[Hair] The Algea: Akhos (2/4)
Jul. 18th, 2010 08:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eirenicalAnd here's Part 2. Thought I'd try and crank this baby out early, because if I didn't do it now, it wasn't going to happen until tomorrow. ^_^
Title: The Algea
Fandom: Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival
Pairing: Berger/Sheila, hints of Claude/Berger, Claude/Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie
Rating: PG-13 for some kissing, R for angst and trauma. Pick your poison. ^_^
Word Count: 33,098
Warnings: Slash. Angst. Holy hell, is there angst. O_O Sorry 'bout that. Rebound effect from 'Flesh Failures,' I think...
Disclaimer: Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D ((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))
Summary: Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."
Juy 18, 2010: *coughs* I apologize in advance -- the ending on this one is significantly more angst-ridden than the last chapter. That's just the way the chapter breaks fell out. O_O But it gets way better after this, I promise! *unsure but game smile*
And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^
The Algea: Akhos
by Renee-chan
Third time. Berger winced as he threw himself down on his favorite bench in Washington Square Park. This was the third time this month that he'd come back to the apartment to find Sheila at the kitchen table pouring over her bank book, no doubt hoping to find even a penny they'd left unspent. She'd slammed the book shut quickly enough when she saw him, though. Tossed him a nervous smile and made up some story about a project she was working on for school. She needn't have bothered. The truth was plain to be seen in her eyes. Her student loans and the little money she had saved were more than enough to cover her own expenses when Suzanne had been living here. But now? With Suzanne moved out, Berger moved in and a baby on the way? It wasn't even close... not by a long shot.
Unable to bear it as she tried to put a brave face on for him over her obvious fear, he'd fled the apartment. It wasn't fair to her. Any of it. Not this baby and not being stuck with him. It was times like these that Berger thought she'd have been better off with the other guy -- the one who'd followed her from D.C. after the march. But that wasn't what she wanted. She'd made that abundantly clear. And so Berger was stuck, shamed into being on his best behavior in a desperate attempt to prove himself worthy of a responsibility he still wasn't sure he wanted.
Only... that wasn't any easier now than it had been when he was sixteen. If anything, it was harder. Sighing, he slouched down on the bench and tipped his head back. What he wouldn't give for a joint right now, just a little something to take the edge off... but Jeanie had been right about that. That was one steep, slippery fuckin' slope and if he started back down it, even one step, he'd be right back down at the bottom in no time. So, no easy out for him. No shortcut. No escape.
Feeling his breath starting to quicken with the first edges of panic, Berger bent over and put his head between his knees, fighting to take deeper breaths. He hadn't had anxiety attacks like this since he was sixteen... since he'd met Sheila. He'd somehow known that she could take care of things, could lift those hated responsibilities off his shoulders. And G-d bless her, she was still trying. Deep down, though, he knew it was wrong, was unfair. He wasn't a child. He was a man. And as a man, he shouldn't be looking for her to take care of him... he should be taking care of her -- of her... and of their baby. And once that realization was there, it wouldn't go away. Thus, the renewed panic attacks. And they'd been getting worse these last two months, not better.
Finally calmer, Berger forced himself off the bench and started pacing. He had to do something, anything to try to fix this. But what could he do? He was seriously lacking in skills and reliability and his getting expelled from school was not helping him find a job. But surely... surely there had to be something he could do. He just had to figure out what.
Jeanie all but jumped out of her skin at the sudden flurry of loud banging on her door. Cursing quietly but vehemently, she put her cup down on the table to wipe at the puddle of tea that had splashed down her shirt, "Hold on a minute!" When the knocking came again, this time louder and more desperate, Jeanie yelled out, "I'm coming! Jesus. Keep your pants on!"
By the time she got up and got the door open, Sheila all but flew into the apartment, eyes wild and frantic energy just about rolling off her. When her gaze locked on Jeanie, she grabbed the other woman by the arms and said, "It's been two days now and I can't find him anywhere! Jeanie, do you know where he went??"
Stunned and confused, Jeanie just shook her head, "What...? Sheila, what the hell are you talking about?"
Sheila's grip tightened, then abruptly loosened as she slumped, "Berger's gone, Jeanie. He didn't tell me where he was going, didn't tell me when he'd be back. And I checked all the usual places. He's not in any of them. It's like he just disappeared." Falling back against the door, Sheila dropped her face into her hands, "He was doing so well. What the hell happened, Jeanie?"
Leading the distraught woman further into the apartment to sit on the couch, Jeanie did her best to comfort her, "Sheila... we shouldn't assume the worst."
Sheila's head shot up at that, her lips pulled down into a frown, "This is Berger we're talking about Jeanie. 'The worst' is his specialty."
Jeanie sighed, "Well... that's true, but still. Have a little faith, OK? He has been doing well. Maybe this isn't what it looks like." At Sheila's continued look of disbelief, she asked, "Well, what happened? Do you have any idea what prompted him to take off?"
Letting out a small groan, Sheila nodded, "I do have some idea..." Sinking back against the cushions, Sheila winced, "Things... they've been a little tight lately. What with the doctor's visits and vitamins and needing bigger clothes -- you know." At Jeanie's nod, she continued, "Not to mention that with Berger living with me full time, Suzanne ended up moving out. She knew we'd need the space and she and Walter have been getting more serious, so..." She shrugged, "It just made sense. But now..."
Understanding filled Jeanie's eyes, "But now you only have one income paying for rent and expenses not two."
"Exactly," Sheila lifted a hand to rub at her temples, "And we haven't even begun looking at all the things we'll have to buy for the baby once she's born."
"Well, you know that you can have whatever of Claude's you need, right?" was Jeanie's answer.
Finally a smile, small but real, "I do know that, Jeanie. But still... diapers, formula, doctor's visits... it all adds up. We'll be OK. Somehow I know we will, but I can see how badly Berger feels about it. He's still not sure about this whole fatherhood thing and to have financial difficulties thrown on top of it? It's more stress than he can really handle. I've tried to keep the worst of it from him, but..."
"But he isn't stupid. Right?" Jeanie said.
Sheila sighed, "Exactly. And somehow that keeps slipping my mind. Maybe we'd have been better off if I'd just talked to him about it, tried to tell him it would be OK... but he's too smart for that, too. And I'm afraid of what that stress may have driven him to do, Jeanie. I really am." She shuddered, "Getting him through withdrawal once was bad enough. I can't... we can't go through that again."
Jeanie nodded, "I hear you. OK. Why don't we ask the rest of the Tribe if he said anything to them?" At Sheila's dubious look, she continued, "Well, if he isn't in the usual places it's going to be harder to find him. Before we go through all that, let's try the easier route first, OK?"
At Sheila's hesitant nod, Jeanie smiled and patted her knee, "It'll be OK, Sheila. For some reason... I don't have a bad feeling about this. I know it looks bad, but somehow I think it's not. So just relax, OK?"
Sheila took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It wasn't often that the younger woman was wrong about things like this. She'd always had a finger or two on the Tribe's pulse and always seemed to know when one of them was in trouble. She might not be as spooky about it as Woof was, but there was a definite karmic connection between Jeanie and the rest of the Tribe. If she wasn't worried... Taking another deep breath, Sheila nodded again, "OK. We'll call the rest of the Tribe. Maybe one of them will know where he is. But if no one does, I reserve the right to panic, again."
Jeanie laughed as she picked up the phone to start her way down the calling chain, "That's fair, Sheila. That's fair..."
It wasn't until two hours later, when she figured out that not only was Berger missing, but Woof was, too, that Jeanie started to feel an edge of panic herself. But that wasn't going to help matters. Sheila needed to stay calm. A woman at this stage of pregnancy could still miscarry. And that, of all things, would be the worst possibility. Eyeing the other blond as she sat on the floor playing with her son, Jeanie made a monumental decision. Hanging up the phone, she put a sunny smile on her face, looked Sheila right in the eyes... and lied, "Well, that's that. He and Woof took off for a couple of days on a little mini-vacation. Nothing to worry about, see?" Letting her face fall into a grumpy expression, she crossed her arms, "Still, would have been nice to leave a note. Woof, at least, ought to know better."
Sheila's eyes widened, then narrowed. One hand clenched into a fist and she let out a low growl, "I don't care how much I love him. When he gets home, I'm going to kill him."
Claude eyed his Aunt Sheila, then slowly inched away, dragging his toys with him. When she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, Sheila twitched, then lowered her hand and started to laugh. At that, Claude abandoned his toys and got to his feet to run and hide behind Jeanie. That set Jeanie off. Claude looked back and forth between the two women as each gave in to their hysterical laughter. As a minute passed with neither showing any signs of stopping, his lower lip jutted out and started to tremble. Seeing no response from either woman to the signs of imminent water works, Claude let out a little sigh, gathered up his toys and went into his room to play by himself. Sometimes adults just made no sense.
He couldn't do it. That was what it boiled down to. Now that he was here, he just couldn't do it. But when he turned to leave, Berger ran straight into Woof. The older man caught him at the shoulders and just shook his head. Berger tried to plead his case, "This was a mistake, man. One big-ass mistake. I can't do this! Let's... let's just go home, OK? I'll find another way."
Woof just smiled and pulled Berger's head down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. Just as softly, he spoke, "George... There is no other way. Move your ass."
Stunned by both Woof's words and the use of his given name, Berger allowed himself to be turned around and propelled up the walkway. In that one, simple statement, Woof was trying to remind him of exactly why he was here, why he was doing this. Quite simply, he had no choice. The time for playing around, the time for selfishly putting his own needs first, was over. Berger had had a good run, but Sheila no longer needed a Berger... she needed a George. And if this was what he had to do to be that man for her, to provide for her and their child... Woof was right. There was no other way. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door.
There was no immediate answer. Berger waited for two pounding heartbeats, listening intently, then let out an unsteady breath and an even shakier smile, "Oh well. They're not home. Guess we'll have to come back another day, huh, Woof?"
The other man just sighed and rolled his eyes, "Knock again, Banana-Berger."
Heart pounding in his throat, Berger turned around to do just that, but never got the chance. The door opened under his hand to reveal a young woman of about sixteen years. She had thick, dark hair and deep, green eyes. And Berger didn't know her, had no idea who she was. She, on the other hand, most definitely knew him. She raised one hand to her mouth to cover her startled gasp while the other reached out almost desperately to tangle in the fringe of Berger's jacket.
They stood frozen in that tableau for several heart-pounding moments, neither able to move or talk. To Berger's surprise and everlasting gratitude, it was Woof who broke the silence. In a quiet, soothing tone, he said, "If I remember right, it's Samantha, isn't it?" At the girl's shocked nod, he broke into a sunny smile, "I don't know if you remember me or not, but we spent a day at the shore together once."
Before the girl got a chance to answer, however, Berger had -- unfortunately -- found his voice. With a snort of derision, he said, "You're not Sammy! Sammy's a little kid and you're a.. you're a..." At that, his voice failed him and he made the shape of an hourglass with his hands in the air.
The girl's expression immediately fell from shocked pleasure into disgruntled ire. But she left that one hand firmly entwined in Berger's fringe, just the same, as though afraid to let go. She let the other hand drop to her hip, "You haven't been home in four damned years!" Her voice softened, "I grew up, George."
Berger stared at the girl for another minute, shocked eyes taking in all the changes as he tried to figure out if she could possibly be telling the truth. The last time he'd seen his sister, she'd been all of twelve -- a little kid. There was so very little left of the bratty little girl that he'd loved in this young woman... except in her eyes. Those deep green eyes had a spunk and spirit he remembered well and even now they were working their magic to manipulate him. He could feel it, those tiny little tugs on his heart strings, as she started to exercise a girl's G-d-given talent to twist her big brother around her little finger. No less susceptible to it now than he'd been four years ago, Berger found himself giving in without much of a fight. Raising a shaking hand to cup her face, his eyes full of wonder, he said, "Sammy... That's really you, isn't it?" The wonder drained away to be replaced with sorrow, "How did I miss so much?"
Samantha just shook her head, her own eyes brimming with tears, "Oh, who cares about that, now? What matters is that you're home." She finally released the hold she had on Berger's jacket and threw her arms around his neck in a chokehold hug, laughing as she did, "Mom and Dad will be so happy! We've missed you, George. I've missed you."
Gingerly wrapping his arms around the girl's petite frame, Berger let some of his own tension drain away, "I've missed you, too, Sammy. I've missed you, too. I'm sorry it took me so long to come home. I should have made this trip years ago."
And Woof, that smug bastard, just stood behind them beaming the whole time.
Two hours later, they were sitting around the kitchen table, Woof chatting with Sammy while Berger sat back and watched. He would interject a question now and then, but this whole day, this whole adventure, just seemed too surreal. On the one hand, he felt like he didn't belong -- didn't belong in this house, with these people, in this life. On the other hand... it was as though this was what he'd been looking for the whole time. Like Dorothy, he'd had to go to Oz just to discover that the secret to happiness had been in his own backyard the whole time. It messed with his head.
A sudden burst of laughter brought his attention back to the pair at the table. Woof had said something that Samantha apparently found extremely funny... and embarrassing, if the blush on her face was any indication. Berger leaned forward, interest peaked, "Sammy...?"
Her blush deepened, but she did look up to meet his eyes, "Oh... it's nothing..."
Turning to look at Woof, he raised an eyebrow. Sister-baiting... not as challenging as Sheila-baiting, but potentially just as fun. For the first time since deciding to come here, Berger's mouth relaxed into a true smile. Not being stupid, himself, Woof quickly caught on, "Oh... I just asked your sister if there was anyone special in her life."
Anyone special... Berger was surprised at the immediate pulse of protective anger that flared within him at that thought. The thought of someone doing with his little sister the kinds of things he did with Sheila... Never mind that he'd been younger than she the first time he'd done those things... Wait. Forcing his thoughts to a halt, Berger took a deep breath. Wrong thoughts. Those were George thoughts. He didn't need George thoughts. He could be a loving older brother without being a George. He could. Because Berger was a loving brother, a loving friend, a loving... lover. He protected his Tribe, he led his Tribe, he provided for his Tribe. And he did all of it while being Berger. He didn't need "George" to be those things. No... he didn't need George. Looking back at Sammy, he let himself take in the conversation with "Berger's" eyes and ears and thoughts. Suddenly, he smiled. He had been younger, younger by a year, maybe even two. And it was just love. Love. And who was he to deny that to his sister? Reaching out a hand, he clapped her on the shoulder, "Good for you, Sammy! Is it a boy or a girl? Or a boy and a girl?" As her blush deepened and her mouth dropped open, his grin widened, "Maybe two boys? Oooo... maybe two girls?"
At that last, she made a sound like a kettle of boiling water releasing steam and raised her hands to start beating him about the head and shoulders. Laughing, he easily caught her wrists and dragged her down on top of him to start tickling her. She wasn't as easy to pin now as she'd once been, though. It was with a small note of pride that he realized that she'd become a wiry little thing and was managing to twist herself around in such a way that she was able to get in a few good tickles of her own. Woof wisely pushed his chair back out of the way... and not a moment too soon.
With a resounding "crash," he and Sammy ended up toppling his chair over backwards. With a shriek of pure glee, she took advantage of his supine position to attack the sensitive spots at his sides and he immediately curled over to protect them. It took only a moment's struggle to get back upright and reach for the back of her knees.
And that was the scene that greeted Jack and Elaine Berger when they finally returned home and walked into the kitchen. Being as neither made a sound, it took a moment for their children to notice that they'd arrived. But when they did, Berger froze. His sister, noting his sudden stillness, quickly figured out what must be the cause and climbed off his lap to kneel behind him and wrap her arms around him. Hooking her head over his right shoulder, she smiled softly up at her parents, "Mom... Dad... look who finally made it home for dinner..."
It didn't take more than a minute for Elaine to let out a breathless squeal of happiness and join her children on the floor. Buried between the two females busily trying to hug him into submission, Berger could only smile up at his father in bemusement. Jack smiled softly back... and to his son's everlasting shock, dropped down on the floor to join in the group hug.
However, as much fun as it was, and as relieved as he felt, Berger couldn't help but feel that something was horribly wrong in this situation. It only took one look up at the table to figure out what it was. Smiling a smile of pure mischief, Berger reached out a hand, grabbed Woof by the ankle and with one strong yank, pulled him off the chair and down onto the floor. Fortunately, Woof didn't need to be told twice anymore that he was wanted and flung himself into the hug pile with joyful abandon. Barely a minute later, he and Berger simultaneously threw back their heads and howled with pure delight.
When they finally all emerged from the pile and got back to their feet, Jack announced that as a special treat for the special occasion, he would make his "special" macaroni and cheese. In all innocence, Woof had then said, "Oh! Me and Berger make 'special' things, too! But we generally stick to brownies."
Jack and Elaine stared at Woof for a moment before turning to exchange glances with each other. After a moment of silent communion, they then burst into laughter. Berger just groaned. Pulling Woof aside, he explained, "Woof... he doesn't mean the same thing we mean when we say 'special.'" As Woof's face fell, Berger pulled him into a comforting hug, "It's OK, man. Don't sweat it. I'm twenty and I don't live here anymore. It's not like they can ground me for it."
Sammy piped up next in a desperate bid to shift the subject, "OK, George... one thing I gotta know. What's with the whole 'Berger' thing? Are there that many Georges where you live?"
Now it was Berger's turn to freeze. He wasn't really ready to answer that question, didn't know if he'd ever be ready to answer that question for his family. Woof lifted his own arm to rest it around Berger's shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Turning back to the other three, he then said the things that Berger couldn't, "No, there aren't that many Georges. Berger's his Tribe name... his true, inner name, like Woof is mine." He then turned and placed a soft kiss on Berger's temple.
Jack cleared his throat, "Well... that might get a little confusing... calling you by our last name at family reunions..."
At that, a wicked smile bloomed across Woof's face, "Well, how about Banana-Berger?" At the uncertain look on Berger's face, Woof continued, "Or Karma-Berger?" Now Berger's eyes narrowed, silently trying to glare him into submission. Woof wasn't having any of it, "Or there's Crissy's favorite -- Unzipped-Berger. Or Pull-'em-Down-Berger. Or Take-'em-off-Berger. Or Se--" At that, he abruptly cut off what he'd been about to say, ducking his head.
Berger quietly finished the litany for him, voice half-choked in his throat, "Or Sexy-Berger..."
Sensing that something had changed the lighthearted teasing into something else, but not understanding what, Berger's family stepped in closer, supportive. Elaine reached out a gentle hand to rest it against Berger's shoulder, "Sweetheart...?"
Ignoring her, Berger continued, eyes glazing with pain and words tangling with a sob in his throat, "He... He always did... He always did like that one... Didn't he?" It was painful, watching him fight for calm, try to wrestle that pain back under control, so as not to expose it to his family. Finally he buried his face in Woof's neck, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
Woof just wrapped his arms around the younger man and gently rocked him, "Yeah. Yeah, he did." After a moment, he titled Berger's face upwards and let a gentle smile light his own, "I... I always did, too."
Berger just shook his head. Too soon. It was too soon for that. Woof sighed and nodded, gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs, placed a soft kiss on Berger's forehead. Berger drew in a shaky breath, excused himself and bolted for the bathroom. The second he was gone, his family rounded on Woof, eyes bright with worry.
Woof held up a hand to forestall the questions, "I can't... look, it's complicated, OK?" Eyes pleading, he said, "And it's not really for me to tell." Finally he sighed, "A really good friend of ours... he... we got a letter from his mother a few months ago that he was... lost... in 'Nam."
Elaine was the one who said it, "A 'really good friend,' huh? How... How good a friend?"
Woof just turned his best set of puppy-dog-sad eyes on her, "Really good, Mrs. Berger. And closer to Berger than any of the rest of us. OK?"
Understanding in that kind of insight flash that mothers are famous for, Elaine's eyes filled with tears and she ran off down the hall after her son. Jack and Samantha still looked confused, but Samantha put a hand on her father's arm to prevent him from asking any other questions, "Dad... Woof's right. It's not his to tell. Geo-- He'll tell us when he's ready, OK?"
Not liking it, but submitting to his daughter's will nonetheless, Jack wordlessly turned to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients for dinner. Samantha pulled Woof into the living room. Linking her arm gently through his, she asked quietly, "I... I understand that you want him to tell us these things himself, but... I thought he was dating that girl he met at the shore...? Sandy?"
Shaking his head, Woof said, "Sheila." At Samantha's nod and questioning eyes, he sighed, "He was. Still is. But Claude... Claude was special. Different. He..." Voice roughening, he said, "We're still not sure that we aren't going to lose Berger, too."
"But... but he seemed so..."
A soft sigh, "It's an act, Samantha. He's putting on an act for you. He's putting on an act for all of us. Jeanie and I are the only ones that really see it, though. And he's trying. He's trying so very hard because he knows we need him, but..." He shrugged, "He's in pieces. And he's getting worse again, not better."
"I see..." Samantha awkwardly lifted a hand to pat Woof's shoulder, "Well, I can't speak for my parents, but I'll do whatever I can to help, OK? I love him and I've missed him and I want him back in my life, however I have to take him."
Woof smiled in gratitude, "I appreciate that, Samantha."
Sighing, she said, "Oh, I give up. It's Sam, OK? Samantha... Samantha belongs on a high society girl."
At that, Woof snorted out a laugh, "Your parents really didn't do a great job with names, did they?"
She laughed in response, "No... I guess they didn't."
At that point, Berger and Elaine joined them in the living room. Berger still looked shaken, but he put on a smile for the others. Woof stepped away from Samantha and enveloped his friend in a hug. Feeling the small shudders still running through the other man's frame, he sighed and stepped back. This was starting to feel like those times in the past when Berger would attempt to be 'George' for him again and end up falling to pieces for days thereafter from the strain. They couldn't afford that kind of a backslide. Not now. Taking Berger's face in his hands he forced the younger man to meet his eyes and said as firmly as he could, "Stop. Berger... just stop. You don't have to try so hard, OK?"
Eyes haunted, Berger shook his head. Samantha then stepped up and wrapped her arm around his, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. When he looked down to meet her eyes, she smiled, "He's right, you know. We're your family. You're stuck with us whether you want us or not, no matter what you do. Haven't you figured that out, yet... Banana-Berger?"
Wrapping the girl in a tight embrace, Berger nodded against her hair. Feeling another hand gently rubbing circles around his back, Berger reached behind him and pulled his mother forward to join the hug. Seeing his friend relax, Woof felt something in him relax, too. This was going to be one hell of a rocky road, but at least they'd taken the first steps. It was a start.
Hearing the quiet "snick" of the door lock opening, Sheila's heart gave a hard lurch in her chest. Berger. That had to be Berger. No one else had a key to her apartment. It had been almost three days since he and Woof had taken off on their little jaunt to wherever. Of course, he would choose now to come back. She didn't want to scare him back out the door before she had a chance to talk to him! Desperately, Sheila closed the bank book that she'd been going over and tucked it underneath her on the seat... just in time for Berger to walk into the room and catch her doing it. They froze in that tableau: Sheila unwilling to rise from her seat and Berger unwilling to take another step in from the doorway.
Finally, Berger gave a small snort of a laugh and shook his head, "This is no good, Sheila. You know it's no good."
Sheila swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat, "You... Banana-Berger, what do you mean?" After a small hitch in her breathing, she waved a hand around the apartment, "You mean this? Us? We... do you mean we're no good?" Ducking her head, she whispered, "Berger, we have to be. I can't do this without you."
A gentle hand under her chin forced her to raise her gaze. Berger was down on the floor in front of her, earnest apology shining his eyes. Once he had her attention, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. And the look on his face... it was almost painful for Sheila to see it. He looked so sad, so defeated... and yet there was something else there, too. Narrowing her eyes, she finally decided that it was determination. Determination... and a hint of pride. His lips fell into a sad, mocking, self-directed smile, "Sheila... no. That isn't what I meant." Reaching underneath her, he pulled out the bank book and held it up, "This is no good."
Sheila moved to interrupt, to make a grab for the book, but Berger stood and held it just out of arm's reach. He gently shook his head, "Sheila... I'm a mess. You know I'm a mess. I know I'm a mess. Everyone knows I'm a mess. But I'm not blind, I'm not stupid and I'm not a child. This won't work if you keep treating me like I'm all three." Humbled by the simple truth of that statement and ashamed that she'd let herself fall into that trap in the first place, Sheila could only nod. Satisfied, Berger put the book down on the table and said, "We're in trouble. Your student loans barely cover half of what we need. I know that." Sighing, he sat down at the table and dropped his head into his hands.
Sheila finally found the strength to get out of her chair and walked over to stand behind Berger. Draping herself over his back, she wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and pressed her face next to his, "Berger... I know how hard this is for you -- getting sober, putting yourself back together..." She paused, ultimately deciding not to mention the large, pink elephant in the room -- reminding Berger of Claude's death when he was doing so well holding it together at this moment wouldn't help anyone, "...I didn't want to worry you. I'll figure something out. Somehow."
Berger sighed, rubbed his hands over his face and twisted around to look her in the eyes. After a moment of silent communion, he reached up and pulled Sheila down into his lap. Once he had her securely settled, he shook his head, "I'm not going to lie to you. One of the things that originally attracted me to you was that I knew you could take care of me... that you would take care of me. And a very large part of me would like nothing more than to let you keep doing it forever." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "But that's just it, Sheila. I can't... I can't just sit back and let you take care of all the hard stuff. Not anymore. I... I see that. It scares the living hell out of me, but I do see it." Looking up into her eyes, his own firmed with resolve, "I'm going to be a father, Sheila. And fathers take care of their families. They protect their children, make them happy... no matter what it takes." Smiling softly, he let out a small snort, "That's not saying I'm going to be perfect. Hell... I'm probably going to fuck up left and right. You'll probably be mad at me all the time." His voice quieted, "But you know what, Sheila? I'm gonna try anyway. I have to." Placing a gentle hand against Sheila's abdomen, he said, "For her."
Seeing Berger's eyes fixed so securely on where his hand was resting, hearing that sincerity in his voice, Sheila's next breath shuddered in her throat. He meant it. Every word. She could see it in his eyes, that quiet core of strength. And for once... for the first time... she let herself believe that she could rely on that strength -- the way Woof did, the way Jeanie did... the way Claude did. Feeling the gentle support of it underneath her and finding that, for now at least, it would hold her weight, Sheila took in another deep breath... and burst into tears.
Berger held her, gently rocked her through that storm of emotion, all the while silently cursing himself that he'd let them get to this point. He didn't know what he could have done differently up until now, didn't really think he could have done anything differently, but from this point forward, he was going to try harder. He might never be able to be a "George," not really, not where it counted, but he could try to take some of that responsibility back off of Sheila's shoulders just the same.
When Sheila's tears finally slowed and she lifted her head from his shoulder, Berger offered her a small smile and a quick kiss on the nose. Her eyes crossed a little at that and she let out a small laugh. Seeing that smile again... Berger had to smile, too. It wasn't... G-d it wasn't the same, couldn't be the same. It didn't light up the world the way his had... but it did light up her. It didn't put out enough warmth that he could bask in it... but it was enough for him to warm his hands. And it would be enough. It would have to be. Swallowing a sudden lump of tears of his own, he firmly told himself to get control and keep it. Sheila needed him to be strong, needed to know that she could depend on him... and he could show her that, could prove it to her over and over... even if it killed him.
Reaching a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it over. Sheila took it from him, read through it... and almost dropped it in shock. One hand clutching his shoulder, her mouth worked for a moment before she managed to get any words out, "Banana-Berger... what... what is this?"
Shifting uncomfortably beneath her, he mumbled, "What does it look like?"
Turning to look at him, she held it up between them, "It looks like a check for $500." Eyes narrowing, she asked, "Where did you get this, Berger?"
Making an irritated noise, he pushed at Sheila until she got off his lap and then stood up himself. After pacing back and forth a few times he rounded on Sheila, "Why? Do you think I stole it? Held a gun to someone's head and forced them to write it?"
Sheila sighed, rubbed a hand against her forehead, "Banana-Berger, I didn't say that. I just want to know where you got this money. That's all."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Berger scowled, "Did you even bother looking to see who wrote it?"
Eyes confused, Sheila looked down at the check. Her eyes widened again, "Wait... Elaine Berger... Honey, isn't that your mother's name?"
Hunching his shoulders, Berger mumbled, "Yeah. Yeah, it is." At her wide-eyed look, he sighed, "I went over to Hoboken with Woof. Wanted to talk to my dad..." His voice dropped into an embarrassed whisper, "...see if he could help me get a job or something." At those words, Sheila's hand rose to her mouth and she drew in a breath. Touched beyond words and eyes shining with tears, she just nodded at him. He sighed, "Of course when my mother found out why I needed money, she wrote that check and didn't want me to leave until I took it. When I refused, she apparently gave it to Woof who gave it to me when we got back. Said it would be stupid not to take it... and he didn't think I was stupid." Making a face, he added, "Either way, I know we need the money, so..." He shrugged.
Sheila walked over to him and wrapped her arms gently around his neck, "Berger... Thank you. It took a lot of courage to do this -- to go back home... to ask for help." When Berger ducked his gaze, Sheila tucked a hand under his chin and smiled, "No, I mean it. I'm proud of you. I..." A small laugh bubbled forth, "For the first time in months, I think we may actually get through this." Leaning forward, she murmured her next words against his lips before joining hers with them in a gentle kiss, "Thank you, Banana-Berger. Thank you."
Truly at peace with each other for the first time since Claude was drafted, Berger lifted Sheila gently in his arms and carried her back towards the bedroom. Finances could wait. Arguments could wait. It could all wait. Tonight was for them.
New. This is new. He prowls the edges of the room, untrusting, untrusted, wary and tense. New is bad. Badbadbad. New is unpredictable. And things that are unpredictable can get you hurt, killed... can get others hurtkilled. Not that that matters anymore. The others don't matter. They can't matter. If you worry about the others, you're the one who suffers in the end... because they sure as fuck don't worry about you.
Letting out a low growl, he paces back to the other corner. He knows the one in the white coat. The one in the white coat brings the needles, the drugs, the instruments to poke and prod. He brings the muscle-men that trap him, tie him down, take away what little dignity he has left. Not that there's much. Dignity. A soft snort. He abandoned dignity... how long ago? Too long. Forever and a day. Back in that time when the sounds the one in the white coat makes still made sense. They all make those sounds. Like so much about this strange, new camp, he wishes he understood them. But if wishes were fishes he'd walk on the sea. And he can't. He can barely walk on the land. The ground is too muddy, too swampy, too putrid. He knows it, doesn't even have to see it to know it. There's no escape.
But he knows the one in the white coat. Has a wary sort of respect for him, now, because the one in the white coat seems to understand him. Knows when he's going to bolt, knows when he wants to hide, knows when he needs to call in the muscle-men to subdue him... knows too damned much. Knowledge is power and the one in the white coat has it. You respect the one that has the power. If you don't... if you don't, it's badbadbad and you get hurthurthurt. So he tries not to fight the one in the white coat.
The muscle-men... they're different. One on one he stands a chance. One on one he hurt one once. Teeth baring in a feral grin, he crouches in the corner and lets his hands clench and unclench. That had felt goodgoodgood. Knowing that he could hurt them, knowing that he still had that much power... knowing that they now had a wary sort of respect for him. But now they didn't come one on one. They didn't take those sorts of chances anymore -- orders from the one in the white coat, no doubt. A shame...
The one he likes least of all, though, is the one in the brown suit. Everything about him is brown: suit, hair, eyes, self. Brownbrownbrown. He comes sometimes, with the one in the white coat. He makes those noises, he stares, he tries to touch. He doesn't like that, doesn't like the one in the suit, is more scared of him than he is of the one in the white coat and the muscle-men put together, wishes he would stop coming. Not that he ever has a choice. Those visits always end in yelling, screaming, desire to killkillkill! Hands clenching rhythmically against his sides, he forces himself to calm. Don't call attention. Don't call attention. Don't think about the one in the brown suit. Think about the new... the one he doesn't yet understand.
He stares up at the one in the center of the room. This one... this one is different. Blue... this one is blue, with hair like his... sun colored and soft. He can smell it from the corner. The blue approaches, takes a step towards him and he growls again, jerks to his feet and backs away into a different corner. No. Nonono. Doesn't work that way. The blue may smell nice, be soft and... and... pretty? Pretty. Soft and pretty, with eyes so sad... He's seen eyes like that before. Sadsadsad. So very sad. Why so sad? He wishes he knew. Why? It doesn't matter. Who cares why others are sad? They're all sad here. Happiness is an illusion, like the safety of this room, the luxury of the bed he still can't sleep on after seven, seven, seven, seven and two... thirty days... a month. Still can't sleep on after a month in this new prison camp.
Sinking down onto the floor he pulls his knees in tight to his chest, sad and aching and confused. He doesn't understand, doesn't know what they want from him. And how can you avoid the worst of the painpainpain if you don't know what will make them hurt you? Hands clamped tightly over his head, he buries his face in his knees and starts to rock back and forth, keening softly. Too loud and they hear you and noise makes them angry and they come with the white coats and the muscle-men and the needles and the restraints and more poking and prodding and he doesn't know how much more he can take of this new torture. He's scared and alone and he doesn't understand.
The door creaks open to reveal the one in the white coat, just as he knew it would. He doesn't even need to look up to know his presence. It's in his smell -- sterile, white, cleancleanclean. It doesn't belong and it jars against his senses, jangles against his nerves like it's out of tune with the universe. Who thinks things like that? Not him, not him. Those thoughts are too big for him, do him no good. He didn't think them until coming here, here with its sterility and newness. What good does it do?? He wishes he had his smaller thoughts back. Thoughts of food and shelter and clean water, fresh food, dry patch of ground, warm body to curl up against in the night... thoughts that make sense. Whimpering softly, he goes back to his keening, waiting for the muscle-men and the needles and restraints and, oh G-d, he doesn't want to be here anymore.
The one in the brown suit comes in with the one in the white coat, takes hold of the one in the blue to take them away. Good. Goodgoodgood. The one in the blue confuses things, churns up his stomach, his thoughts, in ways he doesn't understand. It needs to go, go away, go far away.
But it doesn't.
It shakes off the one in the brown suit, turns around and hits it, a resounding slap right across the face. He begins to shake. So unexpected. No warning. No warning. No warning. No sign of attack until the attack is enacted. How can you avoid the pain if there are no warnings?? So soft, so pretty and in the end, just the same. The one in the white coat backs away from the one in the blue, yielding ground without a fight. That's bad. Badbadbad. If the one in the white coat yields so readily to the one in the blue... the one in the blue must be powerful, indeed. He won't stand a chance. The one in the brown suit challenges, steps up to the one in the blue and attempts to take back his lost status. The one in the blue doesn't say a word, just clenches her fists and... and... why is the face wet? It leaks from the eyes, down the cheeks... his eyes do that sometimes, too. The tormentors, the captors, the ones who hurt... their eyes don't do that. Why? What does it mean? Whatever it means, the one in the brown suit backs down, defeated without even raising a fist.
More confused than ever before, his keening devolves into a low moan, the desperate lonely howl of one lost without his mates... his pack... his Tribe. So lost, so alone, so afraid. This time when the one in the white coat approaches with the needle in hand, he doesn't even put up a token struggle, just welcomes the oblivion the needle brings with open arms. Sweet sleep... oh, never to wake.
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N: And now for some chibi silliness! :D
Claude: Oh, come on! *stares*
R-chan: *wince* I'm sorry...?
Claude: *drops his head down onto his knees as he curls up on the floor* *whimpers*
Berger: *glares at the chibi as he drops down to cuddle the Claude* I really don't like you right now.
R-chan: D: But... but... I gave you happy family reunion chapter!
Berger: *indicates Claude with a wave of his hand* With this as the trade-off? *glares* Thanks but no thanks.
R-chan: *sigh* It gets better next chapter, OK? Much better.
Claude: *looks up, scowls* "You promise," right?
R-chan: *sheepish grin* Naturally!
Claude: *sigh* "And since when have I lied to you?" right?
R-chan: *pinches Claude's cheek* Got in one, dear!
Claude: *mumbles* Damn it.
Berger: *cuddles the Claude*
Questions, comments, watermelon?
Coming Soon: The day has finally arrived! Berger is a daddy... but that isn't the most exciting thing to come out of this trip to the hospital. Fate will have its say, whether he's ready for it or not.
Title: The Algea
Fandom: Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival
Pairing: Berger/Sheila, hints of Claude/Berger, Claude/Berger/Sheila, Claude/Jeanie
Rating: PG-13 for some kissing, R for angst and trauma. Pick your poison. ^_^
Word Count: 33,098
Warnings: Slash. Angst. Holy hell, is there angst. O_O Sorry 'bout that. Rebound effect from 'Flesh Failures,' I think...
Disclaimer: Neither the musical nor the boys belong to me, if they did they'd be groping each other on sta--. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D ((Hair was written by James Rado and Gerome Ragni with music by Galt MacDermot.))
Summary: Sheila has watched Berger destroying himself for months and finally decides that she can't take any more of it. She's going to save him from himself no matter the cost... or the ultimate prize. Sequel to "Going Down."
Juy 18, 2010: *coughs* I apologize in advance -- the ending on this one is significantly more angst-ridden than the last chapter. That's just the way the chapter breaks fell out. O_O But it gets way better after this, I promise! *unsure but game smile*
And do remember... comments and reviews are love! ^_^
The Algea: Akhos
by Renee-chan
Third time. Berger winced as he threw himself down on his favorite bench in Washington Square Park. This was the third time this month that he'd come back to the apartment to find Sheila at the kitchen table pouring over her bank book, no doubt hoping to find even a penny they'd left unspent. She'd slammed the book shut quickly enough when she saw him, though. Tossed him a nervous smile and made up some story about a project she was working on for school. She needn't have bothered. The truth was plain to be seen in her eyes. Her student loans and the little money she had saved were more than enough to cover her own expenses when Suzanne had been living here. But now? With Suzanne moved out, Berger moved in and a baby on the way? It wasn't even close... not by a long shot.
Unable to bear it as she tried to put a brave face on for him over her obvious fear, he'd fled the apartment. It wasn't fair to her. Any of it. Not this baby and not being stuck with him. It was times like these that Berger thought she'd have been better off with the other guy -- the one who'd followed her from D.C. after the march. But that wasn't what she wanted. She'd made that abundantly clear. And so Berger was stuck, shamed into being on his best behavior in a desperate attempt to prove himself worthy of a responsibility he still wasn't sure he wanted.
Only... that wasn't any easier now than it had been when he was sixteen. If anything, it was harder. Sighing, he slouched down on the bench and tipped his head back. What he wouldn't give for a joint right now, just a little something to take the edge off... but Jeanie had been right about that. That was one steep, slippery fuckin' slope and if he started back down it, even one step, he'd be right back down at the bottom in no time. So, no easy out for him. No shortcut. No escape.
Feeling his breath starting to quicken with the first edges of panic, Berger bent over and put his head between his knees, fighting to take deeper breaths. He hadn't had anxiety attacks like this since he was sixteen... since he'd met Sheila. He'd somehow known that she could take care of things, could lift those hated responsibilities off his shoulders. And G-d bless her, she was still trying. Deep down, though, he knew it was wrong, was unfair. He wasn't a child. He was a man. And as a man, he shouldn't be looking for her to take care of him... he should be taking care of her -- of her... and of their baby. And once that realization was there, it wouldn't go away. Thus, the renewed panic attacks. And they'd been getting worse these last two months, not better.
Finally calmer, Berger forced himself off the bench and started pacing. He had to do something, anything to try to fix this. But what could he do? He was seriously lacking in skills and reliability and his getting expelled from school was not helping him find a job. But surely... surely there had to be something he could do. He just had to figure out what.
Jeanie all but jumped out of her skin at the sudden flurry of loud banging on her door. Cursing quietly but vehemently, she put her cup down on the table to wipe at the puddle of tea that had splashed down her shirt, "Hold on a minute!" When the knocking came again, this time louder and more desperate, Jeanie yelled out, "I'm coming! Jesus. Keep your pants on!"
By the time she got up and got the door open, Sheila all but flew into the apartment, eyes wild and frantic energy just about rolling off her. When her gaze locked on Jeanie, she grabbed the other woman by the arms and said, "It's been two days now and I can't find him anywhere! Jeanie, do you know where he went??"
Stunned and confused, Jeanie just shook her head, "What...? Sheila, what the hell are you talking about?"
Sheila's grip tightened, then abruptly loosened as she slumped, "Berger's gone, Jeanie. He didn't tell me where he was going, didn't tell me when he'd be back. And I checked all the usual places. He's not in any of them. It's like he just disappeared." Falling back against the door, Sheila dropped her face into her hands, "He was doing so well. What the hell happened, Jeanie?"
Leading the distraught woman further into the apartment to sit on the couch, Jeanie did her best to comfort her, "Sheila... we shouldn't assume the worst."
Sheila's head shot up at that, her lips pulled down into a frown, "This is Berger we're talking about Jeanie. 'The worst' is his specialty."
Jeanie sighed, "Well... that's true, but still. Have a little faith, OK? He has been doing well. Maybe this isn't what it looks like." At Sheila's continued look of disbelief, she asked, "Well, what happened? Do you have any idea what prompted him to take off?"
Letting out a small groan, Sheila nodded, "I do have some idea..." Sinking back against the cushions, Sheila winced, "Things... they've been a little tight lately. What with the doctor's visits and vitamins and needing bigger clothes -- you know." At Jeanie's nod, she continued, "Not to mention that with Berger living with me full time, Suzanne ended up moving out. She knew we'd need the space and she and Walter have been getting more serious, so..." She shrugged, "It just made sense. But now..."
Understanding filled Jeanie's eyes, "But now you only have one income paying for rent and expenses not two."
"Exactly," Sheila lifted a hand to rub at her temples, "And we haven't even begun looking at all the things we'll have to buy for the baby once she's born."
"Well, you know that you can have whatever of Claude's you need, right?" was Jeanie's answer.
Finally a smile, small but real, "I do know that, Jeanie. But still... diapers, formula, doctor's visits... it all adds up. We'll be OK. Somehow I know we will, but I can see how badly Berger feels about it. He's still not sure about this whole fatherhood thing and to have financial difficulties thrown on top of it? It's more stress than he can really handle. I've tried to keep the worst of it from him, but..."
"But he isn't stupid. Right?" Jeanie said.
Sheila sighed, "Exactly. And somehow that keeps slipping my mind. Maybe we'd have been better off if I'd just talked to him about it, tried to tell him it would be OK... but he's too smart for that, too. And I'm afraid of what that stress may have driven him to do, Jeanie. I really am." She shuddered, "Getting him through withdrawal once was bad enough. I can't... we can't go through that again."
Jeanie nodded, "I hear you. OK. Why don't we ask the rest of the Tribe if he said anything to them?" At Sheila's dubious look, she continued, "Well, if he isn't in the usual places it's going to be harder to find him. Before we go through all that, let's try the easier route first, OK?"
At Sheila's hesitant nod, Jeanie smiled and patted her knee, "It'll be OK, Sheila. For some reason... I don't have a bad feeling about this. I know it looks bad, but somehow I think it's not. So just relax, OK?"
Sheila took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It wasn't often that the younger woman was wrong about things like this. She'd always had a finger or two on the Tribe's pulse and always seemed to know when one of them was in trouble. She might not be as spooky about it as Woof was, but there was a definite karmic connection between Jeanie and the rest of the Tribe. If she wasn't worried... Taking another deep breath, Sheila nodded again, "OK. We'll call the rest of the Tribe. Maybe one of them will know where he is. But if no one does, I reserve the right to panic, again."
Jeanie laughed as she picked up the phone to start her way down the calling chain, "That's fair, Sheila. That's fair..."
It wasn't until two hours later, when she figured out that not only was Berger missing, but Woof was, too, that Jeanie started to feel an edge of panic herself. But that wasn't going to help matters. Sheila needed to stay calm. A woman at this stage of pregnancy could still miscarry. And that, of all things, would be the worst possibility. Eyeing the other blond as she sat on the floor playing with her son, Jeanie made a monumental decision. Hanging up the phone, she put a sunny smile on her face, looked Sheila right in the eyes... and lied, "Well, that's that. He and Woof took off for a couple of days on a little mini-vacation. Nothing to worry about, see?" Letting her face fall into a grumpy expression, she crossed her arms, "Still, would have been nice to leave a note. Woof, at least, ought to know better."
Sheila's eyes widened, then narrowed. One hand clenched into a fist and she let out a low growl, "I don't care how much I love him. When he gets home, I'm going to kill him."
Claude eyed his Aunt Sheila, then slowly inched away, dragging his toys with him. When she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, Sheila twitched, then lowered her hand and started to laugh. At that, Claude abandoned his toys and got to his feet to run and hide behind Jeanie. That set Jeanie off. Claude looked back and forth between the two women as each gave in to their hysterical laughter. As a minute passed with neither showing any signs of stopping, his lower lip jutted out and started to tremble. Seeing no response from either woman to the signs of imminent water works, Claude let out a little sigh, gathered up his toys and went into his room to play by himself. Sometimes adults just made no sense.
He couldn't do it. That was what it boiled down to. Now that he was here, he just couldn't do it. But when he turned to leave, Berger ran straight into Woof. The older man caught him at the shoulders and just shook his head. Berger tried to plead his case, "This was a mistake, man. One big-ass mistake. I can't do this! Let's... let's just go home, OK? I'll find another way."
Woof just smiled and pulled Berger's head down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. Just as softly, he spoke, "George... There is no other way. Move your ass."
Stunned by both Woof's words and the use of his given name, Berger allowed himself to be turned around and propelled up the walkway. In that one, simple statement, Woof was trying to remind him of exactly why he was here, why he was doing this. Quite simply, he had no choice. The time for playing around, the time for selfishly putting his own needs first, was over. Berger had had a good run, but Sheila no longer needed a Berger... she needed a George. And if this was what he had to do to be that man for her, to provide for her and their child... Woof was right. There was no other way. Raising his hand, he knocked on the door.
There was no immediate answer. Berger waited for two pounding heartbeats, listening intently, then let out an unsteady breath and an even shakier smile, "Oh well. They're not home. Guess we'll have to come back another day, huh, Woof?"
The other man just sighed and rolled his eyes, "Knock again, Banana-Berger."
Heart pounding in his throat, Berger turned around to do just that, but never got the chance. The door opened under his hand to reveal a young woman of about sixteen years. She had thick, dark hair and deep, green eyes. And Berger didn't know her, had no idea who she was. She, on the other hand, most definitely knew him. She raised one hand to her mouth to cover her startled gasp while the other reached out almost desperately to tangle in the fringe of Berger's jacket.
They stood frozen in that tableau for several heart-pounding moments, neither able to move or talk. To Berger's surprise and everlasting gratitude, it was Woof who broke the silence. In a quiet, soothing tone, he said, "If I remember right, it's Samantha, isn't it?" At the girl's shocked nod, he broke into a sunny smile, "I don't know if you remember me or not, but we spent a day at the shore together once."
Before the girl got a chance to answer, however, Berger had -- unfortunately -- found his voice. With a snort of derision, he said, "You're not Sammy! Sammy's a little kid and you're a.. you're a..." At that, his voice failed him and he made the shape of an hourglass with his hands in the air.
The girl's expression immediately fell from shocked pleasure into disgruntled ire. But she left that one hand firmly entwined in Berger's fringe, just the same, as though afraid to let go. She let the other hand drop to her hip, "You haven't been home in four damned years!" Her voice softened, "I grew up, George."
Berger stared at the girl for another minute, shocked eyes taking in all the changes as he tried to figure out if she could possibly be telling the truth. The last time he'd seen his sister, she'd been all of twelve -- a little kid. There was so very little left of the bratty little girl that he'd loved in this young woman... except in her eyes. Those deep green eyes had a spunk and spirit he remembered well and even now they were working their magic to manipulate him. He could feel it, those tiny little tugs on his heart strings, as she started to exercise a girl's G-d-given talent to twist her big brother around her little finger. No less susceptible to it now than he'd been four years ago, Berger found himself giving in without much of a fight. Raising a shaking hand to cup her face, his eyes full of wonder, he said, "Sammy... That's really you, isn't it?" The wonder drained away to be replaced with sorrow, "How did I miss so much?"
Samantha just shook her head, her own eyes brimming with tears, "Oh, who cares about that, now? What matters is that you're home." She finally released the hold she had on Berger's jacket and threw her arms around his neck in a chokehold hug, laughing as she did, "Mom and Dad will be so happy! We've missed you, George. I've missed you."
Gingerly wrapping his arms around the girl's petite frame, Berger let some of his own tension drain away, "I've missed you, too, Sammy. I've missed you, too. I'm sorry it took me so long to come home. I should have made this trip years ago."
And Woof, that smug bastard, just stood behind them beaming the whole time.
Two hours later, they were sitting around the kitchen table, Woof chatting with Sammy while Berger sat back and watched. He would interject a question now and then, but this whole day, this whole adventure, just seemed too surreal. On the one hand, he felt like he didn't belong -- didn't belong in this house, with these people, in this life. On the other hand... it was as though this was what he'd been looking for the whole time. Like Dorothy, he'd had to go to Oz just to discover that the secret to happiness had been in his own backyard the whole time. It messed with his head.
A sudden burst of laughter brought his attention back to the pair at the table. Woof had said something that Samantha apparently found extremely funny... and embarrassing, if the blush on her face was any indication. Berger leaned forward, interest peaked, "Sammy...?"
Her blush deepened, but she did look up to meet his eyes, "Oh... it's nothing..."
Turning to look at Woof, he raised an eyebrow. Sister-baiting... not as challenging as Sheila-baiting, but potentially just as fun. For the first time since deciding to come here, Berger's mouth relaxed into a true smile. Not being stupid, himself, Woof quickly caught on, "Oh... I just asked your sister if there was anyone special in her life."
Anyone special... Berger was surprised at the immediate pulse of protective anger that flared within him at that thought. The thought of someone doing with his little sister the kinds of things he did with Sheila... Never mind that he'd been younger than she the first time he'd done those things... Wait. Forcing his thoughts to a halt, Berger took a deep breath. Wrong thoughts. Those were George thoughts. He didn't need George thoughts. He could be a loving older brother without being a George. He could. Because Berger was a loving brother, a loving friend, a loving... lover. He protected his Tribe, he led his Tribe, he provided for his Tribe. And he did all of it while being Berger. He didn't need "George" to be those things. No... he didn't need George. Looking back at Sammy, he let himself take in the conversation with "Berger's" eyes and ears and thoughts. Suddenly, he smiled. He had been younger, younger by a year, maybe even two. And it was just love. Love. And who was he to deny that to his sister? Reaching out a hand, he clapped her on the shoulder, "Good for you, Sammy! Is it a boy or a girl? Or a boy and a girl?" As her blush deepened and her mouth dropped open, his grin widened, "Maybe two boys? Oooo... maybe two girls?"
At that last, she made a sound like a kettle of boiling water releasing steam and raised her hands to start beating him about the head and shoulders. Laughing, he easily caught her wrists and dragged her down on top of him to start tickling her. She wasn't as easy to pin now as she'd once been, though. It was with a small note of pride that he realized that she'd become a wiry little thing and was managing to twist herself around in such a way that she was able to get in a few good tickles of her own. Woof wisely pushed his chair back out of the way... and not a moment too soon.
With a resounding "crash," he and Sammy ended up toppling his chair over backwards. With a shriek of pure glee, she took advantage of his supine position to attack the sensitive spots at his sides and he immediately curled over to protect them. It took only a moment's struggle to get back upright and reach for the back of her knees.
And that was the scene that greeted Jack and Elaine Berger when they finally returned home and walked into the kitchen. Being as neither made a sound, it took a moment for their children to notice that they'd arrived. But when they did, Berger froze. His sister, noting his sudden stillness, quickly figured out what must be the cause and climbed off his lap to kneel behind him and wrap her arms around him. Hooking her head over his right shoulder, she smiled softly up at her parents, "Mom... Dad... look who finally made it home for dinner..."
It didn't take more than a minute for Elaine to let out a breathless squeal of happiness and join her children on the floor. Buried between the two females busily trying to hug him into submission, Berger could only smile up at his father in bemusement. Jack smiled softly back... and to his son's everlasting shock, dropped down on the floor to join in the group hug.
However, as much fun as it was, and as relieved as he felt, Berger couldn't help but feel that something was horribly wrong in this situation. It only took one look up at the table to figure out what it was. Smiling a smile of pure mischief, Berger reached out a hand, grabbed Woof by the ankle and with one strong yank, pulled him off the chair and down onto the floor. Fortunately, Woof didn't need to be told twice anymore that he was wanted and flung himself into the hug pile with joyful abandon. Barely a minute later, he and Berger simultaneously threw back their heads and howled with pure delight.
When they finally all emerged from the pile and got back to their feet, Jack announced that as a special treat for the special occasion, he would make his "special" macaroni and cheese. In all innocence, Woof had then said, "Oh! Me and Berger make 'special' things, too! But we generally stick to brownies."
Jack and Elaine stared at Woof for a moment before turning to exchange glances with each other. After a moment of silent communion, they then burst into laughter. Berger just groaned. Pulling Woof aside, he explained, "Woof... he doesn't mean the same thing we mean when we say 'special.'" As Woof's face fell, Berger pulled him into a comforting hug, "It's OK, man. Don't sweat it. I'm twenty and I don't live here anymore. It's not like they can ground me for it."
Sammy piped up next in a desperate bid to shift the subject, "OK, George... one thing I gotta know. What's with the whole 'Berger' thing? Are there that many Georges where you live?"
Now it was Berger's turn to freeze. He wasn't really ready to answer that question, didn't know if he'd ever be ready to answer that question for his family. Woof lifted his own arm to rest it around Berger's shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Turning back to the other three, he then said the things that Berger couldn't, "No, there aren't that many Georges. Berger's his Tribe name... his true, inner name, like Woof is mine." He then turned and placed a soft kiss on Berger's temple.
Jack cleared his throat, "Well... that might get a little confusing... calling you by our last name at family reunions..."
At that, a wicked smile bloomed across Woof's face, "Well, how about Banana-Berger?" At the uncertain look on Berger's face, Woof continued, "Or Karma-Berger?" Now Berger's eyes narrowed, silently trying to glare him into submission. Woof wasn't having any of it, "Or there's Crissy's favorite -- Unzipped-Berger. Or Pull-'em-Down-Berger. Or Take-'em-off-Berger. Or Se--" At that, he abruptly cut off what he'd been about to say, ducking his head.
Berger quietly finished the litany for him, voice half-choked in his throat, "Or Sexy-Berger..."
Sensing that something had changed the lighthearted teasing into something else, but not understanding what, Berger's family stepped in closer, supportive. Elaine reached out a gentle hand to rest it against Berger's shoulder, "Sweetheart...?"
Ignoring her, Berger continued, eyes glazing with pain and words tangling with a sob in his throat, "He... He always did... He always did like that one... Didn't he?" It was painful, watching him fight for calm, try to wrestle that pain back under control, so as not to expose it to his family. Finally he buried his face in Woof's neck, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
Woof just wrapped his arms around the younger man and gently rocked him, "Yeah. Yeah, he did." After a moment, he titled Berger's face upwards and let a gentle smile light his own, "I... I always did, too."
Berger just shook his head. Too soon. It was too soon for that. Woof sighed and nodded, gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs, placed a soft kiss on Berger's forehead. Berger drew in a shaky breath, excused himself and bolted for the bathroom. The second he was gone, his family rounded on Woof, eyes bright with worry.
Woof held up a hand to forestall the questions, "I can't... look, it's complicated, OK?" Eyes pleading, he said, "And it's not really for me to tell." Finally he sighed, "A really good friend of ours... he... we got a letter from his mother a few months ago that he was... lost... in 'Nam."
Elaine was the one who said it, "A 'really good friend,' huh? How... How good a friend?"
Woof just turned his best set of puppy-dog-sad eyes on her, "Really good, Mrs. Berger. And closer to Berger than any of the rest of us. OK?"
Understanding in that kind of insight flash that mothers are famous for, Elaine's eyes filled with tears and she ran off down the hall after her son. Jack and Samantha still looked confused, but Samantha put a hand on her father's arm to prevent him from asking any other questions, "Dad... Woof's right. It's not his to tell. Geo-- He'll tell us when he's ready, OK?"
Not liking it, but submitting to his daughter's will nonetheless, Jack wordlessly turned to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients for dinner. Samantha pulled Woof into the living room. Linking her arm gently through his, she asked quietly, "I... I understand that you want him to tell us these things himself, but... I thought he was dating that girl he met at the shore...? Sandy?"
Shaking his head, Woof said, "Sheila." At Samantha's nod and questioning eyes, he sighed, "He was. Still is. But Claude... Claude was special. Different. He..." Voice roughening, he said, "We're still not sure that we aren't going to lose Berger, too."
"But... but he seemed so..."
A soft sigh, "It's an act, Samantha. He's putting on an act for you. He's putting on an act for all of us. Jeanie and I are the only ones that really see it, though. And he's trying. He's trying so very hard because he knows we need him, but..." He shrugged, "He's in pieces. And he's getting worse again, not better."
"I see..." Samantha awkwardly lifted a hand to pat Woof's shoulder, "Well, I can't speak for my parents, but I'll do whatever I can to help, OK? I love him and I've missed him and I want him back in my life, however I have to take him."
Woof smiled in gratitude, "I appreciate that, Samantha."
Sighing, she said, "Oh, I give up. It's Sam, OK? Samantha... Samantha belongs on a high society girl."
At that, Woof snorted out a laugh, "Your parents really didn't do a great job with names, did they?"
She laughed in response, "No... I guess they didn't."
At that point, Berger and Elaine joined them in the living room. Berger still looked shaken, but he put on a smile for the others. Woof stepped away from Samantha and enveloped his friend in a hug. Feeling the small shudders still running through the other man's frame, he sighed and stepped back. This was starting to feel like those times in the past when Berger would attempt to be 'George' for him again and end up falling to pieces for days thereafter from the strain. They couldn't afford that kind of a backslide. Not now. Taking Berger's face in his hands he forced the younger man to meet his eyes and said as firmly as he could, "Stop. Berger... just stop. You don't have to try so hard, OK?"
Eyes haunted, Berger shook his head. Samantha then stepped up and wrapped her arm around his, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. When he looked down to meet her eyes, she smiled, "He's right, you know. We're your family. You're stuck with us whether you want us or not, no matter what you do. Haven't you figured that out, yet... Banana-Berger?"
Wrapping the girl in a tight embrace, Berger nodded against her hair. Feeling another hand gently rubbing circles around his back, Berger reached behind him and pulled his mother forward to join the hug. Seeing his friend relax, Woof felt something in him relax, too. This was going to be one hell of a rocky road, but at least they'd taken the first steps. It was a start.
Hearing the quiet "snick" of the door lock opening, Sheila's heart gave a hard lurch in her chest. Berger. That had to be Berger. No one else had a key to her apartment. It had been almost three days since he and Woof had taken off on their little jaunt to wherever. Of course, he would choose now to come back. She didn't want to scare him back out the door before she had a chance to talk to him! Desperately, Sheila closed the bank book that she'd been going over and tucked it underneath her on the seat... just in time for Berger to walk into the room and catch her doing it. They froze in that tableau: Sheila unwilling to rise from her seat and Berger unwilling to take another step in from the doorway.
Finally, Berger gave a small snort of a laugh and shook his head, "This is no good, Sheila. You know it's no good."
Sheila swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat, "You... Banana-Berger, what do you mean?" After a small hitch in her breathing, she waved a hand around the apartment, "You mean this? Us? We... do you mean we're no good?" Ducking her head, she whispered, "Berger, we have to be. I can't do this without you."
A gentle hand under her chin forced her to raise her gaze. Berger was down on the floor in front of her, earnest apology shining his eyes. Once he had her attention, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. And the look on his face... it was almost painful for Sheila to see it. He looked so sad, so defeated... and yet there was something else there, too. Narrowing her eyes, she finally decided that it was determination. Determination... and a hint of pride. His lips fell into a sad, mocking, self-directed smile, "Sheila... no. That isn't what I meant." Reaching underneath her, he pulled out the bank book and held it up, "This is no good."
Sheila moved to interrupt, to make a grab for the book, but Berger stood and held it just out of arm's reach. He gently shook his head, "Sheila... I'm a mess. You know I'm a mess. I know I'm a mess. Everyone knows I'm a mess. But I'm not blind, I'm not stupid and I'm not a child. This won't work if you keep treating me like I'm all three." Humbled by the simple truth of that statement and ashamed that she'd let herself fall into that trap in the first place, Sheila could only nod. Satisfied, Berger put the book down on the table and said, "We're in trouble. Your student loans barely cover half of what we need. I know that." Sighing, he sat down at the table and dropped his head into his hands.
Sheila finally found the strength to get out of her chair and walked over to stand behind Berger. Draping herself over his back, she wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and pressed her face next to his, "Berger... I know how hard this is for you -- getting sober, putting yourself back together..." She paused, ultimately deciding not to mention the large, pink elephant in the room -- reminding Berger of Claude's death when he was doing so well holding it together at this moment wouldn't help anyone, "...I didn't want to worry you. I'll figure something out. Somehow."
Berger sighed, rubbed his hands over his face and twisted around to look her in the eyes. After a moment of silent communion, he reached up and pulled Sheila down into his lap. Once he had her securely settled, he shook his head, "I'm not going to lie to you. One of the things that originally attracted me to you was that I knew you could take care of me... that you would take care of me. And a very large part of me would like nothing more than to let you keep doing it forever." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "But that's just it, Sheila. I can't... I can't just sit back and let you take care of all the hard stuff. Not anymore. I... I see that. It scares the living hell out of me, but I do see it." Looking up into her eyes, his own firmed with resolve, "I'm going to be a father, Sheila. And fathers take care of their families. They protect their children, make them happy... no matter what it takes." Smiling softly, he let out a small snort, "That's not saying I'm going to be perfect. Hell... I'm probably going to fuck up left and right. You'll probably be mad at me all the time." His voice quieted, "But you know what, Sheila? I'm gonna try anyway. I have to." Placing a gentle hand against Sheila's abdomen, he said, "For her."
Seeing Berger's eyes fixed so securely on where his hand was resting, hearing that sincerity in his voice, Sheila's next breath shuddered in her throat. He meant it. Every word. She could see it in his eyes, that quiet core of strength. And for once... for the first time... she let herself believe that she could rely on that strength -- the way Woof did, the way Jeanie did... the way Claude did. Feeling the gentle support of it underneath her and finding that, for now at least, it would hold her weight, Sheila took in another deep breath... and burst into tears.
Berger held her, gently rocked her through that storm of emotion, all the while silently cursing himself that he'd let them get to this point. He didn't know what he could have done differently up until now, didn't really think he could have done anything differently, but from this point forward, he was going to try harder. He might never be able to be a "George," not really, not where it counted, but he could try to take some of that responsibility back off of Sheila's shoulders just the same.
When Sheila's tears finally slowed and she lifted her head from his shoulder, Berger offered her a small smile and a quick kiss on the nose. Her eyes crossed a little at that and she let out a small laugh. Seeing that smile again... Berger had to smile, too. It wasn't... G-d it wasn't the same, couldn't be the same. It didn't light up the world the way his had... but it did light up her. It didn't put out enough warmth that he could bask in it... but it was enough for him to warm his hands. And it would be enough. It would have to be. Swallowing a sudden lump of tears of his own, he firmly told himself to get control and keep it. Sheila needed him to be strong, needed to know that she could depend on him... and he could show her that, could prove it to her over and over... even if it killed him.
Reaching a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it over. Sheila took it from him, read through it... and almost dropped it in shock. One hand clutching his shoulder, her mouth worked for a moment before she managed to get any words out, "Banana-Berger... what... what is this?"
Shifting uncomfortably beneath her, he mumbled, "What does it look like?"
Turning to look at him, she held it up between them, "It looks like a check for $500." Eyes narrowing, she asked, "Where did you get this, Berger?"
Making an irritated noise, he pushed at Sheila until she got off his lap and then stood up himself. After pacing back and forth a few times he rounded on Sheila, "Why? Do you think I stole it? Held a gun to someone's head and forced them to write it?"
Sheila sighed, rubbed a hand against her forehead, "Banana-Berger, I didn't say that. I just want to know where you got this money. That's all."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Berger scowled, "Did you even bother looking to see who wrote it?"
Eyes confused, Sheila looked down at the check. Her eyes widened again, "Wait... Elaine Berger... Honey, isn't that your mother's name?"
Hunching his shoulders, Berger mumbled, "Yeah. Yeah, it is." At her wide-eyed look, he sighed, "I went over to Hoboken with Woof. Wanted to talk to my dad..." His voice dropped into an embarrassed whisper, "...see if he could help me get a job or something." At those words, Sheila's hand rose to her mouth and she drew in a breath. Touched beyond words and eyes shining with tears, she just nodded at him. He sighed, "Of course when my mother found out why I needed money, she wrote that check and didn't want me to leave until I took it. When I refused, she apparently gave it to Woof who gave it to me when we got back. Said it would be stupid not to take it... and he didn't think I was stupid." Making a face, he added, "Either way, I know we need the money, so..." He shrugged.
Sheila walked over to him and wrapped her arms gently around his neck, "Berger... Thank you. It took a lot of courage to do this -- to go back home... to ask for help." When Berger ducked his gaze, Sheila tucked a hand under his chin and smiled, "No, I mean it. I'm proud of you. I..." A small laugh bubbled forth, "For the first time in months, I think we may actually get through this." Leaning forward, she murmured her next words against his lips before joining hers with them in a gentle kiss, "Thank you, Banana-Berger. Thank you."
Truly at peace with each other for the first time since Claude was drafted, Berger lifted Sheila gently in his arms and carried her back towards the bedroom. Finances could wait. Arguments could wait. It could all wait. Tonight was for them.
New. This is new. He prowls the edges of the room, untrusting, untrusted, wary and tense. New is bad. Badbadbad. New is unpredictable. And things that are unpredictable can get you hurt, killed... can get others hurtkilled. Not that that matters anymore. The others don't matter. They can't matter. If you worry about the others, you're the one who suffers in the end... because they sure as fuck don't worry about you.
Letting out a low growl, he paces back to the other corner. He knows the one in the white coat. The one in the white coat brings the needles, the drugs, the instruments to poke and prod. He brings the muscle-men that trap him, tie him down, take away what little dignity he has left. Not that there's much. Dignity. A soft snort. He abandoned dignity... how long ago? Too long. Forever and a day. Back in that time when the sounds the one in the white coat makes still made sense. They all make those sounds. Like so much about this strange, new camp, he wishes he understood them. But if wishes were fishes he'd walk on the sea. And he can't. He can barely walk on the land. The ground is too muddy, too swampy, too putrid. He knows it, doesn't even have to see it to know it. There's no escape.
But he knows the one in the white coat. Has a wary sort of respect for him, now, because the one in the white coat seems to understand him. Knows when he's going to bolt, knows when he wants to hide, knows when he needs to call in the muscle-men to subdue him... knows too damned much. Knowledge is power and the one in the white coat has it. You respect the one that has the power. If you don't... if you don't, it's badbadbad and you get hurthurthurt. So he tries not to fight the one in the white coat.
The muscle-men... they're different. One on one he stands a chance. One on one he hurt one once. Teeth baring in a feral grin, he crouches in the corner and lets his hands clench and unclench. That had felt goodgoodgood. Knowing that he could hurt them, knowing that he still had that much power... knowing that they now had a wary sort of respect for him. But now they didn't come one on one. They didn't take those sorts of chances anymore -- orders from the one in the white coat, no doubt. A shame...
The one he likes least of all, though, is the one in the brown suit. Everything about him is brown: suit, hair, eyes, self. Brownbrownbrown. He comes sometimes, with the one in the white coat. He makes those noises, he stares, he tries to touch. He doesn't like that, doesn't like the one in the suit, is more scared of him than he is of the one in the white coat and the muscle-men put together, wishes he would stop coming. Not that he ever has a choice. Those visits always end in yelling, screaming, desire to killkillkill! Hands clenching rhythmically against his sides, he forces himself to calm. Don't call attention. Don't call attention. Don't think about the one in the brown suit. Think about the new... the one he doesn't yet understand.
He stares up at the one in the center of the room. This one... this one is different. Blue... this one is blue, with hair like his... sun colored and soft. He can smell it from the corner. The blue approaches, takes a step towards him and he growls again, jerks to his feet and backs away into a different corner. No. Nonono. Doesn't work that way. The blue may smell nice, be soft and... and... pretty? Pretty. Soft and pretty, with eyes so sad... He's seen eyes like that before. Sadsadsad. So very sad. Why so sad? He wishes he knew. Why? It doesn't matter. Who cares why others are sad? They're all sad here. Happiness is an illusion, like the safety of this room, the luxury of the bed he still can't sleep on after seven, seven, seven, seven and two... thirty days... a month. Still can't sleep on after a month in this new prison camp.
Sinking down onto the floor he pulls his knees in tight to his chest, sad and aching and confused. He doesn't understand, doesn't know what they want from him. And how can you avoid the worst of the painpainpain if you don't know what will make them hurt you? Hands clamped tightly over his head, he buries his face in his knees and starts to rock back and forth, keening softly. Too loud and they hear you and noise makes them angry and they come with the white coats and the muscle-men and the needles and the restraints and more poking and prodding and he doesn't know how much more he can take of this new torture. He's scared and alone and he doesn't understand.
The door creaks open to reveal the one in the white coat, just as he knew it would. He doesn't even need to look up to know his presence. It's in his smell -- sterile, white, cleancleanclean. It doesn't belong and it jars against his senses, jangles against his nerves like it's out of tune with the universe. Who thinks things like that? Not him, not him. Those thoughts are too big for him, do him no good. He didn't think them until coming here, here with its sterility and newness. What good does it do?? He wishes he had his smaller thoughts back. Thoughts of food and shelter and clean water, fresh food, dry patch of ground, warm body to curl up against in the night... thoughts that make sense. Whimpering softly, he goes back to his keening, waiting for the muscle-men and the needles and restraints and, oh G-d, he doesn't want to be here anymore.
The one in the brown suit comes in with the one in the white coat, takes hold of the one in the blue to take them away. Good. Goodgoodgood. The one in the blue confuses things, churns up his stomach, his thoughts, in ways he doesn't understand. It needs to go, go away, go far away.
But it doesn't.
It shakes off the one in the brown suit, turns around and hits it, a resounding slap right across the face. He begins to shake. So unexpected. No warning. No warning. No warning. No sign of attack until the attack is enacted. How can you avoid the pain if there are no warnings?? So soft, so pretty and in the end, just the same. The one in the white coat backs away from the one in the blue, yielding ground without a fight. That's bad. Badbadbad. If the one in the white coat yields so readily to the one in the blue... the one in the blue must be powerful, indeed. He won't stand a chance. The one in the brown suit challenges, steps up to the one in the blue and attempts to take back his lost status. The one in the blue doesn't say a word, just clenches her fists and... and... why is the face wet? It leaks from the eyes, down the cheeks... his eyes do that sometimes, too. The tormentors, the captors, the ones who hurt... their eyes don't do that. Why? What does it mean? Whatever it means, the one in the brown suit backs down, defeated without even raising a fist.
More confused than ever before, his keening devolves into a low moan, the desperate lonely howl of one lost without his mates... his pack... his Tribe. So lost, so alone, so afraid. This time when the one in the white coat approaches with the needle in hand, he doesn't even put up a token struggle, just welcomes the oblivion the needle brings with open arms. Sweet sleep... oh, never to wake.
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N: And now for some chibi silliness! :D
Claude: Oh, come on! *stares*
R-chan: *wince* I'm sorry...?
Claude: *drops his head down onto his knees as he curls up on the floor* *whimpers*
Berger: *glares at the chibi as he drops down to cuddle the Claude* I really don't like you right now.
R-chan: D: But... but... I gave you happy family reunion chapter!
Berger: *indicates Claude with a wave of his hand* With this as the trade-off? *glares* Thanks but no thanks.
R-chan: *sigh* It gets better next chapter, OK? Much better.
Claude: *looks up, scowls* "You promise," right?
R-chan: *sheepish grin* Naturally!
Claude: *sigh* "And since when have I lied to you?" right?
R-chan: *pinches Claude's cheek* Got in one, dear!
Claude: *mumbles* Damn it.
Berger: *cuddles the Claude*
Questions, comments, watermelon?
Coming Soon: The day has finally arrived! Berger is a daddy... but that isn't the most exciting thing to come out of this trip to the hospital. Fate will have its say, whether he's ready for it or not.
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Date: 2010-08-03 03:16 pm (UTC)loved it x
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Date: 2010-08-03 04:21 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed!