intheheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
intheheart) wrote2012-01-08 12:37 am
intheheart) wrote2012-01-08 12:37 am
Enough
Title: Enough
Rating: PG-13 for Ethan's reaction to someone dumping his little sister.
Summary: It's enough.
Date: June 2014
Notes: Follows Butterflies.
Clara got on the Metro, intending to go back to her apartment, but she found herself still sitting when her stop came by, and still sitting when the train rocked to a halt at the last station. She got up, slowly, and got off, walked out into the silent station, and sat down on a bench.
It was almost ten o'clock, and there was no one in the station. It was a little creepy, actually. Clara didn't think she'd ever been in an empty subway station before. She couldn't even see any workers.
Fitting. She couldn't remember ever feeling so alone before. Even when her mother died, she'd had her father and her brother, her friends from school, her aunt and her cousins. Her friends had all moved on to their adult lives. Her aunt and uncle were on a cruise somewhere, not that she could call them at ten at night. Her cousins were off somewhere living as far away from each other as they could get. Her father and brother...
A train rushed into the station, heading the other way. Clara got up, slowly, and boarded it.
She didn't know about Ethan, but her father would be home.
She should have called first, she thought later, standing outside the house in Alexandria where she'd grown up. The lights in the kitchen were on, but she had no idea if her father was still awake, or if he'd just forgotten to turn them off. Maybe she should just turn around and go home... but the thought of going back to her empty apartment, without even a cat, and crying herself sick didn't appeal at all. Clara went up the steps.
Before she could knock, though, the door opened on her brother Ethan. "...I'll call you about next..." He stopped talking, and blinked at her. "What are you doing here?"
I could ask you the same, was what she wanted to say, but instead she looked up at her brother with eyes full of woe, and started to cry.
"Shit," Ethan said.
"Language, Ethan," her father called, and she heard his footsteps in the hall. "Who's at the... Clara?" The footsteps sped up; the next thing she knew, her father was shoving Ethan aside and putting his arms around her. "Clara, sweetheart, what is it? What's the matter?"
"Kevin dumped me," she sobbed, knowing that was inaccurate and not really caring at this point. "Daddy, I feel so awful."
"Come in," her father said, guiding her inside. "Ethan, shut the door."
The door thudded quietly behind her as her father took her gently down the hall into the brightly-lit kitchen, sat her down in a chair at the table, and pulled one up next to her, murmuring reassurances the whole time. She cried quietly but steadily the whole way, like a child with a skinned knee, swiping her hands against her eyes as if pressure might stop the tears.
She'd been numb, at first. It had started to hurt sometime on that endless subway ride. Now, with her father's arm around her shoulders and Ethan thumping noisily into the kitchen, scraping a chair across the floor-- what was he doing here, anyway?-- the pain opened up into an endless, bottomless abyss, a hole in her heart that threatened to swallow her entirely.
She'd been so certain. She'd been so in love.
"What happened, sweetheart?" her father asked. Clara took her hands away from her face, saw his gentle, concerned face, saw Ethan's worried frown, and just like that the whole story came spilling out. Everything, from the emergency pedicure to the tiny pinpricks of pain when she realized he thought of her asexuality as something wrong. Everything.
"And then I got up and walked out," she said, at last, looking down at her hands and wondering when they had fisted in her lap. "I just couldn't... stay there anymore."
There was stunned silence for a moment, then Ethan got up, with a noisy scraping of wood against linoleum, and reached for his shoes.
"Where are you going?" Clara asked, frightened suddenly. Was everyone going to leave? Were they all...
"I'm gonna go beat him bloody," her brother said, and her fear evaporated. "The son of a bitch. Where the hell does he get off implying that there's anything wrong with you? That's my job."
Clara laughed, a sound that was half-sob, and buried her face in her hands.
Her father put an arm around her shoulders again and said, repressively, "Ethan. Sit down."
"But I have beating to do!" he insisted.
"It will not help your sister if you get arrested for assault," Gary Hawkins said. There was a pause, and then, "Although I can't blame you for wanting to try."
Clara heard the chair creak under Ethan a minute later. "Fine. No getting arrested. I'll make sure he doesn't see my face, is all."
"Ethan," her father said again, and then, in a considerably gentler tone, "Is there anything nonviolent we can do for you? Or do you just need to cry?"
It was times like this Clara wished her mother was still alive with more than the usual ferocity. "I don't know," she said, miserably. "I just... I need to know that you still love me."
Surprisingly, the answer came from Ethan. "Oh, Clara," he said, and reached over, took both her hands in his. "Of course we still love you. Just as you are, which is-- and I will never say this again and will deny I said it if anyone asks-- about as perfect as actual people can get. And Kevin," he added, "is an ass and an idiot if he can't see that."
"Not helping," she gritted out, and turned her face into her father's shoulder. She'd cried on that shoulder so often as a child; there was something oddly comforting about crying on it now, as an adult. Just knowing it was there and always would be helped.
"Of course I love you," her father said, echoing her thoughts. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I always have, I always will. You've done wonderful things with your life, and I am proud of you." He paused, then said, quietly, "Your mother would be too, you know."
"I wish she was here," Clara said.
Her father tightened his hold on her. "I know, sweetheart. So do I."
"Me too," Ethan said, and squeezed her hands. "She'd be on my side about this whole beating Kevin up thing. In fact, she'd probably help."
"She would, wouldn't she?" her father asked, reflectively. "Although perhaps not. You know what she used to say about fighting people who didn't have a chance."
"What?" Ethan asked. "Never have a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent?"
"Something like that," her father said, dryly.
Ethan snorted. "Well, she was wrong about that. It's much easier to beat an unarmed opponent. Anyway, I wasn't planning on a battle of wits, I was going to break his nose. And maybe bust his balls a bit," he added, thoughtfully.
Clara sniffled, and raised her head from her father's shoulder, getting both their attention immediately. "Please don't hurt him," she said, numbly. "I still love him. I know you think I shouldn't," she added, when both of them started to speak at once, "but I do. So please don't hurt him."
Ethan opened his mouth, shut it again, then got a disgruntled expression, released her hands, and sat back. "Fine," he said. "But only because you asked me to. That is the only thing saving his sorry ass."
Clara ignored him. She was very good at that, having acquired the skill in her youth and honed it in the years since. "Daddy," she said, "can I stay here tonight?"
"Sure," her father said, and kissed her temple again. "I'll make pancakes tomorrow morning."
She sniffed, and injecting a bit of extra patheticness into her voice and expression, asked, "Blueberry?"
He assumed an offended expression. "Is there any other kind?"
"Blasphemers, both of you," Ethan said. "Cooking poor, innocent fruit like that."
"Shut up," Clara said.
"There's my girl," her father said, and got up. "I'll go put some sheets on your bed. You can stay too, Ethan, if you'd like."
"Can't," he said, with what sounded like geniune regret. "Got work tomorrow morning. But I'll bring dinner, Clara." He pointed at her. "Pizza and Thai, right?"
She managed a wobbly smile. "Sounds awesome." And it did, even though she knew he was just doing it to check up on her. That was kind of touching in and of itself. Annoying, but touching all the same-- which told her how much she needed it.
Kevin might not love her, or at least not as she understood love-- and oh, how that hurt-- but her family still did. That was enough.
Wasn't it?
Rating: PG-13 for Ethan's reaction to someone dumping his little sister.
Summary: It's enough.
Date: June 2014
Notes: Follows Butterflies.
Clara got on the Metro, intending to go back to her apartment, but she found herself still sitting when her stop came by, and still sitting when the train rocked to a halt at the last station. She got up, slowly, and got off, walked out into the silent station, and sat down on a bench.
It was almost ten o'clock, and there was no one in the station. It was a little creepy, actually. Clara didn't think she'd ever been in an empty subway station before. She couldn't even see any workers.
Fitting. She couldn't remember ever feeling so alone before. Even when her mother died, she'd had her father and her brother, her friends from school, her aunt and her cousins. Her friends had all moved on to their adult lives. Her aunt and uncle were on a cruise somewhere, not that she could call them at ten at night. Her cousins were off somewhere living as far away from each other as they could get. Her father and brother...
A train rushed into the station, heading the other way. Clara got up, slowly, and boarded it.
She didn't know about Ethan, but her father would be home.
She should have called first, she thought later, standing outside the house in Alexandria where she'd grown up. The lights in the kitchen were on, but she had no idea if her father was still awake, or if he'd just forgotten to turn them off. Maybe she should just turn around and go home... but the thought of going back to her empty apartment, without even a cat, and crying herself sick didn't appeal at all. Clara went up the steps.
Before she could knock, though, the door opened on her brother Ethan. "...I'll call you about next..." He stopped talking, and blinked at her. "What are you doing here?"
I could ask you the same, was what she wanted to say, but instead she looked up at her brother with eyes full of woe, and started to cry.
"Shit," Ethan said.
"Language, Ethan," her father called, and she heard his footsteps in the hall. "Who's at the... Clara?" The footsteps sped up; the next thing she knew, her father was shoving Ethan aside and putting his arms around her. "Clara, sweetheart, what is it? What's the matter?"
"Kevin dumped me," she sobbed, knowing that was inaccurate and not really caring at this point. "Daddy, I feel so awful."
"Come in," her father said, guiding her inside. "Ethan, shut the door."
The door thudded quietly behind her as her father took her gently down the hall into the brightly-lit kitchen, sat her down in a chair at the table, and pulled one up next to her, murmuring reassurances the whole time. She cried quietly but steadily the whole way, like a child with a skinned knee, swiping her hands against her eyes as if pressure might stop the tears.
She'd been numb, at first. It had started to hurt sometime on that endless subway ride. Now, with her father's arm around her shoulders and Ethan thumping noisily into the kitchen, scraping a chair across the floor-- what was he doing here, anyway?-- the pain opened up into an endless, bottomless abyss, a hole in her heart that threatened to swallow her entirely.
She'd been so certain. She'd been so in love.
"What happened, sweetheart?" her father asked. Clara took her hands away from her face, saw his gentle, concerned face, saw Ethan's worried frown, and just like that the whole story came spilling out. Everything, from the emergency pedicure to the tiny pinpricks of pain when she realized he thought of her asexuality as something wrong. Everything.
"And then I got up and walked out," she said, at last, looking down at her hands and wondering when they had fisted in her lap. "I just couldn't... stay there anymore."
There was stunned silence for a moment, then Ethan got up, with a noisy scraping of wood against linoleum, and reached for his shoes.
"Where are you going?" Clara asked, frightened suddenly. Was everyone going to leave? Were they all...
"I'm gonna go beat him bloody," her brother said, and her fear evaporated. "The son of a bitch. Where the hell does he get off implying that there's anything wrong with you? That's my job."
Clara laughed, a sound that was half-sob, and buried her face in her hands.
Her father put an arm around her shoulders again and said, repressively, "Ethan. Sit down."
"But I have beating to do!" he insisted.
"It will not help your sister if you get arrested for assault," Gary Hawkins said. There was a pause, and then, "Although I can't blame you for wanting to try."
Clara heard the chair creak under Ethan a minute later. "Fine. No getting arrested. I'll make sure he doesn't see my face, is all."
"Ethan," her father said again, and then, in a considerably gentler tone, "Is there anything nonviolent we can do for you? Or do you just need to cry?"
It was times like this Clara wished her mother was still alive with more than the usual ferocity. "I don't know," she said, miserably. "I just... I need to know that you still love me."
Surprisingly, the answer came from Ethan. "Oh, Clara," he said, and reached over, took both her hands in his. "Of course we still love you. Just as you are, which is-- and I will never say this again and will deny I said it if anyone asks-- about as perfect as actual people can get. And Kevin," he added, "is an ass and an idiot if he can't see that."
"Not helping," she gritted out, and turned her face into her father's shoulder. She'd cried on that shoulder so often as a child; there was something oddly comforting about crying on it now, as an adult. Just knowing it was there and always would be helped.
"Of course I love you," her father said, echoing her thoughts. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I always have, I always will. You've done wonderful things with your life, and I am proud of you." He paused, then said, quietly, "Your mother would be too, you know."
"I wish she was here," Clara said.
Her father tightened his hold on her. "I know, sweetheart. So do I."
"Me too," Ethan said, and squeezed her hands. "She'd be on my side about this whole beating Kevin up thing. In fact, she'd probably help."
"She would, wouldn't she?" her father asked, reflectively. "Although perhaps not. You know what she used to say about fighting people who didn't have a chance."
"What?" Ethan asked. "Never have a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent?"
"Something like that," her father said, dryly.
Ethan snorted. "Well, she was wrong about that. It's much easier to beat an unarmed opponent. Anyway, I wasn't planning on a battle of wits, I was going to break his nose. And maybe bust his balls a bit," he added, thoughtfully.
Clara sniffled, and raised her head from her father's shoulder, getting both their attention immediately. "Please don't hurt him," she said, numbly. "I still love him. I know you think I shouldn't," she added, when both of them started to speak at once, "but I do. So please don't hurt him."
Ethan opened his mouth, shut it again, then got a disgruntled expression, released her hands, and sat back. "Fine," he said. "But only because you asked me to. That is the only thing saving his sorry ass."
Clara ignored him. She was very good at that, having acquired the skill in her youth and honed it in the years since. "Daddy," she said, "can I stay here tonight?"
"Sure," her father said, and kissed her temple again. "I'll make pancakes tomorrow morning."
She sniffed, and injecting a bit of extra patheticness into her voice and expression, asked, "Blueberry?"
He assumed an offended expression. "Is there any other kind?"
"Blasphemers, both of you," Ethan said. "Cooking poor, innocent fruit like that."
"Shut up," Clara said.
"There's my girl," her father said, and got up. "I'll go put some sheets on your bed. You can stay too, Ethan, if you'd like."
"Can't," he said, with what sounded like geniune regret. "Got work tomorrow morning. But I'll bring dinner, Clara." He pointed at her. "Pizza and Thai, right?"
She managed a wobbly smile. "Sounds awesome." And it did, even though she knew he was just doing it to check up on her. That was kind of touching in and of itself. Annoying, but touching all the same-- which told her how much she needed it.
Kevin might not love her, or at least not as she understood love-- and oh, how that hurt-- but her family still did. That was enough.
Wasn't it?