regenerated | and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

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and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

Up until now, everything's been easy. As strange as it might be for most people to imagine, Claire Bennet's leap off the Compound has been the best thing that's happened to her yet on Tabula Rasa. Maybe it isn't the healthiest— after all, where the leap from the Compound was supposed to help her shed that mask, come face to face with all that fate's laid on her, now it's only granted a wish that she's held tightly to for months. All of a sudden, it's the lies that have become truth. She no longer has to think about the ideas her mind's brushed over in past months, wondering if invincibility comes with everlasting life, if wrinkles will never make it to her face, caused by smiles or frowns. The prospect itself is still one that chills her to the bone, lingering in the shadows of her thought, Claire realizing better than anyone else that there will come a day when she returns to the United States, when being a cheerleader is no longer an option, when her dad will come and take her into his arms, family man that he is. She'll have to search for Peter, for Nathan, for anything remaining of the two of them. But for now, one choice has been switched for another, and it feels pretty good.

She's probably driven the people at the clinic mad. Claire keeps on trying to pull off her bandages, keeps on running gentle hands over her injuries, relishing the way that the pain is different each time. This process is healing. Not reversing, not erasing all trace of what's happened, but instead an imperfect process that leaves her slightly fractured, slightly weak, all of the things that a girl her age is supposed to be. The bruises that she sees all over her skin might be about the most beautiful thing she's seen and felt in a long time, her eyes wide with amazement at the human body, that imperfect state of being and how it adapts. It's almost hard to keep the lie in place, with the way her lips spread into a smile at the slightest provocation, how laughs catch in her throat now because her lung hasn't healed enough to be used at full force.

But she can't hide on her own forever. Can't use fatigue as an excuse when all the doctors can see that her eyes are practically dancing. It's time for visiting hours. This is what she's been dreading.

Because somehow, she doesn't think that most people will believe her if she tells them this is the happiest she's been in almost a year. And honestly, she's not even sure if she should.

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Blondie could keep saying it, but it wouldn't make Rizzo any more likely to believe it. She gave a huff of a humourless laugh. "Sounds like the same damn thing to me. There's a hellova lotta ways to go about it. My old lady tried to do it now and then with booze, a friend of a friend with a gun. It all comes down to the same thing, honey." Her expression softened, somewhat, just around her eyes. "You coulda told me, Claire."

Breathing deeply, Claire considered her options again. Maybe the best thing to do was to just tell Rizzo, tell her everything, and yet Claire found that when she parted her lips as though to try, they felt parched. The words wouldn't come. So she looked down at her hands again, running along the slight scrapes there, injuries so light compared to the rest that plagued her. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. "I didn't tell anyone. Because how do you tell anyone that you don't want this island anymore, that even with how much people mean to you, all you want to do is go home? You don't tell people that. Not without the chance of hurting them," she said quietly.

"You open your fucking mouth," Rizzo said, but it wasn't as harsh as it could have been. She could remember what it was like to have no one in the whole fucking world to talk to when she thought she'd been knocked up - everyone thought her a slut, and the only way for her to get by without breaking down was to keep up the tough girl act - but it was an act, no matter what she may say or pretend.

Rizzo sat down on the edge of Claire's bed, the mattress dipping so that Rizzo put her hand on the gal's arm to keep her from moving. She kept it there. It wasn't much, but it was something.

The words were hard, in their own way. At least, the message was. And some part of Claire couldn't help but acknowledge the truth in them, that there really wasn't an excuse for keeping everything so close to her chest. That it wasn't fair, that it was nigh hypocritical of her, and yet. She looked up at Rizzo, tempted to shake her head, a few strands of hair falling out of place here and there, no longer so curled or carefully tended to. Instead, she leaned over, sat up as straight as her body would reasonably allow.

"Opening my mouth has gotten me... in so much trouble before, Rizzo," she said, the tired strain even evident in her words. "There's a lot, a lot of things about me that I couldn't just let get out into the open, because it totally screwed over my life at home. Made it so that I didn't really even have a home to go to, really. It's not just a matter of me having a regular teenage crisis, like I'm worried about my waistline or my test scores. I'm keeping secrets because back home, it was the only way to keep myself safe."

"You're in the mob, aren't ya." It's the first thing that comes out of her mouth, a teasing lilt to it, an automatic response as she tries to process just what blonde, perky fucking Claire has that's so deep and dark back home. But she ain't gunna pry, even if she wants to, needs to, to know why one of her friends could jump off a fucking building, not when she keeps her own vulnerable self behind her tough-girl persona and wouldn't volunteer it out for the world. Only Paul, her one-man family around here, really had an idea.

"We all have secrets, Blondie." She said softly, turning to lean back against the wall behind the head of Claire's hospital bed, tucking her legs up so she was sitting beside her on the bed, careful not to jostle her. "By the sounds of it, yours take the cake." She reached into her ever-present clutch, pulling out one of the rolled cigarettes that she got from Guy. "Cigarette?"

"No, but some of the people I've met lately might as well have been," Claire muttered lightly in turn, shifting on the bed to make room for Rizzo. She wasn't sure if there was a point to elaborating too much right then, and the good thing about Rizzo was that she didn't push, didn't pry beyond that line of comfort. Claire had already let her secret slip to more people in the past day than she had in all of her time back home, to the point where she felt dizzy from it all. Maybe it was wiser to wait, just this once, even if it wasn't especially fair to Rizzo.

She glanced over at the cigarette, almost tempted to laugh. Only months ago, cigarettes probably wouldn't have done a single thing to her. Now, she couldn't.

"Those things are bad for you, you know," she said quietly, brow raising in concern.

Rizzo snorted, handing one over to Claire, and tucking another between her lips. "You future folks think everything is bad for you. Especially anything that'll get you your kicks," she said around it.

She pulled out her silver lighter, flicking it open and using it to light her smoke, then held it out to Claire, flame alight. "Better hurry, they get their panties in a twist 'round here faster than you can blink."

"Well, they did studies and everything, and it doesn't take too much to see that people who smoke on the island totally go through withdr— oh god," Claire rambled on, until suddenly she was faced with a cigarette and a lightly flickering flame, her eyes widening at the sight before she shook her head and pulled back.

The temptation was there, of course, but as far as Claire was concerned, she'd already gotten herself mired deeply enough in trouble; there wasn't a point in giving people even more reason to be frustrated with her.

"Maybe some other time?" she said quietly, her eyes darting to the entrance of the clinic with clear worry.

"Goodie two shoes." Rizzo rolled her eyes, but it was without malice. If she were strung up in a hospital bed, suicidal or not, the first thing she'd want was a goddamn smoke. Each to their own and all that, but as she exhaled - out of Claire's line of fire, because no body liked smoke blown in their faces, smokers or not - she thought that the gal was missing out just because of some fear-mongering.

"Don't ya think there's some sorta connection between things that are fun, and things you future folks have decided are going to rot our insides?" Rizzo spread a hand, counting off her fingers with her cigarette. "Smokin', drinkin' - hell, ridin' around without seatbelts..."

It took some effort not to immediately heave a sigh of relief, but Claire allowed herself a deep exhale either way, lips curving up as she watched Rizzo smoke. Even though she knew what it did to one's lungs, that it was essentially poison traveling through one's whole body, the way Rizzo went about it was still natural, cool, lent her an image that Claire admired in her own way, though it fortunately didn't quite bleed into envy.

"Hey, there are totally still a lot of fun things that don't rot our insides," Claire protests with a shake of her head. "Sports. Dressing nice. And some dessert is never bad for a person, as long as it's in moderation."

She gave Claire a skeptical look, exhaling as she thought over those options. "Couldn'tve paid me to cheerlead back home, what I consider dressin' nice wasn't the general bees knees, and don't even get me started on fuckin' diets." She rolled her eyes, and made a vague gesture with her hand. "You shoulda seen Marty and Jan... scarfing down twinkies one minute and watchin' their figures like sharks the next."

Claire barked a slight laugh, wincing only a touch at the end as she shifted on the bed, shaking her head. "Oh, believe me, by 'moderation' I definitely didn't mean that diets are the way to go. If there's anything that I really love my parents for— well I mean, there are tons of reasons, but one of the big ones is that they both love me exactly as I am. Sure, they'll give advice and stuff like that, but they really helped with my confidence when it comes to my appearance," she explained, tone matter-of-fact. "I still had things like waffles, pancakes, or toast for breakfast, which most girls on the squad balked over, and maybe I'm not the thinnest thing around, but I think it's good for a girl to have curves."

She took a long drag on her cigarette, because even she knew it wasn't goddamn fucking fair to anyone to compare her own parents to Claire's experience. And that made her angry, maybe, brought out the rebellious little girl in her that tried fucking everything to get her parents to react, to put their foot down, to pay attention to her.

She felt irritation bubbling up inside of her, burning jealousy channeled into anger and derision. But Claire had her own goddamn problems, and she was actually Rizzo's friend, somehow, so she shoved it back down again and if she blew out her smoke with just a little too much force, well, that was just fucking fine.

"Who said gals shouldn't have curves?" She asked, indignent. That sure hadn't been the case back home.

She noticed the change in attitude. It wasn't apparent at the very start, Claire's attention mostly on her parents, on wishing that they were there on the island with her, standing by the side of the hospital bed and trying to convince her that everything would be okay. But when Rizzo exhaled after a long drag from her cigarette, the smoke unfurling in the air, Claire blinked with light surprise. Wondering if she'd overstepped, somewhere. So her voice grew quieter, her head tilting lightly.

"A lot of people think it, these days. The trend of fashion just keeps on going thinner and thinner," she explained, biting on her lower lip. "Everyone's aiming for a size two."

"Marilyn's 35-23-35," Rizzo said, and if she was more irritated about this size business than she should probably be, she felt like getting irritated right now about something. "Rita Hayworth, Grace Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor are practically the same. They're famous for the size of their curves, not the other way around."

"I know, I know," Claire nodded with a soft sigh, ruffling her own hair until a few tendrils fell loose and framed her face. "Or, well, didn't memorize her exact stats or anything, but curves were attractive back then. And I think they're a whole lot better than the whole obsession with looking like a stick, but well, everything in and out of fashion, I guess."

"Really? I think everyone knew those numbers - guys to drool over 'em, and gals to fake 'em." Rizzo frowned, mostly at herself, because she was fucking self-observant enough that her irriation over this was upsetting the chick in the hospital and what kind of goddamn friend did that make her?

All of a sudden she remembered standing outside Rydell between classes, forcing back the bitter tears that burned her eyes, and how it felt to know that out of all the Pink Ladies and the T-Birds, only Sandy had offered unconditional help, even after how awfully Rizzo had treated her.

"They're right, you know." She said, after a pause. "Your folks. You're a knockout inside and out, blondie." She looked over so she met Claire's eyes, smiling a little, hesitant and embarassed.

"I come from some time after the height of their popularity," Claire explained, nose wrinkled slightly, almost in apology, but she shrugged it off soon enough. "So people are drooling over girls like... Avril Lavigne and Rihanna, for instance. Maybe sometime I'll show you pictures, have you listen to their songs."

With a lopsided grin, Claire shook her head, resting her head on Rizzo's shoulder and exhaling calmly. "Not as much as you," she said honestly, quirking a brow. "But yeah, my parents are pretty amazing. I think... most adoptive parents are, you know. I only hope that my friends here—" Claire nodded to Rizzo for emphasis, "—can meet them sometime. I think you'd like them a lot."

Rizzo tilted her own head against the top of Claire's where it rested on her shoulder.

"Parents 'n I don't really get on so well." Rizzo said wryly. "But I'd remember my ps and qs and everythin', if they ever show up here."

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and then she'd say, 'it's okay, i got lost on the way, but i'm a supergirl and supergirls don't cry'

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