[Hair] The Zorya (7/9)
Dec. 9th, 2010 04:45 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: 6884
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 9, 2010: Finger's feeling better -- thanks to all who asked! -- and the cold is still miserable. Thank G-d for Nyquil, that's all I'm sayin'. O_O At least the semester's almost over. ^_^
Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!
Zorya Polunochnaya
by Renee-chan
Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn, again. Stop at the window. Curse loudly. Peer longingly at the fire escape that's one window -- a mere 10 feet -- away. Realize that if you try to make it from here and get hurt, Berger will blame himself and it will ruin his Thanksgiving. Curse again. Resume pacing.
As Claude paced, he realized that he was feeling more like a trapped animal than he had since leaving the hospital. Last night, for some reason, he'd felt the need to push the issue, to try to reclaim a piece of normalcy that had, until then, completely eluded his grasp. He wanted to try to sleep in the bed with Berger and Sheila, needed to convince himself that he could and that nothing untoward would happen to him if he did. No one was going to punish him here, not for that, not for anything. He needed to convince himself of that, needed to get it through his own thick skull that it was safe.
He'd realized after the first two minutes that it was futile, but he hadn't been willing to give up, had thought that if he laid there long enough his body would eventually give in and fall asleep. It hadn't. He couldn't fight the feeling that he was doing something wrong, was claiming a privilege that he didn't deserve, that he would be punished for... that there would be a price to pay for it come morning. It had driven him from the safety of the bed, back into the corner of the room, just as it had that first night.
He'd hinged on that thought -- that here he was, no better than he'd been three weeks ago when they'd first brought him home. He hadn't expected to be instantaneously normal again, but he'd hoped he would make some progress.
Obviously he hadn't made as much as he'd thought.
Those thoughts ran circles around his mind as he sat there, cursing his inability to do something as simple as lay in bed with the two people he loved. It wasn't fair. That thought drove him out of the corner into a spate of restless pacing. He just couldn't settle. He needed to get better. He knew he needed to get better. Forget fair to him, it wasn't fair to Berger and Sheila. They were giving him so much -- giving up so much because of him -- it wasn't fair.
Fleeing the bedroom, he'd gone into the kitchen. He dimly heard Berger get up and follow him, but the other man didn't intrude, hung back far enough that Claude could pretend he didn't know the other man was there. He couldn't explain his restlessness, wouldn't even know where to start. Really... it had a little to do with Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was a time for family, a time when you gathered together to give thanks for the blessings in your life -- and Claude was well aware of how many he had -- but something was missing. Berger's family was going to be here. Sheila's family was going to be here. Where the hell did he fit into that? He was a third wheel, an unnecessary accessory, and as proof... his family wouldn't be here. They weren't necessary either.
Which was stupid. The main reason that his family wasn't going to be here was that he didn't want them here, didn't want the oppressive feel of his father's disapproval beating down on him from across the table... but that wasn't the whole story, was it? In spite of wanting as clean a break as he could manage from Flushing, he really wouldn't have minded having his mother here. He thought... he thought she might understand... well, everything. She'd understand about Berger and Sheila. She'd understand about Cheryl -- G-d, she'd love Cheryl, would spoil her rotten... as if the precocious little girl needed anyone else spoiling her. She'd understand why this was so hard for him. She would. He just knew she would. She always had.
He missed her.
Before a conscious decision could be made, he was at the phone, dialing a number he'd long since thought he'd forgotten. It was almost a shock to hear it start ringing. He let it ring once, twice, three times, heart pounding in his throat as he listened, almost praying. But praying that she would answer... or praying that she wouldn't? Even he didn't know. In the end, he couldn't go through with it, hung up after the third ring.
Fuck! And that restless energy that had no useful outlet drove him to start pacing again. He needed... G-d, he didn't know what he needed and it was making him sick inside. Berger and Sheila had given him this fantastically safe haven where he could feel protected and completely unpressured, but in a way, that didn't help. The only way he was going to be able to start caring about people again was to push himself, to make himself be around them... maybe without Berger or Sheila. And that thought shamed him so thoroughly that it nearly drove him back into the corner. But it felt right. Berger and Sheila... Jesus, he loved them so much and he didn't want to let either of them down, didn't want them to have to deal with the fallout if he screwed up -- when he screwed up -- but that wasn't a choice. Not the way things were now. He needed help and he was starting to understand that it was help that they couldn't give him.
Heart rising up to pound in his throat again, he'd finally realized that there was only one other person to whom he could turn... and he really didn't want to ask that person for help. But he also knew that he didn't have a choice. Squaring his shoulders and hoping that the other man hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd be available any time day or night, Claude picked up the phone again, this time pulled out a much abused business card and dialed Dr. Howard's phone number.
It was four rings before the other man picked up, but Claude forced himself to wait it out, to stay on the line. At the fourth ring, someone answered the phone and in a groggy, sleep-fogged voice, said, "Hello? Who is this?" And Claude couldn't answer. He couldn't take that one last step. The other voice came back, a little more awake now and full of confusion, "Hello? Is anyone there?" And Claude still couldn't answer. He tried, but the words he needed danced right out of his grasp, dangled tauntingly just out of reach. The third time the other man spoke, there was now worry in the voice, a dawning understanding, "Claude? Is that you, son?"
And with that identification and the accompanying knowledge that Dr. Howard seemed anything but angry at being awoken at such a ridiculous hour, Claude finally managed to force a confirmation past his lips. At that, Dr. Howard answered, a smile clear to read in his voice, "I thought it must be. I couldn't imagine that anyone else would be calling me at two in the morning the night before Thanksgiving. I take it things aren't going so well...?"
Between the doctor's apparently limitless patience and Claude's fumbling, barely there responses, he'd finally managed to communicate what was wrong. And the funny thing was this: Dr. Howard really hadn't said much, but what little he'd said had actually helped. He'd reassured him, given him a way to approach the problem from a logical standpoint -- not the entirety of the situation, no, but the immediate problem. He wanted to sleep in the bed with Berger and Sheila, needed to be close to his chosen family tonight, but he was so restless when he tried that he couldn't sleep. And what Dr. Howard had said was so simple, so intuitive that he was shocked he hadn't thought of it himself. He didn't have to sleep. He could lay down in the bed and just be near them. That wasn't really any different than sitting on a bed and he'd done that many times before with no repercussions. He could do that.
So, he had. And it had worked. He'd gone back into the bedroom and reassured himself that Berger was asleep -- or was at least faking it so well that Claude couldn't tell the difference. In retrospect, that was likely what had been going on. Regardless, he'd reassured himself that Berger wasn't going to move, then laid down against him, ear pressed to the other man's chest. He'd fallen asleep like that so often in the past, sprawled half on top of Berger, ear pressed to the left side of his chest, the other man's heartbeat the most soothing lullaby he'd ever heard. And this time was no different. He'd lain there, listening to that beat, the confirmation that Berger was here, was alive, was with him, and forced his body to relax. And to his surprise, with physical relaxation had come mental relaxation and before he knew it, he'd been asleep.
The next morning, he'd jerked awake when Sheila rolled over to get out of bed, more startled by the movement than he should have been. But he couldn't help it. He wasn't used to waking up in a bed anymore, was convinced that since he'd fallen asleep there, something awful was going to happen. Berger had simply reached a hand up, snapped his fingers in Claude's face and once he had Claude's attention, smiled softly at him and said, "Good morning, starshine."
Good morning, starshine. Those were Jeanie's words. He remembered. Jeanie had said it once, playing with the words and weaving them into a tune, like she'd done so often when high. Berger had loved it, loved the nonsense syllables she'd spun around them, loved the very essence of what she'd said and had adopted it as his own. It was his own special greeting and it was reserved for Claude. Why? Because Claude had protested so forcefully that it was silly, that "starshine" was a stupid nickname for a grown man. Secretly, though, he'd loved it, loved that Berger reserved that morning greeting just for him. So, he'd come up with a response of his own, something to let Berger think that he was only accepting the greeting to humor the younger man. There was never a doubt in his mind that Berger saw right through that. Forcing himself out of his shocked fear, Claude had just managed to give back his own usual response, "Good morning, yourself."
Berger had laughed, pulled Claude's hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles, then also sat up. The morning had proceeded relatively normally from there, but Claude couldn't shake the feeling that he was outside the situation, face pressed to the glass, looking in. He wasn't a part of this, this Thanksgiving. He wasn't a part of this family. He wasn't a part... He didn't belong. He was a round peg in a square hole, a snap trying to match up with a button. He didn't fit.
He managed to greet Berger's family, but that feeling had driven him away before he could greet Sheila's. He just couldn't do it. That wasn't his family out there and he didn't belong. But he knew Sheila and Berger would be upset by the thought of him sitting alone in the bedroom, especially since they'd done all of this for him. Damn it, he should have talked to Dr. Howard about this, too.
After an hour or two, there was a loud pounding on the door, like something had fallen against it. If Claude hadn't recognized it immediately as Cheryl demanding entrance, the noise likely would have sent him fleeing for cover under the bed. Well, for Cheryl he could make an effort. He could let her in. He got up from the bed, walked over to the door and opened it. Cheryl immediately beamed him a wide grin and crawled forward to latch her arms around his legs and press her face into them, "Ma-ma-BAH!"
Smiling in spite of himself, Claude leaned down and lifted the girl from the floor. She immediately transferred her stranglehold to his neck and leaned her head forward in her usual demand for a kiss. Once he'd obliged her, she leaned back and with a beaming smile started beating her hands against his head. With a laughing snort, he corralled her hands into his and gave each one a kiss, muttered, "Remind me never to let anyone buy you a drum set. Then we'll never get any sleep."
A soft chuckle sounded from off to his left side and a deep voice answered back, "For the record, that's not a wise thing to say when there's a grandparent around. I remember saying exactly the same thing when George was this age... and my parents were obliging enough to buy him one for his next birthday."
Claude looked up, heart pounding, straight into the eyes of Berger's father. Jack just smiled at him, shrugged and held up a hand for Cheryl to grab on to. Satisfied with pulling on the older man's fingers, she stopped beating on Claude, though she did keep her other hand tangled in his hair so he couldn't get away. Jack smiled at the action, "She's awfully taken with you, I see."
And Claude still couldn't force out a single word in response. Pounding through his heart was the idea that he had to make a good impression on this man. This was Berger's father, one of the few people that Berger respected. Berger actually still looked up to him, wanted to make him proud. Claude couldn't screw this up. He couldn't. Damn it. He was. Desperate to acknowledge the other man's words in some way, he finally nodded.
Jack smiled again, pulled Cheryl's hand closer to give it a laughing nibble. Cheryl squealed with delight and pulled it away. Two seconds later, she gave it right back to him to nibble on again. Before he took it, though, Jack looked back up at Claude and winked, "For the record, so's her father."
How... how the hell could he respond to that?? Claude felt his heart sink into the vicinity of his stomach, and as hard as it was pounding, that didn't make for a very settled stomach. Did Berger's family know? He hadn't even thought to ask, didn't know what was even safe to say.
Eventually Jack took pity on him, waved him into the living room. And he was so glad to be let off the hook with answering that Claude actually didn't hesitate to follow. Two of the dining room chairs were pulled over to the side of the living room, separate from the rest of the seating. Jack waved him over to that spot, let him choose where he'd like to sit, then sat in the other chair. Finally, Jack offered him a small smile and shrugged, "I suppose that wasn't fair of me, was it?" Seeing that Claude was certainly smart enough not to answer that question, Jack laughed, "Look, I don't know what sort of living situation you three have worked out here -- and believe you, me, I don't want to know -- but I'm also not blind or deaf."
Seeing that he had Claude's attention, he elaborated, "George... he didn't have an easy time of it as a child. He probably doesn't even remember this, but I wasn't around much when he was younger." At Claude's raised eyebrow, he sighed, "I fought in Korea. I was there from the time George was one until he was three. You have no idea how much I regret that, how much I fear that it was responsible for him having so much trouble later on. It was just him and his mom for so long... I don't know."
Leaning back in his chair, Jack looked across the room, smiled as Berger pulled Samantha down onto his lap to tickle her, shook his head, "I worried about him a lot when he first started spending so much time away from home. When he'd actually deign to come home, he'd talk about these kids, just as lost as he was, just as confused. When he started dating Sheila, things got a little better, he straightened up a little, but it didn't last. Nothing touched him, nothing left an impression... until you."
At that, Claude sat up a little, startled. Jack just smiled, nodded in confirmation, "He never spoke your name, never told us any details, but we could all see how taken he was with you, whoever you were. Those few occasions that he came home, you were all he talked about. He... I think he looked up to you, idolized you a little. There was something about you that made him try harder, that made him want to be better. When you were drafted..." He paused, breath catching a little in his throat, "He came home that night and he was beside himself. He wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep, didn't want to talk to any of us. I came down in the middle of the night to find him curled up on the couch looking so, so lost... No father should ever have to see their son cry like that. Nothing I said reached him. All I could do was watch as he withdrew further and further into himself, past all my ability to help. He disappeared the next morning and we didn't see him again until last year."
Claude turned his face into Cheryl's curls, caught by the pain in the older man's voice. He'd known that it was bad, but he somehow hadn't realized... Swallowing hard, he managed to get out, "I... I'm sorry."
Jack lifted a hand, gripped Claude's shoulder, "No. Don't apologize. I didn't tell you this to make you feel bad. I told you so that you would understand how important you are to my son. He loves you. He loves you enough that losing you almost destroyed him." When Claude managed to look up to meet his earnest gaze, he shook a finger at him, "So don't you dare think for one second that you don't belong here. He wants you here." Patting Cheryl's head with a smile, he added, "She wants you here. That should be enough. Right?"
Claude stared, mouth slightly open. He couldn't help it. After a few unsuccessful tries, he managed to croak out, "How... you...? How did you...?"
Jack patted Claude on the shoulder again before he released his grip, "I told you. I fought in Korea. Didn't go through nearly as much as you did, but it left its mark, just the same. So, I have an idea of what you're going through, now. I know how I felt when I came back and I recognized that look in your eyes when you managed to come out before to say hello. I can't tell you that it's all going to get better over night, but it does get better eventually. And in the meantime, just take my word for it. Just like little Cheryl, here, my son thinks you hung the moon. And if he had any idea that you were hiding in the bedroom because you thought you didn't belong here with the rest of us, he'd move heaven and earth to try to convince you otherwise, probably throw us all out on the stoop in the process. OK?"
Claude let out a small huff of a laugh, finally allowed himself to relax, "Yeah... Somehow, I think you're right."
Before the older man could respond to that, Berger's mother had come up behind him, rested her hands on his shoulders. Giving Claude a gentle smile, she said accusingly, "A-ha! So you're the culprits that are monopolizing my grandchild!"
Cheryl laughed at Elaine, blew a few raspberries. Elaine blew one right back. Squealing happily, Cheryl then held her arms up to her grandmother. Elaine lifted an eyebrow at Claude, silently asking permission before taking the child from him. He smiled, handed her over, "Please, be my guest, Mrs. Berger."
She rolled her eyes, made a dismissive motion with her hand, "Please. Mrs. Berger is his mother," she indicated her husband with a nod of her head, "Call me Elaine."
Hiding his smile as best he was able, he said, "Certainly." Satisfied with that response, Elaine then carted Cheryl off to go play with Sam and Patty. Claude could only shake his head. She was so very different. G-d, he didn't think he'd ever seen his mother so carefree, so... happy. That thought brought him up short. No... he'd never seen his mother that happy. That... why did that make him feel so guilty?
Before he had a chance to ponder the question any further, Berger yelled out, "Soup's on! Come and get it!"
Sheila promptly smacked him on the shoulder and said, "Berger! Casual doesn't mean rude!"
He just offered her a sheepish grin and shrugged. He then exchanged a glance with Samantha, who promptly burst into giggles. Sheila's eyebrow started to twitch. Elaine walked over with Cheryl, handed her to her mother and with a blush quietly explained, "This one's actually not his fault. When they were younger it was really hard to pull them away from playing out in the leaves to sit down to Thanksgiving dinner. One year, my husband bought one of those triangles -- you know the ones -- and stood at the back door ringing it and yelling out that phrase. The kids thought it was fantastic and came running right in. He did it the next year, too, and as a tradition... it sort of stuck."
Sheila just stared at the other woman, mouth agape. Berger started to snicker, poked her once in the side for good measure. Finally she rolled her eyes, "OK, OK, do what you like. I give up."
Before Berger could yell out again, Roger stood up and, with a sour look, waved him silent, "We got the idea. Dinner's ready. We're coming." And that was how dinner started, tempers stewing right along with the carrots and potatoes.
Berger had been watching for Claude to emerge from the bedroom all afternoon to no avail. And in spite of his brave words to Sheila, it was making him more than a little nervous. Still, if Claude needed to hide all day, he needed to hide all day. Honestly, Berger was starting to wish that he could join him, promises to Sheila be damned.
He had to admit though, his family was doing well. They were doing everything in their power to make today easier for he and Sheila and he appreciated it like mad. Hell, his mother had even managed to rope Evelyn and Barbara (Sheila's mother and sister-in-law) into helping to set the table and get the food ready. His father had gotten Sheila's father, Harold, and her brother, Roger, to help mind Cheryl and Sammy and Patty seemed to be getting along more than famously without any help. One thing was certain -- Patty had come a long way from being the scrawny thirteen year old that he and Woof had mistaken for a ten year old at the shore that summer. It was easy to see the resemblance between she and her sister, now, easy to see that she would no doubt turn heads. Hell, if he wasn't more than blessed in that regard himself, right now, she'd have turned his, too.
Regardless, though, there were points of tension all afternoon. Sheila's parents obviously didn't approve of the informality of the situation. Sheila's brother clearly didn't approve of Sammy or the effect she was having on Patty. Sheila's sister-in-law, however, was getting along famously with Berger's mother... which was irritating Sheila's mother to no end. The only one who seemed to be having an unalloyed good time was Cheryl. So, in the end, maybe it was for the best that Claude was hiding. Honestly, Berger wasn't sure he'd have wanted to subject the other man to all of this brewing hostility.
So, it was with no small amount of consternation that he'd seen Cheryl decide that she'd had enough of everyone else and she wanted Claude... and she wanted him now. She slipped away from Berger's father, crawling as fast as her little limbs could move her, and threw herself at the door to the bedroom. Berger tried to extricate himself from Roger and Harold to go retrieve his daughter, but he wasn't fast enough. His father reached the little girl just in time for Claude to open the door to let her in.
Berger froze, half-standing, feeling like he was watching a train wreck. He'd never explicitly told his family about Claude, about who he was and how he fit into his and Sheila's life. He knew that Woof had danced around telling them at that first visit, was pretty certain that his mother and sister had it figured out, but his father... Shit. This had the potential to be very bad. In slow motion, he dropped back down onto the couch, silently urging his father to do what Berger wanted instead of what he obviously planned to do, Come on, Dad. Just let him take Cheryl and disappear back inside. Just... don't... damn it. Needless to say, his father didn't hear the silent urging and started trying to converse with Claude, used his playing with Cheryl as a distraction as he did.
Claude was staring at the older man like a deer in headlights, frozen in horror, unsure of which way to jump. But Berger's father was nothing if not persistent and to Berger's utter shock, he not only managed to get Claude to talk, but managed to coax him out into the living room, too. At that point, Sheila walked over to the couch and bent over to speak into his ear, "Did I just see what I think I just saw?"
Berger couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of his father and Claude sitting in the living room, talking and playing with Cheryl as though it was completely normal. But he did answer Sheila in an awed tone of voice, "Well... if you just saw Cheryl and my father working in tandem to trick Claude out of the bedroom and coax him to stay out... then yeah, you just saw what you think you saw." Their eyes met and Berger slowly shook his head, "I wouldn't believe it either, if I hadn't just seen it myself."
Sheila's lips stretched into a wide smile that luminously lit her eyes and she bent down to press a firm kiss against Berger's cheek, "Have I ever mentioned how much I love your family?"
Berger laughed, pulled her arms around him and hugged them close as he snuggled back against her, "I think it's been mentioned once or twice..."
Thirty minutes later, he was thinking back on that moment with wistfulness. Dinner had turned into a beyond-interesting affair. He hadn't even thought when he'd called everyone to dinner. It hadn't even occurred to him that Sheila's family might consider it rude, he'd just remembered that little tradition from his own family and knew that they would appreciate the humor. Hell, even Claude had looked up from the corner of the room and managed a smile for him. Damn it.
They'd settled around the table in two neatly divided camps. Berger was at one end of the table with Claude to his left and his mother to his right. Samantha was next to their mother with Patty on her other side. Berger's father sat to Claude's left. Sheila's father was next to Berger's with her mother on his other side. Sheila sat at the opposite end of the table, Cheryl's high chair on her right between her and her mother and her brother and his wife on her left between her and Patty. It almost felt like a case of the Franklins vs. the Bergers and Berger was not thrilled about the implications. Neither was Sheila, if the sour look on her face was any indication. They were gearing up for a war and they could both feel it. Damn it. He didn't want a war in his own home on his first Thanksgiving with his family. And he would do whatever it took to make sure it didn't happen.
The first battle of the night could have been over the toast, but Berger neatly avoided that one by waving Sheila to stand and give it. She was the most eloquent one at the table and none of the men would fight a woman for anything, especially not in her own home. Sheila smiled, gave him a small nod of gratitude and stood, raising her glass. After looking around the table at everyone sitting there, her face softened, took on a glow of pure happiness and she began to speak, "I have so much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, I hardly even know where to start."
Cheryl chose that moment to bang her hands on her high chair. Berger's entire family, Patty and Barbara all laughed at that. Even Sheila's mother cracked a smile. Sheila just bent down and took one of Cheryl's hands in hers, gave it a kiss, "Of course, how could I forget? Naturally, a list of things for which I'm thankful should start with you, sweetheart." After she gave Cheryl another kiss, she straightened up, looked towards the other end of the table. And the look she sent Berger and Claude's way was heated, to say the least, "And of course, it should continue with the two of you. Without you both, I wouldn't have her... and I wouldn't have all the other blessings in my life."
Berger smiled, blew her a kiss. Next to him, Claude ducked his head. At that action, Berger frowned, poked him lightly in the side until he looked up again. The older man shrugged, waved away Berger's concern as though it meant nothing, and right now, it probably did. Berger leaned over, planted a soft peck of a kiss against the other man's temple, then motioned Sheila to keep speaking.
Fortunately, Sheila was always good at picking up on a hint and resumed her toast, "I suppose what it boils down to is family. I am grateful for my family... for all my family." Reaching out a hand to her brother, she smiled when he squeezed it in response, "I'm thankful for my big brother and my little sister." Smiling at Barbara, she added, "I'm grateful for my older sister, too." Barbara ducked her head, but smiled readily enough when Patty wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze.
"I'm thankful for my parents and for how accommodating they've been this year." Evelyn smiled, had the grace at least to scowl at her husband when he didn't. Sheila sighed, but continued, looking further up the table at Berger's family, "And I'm grateful to my new family, as well, grateful that knowing Berger has brought you into my life. I'm glad that we could all be here, healthy and happy, at this season." Raising her glass, she finished off with, "May we all remain so for many, many seasons to come."
There was a spate of glass clinking and a few "Here Here!"s, then everyone settled back down. With a silently apologetic look for his father, Berger turned towards that side of the table and cleared his throat, "Mr. Franklin?" Sheila's father turned towards him with a look on his face like a man who's smelled something foul. Berger ignored the look and gave the man a bright smile, "Your daughter tells me that you're something of an expert when it comes to turkey carving. I certainly wouldn't want to step on your toes..." He waved the man towards the carving utensils.
The two men stared across the table at each other, weighing and measuring. Finally, Harold picked up the carving knife with a slight sniff and said, "Wise choice. It's generally better to leave these things to those who know how to handle them."
Sheila stiffened where she was sitting, looked like she might say something in response, but Berger waved her silent. He could take it. He could take anything her father dished out. He didn't care. What he didn't want, was her father taking out his ire on Claude. And if he remained focused on Berger, he hopefully wouldn't. Any amount of needling was worth that price. Seeing the pleading look in his eyes, Sheila sighed, nodded. Then she deliberately pasted a smile on her face and picked up the sweet potatoes to take a helping for Cheryl and herself before passing it to Roger.
Silence reigned for the next few minutes as the serving platters were passed around. And Berger couldn't help but notice, with something akin to alarm, that very little of that food was ending up on Claude's plate. He poked the other man in the side, hissed quietly in his ear, "Hey, what gives, man? You letting Bitter McSnipeyPants get to you?"
Claude jerked, clearly not having expected to be spoken to. He shook his head, then slumped a little in his seat, mumbled, "I'm not that hungry."
Berger frowned in response, "The hell you're not. You haven't eaten anything all day. You have to be hungry. Would you rather I brought you a plate to eat in the bedroom? I know Sheila doesn't like us eating in the bed, but I think she'd be willing to make an exception under the circumstances. Just say the word."
Claude shook his head, miserably. Berger sighed, gripped his hand under the table, "Claudio... I wasn't gonna say anything, but... you do this a lot. You don't eat enough." At Claude's guilty look, Berger rubbed his thumb reassuringly over his knuckles, "I don't mean to scold or anything, but you need to put some weight back on. You were always skinny, but since you got back..." He shook his head, "I noticed, OK? So, if you're not comfortable eating out here, you can eat in the bedroom. Whatever you need, right, Claudio? This is your Thanksgiving, too."
Before the other man could answer, a voice broke into their conversation from down the table, "And what about you, Mr. Bukowski? Are you a thigh or a breast man?" When Claude and Berger turned to look at Sheila's father, his mouth stretched into a cruel smile, "Oh, that's right. Forget I asked. I hear you prefer rump roast."
For a moment, no one at the table moved. All the women were shooting murderous glances at Sheila's father and even Cheryl had stopped eating to stare at what was going on. Berger couldn't think of a single thing to say in response. All he was aware of was Claude, frozen stock-still beside him, face growing paler with each passing second. He couldn't respond, couldn't answer that unexpected malice, and besides, he couldn't say anything in Claude's defense without making the situation worse.
What he didn't expect was what finally happened. Berger's father and Sheila's brother, nearly in unison, threw down their napkins and got to their feet. Jack growled out, "If you have something to say, why don't you just say it?" At the same time, Roger ground out, "Father, that is enough." The two men then paused, sized each other up and nodded, turned back to face Sheila's father.
Now that... that was a surprise. Berger expected his father to stand up for him and it wasn't too much of a stretch to see that he would do the same for Claude. The man had a bigger, more caring heart than even he knew and he'd taken a liking to Claude. Roger, though... that was unexpected. And apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so. Sheila's father gestured at his son with the hand still holding the knife, "Do you mean to tell me that you're defending what's going on here?" At his son's blank look, he gestured down the table at Berger and Claude, "Your sister is living in a polygamous relationship with two men, which would be bad enough. But that those two men are having sexual intercourse with each other, as well? It's unnatural. You can't defend it."
Roger's fist clenched at his side in response to his father's words. In a deceptively quiet tone of voice, he answered, "Sheila is old enough to make her own choices. I may not agree with all of them, but I do stand by her right to make them. And regardless of anything else he has or has not done, the one thing I know about Claude is that he is a fellow Viet Nam veteran and he's survived horrors the likes of which you and I can't even dream. That's all I need to know, Father. I won't stand by and watch you, a man who has never even picked up a weapon to defend this country, impugn the honor of a man who has. I won't have it, especially not at his own table, in his own home." When his father opened his mouth to respond, he roared back, "And not in front of me."
Sheila's father froze, mouth still open, unable to process what had just happened. Roger continued, eyes bright with passion and hand still clenched into a fist, "When I graduated high school, you gave me three options: go to law school and join you in the family firm, enlist or be disowned. You knew then that I didn't have any desire to study law. I let you force me into that decision and believe you me, it's one that's left scars. And since I returned, you've had nothing but scorn for me, for disappointing you, for daring to survive and come home relatively intact when so many men didn't, G-d only knows why, because I sure as hell don't." Pointing towards the other end of the table, he bit out, "But I'll be damned if I let you take your anger with me out on a man that's done nothing to deserve it. So give me the carving knives, sit down and shut your ass up. If you can't do that, I suggest you leave and let the rest of us eat in peace."
By the end of that speech, Sheila had a hand clapped to her mouth, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Claude was gripping Berger's hand hard beneath the table, but there was some small amount of vindication shining in his eyes. Berger was ready to leap from his seat and cheer. It didn't matter what else Sheila's brother did from this point on -- Berger would love him forever for this one act alone. After a seemingly endless moment, Sheila's father handed Roger the carving knives and sat down. He looked like a man who'd just been smacked in the back of the head with a board.
Roger took a deep breath, then turned towards Berger's father and made as though to hand him the carving knives, "Mr. Berger? Would you--"
Before he could even complete the sentence, however, Jack shook his head and sat back down, "No, son, I would not. I think you've more than earned the privilege yourself, don't you?"
Though his cheeks turned a light shade of pink at those words, Roger nodded and wordlessly resumed carving the turkey. He finished serving the women at the table, then before asking any of the other men, he turned to Claude and quietly asked, "So... do you have a preference?"
Seeing that no answer was forthcoming from Claude, he turned and quirked an eyebrow at Berger. Berger sighed, patted Claude's knee under the table. Turning to look at Claude as though daring him to speak up and say otherwise, he said dryly, "He'll take a leg." He knew from watching him the last few weeks that if it was on Claude's plate, he'd eat it -- his Army training being useful for once -- and Berger was determined to get him to eat. Sure enough, Claude didn't argue, just resignedly held out his plate when Roger leaned across the table with the turkey leg. He did, however, kick Berger under the table for his interference. And rather than dampen Berger's spirits, that one action lifted them in a way nothing else could have, because it was pure Claude. It was something Claude would have done -- had done -- before the war. In the midst of what was turning into a horrible evening, it was a ray of hope and Berger was going to bask in it, consequences be damned. So, when Roger turned towards Berger to ask his preference in meat, Berger let his lips stretch wide in a grin that had Sheila moaning into her hands and Claude snickering quietly at his side before he even opened his mouth.
As for what he said?
"Nuh-uh, man. Weren't you paying attention? I'm waiting for the rump roast."
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N:
You know what? I'm kind done making excuses. It's not like anyone reads the author's notes anyway. ^_^ Maybe for the next chapter.
Coming Soon: Finally... a little resolution. a.k.a. -- when we learn exactly how awesome Berger's family really is and Roger and Barbara prove that they'd fit right in with them. ^_^
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: 6884
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 9, 2010: Finger's feeling better -- thanks to all who asked! -- and the cold is still miserable. Thank G-d for Nyquil, that's all I'm sayin'. O_O At least the semester's almost over. ^_^
Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!
Zorya Polunochnaya
by Renee-chan
Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps. Turn, again. Stop at the window. Curse loudly. Peer longingly at the fire escape that's one window -- a mere 10 feet -- away. Realize that if you try to make it from here and get hurt, Berger will blame himself and it will ruin his Thanksgiving. Curse again. Resume pacing.
As Claude paced, he realized that he was feeling more like a trapped animal than he had since leaving the hospital. Last night, for some reason, he'd felt the need to push the issue, to try to reclaim a piece of normalcy that had, until then, completely eluded his grasp. He wanted to try to sleep in the bed with Berger and Sheila, needed to convince himself that he could and that nothing untoward would happen to him if he did. No one was going to punish him here, not for that, not for anything. He needed to convince himself of that, needed to get it through his own thick skull that it was safe.
He'd realized after the first two minutes that it was futile, but he hadn't been willing to give up, had thought that if he laid there long enough his body would eventually give in and fall asleep. It hadn't. He couldn't fight the feeling that he was doing something wrong, was claiming a privilege that he didn't deserve, that he would be punished for... that there would be a price to pay for it come morning. It had driven him from the safety of the bed, back into the corner of the room, just as it had that first night.
He'd hinged on that thought -- that here he was, no better than he'd been three weeks ago when they'd first brought him home. He hadn't expected to be instantaneously normal again, but he'd hoped he would make some progress.
Obviously he hadn't made as much as he'd thought.
Those thoughts ran circles around his mind as he sat there, cursing his inability to do something as simple as lay in bed with the two people he loved. It wasn't fair. That thought drove him out of the corner into a spate of restless pacing. He just couldn't settle. He needed to get better. He knew he needed to get better. Forget fair to him, it wasn't fair to Berger and Sheila. They were giving him so much -- giving up so much because of him -- it wasn't fair.
Fleeing the bedroom, he'd gone into the kitchen. He dimly heard Berger get up and follow him, but the other man didn't intrude, hung back far enough that Claude could pretend he didn't know the other man was there. He couldn't explain his restlessness, wouldn't even know where to start. Really... it had a little to do with Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was a time for family, a time when you gathered together to give thanks for the blessings in your life -- and Claude was well aware of how many he had -- but something was missing. Berger's family was going to be here. Sheila's family was going to be here. Where the hell did he fit into that? He was a third wheel, an unnecessary accessory, and as proof... his family wouldn't be here. They weren't necessary either.
Which was stupid. The main reason that his family wasn't going to be here was that he didn't want them here, didn't want the oppressive feel of his father's disapproval beating down on him from across the table... but that wasn't the whole story, was it? In spite of wanting as clean a break as he could manage from Flushing, he really wouldn't have minded having his mother here. He thought... he thought she might understand... well, everything. She'd understand about Berger and Sheila. She'd understand about Cheryl -- G-d, she'd love Cheryl, would spoil her rotten... as if the precocious little girl needed anyone else spoiling her. She'd understand why this was so hard for him. She would. He just knew she would. She always had.
He missed her.
Before a conscious decision could be made, he was at the phone, dialing a number he'd long since thought he'd forgotten. It was almost a shock to hear it start ringing. He let it ring once, twice, three times, heart pounding in his throat as he listened, almost praying. But praying that she would answer... or praying that she wouldn't? Even he didn't know. In the end, he couldn't go through with it, hung up after the third ring.
Fuck! And that restless energy that had no useful outlet drove him to start pacing again. He needed... G-d, he didn't know what he needed and it was making him sick inside. Berger and Sheila had given him this fantastically safe haven where he could feel protected and completely unpressured, but in a way, that didn't help. The only way he was going to be able to start caring about people again was to push himself, to make himself be around them... maybe without Berger or Sheila. And that thought shamed him so thoroughly that it nearly drove him back into the corner. But it felt right. Berger and Sheila... Jesus, he loved them so much and he didn't want to let either of them down, didn't want them to have to deal with the fallout if he screwed up -- when he screwed up -- but that wasn't a choice. Not the way things were now. He needed help and he was starting to understand that it was help that they couldn't give him.
Heart rising up to pound in his throat again, he'd finally realized that there was only one other person to whom he could turn... and he really didn't want to ask that person for help. But he also knew that he didn't have a choice. Squaring his shoulders and hoping that the other man hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd be available any time day or night, Claude picked up the phone again, this time pulled out a much abused business card and dialed Dr. Howard's phone number.
It was four rings before the other man picked up, but Claude forced himself to wait it out, to stay on the line. At the fourth ring, someone answered the phone and in a groggy, sleep-fogged voice, said, "Hello? Who is this?" And Claude couldn't answer. He couldn't take that one last step. The other voice came back, a little more awake now and full of confusion, "Hello? Is anyone there?" And Claude still couldn't answer. He tried, but the words he needed danced right out of his grasp, dangled tauntingly just out of reach. The third time the other man spoke, there was now worry in the voice, a dawning understanding, "Claude? Is that you, son?"
And with that identification and the accompanying knowledge that Dr. Howard seemed anything but angry at being awoken at such a ridiculous hour, Claude finally managed to force a confirmation past his lips. At that, Dr. Howard answered, a smile clear to read in his voice, "I thought it must be. I couldn't imagine that anyone else would be calling me at two in the morning the night before Thanksgiving. I take it things aren't going so well...?"
Between the doctor's apparently limitless patience and Claude's fumbling, barely there responses, he'd finally managed to communicate what was wrong. And the funny thing was this: Dr. Howard really hadn't said much, but what little he'd said had actually helped. He'd reassured him, given him a way to approach the problem from a logical standpoint -- not the entirety of the situation, no, but the immediate problem. He wanted to sleep in the bed with Berger and Sheila, needed to be close to his chosen family tonight, but he was so restless when he tried that he couldn't sleep. And what Dr. Howard had said was so simple, so intuitive that he was shocked he hadn't thought of it himself. He didn't have to sleep. He could lay down in the bed and just be near them. That wasn't really any different than sitting on a bed and he'd done that many times before with no repercussions. He could do that.
So, he had. And it had worked. He'd gone back into the bedroom and reassured himself that Berger was asleep -- or was at least faking it so well that Claude couldn't tell the difference. In retrospect, that was likely what had been going on. Regardless, he'd reassured himself that Berger wasn't going to move, then laid down against him, ear pressed to the other man's chest. He'd fallen asleep like that so often in the past, sprawled half on top of Berger, ear pressed to the left side of his chest, the other man's heartbeat the most soothing lullaby he'd ever heard. And this time was no different. He'd lain there, listening to that beat, the confirmation that Berger was here, was alive, was with him, and forced his body to relax. And to his surprise, with physical relaxation had come mental relaxation and before he knew it, he'd been asleep.
The next morning, he'd jerked awake when Sheila rolled over to get out of bed, more startled by the movement than he should have been. But he couldn't help it. He wasn't used to waking up in a bed anymore, was convinced that since he'd fallen asleep there, something awful was going to happen. Berger had simply reached a hand up, snapped his fingers in Claude's face and once he had Claude's attention, smiled softly at him and said, "Good morning, starshine."
Good morning, starshine. Those were Jeanie's words. He remembered. Jeanie had said it once, playing with the words and weaving them into a tune, like she'd done so often when high. Berger had loved it, loved the nonsense syllables she'd spun around them, loved the very essence of what she'd said and had adopted it as his own. It was his own special greeting and it was reserved for Claude. Why? Because Claude had protested so forcefully that it was silly, that "starshine" was a stupid nickname for a grown man. Secretly, though, he'd loved it, loved that Berger reserved that morning greeting just for him. So, he'd come up with a response of his own, something to let Berger think that he was only accepting the greeting to humor the younger man. There was never a doubt in his mind that Berger saw right through that. Forcing himself out of his shocked fear, Claude had just managed to give back his own usual response, "Good morning, yourself."
Berger had laughed, pulled Claude's hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles, then also sat up. The morning had proceeded relatively normally from there, but Claude couldn't shake the feeling that he was outside the situation, face pressed to the glass, looking in. He wasn't a part of this, this Thanksgiving. He wasn't a part of this family. He wasn't a part... He didn't belong. He was a round peg in a square hole, a snap trying to match up with a button. He didn't fit.
He managed to greet Berger's family, but that feeling had driven him away before he could greet Sheila's. He just couldn't do it. That wasn't his family out there and he didn't belong. But he knew Sheila and Berger would be upset by the thought of him sitting alone in the bedroom, especially since they'd done all of this for him. Damn it, he should have talked to Dr. Howard about this, too.
After an hour or two, there was a loud pounding on the door, like something had fallen against it. If Claude hadn't recognized it immediately as Cheryl demanding entrance, the noise likely would have sent him fleeing for cover under the bed. Well, for Cheryl he could make an effort. He could let her in. He got up from the bed, walked over to the door and opened it. Cheryl immediately beamed him a wide grin and crawled forward to latch her arms around his legs and press her face into them, "Ma-ma-BAH!"
Smiling in spite of himself, Claude leaned down and lifted the girl from the floor. She immediately transferred her stranglehold to his neck and leaned her head forward in her usual demand for a kiss. Once he'd obliged her, she leaned back and with a beaming smile started beating her hands against his head. With a laughing snort, he corralled her hands into his and gave each one a kiss, muttered, "Remind me never to let anyone buy you a drum set. Then we'll never get any sleep."
A soft chuckle sounded from off to his left side and a deep voice answered back, "For the record, that's not a wise thing to say when there's a grandparent around. I remember saying exactly the same thing when George was this age... and my parents were obliging enough to buy him one for his next birthday."
Claude looked up, heart pounding, straight into the eyes of Berger's father. Jack just smiled at him, shrugged and held up a hand for Cheryl to grab on to. Satisfied with pulling on the older man's fingers, she stopped beating on Claude, though she did keep her other hand tangled in his hair so he couldn't get away. Jack smiled at the action, "She's awfully taken with you, I see."
And Claude still couldn't force out a single word in response. Pounding through his heart was the idea that he had to make a good impression on this man. This was Berger's father, one of the few people that Berger respected. Berger actually still looked up to him, wanted to make him proud. Claude couldn't screw this up. He couldn't. Damn it. He was. Desperate to acknowledge the other man's words in some way, he finally nodded.
Jack smiled again, pulled Cheryl's hand closer to give it a laughing nibble. Cheryl squealed with delight and pulled it away. Two seconds later, she gave it right back to him to nibble on again. Before he took it, though, Jack looked back up at Claude and winked, "For the record, so's her father."
How... how the hell could he respond to that?? Claude felt his heart sink into the vicinity of his stomach, and as hard as it was pounding, that didn't make for a very settled stomach. Did Berger's family know? He hadn't even thought to ask, didn't know what was even safe to say.
Eventually Jack took pity on him, waved him into the living room. And he was so glad to be let off the hook with answering that Claude actually didn't hesitate to follow. Two of the dining room chairs were pulled over to the side of the living room, separate from the rest of the seating. Jack waved him over to that spot, let him choose where he'd like to sit, then sat in the other chair. Finally, Jack offered him a small smile and shrugged, "I suppose that wasn't fair of me, was it?" Seeing that Claude was certainly smart enough not to answer that question, Jack laughed, "Look, I don't know what sort of living situation you three have worked out here -- and believe you, me, I don't want to know -- but I'm also not blind or deaf."
Seeing that he had Claude's attention, he elaborated, "George... he didn't have an easy time of it as a child. He probably doesn't even remember this, but I wasn't around much when he was younger." At Claude's raised eyebrow, he sighed, "I fought in Korea. I was there from the time George was one until he was three. You have no idea how much I regret that, how much I fear that it was responsible for him having so much trouble later on. It was just him and his mom for so long... I don't know."
Leaning back in his chair, Jack looked across the room, smiled as Berger pulled Samantha down onto his lap to tickle her, shook his head, "I worried about him a lot when he first started spending so much time away from home. When he'd actually deign to come home, he'd talk about these kids, just as lost as he was, just as confused. When he started dating Sheila, things got a little better, he straightened up a little, but it didn't last. Nothing touched him, nothing left an impression... until you."
At that, Claude sat up a little, startled. Jack just smiled, nodded in confirmation, "He never spoke your name, never told us any details, but we could all see how taken he was with you, whoever you were. Those few occasions that he came home, you were all he talked about. He... I think he looked up to you, idolized you a little. There was something about you that made him try harder, that made him want to be better. When you were drafted..." He paused, breath catching a little in his throat, "He came home that night and he was beside himself. He wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep, didn't want to talk to any of us. I came down in the middle of the night to find him curled up on the couch looking so, so lost... No father should ever have to see their son cry like that. Nothing I said reached him. All I could do was watch as he withdrew further and further into himself, past all my ability to help. He disappeared the next morning and we didn't see him again until last year."
Claude turned his face into Cheryl's curls, caught by the pain in the older man's voice. He'd known that it was bad, but he somehow hadn't realized... Swallowing hard, he managed to get out, "I... I'm sorry."
Jack lifted a hand, gripped Claude's shoulder, "No. Don't apologize. I didn't tell you this to make you feel bad. I told you so that you would understand how important you are to my son. He loves you. He loves you enough that losing you almost destroyed him." When Claude managed to look up to meet his earnest gaze, he shook a finger at him, "So don't you dare think for one second that you don't belong here. He wants you here." Patting Cheryl's head with a smile, he added, "She wants you here. That should be enough. Right?"
Claude stared, mouth slightly open. He couldn't help it. After a few unsuccessful tries, he managed to croak out, "How... you...? How did you...?"
Jack patted Claude on the shoulder again before he released his grip, "I told you. I fought in Korea. Didn't go through nearly as much as you did, but it left its mark, just the same. So, I have an idea of what you're going through, now. I know how I felt when I came back and I recognized that look in your eyes when you managed to come out before to say hello. I can't tell you that it's all going to get better over night, but it does get better eventually. And in the meantime, just take my word for it. Just like little Cheryl, here, my son thinks you hung the moon. And if he had any idea that you were hiding in the bedroom because you thought you didn't belong here with the rest of us, he'd move heaven and earth to try to convince you otherwise, probably throw us all out on the stoop in the process. OK?"
Claude let out a small huff of a laugh, finally allowed himself to relax, "Yeah... Somehow, I think you're right."
Before the older man could respond to that, Berger's mother had come up behind him, rested her hands on his shoulders. Giving Claude a gentle smile, she said accusingly, "A-ha! So you're the culprits that are monopolizing my grandchild!"
Cheryl laughed at Elaine, blew a few raspberries. Elaine blew one right back. Squealing happily, Cheryl then held her arms up to her grandmother. Elaine lifted an eyebrow at Claude, silently asking permission before taking the child from him. He smiled, handed her over, "Please, be my guest, Mrs. Berger."
She rolled her eyes, made a dismissive motion with her hand, "Please. Mrs. Berger is his mother," she indicated her husband with a nod of her head, "Call me Elaine."
Hiding his smile as best he was able, he said, "Certainly." Satisfied with that response, Elaine then carted Cheryl off to go play with Sam and Patty. Claude could only shake his head. She was so very different. G-d, he didn't think he'd ever seen his mother so carefree, so... happy. That thought brought him up short. No... he'd never seen his mother that happy. That... why did that make him feel so guilty?
Before he had a chance to ponder the question any further, Berger yelled out, "Soup's on! Come and get it!"
Sheila promptly smacked him on the shoulder and said, "Berger! Casual doesn't mean rude!"
He just offered her a sheepish grin and shrugged. He then exchanged a glance with Samantha, who promptly burst into giggles. Sheila's eyebrow started to twitch. Elaine walked over with Cheryl, handed her to her mother and with a blush quietly explained, "This one's actually not his fault. When they were younger it was really hard to pull them away from playing out in the leaves to sit down to Thanksgiving dinner. One year, my husband bought one of those triangles -- you know the ones -- and stood at the back door ringing it and yelling out that phrase. The kids thought it was fantastic and came running right in. He did it the next year, too, and as a tradition... it sort of stuck."
Sheila just stared at the other woman, mouth agape. Berger started to snicker, poked her once in the side for good measure. Finally she rolled her eyes, "OK, OK, do what you like. I give up."
Before Berger could yell out again, Roger stood up and, with a sour look, waved him silent, "We got the idea. Dinner's ready. We're coming." And that was how dinner started, tempers stewing right along with the carrots and potatoes.
Berger had been watching for Claude to emerge from the bedroom all afternoon to no avail. And in spite of his brave words to Sheila, it was making him more than a little nervous. Still, if Claude needed to hide all day, he needed to hide all day. Honestly, Berger was starting to wish that he could join him, promises to Sheila be damned.
He had to admit though, his family was doing well. They were doing everything in their power to make today easier for he and Sheila and he appreciated it like mad. Hell, his mother had even managed to rope Evelyn and Barbara (Sheila's mother and sister-in-law) into helping to set the table and get the food ready. His father had gotten Sheila's father, Harold, and her brother, Roger, to help mind Cheryl and Sammy and Patty seemed to be getting along more than famously without any help. One thing was certain -- Patty had come a long way from being the scrawny thirteen year old that he and Woof had mistaken for a ten year old at the shore that summer. It was easy to see the resemblance between she and her sister, now, easy to see that she would no doubt turn heads. Hell, if he wasn't more than blessed in that regard himself, right now, she'd have turned his, too.
Regardless, though, there were points of tension all afternoon. Sheila's parents obviously didn't approve of the informality of the situation. Sheila's brother clearly didn't approve of Sammy or the effect she was having on Patty. Sheila's sister-in-law, however, was getting along famously with Berger's mother... which was irritating Sheila's mother to no end. The only one who seemed to be having an unalloyed good time was Cheryl. So, in the end, maybe it was for the best that Claude was hiding. Honestly, Berger wasn't sure he'd have wanted to subject the other man to all of this brewing hostility.
So, it was with no small amount of consternation that he'd seen Cheryl decide that she'd had enough of everyone else and she wanted Claude... and she wanted him now. She slipped away from Berger's father, crawling as fast as her little limbs could move her, and threw herself at the door to the bedroom. Berger tried to extricate himself from Roger and Harold to go retrieve his daughter, but he wasn't fast enough. His father reached the little girl just in time for Claude to open the door to let her in.
Berger froze, half-standing, feeling like he was watching a train wreck. He'd never explicitly told his family about Claude, about who he was and how he fit into his and Sheila's life. He knew that Woof had danced around telling them at that first visit, was pretty certain that his mother and sister had it figured out, but his father... Shit. This had the potential to be very bad. In slow motion, he dropped back down onto the couch, silently urging his father to do what Berger wanted instead of what he obviously planned to do, Come on, Dad. Just let him take Cheryl and disappear back inside. Just... don't... damn it. Needless to say, his father didn't hear the silent urging and started trying to converse with Claude, used his playing with Cheryl as a distraction as he did.
Claude was staring at the older man like a deer in headlights, frozen in horror, unsure of which way to jump. But Berger's father was nothing if not persistent and to Berger's utter shock, he not only managed to get Claude to talk, but managed to coax him out into the living room, too. At that point, Sheila walked over to the couch and bent over to speak into his ear, "Did I just see what I think I just saw?"
Berger couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of his father and Claude sitting in the living room, talking and playing with Cheryl as though it was completely normal. But he did answer Sheila in an awed tone of voice, "Well... if you just saw Cheryl and my father working in tandem to trick Claude out of the bedroom and coax him to stay out... then yeah, you just saw what you think you saw." Their eyes met and Berger slowly shook his head, "I wouldn't believe it either, if I hadn't just seen it myself."
Sheila's lips stretched into a wide smile that luminously lit her eyes and she bent down to press a firm kiss against Berger's cheek, "Have I ever mentioned how much I love your family?"
Berger laughed, pulled her arms around him and hugged them close as he snuggled back against her, "I think it's been mentioned once or twice..."
Thirty minutes later, he was thinking back on that moment with wistfulness. Dinner had turned into a beyond-interesting affair. He hadn't even thought when he'd called everyone to dinner. It hadn't even occurred to him that Sheila's family might consider it rude, he'd just remembered that little tradition from his own family and knew that they would appreciate the humor. Hell, even Claude had looked up from the corner of the room and managed a smile for him. Damn it.
They'd settled around the table in two neatly divided camps. Berger was at one end of the table with Claude to his left and his mother to his right. Samantha was next to their mother with Patty on her other side. Berger's father sat to Claude's left. Sheila's father was next to Berger's with her mother on his other side. Sheila sat at the opposite end of the table, Cheryl's high chair on her right between her and her mother and her brother and his wife on her left between her and Patty. It almost felt like a case of the Franklins vs. the Bergers and Berger was not thrilled about the implications. Neither was Sheila, if the sour look on her face was any indication. They were gearing up for a war and they could both feel it. Damn it. He didn't want a war in his own home on his first Thanksgiving with his family. And he would do whatever it took to make sure it didn't happen.
The first battle of the night could have been over the toast, but Berger neatly avoided that one by waving Sheila to stand and give it. She was the most eloquent one at the table and none of the men would fight a woman for anything, especially not in her own home. Sheila smiled, gave him a small nod of gratitude and stood, raising her glass. After looking around the table at everyone sitting there, her face softened, took on a glow of pure happiness and she began to speak, "I have so much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, I hardly even know where to start."
Cheryl chose that moment to bang her hands on her high chair. Berger's entire family, Patty and Barbara all laughed at that. Even Sheila's mother cracked a smile. Sheila just bent down and took one of Cheryl's hands in hers, gave it a kiss, "Of course, how could I forget? Naturally, a list of things for which I'm thankful should start with you, sweetheart." After she gave Cheryl another kiss, she straightened up, looked towards the other end of the table. And the look she sent Berger and Claude's way was heated, to say the least, "And of course, it should continue with the two of you. Without you both, I wouldn't have her... and I wouldn't have all the other blessings in my life."
Berger smiled, blew her a kiss. Next to him, Claude ducked his head. At that action, Berger frowned, poked him lightly in the side until he looked up again. The older man shrugged, waved away Berger's concern as though it meant nothing, and right now, it probably did. Berger leaned over, planted a soft peck of a kiss against the other man's temple, then motioned Sheila to keep speaking.
Fortunately, Sheila was always good at picking up on a hint and resumed her toast, "I suppose what it boils down to is family. I am grateful for my family... for all my family." Reaching out a hand to her brother, she smiled when he squeezed it in response, "I'm thankful for my big brother and my little sister." Smiling at Barbara, she added, "I'm grateful for my older sister, too." Barbara ducked her head, but smiled readily enough when Patty wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze.
"I'm thankful for my parents and for how accommodating they've been this year." Evelyn smiled, had the grace at least to scowl at her husband when he didn't. Sheila sighed, but continued, looking further up the table at Berger's family, "And I'm grateful to my new family, as well, grateful that knowing Berger has brought you into my life. I'm glad that we could all be here, healthy and happy, at this season." Raising her glass, she finished off with, "May we all remain so for many, many seasons to come."
There was a spate of glass clinking and a few "Here Here!"s, then everyone settled back down. With a silently apologetic look for his father, Berger turned towards that side of the table and cleared his throat, "Mr. Franklin?" Sheila's father turned towards him with a look on his face like a man who's smelled something foul. Berger ignored the look and gave the man a bright smile, "Your daughter tells me that you're something of an expert when it comes to turkey carving. I certainly wouldn't want to step on your toes..." He waved the man towards the carving utensils.
The two men stared across the table at each other, weighing and measuring. Finally, Harold picked up the carving knife with a slight sniff and said, "Wise choice. It's generally better to leave these things to those who know how to handle them."
Sheila stiffened where she was sitting, looked like she might say something in response, but Berger waved her silent. He could take it. He could take anything her father dished out. He didn't care. What he didn't want, was her father taking out his ire on Claude. And if he remained focused on Berger, he hopefully wouldn't. Any amount of needling was worth that price. Seeing the pleading look in his eyes, Sheila sighed, nodded. Then she deliberately pasted a smile on her face and picked up the sweet potatoes to take a helping for Cheryl and herself before passing it to Roger.
Silence reigned for the next few minutes as the serving platters were passed around. And Berger couldn't help but notice, with something akin to alarm, that very little of that food was ending up on Claude's plate. He poked the other man in the side, hissed quietly in his ear, "Hey, what gives, man? You letting Bitter McSnipeyPants get to you?"
Claude jerked, clearly not having expected to be spoken to. He shook his head, then slumped a little in his seat, mumbled, "I'm not that hungry."
Berger frowned in response, "The hell you're not. You haven't eaten anything all day. You have to be hungry. Would you rather I brought you a plate to eat in the bedroom? I know Sheila doesn't like us eating in the bed, but I think she'd be willing to make an exception under the circumstances. Just say the word."
Claude shook his head, miserably. Berger sighed, gripped his hand under the table, "Claudio... I wasn't gonna say anything, but... you do this a lot. You don't eat enough." At Claude's guilty look, Berger rubbed his thumb reassuringly over his knuckles, "I don't mean to scold or anything, but you need to put some weight back on. You were always skinny, but since you got back..." He shook his head, "I noticed, OK? So, if you're not comfortable eating out here, you can eat in the bedroom. Whatever you need, right, Claudio? This is your Thanksgiving, too."
Before the other man could answer, a voice broke into their conversation from down the table, "And what about you, Mr. Bukowski? Are you a thigh or a breast man?" When Claude and Berger turned to look at Sheila's father, his mouth stretched into a cruel smile, "Oh, that's right. Forget I asked. I hear you prefer rump roast."
For a moment, no one at the table moved. All the women were shooting murderous glances at Sheila's father and even Cheryl had stopped eating to stare at what was going on. Berger couldn't think of a single thing to say in response. All he was aware of was Claude, frozen stock-still beside him, face growing paler with each passing second. He couldn't respond, couldn't answer that unexpected malice, and besides, he couldn't say anything in Claude's defense without making the situation worse.
What he didn't expect was what finally happened. Berger's father and Sheila's brother, nearly in unison, threw down their napkins and got to their feet. Jack growled out, "If you have something to say, why don't you just say it?" At the same time, Roger ground out, "Father, that is enough." The two men then paused, sized each other up and nodded, turned back to face Sheila's father.
Now that... that was a surprise. Berger expected his father to stand up for him and it wasn't too much of a stretch to see that he would do the same for Claude. The man had a bigger, more caring heart than even he knew and he'd taken a liking to Claude. Roger, though... that was unexpected. And apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so. Sheila's father gestured at his son with the hand still holding the knife, "Do you mean to tell me that you're defending what's going on here?" At his son's blank look, he gestured down the table at Berger and Claude, "Your sister is living in a polygamous relationship with two men, which would be bad enough. But that those two men are having sexual intercourse with each other, as well? It's unnatural. You can't defend it."
Roger's fist clenched at his side in response to his father's words. In a deceptively quiet tone of voice, he answered, "Sheila is old enough to make her own choices. I may not agree with all of them, but I do stand by her right to make them. And regardless of anything else he has or has not done, the one thing I know about Claude is that he is a fellow Viet Nam veteran and he's survived horrors the likes of which you and I can't even dream. That's all I need to know, Father. I won't stand by and watch you, a man who has never even picked up a weapon to defend this country, impugn the honor of a man who has. I won't have it, especially not at his own table, in his own home." When his father opened his mouth to respond, he roared back, "And not in front of me."
Sheila's father froze, mouth still open, unable to process what had just happened. Roger continued, eyes bright with passion and hand still clenched into a fist, "When I graduated high school, you gave me three options: go to law school and join you in the family firm, enlist or be disowned. You knew then that I didn't have any desire to study law. I let you force me into that decision and believe you me, it's one that's left scars. And since I returned, you've had nothing but scorn for me, for disappointing you, for daring to survive and come home relatively intact when so many men didn't, G-d only knows why, because I sure as hell don't." Pointing towards the other end of the table, he bit out, "But I'll be damned if I let you take your anger with me out on a man that's done nothing to deserve it. So give me the carving knives, sit down and shut your ass up. If you can't do that, I suggest you leave and let the rest of us eat in peace."
By the end of that speech, Sheila had a hand clapped to her mouth, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Claude was gripping Berger's hand hard beneath the table, but there was some small amount of vindication shining in his eyes. Berger was ready to leap from his seat and cheer. It didn't matter what else Sheila's brother did from this point on -- Berger would love him forever for this one act alone. After a seemingly endless moment, Sheila's father handed Roger the carving knives and sat down. He looked like a man who'd just been smacked in the back of the head with a board.
Roger took a deep breath, then turned towards Berger's father and made as though to hand him the carving knives, "Mr. Berger? Would you--"
Before he could even complete the sentence, however, Jack shook his head and sat back down, "No, son, I would not. I think you've more than earned the privilege yourself, don't you?"
Though his cheeks turned a light shade of pink at those words, Roger nodded and wordlessly resumed carving the turkey. He finished serving the women at the table, then before asking any of the other men, he turned to Claude and quietly asked, "So... do you have a preference?"
Seeing that no answer was forthcoming from Claude, he turned and quirked an eyebrow at Berger. Berger sighed, patted Claude's knee under the table. Turning to look at Claude as though daring him to speak up and say otherwise, he said dryly, "He'll take a leg." He knew from watching him the last few weeks that if it was on Claude's plate, he'd eat it -- his Army training being useful for once -- and Berger was determined to get him to eat. Sure enough, Claude didn't argue, just resignedly held out his plate when Roger leaned across the table with the turkey leg. He did, however, kick Berger under the table for his interference. And rather than dampen Berger's spirits, that one action lifted them in a way nothing else could have, because it was pure Claude. It was something Claude would have done -- had done -- before the war. In the midst of what was turning into a horrible evening, it was a ray of hope and Berger was going to bask in it, consequences be damned. So, when Roger turned towards Berger to ask his preference in meat, Berger let his lips stretch wide in a grin that had Sheila moaning into her hands and Claude snickering quietly at his side before he even opened his mouth.
As for what he said?
"Nuh-uh, man. Weren't you paying attention? I'm waiting for the rump roast."
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N:
You know what? I'm kind done making excuses. It's not like anyone reads the author's notes anyway. ^_^ Maybe for the next chapter.
Coming Soon: Finally... a little resolution. a.k.a. -- when we learn exactly how awesome Berger's family really is and Roger and Barbara prove that they'd fit right in with them. ^_^
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Date: 2010-12-10 01:47 am (UTC)"He missed her." >>> Claude!! She misses you too!! It's so cute how he is starting to miss his mom XD
Ohh bring her back in the picture, she's adorable! She totally won me over with that lavender story ♥♥♥ (*Lying. Why deny it? She has always been one of my favorite characters XD*)
It's soooooo good to see Berger's dad and Roger supporting Claude. Roger is my new baby 8D
Sheila's dad is awful... just like Claude's ¬¬
I'm sorry for the short comment but I'm trying to finish an essay for uni >.<
Even though I'm almost on vacations I still have this last paper and it's due to tomorrow and I've been neglecting it a little bit, it's almost finished.. but I still have to sort some details.
Kisses sweetie, I promise you the next chapter I'll leave something decent ;D
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Date: 2010-12-10 05:13 pm (UTC)I kind of love Claude's mom, too. ^_^ And don't worry, she will be back -- just not in this story. O_O I had a lot more plotted out for this one, but I realized that with it already hitting over 60,000 words and 9 chapters that I really had to cut it. That's too much for one fanfic. O_O;;; The Bergers and the Franklins had Thanksgiving... Claude's mom will have Christmas. ^_~
Yeah... *sigh* At the heart of it, Sheila's dad is a coward. He lost family status when Roger defied him by enlisting and he's been trying (and failing) to get it back ever since. I'm glad you liked Roger, though. ^_^ He's rapidly becoming one of my favorite OCs. You get more of him in the next chapter.
And hey, don't apologize! Schoolwork should always come first! (I say as I take the time to respond to this and post the next part rather than doing my own schoolwork... Sheesh. O_o;;;) Good luck with finishing up your work!