. down in flames

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INITIALLY, he wants to tell her that life isn't fair, to spout off the cliche's about how much they both had suffered under life's cruel hand and simply needed to get over it. It had never been fair that she chose someone else over him, it had never been fair that he felt the need to marry someone he couldn't definitively claim he was in love with, it had never been fair that he had cheated on Savannah, that Claire wanted him, that he couldn't help being drawn to her, no matter how hard he tried to keep his distance. Even while spewing half-truths and lying through his teeth, Freddie still wanted to pull her into his arms and wipe away her tears. Not only just because he didn't want to see her in pain, but because he was constantly drawn to her. He argued desperately within himself that it had nothing to do with his heart and everything to do with her simply having a magnet personality.       SHE didn't get why he rolled over so easily then and she didn't get it now and he really didn't know how to make her get it. It was clear as a spring afternoon in his mind, he did it for her, not to hurt her -- never to hurt her. If he had life the way he wanted it to be, he would protect her from all the evils of the world, but he failed her until he became one of those things she needed protecting from. "You don't get it, do you? I loved you so much all I ever wanted for you was to be happy! I was willing to give up my happiness to make you happy. I didn't care about me, I did it for you. If you love someone, you never would have fell for him!" His voice was raised, despite trying so hard to contain his temper. He was failing miserably at any measure of composure.      EVERYTHING seemed to stop for him when she told him -- screamed at him -- what exactly happened with Rhys. How could anyone raise a hand to her? It infuriated him and for a moment he considered storming out of the diner to hunt him down and have a word with him. Not that he had a clue where the man was -- for all he knew, he wasn't even in New York, but he didn't care, he was fuming and couldn't seem to form a single word of comfort or protest.  How could he not have known how volatile their relationship was? "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you come to me when it first started happening?" He wasn't sure what he would have done, but not doing anything appalled him. Not even knowing only amplified the guilt churning his stomach and causing him to grind his molars into dust.      THE last thing he expected was for her to kiss him, but it shouldn't have been. He should have known the second she stepped into the diner that there was a chance she would do this, that his guard would be let down and he wouldn't push her away. Not that he returned the kiss either, not immediately. He stood there, hands on her biceps, holding her so she didn't tumble in her drunken state, and tried to process the moment. In the last few moments of the kiss, he began to open up to her, reciprocate, but by that point, she's already slipping out of his grip and the regret is setting in. He should be thinking about Savannah and getting home to her, but he's still breathing the same air as her and he doesn't have the self-restraint to pull away. "You're drunk... we can't... I won't take advantage of a drunk girl."

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SHE was a mess and the alcohol wasn't helping. her jumbled thoughts, 6 years old and tainted by bias and bitter memories, fought each other over a right and wrong version, getting mixed up in the middle. there was always a part of her that had known how selfless he was, and that had known just what he had done for her when he had broken up with her. but a another part of her had chosen to twist that over the years, mangling the truth to make herself the victim to make herself fell less heartless, so that she could look back on the relationship without the pain of regret. if he didn't fight for her he obviously didn't love her. but freddie was always selfless, to a fault, and she knew it now like she had known it then. SHE was wrong to stumble in here drunk and demanding, she was wrong to make him question his choices. she had always been his opposite, selfish, although she had never realised because was always so willing to give. to bend to her whims for the simple pleasure of seeing her happy. his voice rose and she should have been shying away in sheet embarrassment, for bringing out the worst in a man like him. pushing his temper to its limits, as he told her truths she already knew but refused to believe. IT was all as clear as mud to her. the whole night was a jumbled mess of hasty accusations and temper tantrums she would wish she could take back come the morning. especially the moment she had revealed the truth behind her own divorce and watches Freddie's gave contort between somewhere between pain and fury, something she had never seen before. his questions come hard and fast and before she's overwhelmed by them she throws herself into the kiss. IT isn't the kiss she's expecting. it's not the romance novel, sweep her off her feet kind of kiss. there's no embrace, there's no unbridled passion that takes him over. there's barely even a reaction, but there's no negative reaction so she relaxes into it a moment longer. he holds her awkwardly, but she's thankful someone's holding her up whole her head spins at the mere experience of that kiss. a kiss she had been pining for for months. he protests, but holds her tight, holding her close, the mixed signals are enough to make claire ignore his words, she's drunk but he's by no means taking advantage of her. she slings her arms around his neck and kisses him again, drawing her body full against his. "please..." she whispers into his lips in a messy drunken mumble, and with every kiss she erases another aspect of Rhys. NOTES, reply frenzy!

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KISSING him a second time didn't do much to clear the fog that had taken residency in his mind and refused to go away. He was confused, torn between doing what his head told him was right and what his heart pleaded with him was just as right. Rejecting her and accepting her couldn't both be right, but he couldn't push himself to doing what was actually right, in his books. Savannah would hate him for letting her kiss him, because at this point, there was no way to argue that he wasn't involved in it, that he wasn't encouraging it, even if he was hesitant to return it. His inaction was just as guilty as action. He was going to ruin his marriage in the blink of an eye, whether he acted or not. He felt like the worst kind of person.       BUT he doesn't push her away, he doesn't make her stop despite how easy it would be to simple move her petite frame a few feet away. The second kiss isn't much better than the first. There's no scorching desperation -- it's awkward, like a first kiss with a blind date, searching for chemistry and something more. A spark, maybe. The difference was that this kiss held a spark, there was no lack of chemistry, there was simply indecision. Pursue something he knew would change everything or attempt to save his marriage -- what was left of it. "Claire... You'll regret this in the morning." After all, wasn't she married? Or dating someone? Or something? He wasn't sure, he hadn't wanted to learn the details, but she wasn't his. Not like she should have been.      BOTH hands draw away from her arms, his touch tentative, still so very unsure with himself, but he's made his decision and there's no point in going back now. One hand cups her jaw, cocking her head to one side so he can bury his face in her neck. His motives are chaste -- mostly -- he's pulling her closer with one arm wrapped around her slender waist and reminding himself what it felt like to have her in his arms. To smell her, the perfume that he swears wasn't what she wore when they were kids, the perfect way her frame fit against his, even as she's filled out with age. There's something about having her there that he never felt with Savannah. Something that had always been missing. His eyes closed, mentally scolding himself for daring to compare the two women. "I miss your old perfume." He really shouldn't have said that. As if he had a say on her life or her choices, even on such trivial things like scent.       HE forces himself to pull away, planting another, short-lived kiss to her lips, his hands cupping her cheeks and brushing a thumb across her lips when they part. He should be the good guy here, make her sober up, go home, do something other than stand in the middle of his diner, making out like a couple of children, when anyone could walk by. "I think we're putting on a show for anyone that decides to walk down this street," He chuckles, feeling somewhat less stressed than he had been when she was crying and he was yelling. "I should really go back and make you that sandwich. I can smell the liquor oozing out of your pours." He's teasing, of course, but he's still hesitant to act on his impulses. Concerned more for her well-being at the present moment.

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SOBER claire would probably like to believe herself above home-wrecking. she was raised to respect the sanctity of marriage, respect the seventh commandment that thou shalt not commit adultery. perhaps she would go to hell twice considering she was committing adultery and lead someone else to do it at the same time. byt there didn't seem to be a problem for her because, childishly, she still considered freddie hers. HE had made clear tonight that despite everything there was no one that had loved her more and there was probably nobody that ever would. after as much tequila as she had had that was all she needed to know to start kissing him however the hell she liked. there was so many things wrong about this whole scenario and about the whole situation but she chose to blindly ignore it all and she didn't have the alcohol to blame for that. IT was just another of her fatal flaws, ignoring the facts she didn't like. like ignoring the abusive and cruel side of Rhys, ignoring that she had a fiancé at home and ignoring Savannah's entire existence. SHE couldn't ignore this kiss though. she pushes him to his limits, to his breaking point, demanding more then he wants to give and refusing to believe his words when they aren't what she wants to hear. but then the kiss. it's not perfect, but it speaks volumes. for every second he doesn't resist, every second he stays, she knows she was right, she knew that she had won. HIS rough hands cup her jaw, his hot breath on her neck as he buries his face, she tilts her head and let's his stubble tickle her soft skin. his arm pulls her tight and she sinks so willingly into his arms. it was here she felt safe and indestructible, not the vulnerable waif she had been feeling for months. he mumbles how he misses her old perfume and she smiles through her nostalgia. it was sweet to know that he remember that cheap drug store perfume she'd worn in high school and no amount of Chanel was going to make him change his mind. HE pulls away and she wants him back immediately, she wants that safety and that protection that his arms afford her. his lips catch her by surprise, a calloused thumb tracing where his lips once fell, his hands cupping her cheeks and she closed her eyes at his touch and leant her face into his large hands. she wanted to shout, despite their tender moment, she wanted to scream how right she was and how Savannah couldn't make his as happy as she could, but she held her tongue. HE brought her back to earth with a reminder of just where they were, standing in the middle of his diner in an illicit embrace. "let them watch" she giggled and he too laughs in return. she can't help but smile at the way it transforms his face, the hurt and angst and anger draining out, and replaced by his wide smile and warm laugh. the comparison was day and night, she knew which side of freddie she preferred. HE offered to finish her sandwich and it was only then that she realised just how hungry she was. she was starving and although he joked he wasn't wrong about the alcohol intake, she was in desperate need of something to soak it all up. "you've probably burnt my sandwich. what kind of establishment are you running here?" she teased "letting sandwiches burn while you're out here, yelling at customers and then making out with them" she teased him back, the old banter coming back into their relationship. "how can you call yourself a diner, when you're letting poor drunk girls starve?" NOTES, so bad

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EVEN while his lips were pressed against those that didn't belong to his wife's, even while his hands roamed over her body and became familiar with the feelings that he had repressed for so long -- the ever familiar guilt was boiling. Just below the surface, waiting, watching, tsking at every immoral act he committed, tallying up the number of things he could never take back. If Savannah ever found out that he was a willing participant in this... that he even considered letting her get close enough to kissing him, she would never forgive him. And he would never expect anything less from her. She should hate him, she should have hated him the minute he asked her to marry him and she knew his heart wasn't in it. Savannah has always known, but she tried to make it work anyway. He just didn't try hard enough. If nothing else, tonight was evidence of that.       TOMORROW, when he was clear-headed and thought back on this moment, he wouldn't have grief to blame, he wouldn't have silly excuses about his wife failing him or alcohol confusing him -- he would only have himself to blame. There wasn't anyone else to blame but him and Freddie was honest enough -- with himself, at least -- to know that there was no coming back from this. He had crossed the line and he enjoyed it. That may have been the worst part of his indiscretion. The fact that he enjoyed kissing another woman, that he wanted to do more with her, that he wanted to do it again with her, that he didn't care that he had left his wife waiting at home while he left behind the man his parents raised him to be. They had ended their marriage before it got to the point of infidelity. Apparently he wasn't capable of doing the same thing. And tomorrow that fact would eat him up inside.      TONIGHT, he couldn't stop touching the blonde. He didn't dare push things too far, perhaps out of fear of crossing the final boundary he had attempted to set with her, but his fingers would graze her cheek or brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. If she seemed to sway on the spot, he used it as an excuse to press his hand against her lower back to steady her or grip her hips -- if only briefly. Somewhere beneath the man driven by impulse was a gentleman that felt even touching her hips seemed inappropriate. 'Hands above the waste with a lady,' his mother would say, while his father chuckled and replied 'And seak 'em below if she's not a lady.' Earning a stern glare from his mother and a confused look from the young boy. He understood it when he got older, but his mother's words had stuck with him even now, when being a gentleman had clearly been the last thing on his mind.      HE wants to remind her that they can't just watch, because someone could recognize them, someone could say something to his wife, that someone could be his wife coming to check on him, but he didn't dare say anything about the woman. He was terrified mentioning her would ruin this moment, her mood, everything that had been silently built upon in a matter of minutes. If he mentioned Savannah, what would happen to them? Would she rage against him again? Would she leave? He didn't want either of those things, which only meant he had to keep his mouth shut and figure out his situation with her on his own. It wasn't Claire's problem, anyway, it wasn't her responsibility to be loyal to the other woman. So he tries to keep things light, laughing and pushing his worries to the back of his mind. "People in New York are freaks, they very well might watch." He cringes, pressing his hand into her back to lead her into the back kitchen.      HER teasing was expected, but all he did was roll his eyes in response, smiling while he tossed the charred bread into the garbage and began to fetch the ingredients a second time -- hopefully this time with less tears and yelling. "Considering it's on my dollar - as is your cab, I don't think you have much room to whine." He arches a brow, waiting for her rebuttal, knowing, without a doubt, she would bite back. That was the Claire he preferred, the one that was happy, not crying over a relationship long gone -- well, not as long gone as he liked to convince himself, but that was an internal debate for another day. "Unless you'd like to do the dishes and mop the floor... I think the freezer needs to be inventoried... Wanna do that as repayment?"

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A line had been crossed. there was no doubt about it. it was most obvious in Freddie, only moments before he hadn't dared meet her eye, every inch she had closed between them, he had taken a foot back, he searched for distance and to put something between, he had watched her both fearfully and contemptuously, like an animal caged by her presence. AND now? his fingertips were scarcely from her skin, finding trivial excuses to touch her, watching her like a hawk for a chance to catch her should she stumble or wobble from the alcohol. his cagey apprehension transformed into a casual and playful banter. the two versions of the same man were like day and night. one was dragged down while the other was set free, but it was merely the heady haze of the moment, come the morning those two men would merge into one, littered with guilt for not only succumbing to her but enjoying it. BUT she couldn't think of that now, she was enraptured by his smile, the way it finally reached his eyes like it used to. she was smitten with every delicate touch he bestowed upon her, warmed by the familiar banter. Savannah was the last thing from her mind and she wanted her to stay there. she wasn't completely heartless in this endeavor, she knew Cedric and Savannah were going to be collateral damage along the way but blissfully, drunk Claire chose to blot them out of her current state. she'd gotten what she wanted after all, why ruin her victory with guilt? THE acrid smell of her burning sandwich fills the kitchen and she wrinkles her nose as he starts again. his teasing us light hearted and so much more familiar to the boy she used to know, it's almost hard not to be transported back. back to where cut off jeans were her wardrobe staple and they used to punctuate their banter with make out sessions in his rusty old pick up. he claims that both the sandwich and her cab are on his dollar and she scoffs playfully "you say that now but you'll probably just put it all on a tab and send me a check. you diner owners are just so unscrupulous!" she bites back, although she knew that if anyone loved to play the shining knight it was Freddie. he couldn't have sent her away even if he didn't still have feelings. he could have hated her but still his chivalry would have won out in the end and he would have footed the cab and the sandwich. HEe offers up 'payment options' in the shape of physical labour and she laughs "oh I see how it is, lure me in with my favourite sandwich and then make me clean your floors!" she casts him a playfully skeptical look, "I can't believe you would put a poor drunk girl to work, Mr Wilson! and all she wanted was a grilled sandwich. where are you morals?!" she laughed at her own accusations, unable to keep a straight face. "honestly though, do you really think I could count or that things would be clean if I did it? I don't even know where I put my shoes..." she looks down at her bare feet before leaning back against the counter and pulling herself into it, with a fair bit of effort in regards to her co-ordination. SHE wanted to stay here all night, or even take Freddie home and let him fill the void in her bed that Cedric rarely filled. she wanted to talk all night and attempt to make things right. to hash out everything that had gone wrong in their relationship in the past 6 years, to tell him everything she had endured and how the memory of him got her through. she wanted to sink back into junior year when they were inseparable and happy and everything they needed in the world. but the alcohol wore at her, her limbs ached from lactic acid now that all that adrenaline was wearing out, her feet hurt from her heels and her dress was suddenly feeling constricting. IT wouldn't matter who she crawled into bed with that night because she probably wouldn't be able to keep her eyes open anyway. she slouched on the kitchen counter, disregarding any hygiene issues she was currently breaching, she just wanted a sandwich and to sleep off all that tequila. she watched his adept hands working at something she had rarely seen them work before, zoning out into a world where this was the norm and they hadn't spent 6 years apart. he spoke and she blinked slowly, coming back into the present. "huh" she pauses for a moment, her mother's manners automatically kicking in and she mumbles "i mean, pardon?" "" NOTES, so bad