[July 17th] [Bonanza-related] Through the Refiner's Fire, 2

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Through the Refiner's Fire, scene 2
Day/Theme: July 17th - He told me many times "I love you."
Series: Bonanza-related
Character/Pairing: Claire Armory, Carl Armory (from season 7's episode Her Brother's Keeper)
Rating: T/PG-13

I've retitled this exploratory fic, as I think this title would fit the overall plot much better.

This time we see Claire's point-of-view. This is Claire.


By Lucky_Ladybug

She just wanted to get away.

She had wanted it for so long, so many years. And yet she knew it was her burden, her lot, to stay. She could not leave Carl. No matter what he did or said, he was still her brother. And she had vowed to always be there.

He wasn’t a bad person, she had told Ben. He was like a boy, honestly believing his crazy schemes could work. He had never grown up.

Perhaps it was because she stayed that he could not become a mature adult. Perhaps he relied on her too much.

There were times, late at night when she laid awake in that surreal state between waking and dreaming, that she thought of his dependency on her and was afraid. She had been afraid ever since they had been children, left with only the servants to help raise them. But her fears had never stopped her from doing what she felt had to be done, what seemed the only right thing.

Tonight she had run from Carl, something she had only done once before, in Virginia City after their previous altercation. And back then, she had only made it as far as the staircase before Carl’s collapse had sent her hurrying to him once more. Tonight, if she had not stumbled in the path of the frightened horses, how far would she have run? Would she have gone back to Ben and the new life of freedom he had promised her? Would she have gone to parts unknown? Or would she have turned at long last and gone back to the only family she had left?

Could she have ever felt free, knowing that Carl was so terrified of her leaving him? Could she have really hurt him that way?

Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he deserved to know for once how it felt to hurt, to be the one getting hurt instead of the one causing it.

What was she saying? She was not cruel like that. At least, she had never believed herself to be. She had always loved her brother. And even before their parents’ deaths, she had tried to look after him. Once, when he had accidentally broken a vase and was scared stiff of being punished for it, she had attempted to put it back together again. Failing in that, she had lied and said that she had broken it.

A lifetime of trying to put together whatever Carl broke had run her ragged. She had left Virginia City with him, never to see Ben again, but that experience had cracked her endurance to the point that she could not go through it another time. And tonight, when she had started to worry about money, their ensuing argument had turned back to Ben and what she had left behind.

She had not let Carl keep the money he had swindled Ben out of, and upon returning to San Francisco, that left them with almost nothing. Carl was terrible with money; he was incapable of even owning a bank account. Claire was the one who held a job, but after their absence it looked unlikely that she could retrieve her former position at one of the plush hotels in town.

“And with Ben Cartwright you wouldn’t have had to worry about money, would you?” Carl had cried at last. “He would have taken care of everything.”

With Carl’s patience broken, that had decimated the rest of Claire’s self-control. “Yes!” she had retorted. “But it’s more than that, Carl, so much more. With him I would have been happy. You keep saying you want my happiness, but it’s not true. It’s never been true!”

“That isn’t true!”

The look in Carl’s eyes had stabbed her then and was doing so again now. She had never meant to say that, to reveal the darkest and bitterest feelings she kept locked in her heart. But the fresh wounds from Virginia City were bleeding again and she could not keep quiet.

“It is true. You say that, and you tell me you love me, over and over until it sounds like a parrot that doesn’t know anything else to say. You don’t really love me, Carl. You only want me around because I try to repair the damage you cause everywhere we go. You want me around because I’m the only one who has ever stood by you in spite of everything. Well, I can’t do that anymore!”

Carl had visibly flinched. “Then why don’t you go back to Virginia City and marry Ben?!” he yelled. The last word had caught in his throat and he gasped, bringing a hand to his neck. “No . . . oh no, Claire, please don’t leave me,” he had begged, just as he had several weeks ago.

Claire had not been able to stand the argument in the first place, but when she recognized that she was pushing Carl to his breaking point she panicked. Instantly the old familiar guilt had come rushing back. “Oh Carl, no,” she had tried to say. “I didn’t mean . . .”

But she had meant it, hadn’t she? She was too upset to sort out her thoughts. That was why she had turned and run, to keep from saying anything else and making it all worse.

And now she could say nothing at all. The pain of having been kicked by the frightened horse had eclipsed all other physical sensations. She had sunk into oblivion and that was where she still was, wandering hopelessly through her agonized and conflicted thoughts.

What would happen to Carl if she died? Would he possibly be able to pull himself together without her to lean on? Or would he have the complete breakdown that she had always feared he would if she left?

She had always thought of Carl first and not herself. And now, even though she was the one hurt, she was doing it again. She could not stop it. It had been her mindset for the great majority of their lives.

But . . . if she were to die, she would finally be free, released from her promise of guilt and shame. And whatever there was after death, she would go on to that. She would not be able to do anything about it.

Or would she? How could she say she would be free? It came back to Carl, as it always did. If she died, knowing how agonized he would be, she could never rest in peace. More than likely, if ghosts were real, she would become one and linger on Earth, unable to move on as long as Carl could not. And he would never be able to; she was certain of that.

Somewhere, faintly in the distance, she could hear Carl’s desperate pleas for her to stay. Was she really teetering that close to the edge between life and death? Were her thoughts even pushing her closer to it?

She had to pull herself out of such a mindset. She could not die. She could not even say she wanted to die. Not like this. She had to live, for Carl. And for herself.

It was odd, the thoughts that were coming to her in this state. As she clawed through the darkness, desperate to grasp the light and lift herself up, something suddenly gave her pause.

Was it all Carl’s fault? Was it all because of him that she felt bound to stay with him? Was it even all because of her guilt and the way she blamed herself? Or was there more to it?

He was her only family. For better or worse, he was the sole person who had remained with her all through the years. And . . . somewhere deep down, did she want that? As much as she hated the stunts he pulled and the pits he dragged her into, and as much as she was afraid of what would happen next, was she more afraid of being away from him?

The one thing she could count on with Carl was that he would always be there. Was she afraid of others leaving her? A couple of the men had, voluntarily, once they realized about Carl’s behavior—including the one man she had married for a brief period of time. But she and Carl had been with each other so long that, in general, they got along well. Carl had even said that she was the only woman who could tolerate being around him for any length of time. That had been true time and again.

And there were times, every now and then, when she had the sense that Carl was aware of how he had hurt her and he wanted to change. Sometimes he actually had been considerate of her. And maybe . . . well, what if he had been telling the truth and he did want her to be happy? Maybe, like the boy she had said he was, his bravery just ran out at the last moment and despite trying to steel himself for the future and be strong enough to let her go, he could not bear for her to leave.

Not that she had even thought of it. If she had married Ben or any of the men before him, she had always thought that Carl would be living with them. But Carl had been afraid anyway. And maybe she had, too. Maybe she had feared Carl being kicked out, or feeling neglected and leaving of his own volition, and her not knowing what had become of him.

All of the above was what had happened when Claire had tried marriage in the past. She still remembered the horror and panic she had felt when she realized Carl had left because of feeling unwelcome. When she had tried to go looking for him, her husband had given her an ultimatum: him or Carl.

Of course, she had chosen Carl. Furious at her husband’s lack of understanding and lack of caring for Carl’s delicate physical and mental states, she had turned and stormed out of the house.

She had never gone back. And she had not found Carl for several days. When she had, he had been drunk and broke, deeply in gambling debt once again. Horrified, and feeling that she was to blame, she had cared for him and managed to pay off the debts with money she had saved.

The same old cycle, repeating itself once again.

“Why do you put up with it?” Ben had asked her in stunned dismay.

It could just be because of course she loved him in spite of what he said and did. That was part of it, at least. And, of course, her intense guilt and shame over having started the fire. That was the reason she had given Ben. But what if it was more than that? What if the fire had damaged them in ways she had not even considered?

Maybe in some ways, she was dependent on Carl, as he was on her.

The tears pricked her eyes then. “Oh Carl,” she whispered, not knowing if it was only in her mind or if she spoke aloud. “Oh Carl, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

And then she felt Carl’s hands gripping hers and heard his voice, choked with emotion and perhaps some tears of his own.

“Claire! It’s alright, Claire. It’s going to be alright. We’re going to get through this.”

Then she knew that he had heard her. And, perhaps she was just being a fool, or allowing her injuries to affect her judgment, but something about his shaking, plaintive, and joyous voice made her believe him.

Perhaps it really would be alright, for once.