A/N: This is just a short two-shot about Bender and Claire. It'll have a speck of Allison/Andy next chapter, but in this one…not a trace, really. I hope you enjoy!! Please review, flame, constructive criticism is preferable but whatever floats your boat.

Romen~

Disclaimer: I own no one but Mark. Lucky me. *sarcasm*

Chapter One

Bender felt sick. He wasn't sure if it was from the drinks he'd had last night or Claire's terrible hints.

"I think it's so sweet that Andy is taking Allison to homecoming," she gushed over the phone.

"Uh-huh."

"I saw her at the mall this weekend, looking for a dress. I shopped around with her for a while…I would have gotten one myself but…yeah."

He smirked. "Yeah."

Why wouldn't she just come out and ask him? He knew what he'd tell her. He couldn't wait to crush her hopes.

"Look, Bender…I'm going to the homecoming dance tomorrow night," she began.

"I see where this is going," he interrupted smugly. "No Claire. No no no NO."

"John, why not?" she whined. He could see her pouty face vividly. It made him smile.

"Because," he replied, mimicking her tone, "homecoming is a lame ass mob of geeks, jocks and spoiled shits. I don't have time to waste."

"Bender, I went to that dreadful heavy metal concert with you…"

He laughed, remembering. She'd had her hands over her ears most of the time, staring at him in amazement. "You call this music?" she'd shouted over the torrent of screaming. Her reaction was more interesting than the actual show. The more enthusiastic he became, the more astounded she was. Finally he'd jumped into the mosh pit, dragging her with him. "JOHN!" she screamed. At first he was worried she was hurt, but then he saw she was smiling.

She liked it, she just didn't know it.

"Well if you're gonna be that way, fine. I just thought I'd let you know, because Mark asked me –"

"Who's Mark?"

"Just some guy in my chem class. But he seems pretty nice, and I don't want to go alone. I want someone to dance with."

"Well if you're asking my permission don't even bother. I don't give a damn who you go with," he snapped, wishing he didn't sound so riled.

"Why are you angry?"

"I'm not angry! But I'm not going to homecoming!"

"Okay, you don't have to! I never said you did! I just thought I'd ask!" Her voice was thick with emotion. It made his stomach twist painfully. He regretted his outburst.

There was a long period of silence.

"Bender, I've gotta go." Now her voice was monotone, void of all signs of life.

"Bye Cherry."

There was a click, and she was gone.

(Space)

The next morning Claire didn't meet him in the court yard like usual. He scowled. Pissy brat, she was still mad about last night. Well he wasn't going! She would just have to live with it. She couldn't always get her way.

He didn't see her during lunch. They alternated between sitting with each other's crowds. Today was his turn to eat with her friends; he dreaded those days. They all looked down their noses at him. He made it a priority to make each of them squirm before the bell rang. When he crept over to their table, she wasn't there. He backed away, confused. Maybe she hadn't made it through the line yet. He sat alone at a corner table, spread out along the bench while he waited for her to show. Fifteen minutes went by; no Cherry.

"She's way pissed at you."

He tried not to whirl around. It was difficult. Allison was sitting beside him, hands tucked under her chin, eyes hidden behind thick bangs. She was cute in a crazy sort of way. He wondered if she'd own twenty cats when she was an old lady.

"Who?" he asked pointedly. He never ignored Allison; he wasn't rude to her either. Maybe it was because he thought he was better than her. Maybe it was because she was just so open.

"Claire. I ran into her this morning."

"She'll get over it."

"She may just get over you."

That got his attention. He swallowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ooooh, I shouldn't say." Her voice didn't trail off, but increased in pitch until it wasn't audible to human ears.

He wasn't going to try to press the information out of her. He couldn't look upset. Last thing he needed was Allison running and telling Claire that he actually cared.

"Thinks she too good for me, huh?" he managed to say, pulling at a snag on his gloves.

"That's what she acts like, but that's not it." She leaned in confidentially. "She thinks you're not putting in enough."

"Putting in enough what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Enough effort. Like you're not meeting her halfway."

"What does that even mean?" he exclaimed. "Damn! What is wrong with women?"

"Exactly what's wrong with men. We're all just human."

"This is just a plot to get me to go to the dance…"

"The dance is just part of it."

He was more than ticked. How could she say he wasn't putting in enough effort? He'd given up dope for her! He remembered the day he was supposed to come over to her house for dinner. He'd been nervous all day. He knew where she lived, but he'd never been inside her house before. He couldn't fathom it. He skipped fifth hour with a friend to light up, to calm his nerves. When he'd met her at her car after school, she'd wrinkled her nose and averted her eyes.

"We're not doing this tonight," she mumbled.

He was relieved and cautious at the same time. "Why not?"

"Bender…you smell like you just walked out of a head shop. What would my parents say?"

He'd stepped out of her car, too sick with himself to say word.

She'd never asked him to stop. He knew she didn't really care, as long as he wasn't high when they were together. But it was the disappointment in her voice, the shame that drowned him, that made him kick the habit.

But he'd never told her that.

He jiggled his knee, teeth gritted. "I don't care what she does. She can go with Michael or Mitch or whatever his name is and have a blast. See if I do anything."

"If you don't do anything, then she will."

Those words felt like a death sentence. Allison looked like the judge who had sent him to a correctional facility three years ago, peering at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. The only difference now was that Allison probably did.

"Shit," he grumbled. "Where is she now?"

"I haven't seen her since this morning. She's probably with her preppy –"

"No." He cracked his knuckles. He needed a smoke. He stood, storming out of the cafeteria and out onto the grounds. Allison followed until they were behind the kitchens. He sat down on a fuse box and pulled a pack of matches out of his pocket. He lit one with his teeth and was soon dragging on a cigarette like it was life support.

"Did she tell you to tell me all this?" he demanded, glaring at her. He was pissed, pissed at Claire, pissed at Allison, pissed at himself.

"No. Not really. I think she wanted me to though."

"Why wouldn't she just tell me herself?"

"You scare her sometimes."

That hurt. He looked down, flicking ash. "She said that?"

Allison climbed up beside him, folding her legs beneath her. "She said, when you're angry you lash out…not physically. You say things that sound like you hate her, like you want to hurt her…like you don't care. She talked about last Saturday…"

Last Saturday. He leaned his head back against the wall, remembering. His dad had been wasted even earlier than usual. His mom had taken the day off from work; she'd had the flu. They must have run out of booze, his dad was going through drawers and cabinets, looking between couch cushions for spare change.

"Rhonda, I need some cash," he roared at last.

She came into the room timidly, wringing her hands. "I don't have anything on me…"

"Lying bitch, I know you have something."

"It all went toward groceries and the electric bill…"

"Lazy, good for nothing whore!" Smack. "Then why aren't you at work?"

"I'm sick, I'm sick!" she shrieked, ducking blows. "Talk to John, he might have something."

John inwardly groaned. He was tired and buzzed otherwise he would have been hiding in his room, but now he was in a vulnerable position in the living room. He rose from the couch and made his way to the front door as quietly as he could.

"John, get your ass over here and give your old man some money."

His wallet felt unusually heavy in his pocket. He'd worked for this money, hours in the shop. He'd been planning to take Claire out somewhere nice, show her that he could be classy too. There was this expensive Italian joint downtown she'd said she wanted to go to…

"I'm broke," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

"Not after all those days you worked at the shop, you scummy brat. Get over here."

"Dad, I don't have anything…"

"Quit lying you ungrateful…"

He didn't hear the rest of it; he could only hear a ringing in his ears as his dad laid one onto him, on his cheek, on his left eye. That was going to leave a mark. Then there was a punch to the back of his head, a knee to the ribs. He fumbled for his wallet with trembling hands.

His dad snatched it greedily, but not before giving him a kick in the ribs. "Now get out of my sight!"

He did. He'd stumbled out the front door. He lit a cigarette. It was a cloudy night; even the street lights seemed dim. He walked without a distinct idea of where he was going, but he knew where he would end up. He was surprised he wasn't stopped by a cop, a hooligan like him tromping through this ritzy neighborhood. He stopped when he reached the largest house on the block; four stories, wrap-around balconies on the two top floors. There was a large trellis on the side of the structure. He ascended rapidly, fearful he might break it. He managed to scramble onto the balcony after banging his knee against the railing.

He crept to her window, pressing close to the glass. There she was, stretched out across her enormous bed. It had a frilly canopy, like a princess's bed should have. She was surrounded by pillows and various stuffed animals. He shook his head. He should have known she was the type to cuddle with a teddy bear.

Who was he to talk? After all, he was only playing peeping Tom with his girlfriend. This was ridiculous. He didn't know why he came. He tried to stand softly; he didn't want to wake her up.

For some unearthly reason, he slipped and fell back with a definitive thud. He swore loudly. He could only hope no one had heard him. All he needed was to be accused for attempted breaking and entering. It wouldn't be the first time.

He heard the door scrape open. He wanted to disappear.

"Bender?" she asked, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey Cherry." Quick, think of something cool… "Just checking out the lifestyle of the rich and famous. You ever think of a child sleeping on the streets in Africa when you're laying on that puffy bed?"

"You looked into my room?" She shook her head. "You're such a perv."

"I prefer misunderstood."

"Yeah, that too." She came over to stand beside him. "But seriously, what are you doing here?"

He shrugged, leaning back against the railing. "Nowhere better to be."

"Uh huh…John!" She gasped, taking hold of his face. "Your eye…what happened?"

He tried to pull away. "Nothing."

"That's not 'nothing'. Did you get in a fight?"

"Not exactly…"

"Then what was it?" She paused, lips pursed. "Did your dad do this to you?"

She knew. He shouldn't have blown up in detention that day, blabbing about his family. It felt like he'd grown spikes, grotesque, dangerous spikes. Maybe it was more like he'd been thrown into a puddle of mud, and Claire was a pure white swath of satin, seeing him in his full array of hideousness. He hated himself for that…He hated that she had to see.

"You don't know anything about my dad," he snarled, jerking away from her touch.

Her brown eyes glistened. "I'm sorry, it's just that what you said in detention…"

"Forget what I said in detention. That was shit. Don't you ever bring up what I said that day." He could hear the edge in his voice, cutting like a knife.

"Okay, calm down. Forgive me for being concerned when you show up outside my window in the middle of the night with bruises all over you…"

"Cut it Claire. I don't need the attitude. I'm done. There's no point talking to you."

"Then just get out!" she shouted. "Why do you even bother coming if you're going to get hateful?"

"Why do you have to take everything so damn personally?" He was an inch from her face. He couldn't stop yelling even if he had tried. "You are such a spoiled shit! You think you know everything! Well let me tell you, you don't know a damned thing about me or my life, and don't pretend that you do!"

She was angry enough to cry. She stormed away from him, and slammed the door behind her.

When he saw her at school the next morning, he mumbled an apology. She didn't seem upset. He thought maybe she wasn't.

He must have been wrong.

Now he felt like a monster. He was a monster. He tossed the cigarette aside. He wanted to throw something.

"Well…It was good while it lasted," he mumbled when he noticed Allison was waiting for him to say something.

"You are such a wimp, John Bender."

"Yeah? Well you're a freak."

She grinned, as if proud of that title. "Thank you. But you're just gonna give up like that?"

"If she wants to leave me, there's nothing I can do." He shrugged. "I don't beg."

"You don't have to beg."

"I don't like to have to do anything."

"Well…sorry." She shrugged. "It's time to step out of your comfort zone John Bender."

"And do what? Tell her how much of a worthless ass hole I am? Tell her that my dad knocks me around like a piece of shit? She already knows all of that."

"Talk to her John." She patted him on the knee. "That's all she wants." She stood and began to wander off toward the football field.

"Well you know what I want?" he shouted after her. "A joint!"

(Space)

Bender skipped the rest of the day. He'd tiptoed through the ritzy neighborhood, expecting to see the Stepford Wives materialize at any moment. When he'd climbed clumsily up the balcony he'd assumed someone would call the cops; as he lay on the massive bed, he expected to hear a siren at any minute.

He didn't feel like looking around. He was too nervous. So he did what he always did when he was stressed – stretched out across the bed and took a nap.

The sound of a car door slamming woke him up. Years of hearing his dad pound up the stairs while he was sleeping and beat him for no good reason had conditioned him. Instead of escaping like he normally did, today he shook sleep out of his eyes and propped himself up against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head. He listened to her walk slowly up the steps. He was electrified. It was all he could do to keep from bolting out on the balcony and racing away.

She came into the room with a sigh. He held his breath. She didn't notice him. She dropped her backpack and went straight to her vanity, playing with her hair. He held back a snicker.

"Vanity is one of the seven deadly sins, you know," he said when he'd regained his composure.

She started and gave a shriek. "John Bender! What are you doing here?"

"Just looking after your immortal soul."

"Why are you in my room? This is- this is breaking and entering!"

"I didn't break anything," he exclaimed, pretending to be offended. "You should lock your balcony door Claire. Creeps can just creep right on in while you're snoozing in your frilly cradle." He patted the pillows for emphasis.

"Did you go through any of my things?" She rushed over to her dresser and cast him a worried look.

Now he was offended. "No. I wouldn't invade your privacy that much."

She blushed and wrung her hands. "Oh."

He wasn't sure how to begin. He shifted awkwardly, running a hand over his face. "So…um…I talked to Allison today…"

He watched for a sign of shock or tension in her face; there wasn't any.

"…and she said that you said…well, not that you really said but, um, you implied…Claire, just come here," he breathed, heart pounding.

She sat down on the edge of the bed wordlessly, pulling at a ruffle.

He sat up and crossed his legs. He took a deep breath and plunged.

"See Claire, the thing about me is…that I'm an ass," he began, his mouth feeling unusually dry, "and I'm a hypocrite, and I'm an idiot. I say stupid things I don't mean and I don't think before I say those things and I usually say them to the people that I care most about…which is you." He paused. "It was my dad last Saturday…it was him on Monday too."

"I know," she replied softly, her blank expression unreadable. Bender interpreted it as contempt and was afraid to divulge more, but he couldn't stop himself. It was like his mouth was a stubborn motor that had finally started to work and now refused to stop.

"I hate it," he explained weakly. "I shouldn't have said anything in detention. Andy got me wound up. But when I yelled at you…I was yelling at me. It hurts me when I hurt you Claire. The things I said…I just don't want you to see this. Because I'm really a sappy piece of shit." He gulped. "And…that's it."

She stroked his cheek. "I never see a sappy piece of shit."

He scowled. "You're insane Claire. Clinically insane. And they think Allison is the one who's messed up. I can't buy you nice things, take you nice places…The only thing I can do is drag my problems into your pristine life."

She scoffed. "You call this life pristine? Do you know why my parents aren't home? They're not at work. Dad's on vacation in the Bahamas with his current girlfriend, and Mom's visiting my older brother at some rehab facility in New York."

"So you're telling me…You're in this gigantic castle alone, and you don't lock your balcony door?"

"Don't change the subject Bender."

"I'm not," he said sternly. "You really are insane. Don't you see how easy it is for me to get in here? None of your neighbors even noticed... A psychopath could climb in here and- and- why are you laughing?"

"If I didn't know better, I could swear that you're actually worried about me!" she gasped out between giggles.

"Yeah? Well what if I am?" he snapped. "I'm not a total insensitive jerk. I- I do care." The phrase felt lumpy and thick on his tongue. "And I'm never gonna say that again!"

"Okay grumpy."

"I'm gonna have to make up for all of this sentimentality by being more of an ass than usual. Consider yourself forewarned."

"How nice of you to let me know."

He gazed at her, her flaming red hair, her glistening lips, caring eyes, smooth skin…How did he ever get so lucky. He hesitated, fearing the pain that this next statement would cause him.

"I'm a selfish bastard Claire…"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"No really, listen. I'm only gonna say this once. But first…" He pulled her to him forcefully, pushing his lips against hers and kissing her with such passion it felt like he was saying good-bye. They were locked until she pulled away, thrilled and frightened at the same time.

"John, what…"

"Just wait. Claire, you're a princess. I'm a…" He searched for a deprecating word. "I'm a criminal. We move in…different circles."

She paled. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"I just told you that I'm a selfish bastard. It may not be best for you, but I'm gonna stick around. So don't count on me ducking out."

"It's good that I'm so crazy then, isn't it?"

"Claire…"

"Shh." She placed a finger over his lips. "Don't screw it up. And don't say anything crude," she said hurriedly, realizing her mistake.

"Me? Crude? And here I am trying to save your immortal soul."

"Yeah, by playing peeping Tom and breaking into my house!"

He assumed a pious air. "Do as I say, not as I do."

She was about to respond when the phone rang. Of course she had one in her room. He laid back against the pillows again and yawned.

"Hello?" she answered sweetly. "Oh, hey Mark…"

Bender stiffened. He reached out and began to stroke her back slowly, hoping to provide a distraction.

"That works for me," she said after a pause. "I don't have to be back until 1 o' clock…What restaurant?...I love Japanese!...Who all is going?"

Bender started to tickle her ribs.

She laughed outright, squirming and twisting. She swatted his hand away. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you…I'm sorry can you say that again?" Her face fell. "Mark, I think you misunderstood me. I would really like to go with you to homecoming only as a friend. I'm already seeing someone."

The little shit had the nerve to ask her out. This was the last straw. Bender grabbed the phone out of her hand.

"…It's totally cool," Mark was saying. "Even if it is just the two of us, it doesn't have to get romantic…"

"Excuse me, son," Bender cut in with a rugged, deep voice he hoped passed for a middle aged man, "but there's something you should know about my daughter before you take her out."

"Bender, give me the phone!" Claire hissed, making a dive for it; Bender avoided her.

"You see, she wasn't originally my daughter."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Mark said uneasily.

"Let's put it this way; we used to call her Carl."

"I am gonna kill you!" she shrieked. She lunged at him, knocking him off the bed. He rolled over and put his arm over his head, protecting the phone.

It was harder to keep from laughing now. "I hope that you're an open minded individual Mark. I sure know Claire is."

"Oh um…I…see." He could practically hear him gulp. "Well I er…gotta get going Mr. Standish. It was nice…talking to you."

"Nice talking to you too, my boy. I do hope you take a fancy to my Claire. It would be great to have a son again."

Bender scrambled for the receiver and slammed the phone down.

"Why did you do that?" She was pounding his chest relentlessly, her face as red as her hair. "You jack ass, now everyone is going to be talking about me!"

"I gave you forewarning," he reminded her.

"Mark is gonna think I'm a freak, John! He'll probably never talk to me again!"

Bender shook his head sadly. "What a loss. But friends don't have secrets Claire."

"Right, because you're Mr. Honesty. Oh, and now I don't have a date to the dance! Get out of my house!"

"What mood swings! Do you think you're going through the change?"

"OUT!" She was kicking at him now. "I never want to talk to you again!"

He clasped his hands with mock desperation. "I don't know how I'll survive."

She shoved him out the door and slammed it in his face.

(Space)

Claire was still pissed at Bender when she was getting ready for the dance. She didn't even want to go anymore, but she was going to just to spite him.

What an ass to pull that with her! And after he had been so sweet...She'd find a way to get him back. He would rue the day…

She straightened her dress with a sigh. It was a gauzy, white strapless with a bubble skirt that ended just above her knees. She liked it because it showed off her figure. She didn't like that there'd be no one around to admire it.

A tap at her window pane caught her attention. She shouldn't have been surprised that it was Bender, he'd been here so many times in a span of a few days, but she was still taken aback. She shook her head and glared at him before sitting down at her vanity and pretending to be absorbed in fixing her mascara.

She heard him try to the open the door and grinned. She'd taken his advice and locked it.

Then a hideously loud and off-key voice began to bellow, "We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind. 'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance well they're no friends of mine…"

They could probably hear him down the entire street. She rushed over and opened the door with a scowl that changed into a look of genuine confusion.

He was wearing a grey button down that may have at one time been white, a tie that wasn't tied, and slacks. The unruly gentleman look suited him more than she would have liked to admit.

"What are you doing?" she questioned, unable to look away.

"Going to hell in a hand basket," he grumbled, tugging at his collar uncomfortably. "I look like a freaking dumbass…"

"No, not at all. It's…nice." She smiled. "Do you know how to fix a tie?"

"Yes," he lied. "And no I'm not tying it. Those things are like leashes."

She giggled. "So…may I ask why you're all dressed up?"

"I just told you, going to hell- I mean, homecoming, with you."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

He shrugged. "Ain't got nothing better to do."

She knew that wasn't why, but she didn't contradict him. Her anger was rapidly melting away. She leaned in and kissed him softly on the neck.

For the first time ever, she saw him blush.

He cleared his throat. "I um…picked this up on the way here. I didn't know what color you were wearing…"

He pulled a box out of his pocket. In it was a bright red corsage.

She swallowed a snicker. "John…corsages are for prom."

"Damnit." His face flushed even deeper. "You can just throw it away then, or something…"

"I like it." She took the box from him and slipped the flower on her wrist. "Thank you."

They stood in an awkward silence, each avoiding the other's gaze. Claire listened to his rushed, heavy breathing with contentment. How he could infuriate her and then make her swoon in such a short amount of time was inconceivable.

"We should get going," she said at last. "I need to find my keys…"

"No need. Your chariot awaits." He bowed and gestured over the balcony.

She looked down. A motorcycle that had seen better days was perched in the driveway.

"But…my hair!" she cried.

"Don't worry, it'll still be there." He patted her on the shoulder. "Come on." He began to climb over the railing.

"You can use the stairs this time. I swear Bender, if you kill me on that thing…"

"I'll obey all the rules of the road. I'll be an exemplary citizen." And he would. He didn't want to be pulled over – his license had expired two months ago.

"I guess there's a first time for everything."

There was indeed a first time for everything. There was first time for John Bender to wear a tux, a first time for him to go to a school dance, a first time for him to have a girlfriend…not just a friend with benefits. After tonight, he was going to reward himself with a much earned joint for the first time in three weeks…if he survived, that is.