[Hair] Let The Sun Shine In (2/5)
Mar. 18th, 2010 02:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eirenicalTold you I wouldn't leave you hanging!
Fandom: Hair, the new Broadway revival
Pairing: Claude/Berger, Hud/Dionne
Rating: R
Word Count: 22,984 -- and even with all that, one of the two scenes I was most eager to write... decided it wanted to wait for the next fic. *falls over*; ~5500 per part, except for the prologue, which is 1,357.
Warnings: Slash, angstangstangst. O_O
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 ((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much...))
Summary: Third in the "Where Do I Go?" set. Ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away, no matter how desperately you might wish it would. And our Tribe has been ignoring far too many problems of late. What happens when the dam finally collapses?
March 18, 2010: I already babbled enough today. No more babbling for me.
Warnings: Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh.
Let the Sun Shine In -- Part 1
by Renee-chan
Berger sighed as he kicked at a pebble in front of him on the street. Claude was at work, as usual. Crissy was at the hospital, as usual. Jeanie was home working on G-d-knows-what, as usual. Hell, even Cloud was occupied with school... as usual. Normally he didn't mind occupying himself for the eight hours or so that he was home alone, but lately, he'd been bored. He'd been edgy.
Claude was understanding about it and generally was willing to drag all over creation with him in the hopes of finding something to catch his interest, but he hated to do that to the other man. Teaching was draining work and poor Claudio had been having a rough go of it the last year or two. His freshly returned memories of Viet Nam had not been easy to handle and now, 15 years after the fact, was not the best time to be dealing with them. When Claude had finally agreed to let him help, Berger had gone to the library and done some research. The constant nightmares, Claude's depressive episodes every time it rained and the occasional flashbacks that Berger knew he was having even if he wouldn't admit it... it added up into a picture that he didn't like. And he was doing his best to help, really he was... but he was no psychiatrist! He wasn't trained, he really didn't know what he was doing and Claude wouldn't go to anyone else for help. Hell, he wouldn't even talk to Crissy and she was a nurse!
He kicked at the pebble again. It wasn't a surprise that Claude was suffering from PTSD -- hell, he probably had been from minute one when he got back from Viet Nam -- but if Berger couldn't help him and he wouldn't go to anyone else to get the help he needed... they were running out of options. And Berger could feel the Bridge looming over them every time Claude shut him out. It was bad, badbadbad, and he didn't know what to do about it. And what was even more frustrating was that there were whole centers now, made just to help Viet Nam veterans with problems like this... but they didn't do any good if you couldn't get the person who needed the help to actually go to one. It was enough to drive him batty.
Ironically enough, other than he and Crissy, Cloud seemed to be the only one who saw the problem. The kid had an uncanny level of insight where his almost-father was concerned. No one else seemed to notice -- then again, for those who might, Claude probably still seemed totally sane compared to his partner -- they didn't see Sheila often enough, Jeanie was oblivious to everything other than the fact that Claude was alive and most of the other Tribe members they'd seen since Claude's return just didn't know them well enough anymore to see it. He'd thought that at least Hud would see. He'd been in Viet Nam too, after all... but he never seemed to want to touch the subject. Every time the conversation started to veer that way, Claude's eyes would glaze and Hud would abruptly redirect things. He probably thought he was helping, but from what Berger had been reading, avoidance wasn't the right way to deal with this. But what the hell did he know, right?
Clenching his hands in his hair, Berger gave it an almost savage tug. It was times like these that he almost wished it was still he, Claude and Sheila. Sheila had always had a way of cutting through the crap and making you face the problem that he could really use right now. Pausing in his walk, he turned that thought over. Well... why couldn't he ask Sheila to come? They were friends, right? Friends saw each other, didn't they? And hadn't she been saying just last month that her older daughter wanted to see New York? Wicked smile blooming, Berger changed directions to head over to the hospital where Crissy worked. Before planning something like this, it always paid to get a second opinion... even if it was one you knew you could influence.
"OK, everyone! Pencils down. Please hand in your test papers," Claude said. The immediate collection of groans from around the classroom made him want to bang his head against the desk. Instead, he said, "Whether you're done or not, boys and girls. The period's over and just because it's the last one of the day doesn't mean you get any extra time." After some shuffling around and one or two thrown pencils, Claude's 9th period class rose from their seats to place their test papers in a disorganized pile on the corner of his desk.
The last few weeks had been beyond frustrating. He'd been asked to take over a class from another teacher. It was a new class, an elective that had been introduced this year as a testing ground for a new style of teaching, based more on group work and open discussion than lecturing. They'd even opened it to students in all grades in the interest of cooperative education. The school board really wanted it to succeed. Unfortunately, that put a lot of pressure on the one stuck teaching it. Stacy, being only part-time to begin with, had been the unlucky one chosen and had not been doing a great job with it. The students had complained, their parents had complained and the Board had answered those complaints by rearranging schedules for the second semester so they could swap out teachers. Claude, having the unfortunate distinction of being both low man on the totem and extremely popular with the students, had been the lucky one chosen. He'd tried to beg his way out of it, tried to find some reason to give for why he couldn't teach it, but in the end, the principal had put her foot down. This was her baby and she wanted to give it the best chance that she could... and like it or not, Claude Bukowski was its best chance. So, now he was teaching a class in U.S. government and foreign policy... and it's applications to recent history. It was rapidly becoming a living nightmare. The truly sad thing, though? Three years ago, he not only wouldn't have had a problem with this class, he'd have been excited as all hell at the chance to teach it.
He tidied up the pile of test papers and pulled out his briefcase to tuck them safely away. He couldn’t wait to get home and so it was with some dismay that he heard the soft, hesitant voice speak up from the back of the classroom, "Mr. Bukowski...?"
Claude let out a small sigh as he closed his briefcase, "Yes, Ms. Weber? What is it?"
When he looked up it was to catch the girl anxiously shuffling her feet back and forth and gripping her books so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Finally she managed to get out, "I don't think I did so well on the test, Mr. Bukowski." Eyes red-rimmed, she looked as though she might cry, "I can't get another failing grade. My father will be so angry."
Claude walked around his desk and over to the distraught girl. He got her to sit down at one of the desks and then pulled a chair over to sit beside her, "Calm down, Julie. No one's failing anything, just yet." At her miserable head shake, Claude sighed, mentally giving up his early day, "Why don't we just take a look and see how you did, all right?"
He got up from the chair and went back to his own desk at the front of the room. Pulling out the stack of test papers, Claude quickly found Julie's and sat down to grade it. As he went through her answers, he couldn't help but feel a small sinking in the pit of his stomach. The girl hadn't failed, but it had been a very close thing. She quite obviously hadn't grasped the material.
Pulling out two other tests at random, he compared those with Julie's. What he found was much the same. With an indistinctly muttered curse, he deliberately looked through the stack of tests to find Kelly Donovan's. Kelly was one of the brightest students in class -- he ought to know, she was also in his freshman World History class. If anyone had done well, she had.
Ignoring Julie Weber's anxious fidgeting, Claude went over Kelly's test paper with a fine-toothed grading comb. It was with a sick flip to his stomach that he realized that, in her own way, Kelly had done no better than the rest of the class. She'd gotten an 84... but for a student that usually scored 98s, that wasn't exactly redeeming. Dropping his pen on the desk, Claude rubbed his hands over his face.
After a minute of unhappy silence, Julie finally spoke up, "Mr. Bukowski...?"
Claude finally managed to look back up at the girl and paste a smile onto his face, "Don't worry about it, Julie. You weren't the only one to have difficulty with this test. Why don't you go on home and we'll all discuss it in class on Monday?"
Unhappiness written into every line of her body, the girl gathered up her belongings and left. Deciding that he may as well get it over with, Claude finished going through the rest of the tests and nearly threw his own pen across the room when he was done. He was a good teacher. He really was. So why was he having so much trouble teaching one damned elective?
If Claude were being honest with himself, he'd admit that he knew exactly why. The class had started out fairly well. They'd started with a brief review of the first half of the 20th century to give them a base to understand the concepts that they'd cover and the way they were going to do it. Then they'd launched into the Korean war and he had been more than in his element. The students were attentive and actively participating, they were doing well on tests and his principal was thrilled. He'd actually found himself enjoying it. It wasn't until they started the discussions on the Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban Missile Crisis, that he realized exactly how big of a problem he was going to have teaching this class. In a moment of almost blind panic, he'd suddenly remembered that the largest U.S. foreign policy issue of the late 20th century -- the topic that would take up the bulk of the rest of the semester -- would be the Viet Nam War. Three years ago, teaching that material hadn't been any harder than teaching about World War I or the Revolutionary War. It hadn't been personal then. Now it was. It was very personal and he was too scared of his own memories to delve any deeper into that history than he had to. And that... that was a problem. He couldn't teach this class the way it was intended to be taught if he couldn't sink his teeth into the topic and pull out its inner workings for the class to examine. It was no wonder that his students were floundering... he was, too.
A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his musings. The gentle voice that queried, "Hey, anyone alive in here?" even brought a small smile to his face.
Raising his head from where it had dropped into his hands, Claude met the other teacher's gaze with his own weary one, "Yeah, Walter. I'm alive. Just temporarily wishing I wasn't."
With a frown, the older man joined him in the classroom. Snagging one of the desk chairs, he flipped it around and straddled it, "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, you've looked a little wrung out this year. You ready to tell me what's eating at you?"
With a tired laugh, Claude started rubbing at his temples again, "Oh man, Walter... where do I even start?"
The other teacher's frown deepened, "That bad, huh?"
A sigh, "Yes. That bad. The really ironic thing is that it was getting better. But now..." Waving a hand at the test papers strewn across his desk, Claude angrily bit out, "What the hell does it say about me as a teacher when I'm handing out 84s to Kelly Donovan?"
Walter let out a low whistle. He had the girl for English and knew she was sharp as a tack. He slowly shook his head, "OK, I have to agree, that isn't so good. This is the class you took over from Stacy, isn't it?"
Claude nodded, "Yes, it is, but that doesn't have anything to do with it."
Cutting him off with a slicing motion, Walter interrupted, "Sure it does. You took over the class mid-year, you're not entirely comfortable with the curriculum and your class schedule was overloaded to begin with. Also, no one's at their best come last period. It'll get better."
With a sigh, Claude started gathering up the graded papers again, "I don't think it'll be that easy, Walter. It's not just the timing of the class or that it's new." Resting his head on his briefcase, Claude sighed, "It's the class itself."
Walter's eyes narrowed, "How do you mean?"
Claude raised his head, "The entire focus of this class is on U.S. foreign policy in the latter half of the 20th century. Reviewing the World Wars was a snap. Covering Korea was easy, too -- hell, I think I was even enjoying it. I should have been able to do the Cold War without a problem, too. It's just that I know what comes after that... and the thought of having to teach it has me scared witless." With a miserable look, Claude dropped his head back into his hands, "There are reasons that I prefer to teach early history these days."
Walter paused for a moment, contemplating the dejected figure in front of him. He wasn't much of a history buff himself, but he'd lived through those events. Korea... Cold War... what came next? In a flash of insight, he finally put it together. What came next? Viet Nam came next. And Claude was just about the right age... Walter had assumed that, as with so many other teachers Claude's age, he had used college as a way to avoid the war, but maybe he'd been wrong... "You fought in 'Nam, didn't you?"
Claude's entire body jerked in reaction to that question, but he nodded, "I did."
Walter let out a low whistle. He'd been an enlisted air force man during Korea, but most of his time in the service had been spent Stateside and in Japan. He'd had a few very brief tours in Korea but really hadn't spent much time on the ground there. All told, he'd gotten off easily. Reaching a hand out, he gently gripped Claude's shoulder, "You enlisted?"
Claude let out a small snort, "Not exactly." Sitting back in his chair, Claude ran his hands through his hair, "I made the, in retrospect, unbelievably stupid decision to drop out of high school a third of the way into my senior year. The draft board caught up to me the next fall." Now that he'd gotten started, he couldn't seem to stop, "My friends, they all burned their draft cards. They'd rather have landed in jail or spent the rest of their lives in Canada than go to war. But stupid me... I couldn't do it. Seeing that disappointment in my father's eyes every time I came home... and worse, the pride in his eyes when he started telling his friends that I was going to Viet Nam to protect our country... I just couldn't do it. So I let myself get picked up. I let myself get shipped over there. A year and a half in that hell-hole... and I'd thought it couldn't get any worse."
"I was wrong."
Walter's breath caught at the dead tone to his young friend's voice. He'd heard that tone before. Letting his head drop, he whispered, "You were a POW, weren't you?"
A bitter chuckle, "An entire damned year, Walter. Maybe that's not much compared to the men that were captive for five years or more, but believe me... it was long enough." Another bitter laugh escaped him, "The true irony is that I didn't remember any of it until last year." At Walter's confused look, he elaborated, "When they rescued me, I had nearly complete amnesia. I had a few memories of my childhood and that was it. Nothing of my youth, nothing of my time in Viet Nam. Everyone I'd known, everyone I'd loved... gone in the blink of an eye."
"When I came home, my parents told everyone who'd known me that I was dead, packaged me up and took me to Kansas. I lived there for about twelve years before I found out exactly how much of my life they'd taken away from me. That's when I came back here. With some help from an old friend, I recovered most of my memory of the time before I was drafted, but nothing of my time in Viet Nam." He paused, "And believe you me, I'd have been extremely happy to never get that back. Thing is... it doesn't work that way. Last year, those memories started coming back, too." Dropping his head back onto his arms, Claude shuddered, "It's too fresh, Walter. I can't dredge all that up in front of my class. I just might end up trapped in a flashback, tucked under my desk, screaming like a lunatic." That last came out in a tight whisper.
The older man put his hand back on Claude's shoulder and gave him an awkward pat, "Might not be as bad as all that, Claude. You might do just fine."
Claude shook his head with a small, bitter laugh, "Yeah. And pigs might fly." He sighed, "I'll figure it out somehow, Walter. It's not like I have a choice. Switching teachers on this class again would be its death knell and this is Loretta's baby. She's not going to let that happen. Besides, she's counting on me... and I don't have tenure, yet."
Walter frowned as he watched the younger teacher start to gather up his belongings, "Well... you just let me know if there's anything I can do, all right?"
Claude smiled, "I will. Don't you worry about that."
Feeling far from easy, Walter accompanied his friend out of the building, only splitting off from him as they reached the parking lot -- Claude to the streets to walk to the subway, Walter to his car. There might not be much he could do, but he'd be there, whatever it took to get his friend through this. Worst case scenario, he'd talk to Loretta. They'd taught together for years until she'd gotten this posting as principal... and he, at least, already had tenure.
When Claude got home, he was ready to curl up with Berger and just forget the day had happened. Unfortunately, he wasn't to be allowed that easy an escape. When he got back to their apartment, Berger had company. Claude thought it would be harder to find a smile, but for the petite brunette curled up in one corner of the couch it was easier than with most, "Crissy, I didn't know you were coming over..." Leaning over Berger's armchair, he brushed a kiss against the other man's temple, "I'd have stopped and picked up take-out on the way home if I did."
Crissy just shook her head, "You don't have to go to that kind of trouble for me, Claude, you know that." Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiled, "Berger had stopped by to see me at the hospital yesterday and we didn't really have time to talk then, so I promised him I'd stop by today if I got off early enough."
Claude instantly stilled at those words, "The hospital?" Frowning down at his partner, he asked, "What were you doing at the hospital?"
Berger opened his mouth to answer -- to come up with a believable lie, more likely, with that particular look on his face -- but Crissy ran right over him, "I asked him to." Claude tossed her an incredulous look, but she seemed completely unruffled. Settling himself on the arm of Berger's chair with his coat draped over his lap, he indicated that she should continue. Without a missed beat, she did, "I'd wanted to talk to him about helping me out with a patient."
Claude blinked, then raised an eyebrow, "Reeeeally."
Bright smile slipping, she continued, "Kind of a sad story, actually. There's this girl, not more than 15 years old, that got picked up by children's services earlier this week. I don't know her full history, but she was brought in for a drug overdose. There's some question about custody and whether or not she'll be returned to her parents... but regardless, this kid's in trouble and I can't reach her. She's just so angry at everything." Indicating Berger with a nod of her head, she added, "I thought maybe talking to him might help, since you name it, he's been through it... and she won't talk to any of us."
They met each other's eyes for a minute as Claude evaluated what she'd said. Oh, she was telling the truth about the girl, that was obvious enough, but he had an inkling that her decision to involve Berger had been spur-of-the-moment and for his benefit. But random cover story or not... it was actually a good idea. He turned his gaze downward to take in his lover's expression. For the first time in a long time... he looked interested. Breath catching at the sheer intensity in Berger's gaze that he'd missed for so long, Claude made the abrupt decision to let it go. Neither of these people would hurt him, so whatever they'd been up to, he'd just have to trust that it wasn't something bad. It would be worth it if Crissy managed to spark any kind of an interest in his partner -- especially one where he could potentially do so much good. Gripping Berger's shoulder gently, he said, "I think that's a great idea." When Berger looked up at him, a confused expression on his face, Claude smiled, "I happen to know first-hand how persuasive you can be. You knocked me off the path of alcoholism before I'd barely taken the first step."
That vulnerable look in Berger's eyes was going to kill him. Taking Claude's hand from his shoulder to hold it in one of his, he pressed his face against it, "You really think I could help her?"
Claude used his grip to raise Berger's hand to plant a kiss across the knuckles, "I know you could." Claude lifted his other hand to thread through Berger's hair, "You seem to have forgotten a lot of what you were like when we were kids, Berger. Don't worry. I haven't. You could persuade anyone to do anything, even if it was against their better judgment -- even if they knew it was wrong, it didn't matter. We'd have done anything for you."
Berger's voice was a harsh whisper as he interrupted, "Not everyone. Not everything." At Claude's answering frown, he continued, "I couldn't convince you to stay." Eyes steeling with determination, he ran over Claude's objection, "I couldn't. I tried my hardest, I really did, but I couldn't do it. You left... and you got hurt..." Rising to his feet, he met Claude's eyes with a sense of desperation -- like this might be the last chance he had to convince the other man, "And you need more help than I can give you. Claudio, you know you do. But I can't convince you of that, either."
Caught by the pain in his lover's eyes, Claude almost couldn't look away. When he finally did, he looked over at Crissy who had risen from the couch and taken a step towards them. He ducked his gaze as he let out a weak chuckle, "Oh... So that's the real reason you went to talk to Crissy." Raising eyes that held just a hint of betrayal, he asked bitterly, "We've finally reached the point where I need an intervention?"
Seeing that as her cue, Crissy finally finished approaching them, "No, Claude. This isn't an intervention. Berger asked me, as a friend, to help him figure out what to do to help you. I just got here too late and you walked into the middle of it. You know what's wrong with you, Claude -- you're a smart man and you've taught this history. You also know that ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. The thing is, it's one thing to decide for yourself that you'd rather suffer than admit you need help... it's another thing entirely to ask the people who love you to suffer with you."
Claude opened his mouth to object and Berger started waving his hands at her to get her to stop, but Crissy was on a roll and she wasn't stopping -- she'd kept these words behind her teeth for too long already, "Berger will never admit it to you, so I'm going to tell you a plain, simple truth, Claude -- you're hurting him. He just told you he feels like he failed you because he couldn't convince you to stay... and now feels that doubly so because he can't convince you to get the help you need to deal with the aftermath. It's not his fault," that last said with a pointed look in Berger's direction, "but that doesn't really matter if he feels like it is. And what you can do to help... to help both of you... is get help. OK?"
Feeling more than a little bruised, Claude got up from the chair arm and turned away from the two of them. Coming on top of his problems at school today it was all just a little too much, but... Crissy was right. Needing some excuse to step away for a minute, he walked back over to the coat rack and hung up his coat. He fidgeted with the lay of the collar for a minute, grateful for the silence being held behind him. Why hadn't he agreed when Berger tried to drag him to the veterans' center? He still didn't really know. Logically, he knew it was the right thing to do. Hud had even privately admitted to him that he'd gone once they opened one in Manhattan. So, if Detective Hud Johnson could admit that he needed that kind of help... why couldn't he?
Heart beating hard against his ribcage, he turned back to face the worried stares of his friends, "I..." He swallowed hard, "I know..." He turned his head away again, a self-deprecating laugh slipping from his lips, "Did you know that I got suckered into teaching a new class this semester?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" he could hear the frown in Crissy's voice, but didn't turn to look.
He laughed again, a somewhat brittle sound, "Everything, Crissy... everything. It's a class on U.S. government and foreign policy in the 20th century. And half my students are failing the current unit because I'm too afraid of the damned material to actually teach it." Tearing the tie from his shoulder-length hair so he could bury his hands in it, he gave it a harsh tug, "Fuck."
Berger stepped around the chair and walked up to him. He pulled Claude's hands down from his hair and gathered the other man into a gentle hug. Claude clung to him for all he was worth. Berger just ran gentle hands down his back and made shushing noises, "I didn't want to upset you more. I just... You told me that you think I've forgotten what I was like when we were younger. Well, I could say the same thing about you, Claudio. And just like you said before -- you may have forgotten, but I haven't. You always felt things deeply, but in a way... you were more brave about it than anyone I know. Sheila and I used to joke about how loving you was like riding a roller coaster -- you never knew from one minute to the next if you were going up or down, but it was a fun ride either way. Problem is, Claude... these days we've been plunging straight down without a turn in sight. You don't smile anymore, not really, anyway... not those sparkling, heart-stopping numbers you used to throw at me all the time. I miss them. I miss knowing that as serious and twisted up as you could get yourself, you were still always ready to let me drag you out of it to have an adventure." Leaning back to catch Claude's eyes, Berger smiled gently, "You'll never be exactly who you were when you were 18. No one ever is. But... I think I left my stomach up at the top when we started this drop and I'm ready to swoop back upwards to pick it up... OK?"
Claude tucked his head into the crook of Berger's neck and tried to fight off the tears that had tried to start halfway through that little speech. Knowing he was defeated and not entirely sure if he was disappointed about it, Claude nodded, "OK."
Berger's hands stilled in their movement, "Really, Claudio? You're not just saying that?"
With a mild snort, Claude raised his head from his lover's shoulder, "No, Karma-Berger. I'm not just saying that. Because you're right. You've been right all along." Tossing an ironic look over Berger's shoulder in Crissy's direction he added, "I just needed a little help to see it, I guess."
Crissy smiled back and said tartly, "By which you mean you're giving in because you don't want to have a flashback in school while you're teaching and can't think of any other way to avoid one."
"I'm not having flashbacks," the response was automatic and Claude couldn't have bitten it back if he'd tried, but he did duck his head after saying it.
Now it was Crissy's turn to snort, "The hell you're not! Claude, I've seen you have one! So has Berger, so has Cloud, so has Hud. You may have thought you were fooling us, but give your friends credit for knowing you better than that."
Claude buried his face back in Berger's neck to hide the resultant blush, "I know, I know... I'm sorry. It was a knee-jerk response."
Berger sighed as he cradled Claude against him, "So you are having flashbacks. I knew it. When you kept denying it, I started to doubt... but I've had enough of my own and I thought I recognized the signs." At Claude's incredulous look, Berger explained, "Well, mine are from drugs, not from PTSD, but a flashback's a flashback." With a small laugh, he added, "At least mine are interesting and full of pretty colors."
Claude stared at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. It was hysteria-tinged, but after all that intensity, it was desperately needed. After he calmed down, Berger let him retreat into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. By the time he came back, Berger was holding out his coat. Claude's face paled, "Now?"
Crissy paused in the act of putting on her own coat, "Now, Claude. If you give yourself tonight to think about it, it'll only make it worse. We are not going through this again in the morning."
"Right... right," he mumbled. Looking up to meet Berger's eyes he saw only understanding, love and support. It was enough. It was enough to get him into his coat. It was enough to get him down to the street. It was enough to get him into the taxi that they'd called while he'd been washing up. He just hoped it would be enough to get him the rest of the way, too.
A/N:
O_O Too tired. So, just the usual request for...
Questions, comments, coconuts?
Coming Soon: With a little help from his friends, Claude finally manages to face down the demons of his past and in so doing, pass on a bit of his own legacy to his students.
Master Post and Chapter List
Fandom: Hair, the new Broadway revival
Pairing: Claude/Berger, Hud/Dionne
Rating: R
Word Count: 22,984 -- and even with all that, one of the two scenes I was most eager to write... decided it wanted to wait for the next fic. *falls over*; ~5500 per part, except for the prologue, which is 1,357.
Warnings: Slash, angstangstangst. O_O
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 ((*coughs* For the record, because I never actually stated it in the disclaimer before, I'll state now that I do know that "Hair" was written in 1967 by James Rado and Gerome Ragni and with music by Galt MacDermot. Thank you very much...))
Summary: Third in the "Where Do I Go?" set. Ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away, no matter how desperately you might wish it would. And our Tribe has been ignoring far too many problems of late. What happens when the dam finally collapses?
March 18, 2010: I already babbled enough today. No more babbling for me.
Warnings: Still slash. ^_^ And apparently, when you hold off the angst bunnies too long... they explode all over your computer. And they get on *every*thing. :-P Ugh.
by Renee-chan
Berger sighed as he kicked at a pebble in front of him on the street. Claude was at work, as usual. Crissy was at the hospital, as usual. Jeanie was home working on G-d-knows-what, as usual. Hell, even Cloud was occupied with school... as usual. Normally he didn't mind occupying himself for the eight hours or so that he was home alone, but lately, he'd been bored. He'd been edgy.
Claude was understanding about it and generally was willing to drag all over creation with him in the hopes of finding something to catch his interest, but he hated to do that to the other man. Teaching was draining work and poor Claudio had been having a rough go of it the last year or two. His freshly returned memories of Viet Nam had not been easy to handle and now, 15 years after the fact, was not the best time to be dealing with them. When Claude had finally agreed to let him help, Berger had gone to the library and done some research. The constant nightmares, Claude's depressive episodes every time it rained and the occasional flashbacks that Berger knew he was having even if he wouldn't admit it... it added up into a picture that he didn't like. And he was doing his best to help, really he was... but he was no psychiatrist! He wasn't trained, he really didn't know what he was doing and Claude wouldn't go to anyone else for help. Hell, he wouldn't even talk to Crissy and she was a nurse!
He kicked at the pebble again. It wasn't a surprise that Claude was suffering from PTSD -- hell, he probably had been from minute one when he got back from Viet Nam -- but if Berger couldn't help him and he wouldn't go to anyone else to get the help he needed... they were running out of options. And Berger could feel the Bridge looming over them every time Claude shut him out. It was bad, badbadbad, and he didn't know what to do about it. And what was even more frustrating was that there were whole centers now, made just to help Viet Nam veterans with problems like this... but they didn't do any good if you couldn't get the person who needed the help to actually go to one. It was enough to drive him batty.
Ironically enough, other than he and Crissy, Cloud seemed to be the only one who saw the problem. The kid had an uncanny level of insight where his almost-father was concerned. No one else seemed to notice -- then again, for those who might, Claude probably still seemed totally sane compared to his partner -- they didn't see Sheila often enough, Jeanie was oblivious to everything other than the fact that Claude was alive and most of the other Tribe members they'd seen since Claude's return just didn't know them well enough anymore to see it. He'd thought that at least Hud would see. He'd been in Viet Nam too, after all... but he never seemed to want to touch the subject. Every time the conversation started to veer that way, Claude's eyes would glaze and Hud would abruptly redirect things. He probably thought he was helping, but from what Berger had been reading, avoidance wasn't the right way to deal with this. But what the hell did he know, right?
Clenching his hands in his hair, Berger gave it an almost savage tug. It was times like these that he almost wished it was still he, Claude and Sheila. Sheila had always had a way of cutting through the crap and making you face the problem that he could really use right now. Pausing in his walk, he turned that thought over. Well... why couldn't he ask Sheila to come? They were friends, right? Friends saw each other, didn't they? And hadn't she been saying just last month that her older daughter wanted to see New York? Wicked smile blooming, Berger changed directions to head over to the hospital where Crissy worked. Before planning something like this, it always paid to get a second opinion... even if it was one you knew you could influence.
"OK, everyone! Pencils down. Please hand in your test papers," Claude said. The immediate collection of groans from around the classroom made him want to bang his head against the desk. Instead, he said, "Whether you're done or not, boys and girls. The period's over and just because it's the last one of the day doesn't mean you get any extra time." After some shuffling around and one or two thrown pencils, Claude's 9th period class rose from their seats to place their test papers in a disorganized pile on the corner of his desk.
The last few weeks had been beyond frustrating. He'd been asked to take over a class from another teacher. It was a new class, an elective that had been introduced this year as a testing ground for a new style of teaching, based more on group work and open discussion than lecturing. They'd even opened it to students in all grades in the interest of cooperative education. The school board really wanted it to succeed. Unfortunately, that put a lot of pressure on the one stuck teaching it. Stacy, being only part-time to begin with, had been the unlucky one chosen and had not been doing a great job with it. The students had complained, their parents had complained and the Board had answered those complaints by rearranging schedules for the second semester so they could swap out teachers. Claude, having the unfortunate distinction of being both low man on the totem and extremely popular with the students, had been the lucky one chosen. He'd tried to beg his way out of it, tried to find some reason to give for why he couldn't teach it, but in the end, the principal had put her foot down. This was her baby and she wanted to give it the best chance that she could... and like it or not, Claude Bukowski was its best chance. So, now he was teaching a class in U.S. government and foreign policy... and it's applications to recent history. It was rapidly becoming a living nightmare. The truly sad thing, though? Three years ago, he not only wouldn't have had a problem with this class, he'd have been excited as all hell at the chance to teach it.
He tidied up the pile of test papers and pulled out his briefcase to tuck them safely away. He couldn’t wait to get home and so it was with some dismay that he heard the soft, hesitant voice speak up from the back of the classroom, "Mr. Bukowski...?"
Claude let out a small sigh as he closed his briefcase, "Yes, Ms. Weber? What is it?"
When he looked up it was to catch the girl anxiously shuffling her feet back and forth and gripping her books so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Finally she managed to get out, "I don't think I did so well on the test, Mr. Bukowski." Eyes red-rimmed, she looked as though she might cry, "I can't get another failing grade. My father will be so angry."
Claude walked around his desk and over to the distraught girl. He got her to sit down at one of the desks and then pulled a chair over to sit beside her, "Calm down, Julie. No one's failing anything, just yet." At her miserable head shake, Claude sighed, mentally giving up his early day, "Why don't we just take a look and see how you did, all right?"
He got up from the chair and went back to his own desk at the front of the room. Pulling out the stack of test papers, Claude quickly found Julie's and sat down to grade it. As he went through her answers, he couldn't help but feel a small sinking in the pit of his stomach. The girl hadn't failed, but it had been a very close thing. She quite obviously hadn't grasped the material.
Pulling out two other tests at random, he compared those with Julie's. What he found was much the same. With an indistinctly muttered curse, he deliberately looked through the stack of tests to find Kelly Donovan's. Kelly was one of the brightest students in class -- he ought to know, she was also in his freshman World History class. If anyone had done well, she had.
Ignoring Julie Weber's anxious fidgeting, Claude went over Kelly's test paper with a fine-toothed grading comb. It was with a sick flip to his stomach that he realized that, in her own way, Kelly had done no better than the rest of the class. She'd gotten an 84... but for a student that usually scored 98s, that wasn't exactly redeeming. Dropping his pen on the desk, Claude rubbed his hands over his face.
After a minute of unhappy silence, Julie finally spoke up, "Mr. Bukowski...?"
Claude finally managed to look back up at the girl and paste a smile onto his face, "Don't worry about it, Julie. You weren't the only one to have difficulty with this test. Why don't you go on home and we'll all discuss it in class on Monday?"
Unhappiness written into every line of her body, the girl gathered up her belongings and left. Deciding that he may as well get it over with, Claude finished going through the rest of the tests and nearly threw his own pen across the room when he was done. He was a good teacher. He really was. So why was he having so much trouble teaching one damned elective?
If Claude were being honest with himself, he'd admit that he knew exactly why. The class had started out fairly well. They'd started with a brief review of the first half of the 20th century to give them a base to understand the concepts that they'd cover and the way they were going to do it. Then they'd launched into the Korean war and he had been more than in his element. The students were attentive and actively participating, they were doing well on tests and his principal was thrilled. He'd actually found himself enjoying it. It wasn't until they started the discussions on the Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban Missile Crisis, that he realized exactly how big of a problem he was going to have teaching this class. In a moment of almost blind panic, he'd suddenly remembered that the largest U.S. foreign policy issue of the late 20th century -- the topic that would take up the bulk of the rest of the semester -- would be the Viet Nam War. Three years ago, teaching that material hadn't been any harder than teaching about World War I or the Revolutionary War. It hadn't been personal then. Now it was. It was very personal and he was too scared of his own memories to delve any deeper into that history than he had to. And that... that was a problem. He couldn't teach this class the way it was intended to be taught if he couldn't sink his teeth into the topic and pull out its inner workings for the class to examine. It was no wonder that his students were floundering... he was, too.
A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his musings. The gentle voice that queried, "Hey, anyone alive in here?" even brought a small smile to his face.
Raising his head from where it had dropped into his hands, Claude met the other teacher's gaze with his own weary one, "Yeah, Walter. I'm alive. Just temporarily wishing I wasn't."
With a frown, the older man joined him in the classroom. Snagging one of the desk chairs, he flipped it around and straddled it, "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, you've looked a little wrung out this year. You ready to tell me what's eating at you?"
With a tired laugh, Claude started rubbing at his temples again, "Oh man, Walter... where do I even start?"
The other teacher's frown deepened, "That bad, huh?"
A sigh, "Yes. That bad. The really ironic thing is that it was getting better. But now..." Waving a hand at the test papers strewn across his desk, Claude angrily bit out, "What the hell does it say about me as a teacher when I'm handing out 84s to Kelly Donovan?"
Walter let out a low whistle. He had the girl for English and knew she was sharp as a tack. He slowly shook his head, "OK, I have to agree, that isn't so good. This is the class you took over from Stacy, isn't it?"
Claude nodded, "Yes, it is, but that doesn't have anything to do with it."
Cutting him off with a slicing motion, Walter interrupted, "Sure it does. You took over the class mid-year, you're not entirely comfortable with the curriculum and your class schedule was overloaded to begin with. Also, no one's at their best come last period. It'll get better."
With a sigh, Claude started gathering up the graded papers again, "I don't think it'll be that easy, Walter. It's not just the timing of the class or that it's new." Resting his head on his briefcase, Claude sighed, "It's the class itself."
Walter's eyes narrowed, "How do you mean?"
Claude raised his head, "The entire focus of this class is on U.S. foreign policy in the latter half of the 20th century. Reviewing the World Wars was a snap. Covering Korea was easy, too -- hell, I think I was even enjoying it. I should have been able to do the Cold War without a problem, too. It's just that I know what comes after that... and the thought of having to teach it has me scared witless." With a miserable look, Claude dropped his head back into his hands, "There are reasons that I prefer to teach early history these days."
Walter paused for a moment, contemplating the dejected figure in front of him. He wasn't much of a history buff himself, but he'd lived through those events. Korea... Cold War... what came next? In a flash of insight, he finally put it together. What came next? Viet Nam came next. And Claude was just about the right age... Walter had assumed that, as with so many other teachers Claude's age, he had used college as a way to avoid the war, but maybe he'd been wrong... "You fought in 'Nam, didn't you?"
Claude's entire body jerked in reaction to that question, but he nodded, "I did."
Walter let out a low whistle. He'd been an enlisted air force man during Korea, but most of his time in the service had been spent Stateside and in Japan. He'd had a few very brief tours in Korea but really hadn't spent much time on the ground there. All told, he'd gotten off easily. Reaching a hand out, he gently gripped Claude's shoulder, "You enlisted?"
Claude let out a small snort, "Not exactly." Sitting back in his chair, Claude ran his hands through his hair, "I made the, in retrospect, unbelievably stupid decision to drop out of high school a third of the way into my senior year. The draft board caught up to me the next fall." Now that he'd gotten started, he couldn't seem to stop, "My friends, they all burned their draft cards. They'd rather have landed in jail or spent the rest of their lives in Canada than go to war. But stupid me... I couldn't do it. Seeing that disappointment in my father's eyes every time I came home... and worse, the pride in his eyes when he started telling his friends that I was going to Viet Nam to protect our country... I just couldn't do it. So I let myself get picked up. I let myself get shipped over there. A year and a half in that hell-hole... and I'd thought it couldn't get any worse."
"I was wrong."
Walter's breath caught at the dead tone to his young friend's voice. He'd heard that tone before. Letting his head drop, he whispered, "You were a POW, weren't you?"
A bitter chuckle, "An entire damned year, Walter. Maybe that's not much compared to the men that were captive for five years or more, but believe me... it was long enough." Another bitter laugh escaped him, "The true irony is that I didn't remember any of it until last year." At Walter's confused look, he elaborated, "When they rescued me, I had nearly complete amnesia. I had a few memories of my childhood and that was it. Nothing of my youth, nothing of my time in Viet Nam. Everyone I'd known, everyone I'd loved... gone in the blink of an eye."
"When I came home, my parents told everyone who'd known me that I was dead, packaged me up and took me to Kansas. I lived there for about twelve years before I found out exactly how much of my life they'd taken away from me. That's when I came back here. With some help from an old friend, I recovered most of my memory of the time before I was drafted, but nothing of my time in Viet Nam." He paused, "And believe you me, I'd have been extremely happy to never get that back. Thing is... it doesn't work that way. Last year, those memories started coming back, too." Dropping his head back onto his arms, Claude shuddered, "It's too fresh, Walter. I can't dredge all that up in front of my class. I just might end up trapped in a flashback, tucked under my desk, screaming like a lunatic." That last came out in a tight whisper.
The older man put his hand back on Claude's shoulder and gave him an awkward pat, "Might not be as bad as all that, Claude. You might do just fine."
Claude shook his head with a small, bitter laugh, "Yeah. And pigs might fly." He sighed, "I'll figure it out somehow, Walter. It's not like I have a choice. Switching teachers on this class again would be its death knell and this is Loretta's baby. She's not going to let that happen. Besides, she's counting on me... and I don't have tenure, yet."
Walter frowned as he watched the younger teacher start to gather up his belongings, "Well... you just let me know if there's anything I can do, all right?"
Claude smiled, "I will. Don't you worry about that."
Feeling far from easy, Walter accompanied his friend out of the building, only splitting off from him as they reached the parking lot -- Claude to the streets to walk to the subway, Walter to his car. There might not be much he could do, but he'd be there, whatever it took to get his friend through this. Worst case scenario, he'd talk to Loretta. They'd taught together for years until she'd gotten this posting as principal... and he, at least, already had tenure.
When Claude got home, he was ready to curl up with Berger and just forget the day had happened. Unfortunately, he wasn't to be allowed that easy an escape. When he got back to their apartment, Berger had company. Claude thought it would be harder to find a smile, but for the petite brunette curled up in one corner of the couch it was easier than with most, "Crissy, I didn't know you were coming over..." Leaning over Berger's armchair, he brushed a kiss against the other man's temple, "I'd have stopped and picked up take-out on the way home if I did."
Crissy just shook her head, "You don't have to go to that kind of trouble for me, Claude, you know that." Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiled, "Berger had stopped by to see me at the hospital yesterday and we didn't really have time to talk then, so I promised him I'd stop by today if I got off early enough."
Claude instantly stilled at those words, "The hospital?" Frowning down at his partner, he asked, "What were you doing at the hospital?"
Berger opened his mouth to answer -- to come up with a believable lie, more likely, with that particular look on his face -- but Crissy ran right over him, "I asked him to." Claude tossed her an incredulous look, but she seemed completely unruffled. Settling himself on the arm of Berger's chair with his coat draped over his lap, he indicated that she should continue. Without a missed beat, she did, "I'd wanted to talk to him about helping me out with a patient."
Claude blinked, then raised an eyebrow, "Reeeeally."
Bright smile slipping, she continued, "Kind of a sad story, actually. There's this girl, not more than 15 years old, that got picked up by children's services earlier this week. I don't know her full history, but she was brought in for a drug overdose. There's some question about custody and whether or not she'll be returned to her parents... but regardless, this kid's in trouble and I can't reach her. She's just so angry at everything." Indicating Berger with a nod of her head, she added, "I thought maybe talking to him might help, since you name it, he's been through it... and she won't talk to any of us."
They met each other's eyes for a minute as Claude evaluated what she'd said. Oh, she was telling the truth about the girl, that was obvious enough, but he had an inkling that her decision to involve Berger had been spur-of-the-moment and for his benefit. But random cover story or not... it was actually a good idea. He turned his gaze downward to take in his lover's expression. For the first time in a long time... he looked interested. Breath catching at the sheer intensity in Berger's gaze that he'd missed for so long, Claude made the abrupt decision to let it go. Neither of these people would hurt him, so whatever they'd been up to, he'd just have to trust that it wasn't something bad. It would be worth it if Crissy managed to spark any kind of an interest in his partner -- especially one where he could potentially do so much good. Gripping Berger's shoulder gently, he said, "I think that's a great idea." When Berger looked up at him, a confused expression on his face, Claude smiled, "I happen to know first-hand how persuasive you can be. You knocked me off the path of alcoholism before I'd barely taken the first step."
That vulnerable look in Berger's eyes was going to kill him. Taking Claude's hand from his shoulder to hold it in one of his, he pressed his face against it, "You really think I could help her?"
Claude used his grip to raise Berger's hand to plant a kiss across the knuckles, "I know you could." Claude lifted his other hand to thread through Berger's hair, "You seem to have forgotten a lot of what you were like when we were kids, Berger. Don't worry. I haven't. You could persuade anyone to do anything, even if it was against their better judgment -- even if they knew it was wrong, it didn't matter. We'd have done anything for you."
Berger's voice was a harsh whisper as he interrupted, "Not everyone. Not everything." At Claude's answering frown, he continued, "I couldn't convince you to stay." Eyes steeling with determination, he ran over Claude's objection, "I couldn't. I tried my hardest, I really did, but I couldn't do it. You left... and you got hurt..." Rising to his feet, he met Claude's eyes with a sense of desperation -- like this might be the last chance he had to convince the other man, "And you need more help than I can give you. Claudio, you know you do. But I can't convince you of that, either."
Caught by the pain in his lover's eyes, Claude almost couldn't look away. When he finally did, he looked over at Crissy who had risen from the couch and taken a step towards them. He ducked his gaze as he let out a weak chuckle, "Oh... So that's the real reason you went to talk to Crissy." Raising eyes that held just a hint of betrayal, he asked bitterly, "We've finally reached the point where I need an intervention?"
Seeing that as her cue, Crissy finally finished approaching them, "No, Claude. This isn't an intervention. Berger asked me, as a friend, to help him figure out what to do to help you. I just got here too late and you walked into the middle of it. You know what's wrong with you, Claude -- you're a smart man and you've taught this history. You also know that ignoring it isn't going to make it go away. The thing is, it's one thing to decide for yourself that you'd rather suffer than admit you need help... it's another thing entirely to ask the people who love you to suffer with you."
Claude opened his mouth to object and Berger started waving his hands at her to get her to stop, but Crissy was on a roll and she wasn't stopping -- she'd kept these words behind her teeth for too long already, "Berger will never admit it to you, so I'm going to tell you a plain, simple truth, Claude -- you're hurting him. He just told you he feels like he failed you because he couldn't convince you to stay... and now feels that doubly so because he can't convince you to get the help you need to deal with the aftermath. It's not his fault," that last said with a pointed look in Berger's direction, "but that doesn't really matter if he feels like it is. And what you can do to help... to help both of you... is get help. OK?"
Feeling more than a little bruised, Claude got up from the chair arm and turned away from the two of them. Coming on top of his problems at school today it was all just a little too much, but... Crissy was right. Needing some excuse to step away for a minute, he walked back over to the coat rack and hung up his coat. He fidgeted with the lay of the collar for a minute, grateful for the silence being held behind him. Why hadn't he agreed when Berger tried to drag him to the veterans' center? He still didn't really know. Logically, he knew it was the right thing to do. Hud had even privately admitted to him that he'd gone once they opened one in Manhattan. So, if Detective Hud Johnson could admit that he needed that kind of help... why couldn't he?
Heart beating hard against his ribcage, he turned back to face the worried stares of his friends, "I..." He swallowed hard, "I know..." He turned his head away again, a self-deprecating laugh slipping from his lips, "Did you know that I got suckered into teaching a new class this semester?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" he could hear the frown in Crissy's voice, but didn't turn to look.
He laughed again, a somewhat brittle sound, "Everything, Crissy... everything. It's a class on U.S. government and foreign policy in the 20th century. And half my students are failing the current unit because I'm too afraid of the damned material to actually teach it." Tearing the tie from his shoulder-length hair so he could bury his hands in it, he gave it a harsh tug, "Fuck."
Berger stepped around the chair and walked up to him. He pulled Claude's hands down from his hair and gathered the other man into a gentle hug. Claude clung to him for all he was worth. Berger just ran gentle hands down his back and made shushing noises, "I didn't want to upset you more. I just... You told me that you think I've forgotten what I was like when we were younger. Well, I could say the same thing about you, Claudio. And just like you said before -- you may have forgotten, but I haven't. You always felt things deeply, but in a way... you were more brave about it than anyone I know. Sheila and I used to joke about how loving you was like riding a roller coaster -- you never knew from one minute to the next if you were going up or down, but it was a fun ride either way. Problem is, Claude... these days we've been plunging straight down without a turn in sight. You don't smile anymore, not really, anyway... not those sparkling, heart-stopping numbers you used to throw at me all the time. I miss them. I miss knowing that as serious and twisted up as you could get yourself, you were still always ready to let me drag you out of it to have an adventure." Leaning back to catch Claude's eyes, Berger smiled gently, "You'll never be exactly who you were when you were 18. No one ever is. But... I think I left my stomach up at the top when we started this drop and I'm ready to swoop back upwards to pick it up... OK?"
Claude tucked his head into the crook of Berger's neck and tried to fight off the tears that had tried to start halfway through that little speech. Knowing he was defeated and not entirely sure if he was disappointed about it, Claude nodded, "OK."
Berger's hands stilled in their movement, "Really, Claudio? You're not just saying that?"
With a mild snort, Claude raised his head from his lover's shoulder, "No, Karma-Berger. I'm not just saying that. Because you're right. You've been right all along." Tossing an ironic look over Berger's shoulder in Crissy's direction he added, "I just needed a little help to see it, I guess."
Crissy smiled back and said tartly, "By which you mean you're giving in because you don't want to have a flashback in school while you're teaching and can't think of any other way to avoid one."
"I'm not having flashbacks," the response was automatic and Claude couldn't have bitten it back if he'd tried, but he did duck his head after saying it.
Now it was Crissy's turn to snort, "The hell you're not! Claude, I've seen you have one! So has Berger, so has Cloud, so has Hud. You may have thought you were fooling us, but give your friends credit for knowing you better than that."
Claude buried his face back in Berger's neck to hide the resultant blush, "I know, I know... I'm sorry. It was a knee-jerk response."
Berger sighed as he cradled Claude against him, "So you are having flashbacks. I knew it. When you kept denying it, I started to doubt... but I've had enough of my own and I thought I recognized the signs." At Claude's incredulous look, Berger explained, "Well, mine are from drugs, not from PTSD, but a flashback's a flashback." With a small laugh, he added, "At least mine are interesting and full of pretty colors."
Claude stared at him for a minute, then burst out laughing. It was hysteria-tinged, but after all that intensity, it was desperately needed. After he calmed down, Berger let him retreat into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. By the time he came back, Berger was holding out his coat. Claude's face paled, "Now?"
Crissy paused in the act of putting on her own coat, "Now, Claude. If you give yourself tonight to think about it, it'll only make it worse. We are not going through this again in the morning."
"Right... right," he mumbled. Looking up to meet Berger's eyes he saw only understanding, love and support. It was enough. It was enough to get him into his coat. It was enough to get him down to the street. It was enough to get him into the taxi that they'd called while he'd been washing up. He just hoped it would be enough to get him the rest of the way, too.
A/N:
O_O Too tired. So, just the usual request for...
Questions, comments, coconuts?
Coming Soon: With a little help from his friends, Claude finally manages to face down the demons of his past and in so doing, pass on a bit of his own legacy to his students.
Master Post and Chapter List
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Date: 2010-06-10 08:53 am (UTC)Loved Crissy’s little outburst lol Glad to see she’s grown some balls over the years!! Between me and you…she’s my fav member of the Tribe
Loved it! x
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Date: 2010-06-10 01:19 pm (UTC):D I do love Crissy, especially now that she's a little older and sports this nice little spine. :D She may not be my favorite, but she's certainly way up there!
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Date: 2010-06-10 01:41 pm (UTC)