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With Her

Summary:
Quil and Claire are married. When Claire becomes pregnant, what new difficulties will they face? In the series For Her. Sequel to Protect Her, Love Her, Hold Her, Keep Her, and From Her. In that order... I think.


Notes:
Well, read the others first. I don't own this. By the way, sorry for the wait, but you took FOREVER with the reviews. thank pinkpoop/ alreadyinarithmancy and equuslover22 that this is posted at all. Love you guys!


12. Chapter 12

Rating 5/5   Word Count 540   Review this Chapter

We buried the babies the next day. It was a small grave with no headstone, just a corner of the cemetery. However, we reserved the plot. Someday, we’d lie beside our children.

It was dismal and raining. Of course. In all honesty, when wasn’t it dismal and raining? We lived in Forks again, now.

I wondered if Claire would want to stay without the children. I wondered if she’d want to have more. I wondered if she’d ever talk to me again. I wondered and wondered and sometimes thought I was going insane, over this long painful day.

We stood by the grave, and Claire took my hand. “They were both boys,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” I tried not to let the relief show so transparently, to keep from rejoicing in her forgiveness, to instead share her sorrow.

“I wish I’d had the chance to name them. I was really looking forward to that.”

I thought of something suddenly, something to offer a small comfort. “I could get a headstone, with their names on it. We’d have to come up with them first, though…”

“Jonathon Sam and Andrew Jacob Ateara,” she interrupted. “That’s their names.”

“That was quick.”

“I think about it a lot.”

Reluctantly, I asked, “Jonathon?” That was her father’s full name. Everyone called him Jack, but I didn’t expect that, not at all.

She understood, of course. Her eyes closed for a second. “Well, I like the name…” she began. I recognized the excuse, and made a you are not getting away with that face. She sighed and continued. “And it’s… it’s… I mean, he’s another thing that’s dead and buried. Two Jonathons. Two graves. Two kinds of very different pain… but in the past. Quil, I haven’t been fair to you with this. I know I scared you yesterday.”

“You just needed to be alone,” I justified, still staggered from her revelation.

“Oh, Quil. Admit it. I hurt you.”

“A little,” I muttered to the ground.

Her hand was placed on my shoulder. It was absolutely tiny, delicate. She left it there for a moment before speaking quiet words of comfort. “Sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She turned away from me.

Claire bent and brushed away a little bit of dirt. For an instant, she held it to her face, peering intently at the material that would surround our children forever. However, she let it fall, brown splashing against the ground with the raindrops.

She looked for one more minute on the graves, and then turned back to me. The rain continued, streaking brown and gray into one dark dank sad color. The words that she spoke, though, were not so sorrowful. I detected some definite hope. “We don’t have them. But we have each other.”

I nodded. “You’ll always have me, Claire. No matter what.”

“Good to know. Funny how you never mentioned it before,” she teased, and I laughed. There was only a touch of recent grief in the sound.

We walked away hand in hand. The innocent souls slept silently, alone in the cold empty ground.