Liberet Infinito (April 2016)

[Claire Gallows]

Freeing the Infinite

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April 4th
2016

Four hours from the city made a world of difference weather-wise. While the last of winter tried to exert its claim on Rhydin City, Rose Cottage found itself basking in unseasonable warmth. Set just south of a tourist hamlet called Icarus Cove and amongst sea grass and gently sloping sand dunes, the three bedroom beach house had offered its refuge for over a week and likely would continue to do so until the occupants tired of the desolation and craved a return to the city. The crowds of summer hadn't yet filled Icarus Cove so they certainly hadn't spilled out onto the beaches to the north and south of town which left the lonely stretch of beach upon which Rose Cottage sat particularly empty save for the quartet who had called the three bedroom bungalow home as of late. In the valley betwixt dunes and in eyeshot of both the house and the sea, an oversized umbrella offered an almost unnecessary shade that half covered a patchwork blanket that had been haphazardly pinned down at the corners with miscellaneous things like the leg of an Adirondack lounge chair, an open cooler sporting juice boxes and beer bottles alike, a backpack that often doubled as a diaper bag, and a long forgotten pair of flip flops that belonged to the wetsuit clad surfer that was rising from the surf with a blue and green board held over her head.

The water was still just a little too cold to be enjoyable, still held well within the clutches of the northerly currents that swept frigid water from far colder places than Icarus Cove. But the foamed neoprene suit, despite being looser on her body than she remembered, did a fair job of insulating her frame against the chill so surfing was still more than doable even with the bruises of the previous night's Diamond Quest. The intentional wipeout had signaled the end of the latest run and so she hauled herself and her board back up the beach to meet with the other three that had been her almost sole human interaction since Easter. Ever the wild child, the platinum mopped streak that was Alexander was well on his way to meet his mother, running through sand with a speed that shouldn't have been viable for at least a few more months. Why couldn't they stay little forever, was a thought that passed through Claire's mind often, doubly so with the Dynamic Duo did their best to split her attention in totally opposite directions. Thankfully for her, Cooper had been on hand through a fair bit of that, a second pair of hands to catch whatever she couldn't, though today, Averia played the part of princess and sat well within the shade of the umbrella and beneath a floppy bucket hat that had a habit of sliding over her silver eyes if she tipped forward too far. She had amassed a pile of sand on the blanket, transported by an orange plastic shovel that paired with a matching bucket, though the bucket had long since been overturned and left to the dunes while the twins found more enthralling things to play with.

Like the shell that Alex held in his outstretched hand as he ran. It was dirty and broken but that didn't keep Claire was planting her board in the sand and stooping down in preparation for a collision with the wild child, something of a genuine smile pulling at her mouth despite the perpetually dour mood that often held her in its grasp. The toddler's feet got going quicker than he realized though and about six feet from his mother, he wiped out, faceplanting in the sand so hard that his feet kicked up in a most comical fashion. She bit back a smile and tipped an amused look up to her so deemed "Manny" (because Nanny isn't a very manly term) before closing the distance to scoop the little blonde boy up in her wet arms. His chubby fist still held tightly to the seashell and though he had been on the verge of crying thanks to his sudden close up with the ground, he soon donned a proud smile consisting of only six teeth, three on the top, three on the bottom, and not at all aligned. The little sand demon was content to baby-babble her ear off as she carried him back to the spread of things further up the beach, all the while getting more and more of the fine white-gold sand to stick to her instead of him.

There were simple things that made her happy and this happened to be one of them. She reached the blanket, Cooper, and Averia, and set the latter's fraternal counterpart down on the edge of the quilt before sprawling on her side across the opposite side, one long arm reaching blindly for the cooler to play drink roulette with whatever might be inside. The night before had been quiet, both before and after the tournament, and the morning had been no different, sullen silence reigning and countered only by the oblivious children, but after a few hours in the sun and among the waves, she figured she could be decent company and actually talk.

"You any good at sand castles?"

Profound.

Cooper had never been much of a beach bum, even having grown up on America's east coast, but a few years of being stationed on the Mediterranean coast had given him an appreciation for the salty ocean air and the ever changing lap of the waves against the sand. This too was apart of Gaia's body, another of her wonders, and so far away from the city and the bad memories, it was a surprising comfort that he hadn't realized he was in a sort need of until three days into the stay. It wasn't a cure-all. It wouldn't change his situation, it wouldn't stay the slow swing of Mangi's pendulum as it lowered closer to an end. But there was tonic to be found in the place, as much of the change of the setting as the company, the soothing balm of the memories made, little as they were. The changes in his behavior were subtle, lingering beneath the surface more than where they could be plainly seen. It took some looking to find them, if any were of a mind too. Isolated as they were, who would?

His pink-haired friend was another matter. Claire had visibly relaxed a little more, though not by much, but it was a testament to the change in scenery that her drinking had ebbed somewhat. She softened around the edges when she thought he wasn't look, at least at first, and then a little more as the days dragged on and the weathered warmed. The sun helped some. The pull of the ocean and it's bounty helped more. Hers was a hard wound to heal, if it ever would.

The thought saddened the big gurahl and in more ways than one.

It was easy to hide the sadness there, shaded beneath the protective shadows cast by the big umbrella. Busy in the surf, Claire was too far away to notice and the twins were too young and inexperienced to understand. His heart broke for her loss, for what she and the children both had loss, a love ripped from her life that she may never get to feel again and ripped from Alex and Avy's that they would never get to know, save through the assurances from others. It was far easier to be selfless when it involved people you knew and cared deeply for. It helped mitigate the other sadness, though it never faded completely. Especially right now, though he tried to never let the bitterness show. A pretty woman trudging from the water, hips swaying and everything, an outrageous little boy and a demure little girl, looking to him for support. For comfort. For him to be in their lives. It was something straight out of a dream he had long ago laid in a shallow grave. Yet there it was, spread out before him beneath a hazy yellow sun.

Except, it wasn't his. None of this was. Like Belle, they were someone else's dream come true.

Claire was so distracted these days, the cowboy could only hope she didn't see the profound sadness in the smile that greeted her, fleeting and quickly hidden beneath the familiar warmth of the crooked one he often offered her. He smothered it a moment later with the mouth of a sweating beer bottle, buying himself time for further collection before answering the question.

"M' pretty good at workin' the earth. Thinkin' I could build somethin' that'd do. It'll keep the squirts distracted if'n you're of a mine t' go back out there." A sleeveless muscle shirt left only his inked arms bare, white and contrasted by the dark green board shorts they'd picked up along the way that showed off a set of muscular calves.

Far from the city and far, far from the manor, she could almost pretend that life was livable, like she didn't second guess herself at every turn for deciding the balance was more important than restoring what was. What could have been. The beach was a taste of home, Bodhum rather than Lucis or Rhydin or the new world. The sea was a lullaby for her soul. There was a steadiness found in the shore and the endless give and take of the tide, the pull of the moons maintaining an infallible pattern in which she couldn't help but find comfort. She could be equal parts salt, air, and water, balanced in such a way that made up for the private tears she gifted the warm side of her pillow in the early hours of the morning when she thought nobody would hear. They were the hours between dazes, fleeting bits of clarity that came when the alcohol's influence began to ebb and her so called blood became heavy with grief. But the longer she spent in her safe haven, the longer she could go without needing to drown out the reminders of him wherever she went. Today, she didn't even mind that her hand closed around the squishiness of a juice packet rather than the cold, hard glass of some no name beer.

"Nah," she answered as she pulled the plastic wrapped straw from its glued hold against the pouch, tapping it against her thigh until the sharp side poked through the opposite end. Her teeth pulled it out the rest of the way and once it was free, she twisted it around to stab it through the thin membrane separating her from the liquid within. "My core's gonna be killing me after that last run, I figure I can come hang with you guys here."

As if on reflex, she reached behind her back and caught Alex by the back of his swimshorts, the blue material patterned with red crabs stretching as he tried to crawl away. Pulling him back, she tugged him over her and sat him back down on the blanket before going fishing through the backpack sitting caddy corner from the cooler for a packet of the infamous fishy crackers. They were enough to sate the savage beast for now but she knew it would only be a matter of time before the golden eyed boy would decide he needed another new distraction. Once he was settled, Claire sucked at the Capri Sun's straw, slurping the sugar laden pseudo-juice until the pouch began to cave in on itself.

"This sand's sometimes a little too fine for it, but Avy digs 'em, so I figure why not. It's somethin' that..." She began before trailing off as she caught herself. Noct had always been the sandcastle architect. She left it there, not wanting to finish the sentence. Biting at the juice pouch's straw, she finished it off and set the empty aside with a quiet sigh. "It's something."

"Hear that, turdlings? Queen'a the Nerds is gonna grace us with her comp'ny." The gentle tease was meant to serve as a distraction when she lost her words in the moment, the subtle change in her expression cluing him in where words hadn't. Cooper reached up, a long arm stealing the distance between then to he could scrub his fingers along the back of her head gently. A small comfort was offering in the touch, which lasted only a moment or two before he was retreating from her personal bubble. "So, we'll let her decide what the castle's gonna look like and y'all two can supervise while Unca Cooper here makes with the sandy magic."

Killing what was left in his bottle, Cooper pushed it back deep within the ice of the cooler so no little groping hands could get to it, before wiggling his big, thick fingers dramatically for the trio.

"Former Queen of the Nerds, thank you very much," she said with a good natured scoff that made up for the melancholy of the moment before. Her wet hair was already a mess so it wasn't as though the ruffle from the mountain of a man's thick hand did any damage, but still she smoothed her fingers over the seawater soaked tangles tinted coral in their saturation and pushed herself up to sit. Averia's grabby hands for her brother's crackers had Claire wary of a full scale meltdown but without argument, the wild child handed over a fistful without argument, answering an unasked question with an indecipherable babble of his own. Claire swore they had their own language or something with the way they understood each other even at such a young age. She tried not to be envious, because really, how ridiculous was that?

"It needs towers. High, high towers to put little princes and princesses in so they can't date until they're thirty." There was a there and gone grin for the man before she leaned to push Avy's hat back up onto her head. "And for good measure, we can put anyone else there that we deem fit. Isn't that right, peanut gallery?"

Averia had no answer to that, her cheeks chipmunking with assuredly soggy crackers. Alex on the other hand laughed and clapped his hands together, orange dust and crumbs all that was left of his bounty. He was up on his feet soon after to toddle after Cooper's shadow, sure that he was going to help. "And then maybe after the sandy magic, the sandman can put you two little heathens to sleep. You've gotta be tired."

A wide yawn caused Cooper's jaw to pop audibly and a great, long ursine sound rumbled from deep within his chest, caught in his throat before finally escaping. Pushing up to his knees, his waddle-walk was comical enough, taking him away from the plush comfort of the blanket and its shadowy refuge out onto the warmer sand. It was out there that he collapsed back into a sitting position, beckoning for Alex and then tugging his little partner in crime into the cradle created by his lap. Ducking his hatless head, the cowboy shared an unintelligible rumble of words with the little boy and grinned crookedly for the string of giggling fits that followed before the big man was sinking two sets of fingers into the sand.

"They're 'bout due," he agreed with Claire and then hummed low in his throat, a fresh rumble of baritone sound. Before him the sand shook gently, then more persistently, as millions of grains were wetted from a sudden bubble of salty water beneath and then rising still to take form. First one tower and then a second, twin cylinders rising to almost three feet in height, slightly tapered, with rudimentary crenelations taking shape as sand fell away to accommodate the cowboy's will. "What next?"

"Gettin' old and creaky there, big guy," she teased after the cowboy as he ventured out from the shade and into the sun's warmth. It wasn't unpleasantly hot, not in the least, and the sand was only warmed to the sort of temperature that made one want to curl up and take a nap more than anything. From the blanket and beside Averia, she watched the opposite pair with a tip of her head. He had always been a natural with the twins, able to relate and calm them even when she couldn't. For all of the times that she had questioned her own parenting abilities, if there was someone that was suited for the task, it was the man building a sand castle with the giggling boy. Averia watched with rapt attention, her ever studious gaze taking in every twist and turn of the growing towers.

"Hmm. Needs walls." Claire nodded, as if she were some master critic for the grand piece that they were building. Avy took the opportunity to throw her shovel at them, a deceptively strong pitch that covered half the distance between herself and the boys. Her pink haired mother leaned forward onto her knees, grabbing for the shovel and flinging it the rest of the way. "And a moat. Avy says so."

"M' mo' dead than alive," Cooper replied and snorted. "Must be some small bit'a rigor mortis settin' in." Embracing his inner child, he stuck his tongue out at her.

Returning his attention to his little companion and their important project, the cowboy dug his finger deeper into the sand and exerted his will over the tiny grains. The pink-haired lady's suggestions were taken to heart and over the course of the next few minutes, her input and Averia's was brought to life. The rising walls of the castle matched the tops of the towers, a single arched gateway providing a suitable entrance. In a wide circle around the entire structure, the sand sank in a deep line and quickly filled with water, creating the moat the pretty little girl had asked for.

"S' that it?"

"A little stiff huh?" She asked with a bob of her brows in the most teasing of fashions. Answering the stuck out tongue with the reward of a laugh, a sound not oft heard as of late, she sprawled out on her stomach to watch the construction. Averia settled beside her at first before deciding she wanted to scoot closer and watch up closer. Though expressively she was much more muted than her exuberant brother, there was a pleased wonder that glimmered in her argent eyes just the same.

That is until Alexander decided that he'd much rather be Godzilla to the delicate sandcastle, rising up with the full intent to squish the walls and towers with his chubby toddler feet. Equal parts stunned and amused, Claire didn't even bother trying to go after him. She didn't even get a few moments to consider either because as soon as he did it, Averia let loose an angry cry as if to tattle on him, one index finger pointing at the boy while she looked at Claire like do something. To her credit, Claire hid a soft laugh against her arm before reaching out for the little girl, pulling her back into the soothing comfort of her grasp. "And then the wonder twins went to bed before their wicked mother decided to put them in a tower for real."

Cooper's own chuckle was low and deep, a genuine rumble of previously suppressed mirth that ended with a slow shake of his head. He didn't try to stop Alex as his little bare feet kicked one tower over and then trapped the gates beneath to pound it all to mush. He sucked back his lip and bit of another sound when a misstep into the moat saw the Little Godzilla topple over onto his side, but was quick to lean forward and scoop the little hellion up before the wounded pride dissolved into frustrated tears. An ursine chuff cut off the little toddler angst and then a zooming sound coincided with an exaggerated swing around to immediately but the boy at ease.

"Let's get 'em down and then I'll make us somethin' t' eat. Can come back fo' this stuff in a little bit."

The tuckered twins were soon napping in their respective pack-and-plays, both erected within the smallest of the cottage's guest rooms. The daybeds that would have otherwise been occupied by larger guests, were laden with open suitcases filled with tiny little articles of clothing, kept in the luggage out of Claire's reluctance to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to stay at the beach house even if she told herself it would only be a short visit. With the guest room door left cracked, she tip toed down the hallway and through the open air kitchen. She paused at the fridge to grab a pair of new beers and took them with her out into the living room, which had been left wide open to the deck beyond. Her sprawl upon the couch found her tucking a plush throw pillow beneath her head while she wiggled the cap off of one of the bottles.

"They're out hard and ***, I'm tired already. Think they'll wanna go back out after they get up from their nap?" He had promised food though she had little desire to partake, so she instead settled for conversation, idle banter that filled the void in ways that eating wouldn't.

After helping to deposit them in their colorful little baby prisons, Cooper left mother and twins to a private moment while he stop a few moments in the plush easy chair adjacent to the couch. His mind wandered for the moments in between, a small and crooked smile settling light as a feather on his mouth, widening slowly when Claire finally joined him and offered up the other bottle in her possession. The cap was flipped off with an impressive shove of his thumb, arching upwards and then falling into the palm of his other hand. Grunting his appreciate it, he tapped his bottle against hers.

"If'n they do, I'll keep 'em under wraps while you do whatever you're feelin' up fo'. Maybe I'll make an outdoor sand prison or somethin'. As hard as they went t'day, m' pretty sure that you're gonna get plenty'a peace here fo' a while, though."

"You know, I dragged your ass out here as much for your benefit as mine. You don't have to play twenty-four seven kiddie keeper, you know that right?" She squished her head against the pillow, decided she needed another, and used her feet to kick one up into her grasp. Catching it, she tucked it under her head too and bounced a bit to make sure it was just right. The angle had her watching him sideways, but she could still drink and maintain a conversation just the same.

"Y' ain't heard a complaint yet, have you?" His nose scrunched up and he made a face at her, his tongue soon poking out again in juvenile defiance in a contrast of pink against his much darker beard. It was soon lost with the press of the bottle of his lips, a slow tip rewarding him with that first welcome mouthful of fresh beer. "M' enjoyin' what's here. The beach. Nature. Hangin' with you and the two hellions. I'm diggin' this, darlin'. Don't doubt that."

"I haven't, but you also aren't the sort." She pointed out, countering his childish face-making with a level stare that very clearly said she was the adult there. What a joke, that. Evidently they both had a sense of humor. Setting her cap aside, she too drank and drank hard, sucking down a third of the bottle in a trio of gulps. "Know you're sort of more the woodsy type, or I guess that's what I've picked up off of you. But this place is good for when the rest of the world needs to go away for awhile. Problems will still be there when you get back, but for a little while, y'don't have to give a damn."

"Forests. Mountains." The cowboy nodded. "Rivers. Lakes. Open grassland. S' muh thing, sure. But nature's nature, love it as it is, and I did spend a few years livin' on the Mediterranean Sea when I was in the service. Italy and Spain had some real nice nude beaches." The grinned widened and he winked a too-dark eye at her.

The cap discarded, he stretched out his arm and gently combed the tips of his fingers across the crown of her damp head. Cooper had proven to be very tactile with those be considered himself close to and sometimes had a way of know just when the right time to touch was. The gentle rake was meant to be affectionate and soothing both, as much as it was just an idle desire of his own. "M' here fo' the company and the scenery both, darlin'. Almost like gettin' spoiled."

"Not too sure where any of those places are but you'd probably like the adult beaches that we had near Bodhum. The, um, first Bodhum that is. There was a stretch of almost sort of jungle underbrush that hid them away and most people got there by boat instead, but yeah, boobs galore. You'd be in heaven." She snickered, reaching up to tap the side of her beer bottle against his. Cheers. A short huff of a sigh lived and died in the wake of the touch, the drag of his fingers over her hair doing more than enough to put weights upon her eyelids. She let them close rather than fight it but kept the conversation going just the same. "And not to get away from the *** that popped up just before we left?"

"S' funny, that." He loosed a wry chuckle. "Fo' all'a m' declarations'a lovin' big chest and shapely asses, almost every woman I've evern been serious with has had an athletic built. S' some sort'a irony there, m' sure."

Her question silenced him almost immediately and for a time, the only thing that passed between them was the taste of the beer they were drinking and the gentle stroke of his fingertips through her hair, over the crown of her head and down behind her ear. When he answered, it was with quieter words and a more level head than the last time they'd had the conversation. "Belle seems like a good girl. Just dunno if'n that's a vacancy I can fill. Not sure what sort'a father I can be t' her, though m' guessin' we're both gonna find out sooner or later. But even if'n that hadn't been dropped in m' lap, m' happier t' be here with y'all than back there anyway."

"Yeah? Back in the stone age I heard it was harder to rack up a rack since the pickings were so slim," she teased with a crooked smirk, tipping a look over to him in his silence. Sobering as well, she quietly listened without interruption and even lingered in her silence for a few moments after he finished. It was more than he had said about what Claire had deemed the Baby Bear Bombshell since coming to the beach house.

"I know it's not really the same..." She began, her voice quiet to match his. "But you've always been more than amazing with the tots. The kids love you, dude. And it was easy to see that with her too... I know it's not the same... for either of you, really. But still. Have to do what you can for blood, even if it's warped and twisted across the threads." Another drink taken, she was slower to swallow before adding on one last thought.

"I'm glad to have you here though."

"Well, the twins and Belle are the closest m' even gonna get t' parenthood, so I better indulge, right?" He looked away as if it would somehow hide the sad smile and tried to distract her with a light rub of the pad of his thumb over the tip of her nose. The bottle rose again and he sucked down more of the chilled brew. He stared out the door towards the sand a surf. "M' happy t' be here. Fo' you. Fo' the squirts. In general. S' some good memories bein' made here and m' thankful fo' them."

If he thought she was oblivious to his pain then that only meant that she had done a stellar job of hiding her observation, tucked within sidelong studies of the cowboy's profile when he thought no one was looking. It was a strange irony, the two of them. She had never wanted to be a parent, yet she ended up with two of her own plus a gaggle of spawn that had come from various other timelines. And he had wanted nothing more than to have a family of his own and he couldn't. Her nose scrunched beneath the weight of his finger and she lifted her chin to snap her teeth at the digit.

"For as much as I like listening to you, I really hate the *** you say sometimes. I hope you know that."

"Not everyone likes the accent," Cooper snorted. "Most folks wouldn't believe I've got three bachelor's degrees." For whatever reason, admitting that was worth a laugh.

Wiggling his thumb, he returned his fingers to work their tender mercies against her scalp. Her gentle admonishment went unacknowledged for a short time, but it brought his face back around to hers, the depthless dark of his eyes seeking out sleepy amethyst and lingering there for a time undetermined. "M' too stubborn t' quit but too pragmatic t' hope. S' the best I got and, at the very least, m' thankful fo' ever day and every good memory I get t' make. I'll push fo'ward 'til I can't anymo'."

And then...

"...giggity..."

"Not... at all what I meant, Cooper." She rolled her eyes at him. "And degrees don't make you smart. Just means you were silly enough to pay someone to give you a paper to say you learned stuff."

There was a touch of bitterness there that said she didn't fully believe everything she said. Swallowing regularly twice before she ever brought the bottle up again, she finally took a swig and let the beer chase the bad taste out of her mouth. "Call it pragmatism all you want, you're a fatalist at best. And one of these days, I'm gonna kick your ass for it. I mean it."

A sharp and well aimed smack of her hand for his arm was enough to answer the tail end perversion. Tail end. Giggity. "Dirty."

"You've been here long enough, slugger." The slap to his arm didn't so much as produce a flinch, though a single lock of damp pink hair was given a teasing tug. "The only place happy endin's around here are anything but rare are at those massage parlors down in Little Korean run by those thin boys dressed up like girls. M' bein' realistic. And dirty. Year, Dirty. S' that mean I get m' own jersey now?"

"That's... that's not true," her voice fell as she bit at the inside of her cheek. Inside every cynical realist was evidently a disappointed optimist and that glimmer peeked out just then. She swatted at his tugging fingers without much effort, concentrating more on her beer and not upending it while she tried to drink it laying down. A frown lingered on her mouth but not in her words. "Do they make them in Size Giant? If so, we'll order you one. Pretty ominous "GALLOWS" spread across black and pink. So tough."

"Dibs on sixty-nine." The sadness the took her was enough for him to smell and it prompted Cooper to lean over slowly until his mouth was near her ear. The words were soft. Gentle. "Rare. Not impossible. While you breathe, there's hope, whether y' feel hopeful or not. And every endin' is the beginnin' of somethin' else, darlin'. Remember that."

"Remember that... I'll try."

[Claire Gallows]

April 16th
2016

While the city wrapped up the Children’s Day celebrations amid sunshine and temperatures that hovered pleasantly in the sixties, a storm was descending upon Icarus Cove and the outlying vacation properties that dotted the beach at generous intervals up and down the coast. The desolate spread of beach homes stretched like sandy arms from the white clapboard and tan roof topped town that served as a hub for the comings and goings of both vacationers and the sparse number of year round residents that called Icarus Cove home. On the cusp of the high season, the number of people preparing for the incoming storm still hovered near five hundred despite the fact that in only a month’s time, that would easily swell to thirty times that. The occupants of the Caelums’ beach house were among the first and the contemporary styled cottage lit up a small beacon of life as it had for almost three weeks already.

In much the same manner that the town had, Rose Cottage was shut up against the gusts of wind that battered shutters that were due for a fresh coat of paint. The sea had darkened to compliment the sky, midnight blue cresting with frothy whitecaps in a vague impression of the rolling clouds overhead, each one heavy with the threat of rain. It was a slow moving storm but nothing too worrisome, so they had dutifully chased down the toys and gear that dotted the patch of beachfront that the cottage sat upon and retreated to the dry safety of the cottage proper. Most of it had been dumped in the mudroom, left to shed clinging sand upon the tiny room’s floor and most assuredly it all would end up in the narrow cracks between floorboards, leaving a gritty mess to clean up later. It was all forgotten for the time being, surfboards, blankets, and beach toys alike.

Outside, the air was thick and muggy even with the cold front rolling in at the head of the storm. Inside, a newly built fire in the hearth did well to warm even the furthest reaches of the house, creating a comfortable ambience for recently laid down toddlers and their adult caretakers both. A plastic cased baby monitor on the living room’s coffee table crackled with back and forth baby babble between the almost-sixteen-month-old twins in their odd little Avy-Alex language that often led to private little giggles. They were fast dwindling though, fading as sleep won out in a battle of wills. It left behind the pleasant crackle of the fire and the occasional roar of wind beating at the broad windows that offered a panoramic view of the oceanfront.

The steaming coffee cup that Claire carried from the kitchen brought with it a heavy aroma of whiskey, a fairly common occurrence even on the best of days. This was not one of the best. She had left her hair to its own devices and between its natural inclinations and the brisk blustery breeze outside, it was a wild mess of pink framing a face that still managed to retain an alabaster shading no matter the amount of time spent outside in the sun. Most of the clothes she had brought with her fit poorly after a month of subsisting on a diet of coffee, alcohol, and the times that Cooper’s heavy stare had sternly guilted her into eating just to get him to stop looking at her like that. It left her sweatpants to hang desperately low on her hips, cinched by drawstrings that puckered and scrunched the waistband’s fabric tightly around the delicately exposed framework of her hipbones. She cut a boyish figure in the black racerback tank top, “CAELUM” emblazoned down the spine in dull pink between the sharp curves of her shoulderblades. Departing the kitchen, she returned to the living room and the war between the firelight and the darkening skies outside.

Caught in the battle, Cooper’s form upon the couch was split between light and dark, one side of his profile bathed in the red-orange glow of recently stoked flames while the other lingered in the stretching shadows that tried their best to penetrate the cottage’s warmth. She studied him for a few moments in her approach, watching the small twitch of a smile that came with a belated flare of activity on the monitor sitting in front of him. There was a subtle hint of sadness in the look, something she noticed often when it came to how he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention or how he treated the kids with such reverence like they were some heartbreaking holy grail.

He was perspective.

They all had their problems. With little preamble, she set her coffee cup down beside the now silent baby monitor, and climbed onto the couch. Crooking one leg underneath her, she bumped her forehead against his arm and with some wriggling, weaseled her way beneath it until she could tuck herself against his side. She had never been much for physical affection with her friends, but she leaned against him like a surly cat debating on whether or not she wanted attention. She didn’t say a word, instead reaching for her mug once she had settled and bringing it up for a testing sip of the liquor laden concoction.

A storm is coming…

Cooper always reflected on those words whenever he sensed the coming rain. His nose was keen, incredibly so, and he had smelled the bad weather’s approach even through the salty aroma of the sea; warning his pink-haired early had made preparation easy, had set the tone and the pace for the day. But those words, they still pricked at the back of his neck, at the base of his skull like the errant dip of an electric razor during an unwanted haircut. They were the warning that never offered a hint as to when this nebulous, ominous hardship was going to descend on him, the sort of warning that eventually became an eye rolling mantra that one tended to shrug at as if it were some charlatan’s generality but still made for long, sleepless night full of fret. He tried to tell himself that it shouldn’t matter, that his fate was already written on the great Winter Wall in the deepest part of the Penumbra but in the shadows of those long, solitary nights in the Caelum guest house, it gnawed on him. It turned his stomach. He never liked admitting how vivid his imagination really was, especially when it ran away with him.

Time away from Rhy’din proper with Claire and the twins had tempered some of that dread, though in a macabre way that was uncharacteristic of the cowboy, he couldn’t resist making the silent comparison to himself and the time with them to a terminally ill child being granted some silly but heartwarming Make-A-Wish Foundation request. It was like living in the shadows of a bittersweet dream come true, only an echo of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Fatalism had never been his thing, it still wasn’t, but there was a certainty to the flow of days that told him deep down that his place in the Cycle was about to be irrevocably changed. His current circumstances made certain outcomes only logical. None of them were very appealing. Despite the world and its intentions, his pink-haired friend and the children were an unfathomable balm that layered themselves happily over his sad ruminations, often chasing them away like the sunshine did the rain, until they were a summer shower in the broad, warm daylight. Here, like this, that warmth won far more often than the cold did, where there was unconditional friendship, unconditional love, and he wasn’t allowed to be alone long enough for the frosty touch of melancholy to settle. There were two hellions in the making to keep an eye on.

And their mother.

It was a difficult balance to maintain, shifting back on the seesaw between respecting Claire’s boundaries, her independence, and letting his worry lead him to nag her into a healthier set of habits. Like more food and less booze. Not that he was one to lecture, but the pot could still be concerned about the state of the kettle. He settled for small victories and scored them where he could, usually when he went to the trouble of actually cooking something instead of preparing something simple, flexing the culinary skills of a bachelor who enjoyed good food so long as it wasn’t some overly processed, reheated McDonalds-esque monstrosity. He was pretty sure that she only ate, when she did, to appease him. For the time being, the gurahl was content to let her have her way, to live that way.

For the time being.

He had distracted himself with something monotonous on the television while she had bedded down Alex and Avy for the night, trading half-interested looks at the home improvement show on the screen and the worsening weather outside, for a moment fighting the urge to go pick a fight with the storm spirits coming to put a damper on a vacation that would soon be over. So engrossed in splitting his attention, he never heard Claire’s approach and grunted in sudden surprise when she squirmed her way into a lazy, almost-but-not-demanding half-embrace, seemingly settled in for the long haul. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. Instead, Cooper rumbled a soft, ursine croon that could have been taken for either acceptance or approval and nuzzled his nose chastely against the crown of errant pink atop her head. The slow flex of an arm enveloped her securely before its twin joined in, trapping her harmlessly beneath their bulk without hindering her mug’s progress.

He wanted to say things.

A lot of things.

Instead he made sounds, quiet ones, and hoped they gave her troubled heart comfort.

One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten.

Ten minutes passed before she even considered speaking, the heady warmth of the situation lulling her into some fleeting sense of calm. The fire, his warmth, the liquor. It wasn't so cold then. Not as though the cold bothered her in the ways it used to. They had become well acquainted over the previous two years. Two years, had it really been that long already? It had. It was so easy to get caught up in the day to day that before she knew it, entire years were gone. Time was such an odd thing.

Fifteen. That was when she finally found words. Two of them, to be precise. Not much but enough to play catalyst, or so she hoped.

"You're quiet."

In response, he made another sound. Another low thing, the intent indiscernible but not unpleasing to the ear. Especially that close to her ear. He squeezed her, gently at first, then with a little more conviction before finally giving her words.

"Just soakin' it all up," he told her in his soft baritone. It was the truth but not all of it. It was a less than simple omission that wasn't a lie. For a time, he let the silence grow between them, hanging there uncomfortably but not ominously. When he finally found the words again, he gave her a little more of the truth. That and an opening. "You've been quiet too. Just figured when y' were ready t' talk, y' would. When y' were ready t' get some things out."

"There's nothing to get out... there's just me, holey me, and everything trickling away little by little. I'm Swiss cheese in the worst sense of the connotation." Claire mumbled into her mug, the nigh incoherent ramble coming to a swift end when she drank deeply from the porcelain cup. It was the last of it, coffee and whiskey both down the hatch with an abrupt swallow. "I'm broken, unfixable, no amount of talking will change that."

"But you," she continued, squirming beneath the drape of his thick arms until she could peer up at him with shadow lined eyes. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

It put them nearly nose-to-nose but with enough distance between them for his eyes to clearly gaze into hers without a blurring of vision, close enough for the cowboy to get lost in the pretty depths of them. He could have gotten lost in them, would have, if not for the words she left hanging between them. The question. One big hand lifted free of her slender frame to affect a tender cup of her pale jaw.

"M' broken but not unfixable. M' starin' down the barrel'a some pretty *** odds and y' may not see it, but m' fightin'. And maybe, just maybe, m' full'a holes too but... s' somethin', little things, that I get t' fill muhself up with everyday. Things that remind me I've got a heart and that it beats." With his other hand, he pressed the tip of a finger to her ribs. "Here, Slugger. S' one hole plugged. The others can be plugged too. Yo' cup will runneth over again eventually. Y' lost somethin' important. Somethin' beautiful. But there's still plenty important and beautiful left here fo' you. Gaia love ya, sweetheart, but you're still needed here."

It was a sharp plane, the meeting of her defined jawline against the calloused, if subtly tender touch of his hand. She was tired, that much was plain to see, too tired to be tense or to resist the sort of physical affection that she didn't feel was deserved. Much like the sea beneath the storm rolling in, the azure spectrum of her gaze was dark. But it was limitless in its reflection of his own, the black of the abyss meeting her in much the same way she had found in her own mind time after time. Quietly introspective as he spoke, she absorbed every word, squirming ticklishly against the prod of a thick finger but ultimately settling into amiable silence while she muddled through the words that came to mind.

"I... could say something really inappropriate right now and totally ruin this, but I'm feeling vaguely squishy and lame, so I won't." Cooper earned a reprieve from any innuendos that had been on the tip of her tongue. Instead she set the cup down next to the silent baby monitor and wriggled back into a comfortable spot against the gurahl. "Mostly I just want my cup to runneth over with more Irish coffee."

Silence came and went like the tide before she was of the mind to finish her thought.

"I'm really good at losing people. Really good at it. I shouldn't be, but I am. Maybe... maybe because I know I'm going to have a very, very long time to spend doing exactly that. Losing people, you know. The little things, they're a nice distraction. But they're grains of sand slipping through my fingers. My friends, my family, Avy, Alex, even you. I'm gonna lose it all and while I've gotten quite good at it... I don't know if I can do it. Not again. And again. And again." Somewhere amidst her rambling, she turned her gaze away from his, instead fidgeting her fingers with the loose fabric of her pants, just over her bent knee.

"Y' don't need no mo' booze, darlin'." There was very little in the way of admonishment in the statement, but however wrong she might have taken it, he tempered it with a slow shift of his hands. They both dipped and caught her around the waist, firm in the way they readjusted her body along his, settling her side against his chest without putting her chest fully against his. Cooper was tender, pressing his nose against her temple and nuzzling gently, still plenty of chaste affection to be offered up in the moments that they built upon. "The booze ain't gonna fix nothin' and everything hurtin' you is still gonna be here when it wears off. S' better ways ta numb the pain."

Repositioned as she was, the cowboy lifted a hand to press the tips of his fingers into the back of her neck, rubbing at the tense muscles he found there. "Loss is part'a life, Claire. You're gonna have t' come t' terms with that. S' never gonna be any absolutes. Long-lived, short-lived, bad luck or good, s' all relative, beautiful. Love the folks you've got in yo' life while y' got them. Let them love you while they've got you. Cherish it. All'a it. With all you've got, every day. If'n you're gonna love, do it like there's no t'morrow. You've got Alex and Avy now. You've got me and Zack and them Dirty Birds'a yo's. We're here now. We're gonna be here fo' as long as we can. No one's plannin' on leavin' you. Not willingly. So let us be here. Let us help y' heal."

Thick fingers raked gently through her hair. "Love life, Slugger. Love it and live it. Fo' Noctis. Fo' Alex and Avy. Fo' you."

The dark clouds outside had drifted far enough inland to finally dump their bounty upon the earth, fat raindrops carried on rolling winds to splatter against the cottage’s picture windows. The erratic pitter-patter upon glass and rooftop both were enough to distract Claire, if only temporarily, from the ache that had focused itself within the depths of her chest, a tightening of lungs that kept her breathing shallow and her head light. She could be the sky, she could even be the storm if she wanted to. It was her way after all, a hurricane in the face of drizzle. But she didn’t want to be the storm, instead she wanted to be the sea at its darkest, with its pitch black depths that could swallow her whole.

There were a lot of things she wanted. A lot of things she couldn’t have. A lot of things she shouldn’t have had. Among them were the cowboy’s doting affections and his world-worn hands keeping her close and working the perpetual knots along her spine. He made her heart ache with his poignant points, his steadfast reassurance that her faith wasn’t ill placed. That she wasn’t nearly as alone as she felt. Her chin lifted and his beard tickled her cheek.

There were better ways to numb the pain.

The taut cupid’s bow of her mouth soon relaxed into a subtle purse and a soft brush to the corner of his mouth. Warm. Distracting. Grit and beer and home. All in all, likely a terrible idea.

But they were his words, there were better ways to numb the pain.

Want.

Cooper wanted. He wanted a lot. He had tried to forget those wants, to tuck them away behind a wall of little victories, beneath the veil of what was expected of him and minute fulfillments of small fancies that made good memories but didn't hurt anyone. His biggest indulgence had been the twins, that small vicarious slice of fatherhood that he could play at, a taste of that feeling without ruining anything. It was bittersweet, though the flavor of the feelings was worth it, the sweet and the bitter. He accepted it. He could handle it.

The cowboy hadn't planned on falling in love with Claire.

That, he wasn't so sure he could handle.

It had been a little crush at first. A little fancy and a little fantasy. She was something beautiful and pleasing to think about, to ponder a hundred different what-if's in the laziest parts of his days and the loneliest parts of his nights. Watching led to listening. Listening led to understanding. As guarded as he was, or more (definitely more), she had slowly let him in, drawing him like a moth to the flame, to her light, and making him part of her inner circle. Cooper was gifted with the real her. A beautiful heart and soul, a flawed piece of humanity, no matter what deific powers she possessed.

He had spent over a year pining after her in ways only a good man would. He was her friend and she his, a married woman and still so full of a long, fulfilling life. Why jeopardize that? When her world had come crashing down on her, it wasn't a cause for celebration. Her hurt had become his.

And then there she was, tucked beneath the weight of his arms, turned up into him. When her lips touched across the corner of his, the breath caught in his throat and his grip on her tightened. He wanted this. Wanted her. He wanted to forget about his looming fate, her circumstances, and the rest of the world. Cooper just wanted this moment. His face turned just a little his lips touching across hers, his nose nuzzling along hers. It wasn't a kiss but it soon could be.

But was it right?

"Ain't as much pain when y' let yo'self heal. It'll never go away completely," he breathed the words against her lips, one hand lifting along the racer back of her tank tip to gently stroke along her spine. Soothing. "If'n there's nothin' else I want in the world right now, Slugger, s' fo' you t' be happy."

The words kept coming, quiet as they were in their breathy little dance across her skin from the curvature of his mouth. He was still talking and it only broke her heart more. It was so, so easy to get lost in physicality, whether it was training or fighting or something more intimate, it had always been easier for her to speak with actions rather than words. There was tons she wanted to say but none of it seemed right. The touching though, that felt right. Like it could explain how badly she was hurting and how much she needed something, anything to take her mind off of it. For all of her flirtation, her actual affection toward others happened so rarely that when it finally did, it did so with abandon.

Claire was not a touchy person if only because it meant so damn much to her. Over the previous six weeks, she had been besieged by hugs and squeezes and comforting touches, and while they were all offered with only the best intentions, they couldn't quite compare to the connection forged when she gifted her vulnerable self in return. Six long weeks since Noctis had died and even longer since she had last seen him in person. Months of sleeping alone made every graze and every touch echo like electricity in her veins, searing every nerve ending until she was alight with want.

A desire to be held, to be kissed, to be touched, to not be told that things would be okay but rather shown. So she could forget for a little while that her heart was in pieces at the bottom of her rib cage.

It would have been easy had it been anyone but Cooper. To get what she wanted. To take what she wanted. Many a man would have had no qualms about helping her ease the hurt for a little while. But had she known how he felt, she wouldn't have curled herself into his touch with such disregard for what she was doing to him. She wouldn't have leaned up with more insistence in the touch of her mouth to his, she wouldn't have traced her fingers along his jaw, she wouldn't have pressed herself against him as though doing so might put her back together again.

But she didn't know.

So she did it all even as tears stung her eyes and bled through shuttered lashes to trickle salty paths down her cheeks in much the same way the rain ran down the windows. When clouds got too heavy, so came the rain. It seemed her heart was much the same.

Maybe she was the storm after all.

He didn't have words for her reaction. What do you say to that? Instead he held onto her tighter, pulling on her slender frame until the backs of her thighs were tucked up over his and she was given a throne for her grief atop every last shred of comfort he could offer her. His body warmed, the subtle heat rolling off of him in waves and doing more to create a palpable aura of peace than the crackling hearth ever could. Warm hands smoothed in heavy strokes over tense muscle, callused skin on pale as he sought out the touch of their bare bodies and tried to chase away the tension in short bursts. Every touch said: Let me take away your pain…

And he tried. There was an unignorable valiance to his silent efforts.

When he kissed her mouth it was tender, a gentle affection that made something gentle and electric dance across their lips, salted but not diminished by her tears. It was a brief thing, something that promised hope and solace, a safe haven for her heart, before it was followed by one that touched her chin, then her jaw, another to her neck and then her shoulder, when the great gurahl buried his bearded face. He squeezed her again, drawing her tighter to him where, for the first time, she could sense the beat of his heart as something more than a coma patient's. This thumping beat was strong like a drum, vibrant like the call of the wild. It was life.

She sought sanctum and solace in the mountain of a man and true to form, he delivered. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds of peace and distraction and warmth as his mouth touched reverently to her skin. A low groan, wholly approving, issued from her lips but just as quickly as he had set off on the trail down her neck, he stopped, his face nestled against the slim plane of where her neck met her shoulder. The coarse bristles of his beard scraped against softer skin and sent a minute shiver down the length of her spine. The squeeze of her thin frame was like a defibrillator to the more rational centers of her brain though, the ones that typically had the reins over her notorious impulsiveness. This was Cooper. He was a good man, an honorable man. He had looked out for her when she wouldn't do so herself. He had offered sage advice that spoke from an ample amount of life experience. He had indulged her whims even when he should have known better.

She should have known better. Of course he would indulge her, of course he wouldn't say no. He was too nice, too sweet to turn her down.

What am I doing?

The war of hammering hearts was interrupted with a tight intake of air. It left her in an even shorter whoosh past pursed lips, a choked sob that found her dragging her hands down his chest then drawing them back up to catch his buried face. Her fingers touched tenderly to his cheekbones to coax him into sitting upright again. It gave her a fleeting moment to set her forehead to his, her eyes closing as she sucked in a deep breath, forcing her lungs to fill until they hurt. When she let it go, it came with an anguished mumble.

"I'm sorry... I'm... so... I shouldn't have... I'm... y-yeah... you're right." There was no humor in the quiet chuff of a laugh that spilled free from her mouth at much the same time she spilled free from his lap, a quick rise and a hasty crossing of the room taking her to the rain battered floor to ceiling windows that separated them from the raging storm. On the best of days, all six were left wide open, drawn aside accordion style to extend the living room into something nearly twice the size when the deck beyond was factored in. Tonight Claire picked only one, shoving it open against the harsh wind that pushed back until she could shoulder her way out onto the slick cedar planks. The cold rain sapped her of any residual warmth that had lingered under the weight of the cowboy's touch and as she made the jump from deck to sand, quickly drenched cotton stuck to her frame and brought a whole new chill to rattle her bones. It didn't take long for her to sink to her knees, the roar of the sky versus the sea doing more than enough to overpower the laughter that was quickly drowning in her sobs.

He didn't have an answer for her right away and seemed suddenly defeated when she freed herself from the shelter he thought he had offered. Instead the too-dark of his eyes melted away in her retreat, brief heated and enlivened into a the molten brown of another time, following lovelorn in her wake and threatening to endanger his resolve. Cooper watched her with pursed lips, the prelude to a frown that might never come. She needed to get it out of her system, needed to finally let out what she had been holding in. The first two minutes, he gave her.

Thirty seconds into the third minute, the cowboy pushed slowly to his feet and padded on bare feet across the floor. Capable of being surprisingly silent on occasion, he was across the threshold and into the deluge with slow, lumbering strides. In a moment of desperation, he wanted to fall on her with a fresh hug, to re-engaged her in the sharing of a warmth from him that was as much Cooper Gallows' doing as it was Claire Caelum's. He just wasn't sure it was what she needed. Instead, he took a place as a silent sentinel behind her, an unrelenting monolith against the terrible storm, refusing to move as big hands fell to slim shoulders. They rested there gently, offering another sort of reassurance.

In much the same way as she had into her pillow most nights in the past month and a half, she cried. Long and hard until the water that poured down the pale polished marble of her cheeks was as much her own as it was the sky's. She wanted to curse it all, the land, the sea, the sky, as if they were all at fault for what she had lost. The begging and pleading and questioning why, why her, why him, why them came with a curling of her hands into the fine sands, like if she closed her fingers tightly enough that she might fall right through it instead of letting it fall through her grasp.

It didn't seem like she registered the broad hands to her narrow shoulders but in typical Cooper fashion, he anchored her without her realizing it. He gave her the leeway she needed to be weak and she knew it would never be held against her. It was such a rarity that when she was afforded the opportunity to fall apart, she crumbled completely. He would be there to help her pick up the pieces.

Claire knew Cooper wouldn't always be there. No matter how she might argue with him about his remaining time, she wasn't naive enough to think that all fates could be defied. But he was there then when it mattered. So she cried. She sobbed and screamed and beat her fists against the wet sand until her teeth chattered with the cold that had worked its way into her bones. Rocking forward, she breathlessly hunched over until her forehead almost touched the ground. It was a pose held for no longer than two seconds before she pushed herself up and wrapped her arms around her ribcage, her fingers digging between the bones like she could physically put herself back together. The pain was a reminder that no matter her thoughts to the contrary, she was still very much alive.

He was right.

She was still needed here and she was of no use to them if she let herself fall to pieces. Though the storm above showed no sign of relenting, Claire's sobs died down and left her shaking silently on her knees.

She was on her knees, but not for much longer after that.

Gentle fingers touched featherlight along her slim neck, dipping beneath her chin and drawing her head back slowly until their gazes met upside down. There was a renewed reassurance in the smile he gaze her, a light in the crooked skew of his mouth despite the darkness of the sky overhead. "You're one helluva strong woman," he told her finally. "Strongest woman I know. Remember that."

He nuzzled his nose gently against hers then, bumped his forehead lightly to her own, and then kissed her forehead before finally drawing back. Big arms found her slender form again, lifting her effortlessly from the sand and cradling her in his arms. There didn't seem like much else to say in that moment and Cooper carried her back into the beach house and nudged the door shut with a foot. He deposited her on the counter a dozen steps later, abandoning her for a few moments and then returning with one of the fluffy multi-colored beach towels that had been recently washed. With an infinite amount of care, he began to dry her off.

Claire couldn't quite muster a smile to match his but the gratitude in her puffy eyes was easily read even in the scant light offered by the cottage's windows. Her eyes closed when he leaned down, as much in response to the praise as it was to the rain splattering in her face. Ragged breaths rasped through her sandpaper rough throat, hitching as he scooped her up as if she were nothing. Though she didn't want it to the be the case, exhaustion was winning so she leaned her head against his wet shoulder, bumping with each step back up onto the deck and through the door. "Have to be. No choice otherwise."

They left a trail of rainwater and sand through the house, both thoroughly soaked as they were. More of the former and less of the latter graced the countertop when he set her down, her steady dripping from her heels and toes breaking the silence of his brief absence. Another shiver shook her but already she was warming up even before the plush terry fabric of the towel made contact with her soaked body. He was close again, her knees touching his thighs as he wrapped her up with each pass of the towel. It took only a slight shift of one leg to the right for her to extend it and curl it around the back of his leg, tugging him closer. Her arms were folded over her lap and there they remained even as she leaned in to thunk her forehead against his sternum in some familiar sort of chaste affection despite the implications of the long leg wrapped around him. One hand reached up to tug the towel around her shoulders and pinned it with a press of two fingers.

"I'm sorry. But thank you... for indulging me."

She reeled him in and he came willingly, the taking of the towel emptying his hands, which rubbed at her shoulders for a few moments before the big gurahl's arms curled back around her. Three soft kisses touched down, one for each temple and the last resting atop the crown of her damp head. He radiated warmth again, the coziness of it rolling off of him in gentle waves.

"Y' ain't got nothin' t' be sorry fo', Slugger," he reassured her in a low, baritone croon. "M' not here fo' any other reason that 'cause I wanna be. Y' don't do nothin' less than everything and anything y' can fo' the ones y' love. M' gonna be 'round fo' as long as y' need me. Or want me. When y' don't, just tell me t' go." Big arms squeezed her.

"For... for making things awkward earlier... I... I don't think sometimes," she mumbled against his chest. He hadn't asked for an explanation and he had even brushed aside her apology but she still thought she owed it to him. So she kept talking, soaking up the warmth he offered as she rambled. "You're one of the good things I've got and right now, it's really easy to feel like those things are so very few and far between. I don't want to mess that up, I don't. I'd understand if you wanted to go back to the city or something, if... if I made it weird. I think that... I'd probably be okay. Probably. You've been good to me, to us, more than I probably deserve, but I'd understand. You don't have to stay on my account."

"Ask me t' stay, Claire." The words were gentle. "Tell me that y' want me t' stay and then I'll tell y' what I'm thinkin'." A warm hand rose to gently cup her cheek, to massage the side of her slim neck.

"Stay with me. With us." It wasn't a question, the soft mumble. Not often was she the sort to ask for things. She was so used to simply telling and receiving. Her eyes closed as she tipped her cheek into hand, a quiet sigh slipping from a loose purse of her lips. Catching herself, she took a steadying breath and reopened her eyes to peek up at him. "Please?"

"Wasn't plannin' on leavin', Slugger." He had become quite the sucker for that single word when it slipped past her pretty pink lips, but even before the exchange it had been all but written in stone that the cowboy planned on staying. The curl of a finger ran beneath her jaw and along the pulse at her throat when she lifted her chin to stare up at him. "I'm stay as close as you'll let me..."

It wasn't a word she said often, really he should soak it up while he could.

"I was just saying that I'd get it if you did." Sheepish in her mumbling, her fingers let the towel go. It slid down her back and into a sopping horseshoe around her hips until it slopped off onto the countertop with a wet squish.

"But if that's the case," she began, her hands seeking out the hemline of his wet shirt to tug it upwards until either she got it off of him or he got the hint to help her out. Her tank top was next to go and though the sports bra underneath was soaked through, she still nestled herself against his chest again, basking in the skin to skin warmth and the beat of his heart next to her ear. "Then we're gonna be this close because I'm freezing my ass off."

[Claire Gallows]

April 24th
2016

The trip to the farmer's market had been an exercise in pretending to be put upon, all grousing grumpage for the asking which eventually turned into the subtle enjoyment of a man who loved all things handmade and homegrown. Within the first hour the grumblings and rumblings had dissolved into warmer smiles and teasing commentary. It bled slowly into a pleasant day, from the burgeoning warmth of the afternoon and towing the twins around through row after row of stalls and the wares they held.

Dinner had been pleasant, with meat and vegetables hot off of the grill, and a rather engrossing game of chasing one toddler, then the other, around open sprawl of the beach house's living room before finally bedding them down. The real fight was in coaxing the pair to sleep, which was a task Cooper accepted with a light push to their mother and the gentle request for her to fix them a pair of drinks. Alex, the wilder of the two, went down with surprising ease. Avy wasn't so impressed. A quiet little girl, her cries were quieter but far more persistent. In the end, the cowboy had scooped her up in his arms and was reduced to singing softly to her, delivering the tune in his low baritone voice.

"She said taaaaake me awaaaay and take me faaartheeeer..."

Claire had an eclectic assortment of interests that ran the gamut from surfing and beach bumming to guns and fighting and all the way to farmer's markets and what she referred affectionately to as "kitschy sh*t". Often she hid them under her own grumps and grumbles as if she didn't actually enjoy them, but there was something about the booths and fresh wares and the smell of earth and sea as one that made her think of home and had a most comfortable smile settling upon her mouth. For a little while she didn't have to be sad.

She even ate that evening, revealing a voracious appetite that reared its head for the first time in weeks. The perfect nightcap would be drinks with one of the few faces that had actually helped her hold it together since the beginning of March. The kegerator was perfect for a night like this and so she waited patiently for the perfect pour into two tall beer glasses. Patient waiting was soon interrupted though but the low rumble of melodic thunder. Not from the sky but rather down the hall, the sound reaching her ears from the crack in the halfway open door. The beers were set aside and forgotten, bare feet padding her quietly around the corner and over the ten steps it took to reach the twins' door. The words were familiar even if the melody wasn't, reminiscent of a nearly forgotten mystery gift from around Valentine's Day. The paper the words had been written on was still tucked into her bedside table back home. Claire lingered there in the doorway, her shadow barely shading the gap afforded by the hallway's light. There was a twisting in her chest, a different ache than normal as she waited for Cooper to work his magic on the fussy toddler.

"She just needs a little help, to overcome the pain she's felt. She wants to feel the healing hands or someone who understaaaands." Cooper rocked the precious little bundle, almost unaware of the slow, simple two-step dance that whisked her sedately around the room. Averia's crying subsided quickly, but the true battle was fought in the attempt to get her to succumb to sleep. She was a valiant little warrior but her caretaker was persistent, the soothing lull of his deep voice coaxing her further and further towards the edge. Eventually, she lost the battle and slept.

A sad smile lingered on the lopsided slant of his mouth when he finally laid her back into her bed, a soft kiss dropped atop the crown of her precious skull before he finally turned to the door and the waiting drink, the lovely woman.

Her shoulder had come to rest against the door frame, leaning her toward the door's opening rather than its hinge. There she stood, looking into the sliver of darkness to watch the cowboy tenderly dance the older of the twins to sleep. Alexander didn't so much as stir when his sister was laid down finally and soon both twins slumbered peacefully. Her mournful melancholy was broken by the thought that if she planned to keep them there all summer that she might have to suck it up and either send for their cribs or arrange something more permanent than pack and plays. At the rate they were growing, it would only be a matter of time before they'd outgrow the small space. She was still there, lost in thought, when Cooper turned toward the door, straightening slightly when her eyes finally sought his in the dark.

"Where's that song from?" She asked softly, taking a step back to allow his exit from the room.

Cooper smelled the pink-haired warrior before he saw her, her scent something that had become intimately familiar to him over the last year, enough that he didn't even have to think on it to recognize it as hers. Too-dark eyes lifted to hers, his smile softened, tempered beneath the weight of the question. "S' somethin' I did a long time ago. I ghost wrote some songs fo' extra money. That was one'a them. Did pretty well with it. Why?"

Not as though it would have logically been anyone but her, but she knew he had a keen nose so it didn't surprise her when he already knew she was there. She stepped further back, sliding to one side in order to venture back down the hallway so their conversation didn't disturb the sleeping kids. It was a short trip back into the kitchen for their beers and then a few steps further took her back to the living room, still opened wide to the deck beyond.

"I've never heard it with music before... but I know it, I've probably read the words a hundred times trying to... I don't know. I don't know what I was trying to do. You wrote it?"

He followed along in her wake, a lumbering giant that cast a long shadow over his friend and benefactor until they had returned to the warm glow of the beach house's den. He was quick to lay claim to one of the glasses she had poured, taking the time to drink deeply when it was tipped back and watch her over the rim.

"I wrote it. Played it fo' some guys from Nashville and they wanted t' buy it. I wasn't anyone's picture of a performer, but there were some fellas who made somethin' out'a it. I still collect the royalties from that and a few others. Took me a long time t' figure out where the words came from in the first place. Funny what comes t' you far later."

"Where's Nashville?" When it came to unfamiliar places, she was often a bundle of unrestrained questions. It slipped free before she could help it so she silenced any follow ups with her own long drink, something matching his gulp. Her stomach ached and she wasn't sure if it was from actually eating for once or if it was the knot that had formed the more that they spoke. Tugging her gaze from his, she cast it toward the shoreline, the high tide rolling in to beat at the sand just beyond the dunes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"S' on Earth. On my Earth, at least. S' in a state called Tennessee in the United States of America, the country I came from. S' city where a lot'a country and western music gets made. Y' know, like a lot'a that stuff I listen to down at the guest house." He offered up a mild, lopsided grin. Not everyone appreciated the more rural tunes. Not like he did. Another mouthful of beer was swallowed down before he set the glass aside, reaching out with a long arm to poke her gently in the ribs. "Some folks write songs 'cause the words are what listeners wanna hear and some folks write what's inside 'em. I like t' think I was, am, the latter. When I wrote those words, I knew they meant somethin'. Somethin' special. Just took a long time fo' me t' realize what that somethin' special was. Guess sometimes the universe plants seeds in us ahead'a time and it takes some time t' realize what we got. What it means."

"Serah went to Texas once. Anywhere close?" See, unrestrained questions. Quickly she added the information to the wealth that she had amassed over her time in Rhydin, snips and bits picked up here and there to form a hole-ridden mental image of this place that had given so many to the Nexus. Her own hands stayed wrapped around her glass though she didn't drink except to cover the mild wince at the meeting of thick finger to exposed ribs, the layering between the cage and the outside world offering less padding than usual. Silence lingered in the wake of his explanation, long enough for her to sort her thoughts.

"Someone gave me that song once." There was no accusation in her tone even if her gaze had come back to meet him, hanging heavily with the curious implication. She looked neither happy nor sad about it, caught instead by the muddled confusion. "So what does it mean?"

"Sorta, but not really. Somewhere short of a thousand miles between the two. Maybe eight hundred-ish. Both in the south, though." Cooper settled back and lifted his glass again, drinking deeply as he considered her response. Dark brows settled into a low furrow for the statement and then the eventual question, his silence some small sign of guilt. But in the face of her curiosity, the possibility that she had figured out what he did, the cowboy wasn't going to tell her a lie or hide anything from her. What she got in the end was the plain truth. "S' about a woman who's been mistreated by the universe. A woman who's been treated hard by time and other folks, who needs someone to hold her and let her know they understand, t' help her through those hard time and be there fo' her. With her."

Aquamarines darkened and shuttered slowly, reopening with that new perspective tucked away for further review at a later time. The inane questions about places she would never go came to a halt in favor of mulling over his explanation of the song he had been singing. The song she had been given as a part of a gift with no clue who had given it. She never considered herself to be the brightest crayon in the box but some things were undeniable. Like the fact that her mouth was more dry than the most arid desert and she was desperate for a drink. Claire tipped her glass back and swiftly swallowed the rest of the amber hued beer. Even once it was gone, she still couldn't swallow the lump in her throat.

"Wishful thinking." The cynic was in the process of strangling her inner optimist. She wanted to ask him, to flat out make him say it, but the words didn't make it from her brain to her tongue and instead she settled on a different route. "Bet it was a hit."

"Reached Fifteen on the US Billboard Country Chart. Still gets a decent bit'a radio play twelve years later. Not a really winner but somethin' t' hang m' hat on privately, I guess."

He watched her with a furtive stare, drawing in one deep breath and then another, exhaling the last in a soft sigh that caused him to finish the last of the beer in his glass and set it off to the side. He took up a spot sitting on one arm of the couch, his thick arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest as he pinned her beneath the weight of his gaze. "Or a premonition."

"More than most can say, right?" While Claire hadn't the slightest idea toward the significance of what he was saying, his word was enough for her to believe her statement was true enough. Her beer glass lingering in her grasp, giving her something with which to keep her hands occupied. Meeting his gaze evenly, she furrowed her brow like she wasn't quite sure what to think of that. Asking flat out if he had been the one to gift her the words to the song would have been quite the implication of egotistical selfishness, especially if she were wrong. Claire hated being wrong. Instead she settled on the second best question she could come up with, paired with a tease to add some much needed levity to the situation. "Premonition of? Last time someone close to me had visions, everything went to hell... so... tread carefully."

Her line of thinking was entirely lost on the cowboy. At least he didn't think it was. Cooper was more intuitive that not and he read something in the furrow of her brows, in the subtle changes of her expressions. A small smile tilted at one corner of his mouth, wry and almost ironic, as he reached out to snare an errant curl of pink and tuck it behind her ear. "Premonition'a good things t' come. And m' beyond treadin' carefully, fo' the most part. What'll be will be and m' chosin' t' be mo' optimistic than not. And, since y' ain't gonna ask, it was from me. All'a it. Happy Late Valentine's Day, Slugger."

The cowboy had quite the weighty stare and she squirmed beneath it until his hand crossed the gap between them. Pink could only be tamed for the briefest of moments before it was sliding free of her ear’s shell. There was sarcasm right on the tip of her tongue, primed and ready to fire but it sputtered out with the overdue confirmation of her suspicions. In the moment, she wished she hadn’t finished her beer. Breaking ranks with their fairly level gazes had her looking back toward the kitchen.

“Hold that thought.” She rose, scooping up both of their glasses on her way back to tap another pair of beers. It bought her time. Time that was desperately needed to try and decide just how she felt about things. Returning a few moments later, she offered him one of the pair and took up a spot beside him. Even after she sat, she maintained her silence for nearly three or four solid minutes while she drank. “That was sweet of you… that rose has stayed alive a miraculously long time…”

There was nothing to be smug about in regards to her silence, so when Cooper smiled, it was tentatively unabashed. He wasn't sorry for doing it but he also didn't feel the need to hang a sign over his head making some grand claim for credit it. The smile faded when she looked away and when she moved to refill their glasses, he took advantage of the opening to the deck and the direction of the breeze to step out for a lean on the railing for a smoke. The cigarette was pressed between his lips and lit, the flick of too-dark eyes cast out towards the shore before she returned with fresh drinks. The glass was taken, sipped from two or three times over the span of their silence, until Claire finally spoke again. The response she provoked was subdued but honest. "Someone needed t' do it. I wanted t' do it. So I did. Wanted t' make sure you remembered t' smile on that day, since you've got such a pretty one. And I won't let that rose die. S' gonna be 'round fo' a good long time if'n I have anything t' say about it."

The view of the western horizon was unobstructed from the deck, offering a panoramic vista swiped with dying shades of rose and saffron fading between the sandwiching of the sapphire of the sea and the deepening indigo of the sky. Save for the rolling waves upon the shore, the sea was calm, offering an almost glass like reflection of the burgeoning pinpricks of starlight, unfiltered by the light pollution typical of a comparable city view. She settled next to him, shoulder to shoulder, or at least shoulder to upper bicep due to the height difference. "It was a nice reminder. I keep it all in my bedside table back home, could read the words whenever it felt like I was weighing myself down just a bit too much."

Again she went quiet, breaking her stillness only to drink here and there. The knot in her stomach worsened as she let slip the bitter tasting question on the tip of her tongue. "Longer than you?"

"Hadn't planned on y' knowin'," he confessed quietly, drawing smoke in slowly with each inhale of break and letting it leak out of his mouth moments later when it wasn't being expelled through flared nostrils. The smell was a much needed but very unwanted distraction from her familiar scent that close. "Didn't want t' complicate things or make it weird. Just wanted to make sure y' knew you weren't forgotten on the day. Want t' make you smile."

Cooper had a mouthful of beer when she asked the question, causing the sound he made to be muted, lower without him choking on the frosty brew or spitting it out. He made another sound and then finally swallowed, turning a stern look on the pink-haired woman a moment later. "I don't have all'a the answers, Slugger. Not fo' yo' situation. Not fo' mine. But m' gonna find some fo' the latter. Somehow. Some way. M' not out'a this fight yet, so don't start plannin' muh funeral. S' plenty 'round these parts t' live fo'."

"It was a nice reminder." She repeated without offering further elaboration on it. He didn't want to complicate things or make it weird, so she honored that with her quiet. Some spoke with words, Claire spoke with silence and her silence was so very loud in that moment. Her head didn't turn when he faltered nor when he scowled down at her. There was a subtle rippling of tension through the sharp line of her jaw indicative of a tight clenching of her teeth. For all of the placid calm she exuded, that was the tell that a storm was on the horizon. Had she looked at him, it would have been readily present in the gunmetal edge to her stare but for now she was fixed on the horizon, willing it to chase away the last of the day and bring her the dark once more.

"I didn't ask you for the answers to my situation, Cooper. I have those. And if they have taught me anything, it's that life isn't fair and the only sure thing is the end." She washed the words down with a swallow of beer. "For most of you."

The cynical realist had officially crushed the life out of the disappointed optimist within her.

"Yeah, well, I ain't makin' an end'a it any time soon." Cooper leaned towards her and bumped his shoulder against hers. "There's two amazin' kids I'd like t' see grow up, t' see what sorts people they become. And there's this beautiful pink-haired woman I wanna see smile again, really smile. And laugh. And love. And live. Really live. M' not even entertainin' the idea'a goin' anywhere 'til that happens. Death ain't the only sure thing, Slugger. Life is sure too. 'Cause one can't exist without the other. S' just one big circle that don't never end..."

And then he did it.

"In the circle of liiiiiiiiiiife," he crooned at her. "It's the wheeeel of fortuuuuuuuune. It's the leap of faaaaaaaith. It's the band of hooooooope. Till we find out plaaaaace, on the paaaath unwindiiiiiiing. In the ciiiiiiiircllllllle, the circle of liiiiiiiiiiiiiiife."

Tipping to one side, she was easily swayed by the meeting of his shoulder to hers but in the interest of maintaining her hold on her beer, she kept herself upright rather than let gravity take hold. She practically radiated tension, rolling off of her with each illusory heartbeat. The urge to argue was there and it was strong enough that she almost opened her mouth. But soon a cowboy was singing in her ear and she was turning her head to one side to stare at him like he had lost his goddamned mind.

"Are you really... I can't... I can't even." The tension broke, bleeding away in favor of seldom heard laughter. It was her turn to push against him, the heel of her free hand shoving against the breadth of his arm. "You're ridiculous."

"Whoa, hey," Cooper barked a laugh and grinned crookedly. "Get this hottie some Uggs and a pumpkin spice latte. She's gonna blow!"

He quickly finished the beer and set the glass aside, putting his cigarette out and curling one burly arm around her slender waist. He hauled her in and against him, tucking his face against the crown of her pretty pink head and nuzzling her hair. "Y' laughed. I win."

"Tch, you wish I would." She scoffed, veering the conversation into dangerous territory with a wolfish grin. Tugged in, she fumbled to set her beer glass on the rail and only made it halfway before it tipped off the side of the deck and fell into the sand below. Oh well. There was a certain centering safety within the bearhug though she didn't mind ribbing him about it. "Party foul. You owe me a new beer."

"Sometimes. In m' dreams." He grinned again and tugged on the slender warrior woman, drawing her deeper into the web of his embrace until her slim back was planted against his broad chest, both big arms encircling her. "I'll get y' another one here soon. Or do y' want me t' let go and fetch it now?"

"Obviously..." Claire trailed off into an indecipherable mumble with a tuck of her chin toward her sternum while a steady rise of dusky rose seeped into her cheeks. It was a shade complimentary to her hair at the very least, thank goodness for small favors. Quiet contemplation led to a beat of silence, then a second and a third. When she spoke, it wasn't with an answer for his question but rather a nigh desperate declaration. "You have to stick around. Until I say otherwise, you essentially promised it. And... and... the kids love you, and I know there are no real guarantees but you've got to stick around for them at the very least."

"Just fo' the kids?" His voice was low, almost a whisper.

Her silence was screaming again.

Stay with me.

Stay for me.

Stay with us.

In the end she decided it wasn't her right. Who was she to demand such things when, by her own admission, she had done nothing to earn it. Claire swallowed and shrugged. "At the very least."

"I will. I promise I will." The words were true, sincere and genuine, as the cowboy's adoration of the Caelum children was impossible to ignore. But there was a more subtle, gentle disappointment that was hard to miss in his tone, his arms tightening around her a little more. " Fo' them. And mo'."

She could pretend she hadn't heard it. Claire could pretend a lot of things in fact. Like pretending that life's problems would be solved by playing house at the beach cottage, or that her heart wasn't shattered irreparably to the point that she wasn't sure if she could find it in herself to build the sort of bridge that could lead to that kind of pain again. So easily she swung between extremes, a mercurial pendulum that tick-tocked from an overwhelming need to love and be loved to isolationist loneliness and back again. The start of a ragged inhale was masked by a lift of her left hand over her right shoulder, fingers curled save for the smallest of the five.

"Pinky promise? It's not official until you pinky promise."

It was a dangerous game Cooper had chosen to play, tugging at his own heart strings like he was and, less intentionally, hers. A layer of innuendo was laid thick over more purposeful words that he'd left unsaid, little somethings that he had allowed Claire to pass off as nothings, leaving them to dance around deeper truths. She teetered between extremes where temperance had become his own extreme, choosing nothing definitive and gaining nothing definitive.

Maybe it was time that changed.

His much larger pinky curled slowly around hers, even as his other hand rose along her modest chest and touched beneath her chin, pushing it upwards and to the side. "Fo' you too, damnit."

And then the cowboy kissed her.

While she swung from one end of the spectrum to the other with a speed that often resulted in emotional whiplash, he played anchor in the center, always calling her back to him. It was odd to not be the rock for once and she was wary of leveraging the cowboy's presence for the sake of her own salvation. Slippery slopes, they were a dangerous thing. And after all he had done for her, the last thing she wanted to do was bring him down just like she had been told she would about everyone else in her life.

No, she wasn't going to let a scumbag like Diritas be right about her and her life.

There was no more time to think about that though, not with her mouth on a collision course for the gurahl's. It was a sweet meeting, something soft but sure that cemented the promise made by their still curled pinkies. For as much as she wanted to, she didn't let it linger as she twisted around in his grasp until she could face him, her hips aligned with his until the curve of her back pressed her against him from her thighs to the bottom of her ribcage.

"You're not the sort to make promises you can't keep, so I'm gonna hold you to that..."

"Promise made," he murmured the words against her mouth, his arms moving to accommodate the change in position but remaining just as possessive when they curled back around her. He kiss her two more times, both short and sweet, mixing his words in and between them for reassuring measure. "Just don't lose faith. Even if'n y' wanna lose it in the world. Don't lose it in me."

Claire also wasn't the sort to make promises she couldn't keep.

"I won't. I promise."

[Claire Gallows]

May 13th
2016

In the weeks since they had taken up residence at the beach house, it was a rare thing for the cowboy to abandon his pink-haired benefactor and the twins for more than a few hours at a time and, even then, his forays into the shadow realms beyond the material plane had been sparing. The closer the big behemoth of a man and Claire had become, the less inclined he seemed to make those trips, regardless of how necessary they were, always reluctant to depart. When he departed that particular morning, it was when the first rays of the sun broke over the rolling waves of the ocean, planting a kiss to the slender woman’s neck and murmuring something about having something important to attend to.

“Gonna be gone all day,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, kissing it, and offering a caress over one hip before withdrawing. “Try not t’ have too much fun without me.”

And then he was gone.

They day itself dawned warm and breezy, the sun arcing a lazy path over the sky as the hours wore on, with only the occasional cloud passing overhead to flirt harmlessly with the yellow glow of the day. Cooper hadn’t lied about his absence, which continued well on into the end of the day, the light nearly exhausted when the sun made its final dip below the horizon in a fading haze of amber, red, and the purple. It left the warmth in its wake, an inviting consolation that was only accentuated by the sporadic rush of cool air rolling down the shore from the north. In short, it was going to be a beautiful late spring night.

The big man hadn’t returned. Not that Claire had seen. In his stead, a broad red envelope had been placed on the kitchen counter with her name on it. Inside, a message had been written in Cooper’s familiar hand:

The kids are going to be fine for the night. The house will be fine. We have plans. Get cleaned up, dressed casual but nice (dresses don’t hurt) and make sure you have a bathing suit. Step out onto the deck, walk down to the shoreline, and then head south until you reach the big rocks. You’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it.

No excuses.

The kids will be fine.

Trust me.

-Cooper



The path itself was easy to find, an obvious trail left for her in the form of enormous bare (not bear) footsteps that couldn’t have been anyone but Cooper’s, winding casually down the length of the shore and erased in random spots. It led onward to the high rocks and secluded coves that had been the topic of conversation on more than one afternoon, but never explored for concern over the twins. Around one bend, a flickering glow danced along the brown rocks, evidence of some form of occupation. It was just a little farther, a soft turn, and then…

The music was soft, trapped within the high walls of the little cove and carried away from her in the small breezes that made the evenly placed torchlight flicker and dance. The sound echoed very little, the first of many promotions of an intimate atmosphere.

The blanket and pillows had been placed atop a cool bed of sand half around a bend, still within view of the water and the night sky beyond, but settled cautiously outside of the wind’s reach. It was flanked by the hand-woven wicker picnic basket Claire had previously purchased from a booth at the farmer’s market and a red/white Igloo cooler that was obviously the cowboy’s own personal touch. The former was laden with various snacks and the latter contained ice cold beer, and a single bottle of pricey bourbon. A flickering fire burned nearby, far enough away that it needed no constant tending but close enough for its warmth to be felt by anyone on the blankets.

The final touch, the masterpiece, was a large tub of smooth clay-like earth that seemed to have been grown straight out of the ground, expanding upwards into a generous bowl that could have fit multiple people and heated by a small but steadily burning fire. Two wooden steps made one tall side accessible, the bubbling water within having a familiar feel to it, even from so far off.

Cooper wasn’t so easily found but wasn’t hiding, a tall monolith leaned subtly against one wall of rock and watching the birthday girl as she took it all in. He was beach dance formal in a hair of what had once been khaki colored dress slacks, hacked into shorts, and a soft grey button down shirt that he’d left untucked. His feet were bare but the Stetson was there atop his head, dark eyes glittering a surprising and warm brown as he sought to gauge her reaction.

Patience was a virtue. It had been one of the cowboy's more outstanding ones. All throughout his life, he had been a pillar of patience. It had made him solid. Stolid. It had given him the strength to persevere through many adversities, big and small. Things fell into place with a little planning and a little patience. Hell, even with a little spontaneity and a little patience. Claire's birthday had been a little of both planning and spontaneity, the bringing together of things in hopes of offering the pink-haired woman something memorable on a day it seemed she would have just preferred to forget. Cooper hadn't forgotten. After her little gesture on his own day, he had made sure to wheedle the information out of Cordy in hopes of returning the favor. He never would have known that, months later, it would have turned into something like this.

Now, patience was becoming the problem.

By the time everything had been set into place, the minutes he had to wait counted only in the low double digits, but in his mind and the surprisingly strong beats of his heart, they felt like an eternity. But he waited. That he was waiting was, well, it was the understatement of the decade. He was still waiting.

After tonight, he would be still.

Patience. Patience and acceptance.

And then there she was and his smile came easily with the words. "Happy Birthday, Slugger."

[Claire Gallows]

May 29th
2016

I fell into a burning ring of fire...

The music drifted softly from an old AM/FM radio on one end of the table, the ever classic Johnny Cash pouring over the balcony of the little apartment into the beer garden of the Owl. Last call had come and gone almost an hour before and the cowboy had taken up a post in one of the chairs at the opposite end of the table than the radio, his hat slung low over his eyes and his head bobbing along to the music as he worked. Big fingers worked a small knife over a piece of wood, slivers of wood peeling away with each stroke of the blade. He had already accrued a small pile on the flood, the small block slowly taking shape with the passage of time.

Cooper? He was humming low with the song, almost entirely lost in thought.

"I swear I'm going to have to put a cage topper on top of Alex's crib if he keeps climbing out," Claire muttered as she stepped out of the apartment's nursery. It was the third time she had gone in there, each time having had to corral the platinum topped escape artist. At one point it was supposed to be the master bedroom, but two little ones won out in the war of space and Claire had instead taken the secondary bedroom for her own. It left her closing the bedroom door gently, backtracking down the hall and out into the living room. She walked right by the sliding glass door that opened out onto the balcony, caught herself, and traced her steps backwards to stop in front of them. One side, cloaked by slightly swaying vertical blinds did little to afford her much of a view, but the screen door on the righthand side gave her an unmitigated spot from which to watch the cowboy in his minute ministrations. There she leaned, her arms folded beneath her bust as she watched him get lost in his work and her mind. After a few minutes of that she stepped away, retrieving a pair of beers from the fridge and clearing her throat as she popped the screen door open to step outside.

"Thirsty?"

"Gonna let me drink from yo' lips befo' the bottle?" There was a crooked slant to his mouth when he smiled over his shoulder at her, the hat tipping back of its own accord to show the touch of a shine in too dark eyes. Big hands continued to work the knife over the wood, a bare foot tapping still to the music.

"How's the little hellion? Finally out?"

"That doesn't sound particularly sanitary..." She teased, closing the screen door behind her. Intentionally sliding along behind him on her way to an open chair, she dragged the cold beer bottle along the back of his neck, just beneath the angle of his hat. Her own feet were bare too though they did far less tapping as she claimed the seat beside him and leaned to brush wood shavings from her soles.

"For now. I'm sure he'll be back up once he decides he's bored enough to escape again."

"Nah. I know where yo' mouth's been." He made a sound when the frigid glass touched his neck, not entirely manly, broad shoulders hunching up. Full hands prevented him from swatting her across the ass but the heatless glare he shot her way said he'd wanted to. His nostrils flared and he stared at her a moment, considering, before the subject of the little Birdboy of Owlcatraz came up again. "Stubborn like his mama."

"Yeah, on you mostly." She cut him a smirk, more than amused by the reaction she got out of him. The offending bottle was taken and set on the table within his reach while the other was kept for her own. Using the edge of the table to pop the cap, it went skittering off, bounced off the edge of the balcony and landed somewhere in the beer garden below. It would be right at home. Downstairs, the Owl's kitchen lights clicked off as the staff finished their closing duties and made their departure. All the while she grinned at him, answering his scowl with a properly smarmy expression in return. That is, until she rolled her eyes and gave him a rude hand gesture.

"I'm not stubborn, thank you very much." Scoff scoff scoff.

"Mostly? Someone or somethin' else out there that I should be jealous of?" Both the knife and the block were set on the table before he reached across the short space between them, giving her a squeeze behind one of her knees. The smarminess earned her a snort and a smile and Cooper was finally reaching for the bottle. "Very stubborn. Thick headed and everything. Well, except between the sheets. Very pliable there."

"Yeah, you gotta take that up with Red Orc Brewery. I just can't keep my mouth off of their bottles." She said dryly, managing a deadpanned look to match. A touch to a sensitive spot sets her squirming in her seat, the motion making the chair's legs squeak across the balcony's floorboards. It tickled, okay?

"I'm not stubborn, I'm determined. And hard to sway." Lifting her chin, she sniffed at him and took another drink. It didn't do nearly enough to hide the red in her cheeks. An off swallow made her cough, working through the whole breathing thing after inhaling liquid. "Don't hear any complaints from you there."

"Won't hear any. Too smart fo' that. Can't let the bee cut off the flow'a honey, now can I?" The bottle was tipped back and he drank deeply from it, finishing half its contents in a single swallow before setting the bottle aside and crooking a finger at her. "Now c'mon over here. You're not close enough and I've got words fo' you."

"Not unless ya wanna get stung." She snickered. While he finished things off, she was a bit slower on the uptake, savoring the brew bit by bit, drink by drink. He beckoned, she scooted. Just a few inches closer at first and then a few more. A couple more followed and soon the remaining gap was closed with a squeak of chair legs that set its arm against the arm of his with a metallic clink. The balcony was an odd sort of spot for her, neither public nor truly private, and it left her lingering in her seat despite a desire to crawl over into the cowboy's broad lap.

"Color me curious. What words have you got for me?"

Reaching out, he slipped his fingers into her hair, combing thick digits through pink locks. His thumb massaged along her spine. "How y' doin'?"

It was a gently plied question, one that didn't delve too deeply but hadn't been asked in a number of weeks or longer. The way he asked, he didn't expect a detailed answer, only an honest one.

Claire closed her eyes, letting the rake of fingers through her hair lull her into a temporary state of relaxation. It gave her time to contemplate his question and just how much she wanted to divulge. There were good days and bad, happy and sad, the whole gamut of emotions running their course without her being able to exert much control over them. When she reopened her eyes, she let her gaze linger somewhere on the rooftops of the buildings that surrounded the Owl's marketplace location. "You know... I think... I think I'm doing okay. Yeah. I'm okay. You?"

"Y' don't have t' be. Y' know that, right?" The tips of his fingers traveled lightly around her neck and then over her shoulder to give it a light squeeze. "S' okay t' be however or whatever y' are right now. You've still got me in yo' corner either way."

As his fingers roamed, she leaned in her seat until her shoulder bumped his arm. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, not with the chair arms between them, but it was a bit of proximity that always helped center her. She was quiet for a few moments longer before finally tipping him a smile, soft but earnest. "I know. And I think that I was expecting things to continue on a downward progression from there on out, but I think it was rock bottom more than anything. And when you hit the bottom, the only way you can go is up. I'm going up... little by little."

A sip of Badsider and a slow breath was good for clearing her head.

"I'm not good. But I am okay."

She might have protested. Maybe she didn't want him too, this close to something resembling the public eye. It didn't stop him from finally pushing that hand between the back of the chair and her back and hauling her out of it. Before she could argue, she found herself deposited in his lap with both arms curled comfortably around her hips. Dark eyes regarded her from beneath the shadows the brim of his hat offered.

"No one can ask fo' mo' than that. Buy you're eatin' mo'. Smilin' mo'. You're hurtin' but yo' still livin'. S' important that y' keep on, Slugger. You're one tough chick but y' don't always have t' be."

What came with his attempt at pulling her into his lap was nothing less than a comical series of mishaps that ended up with her in his lap, sure, but at the cost of banging her knee on the underside of the table, nearly knocking over her beer, and actually knocking over his empty bottle. She couldn't help but laugh quietly when she found herself exactly where she had wanted to be but also where she wasn't sure she should be. Two fingers tapped the underside of his hat's brim, knocking it upwards just slightly. "I think I've got a lot going for me. You help, too. Heard a song on one of the stations you left on in the Jeep. Something about, like, I dunno. If you're going through hell, keep on going, so on and so forth. You might get out before the devil knows you're there. So. That's what I'm doing. I'm keeping on, right?"

"Y' lost someone y' love. That don't take away from who y' are and what else you've got, darlin'. There's still a whole heapin' wealth'a love still here fo' you. Doesn't mean y' shouldn't mourn. Doesn't mean y' shouldn't hurt." He plucked the hat from atop his head and set it on the table, leaning in to kiss her jaw. "You've got every reason t' keep livin', lovin', and movin' fo'ward towards happiness."

"I know that. But I'm thinking maybe you're confusing my grief and my desire to get back to rebuilding my life for being mutually exclusive. I can have both. And I do. Every minute of every day I carry them both." It was a moment of frank honesty, offered benignly with a wan smile. With his head free of his hat, she grazed her fingertips back through his hair until her hand could loop around the back of his neck to settle there. Nails scratched gently along his hairline and down his neck. "I've been counting my reasons and I've run out of fingers."

"Y' can have both. Y' should." He squeezed her gently and resumed toying with her hair. There was a gently, tentative quality to the touched, as if he didn't already spent most nights pulling on it amidst more carnal endeavors. "Lots'a love there, Slugger."

"So it's settled then, I'm okay." Reiterating her original answer to when he initially asked the question. Draping one leg over the arm of the chair, she leaned against him, nestling her cheek against his chest to let her nose get lost on the cusp of his beard. "Averia, Alexander, Serah, Raven, Adelaide, Terry, Hope, Zack, Gio and all of the crew there. And then there's you..."

Her chin tilted up just enough to give her a shadow lined silhouette view of his profile. There she studied him for a solid minute before dropping the angle and shrugging the shoulder that wasn't against him as much. "Yeah. Lots."

"Mhm," he replied in a quiet baritone rumble. "Me too. Definitely me too." His other hand rose to glide along her cheek and jaw cupping it for a series of slow, gentle strokes. It pressed her other cheek into his nose, where he nuzzled. "And yeah, you're okay. And pretty amazin'. And beautiful."

"And you're Mister Flattery. You know you don't have to do that to get into my pants anymore, right?" She teased him gently, lifting a peck of a kiss to the corner of his beard framed mouth before leaning back to grab her beer. The drink was quick, short and sweet so the bottle could return to the table. It left the taste of beer fresh on her lips instead of the first hint of a taste of him. It was as much for their benefit as it was for the neighbors. Really, the last thing she needed was to get the Watch called for lewd and lascivious behavior on the balcony, you know?

"Slugger, I only say it 'cause I mean it." Cooper made a quiet sound for the kiss, dragging his hand down over her slender frame and slipping it back around her, warm fingers slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to gently touch bare skin. "You're one in a billion. A treasure and someone needs t' remind you'a that."

"Think you need your head checked, but in the interest of avoiding a dumb argument, I'll graciously bow out and simply say... thank you." Her back arched under his fingers, her skin unseasonably cool to the touch. It pulled her closer to him and closer to everything she knew she should avoid. But why, she had to ask herself. Why was she avoiding it? That, m'dear, is a very good question. So with that established, she gave in to a magnetic desire to be near him and brought her mouth up for another graze along his. "But if you don't watch it, I'm gonna get all squishy and lame and talk about you instead."

"Hey," he spoke the words softly against her mouth. "I've spent six years turnin' down every interested chick imaginable. So what's it say 'bout the quality'a woman you are that I can't get enough'a ya? Hm?" He poked her gently in the stomach and stole a nipping kiss from her mouth, rocking her back and forth in his lap in time with the next song. The other set of fingers continued to stroke at the back of her neck. "It ain't squishy and lame t' say what ya feel."

"It says you clearly need to get your head checked because no red blooded man turns down the sort of ass that is so easily available in a place like this. I don't even think ugly people exist here." She giggled against his lips, dragging her nails down the back of his neck and across one shoulder. He was treated to an up close and personal view of what was assuredly an adorable nose scrunch but if it were pointed out as such, she'd certainly disagree. "I'm really bad at that sort of thing, Cooper. Words are... well, they're just words. And if I'm bad at them, that's okay because I'd like to think I'm pretty good with actions to prove what my words can't."

"We find the words when we need 'em. If'n we need 'em. Otherwise, just so what y' do." There was a gentle reassurance in the words, an acceptance of things, preceding a gentle kiss pressed to her mouth. "Just be you. Do you."

"Do you need the words, Cooper?" She asked softly, a hesitant mumble left to brush and graze her mouth against his. Her hands slid down the front of his shoulders and stopped against his chest.

"Because," she kissed him, soft and short. "If it's words you need, I'll find 'em."

The second kiss was anything but soft or short.

"Say 'em," he rumbled into her mouth at the end of the second kiss. "Whenever ya wanna say 'em. Whatever y' wanna say. Or don't. Y' do you, darlin'."

The cowboy scooped the beautiful pink-haired warrior up into his arms then, cradling her their easily. He hooked the radio the big fingers of one hand as he passed, taking it with him as he absconded with her inside.