Pizza With A Side Of Murder

by LittleGhostCat

Ruby Roxanne, a high school girl, applies for a job as a night guard at Freddy Fazbear's. Decent pay and free pizza - who could resist? Little did she know that the urban legends were true, and that this job would change her life. Mystery, drama, the occasional murder...just an average day for these animatronics. (now also available on ao3!)

117. Sanctified Inside

Last Clara and William chapter and ummmm this one is kind of insane. I don't know what happened to me. I think my fingers were possessed.

Also! I've finally finished editing the entire book on archive of our own! If you want to read a version of this book with ZERO plotholes typos or retconned events, go check it out!

Oh and check out my artfight! My username there is ghost_exe and I'm team seafoam!

Warning for domestic…? consensual? violence? They aren't together anymore so I guess just regular old violence. And it's consensual. So idk why I'm even putting a warning. How about let's call it violence charged with an uncomfortable energy ^-^

Anygays song is Sanctified by Nine Inch Nails! This whole album is awesome go listen to it. It's got swear words but if you've made it this far I'm assuming you don't care about that.

enjoy :3

Chapter 117

Sanctified Inside

Elizabeth was dead.

Evan was dead.

Charlie too, now, was dead.

William took another swig of coffee mixed with whatever alcohol was left in the cupboards and kicked his legs up on the couch. "We're the only ones left, Michael," he called, not expecting him to reply or even hear. A thought occurred to him. "Except for your mother."

There was a pang in his chest. Clara. God. Do I miss her?

He missed having one person who knew his secrets. Someone to joke with. He missed how warm she felt in his arms at night, the way she laughed a little too loud at his jokes and how she had to crane her neck up to look at him with her green doe eyes.

How she always did their laundry.

William spent all his time now on the couch. He relied on instant coffee, vodka, and children's melatonin gummies to regulate his emotions for him. But even chemicals couldn't mask the feelings of being pent-up, frustrated, and unloved. It would be nice to have someone to have again, who could hold him and keep his secrets.

And cook for him. And do his laundry.

It didn't have to be Clara. It could be anyone, he realized. He'd never really dipped his toe into the dating pool after the divorce, mostly because he was so hyper-fixated on his job. But now, with his youngest two kids dead, his work taken care of, and Michael out of school for the summer and crying in his room every day—or whatever he did—William had all the free time in the world on his hands to get a girlfriend for himself.

He got up, spilling coffee on his shirt a little. No matter. It was filthy anyways. God, he missed how Clara did his laundry. Green apple detergent, steaming hot water, spinning slowly in the wash cycle, soaking in wet white lather…

Was he fantasizing about laundry? Oh, this was crossing the line from sad to just plain pathetic. William needed to find a woman, and fast. Also he needed to change his clothes. And probably have a long, cold shower.

He went upstairs and put on a dusty purple button up under a black vest and matching tie. His black dress pants were fine enough. Brushing his hair, now past his shoulders, he felt his face and realized he should definitely shave. Stubble looked good on him, a full beard did not.

But when William went to his bathroom and flicked on the lights, he was met with a shock. A purple shock. The silver streaks in his hair, mostly the front layers and bangs, had turned a rich violet shade.

"The hell?" William mumbled as he ran his hands through his hair, but it just felt like regular, save for the grease in lieu of not washing it. Was this some sort of cosmic karma for what he did to Charlie, making him look like a rebellious teenager?

Then he saw the needles he'd stuck in his veins days prior in the trash can haphazardly covered with tissues, one labelled Red and the other one Blue. Of course. The Remnant serums must have changed his hair colour where it was lightest, mixing it to a lush purple.

It was garish, sure, but it added a touch of colour to his white skin, black hair, and grey eyes. He bared his shark-teeth at the reflection and chomped down, then chuckled a little. He looked in the mirror again and now he sort of liked what he saw.

Not the beard, though. The beard had to go.

~lll~

First, he went to a bar, ordering a drink for a cute blonde and chatting her up, before finding out he was at a lesbian bar and promptly getting kicked out.

Then he tried a park and through her excitable terrier, met a pink-haired girl a little short for his liking but was friendly enough and made small talk. Until her pissed-off jock boyfriend jogged up and slid an arm around her shoulder, glaring him down till William walked away.

Finally, he just went to work like always. After making the rounds at both the pizzeria and the underground where the engineers worked on new robots and repairs, William went back up and sat at an empty party table, watching the patrons.

There were a lot less than usual because of all the news reports on Charlie and his children and how they all died here. That was probably his fault.

His stomach yowled like a lion. Picking up the menu, he ordered a cheese and pepperoni pizza, extra large. He'd probably eat the whole thing. He was ravenous.

A waitress delivered his food soon after. "Here you go, sir."

William looked up to say thank-you. Then he was struck by how beautiful she was. He didn't recognize her, which was odd, so she must be new. The woman had espresso-coloured curls tied in a loose bun, with warm earthy skin and huge penny-brown eyes like a golden retriever. She wore a simple tight black tee and a bodycon black skirt that hugged her well endowed curves nicely, though he tried not to stare.

"Thanks," he managed, and took a slice of the hot pizza, flicking his attention to the playing kids to be polite.

She followed his gaze. "Which one's yours?" Her voice, rich and heavy on her tongue like chocolate, had the tang of an almost-buried accent he couldn't quite place.

"None of them." He paused. "I'm the owner of this place. William Afton?"

"Oh!" She bit her raspberry lip. "I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you. I'm Rhonda Eno, I was hired last week."

"Pleasure to meet you, Rhonda."

She smiled. "You can call me Ronnie if you like, Mr. Afton."

"I do like." He took her silky hand and shook it, lingering a little as he checked for a wedding ring. Luckily, none were there. And maybe he was being too bold but he honestly didn't care. If she was put off by his forwardness, then he could just find someone else. "When does your shift end, Ronnie?"

"Half an hour."

Too long. "How about now?"

"What?" She shifted her weight. "But Mr. Christian Lee will be angry with me. It's only my first week."

"If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with the boss. And I heard that the boss doesn't mind." He smirked as she hesitated, voice dipping low and sultry. "Come on, now. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be working so hard. You deserve to be treated well."

Ronnie hid her mouth with her hand, but he could tell she was flattered. "You certainly have a way with words, Mr. Afton."

"I get that a lot." William polished off his slice and handed her one. "Sit down." He didn't like when someone was taller than him, even if she was standing and he wasn't. It just felt unnatural, like if the sky was green or everyone spoke backwards.

Ronnie sat down, smoothing her skirt and taking a nibble of the pizza, then a larger bite. "This is delicious! I have never actually tried it before."

"I hardly eat the stuff anymore," he confessed. "Used to eat it all day every day back when I was starting this place up. Makes me sort of ill now."

"Then why did you order it today?"

I was starved enough to eat out of the rubbish bin. "Saw a cute waitress I wanted an excuse to talk to."

"Charmer," she giggled. "I'm surprised you don't have a lady of your own, Mr. Afton."

"I'm a very busy man," he decided on saying, "and the same goes for you. I'd think any man who caught a glimpse would be fawning all over."

Her smile faltered. "I used to have a boyfriend. A tall, strong man like yourself. He left me and our children for a younger woman three years ago."

"That's horrible," he said, trying to sound like he cared. "How old are your children now?"

"Nine, eight, and six." Ronnie pointed to a chubby boy with dark skin and squinty smiling-eyes colouring alone at a table. "That's Dalton, my oldest. He's a little shy, but popular with the teachers. He's a whiz at math. My daughters are at dance practice."

William nodded. "Cute kid. I have a son too, Michael. He's fourteen and thinks he knows everything."

"Do we ever really grow out of that?" Ronnie took out her scrunchie and shook her head, black ringlets cascading down her back like a waterfall. He watched, mesmerized. "So what happened with his mother?"

Loaded question. William furrowed his brow. Now that he was thinking about her, Ronnie looked an awful lot like Clara. Same plump, heart-shaped lips, same round face, same big Bambi eyes.

He loved those eyes. Maybe Ronnie's were brown instead of green, but he appreciated leaves both in spring and autumn equally. He loved how pretty they looked when they filled up with shiny crystal tears, when beads of blood perched on their lashes.

William shook himself when he saw she was staring. "Ah, my ex-wife was an alcoholic. Things escalated. Don't really want to talk about it."

"Of course." She glanced at him, looking a little nervous. "So, it's alright that I have kids, then?"

He mulled over that thought. It was a relief that her son over there was shy, he didn't need another Elizabeth. Maybe he would make a good Evan replacement. Of course, the daughters could be annoying, and he'd rather not deal with that.

Or he could just kill them.

Ronnie would be much easier to manage. Pliant and grieving and searching for comfort. William could offer that comfort.

She'd be bound to him, then, the man that helped her through her wave of depression. Maybe he hit her sometimes and was never around to help out with the kids, but in the fleeting moments they were together they were happy. He would understand her like nobody else, and perhaps to her that was worth the pain he put her through.

God, I love women.

"Mr. Afton?"

He snapped to attention. "Yes, darling, of course that's alright. I'm sure our children will get on great."

Ronnie beamed and finished her second slice. "Dalton always wanted a brother. Perhaps we should get together sometime for dinner."

"Perhaps we should." William took a pen out of his pocket and scrawled his phone number onto a napkin. "Call me whenever you like. I don't have much going on."

She took the paper. "I will," she grinned. "Now I've got to get to work, Mr. Afton, and I don't need you distracting me."

"I'm distracting, eh?" William hummed. "I should probably leave as well, then. We mustn't distract each other on the job."

"Very true. Bye, Mr. Afton." She gave him a little wave of the fingers and stood up, smoothing down her skirt.

Mirth swirled in his silver eyes. "Goodbye, Ronnie."

~lll~

He lay on the couch, dialled her cell number, and waited anxiously for her to pick up. He took another sip of black-coffee-and-bourbon. Maybe this was a terrible idea, calling her, drunk out of his mind half past midnight, driving himself crazy with his own thoughts.

She picked up. Finally, she picked up. "Hello?"

"It's me," he mumbled, voice slurred. "Mister Afton."

Quiet, then, "Why are you calling me?"

"Missed you. I can't sleep."

"You're not drinking that awful coffee thing, are you?" She sounded tired, but not angry. William took that as a good sign.

"Perchance."

"And you mix it with beer, right?"

"Bourbon."

"Sounds bitter."

"Mhm. 'S good."

"How much?"

"A lot."

He could hear her smile through the phone. "And you say I'm an alcoholic."

"I do say that." William laughed suddenly. Drunkenness numbed his face, so he stuck with a dopey grin. "Mind reader. You know the way I think. You know it more than me. I miss that."

She went quiet again. He pressed further. "Do you miss that too?"

Still, no response, just static.

"Clara." He shook the phone. "Come back. Wanna talk to you more."

"I think you should go."

Her voice was soft. William wanted to feel it on his lips. "No."

"William, you're drunk. It's late. I don't want you saying something you'll regret."

"Like what? Like that I'm still in love with you?"

She blew out a breath. "Exactly like that."

"Come over." He hastily shoved the pile of paper coffee cups under the table. "Please."

"You know I'm not going to do that," she murmured. "You and Michael need your rest."

"Don't care. Neither of us can sleep in the first place." He pressed his fist to his mouth. "I need you, Clar."

There was rustling on the other end, like papers being crumpled. "I said no, William. If you need to talk to someone, talk to Henry. You haven't even seen him since the funeral."

"Henry's boring now. He just cries all day like Michael."

"Henry's depressed. Both of them are. They've had—" she rushed on, "they've had too many people very close to them pass on in a short amount of time."

"But me 'n you aren't depressed. We're not boring. That's why we're meant to be together, darling, we understand each other."

Clara sucked in air. "I'm not doing this. I'm not falling for this again."

He frowned. "You're hurting me, Clary. You've wounded me."

"I have." He could hear her dry smile. "Check your shoulder."

William reached behind him, clumsily feeling over the scar where she'd stabbed him last year. Tingles shot down his arms all the way to his ankles. He shivered. "Come over and you can do that again."

"Well, with an offer like that," Clara retorted. She paused when he didn't respond. "I'm—I wasn't being serious."

"Damn." He wet his lips. A thought struck him. "Why don't I just come to your house?"

Silence. "Then I'd have to get a restraining order."

"Oh, don't be like that." William pouted. "Just wanna talk to you, s'all."

"I'm not even at my place, anyways."

"What? Where are you?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're not at some guy's flat, are you? I'll kill him."

"My knight in shining armour," she muttered. "No, you stalker, I'm at Henry's. He was really distraught, William, I think you need to talk to him. I thought he was going to commit suicide, it was that bad."

Suicide? It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. "No. What? Not Henry." He sat up straight, sending his drink sloshing all over his shirt and staining it brown. He didn't care. "Because of Charlie?"

"Obviously."

"Shit." William ran a hand through his purple-streaked hair. "I didn't know it was that—God."

"I told you. Really, Will, if you want to talk with someone, go to him. You two are like brothers. He understands you, not me."

"Fine." He glanced at the floor. "I still wanna see you."

"Maybe." She hesitated. "Try to be empathetic, please."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied distractedly, scrubbing at the shirt stain with his fist.

"Are you taking your pills?"

"Ugh, woman, do you ever shut up about that?"

"That's not an answer." Clara's voice was hard. "You have a son, William, and it's your responsibility to take care of yourself for him. I don't want him being one of those kids with screwed-up parents that ends up screwed-up too."

He stood up. "Whoa." The room spun around him, all streaky. Maybe he'd drank a little more than intended, but usually he wasn't such a lightweight. He probably needed to eat more instead of sleeping through the day. He headed for his room to find a different shirt.

"He killed his brother, I'm not sure we can help that," William continued, rifling through his closet. "And his genetic chances aren't great either. You know, I've heard his daddy's a little fucked in the head."

Clara gave a surprised laugh. "That's saying something."

"Mm. Thing is, a lot of ladies fancy him, even knowing that," William hummed. "Perhaps they're even more messed up than he is."

"Better looking too."

His eyes lidded as he smirked. "You've got me there." He selected a gray button-up, undoing the buttons on his shirt and sliding it off, revealing scarred, pale, skin. William used to be toned from all the ironwork, but he'd barely moved in days and it was starting to show. "I'm shirtless, by the way."

"Did not need to know that," she replied.

He sighed, begrudgingly buttoning his shirt. "Putting it back on. You missed your chance."

"Uh-huh." Clara did not seem impressed. "Go to Henry's."

"I am, I am. So you said maybe to me coming to your flat, right? Is it maybe yes or maybe no?"

"Maybe maybe."

"Maybe yes, then?"

"What? No, I said—"

"Okaythanksbyeeee!" He stabbed the off button with his finger.

~lll~

So, he'd talked to Henry. Over the phone, anyway, he wasn't going to trek through the woods at the dead of night just to see him in person.

William certainly wasn't the best at reading others emotions, but he hoped his friend was feeling better. Or at least, not going to off himself like a drama queen.

While he did go to Clara's flat, her door was locked and she never opened it no matter how much he called her name. He kept knocking and calling until sleep-deprived people came outside to shout expletives at him and he got led to his car by security. He would've gone through a window, but she was on the fourth floor. Maybe he was a giant, but he wasn't a Jack and the Beanstalk giant.

William adjusted his collar and with a careful sniff, splashed a little cologne on his neck. He looked more put-together than yesterday. The stubble dotting his lower face looked more attractively rugged rather than homeless-man-chic, his hair was washed and styled and his clothes were clean and fresh since he'd paid a woman at a laundromat to do it for him.

The woman was pretty, and he was getting sort of desperate, but she was tiny and shapeless with pin-straight hair cut above her ears. Call him shallow, but William had a strict type when it came to looks. Curls and curves were simply more fun.

Now, all he needed was a tie, and unfortunately he had misplaced his favourite purple tie. He'd do black, but it wouldn't bring out the newly sprung violet in his hair.

Instead, he barged into Michael's room. It smelled like sick and artificial flavouring. "I need a tie."

There was a crunching sound of gummiless gummy packages as Michael rolled over on his bed. An empty Dr. Pepper can fell onto the floor. "Father?"

"The one and only."

"What're you doing in here?" His voice was scratchy and slurred, both from disuse and sleep. It reminded him of Clara during a hangover. Maybe Michael inherited that from her.

"Someone's got a whole pond of frogs in his throat!" William said jovially. Turning on the lights, he wrinkled his nose at the hoards of rotten food and trash that covered the room. "This is horrid. When was the last time you cleaned?"

Michael made a sort of animalistic grumbling sound and tugged his blanket further over his head.

"Where's your tie?" William rummaged through his closet, though most of the clothes were on the floor. "The purple one that you wore to Evan's funeral?"

Michael made the noise again.

"God. You need to clean this up." He picked up a slimy black banana peel—or at least he hoped it was—and flung it at his son.

"Father!" Michael clawed at his face and tossed it off, looking at him with accusing, swollen eyes. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Language."

Michael spewed a river of curses until William cut him off. "Shut it, you failed abortion. If you hate me so much, tell me where the tie is and I'll be out of your hair."

His son made the noise one final time before submitting. "Think it's under the radio. Why do you even want it?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I have a date," William trilled and tied it around his neck. He was treating Ronnie to an expensive restaurant for their first outing, and he couldn't wait to see her all dressed up.

"A date?" Michael scoffed. "Was she held at gunpoint?"

"On the contrary, it's all a part of my charm. You should think of cleaning yourself up and getting a lovely young girl. I've surely passed the luck down to you."

"Yeah, 'cause you've had such great luck with girls."

"Silly boy." He admired himself in the mirror. "Well, I'm off. Consider tidying."

"Uh-huh." Michael grabbed a packet of gummy snacks from a family-sized box and tore the top off with his teeth. William felt a small pang of satisfaction. He'd taught him that.

It flew away when Michael quipped, "Nice hair."

~lll~

"Michael!" William called. "Your mother is waiting for you, don't be rude!"

There was a creaking sound of bedsprings, followed by a crumpled soda can being thrown at his face.

"Fine. You want to make your bed, rot in it." William shut his door and locked it tight. For some reason, their house only had locks on the outside of the handles. Not that he was complaining.

Taking the stairs down two at a time, he rolled his eyes at Clara. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Which is ironic since he never leaves it. That's just like what Evan used to do. Which is ironic since Michael kille—"

"Will!" She frowned. "Have more tact."

"At least my capricious loquaciousness mitigates the vitriolic tension to juxtapose your mellifluous detritus."

"What?"

"Sorry. Me talk funny and make happy and you talk boring yawny dirt and make sleepy."

She just stared at him.

"And in other words, Michael's not coming." William shrugged. "More picnic food for me."

Her lips became a thin line as she got up from the couch, grabbing her keys. "Well, what can you do. I just feel so guilty. He hasn't left since Evan…?"

"No. And I tried so hard, believe me."

Clara gave him an unamused look as she headed out the door, pulling the hood of her raincoat over her curly ponytail. It was oddly cloudy out for early August. "Right. So you still want to have a picnic, just us?"

William shrugged. "Yes. But up to you."

Clara thought it over. "Why not. Just don't make it…weird."

Depending on how she defined weird, William could agree to that. "Cross my heart."

She pursed her lips. "And what's with your hair? Is purple really your colour?"

His lips pulled back in a wide, beaming smirk. "Oh, you like it? It's all natural."

"Sure, sure." Circling him, her combat boots clomped on the cobblestone.

She always wore the hiking ones with the thick heel when she came to visit him. He suspected it was half a height boost, half to improve her chances of running away. "You look like—what's it called—one of those scene kids?"

"Is that a good thing?" A shake of her head. "Well, my date last night thought the contrary."

"You went on a date?!"

He threw up his hands. "Why must everyone act so surprised to hear this?"

Her jaw dropped loosely before a massive grin overtook her face. "Wittle Willy-pilly's got a girlfriend?!"

"I will cut you."

"No, thank you. Sooo, what's she like?"

"She's a paediatrician, she's very pretty, and oh, she's not my girlfriend."

"Aw, poor baby got dumped." Clara patted his shoulder. He fought the urge to rip her arm off. "Now c'mon, the egg salad sandwiches are going bad."

The pair loaded into the car. Rain was drizzling down from the grey sky and collecting in beads on the windows. Clara drove down the glossy wet road and along the shops where people in colourful slickers carried umbrellas.

"So your non-girlfriend, why'd she ditch you?"

"She didn't ditch me, I ditched her. Wasn't my type."

"Really? Do you have a picture of her?"

"Sure," he scrolled around on his phone till he found her Facebook and showed her a picture of Ronnie and her three kids smiling on the edge of a mountain cliff.

"You went out with that and rejected her?! What the heck's wrong with you?!" Clara exclaimed. "She's totally gorgeous! How could you let her go?"

"Uh," he raked his mind for an answer, "...the kids?"

"Oh." Her expression changed to one of sympathy. "Yeah. Okay."

The truth was, while his usual restaurant order was delicious—steak, medium rare, with garlic butter on top and a side order of sweet potato fries—the whole date with Ronnie he couldn't stop thinking about Clara. The two women were scarily similar. They both shared impressive heights, long curly hair, and big shiny eyes. Their personalities were similar too, soft-spoken and gentle when he first met them, but fierce and charmingly funny after they talked for a while. He'd left the date with a vague "call you later," thrown over his shoulder. Maybe Ronnie could be a backup.

Clara continued. "I thought you were gonna say it was because of her looks, and I was gonna be offended. You've sure got a type, 'cause she looks a lot like me."

"No way," William lied. "She's way hotter."

"True. She's like a supermodel."

"Eh, too fat."

"William!" Clara shoved him with surprising force. "Don't let me hear you say that about a woman ever again."

"What? I'm right. Supermodels look like Twizzlers in high heels. Not like Ronnie. Or you." He poked her thigh playfully.

"Did you just call me—?" Clara cut herself off. "Ugh. Men. Me and her have the same figure, you know," she pointed out, sounding a bit sad. "Women don't typically like it when you call them fat."

"Don't be daft. You're not fat, you have fat. That's like saying you're toenail because you have toenails." William rolled his eyes. "It's not a bad thing, Clar. I happen to fancy your body quite a bit."

"Well I'm aware of that," she said sardonically. "You're not very subtle when you stare."

William frowned. "Don't make me sound like a creep. How do you know I'm not staring at your voluptuous personality?"

She tapped her forehead. "Because my voluptuous personality is up here."

"Well, I admire the whole package," he defended, adjusting in the car seat to get more comfortable.

Clara changed the subject. "So you went to Henry's last night, right? After I left?"

"Yeah." William moved his arm to rest on the windowsill. "He was crying like a baby."

"Gosh, I wonder why." She turned down a sparsely populated road, this one more beaten from neglect. Lavender-bark pine lined either side, carpeted with bushes and bracken. The sound of crashing waves sent mist curling through the trees.

"I didn't cry when Elizabeth died," William muttered.

Clara's eyes glistened at the mention of the corpse she'd once called her daughter, but she shrugged it off. "You and Henry have different ways of coping."

Resting his cheek against the window and letting the scenery turn into a big green blur, he chose not to respond.

After a while, he fell asleep. Until Clara shoved him. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, we're here."

He blinked his drooping eyelids open and yawned, stretching out his arms and back like a cat. "I had the most amazing dream…how long was I out?"

"Fifteen seconds."

"...Oh."

They unpacked the baskets and blankets from the trunk and started to head through the woods, practically swimming in bushes and brambles.

"Where are we going?" William grumbled, almost tripping over a log clinging with mushrooms. "Are you trying to lure me out and serial kill me?"

"Tempting idea, but no. It's my secret place. I found it when my preschool class went here on a field trip. Katy and I used to sneak out here all the time in high school and like, smoke, or whatever."

"Naughty girl."

"Shut up, it was mostly Katy anyway. I still go there by myself sometimes, to be alone with my thoughts."

"You hike through thorns for thirty minutes to sit in the middle of a forest and think?" William scoffed. "Sounds weird."

"You're weird," she snapped quickly and leaped over a puddle he accidentally ran right through, soaking his shoes. "And I don't expect you to understand."

He noticed how expertly she dodged sudden dips in the dirt, skipping over thick patches of thistle and weaved around trees instinctively, without even thinking about it. She must really come here a lot.

Finally they reached a clearing, where the trees broke into the dome of grey sky. Smooth slabs of black rock dipped into a shallow stream. The lazy current lined with ferns carried upstream a ways before crashing down into the gloomy ocean bay below.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Clara came up to stand beside him. She smelled of maple and spice, like a sweet tree ready to be tapped of its syrup.

He shrugged, clearing his mind of her lovely scent. "Suppose. I'm starved. What did you bring?"

Clara, who was already spreading the red tartan blanket out, shook her head. "Always thinking with your stomach. It's in the basket you were carrying."

William opened the wicker to reveal creamy egg salad sandwiches on wholemeal bread, homemade granola bars hearty with nuts and raisins, and twin thermoses of coffee (made just how he liked it, surprisingly) hot to the touch. He unwrapped a sandwich and tossed one to Clara, and they chewed in a comfortable silence.

He mimicked the way she ate, nibbling the crusts away first before diving into the soft middle. Eating was human. He hoped it made her see him as less of a hellborne demon, feel closer to him.

The air was thick with fog and the wind smelled of salt and sea. William was warm. "Do you want to go in the water?"

"Excuse me?" Clara stared at him as if he'd grown two heads. "In this weather?"

"Don't be such a baby. I'm quite sweaty, as a matter of fact."

Now she was staring at him like the extra heads had begun trying to swallow the other. "The water is twenty degrees."

"What's that in normal temperature?"

"Uh, you're Celsius…you subtract…oh, you know I'm awful at math. It's below freezing, Will, and I'm not in the mood to catch pneumonia."

"Tempting as it is, I'm not saying we have to go skinny dipping." He rolled his eyes. "We could just wade a little. The water's only up to our knees."

"Your knees, maybe," she muttered, but she was chastised. "Why not."

William wasn't squeamish. He walked right into the icy water, shoes, pants and all, letting its silk wind around his legs. Clara unlaced her boots and socks and dipped a careful toe in. Then she trudged a little deeper, hugging her knitted fairy-green cardigan tight around her. She was only wearing that, transparent white tights, and a white ruffled linen dress that stopped mid-thigh. The cut on the neckline was low, revealing fat white pearls that he'd given her a long time ago for their first anniversary. She should've dressed warmer. Her feet were all muddy.

Without warning, William pushed her into the bubbling brook. She crashed onto the carpet of water and to the sharp pebbles, sending a splash that soaked his pants. He dropped to his knees, laughing like a maniac.

Clara broke the surface and sat up, soaked and sputtering. "What the hell, William?! I just washed this dress!"

"And now you're washing it again." His silver eyes danced with a lupine fervour.

Clara scowled at him. "Freak. You are so paying for my dry cleaning bill."

He crawled closer. She glanced up at him with a wary expression. Droplets of water dripped off her curly bangs and slid down her face. Her clothes were wet, she was cold and scared and so, so beautiful.

Sometimes he wanted to do terrible things to her. This was not one of those times. There was mud on her lips that she didn't see, and it looked like chocolate.

When they were fifteen, they'd spent Halloween passing out candies to eager trick-or-treaters at Clara's house. She was swathed in icy blue as Cinderella, he was a pirate clothed in rags. She spoke of her love for Caramilks, but her parents hadn't bought any that year and they settled for chewy Mars that stuck in their teeth and rubbed melted candy all over their faces.

William could feed her Caramilks now, spend every last penny on the sweets. He would let her lick the chocolate from his fingers if he could lick the flesh from her bones.

"Stop staring," Clara said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "You're freaking me out."

"You have mud on your lips."

"Oh, crap." She rubbed them with her wet sleeve. The mud didn't come off.

"Here, let me get it." He leaned forward and rubbed his thumb against her pink lower lip, parted slightly. He could feel her breath on his skin. It set his nerves alight like a fuse travelling along a firecracker.

Clara jerked away suddenly. "Please don't kiss me."

"You're a narcissistic little thing, aren't you?" William smirked, dropping his hand back to his side. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Oh, get real." Clara snapped, with a sudden anger. "I think that's all you've been dreaming about. You've called me at least thirteen times in the past few weeks, all flirty and drunk, begging and pleading with me for it. It's pathetic. Are you seriously that desperate?"

"No, and I have not," William half-lied. "I didn't call a couple Mondays ago, anyway."

The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. Why why why did he have to bring up that Monday night, that terrible glorious misty Monday night where rainwater and the blood of a three-year-old daughter pooled under trash cans in the Fredbear's alleyway, and silver-blue immortality had soaked his skin to the bone.

"That's true." Something changed in Clara's expression, something he didn't like. He shouldn't have said that. "Want to tell me why?"

He shouldn't have said that he shouldn't have said that he shouldn't have said that. "Because I'm not obsessive and I have a life?"

"We both know that's not true."

William shrugged. "Fair enough. Then I was probably at the pizzeria."

"At night?"

"Maybe. Henry and I stay there late, you know that."

"I do know that. He's, like, your freaking work wife." She shook herself. "So was that all? Just, hanging out after hours?"

"Yep," he popped the P, I shouldn't have said that, "just two guys, chattin' it up."

"Chatting, right." She took in a breath. "Was that before, or after you killed Charlie?"

He really really really shouldn't have said that.

"Oh." He cocked his head to the side, calculating. Well, no point in lying now. "Mm. After."

"Right." She cast her gaze off to the distance, remarkably composed for someone who'd just learned his truth. "Really cold in this water, isn't it?"

"Sure is. Clara?"

"Yeah?"

He tilted his head earnestly. "Did you divorce me because I'm a murderer, or because I hit you?"

She laughed, fake and tinny. "Neither."

"Oh?"

"I divorced you because I couldn't kill you."

"Ah." That was more like it. "You were serious about that, then."

"'Course I was," she told him as she swirled her fingers through the water. With her wet white dress clinging to her frame and the cardigan like moss, she looked like a water nymph. "But it didn't work, and here we are."

"Want to try again?"

"Um. What?"

"You heard me."

"Are you kidding?" Clara bit her lip. "No, thank you. It didn't go so well last time."

"I'll give you a head start," he offered, generously.

She eyed him suspiciously. "How long?"

"A minute."

"How about five minutes."

"No."

"Four."

"One-twenty."

"Three-thirty."

"Two-twenty and that's as far as I'll go. Remember I'm the one allowing you to do this."

She thought this over. "Fine. But you can't move, promise?"

Resting his forearms on his extended knees, he offered her a smirk. "Limp as a ragdoll, sugar."

Clara rose like Aphrodite from the seafoam, her dress heavy with water. Looking up at her instead of down was strange. There were beads of water on her eyelashes. "Why do I feel like this is a trick?"

William didn't respond. He only smiled.

And with that, she was off, bounding through the trees like a doe chased by a wolf. All he could do now was wait.

Is she really going to go through with it? William knew she'd had the guts back when they were still married, but that was when she had something to fight for. Now they were divorced and her children were dead. She was free. Why risk it all to kill him now?

All of a sudden his wonderings were answered when he felt something huge and heavy come down on his head. Pain bloomed in his skull as he crashed down in the freezing water, and his vision swam in blurry, confusing greys. A heaviness sat on his lap. He couldn't see, but his body remembered the feeling of Clara's thighs around his waist.

She was surprisingly strong, holding him in place with an arm on his neck. Her voice was muddled by the water, but he could hear her talking. His lungs screamed for air. Maybe she really could kill him. Bubbles roared from his mouth as he fought for breath, but it was half-hearted.

How long had it been now? A minute? The deal forced him to lay limp.

Drowning was supposed to be a peaceful death, according to rumour. To William, those rumours could go blow a bullet through their skull because there was nothing peaceful about it. Fire exploded from his chest. Was she still talking?

After a while, the arm released. William had been counting the seconds in his head. About ten minutes had passed, and the average person being caught by surprise couldn't have lasted even half that.

When he rose from the water Clara was still sitting on his lap, ashen-faced. And screaming.

When she'd collected herself, she was even paler than before.

"How in God's name did you survive?! You were down there for eleven minutes! Even trained professionals can't do that!"

His lips twitched as if trying to smile. "Was I? How queer."

Clara let out an animalistic growl of frustration. "I don't understand you! Did you know I was going to do that or something?"

"Or something."

"Don't be a bitch, William." Her voice was hard. "I'm serious."

He kind of liked when she swore. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Yeah? Try me."

"Okay." He spread his arms. "I'm immortal."

Clara paused, then barked a laugh. "Sure! And while we're lying, I have a magic flying pony and a bazillion dollars!"

"Knew you wouldn't believe me."

Suddenly, Clara knocked him down with a swift elbow to the chest, sending him crashing back into the water. She straddled him both sides and caged him down with her arms, pinning him against the pebbles. Her expression was venomous, violent. This, he'd always liked.

William glanced to the side subtly to see if there was a way to escape. No luck. He met her eyes. "Hey, pretty thing. Haven't we been in this position before?"

Her lip curled in disgust. "Shut up. I don't think you understand how serious I am right now. You can joke all you want, but the bottom line is you cheated and I get to try and kill you again."

"I'm sorry if you don't believe me, Clary, but there's really no other explanation I can give you. I'm an honest man. If I say I'm immortal, you should take my word for it."

"Oh yeah?" She searched his face, testing him. "Prove it."

"Fine." He surveyed around the riverbend. "You don't happen to have a knife on you, eh?" She raised her eyebrows, and he sighed. "Right."

Soon, he'd managed to fashion up a spear by whittling a thick stick into a point against a rock. They both didn't say anything for a moment.

"Well, no time like the present." William thrust it hard into his gut and pulled it out with a grunt.

Clara's eyes widened as blood began to spurt and mix with the crystal water. "Holy crap, William."

"So how much blood do I—" he was broken off by a wave of dizziness as his head grew cloudy, and had to steady himself, "—have to lose before you believe me?"

"I hardly believe you," she snapped as the rushing water carried the dark red downstream, "I believe you're totally crazy, as a matter of fact! Why on earth did you do that?!"

"To prove that I'm immortal and—bloody hell, this hurts." He pressed a hand to his forehead, sucking in air through his teeth. "Clar, be a doll and fetch me the, the candy bar in the picnic basket. Now, please!"

"O-kay…?" She crawled off him, walked over to the riverbank and rummaged around in the basket, pulling out a Snickers, unwrapping it, and tossing it to him. It fell in the water and got all soggy and gross but he ate it in two quick bites like he was famished. He wasn't entirely sure if the sugar would help, but it couldn't hurt any more than this.

"You've got chocolate all over your mouth," Clara mumbled, still transfixed by the blood pouring from his stomach.

"Lick it off for me."

"Ew! William!"

"Sorry. I'm not—" he coughed, "—not in my right mind at the moment, believe it or not."

"Uh-huh." She did not sound like she believed him. Speaking of which.

"Do you believe I'm immortal now?"

"No, you're in shock and going to die soon if we don't get you to a hospital! Did you take your pills today, William?" She asked, cautiously.

Hysteria was starting to set in, and he attempted an American accent. "Did you take yer pills today William? That's you, that's what you sound like. I did, actually, I did take them today, and the day before, and the day I strangled my best friend's cute little daughter to death and lied to his face about it! So it's starting to sound like they do bloody well nothing for my empathy, Clara!"

Clara shook her head, biting her lip. "Don't do this. I shouldn't have tried to kill you, okay? It was rash of me. We need to think about Michael. I can't have full custody of him if you die, I'm not allowed. Let's just get you to a hospital, they'll patch you up and you'll get all better. Or else you'll die. You will die." She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him.

Laughter, wild, panicked laughter bubbled up from his chest. "No, no, I'm my own personal hospital! I'll patch myself up!" He punched the water with his fist, frustration suddenly crashing into him. "Why can't I prove this to you already? Do I need to try my wrists or something?"

"You can't hurt yourself. I've got the stick." She held it up, suddenly looking uncertain.

"You forget what I can do with my teeth, sweetheart." He flashed a grin at her, baring the points yellowed by coffee and neglect. "Do I still have that charming smile you told me about? How drunk would you have to be for us to work again?"

"I don't drink." Her voice shook.

"Right. Well, then." He opened his mouth, lunging for the veiny white flesh of his arm.

"Stop!" Clara cried, climbing back onto his lap. She grabbed at the hem of his shirt and lifted it up.

"Frisky, are we?" He murmured hazily. The pain was starting to subside.

She barely heard him, poking his stomach. "Look, look at your wound!"

William glanced down. In place of the gaping hole was a small line a few shades darker than his skin.

"You're healed!" Clara marvelled.

"Huh. Would you look at that." A thought came to him. "Does this mean you believe I'm immortal?"

"I…I guess so."

"Thank God." He let his head fall back. "Because contrary to popular belief, impaling yourself with a dirty stick is not a pleasant experience."

"But I don't understand," she whispered. "How is this possible?"

"You'd be surprised at the kinds of things a human soul can do for you. It's a wonder more people don't take murder for a spin."

She straightened. "Charlie? Did…did killing her make you immortal?" Awe was mixed with disgust, a strange combination. "How does that even work?"

"Mm, children's souls are better for this stuff. More pure."

She gagged suddenly, hunching over. "Don't say that, don't say that, oh God."

He shrugged. "You asked."

"I wish I didn't." Clara's shoulders shook, and she brought a hand to her mouth as tears began to slide down her cheeks. "I trusted you. I had children with you. How stupid am I?" She let in air like she needed to remember to breathe. "You're going to live forever."

"Forever and ever, sweetheart."

With that, something in her seemed to break, and she collapsed heavy against him and began to sob. Instincts took over and he cradled her closer, running a giant hand up and down her upper arm. "Sh-sh-shh, it's okay. Please don't cry."

Her breaths became erratic as she choked on her sobs. "Hey, look at me." He took her chin, gentle, and tilted her face up to him. She tried to squirm away but he held her tight. Without thinking, William drew in and kissed away her tears. They tasted salty on his lips.

"Stop," she gasped. "Stop it, God, I hate you."

"I know you do, darling," he murmured, holding her tight, "Just focus on breathing. There we are, just like that. Doing so good."

William and Clara used to do this with Michael when he was little and panicking. It seemed to be working on her, since her breaths slowed and her cries went faint.

She shivered against him, and he sighed. "Poor thing. You're freezing."

"You wasted my life," she whispered.

"Hm?" He let her take a moment to catch her breath before she continued, words spilling from her lips like waterfalls.

"You were the only one I ever got to love. Since I was thirteen I was stuck on you, all my friends would have new boyfriends every week and there I was fantasising about just one guy. I thought once I started college and switched towns I'd move on, but then the night after graduation we hooked up and it all changed." She sniffled. "I was pregnant right out of high school, for heaven's sake, and from that point on I couldn't just move on, we had a child together.

"You were my first kiss, first boyfriend, first everything. Only everything. Still are. But I thought okay, why not settle down? He's smart, he's attractive, you've loved him since middle school—maybe this is my soulmate! And then we had more kids and a house and a sensible car and by that time we were thirty and everyone was pairing up and settling down. I was proud that we'd gotten a head start. But I was wrong.

"Because I'd placed…my eggs in one basket, and then they all cracked because it turns out you're a bloodlust-crazy psychopath who was just using me as an emotional dumping ground the whole time, and took it out physically when I wanted to object. And if I tried to hint at it to my friends, they'd just be all 'Oh, your handsome filthy-rich husband tells you about his feelings and possessive and jealous because he wants you alllll to himself, poor you.'

"It was all sexy and glittery and romantic to an outsider, and that's how you made it sound too, 'cause if I started crying you'd call me darling and make everything seem like a fairytale. But no matter how much you flattered me I woke up with the same bruises on my skin and my eyelids all puffy and there was a man buried six feet underground with a splintered neck and your name on his tongue.

"And now everyone's fading away. Elizabeth, Evan, and Charlie are…are gone. Michael hasn't left his room in months. Katy moved when it started going down. Henry's on death's doorstep. And us? We've been sitting in the middle of a goddamn river covered in blood and dirt trying to kill each other for the past hour. We're the worst of them by a long shot, sure, but us and Henry and Katy are all just big screw-ups. We peaked when we were eighteen, and that's not something to be proud of.

"Because I can't go back." Her shoulders shook. Was she going to panic again? "I don't get a do-over. I'm nearing forty and probably can't have any more children. I'm trapped in this tiny boring town in the middle of nowhere and any man who'd be interested in me would be interested in the wrong things. I messed up, William, I chose wrong, a-and now I'm stuck with it forever. Immortally."

William stared off into the trees. "Why fight it?"

Clara looked up at him for the first time. Fear, unsurprisingly, was written all over her face. "W-what?"

"If you're stuck with it, why not make it a good thing?" His voice took on a more urgent note as he started to tighten his grip on her body unintentionally. "Join me. We can live forever, together."

"Stop, you're hurting me." She wriggled around, but he didn't loosen his grip.

"Don't change the subject when I'm talking to you," he hissed suddenly, raising his hand in a warning. When he saw her eyes glisten in fear, he smiled, softer, and instead playfully tugged on one of her curls. "It's brilliant, right? We'd be young forever. You'd get a million do-overs, because you have all the opportunity with no risk. It's such a rush. You can drink and drink and never get hungover, I know how much you'd like that."

"No," her eyes were wide and glassy, "no. I won't have you kill another person for me. I won't."

"That's the beauty of it, I don't need to. I've got immortality coursing through my blood. All you have to do is drink a little, you're good at that."

"Like—" A startled laugh escaped her. She was starting to look a little hysteric. He didn't mind, it only made her prettier. "I'm sorry, you want me to drink your blood? Like a vampire?!"

"If that pleases you." He shrugged. "You can cut wherever, I don't mind. Really you only need a small amount."

Clara folded her arms together, shaking her head. "This is insane. You are insane."

"I thought we just went over that in your little monologue. Are you going to bite me or what?"

Her gaze flitted around the clearing as she thought over her decision. And it was certainly a big choice. Eternal life, or inescapable death? Then she smiled, almost cunningly, and nodded. "Why not."

William's gaze darkened. "Right choice," he murmured, voice husky. He took one of the curls framing her lovely face and wound it around his finger. "Good girl."

"Hey, none of that." Clara slapped his hand away. "Remember when I told you not to make it weird? No flirting. No touching."

He smirked, leaning back and resting his weight on his hands. "Couldn't resist."

"You're in a real mood today, aren't you," she sighed as she scanned his body. "Where should I cut?"

"Anywhere there's a vein. You could do my inner arm, maybe. Or my neck if you want to be classy."

"I think we're way past being classy," she muttered dryly. Positioning herself so she was facing his front, thighs kneeling either side of him, she was suddenly shy. She looked up at him through her lashes, and he was practically biting at the chain trying not to make it weird. "And you're totally sure this is safe?"

"I turned out fine, didn't I?"

"Oh, so there's an impact on the brain. Gotcha."

"Humorous." He glanced away. "If this is any consolation, you might not have to worry about your son succumbing to the same fate as his siblings…"

Her eyes grew wide with horror. "You tested it on Michael?!"

"Let's just say I made sure it's safe to use."

"William! That's our last kid!"

"So-rry. I didn't think you'd be so naggy about it."

"Obviously I'm naggy, you're sticking random magical chemicals in his body! Did you have to kill someone else? And what if he died?"

"First of all, don't worry about it, and secondly, I'd figure it out."

"Ugh!" Her shoulders slumped. "Whatever, I guess we'll deal with that later. So you want me to do your neck?"

William lifted his head to give her a better angle of his throat. "Oh, brilliant. Very—what did you call it? Sexy and glittery and romantic?"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Brushing her fingers across his Adam's apple, she searched for a good spot. "Where exactly should I try?"

"The carotid artery, right here." He tapped the side of his neck. "Do be careful, there's a lot of blood up here. I'd rather not be whiter than I already am."

Clara giggled nervously. "So do I like…bite you? I'm not like you, I don't think my teeth are sharp enough to pierce."

"Try your earring," he offered.

"Not very sanitary." She fiddled with the clasp of her gold hoop, unhooking it from her lobe.

"Neither was a muddy stick, but here we are."

"Okay. One…two…" She pierced it into his neck.

William's eyes flew open, his body turning to lava. "Bloody hell Clara, who goes on two!?"

The second she pulled it back out he felt something hot and wet run down the collar of his shirt.

"Oh, shoot!" Clara hissed. "It's like…spraying blood!"

"I told you it would be a lot! Now hurry, I've already lost gallons today."

"Gross gross gross," she muttered, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Ugh, I hate this."

"And I hate being stabbed in the neck and bleeding out! Don't be so squeamish, it's this or I kill someone. You want that? Want me to strangle another one?"

"Rrgh. Fi-i-ine." Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his neck and began to drink, warm and wet.

William's eyes fluttered shut. The feeling was oddly soothing. How funny that it felt like a kiss.

Clara raised her head, though he couldn't see her with his head leaned back. "Is that good?"

"More. I want to be sure you get it into your system."

"This sucks," she sighed, then he could hear the grin that followed. "Ha-ha, pun not intended."

She drank some more, making him feel all fuzzy, like being wrapped in blankets of fluff and feathers and candyfloss. "There you go," he mumbled, seeming a bit out of it. "Good…er, good job."

Finally, she sat back up. "I think it healed over, was that enough?"

William leaned his neck back down. Everything was too hot. He felt like he was going to pass out. The room spun around him. "Hah. Yes. Pity, you were quite good at that. Have you ever considered a career in acupuncture?"

His blood, strawberry jam, stained her mouth like lipstick, and trickled down her collarbones onto her white dress. She'd never looked prettier. "Very funny," she mumbled. Her voice was hoarse. Her hair was mussed. Did he mention she was covered in his blood?

And now William was about one stray touch away from making it weird. Clara noticed the look in his eyes and slid off his lap, giggling nervously. "I think you were a little too into that."

"Mm. How observant you are." He cleared his throat, staring at a nearby tree instead, and tried to refocus his vision. "So? Feel any different?"

"Umm." Her green gaze flitted around the clearing, taking in the sights with a new lense. "Kinda. I guess. The corners of my vision are all wiggly."

"Huh. Anything else?"

She smacked her lips like she'd just eaten something delicious. "I sort of taste lemons?"

"Did you eat lemons?"

"No, all I've had today were our granola bars and egg sandwiches."

"That's odd. I don't remember tasting anything when I became immortal."

"Maybe it's different for women. See, it's getting stronger now. I can really taste it, it's like…sharp."

"Sharp?"

She twitched suddenly. He would've thought it was just a nervous tic if it hadn't affected her whole body. Odd. "Mhm, and I'm really energetic. Like I feel like I could swim the whole ocean."

"Rea-lly." William was starting to become disinterested. This just sounded like she was listing every regular emotion as if he was her therapist.

"William?"

"Mm."

"Thanks for…letting me do that."

"Oh." He tilted his head to one side. "Of course. I still care about you, Clar, just because we're not together doesn't mean I don't still."

Clara blew out a breath. "I'm gonna be honest, Will, your…crush on me is kind of obvious."

"Whaaat?" He made his face look very sad. "Who, me? Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. Pride is quite the sin. How do you know I'm not faking it?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Right." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair and smiling wryly. "Well, I'll admit we're closer than most exes."

"We're also weirder than most exes."

"Better weird than boring."

"Your brand of weird happens to be disgustingly illegal."

"Don't forget sexy."

"Now it smells like lemons too." She rolled her eyes. Her right one twitched. "And you hitting and yelling and trying to kill me wasn't exactly romantic."

"That's just the unique way I show affection. My love language. You should be honoured. And hey, you always started it. I was just defending myself."

Clara sighed. "You're such an idiot. We aren't getting back together."

"You say that now, but in a couple centuries when the two of us are the only ones around, maybe you'll think twice."

"That's not what I'm saying. You…you get bored really easily, Will." Clara swirled the water around with one finger. "You get obsessed with your job, or me, or—who am I kidding, probably Henry too—and then after a few weeks you drop it and move on to the next thing. The cycle repeats. And don't try to gaslight me or whatever because I've known you since middle school and you haven't changed a bit."

"Aww, you've been studying me?" William pouted. "I think you're the obsessed one here, darling."

"Don't try and flirt your way out of this. You really think everything revolves around you, huh?" She looked up at him, tossing her wet curls out of the way. "William, I think you're actually very childish. You like to play pretend, live in a fantasy world where you're some big strong godlike man who controls the lives of everyone around him. You think you're at the centre of everybody's universe. But that's not true and you know it. So to prove it, you pick on defenceless women and children who can't fight back. Who you're proving it to, I don't know. And I think that shows just how immature you really are."

And for once, William couldn't come up with anything to say. "You're right," he said, nakedly truthful. "Ha. Yeah, you really are. All of it." It felt almost dreamlike in how unnatural it was, to be vulnerable and honest with her. He couldn't tell if it felt good or not.

Then he laughed his way back to his usual self. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I haven't known my whole life. God, I didn't even—I didn't even kill Charlie to become immortal. I didn't even plan to do it. I was drunk out of my goddamn mind, and Charlie was all alone in the rain out there. Perfect little Charlotte Emily. Henry always loved to rub how happy they were together in my face. She got to live and our kids didn't." He smiled coldly. "Guess I lost my temper."

"That just proves my point, William. Henry and Charlie being happy wasn't some big sabotage against you, and it's not—" She twitched again, interrupting herself.

His brows pinched together. "What's wrong? You've been doing that an awful lot."

"Nothi—" she was cut off by another twitch, "nothing."

"Don't say nothing." William sat up, moved closer, and tilted her chin up, other hand subconsciously gripping at the freckled flesh of her arm. "Look at me."

At that, something seemed to snap in Clara. "God, do you ever stop freaking touching me?! What the hell is your problem?" She scratched savagely at his arms, leaving red races down them until he released her. She rocked back, hugged her knees and avoided eye contact. "Just…just don't, okay? Relax. I'm fine."

"I wasn't trying to make it weird, honest," said William softly. Then his silvery gaze shadowed. "Dammit, Clara. You just twitched again."

"Everyone does that."

"You don't do that."

"Yes I do." She sounded like she was convincing herself and not him as she twitched again and again.

William sighed. "I didn't think twitching was a side effect, but I suppose I should have tested it out more. Maybe this was a mistake."

Clara shook her head. "I'm okay, really, I just need a drink of—" Her green eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed with a splash into the water. Violent spasms overcame her body, limbs jerking about at unnatural angles.

William cursed, rushing to her side. Her pupils were so far back her eyes looked white. Spittle foamed at her mouth, dripping down her cheek, skin a clammy white.

"Seizure, right? Oh, hell, what do I do for that…" Muttering under his breath, he scanned the area around her like there'd be something, someone to help. Should he call an ambulance? He scoffed at the thought. "Yeah, what do I tell 'em? We were out here play-fighting, they'll get a laugh out of that." A wry chuckle. "I suppose she is immortal now. Could just wait it out. I won't be much help either way, I'm no doctor."

Sitting back down in the water, he spread his knees and let his arms dangle off them. "Wonder why she reacted so badly to the serum. Michael and I were just fine. Probably a female thing. Or perhaps I have poisonous blood, wouldn't that be funny. Maybe I'll have a seizure too. I wonder how that feels."

He went on rambling for a good bit while Clara shook and foamed until finally she went still.

"Oh, peachy." William crawled over to her body and tugged on a curl. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

No response. He tugged again, harder this time. "Andiamo, belladonna, you're going to catch a cold."

William cupped her face in his hands and lifted it up. Her head was limp and lolling to one side. Her green eyes were blank and unsettling, lips purple and parted.

Voice dipping to a murmur, he leaned in close. "One might say you look dead, pretty fairy, and we can't have that." He stroked her cheek. "Now I'm going to be real gentlemanly about this, so don't go thinking terrible things about me." He lifted her cardigan to reveal the lace of her wet dress and concerningly pale skin, placed one hand on her chest gently as he could, and waited for a heartbeat.

None came.

"Well damn." William blew out a shaky breath. "That's a bloody shame."

A nasty shock, that. Here he was thinking they would live forever, immortal king and queen of the world, and now she had gone and died.

He missed her already. Or maybe he missed the feelings she gave him. It was rare for him to feel genuine passion about something, and whenever William was around her he felt like a kid in a candy store, for lack of a better analogy.

"Now I don't want to get arrested, sweetheart, so I'm going to have to frame this as a suicide. I don't think it's too far-fetched." He retrieved her earring from the riverbed and pierced it through her neck, right where he'd been stabbed. Taking the back of a receipt in the car, he scrawled a quick suicide note in her handwriting and stuck it in her cardigan pocket.

Blood trickled from her mouth. Even in death, she enchanted him with her beauty.

William dipped down and kissed the blood off her cold, dead lips. "Goodbye, Clary-bell," he whispered, voice rough and heavy. "I'm not sure when I'll see you next, but I hope you can forgive me."

He packed up the picnic basket and drove home quietly.

Someone found her body washed up on the shore about a week later, and they held her funeral soon after. With Clara having lived in Hurricane her whole life, the entire town mourned her loss. The police didn't do much investigation into her death, took it as a grieving, alcoholic mother who couldn't handle the stress of losing her children anymore. Her ex-husband and surviving son, of course, were devastated. The former made sure she had a nice funeral—flowers, music, tiny sandwiches, the works. After all, the remaining two Aftons would never get a funeral of their own, may as well make hers pretty.

And now, resting six feet under a mound of dirt and flowers in the local church cemetery, lay the beautiful, empty body of a woman, refusing to rot.

A/N

William totally started dating Ronnie after this btw, he's a bop. And she IS important to the plot you guys, she's not just filler. She might end up a little more…connected with William than you think.

So it probably wasn't obvious bc I mentioned it a long time ago, but if you remember in the earlier chapters William said the reason he didn't give Ruby the blue immortality serum was because it didn't mix with her blood type. The reason he knew that was because Clara had the same blood type as Ruby, and it killed her. Little trivia for you!

As you can see I reworked Clara's death from how I'd originally planned it, I thought this way would be more creative than the typical car crash I usually see in the fandom.

Man I'm kinda sad that her arc is over now LOL I did really enjoy writing Clara, she took on a whole life of her own from what I'd first had planned.

She's a little messed up and her morals are…well, questionable at best, but I think she's a good person at heart, just got dealt a pretty terrible hand. Word of advice if you end up in this universe: do NOT interact with William. You will end up pregnant or dead or possessing a fursuit. No exceptions.

I think I'll let her rest in the afterlife though. She deserves that much after all the stuff she's been put through…uh, that I might have put her through. Sorry about that, Clary.

Only one more chapter and we're done this arc, aaah! Very excited to move on cause I've been working on this wayyyyy longer than anticipated. That's being busy for you!

~ghost