[Hair] The Zorya (6/9)
Dec. 8th, 2010 04:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eirenicalTitle: The Zorya
Fandom: Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival
Pairing: Berger/Claude/Sheila
Rating: PG-13 for some kissing, really very mild stuff, though... even for me.
Word Count: 62,317 Part 3: 5065
Warnings: Slash (as always ^_^), angst
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: Berger and Sheila are a broken triangle, desperately missing their third side. But is Claude well enough to fill his usual place? Only time will tell.
December 8, 2010: Paper's done (sort of -- don't ask, long story :-P), and I managed to slice my finger open on a plastic container. *sweatdrop* Some reward for getting my work done. Needless to say, typing's been a little difficult. *sigh* See? See how much I love you guys? ^_~
Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!
Exorcism and Protection
by Renee-chan
Berger poked his head out of Cheryl's bedroom at the suddenly raised voice in the living room. It wasn't like Sheila to start yelling like that, especially when she knew they were trying to put Cheryl down for a nap. Claude stepped up next to him, holding a now-fussing Cheryl up against him, thumb tucked firmly in her mouth as she furiously twirled the hair beside her ear. Jerking his head in Sheila's direction, he asked Berger, "What's going on?"
Wincing as Sheila let out a particularly loud explicative, Berger shook his head, "I don't know, man. I don't even know who she's on the phone with -- hell, I didn't even hear it ring." Eventually, he shooed Claude and Cheryl back into the room, "Look, just try to get her down and I'll go tell Sheila to keep it a little quieter."
Though he didn't look entirely thrilled with it, Claude nonetheless did as asked. He usually had the best luck getting Cheryl to nap when she was in this kind of a mood, anyway. Meanwhile, Berger headed out into the kitchen just in time to see Sheila slam the phone down on the cradle with a frustrated half-scream. Seeing Berger edging closer to her like he was certain he'd done something to earn the ire she'd been spewing forth put her in check like nothing else would have and she took in a deep calming breath. By the time he reached her, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder, "Sorry, baby. I... That was kind of uncalled for. I just didn't expect that to erupt into such a... damn it, I don't even know what that was."
Understanding that he hadn't, in fact, been the cause of the upset allowed Berger to relax and he gently reciprocated Sheila's embrace. She made a noise of frustration and picked her head up to look him in the eyes, "I just don't think it's a good idea right now. I mean... I'm right, aren't I?"
"Uh... You're going to have to give me more to go on than that if you want a helpful answer, Sheila," was Berger's dry response.
Seeing the look in Berger's eyes, that look that clearly said he thought he was about to step into a verbal minefield, Sheila snorted out a laugh, laid her head back down on his shoulder, "I was talking to my mother. I thought I would call her, tell her that I didn't think we'd be making it to Thanksgiving dinner. Berger... she was not happy. She actually started crying when she told me how much she'd been looking forward to celebrating her first grandchild's first Thanksgiving." Leaning back, she met Berger's eyes with a pained look, "I didn't know whether to applaud her performance or start crying myself. I just..." She looked over Berger's shoulder and jerked her head in the direction of Cheryl's room, then shrugged.
She didn't need to explain any further than that, unfortunately. Berger knew exactly what she meant. Claude would not be up for a Franklin family Thanksgiving, not by a long shot. He pulled Sheila closer, placed a reassuring kiss on her forehead, "Yeah... I can see why that conversation got a little out of control. For what it's worth, though, I agree. I don't think he'd be up for that." Shaking his head with a soft laugh, he said, "Hell, Sheila. Forget Claude... I don't think I'd be up for that. I mean... your parents are nice people and all, but... fuck. The rest of your family is nuts. And there are so many of them..."
Sheila laughed, finally pulled away. She ran her hands through her hair, gave Berger a sheepish grin, "I'd argue, but... you know something, Banana-Berger? You're right. There are a lot of them and they are all nuts. Why the hell my parents feel the need to invite them all every year is beyond me." Turning away from Berger, she started to pace, "Damn it."
Berger leaned against the kitchen counter, tapped a finger against his chin in thought. To say that he wasn't eager to go to the Franklins' for Thanksgiving was a massive understatement. They'd gone last year while Sheila was pregnant -- he'd have done just about anything for her at that point -- and he'd been dreading going back ever since, but he'd been loathe to broach the subject.
Thanksgiving in the Berger household had always been so laid back. There was no getting yourself done up in your Sunday best and having ten sets of silverware at each plate. For that matter, there was no "good china," just the regular dinner plates. There were no stiffly proper conversations held over cigars and brandy in the study while the women twittered in the kitchen. It was just he, his parents and his sister, maybe an extended family member or a few friends, all piled into the kitchen "helping" prepare the food, or sprawled out in the living room arguing over who got to pick the match color for lighting the first fire of the year. It was a little silly, but he'd actually fantasized more than once about bringing Claude, Sheila and Cheryl to his parents' for Thanksgiving. They'd have so much fun and he had a feeling that his family would know not to intrude or push too hard in places where Claude couldn't handle it. It would be quiet, full of love and happiness. Claude had probably never had a Thanksgiving like that. Hell, Sheila probably hadn't, either.
The answer came to him in a moment of pure brilliance. Jesus, the answer was so fucking obvious... how had he not thought of it earlier? A broad grin spreading on his face, Berger caught Sheila's elbow as she paced by and pulled her up against him, again. At her curious look, his smile widened, "Sheila... Why don't we have Thanksgiving here?" Her mouth dropped open and he laughed, lifted her up and squeezed her tight. Looking up into her bright blue eyes, he explained, "Us, your parents and your brother and sister, my parents and my sister. No one else. And when we get tired of them, we can kick them all out. What do you say?"
Sheila stared down at him for a minute then shifted her legs to wrap them around his waist. Her mouth slowly stretched into a smile fit to match his, "You know... I can't think of a really good reason why that's a bad idea. I mean, it'll be a lot of work, and I've never cooked a turkey before, but I think you're right. That's the best solution."
Berger leaned up to kiss her, eyes dancing, "I've got another good idea." After Sheila laughingly bent her head to claim another kiss, he smirked up at her and said, "We'll ask your parents and my parents if they'd be willing to help out by bringing side dishes and desserts and stuff. That way, the turkey is the only thing we have to worry about."
Sheila laughed as she stretched her legs down to stand on her own. Once she was back on the floor, she poked at Berger's shoulder, "You just want to make sure your mom brings that one dessert that you're always trying to get me to learn how to make for you."
Before she could get too far away, Berger reeled her back in and kissed her nose. Eyes twinkling he said, "Clearly you've never had 'Death by Chocolate,' before. If you had, you'd understand what a travesty it was to go through last Thanksgiving without it."
Sheila nearly jumped at the second set of arms that wrapped around her from behind, but relaxed when Claude's smooth voice accompanied the embrace, "You know... it seems to me that I've heard about this dessert before. In fact, Banana-Berger, I think you once described it as 'almost as good as sex.' Or am I remembering that incorrectly?"
Berger snickered softly, leaned around Sheila to touch foreheads with Claude, "Nope. That would be the one. Really, man, you haven't lived until you've had this stuff. There's chocolate pudding and Nestle crunch and chocolate cake, brownies, whipped cream..." His voice trailed off and he licked his lips.
Sheila laughed as she leaned back against Claude, "Watch it, baby. I think you're starting to drool. Do I need to get one of Cheryl's bibs for you?"
"Oh, I'll give you drooling!" was his response as he reached out to start tickling her sides. And at that moment, Sheila finally remembered why it was a very bad idea to let herself get trapped between Claude and Berger.
Smirking widely when she tried to break away, Claude clamped his arms tightly around her and rather than lifting her off the floor, pressed her down into it so she couldn't kick to get away. And Berger just kept at it, easily finding and exploiting every single ticklish spot he knew she had. After two minutes of futilely trying to fend off Berger and get out of Claude's hold -- all without making any noises loud enough to wake a sleeping Cheryl -- she finally got out between giggles, "Mercy! Mercy! I give! Guys, enough!"
Claude dropped her like a hot coal. Sheila turned to face him just in time to see him wipe away whatever expression had been on his face. She turned back to Berger. He just sighed and shook his head. Seeing that neither man had any intention of being more forthcoming with her than that, she let it go. Instead, she turned back to Claude and decided to just divert the situation before Claude could tie himself up over whatever he thought had happened, "So... I don't know how much of the conversation you heard, but Berger and I were talking about Thanksgiving."
Face taking on a closed look, Claude wrapped his arms around himself, "Sheila, you always go to your parents' for Thanksgiving... don't you?"
Stepping closer, Sheila rested a hand on one of Claude's tense arms, "I do, but that's what we were talking about. Berger made a very eloquent plea last year that we never, ever do that again."
Berger spluttered from behind her, "I never did! I was on my best behavior and I didn't say a word!"
Sheila stepped back so that she could watch both of their responses to what she was about to say, and raised an eyebrow, "Berger... when we came home, you were drunk. I guess you figured that was safer than getting high, but it still wasn't any more fun from my end."
Berger's eyes widened in horror, "I... I actually don't remember doing that."
Sheila rolled her eyes, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Then again, if I wanted to be fair, I'd tell you that my cousin got you started sometime during the appetizers. She saw how stressed you looked and... well, she decided to help you out." At Berger's increasingly confused expression, she elaborated, "She spiked your punch."
Claude started snickering behind her and Berger's mouth dropped open. Allowing herself to see the humor of it, Sheila also started to laugh, "Yeah... Donna usually is good for that kind of thing. You'll be happy to know that you have just as good control over your tongue drunk as you do high... or sober." At Berger's hopeful look, she laughed harder, "Which is to say... none whatsoever!"
Berger slumped, "Oh, man..." Face taking on a truly remorseful expression and a pink hue, he said in a quiet voice, "And they still wanted us to come back this year?" When Sheila shrugged, he sighed, "Great. Just great." Throwing his hands up in the air, he said ruefully, "Can't take me anywhere, I guess, huh?"
Claude cleared his throat, brought them back to the question at hand, "So... wait. Are we going to your parents' then?"
Sheila shook her head, "That's what Berger and I were just discussing. Honestly, neither of us is too keen on the idea of going to my parents' for Thanksgiving." Seeing the cautiously relieved look on Claude's face, her expression softened into a smile, "Claude, I know you've never been, but trust me... it's not exactly my idea of a good time. So, you can forget about bleating about you being in the way again. This isn't an imposition, it's a welcome excuse... We don't want to go, either."
Letting out a relieved breath, Claude relaxed from his tense posture, "But... won't you miss celebrating Thanksgiving with your family?"
Berger moved to stand next to Claude and wrapped a gentle hand around the back of his neck, "We thought we'd invite my parents and Sheila's parents here for Thanksgiving. That way they can all be here for Cheryl's first one and we don't have to subject ourselves to all that ridiculousness. Not to mention, it'll make it easier for us with Cheryl -- we won't have to lug all her stuff with us." Gently massaging Claude's neck, he asked, "So, what do you think? Think you can handle an apartment invasion for one day?"
Though he didn't look entirely thrilled by the idea, Claude did nod, "Yeah... I guess I could handle that, Banana-Berger." Face filling with a self-deprecating smile, he added, "And I suppose I can always hide in Cheryl's room if I get overwhelmed."
Berger laughed and released his neck to clap him on the shoulder, "That's the spirit, man! And I like how you think. If things get to be too much, we can both hide in Cheryl's room."
Sheila put her hands on her hips, "Berger, you are not going to run off with Claude to cuddle and leave me to deal with both families on my own. If things get bad enough that you both feel the need to run away, we'll just kick them all out so none of us has to hide in Cheryl's room. Agreed?" At the terrifyingly maternal look on her face, both men quickly nodded in agreement. Sheila then gave them both a brilliant smile, "Excellent. Now why don't you two go take a walk or something while I call my mother back. I don't think either of you needs to be witness to this."
Taking that suggestion for the gift that it was, Claude and Berger grabbed their coats and fled the apartment without even a backward glance. Sheila just rolled her eyes as the door slammed shut, "Men."
Berger pushed open the door to the bedroom, poked his head inside, "Claudio? You about ready? People are going to start showing up any minute now." Seeing Claude sitting still and silent on the bed, staring into space, Berger sighed. Taking a step closer, he offered, "You know, you don't have to do this. You can hide out in here or we can call the whole thing off..."
At that, Claude finally lifted his head and turned to face Berger. He looked tired, that Berger could easily see. He looked tired, worn out... stretched a little too thin. He'd been trying so hard these last couple of weeks, like he was fighting to meet some self-imposed deadline. Last night he'd even insisted on trying to sleep in the bed with them. Berger had tried to tell him that he didn't have to, especially not the night before Thanksgiving, but Claude wouldn't listen. For whatever reason, he'd needed to be close to both of them last night, needed them within easy reach, and he'd refused to make Sheila sleep on the floor, even though she'd been the one to offer. And in spite of his insistence that he was fine, Berger laid awake feeling him tremble through half the night. Finally around one in the morning, Claude had given up, fled the bed to sit in the corner of the room, wrapped up in his fatigue jacket. It was the first time he'd done that since the first night he'd been home.
After another twenty minutes he'd gotten up from the corner, started pacing the room, muttering under this breath. Berger had wanted to go to him, try to talk to him, but he'd gotten this feeling that his intrusion wouldn't be welcome. Claude needed to fight this out with himself and nothing Berger could say could fix it for him. Eventually Claude had left the bedroom, wandered out into the living room. At that point, Berger got up and followed, keeping back far enough that he wouldn't intrude, but needing to know that Claude was all right.
What Claude had done was go to the kitchen and take the phone off the hook. Closing his eyes, he'd dialed a phone number. Berger could almost count the rings by watching Claude's every flinch: one ring, two rings, three rings... At that third ring, Claude shuddered once and all but slammed the phone back into the cradle. He'd then started pacing the living room, hands buried in his hair and tugging hard. Ten steps, turn. Ten steps, turn. Eventually, he'd stopped, abruptly turned back towards the kitchen and marched back over to the phone. Lifting it off the cradle, he'd pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket, slowly dialed the number that was written on it. And if Berger was any judge, it cost him dearly to dial each one of those numbers.
And again... one ring, two rings, three rings, four rings... and this time when Claude jerked, it was clearly because someone answered. But no matter the case, Claude couldn't seem to make himself say anything once they did. After a minute or two, he finally managed to croak out, "Yes. It's... yes." With that accomplished, he seemed to relax. Berger would really have liked to know who he was talking to at nearly two in the morning, really would have liked to know why Claude wanted to talk to this person and not to him, but he still couldn't bring himself to intrude.
He watched for a few more minutes, listened to Claude's minimal responses, tried to figure out who it might be. No such luck. Sighing, he'd rubbed his eyes and turned back to the bedroom. Claude would tell him when he was ready and he would come back to bed or not as he chose. Berger had to start letting it be his decision, couldn't keep leading him in the direction that Berger wanted him to go. That wouldn't help anyone in the long run. Claude needed to stand on his own two feet again and he'd never do that if Berger kept letting him lean so heavily on him for support. Not that he wouldn't be there -- he couldn't not be there -- but he had to start letting Claude take a little more responsibility for his own recovery. It was more than time.
Just as Berger was about to give up waiting for Claude and allow himself to drop off to sleep, he felt the bed dip beside him. A few moments later gentle fingers reached out and lightly touched his face, his neck, his lips. They lingered there for a moment and it took everything Berger had in him not to open his mouth and suck them in. Whatever Claude needed from this contact, it wasn't that, he was sure, so he fought down that instinctive flair of desire. Eventually those fingers left his lips, wandered down towards the planes of his chest. And really... that just wasn't fair. Berger beat down his desire yet again and forced himself to remain still. Those fingers lightly traced their way down his breastbone, circled the left side of his chest, then settled along with the rest of the hand right over Berger's heart, stayed there for a minute, maybe two. Berger could almost hear Claude silently counting the beats beside him. Once he seemed satisfied that Berger wasn't going to move no matter what he did, he removed his hand, laid down next to him and rested his ear against the spot his hand had just vacated. He drew in a deep breath and gave one almost convulsive shudder. Berger could feel it as he commanded each muscle in his body, one by one, to relax. It took time, but once he managed it, something miraculous happened... Claude fell asleep.
Hesitant to do anything that might disturb him, Berger had lain there the rest of the night, wide awake and unmoving, not even daring to let his arm close around the other man the way he so desperately wanted to. He didn't want to make Claude feel trapped or confined in any way. Not now, not tonight. There would be time for that... so much time.
But having several hours of sleep in a real bed for the first time in years, rather than refreshing Claude, seemed to have taken a severe toll on him. His eyes were dull, exhausted and he looked like he didn't have anything left. Hell, he was too exhausted to even tell Berger how exhausted he was. Berger recognized that look, when the other man wanted to say something but access to the words he needed was hovering just out of reach. He looked like that now. Berger moved into the room, sat beside Claude on the bed. Claude immediately scooted closer, tucked his head into the crook of Berger's neck. Berger wrapped both arms around him, placed a soft kiss against his brow and started gently rocking him, "Claudio, I keep trying to tell you that you don't have to try so hard. You really don't. No one expects you to get better over night. It'll happen in time. You just need to give it that time. OK?"
Claude nodded miserably against his shoulder, let out a heavy breath and pressed his face closer against Berger's neck. Berger just held him, slowly rocking him and hoping that whatever mood was riding him would lift before their company got there. If not, they were in for a rough day. After another few minutes, Berger pressed another gentle kiss to Claude's forehead and pushed him upright, "OK, Claudio. Why don't you go splash some water on your face and I'll go steal a cup of coffee for you from the kitchen. Maybe that'll help you wake up a little, hmm?" Rather than answer verbally, Claude just nodded, slowly stood up and shuffled off towards the bathroom.
By the time Berger got back into the kitchen, Sheila was already there with a steaming cup of coffee waiting. She sighed, "I overheard. And since I'm pretty sure you slept even less than he did last night, there's a mug for you waiting on the counter."
Pausing only long enough to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, Berger let Sheila deliver that cup of coffee and made a beeline straight for his own. Staying up all night never used to take it out of him like this before. Damn. Finding his coffee exactly where Sheila had said it would be, he took a good long sniff of it, then brought it to his lips and drank down half of the cup as quickly as the temperature would allow. Before he could chug down any more of it, however, there was a knock at the door. Letting out a small groan, he reluctantly put the coffee down on the counter and briskly clapped his hands against his face, "Well... I guess it's showtime."
Thanksgiving wasn't boring this year, that was for certain. Berger's parents and sister had been the first to arrive and he could only be grateful for that small blessing. Claude had managed to emerge from hiding long enough to greet them and exchange handshakes before fleeing for the safety of the bedroom, again. Berger had gotten a few curious glances for that one, but he'd just shaken his head, pushing off the questions for later. Fortunately, shortly after that, Cheryl had awoken from her nap and shrilly demanded to be freed from her crib. That had all three of his family members making a beeline for the bedroom, each eager to be the first relative she saw on her first Thanksgiving.
Berger wandered over to Sheila and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressed a kiss into the side of her neck. With a laugh, she turned to face him, eyes twinkling, "You'd think they'd never met her before, wouldn't you?"
Chuckling softly in response, Berger offered her a small shrug, "What can I say? They're head over heels for babies in general, and if I do say so myself, ours is a particularly adorable one. Can you blame them?"
Sheila pushed lightly at his shoulder, then immediately tensed at the next knock on the door, "Oh G-d. They're here."
Pulling her into a tight embrace, Berger let out a small groan, "We could just not answer the door, you know. Hush up my parents, turn out all the lights, pretend we're not home... what do you say?"
Sighing softly, Sheila shook her head, "As tempted as I am, I'd never hear the end of it. Besides... my parents have the sweet potatoes and the pumpkin bread." She then gave his nose a light tweak and moved to open the door. And Sheila could almost feel the day falling apart the minute that she pulled it open. In spite of her request that today be casual, her parents had dressed themselves in their holiday best, like always. Her older brother, Roger, and his wife, Barbara, had followed their lead enough to dress a step above their regular clothes, but had listened to her enough to not be obviously overdressed.
As for Sheila's little sister... before she even had a chance to register what the girl was wearing, she'd launched herself at Sheila with a happy squeal and tried to hug the life out of her. Before Sheila could even ask what that was about, she heard the steady murmur of words that Patty was babbling into her ear and it went like this: "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyout,Sheila,you'rethebestsistereverandIwillloveyouforeverandeverandever,andIreallymeanitthistime,thankyouthankyouthankyou,sogladIdon'thavetositthroughThanksgivingathomethisyear,thankyouthankyouthankyou!"
When Sheila was finally able to make sense of that babbling, she burst out laughing and squeezed her sister back as tightly as she was being squeezed. Planting a kiss on the girl's cheek, she then said, "It was my pleasure, Patty. My pleasure." She then pushed the other blonde back out to arms length to get a better look at her. She was wearing a pair of bell-bottomed brown corduroy pants and a brightly colored polyester button-down shirt in a very busy turquoise, orange, tan and brown pattern that should have looked garish, but somehow didn't, and a pair of platform shoes. Honestly, they made Sheila's feet hurt just looking at them.
Catching her sister looking, Patty did a slow twirl for her and ended it with an impudent curtsy, "Well, I know you said 'casual,' but the shirt's new and I was dying for an excuse to wear it."
Sheila just reached up a hand to pinch her cheek, "It's adorable, Patty. Don't worry about it." Sheila didn't want to get into that discussion in front of her parents, especially as she was certain that they hadn't agreed that Patty's outfit was as dressy as she seemed to think it was.
She shooed the girl inside, then greeted her parents and her brother and sister-in-law. As she was closing the door and directing her mother into the kitchen with the food she'd brought, that was when Berger's family emerged from Cheryl's room. Elaine was holding Cheryl, one of the little girl's hands wrapped firmly in her hair, the other hand tightly clenched around Jack's finger. Sammy was the only one not holding a limb, mainly because she'd dropped the foot she was kissing when she spotted the newcomers. When she saw Patty, she immediately grabbed her mother's elbow, "Mom! That's one of the shirts I was talking about!" Smiling over at Patty, she demanded, "That is a Huckapoo, isn't it?"
Delighted as any girl who's just had her fashion sense appreciated, Patty made a beeline straight for the pair. After she'd greeted her niece, she and Sammy then made their way over to the loveseat to engage in a no-holds-barred fashion discourse. By then, Berger had made his way back over to Sheila and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Letting out a soft snort, he said, "Your sister's only a year older than mine and they obviously have a lot in common... Why didn't we think to introduce them before now?"
Sheila laughed at that, "I have no idea." Turning just enough to smile up at him, she offered, "Maybe we were afraid that they'd successfully plot world domination?"
Berger buried his face in her hair to hide his snickering, "You know... you could be right at that."
Sheila turned the rest of the way around and, eyes taking on a serious cast, asked, "Has Claude come back out yet?" At his heavy sigh and the mute shake of his head, Sheila sighed, too, "Damn it. Maybe I should go talk to him?"
Berger gave her one more squeeze, then let her go, "No, I don't think so." When it looked like Sheila might object, he shook his head, "Sheila, I know you want to help, but there's really not much you can do. He's got to deal with this on his own. If he isn't out by dinner, I'll bring some food in for him, OK? But it's got to be his choice. We can't force him to decide that he's ready... especially if he isn't."
"You're right. Of course, you're right." Sheila opened her mouth to say more, but was diverted by the sound of a crash and Cheryl's delighted laughter.
Elaine's voice immediately called out, "We're OK, nothing's broken and I promise we'll clean it up!"
This was immediately followed up by Jack's voice calling out, "Son, where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?"
Sheila and Berger stared at each other for a few seconds while fighting back the laughter, then Berger rolled his eyes, "I'll go help clean up whatever she spilled, you go talk to your family." He then fled before she had a chance to realize that he'd gotten the better end of the deal by far.
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N:
...yeah. Still nothing. I suck at author's notes this week. Damned paper. :'(
Coming Soon: Claude finally manages to emerge from the bedroom with a little help from Cheryl, just in time to join in the festivities at dinner. It's the Franklins vs. the Bergers in a no-holds-barred battle to the turkey! Round one... ding!
OK. I'm being a total dork. My finger hurts and I'm doped up on cold medicine. So sue me. ^_^
Fandom: Hair, the musical: 2009 Revival
Pairing: Berger/Claude/Sheila
Rating: PG-13 for some kissing, really very mild stuff, though... even for me.
Word Count: 62,317 Part 3: 5065
Warnings: Slash (as always ^_^), angst
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: Berger and Sheila are a broken triangle, desperately missing their third side. But is Claude well enough to fill his usual place? Only time will tell.
December 8, 2010: Paper's done (sort of -- don't ask, long story :-P), and I managed to slice my finger open on a plastic container. *sweatdrop* Some reward for getting my work done. Needless to say, typing's been a little difficult. *sigh* See? See how much I love you guys? ^_~
Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!
Exorcism and Protection
by Renee-chan
Berger poked his head out of Cheryl's bedroom at the suddenly raised voice in the living room. It wasn't like Sheila to start yelling like that, especially when she knew they were trying to put Cheryl down for a nap. Claude stepped up next to him, holding a now-fussing Cheryl up against him, thumb tucked firmly in her mouth as she furiously twirled the hair beside her ear. Jerking his head in Sheila's direction, he asked Berger, "What's going on?"
Wincing as Sheila let out a particularly loud explicative, Berger shook his head, "I don't know, man. I don't even know who she's on the phone with -- hell, I didn't even hear it ring." Eventually, he shooed Claude and Cheryl back into the room, "Look, just try to get her down and I'll go tell Sheila to keep it a little quieter."
Though he didn't look entirely thrilled with it, Claude nonetheless did as asked. He usually had the best luck getting Cheryl to nap when she was in this kind of a mood, anyway. Meanwhile, Berger headed out into the kitchen just in time to see Sheila slam the phone down on the cradle with a frustrated half-scream. Seeing Berger edging closer to her like he was certain he'd done something to earn the ire she'd been spewing forth put her in check like nothing else would have and she took in a deep calming breath. By the time he reached her, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his shoulder, "Sorry, baby. I... That was kind of uncalled for. I just didn't expect that to erupt into such a... damn it, I don't even know what that was."
Understanding that he hadn't, in fact, been the cause of the upset allowed Berger to relax and he gently reciprocated Sheila's embrace. She made a noise of frustration and picked her head up to look him in the eyes, "I just don't think it's a good idea right now. I mean... I'm right, aren't I?"
"Uh... You're going to have to give me more to go on than that if you want a helpful answer, Sheila," was Berger's dry response.
Seeing the look in Berger's eyes, that look that clearly said he thought he was about to step into a verbal minefield, Sheila snorted out a laugh, laid her head back down on his shoulder, "I was talking to my mother. I thought I would call her, tell her that I didn't think we'd be making it to Thanksgiving dinner. Berger... she was not happy. She actually started crying when she told me how much she'd been looking forward to celebrating her first grandchild's first Thanksgiving." Leaning back, she met Berger's eyes with a pained look, "I didn't know whether to applaud her performance or start crying myself. I just..." She looked over Berger's shoulder and jerked her head in the direction of Cheryl's room, then shrugged.
She didn't need to explain any further than that, unfortunately. Berger knew exactly what she meant. Claude would not be up for a Franklin family Thanksgiving, not by a long shot. He pulled Sheila closer, placed a reassuring kiss on her forehead, "Yeah... I can see why that conversation got a little out of control. For what it's worth, though, I agree. I don't think he'd be up for that." Shaking his head with a soft laugh, he said, "Hell, Sheila. Forget Claude... I don't think I'd be up for that. I mean... your parents are nice people and all, but... fuck. The rest of your family is nuts. And there are so many of them..."
Sheila laughed, finally pulled away. She ran her hands through her hair, gave Berger a sheepish grin, "I'd argue, but... you know something, Banana-Berger? You're right. There are a lot of them and they are all nuts. Why the hell my parents feel the need to invite them all every year is beyond me." Turning away from Berger, she started to pace, "Damn it."
Berger leaned against the kitchen counter, tapped a finger against his chin in thought. To say that he wasn't eager to go to the Franklins' for Thanksgiving was a massive understatement. They'd gone last year while Sheila was pregnant -- he'd have done just about anything for her at that point -- and he'd been dreading going back ever since, but he'd been loathe to broach the subject.
Thanksgiving in the Berger household had always been so laid back. There was no getting yourself done up in your Sunday best and having ten sets of silverware at each plate. For that matter, there was no "good china," just the regular dinner plates. There were no stiffly proper conversations held over cigars and brandy in the study while the women twittered in the kitchen. It was just he, his parents and his sister, maybe an extended family member or a few friends, all piled into the kitchen "helping" prepare the food, or sprawled out in the living room arguing over who got to pick the match color for lighting the first fire of the year. It was a little silly, but he'd actually fantasized more than once about bringing Claude, Sheila and Cheryl to his parents' for Thanksgiving. They'd have so much fun and he had a feeling that his family would know not to intrude or push too hard in places where Claude couldn't handle it. It would be quiet, full of love and happiness. Claude had probably never had a Thanksgiving like that. Hell, Sheila probably hadn't, either.
The answer came to him in a moment of pure brilliance. Jesus, the answer was so fucking obvious... how had he not thought of it earlier? A broad grin spreading on his face, Berger caught Sheila's elbow as she paced by and pulled her up against him, again. At her curious look, his smile widened, "Sheila... Why don't we have Thanksgiving here?" Her mouth dropped open and he laughed, lifted her up and squeezed her tight. Looking up into her bright blue eyes, he explained, "Us, your parents and your brother and sister, my parents and my sister. No one else. And when we get tired of them, we can kick them all out. What do you say?"
Sheila stared down at him for a minute then shifted her legs to wrap them around his waist. Her mouth slowly stretched into a smile fit to match his, "You know... I can't think of a really good reason why that's a bad idea. I mean, it'll be a lot of work, and I've never cooked a turkey before, but I think you're right. That's the best solution."
Berger leaned up to kiss her, eyes dancing, "I've got another good idea." After Sheila laughingly bent her head to claim another kiss, he smirked up at her and said, "We'll ask your parents and my parents if they'd be willing to help out by bringing side dishes and desserts and stuff. That way, the turkey is the only thing we have to worry about."
Sheila laughed as she stretched her legs down to stand on her own. Once she was back on the floor, she poked at Berger's shoulder, "You just want to make sure your mom brings that one dessert that you're always trying to get me to learn how to make for you."
Before she could get too far away, Berger reeled her back in and kissed her nose. Eyes twinkling he said, "Clearly you've never had 'Death by Chocolate,' before. If you had, you'd understand what a travesty it was to go through last Thanksgiving without it."
Sheila nearly jumped at the second set of arms that wrapped around her from behind, but relaxed when Claude's smooth voice accompanied the embrace, "You know... it seems to me that I've heard about this dessert before. In fact, Banana-Berger, I think you once described it as 'almost as good as sex.' Or am I remembering that incorrectly?"
Berger snickered softly, leaned around Sheila to touch foreheads with Claude, "Nope. That would be the one. Really, man, you haven't lived until you've had this stuff. There's chocolate pudding and Nestle crunch and chocolate cake, brownies, whipped cream..." His voice trailed off and he licked his lips.
Sheila laughed as she leaned back against Claude, "Watch it, baby. I think you're starting to drool. Do I need to get one of Cheryl's bibs for you?"
"Oh, I'll give you drooling!" was his response as he reached out to start tickling her sides. And at that moment, Sheila finally remembered why it was a very bad idea to let herself get trapped between Claude and Berger.
Smirking widely when she tried to break away, Claude clamped his arms tightly around her and rather than lifting her off the floor, pressed her down into it so she couldn't kick to get away. And Berger just kept at it, easily finding and exploiting every single ticklish spot he knew she had. After two minutes of futilely trying to fend off Berger and get out of Claude's hold -- all without making any noises loud enough to wake a sleeping Cheryl -- she finally got out between giggles, "Mercy! Mercy! I give! Guys, enough!"
Claude dropped her like a hot coal. Sheila turned to face him just in time to see him wipe away whatever expression had been on his face. She turned back to Berger. He just sighed and shook his head. Seeing that neither man had any intention of being more forthcoming with her than that, she let it go. Instead, she turned back to Claude and decided to just divert the situation before Claude could tie himself up over whatever he thought had happened, "So... I don't know how much of the conversation you heard, but Berger and I were talking about Thanksgiving."
Face taking on a closed look, Claude wrapped his arms around himself, "Sheila, you always go to your parents' for Thanksgiving... don't you?"
Stepping closer, Sheila rested a hand on one of Claude's tense arms, "I do, but that's what we were talking about. Berger made a very eloquent plea last year that we never, ever do that again."
Berger spluttered from behind her, "I never did! I was on my best behavior and I didn't say a word!"
Sheila stepped back so that she could watch both of their responses to what she was about to say, and raised an eyebrow, "Berger... when we came home, you were drunk. I guess you figured that was safer than getting high, but it still wasn't any more fun from my end."
Berger's eyes widened in horror, "I... I actually don't remember doing that."
Sheila rolled her eyes, "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Then again, if I wanted to be fair, I'd tell you that my cousin got you started sometime during the appetizers. She saw how stressed you looked and... well, she decided to help you out." At Berger's increasingly confused expression, she elaborated, "She spiked your punch."
Claude started snickering behind her and Berger's mouth dropped open. Allowing herself to see the humor of it, Sheila also started to laugh, "Yeah... Donna usually is good for that kind of thing. You'll be happy to know that you have just as good control over your tongue drunk as you do high... or sober." At Berger's hopeful look, she laughed harder, "Which is to say... none whatsoever!"
Berger slumped, "Oh, man..." Face taking on a truly remorseful expression and a pink hue, he said in a quiet voice, "And they still wanted us to come back this year?" When Sheila shrugged, he sighed, "Great. Just great." Throwing his hands up in the air, he said ruefully, "Can't take me anywhere, I guess, huh?"
Claude cleared his throat, brought them back to the question at hand, "So... wait. Are we going to your parents' then?"
Sheila shook her head, "That's what Berger and I were just discussing. Honestly, neither of us is too keen on the idea of going to my parents' for Thanksgiving." Seeing the cautiously relieved look on Claude's face, her expression softened into a smile, "Claude, I know you've never been, but trust me... it's not exactly my idea of a good time. So, you can forget about bleating about you being in the way again. This isn't an imposition, it's a welcome excuse... We don't want to go, either."
Letting out a relieved breath, Claude relaxed from his tense posture, "But... won't you miss celebrating Thanksgiving with your family?"
Berger moved to stand next to Claude and wrapped a gentle hand around the back of his neck, "We thought we'd invite my parents and Sheila's parents here for Thanksgiving. That way they can all be here for Cheryl's first one and we don't have to subject ourselves to all that ridiculousness. Not to mention, it'll make it easier for us with Cheryl -- we won't have to lug all her stuff with us." Gently massaging Claude's neck, he asked, "So, what do you think? Think you can handle an apartment invasion for one day?"
Though he didn't look entirely thrilled by the idea, Claude did nod, "Yeah... I guess I could handle that, Banana-Berger." Face filling with a self-deprecating smile, he added, "And I suppose I can always hide in Cheryl's room if I get overwhelmed."
Berger laughed and released his neck to clap him on the shoulder, "That's the spirit, man! And I like how you think. If things get to be too much, we can both hide in Cheryl's room."
Sheila put her hands on her hips, "Berger, you are not going to run off with Claude to cuddle and leave me to deal with both families on my own. If things get bad enough that you both feel the need to run away, we'll just kick them all out so none of us has to hide in Cheryl's room. Agreed?" At the terrifyingly maternal look on her face, both men quickly nodded in agreement. Sheila then gave them both a brilliant smile, "Excellent. Now why don't you two go take a walk or something while I call my mother back. I don't think either of you needs to be witness to this."
Taking that suggestion for the gift that it was, Claude and Berger grabbed their coats and fled the apartment without even a backward glance. Sheila just rolled her eyes as the door slammed shut, "Men."
Berger pushed open the door to the bedroom, poked his head inside, "Claudio? You about ready? People are going to start showing up any minute now." Seeing Claude sitting still and silent on the bed, staring into space, Berger sighed. Taking a step closer, he offered, "You know, you don't have to do this. You can hide out in here or we can call the whole thing off..."
At that, Claude finally lifted his head and turned to face Berger. He looked tired, that Berger could easily see. He looked tired, worn out... stretched a little too thin. He'd been trying so hard these last couple of weeks, like he was fighting to meet some self-imposed deadline. Last night he'd even insisted on trying to sleep in the bed with them. Berger had tried to tell him that he didn't have to, especially not the night before Thanksgiving, but Claude wouldn't listen. For whatever reason, he'd needed to be close to both of them last night, needed them within easy reach, and he'd refused to make Sheila sleep on the floor, even though she'd been the one to offer. And in spite of his insistence that he was fine, Berger laid awake feeling him tremble through half the night. Finally around one in the morning, Claude had given up, fled the bed to sit in the corner of the room, wrapped up in his fatigue jacket. It was the first time he'd done that since the first night he'd been home.
After another twenty minutes he'd gotten up from the corner, started pacing the room, muttering under this breath. Berger had wanted to go to him, try to talk to him, but he'd gotten this feeling that his intrusion wouldn't be welcome. Claude needed to fight this out with himself and nothing Berger could say could fix it for him. Eventually Claude had left the bedroom, wandered out into the living room. At that point, Berger got up and followed, keeping back far enough that he wouldn't intrude, but needing to know that Claude was all right.
What Claude had done was go to the kitchen and take the phone off the hook. Closing his eyes, he'd dialed a phone number. Berger could almost count the rings by watching Claude's every flinch: one ring, two rings, three rings... At that third ring, Claude shuddered once and all but slammed the phone back into the cradle. He'd then started pacing the living room, hands buried in his hair and tugging hard. Ten steps, turn. Ten steps, turn. Eventually, he'd stopped, abruptly turned back towards the kitchen and marched back over to the phone. Lifting it off the cradle, he'd pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket, slowly dialed the number that was written on it. And if Berger was any judge, it cost him dearly to dial each one of those numbers.
And again... one ring, two rings, three rings, four rings... and this time when Claude jerked, it was clearly because someone answered. But no matter the case, Claude couldn't seem to make himself say anything once they did. After a minute or two, he finally managed to croak out, "Yes. It's... yes." With that accomplished, he seemed to relax. Berger would really have liked to know who he was talking to at nearly two in the morning, really would have liked to know why Claude wanted to talk to this person and not to him, but he still couldn't bring himself to intrude.
He watched for a few more minutes, listened to Claude's minimal responses, tried to figure out who it might be. No such luck. Sighing, he'd rubbed his eyes and turned back to the bedroom. Claude would tell him when he was ready and he would come back to bed or not as he chose. Berger had to start letting it be his decision, couldn't keep leading him in the direction that Berger wanted him to go. That wouldn't help anyone in the long run. Claude needed to stand on his own two feet again and he'd never do that if Berger kept letting him lean so heavily on him for support. Not that he wouldn't be there -- he couldn't not be there -- but he had to start letting Claude take a little more responsibility for his own recovery. It was more than time.
Just as Berger was about to give up waiting for Claude and allow himself to drop off to sleep, he felt the bed dip beside him. A few moments later gentle fingers reached out and lightly touched his face, his neck, his lips. They lingered there for a moment and it took everything Berger had in him not to open his mouth and suck them in. Whatever Claude needed from this contact, it wasn't that, he was sure, so he fought down that instinctive flair of desire. Eventually those fingers left his lips, wandered down towards the planes of his chest. And really... that just wasn't fair. Berger beat down his desire yet again and forced himself to remain still. Those fingers lightly traced their way down his breastbone, circled the left side of his chest, then settled along with the rest of the hand right over Berger's heart, stayed there for a minute, maybe two. Berger could almost hear Claude silently counting the beats beside him. Once he seemed satisfied that Berger wasn't going to move no matter what he did, he removed his hand, laid down next to him and rested his ear against the spot his hand had just vacated. He drew in a deep breath and gave one almost convulsive shudder. Berger could feel it as he commanded each muscle in his body, one by one, to relax. It took time, but once he managed it, something miraculous happened... Claude fell asleep.
Hesitant to do anything that might disturb him, Berger had lain there the rest of the night, wide awake and unmoving, not even daring to let his arm close around the other man the way he so desperately wanted to. He didn't want to make Claude feel trapped or confined in any way. Not now, not tonight. There would be time for that... so much time.
But having several hours of sleep in a real bed for the first time in years, rather than refreshing Claude, seemed to have taken a severe toll on him. His eyes were dull, exhausted and he looked like he didn't have anything left. Hell, he was too exhausted to even tell Berger how exhausted he was. Berger recognized that look, when the other man wanted to say something but access to the words he needed was hovering just out of reach. He looked like that now. Berger moved into the room, sat beside Claude on the bed. Claude immediately scooted closer, tucked his head into the crook of Berger's neck. Berger wrapped both arms around him, placed a soft kiss against his brow and started gently rocking him, "Claudio, I keep trying to tell you that you don't have to try so hard. You really don't. No one expects you to get better over night. It'll happen in time. You just need to give it that time. OK?"
Claude nodded miserably against his shoulder, let out a heavy breath and pressed his face closer against Berger's neck. Berger just held him, slowly rocking him and hoping that whatever mood was riding him would lift before their company got there. If not, they were in for a rough day. After another few minutes, Berger pressed another gentle kiss to Claude's forehead and pushed him upright, "OK, Claudio. Why don't you go splash some water on your face and I'll go steal a cup of coffee for you from the kitchen. Maybe that'll help you wake up a little, hmm?" Rather than answer verbally, Claude just nodded, slowly stood up and shuffled off towards the bathroom.
By the time Berger got back into the kitchen, Sheila was already there with a steaming cup of coffee waiting. She sighed, "I overheard. And since I'm pretty sure you slept even less than he did last night, there's a mug for you waiting on the counter."
Pausing only long enough to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, Berger let Sheila deliver that cup of coffee and made a beeline straight for his own. Staying up all night never used to take it out of him like this before. Damn. Finding his coffee exactly where Sheila had said it would be, he took a good long sniff of it, then brought it to his lips and drank down half of the cup as quickly as the temperature would allow. Before he could chug down any more of it, however, there was a knock at the door. Letting out a small groan, he reluctantly put the coffee down on the counter and briskly clapped his hands against his face, "Well... I guess it's showtime."
Thanksgiving wasn't boring this year, that was for certain. Berger's parents and sister had been the first to arrive and he could only be grateful for that small blessing. Claude had managed to emerge from hiding long enough to greet them and exchange handshakes before fleeing for the safety of the bedroom, again. Berger had gotten a few curious glances for that one, but he'd just shaken his head, pushing off the questions for later. Fortunately, shortly after that, Cheryl had awoken from her nap and shrilly demanded to be freed from her crib. That had all three of his family members making a beeline for the bedroom, each eager to be the first relative she saw on her first Thanksgiving.
Berger wandered over to Sheila and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressed a kiss into the side of her neck. With a laugh, she turned to face him, eyes twinkling, "You'd think they'd never met her before, wouldn't you?"
Chuckling softly in response, Berger offered her a small shrug, "What can I say? They're head over heels for babies in general, and if I do say so myself, ours is a particularly adorable one. Can you blame them?"
Sheila pushed lightly at his shoulder, then immediately tensed at the next knock on the door, "Oh G-d. They're here."
Pulling her into a tight embrace, Berger let out a small groan, "We could just not answer the door, you know. Hush up my parents, turn out all the lights, pretend we're not home... what do you say?"
Sighing softly, Sheila shook her head, "As tempted as I am, I'd never hear the end of it. Besides... my parents have the sweet potatoes and the pumpkin bread." She then gave his nose a light tweak and moved to open the door. And Sheila could almost feel the day falling apart the minute that she pulled it open. In spite of her request that today be casual, her parents had dressed themselves in their holiday best, like always. Her older brother, Roger, and his wife, Barbara, had followed their lead enough to dress a step above their regular clothes, but had listened to her enough to not be obviously overdressed.
As for Sheila's little sister... before she even had a chance to register what the girl was wearing, she'd launched herself at Sheila with a happy squeal and tried to hug the life out of her. Before Sheila could even ask what that was about, she heard the steady murmur of words that Patty was babbling into her ear and it went like this: "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyout,Sheila,you'rethebestsistereverandIwillloveyouforeverandeverandever,andIreallymeanitthistime,thankyouthankyouthankyou,sogladIdon'thavetositthroughThanksgivingathomethisyear,thankyouthankyouthankyou!"
When Sheila was finally able to make sense of that babbling, she burst out laughing and squeezed her sister back as tightly as she was being squeezed. Planting a kiss on the girl's cheek, she then said, "It was my pleasure, Patty. My pleasure." She then pushed the other blonde back out to arms length to get a better look at her. She was wearing a pair of bell-bottomed brown corduroy pants and a brightly colored polyester button-down shirt in a very busy turquoise, orange, tan and brown pattern that should have looked garish, but somehow didn't, and a pair of platform shoes. Honestly, they made Sheila's feet hurt just looking at them.
Catching her sister looking, Patty did a slow twirl for her and ended it with an impudent curtsy, "Well, I know you said 'casual,' but the shirt's new and I was dying for an excuse to wear it."
Sheila just reached up a hand to pinch her cheek, "It's adorable, Patty. Don't worry about it." Sheila didn't want to get into that discussion in front of her parents, especially as she was certain that they hadn't agreed that Patty's outfit was as dressy as she seemed to think it was.
She shooed the girl inside, then greeted her parents and her brother and sister-in-law. As she was closing the door and directing her mother into the kitchen with the food she'd brought, that was when Berger's family emerged from Cheryl's room. Elaine was holding Cheryl, one of the little girl's hands wrapped firmly in her hair, the other hand tightly clenched around Jack's finger. Sammy was the only one not holding a limb, mainly because she'd dropped the foot she was kissing when she spotted the newcomers. When she saw Patty, she immediately grabbed her mother's elbow, "Mom! That's one of the shirts I was talking about!" Smiling over at Patty, she demanded, "That is a Huckapoo, isn't it?"
Delighted as any girl who's just had her fashion sense appreciated, Patty made a beeline straight for the pair. After she'd greeted her niece, she and Sammy then made their way over to the loveseat to engage in a no-holds-barred fashion discourse. By then, Berger had made his way back over to Sheila and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Letting out a soft snort, he said, "Your sister's only a year older than mine and they obviously have a lot in common... Why didn't we think to introduce them before now?"
Sheila laughed at that, "I have no idea." Turning just enough to smile up at him, she offered, "Maybe we were afraid that they'd successfully plot world domination?"
Berger buried his face in her hair to hide his snickering, "You know... you could be right at that."
Sheila turned the rest of the way around and, eyes taking on a serious cast, asked, "Has Claude come back out yet?" At his heavy sigh and the mute shake of his head, Sheila sighed, too, "Damn it. Maybe I should go talk to him?"
Berger gave her one more squeeze, then let her go, "No, I don't think so." When it looked like Sheila might object, he shook his head, "Sheila, I know you want to help, but there's really not much you can do. He's got to deal with this on his own. If he isn't out by dinner, I'll bring some food in for him, OK? But it's got to be his choice. We can't force him to decide that he's ready... especially if he isn't."
"You're right. Of course, you're right." Sheila opened her mouth to say more, but was diverted by the sound of a crash and Cheryl's delighted laughter.
Elaine's voice immediately called out, "We're OK, nothing's broken and I promise we'll clean it up!"
This was immediately followed up by Jack's voice calling out, "Son, where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?"
Sheila and Berger stared at each other for a few seconds while fighting back the laughter, then Berger rolled his eyes, "I'll go help clean up whatever she spilled, you go talk to your family." He then fled before she had a chance to realize that he'd gotten the better end of the deal by far.
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N:
...yeah. Still nothing. I suck at author's notes this week. Damned paper. :'(
Coming Soon: Claude finally manages to emerge from the bedroom with a little help from Cheryl, just in time to join in the festivities at dinner. It's the Franklins vs. the Bergers in a no-holds-barred battle to the turkey! Round one... ding!
OK. I'm being a total dork. My finger hurts and I'm doped up on cold medicine. So sue me. ^_^
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Date: 2010-12-09 01:32 am (UTC)I really ADORE Berger's family, I don't know why but I just do. Elaine is a sweetheart 8D
Did I tell you already that I LOVE seeing Claude suffering even though I want him to feel better? How ambiguous is that? =P
But what can I do if he is one of those characters that has a neon sign attached to him screaming: Write evil angsty things about me!
By the hour of his calling, he was calling Dr Howard maybe? ^^
It's good to see that he is starting to accept he needs outside help... not that he didn't before but didn't really believed in it.
I'm dying to see the Cheryl gets Claude out of the bathroom scene. She's just such a lovable little creature! XDDDD ♥ (I'm having a tremendous fangirl squeal right now XD )
And you cut yourself with plastic? That sucks! Plastic and paper cuts are the worst in my opinion... so I can say I understand your pain XD
Hope your finger gets better soon! ;D
no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 04:50 am (UTC)And yeah. I kind of love the Bergers, too. ^_^ You'll love them even more with the next few chapters, I promise. ^_^ I took a lot of my own family and built them in there. My sister and I have actually had those "arguments" about who gets to pick the match color to light the fire. ((Hmmm... wait. Used to? Didn't we just have one this Thanksgiving? *sweatdrop* Yeah... maybe we did... *sheepish grin*)) Fortunately, our dad is just as diplomatic as Jack Berger and always told us that he actually needed two matches to the light the fire. Problem solved. ^_^
Yeah, I believe it's been mentioned once or twice and I totally agree -- he really does carry that neon sign. *snickers* I can't stay away from him! ((Not that I really try... *eg*))
LOL You know, you're the second person to guess that... Do you really want to know? ^_~
Yeah, she is a little
devilcutie, isn't she? ;D And I'm so glad about the fangirl squeal for her... because she's totally modeled after my niece, who is a totalcutiedevil...you know what I mean. ^_^Yeah. :( Ow. That's what you get for being stupid, impatient and not looking at what you're doing. Fortunately, I only got the pad of my finger and you're supposed to use the tip for typing. Writing on the other hand has been... interesting. *wince*
Thanks for the well wishes and the wonderfully long and involved comment! :D