[Hair] The Zorya (8/9)
Dec. 10th, 2010 12:24 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 8: 9059 -- nice long one this time. ^_^
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 10, 2010: Well, last night's rest seems to have done me some good. I'm not anywhere near as sniffly and my finger doesn't hurt or need a band-aid anymore. ^_^ Yeah! *coughs* Anyway, I wanted to get this posted nice and early because once I get involved with the day I'm going to get busy really quickly and I have a late rehearsal for tomorrow's chorale concert. I didn't want to end up posting this at midnight, especially because all the happy stuff happens in this chapter, and I had a feeling you'd all need it after the last chapter. ^_^
Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!
The Midnight Star
by Renee-chan
When dinner was over, the women retired to the kitchen to start cleaning up the dishes, and in spite of Sheila's protests, they shooed her away from helping. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to the living room to see what everyone else was up to. Roger was still in the kitchen, doing who knew what. Berger, his father, Sam and Patty were sprawled out on the floor, playing with Cheryl, and Claude and her father were each sitting off in a corner by themselves. It was enough to make her want to scream in frustration. That was when Roger stepped up next to her, wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple, "And do I dare ask who earned that expression today? G-d, I hope it wasn't me."
Sheila laughed, poked her brother in the side, "Oh, you. You know damned well who earned this expression." She then wrapped her arms around him, "You get this expression." Leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss her brother's cheek, Sheila beamed a smile up at him, "Thank you. I... I didn't know he had it in him to do something like that." Voice quieting, she whispered, "I've never been so ashamed of him in my life. I didn't think I could be ashamed of him. He's my father."
Roger cradled her close, rubbed a gentle hand against her back and sighed, "Yeah, well, you haven't been home much these last few years. He's changed... and not for the better."
Sheila leaned back away from her brother, "And I had no idea he'd said that to you. Did he really tell you that if you didn't go to school pre-law or enlist he'd disown you? How... how could he do something like that? How did I not know he'd done that?"
Roger sighed, brushed Sheila's hair back from her face, "You were fourteen, Sheila. How could you have known? He certainly wasn't going to tell you and it wasn't your problem to solve. I made my choice and I stand by it. If I hadn't enlisted, I'd have ended up in a career I hated or I'd have dropped out of school and been drafted anyway. This way, I at least made it through relatively unscathed." Nodding over at Claude, he said, "Unlike your poor friend there." Shaking his head, he sighed, "I have too many friends with eyes like that, so locked up in the trauma of their own past that they can barely see past it. Enlisting spared me that, at least." Reaching up, he tweaked Sheila's nose, "Besides, if I hadn't enlisted, I wouldn't have met Barbara. That's got to be worth something in the pro category, right?"
Sheila smiled, wrapped her arm back around her brother, "I suppose so, big brother. I suppose so. I like her, anyway. And she's good for you, you can see it. I'm still sorry about this, though. I still wish I'd known. I would have said something. Maybe I could have changed his mind."
"Maybe you could have, at that, Sheila-bear. Maybe you could have," was his response. After another moment, he stepped away, "Look, why don't you go try to talk to him, hmm? He always did listen to you better than the rest of us." He then nodded in Claude's direction, "I'll go over there, see if he'll talk to me. I doubt it... but you never know, right?"
In total concert for once, the two bumped fists, then waggled their fingers at each other as they pulled away. It was an old gesture, one from early on her childhood when she'd still thought Roger hung the moon. And after tonight... after tonight, Sheila was again half-convinced that he had. That is... until she figured out that for the second time that night, a man had tricked her into taking the bum end of the deal. Sighing heavily, she stalked over to the corner to deal with her father.
Claude watched the interchange between Sheila and her brother, alert with the knowledge that he had to pay attention and weary with the warring knowledge that he was having trouble staying awake to do it. There was no way he was falling asleep now, though. He'd never manage it with all these people in the apartment, especially as one had clearly labeled himself an enemy. As a result of his preoccupation, he missed the moment when Sheila and her brother parted and completely lost track of him until the man arrived at his side and gestured at the chair, "This seat taken?"
Claude was tempted to tell him that it was and shoo him away, but he couldn't repay what the man had done for him at the dinner table with that level of rudeness. It just wouldn't be right. Instead, he shrugged, trying to indicate that he didn't care one way or the other what Sheila's brother did. He seemed to sense that and just smiled, "I brought a bribe, if that helps..."
At those words, Claude finally managed to look up at the other man, focused on what was being held out to him. Coffee. Steaming, black and very strong from the smell of it. Claude shot him a look of pure gratitude as he reached out and took the cup, even managed a quiet, "Thanks."
"No problem," he responded as he sat down. Sighing, he took a sip of his own coffee, "I wanted... Look, I wanted to apologize for my father. What he said, it wasn't the time or place for it and it wasn't even you he was really trying to attack. You were a civilian casualty in that one, I'm afraid."
Claude sighed, nodded in understanding. He knew the feeling, understood all too well the relationship between Sheila's brother and her father as it so closely mirrored his own with his. He looked up, met the other man's eyes, shrugged again, "I get it."
The man shook his head, let out a soft laugh, "Yeah... somehow, I think you actually might. You get along similarly well with your own father, I imagine." At Claude's hesitant nod, he sighed, "Thought so from how you were reacting to certain other things tonight." When Claude raised an eyebrow, Sheila's brother slowly smiled and he said just two words, "Mr. Berger."
Claude's eyes widened and in spite of himself, he found his lips twitching into a small smile of his own which he quickly buried into his coffee cup. Again, he understood exactly what the other man was talking about. To someone who'd grown up with a father as distant and unreachable as the stars, a father like Berger's was... well, he was damned near incomprehensible. It was obvious that he loved his children, that he loved his wife. It was obvious that he didn't believe in much formality -- hell, any father that would buy a triangle and stand at the back door ringing it and yelling, "Come and get it!" to get his children to come in for Thanksgiving dinner couldn't be a stickler for proper etiquette. And his easy acceptance and support of Claude... like he'd said, it was damned near incomprehensible.
The other man's lips twitched right along with his. Eventually, he held out a hand, "I actually don't think we were ever properly introduced. Roger Franklin. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Tentatively holding out his own hand, Claude said simply, "Claude Bukowski. Likewise," then shook the other man's hand. After a few more moments of silence, Claude couldn't keep back the question any longer, "You... you served in Nam?"
A weary nod in response, "Yep. Nam, the early years, that is. Things weren't quite so intense back then, hadn't heated up quite so badly. Hell, it was pure bad luck that I even ended up over there. There weren't many of us there back then. I honestly thought it was more likely I'd end up in Korea. My platoon and I were pretty shocked to be diverted." Wrapping his hands around his coffee cup for warmth, Roger's voice quieted, "That was one nasty piece of hell on Earth, though, I will tell you that. The real thing couldn't be much worse, if you ask me."
Claude snorted, lifted his eyes long enough to meet Roger's, "If you're looking for an argument, you're not going to get one out of me, that's for damned sure."
That startled a laugh out of the older man, "No, no, I imagine I won't." Eyes again taking on a serious cast, Roger cleared his throat, "Sheila... Sheila mentioned that you were a POW. Is that true?"
Claude's breath caught at the simple question, his hands shook on his coffee mug. He quickly lowered it to rest on his leg so he wouldn't spill it. He had to force his answer through clenched teeth, "Yes. And... if it's all the same, I'd rather not discuss it."
Roger ducked his gaze, seemed embarrassed that he'd even asked at all. Clearing his throat, he said, "My apologies. I don't even know why I... oh hell. Just forget I even asked, OK?" Casting around quickly for some other topic, Roger's eyes landed on Cheryl and Berger. Smiling softly, he said, "A different question, then..." When he saw that Claude had refocused on the conversation, he continued, "What exactly is the deal with the three of you?" At Claude's instantly sharp and protective look, he held up his free hand, "Not that I'm judging! I just want to know." At Claude's continued narrow-eyed glare, he sighed, "You have to understand. If you'd asked me which of my sisters would have the guts to get herself involved in a three-way relationship with two men, I'd have told you neither. But if you'd made me pick, I would have said Patty. Sheila's got guts and she's got passion, but this...? Let's just say, I'd never have pictured it. I'm still not entirely sure I'm comfortable with the idea, but I'd like to try to understand."
Meeting Roger's eyes and finally understanding the reasoning behind the question, Claude relaxed. No matter what else he was, Roger was an older brother. And what Claude had heard from every older brother and younger sister he'd ever known was that it was an older brother's G-d-given right to be overprotective and annoyingly nosy. The latter, of course, being the younger sisters' opinion. With a soft huff of a laugh, he shrugged, "Berger and Sheila were dating when we met. And the Tribe... the Tribe was very casual about who slept with who, like it didn't matter. It was all just love to them."
Roger snorted out a laugh, "Ah yes. I've heard stories about this Tribe. And truth be told, I didn't know whether to blush or ask if I was too old to join. It sounded like you all had a lot of fun."
A wistful smile touched Claude's lips briefly before fleeing again, "Yeah... I suppose we did." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, they were dating and Berger and I... I don't know. We had something. I couldn't define it for you, it didn't even make sense to me then, but we undeniably had something. I didn't want to pursue it, though. I figured that if he wanted more from me than sex, than even he had to consider that cheating. Besides... up until that point, I'd only ever slept with girls." A brief smile touched his lips again as he continued, "But George Berger is not one to deny himself something that he wants. Ever. So in a piece of brilliantly twisted logic, he decided that if it was cheating to get involved with me, then he'd just get Sheila involved with me, too. That way, no one could claim cheating, because we were all getting equal pieces of the same pie." At Roger's incredulous look, Claude snorted out a laugh, "Yeah. I know. That's Berger-logic for you. You learn to love it after a while... or at least to duck your head and stay out of its way."
Letting out his own laugh at the long-suffering look on Claude's face, Roger shook his head, "Yeah, he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who takes no for an answer. He's the kind that rearranges the whole damned universe to suit himself, everyone else's opinion be damned, isn't he?"
Lifting his eyes to watch Berger play with their daughter, Claude's lips again tipped into a wistful smile, "Yeah... he certainly is. You know something, though? I wouldn't have him any other way. And he was right. It worked and we were happy." Sighing softly, he looked back down at his coffee mug, took a sip. When he lowered his mug again, he added, "Until I went and fucked the whole thing up. And now... fuck. Now, I don't think we'll ever get it back on track. And after today... I'm not even sure we should."
Roger frowned, scowled down into his coffee mug like he couldn't believe he was about to say what he was about to say, finally caved in and said it anyway, "For what it's worth -- and G-d forgive me for even suggesting this -- I think you should and I think you will." Taking a deep breath, he said, "Understand that I say this as a man who loves Sheila dearly and wouldn't change her for the world." Smiling ruefully, he continued, "Berger's a good guy at heart, I can see it, I could even see it last year, but he can't handle my sister alone. I'm not sure any one man could. But somehow... even with things as strained as they've been today, I can see how the two of you together can manage it. Something about the three of you... if I turn my brain sideways far enough, I can almost see how it is that you work. And I think you need each other. I'm not sure that this thing you have going would really work with one of you missing. I mean, between last Thanksgiving and this one... there was something out of balance between the two of them last year. Now, with the three of you together -- even with you the way you are -- things seem more balanced. Jesus, did that even make sense? Fuck, I really can't believe I just said that." Bowing his head low over his coffee mug, he muttered under his breath, "I should be trying to convince you of the opposite. What the hell am I doing?"
Claude huffed out a short laugh, reached out a hand to pat Roger on the shoulder, "As you said, you're speaking as a man who loves Sheila and wouldn't change her." At Roger's confused look, he explained, "You're speaking from your heart. She's your little sister, you love her and you want her to be happy. How is that wrong?"
Roger slowly smiled, raised his coffee mug in salute, then downed the rest like it was a fortifying brandy. Claude's eyebrow twitched and he stared down into his own mug, then glanced sharply up at Roger. Roger caught the look, started to laugh, "Don't worry. I may have helped out my own coffee, but I'm not Donna. I wouldn't help yours without asking first."
Mollified, Claude drank the rest of his coffee. It was at that point that Sheila and her father approached the pair. Not wanting to be sitting down for this confrontation, Claude quickly stood, placed his empty mug down on the chair and dropped his hands to his sides, stance loose and easy. He would not be caught unawares twice.
Roger caught the posture and tried to catch Sheila's eyes to warn her. He knew how quickly battle-trained reflexes could do something unforgivable, tried to tell her with his eyes that this was a bad idea. Sheila, however, was determined and simply reached a hand down to take one of Claude's in hers. He jerked, not having expected that soft contact, then frowned. Sheila just raised his hand and placed it against her cheek, "This won't take long, I promise. My father just has something he'd like to say."
By the looks of it, Mr. Franklin most certainly did not. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't by choice -- Sheila had just bullied him into it. Claude recognized the look -- he'd worn it often enough, himself. The man cleared his throat and finally managed to force out the following words, "I apologize for how I acted at the dinner table. It was rude, it was inappropriate and it won't happen again. You have my word."
Claude met the other man's eyes, gauged his sincerity. Oh, he was sorry he'd been rude, all right, that much was true, but he wasn't sorry for what he'd said. He could see it in the man's eyes. Well, two could play at that game. Claude was beyond tired of being treated as subhuman by yet another man who didn't have the right to make that judgment. He allowed his eyes to grow cold and distant, held himself a little straighter, let a little menace creep into his voice, "Provisionally, I accept your apology, Mr. Franklin. For Sheila, for Cheryl, for Berger, I accept it. And for your sake, I hope you mean it. I hope you'll remember it." Eyes narrowing, he all but hissed out, "I don't handle threats against the ones I love very well, Mr. Franklin. I hope you'll remember that, too."
His own eyes widening, Sheila's father slowly nodded. Swallowing hard, he said, "I will. I think we understand each other, Mr. Bukowski."
Claude nodded, "Good. See that we continue to." Then with those his parting words, he collected his and Roger's coffee mugs and left to take them into the kitchen. Sheila's father fled back to his corner a mere moment later.
Roger and Sheila stared at each other for a moment, then Sheila pressed herself close to Roger's side and shivered. Roger held her close, ran a soothing hand over her hair, "Easy there, Sheila-bear. It's OK."
A slightly hysterical giggle in response to that, "How can it be OK? Did you miss what happened here? Claude just threatened Father! I... I didn't know he had it in him to do that. He's not usually that out of control."
Placing a gentle kiss on Sheila's head, Roger pushed her back out to arms-length to meet her eyes, "Sheila, I need you to understand something. While I'm sure your friend doesn't make idle threats, I'm also sure that he was in complete control when he made this one. This was a deliberate, well-calculated move on his part and it wasn't one he made without thinking through the consequences." At Sheila's confused look, he pulled her close again, "Aside from you and Berger, no one else here knew Claude before the war. And all we've seen of him tonight has been a scared, traumatized ex-soldier who can barely socialize with a small group at the holidays. He's the classic picture of the 'Viet Nam Vet,' a veritable poster child for PTSD. He isn't stupid, though. He knows that. With the rest of us, as he gets better, he'll have time to fix that first impression. With Father, though, he knows he isn't going to get that chance. So, if he can't make Father see him as a worthwhile human being, he has to make Father see him as a threat. That way, at least he'll be left alone and Father won't pull any more stunts like he did tonight."
Sheila stared up at him, eyes wide, "I... I think I understand."
Roger laughed, shook his head, "That thing is... I'm not entirely sure that you do." Giving the top of Sheila's head another kiss, he said, "He didn't do this for himself, Sheila. For himself... Jesus, you can see it in his eyes. There are only three people in this room that that man cares one whit for -- you, Berger and Cheryl. That's it. The rest of us could drop dead and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. So, he doesn't give a rat's ass what our father thinks of him... but he knows you do." As understanding slowly dawned on Sheila's face, Roger's smile widened, "That's right, Sheila-bear. He didn't do this for himself... he did it for you."
Sheila thought for a minute, slowly put together what had happened with what she knew of Claude's problems, eventually nodded, "I see it, Roger. I see what you're saying. And I do understand." Reaching up to lightly kiss his cheek, she gave him another soft smile, "Thank you. I won't forget either."
And it was at that moment that Berger's mother announced that dessert was ready and called them all back to the table for round two. Sheila sighed, "You ready, big brother?"
Roger gave her one last squeeze before letting go, "I was born ready, little sister." Sharing a commiserating look, the two then made their way back to the table.
Claude stared around at the chaos in the kitchen with barely concealed panic in his eyes. Who'd have thought that three women could cause such a flurry of activity? All he wanted to do was put the mugs in the sink. Maybe... maybe it could wait. Before he had a chance to flee the vicinity, however, he was noticed, "Ah! Claude! Perfect. Come over here for a minute."
Wincing appropriately, Claude nonetheless did as instructed And somehow, on his trip across the kitchen, both coffee mugs disappeared out of his hands. Barbara gave him a quick flash of a smile from the sink, then turned back to washing the dishes. Claude could only stare. He hadn't even seen her move... Berger's mother called out again, "Hurry up! We don't have all night."
Not one to ignore a summons like that, Claude did as asked and hurried over to Elaine's side of the kitchen. When he got there, it was to find a spoon of... something... being held in his face. Elaine gave him a widely smirking smile from behind the spoon, and it was a smile he recognized all too well. He'd seen it on Berger's face often enough... and it put him immediately on his guard, because that expression had landed him in more than his fair share of trouble in its day. He could almost feel himself starting to sweat as he asked, "Mrs. Berger...?" At the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, he amended, "Elaine... can I help you with something?"
And there was that brightly mischievous smile again. "You most certainly can. I need a taste-tester," then she gestured with the spoon.
Understanding what she wanted this time, he held up his hand for the spoon. He would do a lot of things for Berger's parents, but he'd be damned if he let his mother feed him like a baby. She rolled her eyes but handed it over, eyes excited. Warily, he placed it in his mouth, though he was still trying to figure out what on Earth it was. A second later, he stopped caring. There was... well, there was chocolate. There was definitely chocolate. A lot of chocolate. Was there cake? He thought there might be cake. And Nestle's Crunch. There was definitely some of that, too. Pudding? Yes, there was pudding, as well. Maybe some whipped cream. Oh, who cared? He just wanted another spoonful. Opening eyes that he'd been unaware that he'd closed until that moment, he gazed at the smirking woman in front of him with no small amount of admiration. In an awed tone of voice, he said quietly, "I think I see now why Berger used to describe that as 'almost better than sex.' Though I have to say... I'm not entirely sure about that 'almost' qualifier."
Elaine laughed, obligingly scooped another spoonful out of the bowl for him and handed it over. This time Claude took the time to appropriately savor it as it went down. When he opened his eyes this time, he said intently, "Berger's right. You have to teach Sheila how to make that."
Another laugh, this one even heartier than the last, "Sheila is a smart woman and thus refuses to be officially taught. I think she's afraid that my son would make her make it every night if he thought she knew how." Smiling up at him, she added, "But do you want to know the secret?" Claude eagerly nodded. She laughed, licked some pudding off her finger, "The secret is that it isn't that hard. I could teach you right now, if you wanted. It wouldn't even take that long."
Claude thought about it for a moment, weighed the benefits of being able to make that dessert whenever he chose with the potential cons of Berger abusing the privilege of having someone in the house who knew how. He slowly shook his head, "No... on second thought, I think I'll just leave it to the expert."
At the dry, laughing tone of his voice, Elaine turned to look at him, snickered at the sly expression on his face, "I see you're a smart man, Claude Bukowski. Very well. We'll string him along for just a little longer, shall we?" She then winked at him and went back to stirring.
A moment later, another voice -- Sheila's mother, this time -- called out from the other side of the kitchen, "Oh! Claude, you're still here. Would you be kind enough to reach the sugar bowl for me? That's a dear."
Before he knew it, Claude was being traded back and forth between the three women like a valuable commodity, each asking him to reach "just one more thing" or to take "just one more" serving platter back out to the breakfront or to sample "just one more" dessert as it was being put together. And honestly, he'd have been hard pressed to say that he minded. In truth... it was the most fun he'd had since... Jesus, since before being drafted. For that one precious moment, that one oasis of calm in the midst of the day's chaos, he could forget. He could forget the war, forget the horrors he'd witnessed, forget that dreaded disconnect between himself and the rest of humanity. He could forget it all and just be a boy helping his mother in the kitchen. And if secretly he felt a twinge of guilt that it wasn't his mother he was helping, he was at least able to push it aside and still enjoy the experience.
And when Elaine called the rest of the family back to the table for dessert, he was almost sorry that it was over, noted with amusement that he could have happily spent the rest of the night in the kitchen with the three women and not have missed the rest of the celebrating. Huh. Imagine that. Still, like a good boy, he made his way back to his spot at the table without any kind of a fuss.
When he got there, it was to find Berger shooting him a half-pleased, half-accusatory look. He couldn't quite decipher it, wasn't sure what he'd done to earn it and said so. Berger scoffed, rolled his eyes, finally said, "I knew it. Mom likes you better."
All Claude could do was splutter in response to that. The funny thing was... that sort of statement should have been slathered in bitterness, but it somehow wasn't. Berger sounded... he sounded almost maniacally gleeful about it, like it pleased him, made him happy. And knowing Berger, it just might have.
Berger persisted, poked him in the side this time for good measure, a wide smirk filling his features, "Only the best, most well-behaved kid at the table gets to be the taste-tester, the Thanksgiving favorite. It was always me before, but this year she picked you. Ergo, she likes you better."
At that, Claude snorted out a laugh, poked the other man back, "You? Most well-behaved? Please. Pull the other one, Banana-Berger."
Berger sat up as straight as he possibly could and put on his most angelic expression, "With taste-testing the Death By Chocolate at stake? Hell, yeah, I was the most well-behaved!"
Claude stared at him for a moment, finally couldn't contain the laughter any more. At Berger's mock-affronted look, he managed to get out between chuckles, "Your mother... is... brilliant."
At that point, Elaine arrived with dessert in hand and took her place at the table, "Why, thank you, dear. I appreciate the compliment." She then slipped him a wink. And when she started ladling out her dessert into bowls, she filled one large one and one much smaller one, gave them to Claude and Cheryl respectively.
That was when Sammy got in on the action. Pulling on a mischievous look of her own, she said, "Hey! Playing favorites at the table isn't allowed! If Claude got to taste test, then George and I should get the first bowls! Those are the rules!"
Claude's eyes widened like a deer in headlights and, not wanting to be the cause of yet another scene, he made as though to push the bowl across the table towards Sammy. Elaine, however, just said quietly but calmly, "Samantha Catherine Berger." The girl immediately subsided and took on a contrite pose. "Would you argue that Claude has been the best behaved today?" When Sammy shook her head, Elaine smiled, patted her cheek, "Neither would I. As for the other, I thought we could alter tradition a little this year, being as it is his and Cheryl's first Thanksgiving with the family." When Sammy gave her a broad grin and happily nodded, she smirked, "And besides... You're right. I do like him best." At that, the rest of the Bergers all started laughing.
Berger then reached over and, smirking the entire time, stole a spoonful of Claude's dessert. Claude just twitched an eyebrow and pulled the bowl back in front of him. At Berger's innocent look, he twitched again, said deadpan, "You're lucky I love you or you'd have lost a finger, just now... maybe a whole hand."
Berger's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. After a few seconds, though, he couldn't hold the expression and dissolved into laughter, soon pulled Claude into a tight hug and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. Claude retaliated by scooping up a finger of his dessert and smearing it deliberately on Berger's nose. Everyone at the table froze at that action, unbelieving that Claude -- of all people -- had done that. Berger, though, knew better... he knew Claude better. Of everyone at the table, Claude would have been the most likely to do something like that... before the war. Berger blinked once, twice, crossed his eyes trying to see the glob of pudding on his nose. Finally, his face cracked into another of those maniacal grins and he leaned over to nuzzle his nose against Claude's neck. Claude made a disgusted noise and pushed him away, but his eyes were practically dancing with innocent joy.
And right then and there, Berger decided that it had all been worth it. All the stress of the day, all of the pain they'd gone through earlier, it had all been worth it for this -- to see Claude laughing, smiling, enjoying himself... playing with him. There was only one problem... eyeing that smear of chocolate he'd placed on Claude's neck, he had a sudden, intense desire to lick it off of him. But even he wasn't fool enough to try that. Instead, he picked up his napkin and licked a corner of it. Then he took Claude's face in his hand and turned it to the side, gently wiped the chocolate off his neck. When he was done and Claude turned back to meet his eyes, the expression resting there... G-d. Berger had waited four years to see it again, to bask in it. Such love, such warmth... He leaned forward, touched their foreheads together. Claude huffed out a small laugh, squeezed his hand under the table, murmured so quietly that only Berger could hear, "Love you, too, Sexy-Berger."
From somewhere further down the table there was a sound like a tea kettle boiling over and both men jerked around to face it. Of course, it was Sheila's father, fuming at the display they were creating. They'd forgotten about him. Before anyone else could say anything, however, Claude braced his hands on the table, pushed himself half out of his chair... and stared Mr. Franklin down where he sat. In an icy voice quite at odds with the innocent joy he'd been exuding a moment earlier he bit out, "I thought we understood each other, Mr. Franklin."
Sheila's father paled a shade, immediately subsided. Claude nodded, sat back down, and in the ensuing dead silence, looked miserably over at Berger. Berger reached out and placed a gentle hand against his lower back, started rubbing his soothing little circles. Fortunately for mood recovery, however, that was also when Cheryl finally figured out what was in the dish that had been pushed over to her... and after happily and noisily sampling it, decided to follow her beloved Claude's example and lift one pudding-coated hand to pat her mother's cheek.
Sheila whipped around to face her daughter, shock in her eyes and a half-smile on her face. Cheryl stared back for a moment, then giggled and patted her again. After another few seconds, Sheila's expression cracked into a wide grin and she grabbed the little girl into a tight hug, getting pudding and chocolate cake all over both of them in the process. No one's mood could stay sour after that and the rest of dessert passed very happily... albeit rather messily.
At her father's glowering urging, and much to the disappointment of the rest of her family, Sheila's family left shortly after dessert, leaving Berger's family behind to help clean up the mess. Honestly, in the aftermath, Claude was unsure if the day had been a resounding success... or a miserable failure.
Cheryl, at least, had had fun -- that much was obvious -- and was now sacked out in Sammy's arms on the couch. Then again, Sammy was pretty sacked out herself, kept listing over sideways and nodding off. Every time Berger passed by her, he would smile, softly brush her hair out of her face and then nudge her back upright. Finally, Claude took pity on the girl and walked over to take Cheryl out of her arms. She half woke up at that and made a noise of protest. He just patted her shoulder reassuringly, "You're fine, Sam. I'm just going to take her off your hands and go tuck her into bed, OK?"
Sam mumbled something in response, then immediately sagged over onto her other side. Laughing quietly so as not to wake either of them, Claude carted Cheryl off to get her changed and put to sleep. She barely even moved through the whole process. By the time Claude returned to the living room, Berger was taking the afghan off the back of the couch and tucking it around his sister. There was such tenderness in his face, such protective pride... it was a little easier to see, now, the side of him that Woof had always spoken of so wistfully -- his "George" side. Walking up next to the other man, he gently bumped shoulders with him. Berger turned, smiled and leaned over to press their foreheads together.
Claude smiled in return, wrapped an arm around the other man's waist and squeezed. Berger reciprocated, sliding his own arm underneath Claude's to pull him in closer. Claude dropped his head to rest against Berger's shoulder, said quietly, "I... I wouldn't mind if she spent the night, you know." Berger's tensed beside him, only slowly relaxed. Claude hastened to explain, "She just... she looks so tired and it's a long way back to Hoboken. So... I just... I wouldn't mind, OK?"
Sighing softly, Berger turned and nuzzled into Claude's hair, "Are you sure?"
Claude raised his head, caught Berger's eyes, smiled at the slim thread of hope shining in their depths, "I'm sure. She can take the ferry home tomorrow... or you could escort her home if you wanted. Maybe... maybe you could spend more time with your family...?"
At that, Berger chuckled, brushed a butterfly soft kiss against Claude's cheek, squeezed him a little tighter, "Trying to get rid of me, Claudio?"
A fast headshake in response, "No. I'm not... I just..." Claude took in a deep breath, let it out in a frustrated noise, "You don't see them enough. They love you -- really love you -- and you don't see them enough." He pulled away, ran his fingers into his hair and gave it a tug, "Your sister, she looks up to you. And your parents worry about you. And you hardly ever even talk to them, because you're so busy looking out for me. It's not fair."
Berger reached out and gently pulled Claude's hands out of his hair, pulled them against his chest with one hand and slid the other around to cup the back of Claude's neck, "Claudio, what is this all of a sudden? My family... they know that I have a lot going on in my life right now. I have a job. I have my own family -- you, Cheryl and Sheila -- and you have to come first. They understand and accept that. It's how life goes, man. It's how life has to go. Just because I don't see them every week doesn't mean I love them any less or they me. That's what being family is all about, OK?"
Claude stared at him for a few minutes, finally shrugged out of his hold and took a step away. Berger let him go, but kept a close watch. Eventually, Claude sighed, shook his head, "You're right. Of course, you're right. I just... I don't know."
Berger narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, then eventually smiled a soft, smug grin, "I know. If Mom and Dad are OK with it, Sammy can spend the night, hang out with us tomorrow and then they can come back to pick her up in the evening..." He trailed off, eyes shining, all but daring Claude to ask what he planned for when they came to pick Samantha up.
Never one to disappoint, Claude rolled his eyes, but gave him the prompt he wanted, "OK, they'll pick her up, and...?"
Walking over, Berger wrapped his arms around Claude's neck and dropped a kiss on the end of his nose before saying, "...and then we can all go watch the Tree Lighting Ceremony at Rockefeller Center!" At the sudden stillness in Claude's body, Berger leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, "You said your family used to do that, right? Well, so did mine. So I thought... maybe... if you're up for it...?"
Claude met his eyes for an endless moment, considered it, came up with and discarded about five different answers, finally said, "I... I don't know, Berger." At the disappointment in the other man's eyes, Claude sighed, "Today... today wasn't easy for me. I don't know if that might be too much, OK?"
"We don't have to decide today, you know. We can figure it out tomorrow. We've got time," was Berger's easy answer. Then, after placing a soft kiss on Claude's forehead, he backed off, went to help Sheila with the last of the dishes.
Claude watched him go, all but growled in frustration. Damn it. He just couldn't seem to do anything right, today. He raised his hands to his face, rubbed wearily at his eyes. He was just ready for the day to be over already. He needed a rest but desperately.
A moment later a deep voice spoke up from his left side, "You look pretty tired yourself, son. You don't need to stay while we finish cleaning up, you know. If you'd like to head off to bed early, none of us will take offense."
Claude sighed, shook his head. Giving his temples one final rub, he turned to face Berger's father, gave him a small shrug, "I wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway, but I appreciate the offer."
Jack smiled, "No problem." After a moment of comfortable silence, he frowned slightly, hesitantly spoke up again, "I... Son, I don't mean to interfere, but I thought I heard George suggest that we all go to the Tree Lighting at Rockefeller Center tomorrow. Did I hear that correctly?" At Claude's nod, his frown deepened, "That's what I thought. That's... hm."
Not one to miss a hint, especially one so obvious as that, Claude rolled his eyes heavenward for patience, then patiently asked, "That's what, Mr. Berger?"
The two men deciphered the tone of Claude's voice at the same time and Jack abruptly shifted his eyes to look at Claude, raised an eyebrow. His eyes were practically shining with amusement. Claude at least had the decency to blush, "Sorry, sorry. Force of habit."
Jack let out a quiet guffaw, clapped a hand over his mouth before he could get too loud, then when Sammy made a mumbling noise of annoyance and shifted in her sleep, quickly motioned Claude away from the couch. Once they were a safe distance away, he reached out and patted Claude on the shoulder, "No apologies necessary. Actually, if anything, I should be the one offering my apologies." At Claude's skeptical look, Jack spread his hands wide, "He is my son, isn't he?"
The corner of Claude's lips twitched at that, threatened to break into a fully fledged smile but didn't quite make it there. He cleared his throat, schooled his expression back towards neutral and shrugged, "I suppose he is. As you were saying...?"
Jack smiled, "You're a good man, Claude." After taking a moment to think, he finally said, "The Tree Lighting was never George's favorite family activity. Not by a long shot. In fact, he's a little infamous among the extended family for it." At Claude's openly surprised look, he elaborated, "Actually, it's fair to say that he has a problem with the whole idea of the Christmas Tree and he wasn't exactly shy about sharing his opinion. It started when he was about thirteen -- now that I think on it, a lot of his worst behavior started around then -- and he suddenly refused to go with us that year to select a Christmas Tree. He said that it was hypocritical to celebrate a holiday that was all about the joy of birth by killing an innocent tree." Claude's eyebrows climbed up into his hairline at that one. Jack snorted, "Yeah, that was our reaction, too. I dismissed it that year as adolescent melodramatics, told him that if he didn't want to come with us that that was fine, but to please cut the drama. He did and I'd thought it was forgotten... until the next year came around."
Claude nodded, understanding dawning, "He brought it up again."
"He brought it up again," Jack agreed. "And that year, he went on to say that it was barbaric to drag that poor tree's corpse into the living room and dance, sing and conduct rituals around it like savages."
Claude's mouth dropped open in shock. When he finally managed to recollect himself, he said, "That's... that's a bit much even for adolescent melodramatics."
"Mm-hmm. Especially as he waited to drop that little one-liner until we were sitting at Christmas dinner... at my parents' house... with all of the extended family there," Jack said, dryly.
At that, Claude snorted out a laugh, "You have to admit, though... the timing is pure Berger."
Jack laughed, nodded his head, "Knowing the man that he's become? Yes, it most certainly is. At the time though... Claude, you have to understand, George is almost a completely different person now than he was then. Not to say that I'm not proud of the man he's become, because I am, but the man he's become bears almost no resemblance to the boy he was ten years ago. He was never quiet, but he was bright, he was creative. He was responsible, he was calm, he was reliable. He was the one we counted on to keep all the other children in line. In short, he was a parent's dream come true." His lips twitched as he finished by saying, "And then he hit puberty and became an alien."
Claude finally caved in and laughed at that. He couldn't picture it, this other Berger. Calm? Responsible? No. Not his Berger. But... wasn't this Woof's Berger? The one he'd always spoken of so wistfully? The one he'd called George? He sobered with that thought, with the feeling of guilt that immediately followed it. How far off track had they pulled him? Where might he be now, if not for the Tribe's influence?
A finger being shaken in his face abruptly brought Claude out of his musings. Jack was at the other end of the finger, a rueful smile on his face, "No, Claude. It wasn't your friends' influence that changed George into what he is now. If anything, it was their influence -- and yours -- that kept him from falling all the way, that allowed him to hold onto some part of himself, the part that would allow him to have what he has now... with the three of you." Seeing that Claude understood, his smile deepened.
Abruptly clapping his hands together, Jack said, "But that isn't why I brought all of this up. I brought it up to say that George apparently developed an almost... hatred for the idea of a Christmas Tree. By the next year, we caved in and just decorated the tree in the backyard and invited the family over to our home. It was better than risking the fallout of another barbaric savages discussion. The year after that, we actually bought an artificial tree, but George didn't come home for Christmas that year... and he never did again."
Feeling a pang of guilt, Claude hastened to explain, "He... he wanted to." At Jack's raised eyebrow, he blushed slightly, "That year that you bought the artificial tree, he'd have been, what? Sixteen?" Jack nodded. Claude sighed, "I thought so. I... I actually remember that. There was a blizzard and a lot of us that hadn't already left got snowed into the city. I was one of the few who'd planned to stay anyway, and I'd convinced Suzanne -- Sheila's old roommate -- to lend me her key. I had a bit of a cold, but I figured I would just be holed up inside anyway, so I didn't think much of it." Snorting softly, he continued, "Yeah. Well, Berger had gotten stranded in the city with everyone else when they shut the trains and the ferries down and he found out that I was here. By then, my 'little cold' had turned into the cold from hell. He actually spent the money he'd saved up for Sammy's Christmas present on medicine and food for me and ended up nursing me through that whole rotten mess, before getting sick himself. By then, Sheila was home and she managed to get us both back on our feet." He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, "I guess we kind of set a precedent there."
Nodding in understanding, Jack said, "I'm glad, then." At Claude's confused look, he said, "I'm glad that if he wasn't with us, then he was at least with someone who loves him just as much. And I'm glad he was here for you when you needed him." Raising a hand to rest on Claude's shoulder, he squeezed lightly, "I'm glad he still has that much left in him of the boy I knew." Clearing his throat, he added quietly, "And the year after... that would have been the year you were drafted. The year we lost him."
Claude nodded, said quietly. "Yeah... It would have been. I doubt... I doubt he was sober enough to even know that Christmas happened that year."
They both fell silent, lost momentarily in a sea of useless regrets. Jack shook himself out of it first, said quietly, "Well... that certainly took a depressing turn very quickly." Before Claude could answer, though, he said, "What I originally came over here for was to offer a counter-suggestion to George's plans for tomorrow night. My wife and I, Samantha... we don't mind having a real tree in the house. In fact, we like it. So, when we come pick Sammy up tomorrow, why don't we bring the artificial tree that we bought with us? Then rather than going out to Rockefeller Center, we can have our own mini tree lighting here. That would no doubt be easier on you... and I'm sure it would make George happy. What do you say?"
Claude's lips slowly stretched into a real, unrestrained smile. He held out a hand to Berger's father who shook it warmly, "I say that sounds like a marvelous idea, Mr. Berger."
The older man laughed, clapped Claude on the shoulder again, "Please, just call me Jack. With you calling my son by our last name it's going to get way too confusing if you keep that up. Plus, it makes me feel old."
Claude readily agreed. And with the next day's plans firmly set, they walked back over to join the others. Jack gave Berger a tight hug and Sheila a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for inviting us today. In spite of all the complications, it was wonderful to get to spend the holiday with you." Waggling his eyebrows he said, "Same time next year?"
Sheila laughed, let her head droop a little, "How about we'll see about that? This was far more exhausting than I would have thought possible."
Elaine stepped up to dole out her own hugs and kisses to the three of them. When she reached Sheila, she patted her gently on the cheek, "Dear, why do you think everyone is so eager to go somewhere else for the holidays? No one in their right mind wants to take on that level of work." At Sheila's laugh, she smiled brightly, "So, what time do you want us to come pick up Sleeping Beauty over there?"
Before Berger or Sheila could answer, Jack slipped his two cents in, "Why don't we come by around three? By then they should be well and sick of Sammy and we can collect her and be out of their hair in time for them to enjoy a quiet dinner."
Though Berger looked a tad disappointed by that suggestion, he couldn't think of a good reason to make a different one, especially as he didn't know whether Claude would be up to going to the tree lighting. He sighed, "Sure, Dad. And if you're hungry, you can always stick around and help us eat up some of the leftovers. You know. If you want."
Giving his son another tight, one-armed hug, Jack just smiled, "Sure, son. We just might end up taking you up on that." With their goodbyes accomplished, the pair then gathered up their coats and headed out.
Once they were gone, the three remaining looked at each other and let out matching sighs of relief. Sheila put a hand to her head, "Good grief. Why did we think this was a good idea?"
Berger snorted, "Hell, it would have been a good idea, if--" He abruptly cut off what he'd been about to say, not wanting to start a fight.
Sheila sighed, "No, no you're right. My father..." She shook her head, reached out a hand to take one of Claude's in hers, "Claude, I'm so sorry about that. I don't know what came over him. I really don't. He's normally not that... that... mean."
Claude pulled her close and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, "It's not your fault, Sheila. You couldn't know. And I think... I think it wasn't entirely directed at me. I recognize some of the strain between he and your brother, so I don't think it was me he was really angry at. I was just a far too convenient target."
Berger stepped closer, wrapped his arms around both of them, "It doesn't matter, though, does it? Most of the day was a resounding success. And for what it's worth, Sheila... I do like the rest of your family. Your mom's kind of cute, even if she is a little stiff. Your sister's great, even though I can't believe she's the same one as that scrawny little tomboy that I met when I was sixteen. And your brother and his wife... well, there's potential there. All in all, not too shabby. So your dad got cranky." He shrugged, "So does Cheryl when she doesn't get her naps in. If that's the worst we have to deal with... we'll deal."
Sheila stared up at him for a minute, finally dissolved into giggles, "Only you, Berger, would describe what my father did today as 'being cranky.'" Reaching up to press her lips to his in a soft kiss, she said, "But I appreciate it just the same."
They shared a soft, loving look for a moment before turning to look at Claude. Berger leaned over to nuzzle his neck, "So, what do you say, Claudio? Willing to try for two nights in a row?"
Claude took in a deep breath, let it out in a heavy sigh. After taking a moment to think it through, he said, "Well, as you said, if Sheila's father's tantrum was the worst penalty I suffered for sleeping in a bed last night, then... yeah. Yeah, I think I'm willing to give it a second try. I'm not making any promises that I'll stay there... but I'll try."
Berger smiled, pulled them both tighter up against him, and in a voice roughened with emotion, said, "That's all I can ask." In total happy communion, they then filed into the bedroom to go to sleep.
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N:
Interesting facts and chibi silliness! Bet you didn't think you were getting a two-fer? ;D
Interesting Fact: So, about Berger's Christmas Tree rants... you may get the feeling from all of this protesting and ranting that I have a major problem with the idea of a Christmas Tree. I don't. Hell, I'm not even Christian. O_o;;; Regardless, my issue isn't with the idea of a "real" tree. (Though, I do find it ironic that to celebrate life, one chops down a tree. That never made much sense to me, but I digress...) My issue is, as much as I love the pomp and majesty of the NYC tree lighting, every year they chop down a tree that's likely been growing for decades just to display it for a month. At least now they recycle it. My question, though, is why can't we just *gasp* grow a tree in Rockefeller Center and decorate it every year? Then with each passing year it will only get larger and more impressive. Doesn't that seem intuitively obvious? *sweatdrop* Maybe I'm just odd.
Anyway, a few interesting things about Christmas trees... It's actually more environmentally, socially and economically conscious to have a real tree in your home than to buy an artificial tree. Interesting, no? ^_^ Allow me to elaborate (facts taken from Renée McKay's December 2010 "The Monthly" newsletter):
1) North American real trees are grown in NY and Canada. 85% of artificial trees are manufactured in China.
2) Real Christmas trees are a renewable, recyclable resource. Artificial trees contain non-biodegradable plastics.
3) For ever real Christmas tree harvested, up to 3 seedlings are planted in its place the following spring.
4) There are about 500,000 acres in production for growing Christmas trees. Each acre provides the daily oxygen requirement of 18 people.
5) There are about 21,000 Christmas tree growers in North America and over 100,000 people are employed part- or full-time by that industry.
The punch line? Don't listen to Berger. Get a real tree! ^_^
And now for the chibi-silliness!
Claude: It's about time you let me talk, again!
R-chan: *sweatdrop* You've been talking through the whole fic! What's your problem?
Claude: *twitch* I meant after the fic. Afraid of what I might have to say?
R-chan: Nooooo. I've just been really tired and I haven't felt well. *huge wobble eyes* *large sniffle for good measure*
Claude: O_O Oh... Well... *sweats*
Berger: Claudio, what's the problem, man? I thought you were gonna tell her off for the last chapter?
Claude: *leans over, whispers* I know, but... but... There's something about those eyes... Doesn't she look sort of adorably pathetic?
Nuriko: *howls* Don't fall for it!! It's just an act! She's only lulling you into a false sense of security. You'll regret it later!!
Tasuki: *claps a hand over Nuriko's mouth and hauls him backwards* Eh-heh... Don't pay any attention to him, guys. Really... just don't.
Claude: *twitch* *edges away, drags Berger along with him*
R-chan: *evil smirk*
Questions, comments, apricots?
Coming Soon: The last chapter! Finally, right? ^_^ *coughs* While Sheila and Sammy are out hunting up holiday bargains, Claude and Berger finally start to get to the bottom of what's wrong and what needs to be done to fix it. And Berger doesn't like what he hears. Fortunately, unbeknownst to him, his parents are on the way with a little bit of holiday cheer to pick him back up.
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 8: 9059 -- nice long one this time. ^_^
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 10, 2010: Well, last night's rest seems to have done me some good. I'm not anywhere near as sniffly and my finger doesn't hurt or need a band-aid anymore. ^_^ Yeah! *coughs* Anyway, I wanted to get this posted nice and early because once I get involved with the day I'm going to get busy really quickly and I have a late rehearsal for tomorrow's chorale concert. I didn't want to end up posting this at midnight, especially because all the happy stuff happens in this chapter, and I had a feeling you'd all need it after the last chapter. ^_^
Enjoy and please remember... comments and reviews are love!
The Midnight Star
by Renee-chan
When dinner was over, the women retired to the kitchen to start cleaning up the dishes, and in spite of Sheila's protests, they shooed her away from helping. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to the living room to see what everyone else was up to. Roger was still in the kitchen, doing who knew what. Berger, his father, Sam and Patty were sprawled out on the floor, playing with Cheryl, and Claude and her father were each sitting off in a corner by themselves. It was enough to make her want to scream in frustration. That was when Roger stepped up next to her, wrapped a gentle arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple, "And do I dare ask who earned that expression today? G-d, I hope it wasn't me."
Sheila laughed, poked her brother in the side, "Oh, you. You know damned well who earned this expression." She then wrapped her arms around him, "You get this expression." Leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss her brother's cheek, Sheila beamed a smile up at him, "Thank you. I... I didn't know he had it in him to do something like that." Voice quieting, she whispered, "I've never been so ashamed of him in my life. I didn't think I could be ashamed of him. He's my father."
Roger cradled her close, rubbed a gentle hand against her back and sighed, "Yeah, well, you haven't been home much these last few years. He's changed... and not for the better."
Sheila leaned back away from her brother, "And I had no idea he'd said that to you. Did he really tell you that if you didn't go to school pre-law or enlist he'd disown you? How... how could he do something like that? How did I not know he'd done that?"
Roger sighed, brushed Sheila's hair back from her face, "You were fourteen, Sheila. How could you have known? He certainly wasn't going to tell you and it wasn't your problem to solve. I made my choice and I stand by it. If I hadn't enlisted, I'd have ended up in a career I hated or I'd have dropped out of school and been drafted anyway. This way, I at least made it through relatively unscathed." Nodding over at Claude, he said, "Unlike your poor friend there." Shaking his head, he sighed, "I have too many friends with eyes like that, so locked up in the trauma of their own past that they can barely see past it. Enlisting spared me that, at least." Reaching up, he tweaked Sheila's nose, "Besides, if I hadn't enlisted, I wouldn't have met Barbara. That's got to be worth something in the pro category, right?"
Sheila smiled, wrapped her arm back around her brother, "I suppose so, big brother. I suppose so. I like her, anyway. And she's good for you, you can see it. I'm still sorry about this, though. I still wish I'd known. I would have said something. Maybe I could have changed his mind."
"Maybe you could have, at that, Sheila-bear. Maybe you could have," was his response. After another moment, he stepped away, "Look, why don't you go try to talk to him, hmm? He always did listen to you better than the rest of us." He then nodded in Claude's direction, "I'll go over there, see if he'll talk to me. I doubt it... but you never know, right?"
In total concert for once, the two bumped fists, then waggled their fingers at each other as they pulled away. It was an old gesture, one from early on her childhood when she'd still thought Roger hung the moon. And after tonight... after tonight, Sheila was again half-convinced that he had. That is... until she figured out that for the second time that night, a man had tricked her into taking the bum end of the deal. Sighing heavily, she stalked over to the corner to deal with her father.
Claude watched the interchange between Sheila and her brother, alert with the knowledge that he had to pay attention and weary with the warring knowledge that he was having trouble staying awake to do it. There was no way he was falling asleep now, though. He'd never manage it with all these people in the apartment, especially as one had clearly labeled himself an enemy. As a result of his preoccupation, he missed the moment when Sheila and her brother parted and completely lost track of him until the man arrived at his side and gestured at the chair, "This seat taken?"
Claude was tempted to tell him that it was and shoo him away, but he couldn't repay what the man had done for him at the dinner table with that level of rudeness. It just wouldn't be right. Instead, he shrugged, trying to indicate that he didn't care one way or the other what Sheila's brother did. He seemed to sense that and just smiled, "I brought a bribe, if that helps..."
At those words, Claude finally managed to look up at the other man, focused on what was being held out to him. Coffee. Steaming, black and very strong from the smell of it. Claude shot him a look of pure gratitude as he reached out and took the cup, even managed a quiet, "Thanks."
"No problem," he responded as he sat down. Sighing, he took a sip of his own coffee, "I wanted... Look, I wanted to apologize for my father. What he said, it wasn't the time or place for it and it wasn't even you he was really trying to attack. You were a civilian casualty in that one, I'm afraid."
Claude sighed, nodded in understanding. He knew the feeling, understood all too well the relationship between Sheila's brother and her father as it so closely mirrored his own with his. He looked up, met the other man's eyes, shrugged again, "I get it."
The man shook his head, let out a soft laugh, "Yeah... somehow, I think you actually might. You get along similarly well with your own father, I imagine." At Claude's hesitant nod, he sighed, "Thought so from how you were reacting to certain other things tonight." When Claude raised an eyebrow, Sheila's brother slowly smiled and he said just two words, "Mr. Berger."
Claude's eyes widened and in spite of himself, he found his lips twitching into a small smile of his own which he quickly buried into his coffee cup. Again, he understood exactly what the other man was talking about. To someone who'd grown up with a father as distant and unreachable as the stars, a father like Berger's was... well, he was damned near incomprehensible. It was obvious that he loved his children, that he loved his wife. It was obvious that he didn't believe in much formality -- hell, any father that would buy a triangle and stand at the back door ringing it and yelling, "Come and get it!" to get his children to come in for Thanksgiving dinner couldn't be a stickler for proper etiquette. And his easy acceptance and support of Claude... like he'd said, it was damned near incomprehensible.
The other man's lips twitched right along with his. Eventually, he held out a hand, "I actually don't think we were ever properly introduced. Roger Franklin. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Tentatively holding out his own hand, Claude said simply, "Claude Bukowski. Likewise," then shook the other man's hand. After a few more moments of silence, Claude couldn't keep back the question any longer, "You... you served in Nam?"
A weary nod in response, "Yep. Nam, the early years, that is. Things weren't quite so intense back then, hadn't heated up quite so badly. Hell, it was pure bad luck that I even ended up over there. There weren't many of us there back then. I honestly thought it was more likely I'd end up in Korea. My platoon and I were pretty shocked to be diverted." Wrapping his hands around his coffee cup for warmth, Roger's voice quieted, "That was one nasty piece of hell on Earth, though, I will tell you that. The real thing couldn't be much worse, if you ask me."
Claude snorted, lifted his eyes long enough to meet Roger's, "If you're looking for an argument, you're not going to get one out of me, that's for damned sure."
That startled a laugh out of the older man, "No, no, I imagine I won't." Eyes again taking on a serious cast, Roger cleared his throat, "Sheila... Sheila mentioned that you were a POW. Is that true?"
Claude's breath caught at the simple question, his hands shook on his coffee mug. He quickly lowered it to rest on his leg so he wouldn't spill it. He had to force his answer through clenched teeth, "Yes. And... if it's all the same, I'd rather not discuss it."
Roger ducked his gaze, seemed embarrassed that he'd even asked at all. Clearing his throat, he said, "My apologies. I don't even know why I... oh hell. Just forget I even asked, OK?" Casting around quickly for some other topic, Roger's eyes landed on Cheryl and Berger. Smiling softly, he said, "A different question, then..." When he saw that Claude had refocused on the conversation, he continued, "What exactly is the deal with the three of you?" At Claude's instantly sharp and protective look, he held up his free hand, "Not that I'm judging! I just want to know." At Claude's continued narrow-eyed glare, he sighed, "You have to understand. If you'd asked me which of my sisters would have the guts to get herself involved in a three-way relationship with two men, I'd have told you neither. But if you'd made me pick, I would have said Patty. Sheila's got guts and she's got passion, but this...? Let's just say, I'd never have pictured it. I'm still not entirely sure I'm comfortable with the idea, but I'd like to try to understand."
Meeting Roger's eyes and finally understanding the reasoning behind the question, Claude relaxed. No matter what else he was, Roger was an older brother. And what Claude had heard from every older brother and younger sister he'd ever known was that it was an older brother's G-d-given right to be overprotective and annoyingly nosy. The latter, of course, being the younger sisters' opinion. With a soft huff of a laugh, he shrugged, "Berger and Sheila were dating when we met. And the Tribe... the Tribe was very casual about who slept with who, like it didn't matter. It was all just love to them."
Roger snorted out a laugh, "Ah yes. I've heard stories about this Tribe. And truth be told, I didn't know whether to blush or ask if I was too old to join. It sounded like you all had a lot of fun."
A wistful smile touched Claude's lips briefly before fleeing again, "Yeah... I suppose we did." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, they were dating and Berger and I... I don't know. We had something. I couldn't define it for you, it didn't even make sense to me then, but we undeniably had something. I didn't want to pursue it, though. I figured that if he wanted more from me than sex, than even he had to consider that cheating. Besides... up until that point, I'd only ever slept with girls." A brief smile touched his lips again as he continued, "But George Berger is not one to deny himself something that he wants. Ever. So in a piece of brilliantly twisted logic, he decided that if it was cheating to get involved with me, then he'd just get Sheila involved with me, too. That way, no one could claim cheating, because we were all getting equal pieces of the same pie." At Roger's incredulous look, Claude snorted out a laugh, "Yeah. I know. That's Berger-logic for you. You learn to love it after a while... or at least to duck your head and stay out of its way."
Letting out his own laugh at the long-suffering look on Claude's face, Roger shook his head, "Yeah, he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who takes no for an answer. He's the kind that rearranges the whole damned universe to suit himself, everyone else's opinion be damned, isn't he?"
Lifting his eyes to watch Berger play with their daughter, Claude's lips again tipped into a wistful smile, "Yeah... he certainly is. You know something, though? I wouldn't have him any other way. And he was right. It worked and we were happy." Sighing softly, he looked back down at his coffee mug, took a sip. When he lowered his mug again, he added, "Until I went and fucked the whole thing up. And now... fuck. Now, I don't think we'll ever get it back on track. And after today... I'm not even sure we should."
Roger frowned, scowled down into his coffee mug like he couldn't believe he was about to say what he was about to say, finally caved in and said it anyway, "For what it's worth -- and G-d forgive me for even suggesting this -- I think you should and I think you will." Taking a deep breath, he said, "Understand that I say this as a man who loves Sheila dearly and wouldn't change her for the world." Smiling ruefully, he continued, "Berger's a good guy at heart, I can see it, I could even see it last year, but he can't handle my sister alone. I'm not sure any one man could. But somehow... even with things as strained as they've been today, I can see how the two of you together can manage it. Something about the three of you... if I turn my brain sideways far enough, I can almost see how it is that you work. And I think you need each other. I'm not sure that this thing you have going would really work with one of you missing. I mean, between last Thanksgiving and this one... there was something out of balance between the two of them last year. Now, with the three of you together -- even with you the way you are -- things seem more balanced. Jesus, did that even make sense? Fuck, I really can't believe I just said that." Bowing his head low over his coffee mug, he muttered under his breath, "I should be trying to convince you of the opposite. What the hell am I doing?"
Claude huffed out a short laugh, reached out a hand to pat Roger on the shoulder, "As you said, you're speaking as a man who loves Sheila and wouldn't change her." At Roger's confused look, he explained, "You're speaking from your heart. She's your little sister, you love her and you want her to be happy. How is that wrong?"
Roger slowly smiled, raised his coffee mug in salute, then downed the rest like it was a fortifying brandy. Claude's eyebrow twitched and he stared down into his own mug, then glanced sharply up at Roger. Roger caught the look, started to laugh, "Don't worry. I may have helped out my own coffee, but I'm not Donna. I wouldn't help yours without asking first."
Mollified, Claude drank the rest of his coffee. It was at that point that Sheila and her father approached the pair. Not wanting to be sitting down for this confrontation, Claude quickly stood, placed his empty mug down on the chair and dropped his hands to his sides, stance loose and easy. He would not be caught unawares twice.
Roger caught the posture and tried to catch Sheila's eyes to warn her. He knew how quickly battle-trained reflexes could do something unforgivable, tried to tell her with his eyes that this was a bad idea. Sheila, however, was determined and simply reached a hand down to take one of Claude's in hers. He jerked, not having expected that soft contact, then frowned. Sheila just raised his hand and placed it against her cheek, "This won't take long, I promise. My father just has something he'd like to say."
By the looks of it, Mr. Franklin most certainly did not. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't by choice -- Sheila had just bullied him into it. Claude recognized the look -- he'd worn it often enough, himself. The man cleared his throat and finally managed to force out the following words, "I apologize for how I acted at the dinner table. It was rude, it was inappropriate and it won't happen again. You have my word."
Claude met the other man's eyes, gauged his sincerity. Oh, he was sorry he'd been rude, all right, that much was true, but he wasn't sorry for what he'd said. He could see it in the man's eyes. Well, two could play at that game. Claude was beyond tired of being treated as subhuman by yet another man who didn't have the right to make that judgment. He allowed his eyes to grow cold and distant, held himself a little straighter, let a little menace creep into his voice, "Provisionally, I accept your apology, Mr. Franklin. For Sheila, for Cheryl, for Berger, I accept it. And for your sake, I hope you mean it. I hope you'll remember it." Eyes narrowing, he all but hissed out, "I don't handle threats against the ones I love very well, Mr. Franklin. I hope you'll remember that, too."
His own eyes widening, Sheila's father slowly nodded. Swallowing hard, he said, "I will. I think we understand each other, Mr. Bukowski."
Claude nodded, "Good. See that we continue to." Then with those his parting words, he collected his and Roger's coffee mugs and left to take them into the kitchen. Sheila's father fled back to his corner a mere moment later.
Roger and Sheila stared at each other for a moment, then Sheila pressed herself close to Roger's side and shivered. Roger held her close, ran a soothing hand over her hair, "Easy there, Sheila-bear. It's OK."
A slightly hysterical giggle in response to that, "How can it be OK? Did you miss what happened here? Claude just threatened Father! I... I didn't know he had it in him to do that. He's not usually that out of control."
Placing a gentle kiss on Sheila's head, Roger pushed her back out to arms-length to meet her eyes, "Sheila, I need you to understand something. While I'm sure your friend doesn't make idle threats, I'm also sure that he was in complete control when he made this one. This was a deliberate, well-calculated move on his part and it wasn't one he made without thinking through the consequences." At Sheila's confused look, he pulled her close again, "Aside from you and Berger, no one else here knew Claude before the war. And all we've seen of him tonight has been a scared, traumatized ex-soldier who can barely socialize with a small group at the holidays. He's the classic picture of the 'Viet Nam Vet,' a veritable poster child for PTSD. He isn't stupid, though. He knows that. With the rest of us, as he gets better, he'll have time to fix that first impression. With Father, though, he knows he isn't going to get that chance. So, if he can't make Father see him as a worthwhile human being, he has to make Father see him as a threat. That way, at least he'll be left alone and Father won't pull any more stunts like he did tonight."
Sheila stared up at him, eyes wide, "I... I think I understand."
Roger laughed, shook his head, "That thing is... I'm not entirely sure that you do." Giving the top of Sheila's head another kiss, he said, "He didn't do this for himself, Sheila. For himself... Jesus, you can see it in his eyes. There are only three people in this room that that man cares one whit for -- you, Berger and Cheryl. That's it. The rest of us could drop dead and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. So, he doesn't give a rat's ass what our father thinks of him... but he knows you do." As understanding slowly dawned on Sheila's face, Roger's smile widened, "That's right, Sheila-bear. He didn't do this for himself... he did it for you."
Sheila thought for a minute, slowly put together what had happened with what she knew of Claude's problems, eventually nodded, "I see it, Roger. I see what you're saying. And I do understand." Reaching up to lightly kiss his cheek, she gave him another soft smile, "Thank you. I won't forget either."
And it was at that moment that Berger's mother announced that dessert was ready and called them all back to the table for round two. Sheila sighed, "You ready, big brother?"
Roger gave her one last squeeze before letting go, "I was born ready, little sister." Sharing a commiserating look, the two then made their way back to the table.
Claude stared around at the chaos in the kitchen with barely concealed panic in his eyes. Who'd have thought that three women could cause such a flurry of activity? All he wanted to do was put the mugs in the sink. Maybe... maybe it could wait. Before he had a chance to flee the vicinity, however, he was noticed, "Ah! Claude! Perfect. Come over here for a minute."
Wincing appropriately, Claude nonetheless did as instructed And somehow, on his trip across the kitchen, both coffee mugs disappeared out of his hands. Barbara gave him a quick flash of a smile from the sink, then turned back to washing the dishes. Claude could only stare. He hadn't even seen her move... Berger's mother called out again, "Hurry up! We don't have all night."
Not one to ignore a summons like that, Claude did as asked and hurried over to Elaine's side of the kitchen. When he got there, it was to find a spoon of... something... being held in his face. Elaine gave him a widely smirking smile from behind the spoon, and it was a smile he recognized all too well. He'd seen it on Berger's face often enough... and it put him immediately on his guard, because that expression had landed him in more than his fair share of trouble in its day. He could almost feel himself starting to sweat as he asked, "Mrs. Berger...?" At the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, he amended, "Elaine... can I help you with something?"
And there was that brightly mischievous smile again. "You most certainly can. I need a taste-tester," then she gestured with the spoon.
Understanding what she wanted this time, he held up his hand for the spoon. He would do a lot of things for Berger's parents, but he'd be damned if he let his mother feed him like a baby. She rolled her eyes but handed it over, eyes excited. Warily, he placed it in his mouth, though he was still trying to figure out what on Earth it was. A second later, he stopped caring. There was... well, there was chocolate. There was definitely chocolate. A lot of chocolate. Was there cake? He thought there might be cake. And Nestle's Crunch. There was definitely some of that, too. Pudding? Yes, there was pudding, as well. Maybe some whipped cream. Oh, who cared? He just wanted another spoonful. Opening eyes that he'd been unaware that he'd closed until that moment, he gazed at the smirking woman in front of him with no small amount of admiration. In an awed tone of voice, he said quietly, "I think I see now why Berger used to describe that as 'almost better than sex.' Though I have to say... I'm not entirely sure about that 'almost' qualifier."
Elaine laughed, obligingly scooped another spoonful out of the bowl for him and handed it over. This time Claude took the time to appropriately savor it as it went down. When he opened his eyes this time, he said intently, "Berger's right. You have to teach Sheila how to make that."
Another laugh, this one even heartier than the last, "Sheila is a smart woman and thus refuses to be officially taught. I think she's afraid that my son would make her make it every night if he thought she knew how." Smiling up at him, she added, "But do you want to know the secret?" Claude eagerly nodded. She laughed, licked some pudding off her finger, "The secret is that it isn't that hard. I could teach you right now, if you wanted. It wouldn't even take that long."
Claude thought about it for a moment, weighed the benefits of being able to make that dessert whenever he chose with the potential cons of Berger abusing the privilege of having someone in the house who knew how. He slowly shook his head, "No... on second thought, I think I'll just leave it to the expert."
At the dry, laughing tone of his voice, Elaine turned to look at him, snickered at the sly expression on his face, "I see you're a smart man, Claude Bukowski. Very well. We'll string him along for just a little longer, shall we?" She then winked at him and went back to stirring.
A moment later, another voice -- Sheila's mother, this time -- called out from the other side of the kitchen, "Oh! Claude, you're still here. Would you be kind enough to reach the sugar bowl for me? That's a dear."
Before he knew it, Claude was being traded back and forth between the three women like a valuable commodity, each asking him to reach "just one more thing" or to take "just one more" serving platter back out to the breakfront or to sample "just one more" dessert as it was being put together. And honestly, he'd have been hard pressed to say that he minded. In truth... it was the most fun he'd had since... Jesus, since before being drafted. For that one precious moment, that one oasis of calm in the midst of the day's chaos, he could forget. He could forget the war, forget the horrors he'd witnessed, forget that dreaded disconnect between himself and the rest of humanity. He could forget it all and just be a boy helping his mother in the kitchen. And if secretly he felt a twinge of guilt that it wasn't his mother he was helping, he was at least able to push it aside and still enjoy the experience.
And when Elaine called the rest of the family back to the table for dessert, he was almost sorry that it was over, noted with amusement that he could have happily spent the rest of the night in the kitchen with the three women and not have missed the rest of the celebrating. Huh. Imagine that. Still, like a good boy, he made his way back to his spot at the table without any kind of a fuss.
When he got there, it was to find Berger shooting him a half-pleased, half-accusatory look. He couldn't quite decipher it, wasn't sure what he'd done to earn it and said so. Berger scoffed, rolled his eyes, finally said, "I knew it. Mom likes you better."
All Claude could do was splutter in response to that. The funny thing was... that sort of statement should have been slathered in bitterness, but it somehow wasn't. Berger sounded... he sounded almost maniacally gleeful about it, like it pleased him, made him happy. And knowing Berger, it just might have.
Berger persisted, poked him in the side this time for good measure, a wide smirk filling his features, "Only the best, most well-behaved kid at the table gets to be the taste-tester, the Thanksgiving favorite. It was always me before, but this year she picked you. Ergo, she likes you better."
At that, Claude snorted out a laugh, poked the other man back, "You? Most well-behaved? Please. Pull the other one, Banana-Berger."
Berger sat up as straight as he possibly could and put on his most angelic expression, "With taste-testing the Death By Chocolate at stake? Hell, yeah, I was the most well-behaved!"
Claude stared at him for a moment, finally couldn't contain the laughter any more. At Berger's mock-affronted look, he managed to get out between chuckles, "Your mother... is... brilliant."
At that point, Elaine arrived with dessert in hand and took her place at the table, "Why, thank you, dear. I appreciate the compliment." She then slipped him a wink. And when she started ladling out her dessert into bowls, she filled one large one and one much smaller one, gave them to Claude and Cheryl respectively.
That was when Sammy got in on the action. Pulling on a mischievous look of her own, she said, "Hey! Playing favorites at the table isn't allowed! If Claude got to taste test, then George and I should get the first bowls! Those are the rules!"
Claude's eyes widened like a deer in headlights and, not wanting to be the cause of yet another scene, he made as though to push the bowl across the table towards Sammy. Elaine, however, just said quietly but calmly, "Samantha Catherine Berger." The girl immediately subsided and took on a contrite pose. "Would you argue that Claude has been the best behaved today?" When Sammy shook her head, Elaine smiled, patted her cheek, "Neither would I. As for the other, I thought we could alter tradition a little this year, being as it is his and Cheryl's first Thanksgiving with the family." When Sammy gave her a broad grin and happily nodded, she smirked, "And besides... You're right. I do like him best." At that, the rest of the Bergers all started laughing.
Berger then reached over and, smirking the entire time, stole a spoonful of Claude's dessert. Claude just twitched an eyebrow and pulled the bowl back in front of him. At Berger's innocent look, he twitched again, said deadpan, "You're lucky I love you or you'd have lost a finger, just now... maybe a whole hand."
Berger's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. After a few seconds, though, he couldn't hold the expression and dissolved into laughter, soon pulled Claude into a tight hug and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. Claude retaliated by scooping up a finger of his dessert and smearing it deliberately on Berger's nose. Everyone at the table froze at that action, unbelieving that Claude -- of all people -- had done that. Berger, though, knew better... he knew Claude better. Of everyone at the table, Claude would have been the most likely to do something like that... before the war. Berger blinked once, twice, crossed his eyes trying to see the glob of pudding on his nose. Finally, his face cracked into another of those maniacal grins and he leaned over to nuzzle his nose against Claude's neck. Claude made a disgusted noise and pushed him away, but his eyes were practically dancing with innocent joy.
And right then and there, Berger decided that it had all been worth it. All the stress of the day, all of the pain they'd gone through earlier, it had all been worth it for this -- to see Claude laughing, smiling, enjoying himself... playing with him. There was only one problem... eyeing that smear of chocolate he'd placed on Claude's neck, he had a sudden, intense desire to lick it off of him. But even he wasn't fool enough to try that. Instead, he picked up his napkin and licked a corner of it. Then he took Claude's face in his hand and turned it to the side, gently wiped the chocolate off his neck. When he was done and Claude turned back to meet his eyes, the expression resting there... G-d. Berger had waited four years to see it again, to bask in it. Such love, such warmth... He leaned forward, touched their foreheads together. Claude huffed out a small laugh, squeezed his hand under the table, murmured so quietly that only Berger could hear, "Love you, too, Sexy-Berger."
From somewhere further down the table there was a sound like a tea kettle boiling over and both men jerked around to face it. Of course, it was Sheila's father, fuming at the display they were creating. They'd forgotten about him. Before anyone else could say anything, however, Claude braced his hands on the table, pushed himself half out of his chair... and stared Mr. Franklin down where he sat. In an icy voice quite at odds with the innocent joy he'd been exuding a moment earlier he bit out, "I thought we understood each other, Mr. Franklin."
Sheila's father paled a shade, immediately subsided. Claude nodded, sat back down, and in the ensuing dead silence, looked miserably over at Berger. Berger reached out and placed a gentle hand against his lower back, started rubbing his soothing little circles. Fortunately for mood recovery, however, that was also when Cheryl finally figured out what was in the dish that had been pushed over to her... and after happily and noisily sampling it, decided to follow her beloved Claude's example and lift one pudding-coated hand to pat her mother's cheek.
Sheila whipped around to face her daughter, shock in her eyes and a half-smile on her face. Cheryl stared back for a moment, then giggled and patted her again. After another few seconds, Sheila's expression cracked into a wide grin and she grabbed the little girl into a tight hug, getting pudding and chocolate cake all over both of them in the process. No one's mood could stay sour after that and the rest of dessert passed very happily... albeit rather messily.
At her father's glowering urging, and much to the disappointment of the rest of her family, Sheila's family left shortly after dessert, leaving Berger's family behind to help clean up the mess. Honestly, in the aftermath, Claude was unsure if the day had been a resounding success... or a miserable failure.
Cheryl, at least, had had fun -- that much was obvious -- and was now sacked out in Sammy's arms on the couch. Then again, Sammy was pretty sacked out herself, kept listing over sideways and nodding off. Every time Berger passed by her, he would smile, softly brush her hair out of her face and then nudge her back upright. Finally, Claude took pity on the girl and walked over to take Cheryl out of her arms. She half woke up at that and made a noise of protest. He just patted her shoulder reassuringly, "You're fine, Sam. I'm just going to take her off your hands and go tuck her into bed, OK?"
Sam mumbled something in response, then immediately sagged over onto her other side. Laughing quietly so as not to wake either of them, Claude carted Cheryl off to get her changed and put to sleep. She barely even moved through the whole process. By the time Claude returned to the living room, Berger was taking the afghan off the back of the couch and tucking it around his sister. There was such tenderness in his face, such protective pride... it was a little easier to see, now, the side of him that Woof had always spoken of so wistfully -- his "George" side. Walking up next to the other man, he gently bumped shoulders with him. Berger turned, smiled and leaned over to press their foreheads together.
Claude smiled in return, wrapped an arm around the other man's waist and squeezed. Berger reciprocated, sliding his own arm underneath Claude's to pull him in closer. Claude dropped his head to rest against Berger's shoulder, said quietly, "I... I wouldn't mind if she spent the night, you know." Berger's tensed beside him, only slowly relaxed. Claude hastened to explain, "She just... she looks so tired and it's a long way back to Hoboken. So... I just... I wouldn't mind, OK?"
Sighing softly, Berger turned and nuzzled into Claude's hair, "Are you sure?"
Claude raised his head, caught Berger's eyes, smiled at the slim thread of hope shining in their depths, "I'm sure. She can take the ferry home tomorrow... or you could escort her home if you wanted. Maybe... maybe you could spend more time with your family...?"
At that, Berger chuckled, brushed a butterfly soft kiss against Claude's cheek, squeezed him a little tighter, "Trying to get rid of me, Claudio?"
A fast headshake in response, "No. I'm not... I just..." Claude took in a deep breath, let it out in a frustrated noise, "You don't see them enough. They love you -- really love you -- and you don't see them enough." He pulled away, ran his fingers into his hair and gave it a tug, "Your sister, she looks up to you. And your parents worry about you. And you hardly ever even talk to them, because you're so busy looking out for me. It's not fair."
Berger reached out and gently pulled Claude's hands out of his hair, pulled them against his chest with one hand and slid the other around to cup the back of Claude's neck, "Claudio, what is this all of a sudden? My family... they know that I have a lot going on in my life right now. I have a job. I have my own family -- you, Cheryl and Sheila -- and you have to come first. They understand and accept that. It's how life goes, man. It's how life has to go. Just because I don't see them every week doesn't mean I love them any less or they me. That's what being family is all about, OK?"
Claude stared at him for a few minutes, finally shrugged out of his hold and took a step away. Berger let him go, but kept a close watch. Eventually, Claude sighed, shook his head, "You're right. Of course, you're right. I just... I don't know."
Berger narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, then eventually smiled a soft, smug grin, "I know. If Mom and Dad are OK with it, Sammy can spend the night, hang out with us tomorrow and then they can come back to pick her up in the evening..." He trailed off, eyes shining, all but daring Claude to ask what he planned for when they came to pick Samantha up.
Never one to disappoint, Claude rolled his eyes, but gave him the prompt he wanted, "OK, they'll pick her up, and...?"
Walking over, Berger wrapped his arms around Claude's neck and dropped a kiss on the end of his nose before saying, "...and then we can all go watch the Tree Lighting Ceremony at Rockefeller Center!" At the sudden stillness in Claude's body, Berger leaned forward to touch their foreheads together, "You said your family used to do that, right? Well, so did mine. So I thought... maybe... if you're up for it...?"
Claude met his eyes for an endless moment, considered it, came up with and discarded about five different answers, finally said, "I... I don't know, Berger." At the disappointment in the other man's eyes, Claude sighed, "Today... today wasn't easy for me. I don't know if that might be too much, OK?"
"We don't have to decide today, you know. We can figure it out tomorrow. We've got time," was Berger's easy answer. Then, after placing a soft kiss on Claude's forehead, he backed off, went to help Sheila with the last of the dishes.
Claude watched him go, all but growled in frustration. Damn it. He just couldn't seem to do anything right, today. He raised his hands to his face, rubbed wearily at his eyes. He was just ready for the day to be over already. He needed a rest but desperately.
A moment later a deep voice spoke up from his left side, "You look pretty tired yourself, son. You don't need to stay while we finish cleaning up, you know. If you'd like to head off to bed early, none of us will take offense."
Claude sighed, shook his head. Giving his temples one final rub, he turned to face Berger's father, gave him a small shrug, "I wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway, but I appreciate the offer."
Jack smiled, "No problem." After a moment of comfortable silence, he frowned slightly, hesitantly spoke up again, "I... Son, I don't mean to interfere, but I thought I heard George suggest that we all go to the Tree Lighting at Rockefeller Center tomorrow. Did I hear that correctly?" At Claude's nod, his frown deepened, "That's what I thought. That's... hm."
Not one to miss a hint, especially one so obvious as that, Claude rolled his eyes heavenward for patience, then patiently asked, "That's what, Mr. Berger?"
The two men deciphered the tone of Claude's voice at the same time and Jack abruptly shifted his eyes to look at Claude, raised an eyebrow. His eyes were practically shining with amusement. Claude at least had the decency to blush, "Sorry, sorry. Force of habit."
Jack let out a quiet guffaw, clapped a hand over his mouth before he could get too loud, then when Sammy made a mumbling noise of annoyance and shifted in her sleep, quickly motioned Claude away from the couch. Once they were a safe distance away, he reached out and patted Claude on the shoulder, "No apologies necessary. Actually, if anything, I should be the one offering my apologies." At Claude's skeptical look, Jack spread his hands wide, "He is my son, isn't he?"
The corner of Claude's lips twitched at that, threatened to break into a fully fledged smile but didn't quite make it there. He cleared his throat, schooled his expression back towards neutral and shrugged, "I suppose he is. As you were saying...?"
Jack smiled, "You're a good man, Claude." After taking a moment to think, he finally said, "The Tree Lighting was never George's favorite family activity. Not by a long shot. In fact, he's a little infamous among the extended family for it." At Claude's openly surprised look, he elaborated, "Actually, it's fair to say that he has a problem with the whole idea of the Christmas Tree and he wasn't exactly shy about sharing his opinion. It started when he was about thirteen -- now that I think on it, a lot of his worst behavior started around then -- and he suddenly refused to go with us that year to select a Christmas Tree. He said that it was hypocritical to celebrate a holiday that was all about the joy of birth by killing an innocent tree." Claude's eyebrows climbed up into his hairline at that one. Jack snorted, "Yeah, that was our reaction, too. I dismissed it that year as adolescent melodramatics, told him that if he didn't want to come with us that that was fine, but to please cut the drama. He did and I'd thought it was forgotten... until the next year came around."
Claude nodded, understanding dawning, "He brought it up again."
"He brought it up again," Jack agreed. "And that year, he went on to say that it was barbaric to drag that poor tree's corpse into the living room and dance, sing and conduct rituals around it like savages."
Claude's mouth dropped open in shock. When he finally managed to recollect himself, he said, "That's... that's a bit much even for adolescent melodramatics."
"Mm-hmm. Especially as he waited to drop that little one-liner until we were sitting at Christmas dinner... at my parents' house... with all of the extended family there," Jack said, dryly.
At that, Claude snorted out a laugh, "You have to admit, though... the timing is pure Berger."
Jack laughed, nodded his head, "Knowing the man that he's become? Yes, it most certainly is. At the time though... Claude, you have to understand, George is almost a completely different person now than he was then. Not to say that I'm not proud of the man he's become, because I am, but the man he's become bears almost no resemblance to the boy he was ten years ago. He was never quiet, but he was bright, he was creative. He was responsible, he was calm, he was reliable. He was the one we counted on to keep all the other children in line. In short, he was a parent's dream come true." His lips twitched as he finished by saying, "And then he hit puberty and became an alien."
Claude finally caved in and laughed at that. He couldn't picture it, this other Berger. Calm? Responsible? No. Not his Berger. But... wasn't this Woof's Berger? The one he'd always spoken of so wistfully? The one he'd called George? He sobered with that thought, with the feeling of guilt that immediately followed it. How far off track had they pulled him? Where might he be now, if not for the Tribe's influence?
A finger being shaken in his face abruptly brought Claude out of his musings. Jack was at the other end of the finger, a rueful smile on his face, "No, Claude. It wasn't your friends' influence that changed George into what he is now. If anything, it was their influence -- and yours -- that kept him from falling all the way, that allowed him to hold onto some part of himself, the part that would allow him to have what he has now... with the three of you." Seeing that Claude understood, his smile deepened.
Abruptly clapping his hands together, Jack said, "But that isn't why I brought all of this up. I brought it up to say that George apparently developed an almost... hatred for the idea of a Christmas Tree. By the next year, we caved in and just decorated the tree in the backyard and invited the family over to our home. It was better than risking the fallout of another barbaric savages discussion. The year after that, we actually bought an artificial tree, but George didn't come home for Christmas that year... and he never did again."
Feeling a pang of guilt, Claude hastened to explain, "He... he wanted to." At Jack's raised eyebrow, he blushed slightly, "That year that you bought the artificial tree, he'd have been, what? Sixteen?" Jack nodded. Claude sighed, "I thought so. I... I actually remember that. There was a blizzard and a lot of us that hadn't already left got snowed into the city. I was one of the few who'd planned to stay anyway, and I'd convinced Suzanne -- Sheila's old roommate -- to lend me her key. I had a bit of a cold, but I figured I would just be holed up inside anyway, so I didn't think much of it." Snorting softly, he continued, "Yeah. Well, Berger had gotten stranded in the city with everyone else when they shut the trains and the ferries down and he found out that I was here. By then, my 'little cold' had turned into the cold from hell. He actually spent the money he'd saved up for Sammy's Christmas present on medicine and food for me and ended up nursing me through that whole rotten mess, before getting sick himself. By then, Sheila was home and she managed to get us both back on our feet." He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh, "I guess we kind of set a precedent there."
Nodding in understanding, Jack said, "I'm glad, then." At Claude's confused look, he said, "I'm glad that if he wasn't with us, then he was at least with someone who loves him just as much. And I'm glad he was here for you when you needed him." Raising a hand to rest on Claude's shoulder, he squeezed lightly, "I'm glad he still has that much left in him of the boy I knew." Clearing his throat, he added quietly, "And the year after... that would have been the year you were drafted. The year we lost him."
Claude nodded, said quietly. "Yeah... It would have been. I doubt... I doubt he was sober enough to even know that Christmas happened that year."
They both fell silent, lost momentarily in a sea of useless regrets. Jack shook himself out of it first, said quietly, "Well... that certainly took a depressing turn very quickly." Before Claude could answer, though, he said, "What I originally came over here for was to offer a counter-suggestion to George's plans for tomorrow night. My wife and I, Samantha... we don't mind having a real tree in the house. In fact, we like it. So, when we come pick Sammy up tomorrow, why don't we bring the artificial tree that we bought with us? Then rather than going out to Rockefeller Center, we can have our own mini tree lighting here. That would no doubt be easier on you... and I'm sure it would make George happy. What do you say?"
Claude's lips slowly stretched into a real, unrestrained smile. He held out a hand to Berger's father who shook it warmly, "I say that sounds like a marvelous idea, Mr. Berger."
The older man laughed, clapped Claude on the shoulder again, "Please, just call me Jack. With you calling my son by our last name it's going to get way too confusing if you keep that up. Plus, it makes me feel old."
Claude readily agreed. And with the next day's plans firmly set, they walked back over to join the others. Jack gave Berger a tight hug and Sheila a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for inviting us today. In spite of all the complications, it was wonderful to get to spend the holiday with you." Waggling his eyebrows he said, "Same time next year?"
Sheila laughed, let her head droop a little, "How about we'll see about that? This was far more exhausting than I would have thought possible."
Elaine stepped up to dole out her own hugs and kisses to the three of them. When she reached Sheila, she patted her gently on the cheek, "Dear, why do you think everyone is so eager to go somewhere else for the holidays? No one in their right mind wants to take on that level of work." At Sheila's laugh, she smiled brightly, "So, what time do you want us to come pick up Sleeping Beauty over there?"
Before Berger or Sheila could answer, Jack slipped his two cents in, "Why don't we come by around three? By then they should be well and sick of Sammy and we can collect her and be out of their hair in time for them to enjoy a quiet dinner."
Though Berger looked a tad disappointed by that suggestion, he couldn't think of a good reason to make a different one, especially as he didn't know whether Claude would be up to going to the tree lighting. He sighed, "Sure, Dad. And if you're hungry, you can always stick around and help us eat up some of the leftovers. You know. If you want."
Giving his son another tight, one-armed hug, Jack just smiled, "Sure, son. We just might end up taking you up on that." With their goodbyes accomplished, the pair then gathered up their coats and headed out.
Once they were gone, the three remaining looked at each other and let out matching sighs of relief. Sheila put a hand to her head, "Good grief. Why did we think this was a good idea?"
Berger snorted, "Hell, it would have been a good idea, if--" He abruptly cut off what he'd been about to say, not wanting to start a fight.
Sheila sighed, "No, no you're right. My father..." She shook her head, reached out a hand to take one of Claude's in hers, "Claude, I'm so sorry about that. I don't know what came over him. I really don't. He's normally not that... that... mean."
Claude pulled her close and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, "It's not your fault, Sheila. You couldn't know. And I think... I think it wasn't entirely directed at me. I recognize some of the strain between he and your brother, so I don't think it was me he was really angry at. I was just a far too convenient target."
Berger stepped closer, wrapped his arms around both of them, "It doesn't matter, though, does it? Most of the day was a resounding success. And for what it's worth, Sheila... I do like the rest of your family. Your mom's kind of cute, even if she is a little stiff. Your sister's great, even though I can't believe she's the same one as that scrawny little tomboy that I met when I was sixteen. And your brother and his wife... well, there's potential there. All in all, not too shabby. So your dad got cranky." He shrugged, "So does Cheryl when she doesn't get her naps in. If that's the worst we have to deal with... we'll deal."
Sheila stared up at him for a minute, finally dissolved into giggles, "Only you, Berger, would describe what my father did today as 'being cranky.'" Reaching up to press her lips to his in a soft kiss, she said, "But I appreciate it just the same."
They shared a soft, loving look for a moment before turning to look at Claude. Berger leaned over to nuzzle his neck, "So, what do you say, Claudio? Willing to try for two nights in a row?"
Claude took in a deep breath, let it out in a heavy sigh. After taking a moment to think it through, he said, "Well, as you said, if Sheila's father's tantrum was the worst penalty I suffered for sleeping in a bed last night, then... yeah. Yeah, I think I'm willing to give it a second try. I'm not making any promises that I'll stay there... but I'll try."
Berger smiled, pulled them both tighter up against him, and in a voice roughened with emotion, said, "That's all I can ask." In total happy communion, they then filed into the bedroom to go to sleep.
( Master Post and Chapter List )
A/N:
Interesting facts and chibi silliness! Bet you didn't think you were getting a two-fer? ;D
Interesting Fact: So, about Berger's Christmas Tree rants... you may get the feeling from all of this protesting and ranting that I have a major problem with the idea of a Christmas Tree. I don't. Hell, I'm not even Christian. O_o;;; Regardless, my issue isn't with the idea of a "real" tree. (Though, I do find it ironic that to celebrate life, one chops down a tree. That never made much sense to me, but I digress...) My issue is, as much as I love the pomp and majesty of the NYC tree lighting, every year they chop down a tree that's likely been growing for decades just to display it for a month. At least now they recycle it. My question, though, is why can't we just *gasp* grow a tree in Rockefeller Center and decorate it every year? Then with each passing year it will only get larger and more impressive. Doesn't that seem intuitively obvious? *sweatdrop* Maybe I'm just odd.
Anyway, a few interesting things about Christmas trees... It's actually more environmentally, socially and economically conscious to have a real tree in your home than to buy an artificial tree. Interesting, no? ^_^ Allow me to elaborate (facts taken from Renée McKay's December 2010 "The Monthly" newsletter):
1) North American real trees are grown in NY and Canada. 85% of artificial trees are manufactured in China.
2) Real Christmas trees are a renewable, recyclable resource. Artificial trees contain non-biodegradable plastics.
3) For ever real Christmas tree harvested, up to 3 seedlings are planted in its place the following spring.
4) There are about 500,000 acres in production for growing Christmas trees. Each acre provides the daily oxygen requirement of 18 people.
5) There are about 21,000 Christmas tree growers in North America and over 100,000 people are employed part- or full-time by that industry.
The punch line? Don't listen to Berger. Get a real tree! ^_^
And now for the chibi-silliness!
Claude: It's about time you let me talk, again!
R-chan: *sweatdrop* You've been talking through the whole fic! What's your problem?
Claude: *twitch* I meant after the fic. Afraid of what I might have to say?
R-chan: Nooooo. I've just been really tired and I haven't felt well. *huge wobble eyes* *large sniffle for good measure*
Claude: O_O Oh... Well... *sweats*
Berger: Claudio, what's the problem, man? I thought you were gonna tell her off for the last chapter?
Claude: *leans over, whispers* I know, but... but... There's something about those eyes... Doesn't she look sort of adorably pathetic?
Nuriko: *howls* Don't fall for it!! It's just an act! She's only lulling you into a false sense of security. You'll regret it later!!
Tasuki: *claps a hand over Nuriko's mouth and hauls him backwards* Eh-heh... Don't pay any attention to him, guys. Really... just don't.
Claude: *twitch* *edges away, drags Berger along with him*
R-chan: *evil smirk*
Questions, comments, apricots?
Coming Soon: The last chapter! Finally, right? ^_^ *coughs* While Sheila and Sammy are out hunting up holiday bargains, Claude and Berger finally start to get to the bottom of what's wrong and what needs to be done to fix it. And Berger doesn't like what he hears. Fortunately, unbeknownst to him, his parents are on the way with a little bit of holiday cheer to pick him back up.
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Date: 2010-12-14 04:36 am (UTC)And yes, you can squeeze Roger. He's totally squeez-able. ^_^ I'm glad you liked him and Berger's family. ^_^ You know you've done a good job writing if people like your original characters as much as the canon characters. ^_^ And Claude's scene with the women is one of my favorite, too. ^_^
OMG, I totally know how you feel. About not wanting books and movies to end, that is. I have about five different TV series and a few books, as well, that I haven't finished watching or reading because I don't want to admit they're over. O_O How stupid is that?
And I'm sorry it took me so long to get the last chapter up. As I'm sure you gathered from my other post, this weekend was kind of a total wash. :-P But it's up now, for your reading pleasure. Hopefully you're home by now. ^_~
LOL And yes, there will be Claude/Mom reunion sometime in the next fic, I promise. When I'll get around to writing it, I don't exactly know... but I will. ^_^ I promise.
Thanks as always for the comment!
Oh, as for the beta... honestly, I don't know. You could try fanfiction.net, but I've never had a whole lot of luck with that. Assuming that it's a Hair fanfic, you could peruse people's bios over at hairfanfiction.net and see if anyone clicked the "beta" button -- I think someone may have, but don't remember who. O_O;;; I'd offer to do it for you myself, but honestly I'm kind of swamped and burned out and I'm just not up for it right now. O_O If you haven't found anyone in a few weeks (and are willing to wait that long), try me again and I'll probably be up for it, OK?