Work Text:
Cold As You
Quinn wasn't sure why she thought her grief would feel any lighter back at Sara's parents' home. She sat curled up under a soft blanket Sam had tucked around her shoulders before taking Logan upstairs. The room darkened steadily around her as storm clouds clashed outside, thunder rumbling as the drizzle they'd driven in from Tree Hill developed into a downpour. Logan's muffled giggles drifted faintly from upstairs, a sound Quinn realized vaguely nobody had heard in too long. Sam's voice was a soft anchor, playing along with whatever escapism Logan was creating for himself. But none of that could quite eclipse the empty echo in Quinn's chest of the heartbeat that had given up too soon. Her hand still drifted instinctively to her stomach sometimes — a protective gesture that made no sense now, except for how much she wished it did.
The sound of the doorbell pulled her from the haze of grief threatening to pull her under. Quinn wiped her eyes and reluctantly shrugged off the fuzzy blanket, moving to answer it on autopilot. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Clay standing before her: dripping from head to toe, shoes squelching on the welcome mat, his voice too raw to even apologize for showing up unannounced. Quinn vaguely sensed Lil hovering behind her, motherly instincts having drawn her to the doorstep with arms full of another soft blanket and deep worry in her eyes.
Finally, Quinn found her voice. "Honey, what on earth are you doing here? Come inside!" Quinn dragged him over the threshold by one of his soaked sleeves, his shoes dragging puddles down the same hallway Sara had once danced down. With Lil's concerned gaze laser-sharp over her shoulder, Quinn could almost feel the ghosts of the Kay girls she never knew, Sara and her cancer-stricken older sister, Izzie. Clay's soaking wet jacket hit the floor with a squelching noise, and he stood a few paces from her with shaking arms folded around himself. Whether to ward off the bone-deep chill or keep himself from breaking, Quinn couldn't be sure.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I tried to be fine, but I-I'm—" His breath hitched so violently it seemed grief was tearing through his ribcage. He bent sharply into his elbow, a sneeze wrenching out of him, and another followed almost instantly, doubling him over. His chest heaved; the attempt at a sniffle only made his nose twitch miserably. "Not…so fine," he admitted hoarsely, eyes watering. "Excuse me."
"Oh, sweetheart," Lil's voice sliced through the fog of Quinn's grief even better than the startling desperation of Clay's sneezes. Sara's mother approached him with caution and care that made him want to shatter into a million little pieces. "Bless you." Concern knitted her thin, white brows together. "Since when does work involve trying to drown yourself?" Her hand pressed against his clammy cheek, Quinn's against his arm, both finding him fever-warm and shaking. Lil knew that look in his eyes — the old lie of I'm fine when every breath rattled. "Don't even try, Clay. You're not fine."
"I could never lie to you," he grumbled, the complaint laced with familiarity and admiration. But before either woman could say another word, another harsh sneeze snapped his head forward, leaving his ears popping as he winced. The congestion had settled deeper the next time he spoke. "S'cuse me."
Quinn brushed a stray tear from his fevered cheek with her thumb. "Bless you." She wrapped him in such a tight hug that it was hard to tell if she was seeking comfort or giving it. "No more pretending. This is so far from fine...and that sucks, but it's okay. We're going to be okay."
Quinn caught Lil's gaze while Clay clung to her like a lifeline, his stubborn sorrow dragging him down to this breaking point. She saw her pain mirrored in Logan's grandmother — a woman who'd lost both her daughters, now watching her son-in-law shatter all over again. The grief folded into the lines of Lil's face made Quinn's chest ache. She saw history there — quiet compassion for everything Clay had carried since he was eighteen.
She hadn't been there when he lost his father in that fiery plane crash, or when Sam and Lil lost both their girls so young. But she felt the weight of all those ghosts now in the way his shoulders trembled. The storm outside found its echo in him — the chill forcing itself out along with everything he'd buried for years. His body wouldn't let him swallow it down anymore, or this miserable cold.
A shaking hand pressed to his nose, but any attempt to stifle was hopeless now. His watering eyes fluttered helplessly, deep, hitching breaths spilling out in sync with the tears. He wheezed faintly, "Could I get a-a—" The request shattered as a sudden sneeze pitched him forward, swallowing the rest of his words. He sagged back, breathless, managing a belated, "...tissue," when Lil pressed one into his trembling hand.
"Always," she murmured. "Stop trying to carry so much and come sit down." Her warm hand pressed between his shoulder blades, and he instinctively straightened under her touch, joints crackling in protest. His shoes dragged puddles down the hallway, and he dropped onto the couch with a faint groan, raking his damp hair back with shaking fingers. When he twisted away to muffle another sneeze into his arm, Lil's hand found his hair again — the same way she'd soothed her girls when they were sick. "Bless you. Let us hold some of the heaviness now, alright? We're here, honey. For all of it."
Quinn tightened her arms around him, too, letting the words stitch shut the raw echo still bleeding inside her chest.
Upstairs, Sam perched at the edge of Logan's bed, steadying himself against the faint creak of the floorboards as the storm rattled the windows. Logan sat cross-legged on his old quilt, fidgeting with the frayed edge between his fingers.
"Is Dad gonna be okay?" the eight-year-old blurted, his voice as small as the thunder was big.
Sam's rough palm settled gently over Logan's restless hands. "Your dad's stronger than he thinks, Wolverine. He's just tired — tired deep down where sleep can't reach. He needs us to help him rest."
Logan sniffed, nose wrinkling. "But he was crying. And sneezing so loud I thought he was gonna blow the roof off."
That dragged a chuckle from Sam's chest — a tired sound but warm all the same. "Crying and sneezing don't break a man, son. They just mean he's letting himself be human for once."
Logan stared at his lap. "Is it my fault he's sick? 'Cause I was scared and he came back?"
Sam's thumb brushed his grandson's knuckles. "No, Logan. Your dad's sick because he forgot to take care of himself. You're the reason he keeps fighting to get better."
Logan looked up, eyes wide, worry older than his years. "I'll help him. I'll help Mama Q, too."
Sam nodded, pressing a kiss to the crown of Logan's head — the same way he'd done for Sara and Izzie when storms got too loud. "That's all they need from you. Your brave heart and good soul. That's more than enough tonight."
Back in the living room, Sara's old quilt cocooned Clay's aching limbs now, melding the feverish sheen of sweat to his whole body. His hair clung to his temple, damp with sweat rather than icy rainwater now. He was so congested that every breath was a reluctant, wheezy, wet hum. A rattling cough bent him over double, so harsh that the floorboards overhead creaked with Logan's fidgety concern, and Sam thankfully kept him upstairs for now. Clay's knuckles braced tightly under his nose — the polite reflex that once steadied a room full of ghosts. But now the hitchiness sat deep in his lungs, sharp and inevitable. Quinn's watchful eyes darted sharply towards him at the frantic inhale.
"M'sorry," he murmured. "I shoulda stayed...for you...after the baby...ruined everything, for Nate and—" A sneeze tore through mid-sentence, so forceful it rattled his chest and left him coughing hard after. He winced, voice breaking. "'S'cuse me…again."
Quinn pressed the tissue box against his aching chest, and her lips hovered gently at his sweaty hairline. "Stop apologising for being human. Just breathe, okay? I need you to stay alive."
"Being human hurts," Clay groaned, clutching a fresh tissue to his nose as another shaky cough burst forth. When the fit passed, his voice was so raw it was almost non-existent. "So tired of pain, Q."
"I know," she whispered tenderly, gentle fingers stroking his sweat-damp hair. "Me, too." For a moment, she almost believed the storm had passed, both inside and out.
But then, a practically cinematic flash of lightning shot across the dark sky outside Sam and Lil's living room window. A thunderclap boomed at the exact moment another explosive sneeze wracked him, the timing so sharp it felt like the storm was inside him too. His wrist shot up too late, leaving him blinking through the sting in his eyes as a wet sniffle dragged after it.
Quinn pressed her hand soothingly against the curve of his spine, her blessing catching on the jagged lump of grief in her throat. She was glad his eyes were closed for a moment, fingers pressed to his temples like his head was about to explode, because holding all her grief inside wasn't getting any easier. "Bless you," she managed finally, just before he finally opened his eyes with another ragged sniffle.
He cleared his throat with a slight wince and finally looked at her with a desperate plea in his expression. "Q, please don't tell my mom about this," he begged. "She...heh—" his breath teetered on the threat of another sneeze for a moment, then he blinked away the hot tears welling in his eyes instead. "She worries too much." The sneeze still burst out seconds later, tearing through him and leaving his chest heaving. Quinn tried to bless him again, but now the words caught in her throat, a massive lump of grief lodged too large in her airway to speak, let alone breathe.
"Sorry." He coughed out the simple word, his voice approaching the point of no return after the relentless sneezing fits.
"Never be sorry for this." Quinn dropped a kiss to his sweaty temple. "Let me take care of you. It feels good...after everything. Your mom doesn't need to worry about you right now. I've got you, I promise." Leaning close, she wrapped both arms around Clay, steadying the feverish chills shooting mercilessly down his spine. "Till kingdom come, right?"
"Forever," Clay agreed on a hoarse sigh, his eyes drifting shut at last. "I love you." When his head tilted wearily against her shoulder, Clay groaned in disgust as his deep congestion shifted. "Hang on, I need a...another—" The rest of the request broke off in another wrenching sneeze, leaving him slumped and shivering with the effort. He reached wordlessly for the tissue box, muttering hoarsely, "I love you, and I feel gross."
"You're mine," Quinn corrected him. "Grossness and all, no matter what."
The sound of socked feet padding down the stairs made both Clay and Quinn look up. Logan emerged at the bottom in seconds, concern still etched deeply on his young face. Staring into the hazel eyes Logan had inherited from Sara, Clay could almost see a healing pulse beating in his son's gaze. Quinn wiped away another stray tear and reached for their son. Sam nudged him gently towards her, his nervous hesitation evident, as the eight-year-old's eyes locked onto his father. "Are you sick, Dad? I heard you sneeze even louder than the thunder outside!"
"Just a little," Clay rasped, twisting away from his son to let out another shaky cough.
Logan looked at Quinn in confusion when her hand settled over his heart, warm, steady, and alive, unlike their baby's. "What are you doing, Mama Q?"
"Reminding myself to appreciate the ones I still have," she murmured, tears brimming in her eyes again. "I know I already apologized for saying I'm not your mom, but do you mind if I say it again anyway?" Logan squinted at her when she drew him closer with shaking hands. "I love you, Wolverine. And I always will. We lost one heartbeat before ever getting to know it, but yours is...everything."
Clay pressed his fingers to his sinuses with a groan. "Don't make me cry right now, Q," he complained hoarsely. "Can't breathe!"
"Then don't cry," said Logan, as if stating the obvious. "Simple solution," he giggled, sliding off Quinn's lap to perch on Clay's knees instead.
"You might not want to—" He broke off as a double sneeze snapped him forward, violent enough to rattle his breath. Clay winced apologetically and took the tissue Logan handed him with a dramatic flourish. "Ugh. Sorry, buddy. I warned you not to get too close today. I'm a mess."
"Maybe," Logan shrugged, curling his arms around Clay's neck, pressing close like a human heating pad. "But you're our mess. Bless you, Daddy." When Clay tried to speak again, a rough cough broke free, straight into his son's hair. This time, the little boy grimaced. "Gross, Dad!" He rolled his eyes affectionately. "We love you anyway."
"Yes, we do," Quinn echoed softly. "So much more than you know." She pressed her lips softly to his still-warm forehead. "We're gonna be okay, I promise. We're all home now."
"Listen to her," Lil chimed in with that gentle firmness he'd always loved from his in-laws. "It means so much to us that you still feel safe here." He could hear the weight of shared history in her voice — to Sam and Lil, a part of him would always be the lost boy who arrived on their doorstep, haunted by Sara's ghost, Logan too small to handle by himself. Now, here he was again...Sara still gone, his and Quinn's baby with no heartbeat, somewhere far out of reach with his lost first love.
The fading raindrops tapping gently against the windows carried echoes of all his loss in this place. Something warm, like a forcefield of love, bloomed around the cold lodged deep in his chest. The physical sensation of that colliding ache and warmth was overwhelming, and Clay half-choked on another wet sniffle. He fanned his face, blinking rapidly in anticipation.
"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, releasing her hand from his grasp to gently rub his back. The fabric of his shirt was still damp and cool against her palm despite all their warming efforts.
"Y-yeah, I just...I think I'm—" he stammered, ducking into his sleeve just as the release tore through, leaving him slumped and shivering with the effort. "Still sneezy. God...I'm so sorry."
Sam's hand never wavered, nudging the tissue box Logan had brought downstairs with him earlier within reach. The old man stepped forward and gently smoothed back his grandson's hair, the eight-year-old leaning into the tender touch like a needy pet cat. "You'll get through this," Sara's father promised, even though he could still see the shadow of the shattered twenty-five-year-old he once knew in that pain Clay was trying so hard to hide.
Lil plucked a fresh tissue from the box and dabbed at the last of the half-rain, half-tears around Clay's reddened eyes. "Bless you, sweetheart. Rest now, please. As I said before, you should listen to your wife more often." Her lips curled upwards into the hint of a smile; "You're all home now, and we're going to make sure nobody leaves again until your hearts have healed. We've got you...all of you, for as long as it takes."
"Thank you," said Quinn softly, looking up at Sara's parents with gratitude that dimmed the deep grief in her eyes at long last. Her hand pressed gently against Clay's back. "I can speak for both of us when I say that means everything."
"Everything and more," Clay croaked in agreement, accepting another tissue from Logan like a trophy. He blew his nose quietly and sagged against Quinn's shoulder, grieving and congested but home.
A/N I live for bombarding Clay with the love of his family elders, Tree Hill was seriously lacking in the parental department. Enjoy xx