us. Nothing else matters except the promise that we will get through this together!" Clay shuddered slightly when her hand pressed against his back and swiped furiously at his eyes before rushing to his feet. "Where are you going?" Quinn asked, and Clay could hear the dismay in her voice but didn't trust himself to speak. Still shaking, he crept across the landing to Logan's bedroom and perched on the edge of his son's bed.

The eight-year-old stirred almost as soon as Clay touched his covers. "Dad?" he said sleepily, sitting up and staring curiously at his father. "What are you doing?"

"Grown-ups have bad dreams too, sometimes," Clay mumbled, feeling more embarrassed by the minute. "I just wanted to watch you for a little while. Is that okay?"

"You really are a funny duck." His son smiled warmly and crawled onto Clay's knees, then twisted around to hug his father. "Better?"

"So much better," Clay sighed. "I don't know how I ever thought leaving you behind was a good solution to pain. I love you, buddy."

"I love you, too," Logan whispered. "Nana always says my hugs have healing powers. Are they working?"

"Your Nana is very smart. They're totally working. You're pretty good at the snuggling thing, you know."

"So I've been told." His son fell silent momentarily, as if debating his words, then finally said; "Is Mama Q okay with me again? I don't like seeing her so sad. Nana said she didn't really mean it when she said I'm not her son, but I can't get those words out of my head. What if, when you have babies someday, it happens again?"

"It won't," Clay vowed: "I know that much because in this family, we take words spoken down on the beach very seriously. Your mom apologized for what she said, and I know it can't erase how much it hurt…but it helps, right?"

"It does help," Logan admitted. "I guess I'm just scared of the next time."

"The only next time you need to be thinking about is the day you become a big brother someday. Any babies in this house will be your family, understand?"

"Jamie said something like that when I was freaking out about this baby," Logan admitted. "That someday I'd be a big brother just like he is to Lydia. She's so sweet; the idea was nice, even though I was worried about you not needing me anymore. I hope it happens someday."

"Rewind and freeze!" Clay demanded sternly. "Did you honestly just say I might not need you anymore someday? Kid, what will it take to get you to believe this? You are my first; nothing is ever going to change that. No amount of being sad could ever make me let you go again, ever!"

Logan offered him a watery smile, but before he could speak, the bedroom door creaking open made father and son look up in unison. A shaft of light from the hallway shone into the room, illuminating Quinn in the doorway. "Am I interrupting?" she asked tentatively.

"Hey, Mama Q," said Logan, sliding off Clay's lap and moving towards his mother. "We were just talking about you."

"I gathered as much," said Quinn faintly, meeting Clay's gaze. "Feeling better now?"

"Especially now that you're here," Clay told her, moving into the middle of the room and snaking a strong arm around her waist. "Everything is better, and everything is safe, right?"

"Karen was onto something with that one," his wife agreed, her eyes shining with emotion. She opened her mouth slowly, but Clay cut off the apology he could sense coming with a firm kiss.

"No more being sorry," he insisted, drawing Logan close with his free arm. "We're good, okay?"

"But I…," Quinn began, the protests trailing off when her son squeezed her fingers. "You really don't need me to grovel? Wolverine, I can't even explain what I was thinking, I..."

"Maybe I can," said Logan thoughtfully. "I'm not a baby anymore, and you really want that. We can't turn back the clock, or I'm pretty sure Dad would have by now." The eight-year-old glanced at his father, smiling faintly at Clay's awed expression. "I'm not a baby, but I need you, Mama Q. Is that enough for now?"

"Yes," Quinn choked, all she could say before her throat tightened with still more tears. "Ugh, not again!" She knelt and pried Logan from Clay's grasp. "I love you, Wolverine. If more babies aren't meant to be, I hope you never forget how lucky I feel to be your mom."

"You already kind of said that out on the beach," Logan reminded her. "You're not losing your memory, too, are you?"

"No, I just needed you to hear it again." Quinn stood up carefully, eyeing Clay in concern, when he swayed slightly. "Maybe we should all go back to bed? Some people had very disturbing dreams before this little midnight chat. How would you like to join us in our bed?"

"Really?" Logan beamed, grabbing Clay's hand as Quinn led the way back across the landing. "Come on, Dad! No more bad dreams, I promise."

"No more bad dreams," Clay echoed wearily, pulling back the covers so Logan could crawl into the middle of the bed. He glanced at Sara's picture, still on the headboard above the pillows, and finally fell asleep with his fingers tangled in Quinn's hair.

A few weeks later, Kevin arrived home to find Melissa standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling pot's contents slowly. "Well, this is a sight for sore eyes," he said, ignoring her start of surprise when his arms snaked around her waist. "It's about time you started cooking again; no concussion could take down the talent with food for good."

"We'll see how good it is," Melissa began distractedly, but when Kevin's lips brushed her neck, the rest of her sentence died on her lips. "Oh!"

"What's wrong?" Kevin demanded, spinning her around so abruptly that the wooden spoon in her hand clattered to the floor.

"Nothing," she said hastily; "the hot liquid just splashed me, that's all."

"You should be more careful," he chided, smirking at her. Suddenly, Melissa had no idea how she could ever have forgotten how abruptly hot and cold her husband's moods could be.

"That would be easier if you would get out of here and stop distracting me," she replied, forcing as much of a teasing tone as she could. "If it weren't for the stupid kid, this would be perfect…" her subconscious whispered Kevin's words as if freshly spoken, and on the lookout for it, Melissa could see the exact sentiment permanently in his dark eyes. "Give a girl some space, would you?" she managed, waving him away before the detective could pick up on her revelation. "Dinner's not going to make itself."

The minute Kevin left her alone, Melissa reached for her cell phone and frantically dialed Katie's number. Her sister had taken Bobby out of the house after school, presumably for a break from Kevin's perpetually dark moods. "Come on, come on, pick up!" she muttered. "I remember everything."

A/N Shoutout to my bestie, whose review spams are the main reason this story is still alive xx