[Hair] Let The Sun Shine In (3/5)
Mar. 19th, 2010 09:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eirenicalFrom last night when I was working on HTMLing this: O_O OMG. Really? Is there a reason that music has to be that loud? If it's hurting my ears and I live on the floor above yours... you're going to be deaf in another year or two. It's f*cking 11:30 PM on a Thursday night! What the hell are you smoking?? *kicks neighbor* You suck. *whines* I wanna go to bed you jackass!!
I now return you to your regularly scheduled ficcage.
3/19/10, 9:44 AM -- *grumps* They didn't shut up until 2 AM. And since when is it OK for telemarketers to call before 9 AM? O_O So... sleepy... z_z...
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 19, 2010: OK... I know I put a general angst warning on this whole fic, but that goes especially so for this part. Bring tissues -- I know I needed them. :-P
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 2
by Renee-chan
Claude stared at the door to his classroom, trying not to let the fear show. He'd had that discussion with his class a few weeks ago, gone over the material, then assured them that the test would be graded on a curve. Everyone had been relieved. More importantly than that, he'd talked Walter into going to talk to the principal with him. It had been difficult, but he'd explained the situation and told her what he was doing to try to get help. To his utter shock, rather than being angry, she'd been horrified that he hadn't told her sooner. Together, they came up with a plan. By rearranging the course syllabus to include a unit on the Civil Rights movement (an important time in U.S. recent history, although not technically a foreign policy decision), they had bought him some time. She had then assured him that if, when he got to the segment on Viet Nam, he really felt he couldn't teach it... she would. And now, that time had come. He was more than half-tempted to just go running to her office and tell her he couldn't do it. He'd only barely begun the process of healing, after all. Three weeks wasn't a lot of time.
That Saturday, like he did every week, he'd gone to the Veterans' Center for his group meeting. It still unnerved him... going there. Every time he walked through those doors he had to fight an overwhelming sense of shame that he couldn't get through this alone. After only one week, he'd tried to duck out of going to the group sessions altogether. Berger hadn't let him. He'd dragged him there in spite of his protests. And that week, Hud and Dionne were waiting for them at the door. Hud had taken his elbow, waved jauntily at Dionne and Berger and said, "Thanks for the delivery, I'll take it from here." Claude had been outwardly mortified, yet secretly glad for the unexpected show of support.
It still wasn't easy, but it was getting better. Opening up the line of communication between he and Hud had helped more, still. The man was becoming a good friend, even better than he'd been before the war. And it helped that Claude had overheard Dionne thanking Berger for the renewed relationship, too. Apparently, even with 14 more years of practice dealing with it, Hud hadn't been faring much better than he had been... but now, needing to show support for Claude, he'd thrown himself back into it like he was on a mission. And the benefits were showing for both of them.
That still wasn't getting him across the threshold of the classroom. That Saturday he'd spoken with his counselor about it, trying to get some sort of easy suggestion for how to get through this. To his dismay, there wasn't one. The only thing she'd been able to suggest was to have someone he trusted in the room the first time that he delved into those memories. The only problem was that the person he wanted there, couldn't be there. If he did have a flashback and Berger did pull him out of it, he knew himself well enough to know that he'd end up wrapped up in Berger's arms... and how the hell would he explain it to the school board? The times weren't as open or as accepting as they'd been in the 60s or even the 70s. It could get them both in a lot of trouble and could lose him his job. No. As much as he wished it could be, it couldn't be Berger.
Looking up, he saw the familiar form of Walter Erickson approaching from down the hall. When his friend reached his side, he put a hand on Claude's shoulder, "Word is you might need some support in the classroom, today. Will I do?"
Feeling an avalanche of relief, he nodded, "You'll do nicely, Walter. Thanks."
Patting Claude's shoulder, he smiled broadly, "Then let's get you set up, shall we?" Pushing open the classroom door, he gestured for the younger man to enter. Still feeling a thrill of fear at the prospect, he did. He was really going to do this. He was really going to... He froze in the doorway, heart trip hammering in his chest. He couldn't. He really couldn’t do this...
A bright young voice piped up from behind him, "You know, Mr. Bukowski, my dad's always telling me that I make a better door than a window, but you're doing a pretty poor job at both. Can I get past?"
That was the jolt he needed to get moving. All but jumping out of the way, Claude turned to look at Kelly as, with a flounce of her short, blonde hair, she bounced into the classroom. The girl never went sedately anywhere. When she reached her seat, she turned and gave him a beaming smile, "First, as usual!"
Claude found a smile for her somewhere as he went to his desk and put down his briefcase, "Not so difficult when you're off 8th period, I suppose."
The girl frowned, "Can I help it if I'm excited? I like your class."
He still hadn't thought of an answer for her by the time the rest of the class filed in. He forewent his usual greetings as they made their way to their seats, still frantically trying to figure out if he was up to doing this. He still hadn't decided by the time the bell rang. The class started a general low level of chit-chat, trying to figure out what was going on. Walter raised an eyebrow at him from the back of the class, silently asking if he needed to step in. With a small head shake, Claude turned him down. Instead, he cleared his throat and started to talk.
"I'm sure you've all been wondering why we spent the last few weeks covering the civil rights movement when it wasn't in the original course syllabus." Ignoring the shouted, "Darned right!" from the back of the classroom, Claude continued talking, "I'm going to tell you why. I'm also going to tell you some other things -- things that, until now, I've told very few." Swallowing hard, he paused, "I'm going to tell you right now, though... this isn't going to be easy for me. I may not be able to do it at all and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me get through it without interrupting." Meeting each of his students' gazes in turn, he asked, "Can you do that?"
Sensing the sudden serious turn their teacher had taken, there was a brief spate of murmuring, then almost as one the class nodded. Julie Weber, surprisingly, was the one who answered him, "You're always here for us, Mr. Bukowski. The least we can do is be here for you in return."
Smiling a grateful smile, Claude ducked his head for a moment before looking back up at his students, "Thank you. All of you. Why don't you all bring your chairs up here and put them in a semi-circle?" Before anyone could question, he held up a hand, "Trust me, you don't need to take notes for this... and I think I'd rather have you closer," then he pulled his own chair out from behind his desk and sat down, waiting for the rest to do the same. Start out easy... get them on the same page, first, then get to the hard stuff.
Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the room full of attentive faces. Seeing the ready support in all their eyes, he almost smiled. Finally, he started talking, "Before we launch into the whys and wherefores of the Viet Nam War, I thought we'd take a day to set the tone. I needed more time to prepare for it than I thought I would need and that's why we took that side trip into the civil rights movement. That's also why the last unit we went through before it was so painful." He paused, then continued, "This isn't something you'll hear an adult admit to often, so pay attention." Looking at each in turn, he said, "I'm afraid." At the instant murmuring reaction, he held up a hand, "Most of you were babies, if you were even alive at all, during the Viet Nam era. I wasn't. I was your age, then. And my experiences during those years left a definite mark on me. I'm ashamed to admit that I've only just recently started trying to deal with it, but it's true. I don't know if I'll be able to get through this and I don't know how much I'll be able to tell you, but I'm going to try."
Seeing nothing but support in the eyes of his students, Claude swallowed hard, breathing ragged for a moment before he got it back under control, "So, we're going to start small and see how it goes. First we're going to take a mental trip back to 1967, because that was the year I went through all this." He cleared his throat, "I want you to look around the room. Of the 21 of you here, 15 of you are seniors. Of those 15, 9 of you are men. For argument's sake, let's say you're all 18." Standing up, he started walking around the half circle and randomly divided the nine senior boys into three groups, getting them to stand in the front of the classroom. Turning back to the rest of the class, he said, "All nine of these people were eligible to be drafted." Turning back to the class, he asked, "What do you think that means?"
Tony, one of the juniors, spoke up first, "It means that they could be called up to fight, even if they didn't want to join the army."
Claude nodded, "What else?"
Maryanne, one of the senior girls, spoke up next, "It means they should go to college." When the class snickered, she assumed an affronted look, "It's true! There were ways to get around the draft. If you were in college, you didn't have to go. That's how my uncle got out of it."
Claude smiled, tricked into enjoying the moment thanks to the attitude of his class. He smiled at Maryanne, "You have made an excellent point, Maryanne. While there were other ways to legally avoid the draft -- being the sole provider for a family, for example -- educational deferments were the most popular." Turning to one of the groups of three, he waved them back to their seats, "Congratulations. The three of you were accepted to college and were smart enough to actually go. You aren't going to be drafted this year, but we reserve the right to call you after you graduate. Go sit down." Even in this mock setting, Claude noted how fast the three moved. As they sat down, Julie grabbed Mark Edelstein's hand. Not bothering to act embarrassed, he slouched in his seat and squeezed back.
Claude walked up behind them and put a hand on each student's shoulder, "Not that I want to single the two of you out, but I wanted to point out something that you just so ably demonstrated." Holding up their joined hands, he said, "This, right here, is the most important thing you need to understand about the late 60s." Waving a hand to include the other two who had all but run back to their seats, as well, Claude said, "The fear of the draft was an overwhelming and terrifying reality of life. From 1967 on, about 300,000 men were drafted each year until the draft ended in the 70s. Every man between the age of 18 and 26 that couldn't claim a legitimate deferment lived in constant fear of finding that draft notice in their mailbox. And they weren't the only ones affected. All of their loved ones were, too."
Dropping Mark and Julie's hands, Claude walked back to the front of the classroom, thoughts turning inward, "You felt like you were living on borrowed time. You woke up every morning, wondering if this would be the day your parents would hand you that letter and tell you that since you couldn't find anything better to do with your life, you could at least spend that life serving your country. You went to bed every night, afraid to close your eyes for fear that once you did, you'd never see your friends again. You listened to the news every day, terrified to hear a friend's number come up... or to find out that he'd been killed overseas."
By this point, Claude had almost forgotten that there was even anyone else in the room. Voice roughened by emotion, he pressed on, "You've all heard about, and sometimes even envied, the counter-culture of the 60s -- the 'summer of love', the extensive drug use, the hippie 'rebellion'. But it wasn't some fantasy day camp. You did every stupid, self-destructive thing you could think of in the hopes that you'd damage yourself enough that the draft board wouldn't want you. You threw yourself into life as far as you could go, desperately hoping that if you were somehow still able-bodied at the end of it, you'd at least have lived enough of it to make up for what you would lose when your number eventually came up... because you knew it would." Hanging his head, Claude shuddered, "It always did."
The entire classroom was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Of course, it was Kelly Donovan who pushed the issue out into the open, "You talk like you know someone that happened to. Who did you know who got drafted, Mr. Bukowski?"
Shivering again, Claude whispered brokenly, "Me." Ignoring the collective gasp, Claude muttered, "Please excuse me for a minute," and fled to the back of the classroom. To their credit, not a single student moved.
When Claude reached the back of the room, he took in the sight that met his dull eyes with no small amount of shock. He had a bigger audience than just Walter, now. Loretta was there, tears shining bright in her eyes... and so was Cloud. He hadn't even heard them come in... The boy stood up and put a hand on his arm, "Little birdie told me what you were gonna do today and I figured you might want a friendly face around. Since Mrs. Marshall agreed with me, she wrote me a pass to get out of Calculus this period to be here, then tagged along."
Heart swelling with gratitude, Claude gripped the boy's hand in return, "Thanks."
Loretta Marshall took his other hand, her own trembling where it gripped his, "You don't have to do this, Claude. It's really OK. You can stop now. OK? I'll do the rest."
Claude took a deep breath and was on the verge of saying "Yes," when he happened to catch a glimpse of the class out of the corner of his eye. Seeing every single student still sitting in their seats, eyes glued to where he was standing, he made a very hard decision, very fast. Shaking his head, he said, "No." Turning to look at Cloud, he smiled a self-deprecating smile, "Berger and Crissy were right. I need to get this out before it poisons me for good and if I stop now, I don't know if I'll have the guts to start again." Turning back to the principal, he shook his head, "Besides, what sort of message does that send if I back out, now?" Not giving her a chance to answer, Claude made his way back to the front of the room.
Pulling his head forcibly back into the game, he turned back to the six boys still standing in the front of the room. Turning to one group of three, he separated them, pulling one away from the other two, "You got lucky, Will. You got your draft notice in the mail, but your number was way down on the lottery list. You didn't get called. Go sit down." Before doing so, the boy paused. Made daring by the unusual situation, he put a hand on Claude's shoulder and gave him an awkward pat. Claude found a smile for him as he sent him back to his seat.
Turning to the other two in Will's group, he cleared his throat, "Now, you two, you read about the war. You watched it on TV. Both of your fathers fought in World War II. One of you had a brother that won a medal of honor in Korea. You're also smart. You know that if you wait for the draft to get you, you'll get stuck in the army... maybe in the infantry. That's at least a 1 in 3 chance of a death sentence. And since you figure you'll be going no matter what you do, you'd rather go willingly and serve longer to decrease the chances of you dying. So you enlist in the Air Force or the Navy."
A voice rang out from the back of the classroom, "'One over all', kids! No one wants to be stuck on a boat for 6 months!"
Startled into a laugh, Claude turned to face Walter with an eyebrow raised, "It should be noted that Mr. Erickson served in the Air Force in Korea." Crossing his arms over his chest, he said dryly, "Maybe it should also be noted that you're all better behaved than he is and I'm extremely grateful for it." Waving the two selected boys to their seats, he commented, "I suppose that's what comes of having your head in the clouds." Wincing, he added, "No offense, Mr. Ryan."
Waving a hand back, Cloud tossed him a brilliant grin, "None taken, Mr. Bukowski. None taken."
Walter made a mild noise of protest as he grumped out, "Speak for yourself."
Claude was grateful for the moment of cheer before continuing. He turned back to the last group of boys, noting with mild sadness that they'd bunched together -- for protection or comfort, he couldn't have said -- but they clearly knew what was coming. Shaking his head, he walked over to them, "I'm sure you've figured it out by now. You three... you got drafted and your numbers got called." Putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder, Claude said, "You, my friend, decided that illegally or not, you were going to have no part of this draft business. You packed up your girlfriend and your record collection and moved to Canada. Ten years later, President Carter granted you, and every other draft dodger, a complete pardon, but by now you've gotten attached to your new country. You live there to this day, with your lovely wife and three daughters." Daniel looked like he wanted to hug him, but settled for gripping his shoulder tightly before fleeing to his seat.
Claude watched him for a minute as he was welcomed back to the group with a hearty round of backslaps and handshakes. Now it was time to bring it home... Turning back to the remaining two, he sighed, "Peter, Robert... I'm sorry to say that you two have my kind of luck, and unfortunately, also my overwhelming sense of responsibility. Maybe you were scared of prison. Maybe you couldn't imagine leaving this country with all its many freedoms." Voice again roughening, he added, "Maybe you just couldn't bear to disappoint your fathers in one more thing. Whatever it was, when you were drafted, you went meekly along. Your friends begged you not to. They cried over you. They held a huge be-in where they all burned their draft cards and urged you to do the same." Biting off a bitter chuckle, he said, "Maybe one of them even gave you an LSD laced joint in the hopes that you'd have such a bad trip that you'd consent to run away with him to Canada. Maybe you even proposed to one of them, desperate to have just a small piece of something normal to hang on to when you got shipped out. Maybe, instead of saying 'Yes,' she led a huge protest outside the induction center at 39 Whitehall Street to try to get the draft board to let you go."
Looking up and meeting each boy's eyes in turn, he said, "Whatever the case, you went." Turning to Robert, he said, "You went to Viet Nam, but you got lucky. You were smart and they recognized that. You wanted to be a doctor, so they got you medical training. You stayed back with the support troops and never saw much combat. You came home two years later with a cadre of horror stories, but you got help and you recovered. The Army paid for you to go to college and then you went on to medical school. You now have a thriving practice and you and your wife are expecting your first child in the spring." Swallowing hard, Robert did hug Claude before returning to his seat.
For a moment, Claude couldn't look at Peter. He walked over to his desk and perched on the corner. Looking back at the rest of the class, he asked, "How many of you remember Peter? He was drafted five years ago and you haven't heard from him in a while." Nodding to the first three he'd sent back to their seats he said, "Dennis, Mark and Nate have graduated college and started building lives for themselves. It's 1972 and not only is the war winding down, but they've announced an end to the draft. From now on, we'll have an all-volunteer army. You're all safe."
"Will, also having been scared straight, moved to Los Angeles and started writing anti-war songs. He became very popular and most of you are going to see his next performance." Ignoring the high fives being traded in that corner, Claude turned to his two "Air Force boys". He smiled at the two of them, "Derek, you served out your time and made it home safely. You haven't settled down with the right girl yet, but you're having a blast with all the wrong ones and you're planning to write your memoirs." Some more high fiving, "Scott, you decided that you actually enjoyed military life and wanted to stay in. You're starting to work your way up in the ranks and your commanding officers are impressed enough that they've recommended you for officers' training."
A quiet voice piped up from behind him, "Mr. Bukowski... what happened to me? I thought Viet Nam tours were only a year or two for draftees..." There was a pause, then that voice filled with fear, "Oh my G-d. Am I dead?"
Scott, Derek and Robert lunged to their feet at that, all crying out, "No!"
Claude turned sad eyes on Peter as he walked back over to face him, "Nobody knows. About 19 months into your tour of duty, your squad was ambushed. 5 men were killed, 2 badly wounded. You, your squad leader and one other were captured by the Viet Cong and told you were Prisoners of War and that your government couldn't protect you... and worse, that they wouldn't protect you." Eyes finally filling with tears, Claude all but choked on the last few words, "You don't want to know what they did to you after that. You're still listed as MIA."
Again, the class was so silent you could hear a pin drop and again, it was Kelly who broke that brittle silence, "You... Mr. Bukowski... You...?" In spite of her bravado, she couldn’t seem to get the question out.
Wrenching his emotions under control, Claude waved Peter back to his seat. As he turned back to the rest of the classroom, he was heartened to notice that Scott, Derek and Robert had clustered around Peter as though to shield him from anything else Claude might decide to say. Several of the girls joined them in their group vigil. Good. At least he'd gotten through. At least... at least that made it worth it. He focused his eyes on Kelly and said quietly, "19 months, 1 week and 4 days into my tour of duty. They got me out 1 year, 2 weeks and 6 days later. I counted." The entire class leaned in to hear his quietly spoken words, "I had such severe post traumatic stress that I developed complete amnesia. Other than a few memories of my childhood, my entire life was gone... just gone. I didn't start to get it back until 1982."
A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Claude out of his memories and helped him refocus on the present. Cloud was standing next to him, tears freely falling from his eyes. Once he had Claude's attention, he wrapped him in a tight hug, "After I read... G-d, I thought I understood. I didn't. I really didn't. I'm so sorry, Uncle Claude."
Gingerly returning his spiritual son's embrace, Claude again fought to get his emotions back under control. Turning a watery smile on Walter, he asked, "Isn't it almost time for the bell to ring?" Cloud let him go with a stifled snort.
Loretta cleared her throat, "Mr. Bukowski... the bell rang almost an hour ago."
Claude's jaw dropped and his face heated, "I'm sorry..."
Scott abruptly stood up, almost knocking his chair over backwards, "Don't you dare apologize, Mr. Bukowski. Don't you G-d damned dare." Claude stared wide-eyed at the boy, startled by his vehemence.
Derek was the next one on his feet, "I agree. You have nothing to apologize for. It took a lot of guts to get up in front of us and do what you just did. I don't think I'd have that kind of courage, especially if it was so fresh in my mind."
The next one up was Mark, "What you taught us today... Mr. Bukowski, you can't learn that kind of lesson from a history textbook. If you'd kept us another two hours, it still would have been worth every second." With a small smile he added, "You were right, by the way. We didn't need to take notes. There's no way in hell I'm forgetting this class anytime soon."
Taking in the collection of nodding heads in front of him, Claude sank slowly into his seat. As each student collected their books and started filing out of the classroom, they paused by their teacher to either shake his hand or pat him on the back. One or two of the girls even hugged him. Claude took it all in with a numb sense of relief. He'd done it... he'd really done it. Feeling a small surge of hysteria, he clamped down hard on the laughter trying to fizz its way up from his stomach. Loretta approached him with a wry smile, "I hate to do this to you now, Claude... but I think you just officially got stuck with this elective until you retire."
Claude just gaped at her as she left the classroom, completely unable to form any kind of response. Fortunately for him, a noise at the window distracted him... and almost caused him to fall off his chair in shock. Finally finding his voice as he watched the dark-haired man climb in the window of his classroom, he almost squeaked, "Berger???"
Berger swung his legs down to the floor and sauntered over to wrap an arm around Claude's shoulders, "You didn't really think I was gonna miss this, did you?" Claude shook his head dumbly. Berger nodded in satisfaction, "Good. I'd hate to think that after all this time, you didn't know me better than that." Giving Claude a gentle squeeze, he continued, "I was all set to come flying in the window once or twice, but then you reeled it back in, so I stayed outside. But I figured you'd be about due for a severe case of the shakes once you were done and I didn't want you to have to get home on your own."
Walter's voice interrupted any response that Claude could have made, "OK, if I had to take a guess? This is either the friend who planned the shindig when you were supposed to burn your draft card... or he's the one who gave you the acid-laced joint and tried to convince you to run away to Canada with him."
Berger mock-frowned at Claude, "Claudio, I never said I laced that joint with LSD..."
Claude snorted as he turned to look Berger in the eyes, "Jesus H. Christ, Berger, you didn't have to. The crazy shit I saw that night? There's no way in hell there was just pot in there!" Shoving the other man lightly in the shoulder, he added, "And knowing you like I do, I should have known better. I never should've taken that joint from you after what you said."
In response, Berger leaned his head on Claude's shoulder and gave him his very best innocent look, even batting his eyelashes for effect. Claude just gaped at him, then abruptly closed his mouth and gave Berger a stern look when his eyes strayed down from Claude's eyes to his now closed lips.
Laughing quietly at Berger's "who, me?" eyes, Walter leaned over to Cloud, "Do they do this often?"
Cloud just sighed and nodded, "That would be a 'Yes,' Mr. Erickson. A definite 'Yes'." Rolling his eyes, Cloud commented, "Good grief, guys, get a room already."
At Cloud's oft-repeated anthem, Claude suddenly froze. For a moment, just for a moment, he'd forgotten where he was... and who he was with. Berger also froze, horrified realization growing in his eyes. Cloud bit off a curse. Walter, for his part, simple smiled like a recalcitrant puzzle piece had just fallen into place. Nodding sagely, he commented philosophically, "You know... I always wondered why you talked about your best friend like he was your spouse... Now, I know."
Eyes widening in panic, Claude backed up as far as Berger's arm would allow him. Walter smiled and walked over to pat him on the shoulder, "Relax, kid. I was around during the Summer of Love, too. You're not going to get any judgment or damnation from me and I don't tell tales. Your private life should stay exactly that -- private. You've earned it."
At Claude's increasingly glassy stare, Berger gently took his arm, "I appreciate it, and so does he... or he will when he's aware again. I'm gonna take him home so we can deal with the aftershocks this is gonna cause." Tossing Cloud a look over his shoulder he added, "Cloud, tell your mom that we'll try to make it to dinner, but I don't know if we will, OK?"
Cloud nodded, "Sure thing, Uncle Berger. We'll miss you if you don't show, but we'll definitely understand." At that affirmation, Berger got Claude's coat on him, then scooped up his briefcase and led him out of the classroom, muttering all the while about how much easier this would be if they could have just climbed back out the window.
Walter watched the two leave the classroom with a raised eyebrow. Under his breath he muttered, "And Claude always seemed so normal... How does a guy like him end up attached to someone like that?" At Cloud's abruptly leveled, narrow-eyed glare, Walter hastily explained, "Not that he doesn't seem like a nice enough guy, he's just... he's just..." He shrugged helplessly, unable to think of an accurate description that wouldn't be insulting.
Cloud's expression relaxed into a wry smile, "He's just Berger, Mr. Erickson. If it makes you feel any better, I've technically known him since I was in the womb and I don't understand him either." Smile softening, he added, "But the one thing I do know about him is that he loves Uncle Claude with every fiber of his being... and Uncle Claude feels the same way about him. They've walked through hell and back for each other... twice. But that story's almost more depressing than the one Uncle Claude told in class today and it's not my story to tell."
Dropping a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, Walter smiled, "Well, as I said earlier, they're not going to get any judgment or damnation from me."
Cloud looked up at the English teacher with a pleased smile, "You know... Uncle Claude doesn't trust many people enough to let them see something like this, even by accident. I think I'm starting to see why he let you, Mr. Erickson." Taking the teacher's hand from his shoulder, he gave it a firm shake, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta get home and talk to my mom. She was planning to share some news with them at dinner tonight and in light of today's little shindig, I think it's gonna have to wait. Poor Uncle Claude doesn't need any more surprises."
A/N:
O_O I warned you about the angst, didn't I? *eyes fic* I promise the next part makes up for it in spades. ^_^
Questions, comments, blueberries?
Coming Soon: Crissy and Berger at an art show, Berger in a suit and looking presentable and the gang getting thrown out of a restaurant... what more could you want? Just wait and see... ^_^
Master Post and Chapter List
I now return you to your regularly scheduled ficcage.
3/19/10, 9:44 AM -- *grumps* They didn't shut up until 2 AM. And since when is it OK for telemarketers to call before 9 AM? O_O So... sleepy... z_z...
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 19, 2010: OK... I know I put a general angst warning on this whole fic, but that goes especially so for this part. Bring tissues -- I know I needed them. :-P
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
Claude stared at the door to his classroom, trying not to let the fear show. He'd had that discussion with his class a few weeks ago, gone over the material, then assured them that the test would be graded on a curve. Everyone had been relieved. More importantly than that, he'd talked Walter into going to talk to the principal with him. It had been difficult, but he'd explained the situation and told her what he was doing to try to get help. To his utter shock, rather than being angry, she'd been horrified that he hadn't told her sooner. Together, they came up with a plan. By rearranging the course syllabus to include a unit on the Civil Rights movement (an important time in U.S. recent history, although not technically a foreign policy decision), they had bought him some time. She had then assured him that if, when he got to the segment on Viet Nam, he really felt he couldn't teach it... she would. And now, that time had come. He was more than half-tempted to just go running to her office and tell her he couldn't do it. He'd only barely begun the process of healing, after all. Three weeks wasn't a lot of time.
That Saturday, like he did every week, he'd gone to the Veterans' Center for his group meeting. It still unnerved him... going there. Every time he walked through those doors he had to fight an overwhelming sense of shame that he couldn't get through this alone. After only one week, he'd tried to duck out of going to the group sessions altogether. Berger hadn't let him. He'd dragged him there in spite of his protests. And that week, Hud and Dionne were waiting for them at the door. Hud had taken his elbow, waved jauntily at Dionne and Berger and said, "Thanks for the delivery, I'll take it from here." Claude had been outwardly mortified, yet secretly glad for the unexpected show of support.
It still wasn't easy, but it was getting better. Opening up the line of communication between he and Hud had helped more, still. The man was becoming a good friend, even better than he'd been before the war. And it helped that Claude had overheard Dionne thanking Berger for the renewed relationship, too. Apparently, even with 14 more years of practice dealing with it, Hud hadn't been faring much better than he had been... but now, needing to show support for Claude, he'd thrown himself back into it like he was on a mission. And the benefits were showing for both of them.
That still wasn't getting him across the threshold of the classroom. That Saturday he'd spoken with his counselor about it, trying to get some sort of easy suggestion for how to get through this. To his dismay, there wasn't one. The only thing she'd been able to suggest was to have someone he trusted in the room the first time that he delved into those memories. The only problem was that the person he wanted there, couldn't be there. If he did have a flashback and Berger did pull him out of it, he knew himself well enough to know that he'd end up wrapped up in Berger's arms... and how the hell would he explain it to the school board? The times weren't as open or as accepting as they'd been in the 60s or even the 70s. It could get them both in a lot of trouble and could lose him his job. No. As much as he wished it could be, it couldn't be Berger.
Looking up, he saw the familiar form of Walter Erickson approaching from down the hall. When his friend reached his side, he put a hand on Claude's shoulder, "Word is you might need some support in the classroom, today. Will I do?"
Feeling an avalanche of relief, he nodded, "You'll do nicely, Walter. Thanks."
Patting Claude's shoulder, he smiled broadly, "Then let's get you set up, shall we?" Pushing open the classroom door, he gestured for the younger man to enter. Still feeling a thrill of fear at the prospect, he did. He was really going to do this. He was really going to... He froze in the doorway, heart trip hammering in his chest. He couldn't. He really couldn’t do this...
A bright young voice piped up from behind him, "You know, Mr. Bukowski, my dad's always telling me that I make a better door than a window, but you're doing a pretty poor job at both. Can I get past?"
That was the jolt he needed to get moving. All but jumping out of the way, Claude turned to look at Kelly as, with a flounce of her short, blonde hair, she bounced into the classroom. The girl never went sedately anywhere. When she reached her seat, she turned and gave him a beaming smile, "First, as usual!"
Claude found a smile for her somewhere as he went to his desk and put down his briefcase, "Not so difficult when you're off 8th period, I suppose."
The girl frowned, "Can I help it if I'm excited? I like your class."
He still hadn't thought of an answer for her by the time the rest of the class filed in. He forewent his usual greetings as they made their way to their seats, still frantically trying to figure out if he was up to doing this. He still hadn't decided by the time the bell rang. The class started a general low level of chit-chat, trying to figure out what was going on. Walter raised an eyebrow at him from the back of the class, silently asking if he needed to step in. With a small head shake, Claude turned him down. Instead, he cleared his throat and started to talk.
"I'm sure you've all been wondering why we spent the last few weeks covering the civil rights movement when it wasn't in the original course syllabus." Ignoring the shouted, "Darned right!" from the back of the classroom, Claude continued talking, "I'm going to tell you why. I'm also going to tell you some other things -- things that, until now, I've told very few." Swallowing hard, he paused, "I'm going to tell you right now, though... this isn't going to be easy for me. I may not be able to do it at all and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me get through it without interrupting." Meeting each of his students' gazes in turn, he asked, "Can you do that?"
Sensing the sudden serious turn their teacher had taken, there was a brief spate of murmuring, then almost as one the class nodded. Julie Weber, surprisingly, was the one who answered him, "You're always here for us, Mr. Bukowski. The least we can do is be here for you in return."
Smiling a grateful smile, Claude ducked his head for a moment before looking back up at his students, "Thank you. All of you. Why don't you all bring your chairs up here and put them in a semi-circle?" Before anyone could question, he held up a hand, "Trust me, you don't need to take notes for this... and I think I'd rather have you closer," then he pulled his own chair out from behind his desk and sat down, waiting for the rest to do the same. Start out easy... get them on the same page, first, then get to the hard stuff.
Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the room full of attentive faces. Seeing the ready support in all their eyes, he almost smiled. Finally, he started talking, "Before we launch into the whys and wherefores of the Viet Nam War, I thought we'd take a day to set the tone. I needed more time to prepare for it than I thought I would need and that's why we took that side trip into the civil rights movement. That's also why the last unit we went through before it was so painful." He paused, then continued, "This isn't something you'll hear an adult admit to often, so pay attention." Looking at each in turn, he said, "I'm afraid." At the instant murmuring reaction, he held up a hand, "Most of you were babies, if you were even alive at all, during the Viet Nam era. I wasn't. I was your age, then. And my experiences during those years left a definite mark on me. I'm ashamed to admit that I've only just recently started trying to deal with it, but it's true. I don't know if I'll be able to get through this and I don't know how much I'll be able to tell you, but I'm going to try."
Seeing nothing but support in the eyes of his students, Claude swallowed hard, breathing ragged for a moment before he got it back under control, "So, we're going to start small and see how it goes. First we're going to take a mental trip back to 1967, because that was the year I went through all this." He cleared his throat, "I want you to look around the room. Of the 21 of you here, 15 of you are seniors. Of those 15, 9 of you are men. For argument's sake, let's say you're all 18." Standing up, he started walking around the half circle and randomly divided the nine senior boys into three groups, getting them to stand in the front of the classroom. Turning back to the rest of the class, he said, "All nine of these people were eligible to be drafted." Turning back to the class, he asked, "What do you think that means?"
Tony, one of the juniors, spoke up first, "It means that they could be called up to fight, even if they didn't want to join the army."
Claude nodded, "What else?"
Maryanne, one of the senior girls, spoke up next, "It means they should go to college." When the class snickered, she assumed an affronted look, "It's true! There were ways to get around the draft. If you were in college, you didn't have to go. That's how my uncle got out of it."
Claude smiled, tricked into enjoying the moment thanks to the attitude of his class. He smiled at Maryanne, "You have made an excellent point, Maryanne. While there were other ways to legally avoid the draft -- being the sole provider for a family, for example -- educational deferments were the most popular." Turning to one of the groups of three, he waved them back to their seats, "Congratulations. The three of you were accepted to college and were smart enough to actually go. You aren't going to be drafted this year, but we reserve the right to call you after you graduate. Go sit down." Even in this mock setting, Claude noted how fast the three moved. As they sat down, Julie grabbed Mark Edelstein's hand. Not bothering to act embarrassed, he slouched in his seat and squeezed back.
Claude walked up behind them and put a hand on each student's shoulder, "Not that I want to single the two of you out, but I wanted to point out something that you just so ably demonstrated." Holding up their joined hands, he said, "This, right here, is the most important thing you need to understand about the late 60s." Waving a hand to include the other two who had all but run back to their seats, as well, Claude said, "The fear of the draft was an overwhelming and terrifying reality of life. From 1967 on, about 300,000 men were drafted each year until the draft ended in the 70s. Every man between the age of 18 and 26 that couldn't claim a legitimate deferment lived in constant fear of finding that draft notice in their mailbox. And they weren't the only ones affected. All of their loved ones were, too."
Dropping Mark and Julie's hands, Claude walked back to the front of the classroom, thoughts turning inward, "You felt like you were living on borrowed time. You woke up every morning, wondering if this would be the day your parents would hand you that letter and tell you that since you couldn't find anything better to do with your life, you could at least spend that life serving your country. You went to bed every night, afraid to close your eyes for fear that once you did, you'd never see your friends again. You listened to the news every day, terrified to hear a friend's number come up... or to find out that he'd been killed overseas."
By this point, Claude had almost forgotten that there was even anyone else in the room. Voice roughened by emotion, he pressed on, "You've all heard about, and sometimes even envied, the counter-culture of the 60s -- the 'summer of love', the extensive drug use, the hippie 'rebellion'. But it wasn't some fantasy day camp. You did every stupid, self-destructive thing you could think of in the hopes that you'd damage yourself enough that the draft board wouldn't want you. You threw yourself into life as far as you could go, desperately hoping that if you were somehow still able-bodied at the end of it, you'd at least have lived enough of it to make up for what you would lose when your number eventually came up... because you knew it would." Hanging his head, Claude shuddered, "It always did."
The entire classroom was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Of course, it was Kelly Donovan who pushed the issue out into the open, "You talk like you know someone that happened to. Who did you know who got drafted, Mr. Bukowski?"
Shivering again, Claude whispered brokenly, "Me." Ignoring the collective gasp, Claude muttered, "Please excuse me for a minute," and fled to the back of the classroom. To their credit, not a single student moved.
When Claude reached the back of the room, he took in the sight that met his dull eyes with no small amount of shock. He had a bigger audience than just Walter, now. Loretta was there, tears shining bright in her eyes... and so was Cloud. He hadn't even heard them come in... The boy stood up and put a hand on his arm, "Little birdie told me what you were gonna do today and I figured you might want a friendly face around. Since Mrs. Marshall agreed with me, she wrote me a pass to get out of Calculus this period to be here, then tagged along."
Heart swelling with gratitude, Claude gripped the boy's hand in return, "Thanks."
Loretta Marshall took his other hand, her own trembling where it gripped his, "You don't have to do this, Claude. It's really OK. You can stop now. OK? I'll do the rest."
Claude took a deep breath and was on the verge of saying "Yes," when he happened to catch a glimpse of the class out of the corner of his eye. Seeing every single student still sitting in their seats, eyes glued to where he was standing, he made a very hard decision, very fast. Shaking his head, he said, "No." Turning to look at Cloud, he smiled a self-deprecating smile, "Berger and Crissy were right. I need to get this out before it poisons me for good and if I stop now, I don't know if I'll have the guts to start again." Turning back to the principal, he shook his head, "Besides, what sort of message does that send if I back out, now?" Not giving her a chance to answer, Claude made his way back to the front of the room.
Pulling his head forcibly back into the game, he turned back to the six boys still standing in the front of the room. Turning to one group of three, he separated them, pulling one away from the other two, "You got lucky, Will. You got your draft notice in the mail, but your number was way down on the lottery list. You didn't get called. Go sit down." Before doing so, the boy paused. Made daring by the unusual situation, he put a hand on Claude's shoulder and gave him an awkward pat. Claude found a smile for him as he sent him back to his seat.
Turning to the other two in Will's group, he cleared his throat, "Now, you two, you read about the war. You watched it on TV. Both of your fathers fought in World War II. One of you had a brother that won a medal of honor in Korea. You're also smart. You know that if you wait for the draft to get you, you'll get stuck in the army... maybe in the infantry. That's at least a 1 in 3 chance of a death sentence. And since you figure you'll be going no matter what you do, you'd rather go willingly and serve longer to decrease the chances of you dying. So you enlist in the Air Force or the Navy."
A voice rang out from the back of the classroom, "'One over all', kids! No one wants to be stuck on a boat for 6 months!"
Startled into a laugh, Claude turned to face Walter with an eyebrow raised, "It should be noted that Mr. Erickson served in the Air Force in Korea." Crossing his arms over his chest, he said dryly, "Maybe it should also be noted that you're all better behaved than he is and I'm extremely grateful for it." Waving the two selected boys to their seats, he commented, "I suppose that's what comes of having your head in the clouds." Wincing, he added, "No offense, Mr. Ryan."
Waving a hand back, Cloud tossed him a brilliant grin, "None taken, Mr. Bukowski. None taken."
Walter made a mild noise of protest as he grumped out, "Speak for yourself."
Claude was grateful for the moment of cheer before continuing. He turned back to the last group of boys, noting with mild sadness that they'd bunched together -- for protection or comfort, he couldn't have said -- but they clearly knew what was coming. Shaking his head, he walked over to them, "I'm sure you've figured it out by now. You three... you got drafted and your numbers got called." Putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder, Claude said, "You, my friend, decided that illegally or not, you were going to have no part of this draft business. You packed up your girlfriend and your record collection and moved to Canada. Ten years later, President Carter granted you, and every other draft dodger, a complete pardon, but by now you've gotten attached to your new country. You live there to this day, with your lovely wife and three daughters." Daniel looked like he wanted to hug him, but settled for gripping his shoulder tightly before fleeing to his seat.
Claude watched him for a minute as he was welcomed back to the group with a hearty round of backslaps and handshakes. Now it was time to bring it home... Turning back to the remaining two, he sighed, "Peter, Robert... I'm sorry to say that you two have my kind of luck, and unfortunately, also my overwhelming sense of responsibility. Maybe you were scared of prison. Maybe you couldn't imagine leaving this country with all its many freedoms." Voice again roughening, he added, "Maybe you just couldn't bear to disappoint your fathers in one more thing. Whatever it was, when you were drafted, you went meekly along. Your friends begged you not to. They cried over you. They held a huge be-in where they all burned their draft cards and urged you to do the same." Biting off a bitter chuckle, he said, "Maybe one of them even gave you an LSD laced joint in the hopes that you'd have such a bad trip that you'd consent to run away with him to Canada. Maybe you even proposed to one of them, desperate to have just a small piece of something normal to hang on to when you got shipped out. Maybe, instead of saying 'Yes,' she led a huge protest outside the induction center at 39 Whitehall Street to try to get the draft board to let you go."
Looking up and meeting each boy's eyes in turn, he said, "Whatever the case, you went." Turning to Robert, he said, "You went to Viet Nam, but you got lucky. You were smart and they recognized that. You wanted to be a doctor, so they got you medical training. You stayed back with the support troops and never saw much combat. You came home two years later with a cadre of horror stories, but you got help and you recovered. The Army paid for you to go to college and then you went on to medical school. You now have a thriving practice and you and your wife are expecting your first child in the spring." Swallowing hard, Robert did hug Claude before returning to his seat.
For a moment, Claude couldn't look at Peter. He walked over to his desk and perched on the corner. Looking back at the rest of the class, he asked, "How many of you remember Peter? He was drafted five years ago and you haven't heard from him in a while." Nodding to the first three he'd sent back to their seats he said, "Dennis, Mark and Nate have graduated college and started building lives for themselves. It's 1972 and not only is the war winding down, but they've announced an end to the draft. From now on, we'll have an all-volunteer army. You're all safe."
"Will, also having been scared straight, moved to Los Angeles and started writing anti-war songs. He became very popular and most of you are going to see his next performance." Ignoring the high fives being traded in that corner, Claude turned to his two "Air Force boys". He smiled at the two of them, "Derek, you served out your time and made it home safely. You haven't settled down with the right girl yet, but you're having a blast with all the wrong ones and you're planning to write your memoirs." Some more high fiving, "Scott, you decided that you actually enjoyed military life and wanted to stay in. You're starting to work your way up in the ranks and your commanding officers are impressed enough that they've recommended you for officers' training."
A quiet voice piped up from behind him, "Mr. Bukowski... what happened to me? I thought Viet Nam tours were only a year or two for draftees..." There was a pause, then that voice filled with fear, "Oh my G-d. Am I dead?"
Scott, Derek and Robert lunged to their feet at that, all crying out, "No!"
Claude turned sad eyes on Peter as he walked back over to face him, "Nobody knows. About 19 months into your tour of duty, your squad was ambushed. 5 men were killed, 2 badly wounded. You, your squad leader and one other were captured by the Viet Cong and told you were Prisoners of War and that your government couldn't protect you... and worse, that they wouldn't protect you." Eyes finally filling with tears, Claude all but choked on the last few words, "You don't want to know what they did to you after that. You're still listed as MIA."
Again, the class was so silent you could hear a pin drop and again, it was Kelly who broke that brittle silence, "You... Mr. Bukowski... You...?" In spite of her bravado, she couldn’t seem to get the question out.
Wrenching his emotions under control, Claude waved Peter back to his seat. As he turned back to the rest of the classroom, he was heartened to notice that Scott, Derek and Robert had clustered around Peter as though to shield him from anything else Claude might decide to say. Several of the girls joined them in their group vigil. Good. At least he'd gotten through. At least... at least that made it worth it. He focused his eyes on Kelly and said quietly, "19 months, 1 week and 4 days into my tour of duty. They got me out 1 year, 2 weeks and 6 days later. I counted." The entire class leaned in to hear his quietly spoken words, "I had such severe post traumatic stress that I developed complete amnesia. Other than a few memories of my childhood, my entire life was gone... just gone. I didn't start to get it back until 1982."
A gentle hand on his shoulder brought Claude out of his memories and helped him refocus on the present. Cloud was standing next to him, tears freely falling from his eyes. Once he had Claude's attention, he wrapped him in a tight hug, "After I read... G-d, I thought I understood. I didn't. I really didn't. I'm so sorry, Uncle Claude."
Gingerly returning his spiritual son's embrace, Claude again fought to get his emotions back under control. Turning a watery smile on Walter, he asked, "Isn't it almost time for the bell to ring?" Cloud let him go with a stifled snort.
Loretta cleared her throat, "Mr. Bukowski... the bell rang almost an hour ago."
Claude's jaw dropped and his face heated, "I'm sorry..."
Scott abruptly stood up, almost knocking his chair over backwards, "Don't you dare apologize, Mr. Bukowski. Don't you G-d damned dare." Claude stared wide-eyed at the boy, startled by his vehemence.
Derek was the next one on his feet, "I agree. You have nothing to apologize for. It took a lot of guts to get up in front of us and do what you just did. I don't think I'd have that kind of courage, especially if it was so fresh in my mind."
The next one up was Mark, "What you taught us today... Mr. Bukowski, you can't learn that kind of lesson from a history textbook. If you'd kept us another two hours, it still would have been worth every second." With a small smile he added, "You were right, by the way. We didn't need to take notes. There's no way in hell I'm forgetting this class anytime soon."
Taking in the collection of nodding heads in front of him, Claude sank slowly into his seat. As each student collected their books and started filing out of the classroom, they paused by their teacher to either shake his hand or pat him on the back. One or two of the girls even hugged him. Claude took it all in with a numb sense of relief. He'd done it... he'd really done it. Feeling a small surge of hysteria, he clamped down hard on the laughter trying to fizz its way up from his stomach. Loretta approached him with a wry smile, "I hate to do this to you now, Claude... but I think you just officially got stuck with this elective until you retire."
Claude just gaped at her as she left the classroom, completely unable to form any kind of response. Fortunately for him, a noise at the window distracted him... and almost caused him to fall off his chair in shock. Finally finding his voice as he watched the dark-haired man climb in the window of his classroom, he almost squeaked, "Berger???"
Berger swung his legs down to the floor and sauntered over to wrap an arm around Claude's shoulders, "You didn't really think I was gonna miss this, did you?" Claude shook his head dumbly. Berger nodded in satisfaction, "Good. I'd hate to think that after all this time, you didn't know me better than that." Giving Claude a gentle squeeze, he continued, "I was all set to come flying in the window once or twice, but then you reeled it back in, so I stayed outside. But I figured you'd be about due for a severe case of the shakes once you were done and I didn't want you to have to get home on your own."
Walter's voice interrupted any response that Claude could have made, "OK, if I had to take a guess? This is either the friend who planned the shindig when you were supposed to burn your draft card... or he's the one who gave you the acid-laced joint and tried to convince you to run away to Canada with him."
Berger mock-frowned at Claude, "Claudio, I never said I laced that joint with LSD..."
Claude snorted as he turned to look Berger in the eyes, "Jesus H. Christ, Berger, you didn't have to. The crazy shit I saw that night? There's no way in hell there was just pot in there!" Shoving the other man lightly in the shoulder, he added, "And knowing you like I do, I should have known better. I never should've taken that joint from you after what you said."
In response, Berger leaned his head on Claude's shoulder and gave him his very best innocent look, even batting his eyelashes for effect. Claude just gaped at him, then abruptly closed his mouth and gave Berger a stern look when his eyes strayed down from Claude's eyes to his now closed lips.
Laughing quietly at Berger's "who, me?" eyes, Walter leaned over to Cloud, "Do they do this often?"
Cloud just sighed and nodded, "That would be a 'Yes,' Mr. Erickson. A definite 'Yes'." Rolling his eyes, Cloud commented, "Good grief, guys, get a room already."
At Cloud's oft-repeated anthem, Claude suddenly froze. For a moment, just for a moment, he'd forgotten where he was... and who he was with. Berger also froze, horrified realization growing in his eyes. Cloud bit off a curse. Walter, for his part, simple smiled like a recalcitrant puzzle piece had just fallen into place. Nodding sagely, he commented philosophically, "You know... I always wondered why you talked about your best friend like he was your spouse... Now, I know."
Eyes widening in panic, Claude backed up as far as Berger's arm would allow him. Walter smiled and walked over to pat him on the shoulder, "Relax, kid. I was around during the Summer of Love, too. You're not going to get any judgment or damnation from me and I don't tell tales. Your private life should stay exactly that -- private. You've earned it."
At Claude's increasingly glassy stare, Berger gently took his arm, "I appreciate it, and so does he... or he will when he's aware again. I'm gonna take him home so we can deal with the aftershocks this is gonna cause." Tossing Cloud a look over his shoulder he added, "Cloud, tell your mom that we'll try to make it to dinner, but I don't know if we will, OK?"
Cloud nodded, "Sure thing, Uncle Berger. We'll miss you if you don't show, but we'll definitely understand." At that affirmation, Berger got Claude's coat on him, then scooped up his briefcase and led him out of the classroom, muttering all the while about how much easier this would be if they could have just climbed back out the window.
Walter watched the two leave the classroom with a raised eyebrow. Under his breath he muttered, "And Claude always seemed so normal... How does a guy like him end up attached to someone like that?" At Cloud's abruptly leveled, narrow-eyed glare, Walter hastily explained, "Not that he doesn't seem like a nice enough guy, he's just... he's just..." He shrugged helplessly, unable to think of an accurate description that wouldn't be insulting.
Cloud's expression relaxed into a wry smile, "He's just Berger, Mr. Erickson. If it makes you feel any better, I've technically known him since I was in the womb and I don't understand him either." Smile softening, he added, "But the one thing I do know about him is that he loves Uncle Claude with every fiber of his being... and Uncle Claude feels the same way about him. They've walked through hell and back for each other... twice. But that story's almost more depressing than the one Uncle Claude told in class today and it's not my story to tell."
Dropping a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, Walter smiled, "Well, as I said earlier, they're not going to get any judgment or damnation from me."
Cloud looked up at the English teacher with a pleased smile, "You know... Uncle Claude doesn't trust many people enough to let them see something like this, even by accident. I think I'm starting to see why he let you, Mr. Erickson." Taking the teacher's hand from his shoulder, he gave it a firm shake, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta get home and talk to my mom. She was planning to share some news with them at dinner tonight and in light of today's little shindig, I think it's gonna have to wait. Poor Uncle Claude doesn't need any more surprises."
A/N:
O_O I warned you about the angst, didn't I? *eyes fic* I promise the next part makes up for it in spades. ^_^
Questions, comments, blueberries?
Coming Soon: Crissy and Berger at an art show, Berger in a suit and looking presentable and the gang getting thrown out of a restaurant... what more could you want? Just wait and see... ^_^
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