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Part II:
Walk Away


How can I just let you walk away
Just let you leave without a trace
When I stand here taking every breath with you
You’re the only one who really knew me at all

How can you just walk away from me
When all I can do is watch you leave
Cause we’ve shared the laughter and the pain
And even shared the tears
You’re the only one who really knew me at all

- “Against All Odds” by Phil Collins


Chapter 51

Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, nearly blinding Nick as he staggered in. Too early, he thought, groaning as he spotted the time on the microwave clock. It was only six, but he could not afford to sleep much later – he would have just enough time to eat breakfast and shower before he had to leave for the airport. His flight to Los Angeles wasn’t scheduled to depart until nine a.m., but the airports were so slow these days, with all the security to get through, that he wanted to get there extra early.

“Waffle?” asked Claire, dropping one onto a plate and holding it out for him.

Speaking of early… she’d been up for at least half an hour already, cooking breakfast and looking far too lively for this time of day. Still, he wasn’t complaining. He accepted the plate with a croaky “Thanks” and slumped down at the kitchen table. He slathered his waffle with margarine and doused it in maple syrup, hoping the sugar rush would help wake him up. “Did you make coffee?” he asked – caffeine would surely help too.

“How else would I have had the motivation to make breakfast?” replied Claire with a smile as she set a steaming mug down next to his plate. Taking a seat across the table from him, she took a sip from her own coffee cup and then said, “I have something else for you too.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick asked, raising his eyebrow. He was beginning to feel more awake now that the first few bites of waffle had slid down his throat.

“Yep,” said Claire with a secretive sort of smile. Rising halfway out of her chair, she put her hand into the pocket of the sweatpants she was wearing and brought it out close-fisted. She held it out to him, stretching her arm across the table, and slowly unfurled her fingers.

After all the anticipation, Nick burst out laughing when he saw what was lying in her open palm. It was a single square of Cracklin’ Oat Bran cereal, strung onto a chain of braided yellow and red yarn. He plucked it out of her hand and held it up, letting the cereal “ring” dangle from its homemade necklace. “Is this the one I gave you?” he asked incredulously; he didn’t know she’d actually kept it, the makeshift “engagement ring” he’d offered her the morning after proposing marriage.

“No…” Claire said slowly, and she pulled an identical necklace out from beneath her t-shirt, letting it hang from her neck on the outside of the shirt. “This is. I covered it with mod-podge to preserve it, and then I decided to make you one too. Do you like it?” she asked, giggling as she fingered her kindergarten-esque art project.

“I love it,” Nick replied with a grin, dropping the knotted yarn over his head so that the cereal ring clunked against his chest. “I’m sure the guys will be jealous when they see it. Maybe we can make more and go into business selling them – before long, they’ll be a hot fashion trend.”

“Oh, definitely,” agreed Claire, and they laughed together.

After breakfast, Nick showered and dressed quickly. He did the customary once-over of his bedroom, checking to make sure he’d remembered to pack everything he wanted to take to LA with him, and then started lugging his bags precariously down the stairs. Claire hurried to help him, and in no time, they had everything tucked neatly into the back of his Durango.

A light rain fell as they drove to the airport, bringing with it a misty fog. “Do you think they’ll delay your flight if this keeps up?” asked Claire, raising her voice to be heard over the gentle splatter of raindrops against the windshield and the dull drone of the morning DJs on the radio.

Nick groaned in response and flicked the windshield wipers up a notch, sending them sliding across the wet glass in front of him with increasing speed. He felt his heartbeat quicken as well at the thought of sitting on a plane in this weather. He was no fan of flying even on sunny days, but with the fog and spitting rain, he would be even more freaked out than normal. Great.

When they got to the airport, they found that the flight had not been delayed, and so, somewhat grudgingly, Nick went ahead with all the procedures – meeting up with the bodyguard that had been hired to accompany him to LA, checking in, and checking his luggage. Claire tagged along until they reached the security checkpoints that separated him from his gate, and then he turned to her and said, “I think this if the furthest you can go, babe.”

Claire nodded and offered him a tiny smile. “Well, come here and let me hug you before you go then,” she said, opening her arms. Returning her smile, he moved closer and hugged her, feeling her arms wrap around his waist. He bowed his head, planting a soft kiss on the top of hers. Her hair was still slightly damp; she’d let it air dry after her shower that morning. The sweet smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, knowing he’d miss that scent.

When he finally looked up again, a flash of light went off in his face, accompanied by the unmistakable click of a camera. Blinking away the stars that danced before his eyes, Nick saw a man with a large, professional-grade camera standing just a few feet away, the camera centered right on him. The word ‘paparazzi’ had just entered his mind when two more of them appeared, a man and a woman, both with cameras. The second man even had a video camera.

“Nick!” the woman called his name, as more cameras snapped, sending flashes of light into his eyes.

At this, Claire glanced over her shoulder in confusion. Her hands dropped from his back instantly as she caught sight of the paparazzi behind her, and her head snapped back around, her eyes shooting up to Nick’s face.

“I don’t know what they’re doing here,” he muttered under his breath before she could even ask; he could see the questions written all across her face, and the faintest trace of panic in her eyes. “Don’t worry though, they’re harmless. All they want is a few pictures; they can’t harass us too much with all this airport security around.”

“That’s comforting,” Claire replied sarcastically, not looking at all comforted. She stole another glance over her shoulder as more flashes went off and then looked back up at Nick. “I don’t like them taking random pictures of us…”

“You think I do?” Nick asked with a dry laugh, protectively pulling her a little closer to him. With his bodyguard right there, he knew they weren’t in any danger, but she was clearly unnerved. “This is just what they do; you learn to get used to it.” He’d been able to shelter her from the media fairly well so far, but he’d always figured that wouldn’t last. He had been out of the public eye all year, but now that a new Backstreet album was in the works, he guessed he was back in demand in the eyes of the paparazzi. And once it became common knowledge that he was engaged, they’d really be clamoring for pictures of him and Claire together.

“Nick, over here!”

“Nick! Nick, where are you flying?”

“Nick, is this your new girlfriend?”

Nick ignored their questions, wishing they’d go away, yet knowing they wouldn’t. They’d continue to stalk him whether he acknowledged their presence or not.

One actually dared to come close, even with the massive bodyguard there. “Nick, can I get a quick interview? Just five minutes?”

“Sorry,” Nick answered, flashing what he hoped was an apologetic smile. “I got a flight to catch; I need to get through security.”

Claire grabbed his upper arm and he glanced down to find her looking up at him with wide, fearful eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” she hissed through gritted teeth, glancing back at the paparazzi every few seconds. “What if they follow me after you go through?”

“Don’t worry,” Nick assured her again; his bodyguard was already flagging over uniformed airport security guards. “You’ll be fine.”

“But-“

“Shh…” Nick hugged her close again, running his hand over her back. “Seriously, hon, there’s nothing to worry about. But I do need to get going… these people are like ants – more of them will come crawling out of the woodwork once word gets out that I’m here.” He rolled his eyes, hating them for shortening his goodbye to Claire.

“We’ll escort you out, ma’am,” one of the security guards told Claire with a resolute nod.

“Thanks,” she mumbled shakily and looked back up at Nick.

“I love you,” he said to her and dipped his head, taking her chin between his fingers as he kissed her deeply. The paparazzi would love the PDA. He didn’t really care - if he wanted to kiss his fiancée goodbye, he would.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Call me when you get there, okay?”

“I will,” he promised, then added in a low voice, “I’m sorry about all this.”

She shrugged, casting another nervous look in the photographers’ direction. “It’s okay… you can’t help it.”

He nodded regrettably. “Alright… I’ll call you later,” he said again and reluctantly let go of her, hitching the straps of his backpack higher on his shoulders. “Bye, babe.”

“Bye, Nick…”

He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a little pat, and then forced himself to walk toward the security checkpoint ahead of him.

***

Claire felt a sinking feeling as she watched Nick walk away, escorted by his towering bodyguard. She glanced between the two security guards that remained behind with her and then looked past them to the paparazzi, who were staring at her beadily. She shuddered involuntarily, thrown into a state of paranoia by their presence. Maybe they weren’t a big deal to Nick; he used to them. But she was not, and the idea of total strangers taking pictures of her hugging and kissing her boyfriend goodbye creeped her out. Nick said they were harmless, but she wasn’t convinced. She remembered watching the news on the night Princess Diana died, seeing the wreckage of the fatal car crash that had been caused by paparazzi. She’d seen ditzy Jessica Simpson get chased around by crazed photographers on MTV too. What if these people tried to follow her? She’d be on her own once she got to her car; what if they chased her all the way home?

Calm down, she told herself. It’s Nick they’re interested in, not you. They’ll go away once they realize they can’t follow him past security.

Her eyes flashed back to the security checkpoint. Nick was still there, hitching up his left pant leg to show the security guards his prosthesis. The thing set off metal detectors whenever he went through them; she remembered it happening when they had flown to New York City together for the Video Music Awards last year. Even after he’d shown the guards his metal leg, they’d all but strip-searched him, patting him down, checking his bags, the works. It had been an annoying, embarrassing hassle for him at the time, but looking back, it was sort of funny. Now he made a point to show them the leg before he passed through the metal detector; they got less suspicious that way.

“Are you ready to go, ma’am?” one of the guards asked Claire, interrupting the memory.

“Oh, sure,” she replied, and as she did, she noticed that the small cluster of paparazzi seemed to have grown bigger. Nick was right - they were like ants.

Apparently they’d noticed her look their way, for it was then that the colony decided to collectively approach her. “Excuse me, but would you grant a quick interview?” asked the same man who had demanded an interview from Nick not five minutes earlier. He had a small video camera in his hand; she could see the red light on it flashing.

“No, I’m sorry, I-I have to be at work soon,” she stammered, awkwardly backing away from the wannabe interviewer. It was not a total lie – she was working that day, just not until noon.

“It’ll just be a minute, I promise. Where do you work?”

Claire ignored this question and started walking, praying the airport security guards would follow her. To her relief, they did, flanking her on both sides. She quickened her pace, but the mass of stalkerazzi followed her, a few darting close enough to bombard her with questions.

“What’s your name?”

“What’s your relationship with Nick Carter?”

“How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“How’s Nick’s health? Can you comment on the rumor that his cancer has relapsed?”

That one caused Claire to pause, and she stopped to look at the woman who had asked, not knowing there was such a rumor. “It’s not true. Nick’s in great health; he’s been feeling fine,” she offered quickly, knowing Nick wouldn’t want his fans to speculate and worry when he was doing fine. But as for the relationship stuff? She wasn’t going there. It was too personal, and she sure as hell didn’t want her business spelled out across the pages of some supermarket tabloid.

But when the same woman spotted the ring on her finger, she was caught. “What’s that on your finger? Is that an engagement ring? Are you and Nick engaged??” the woman asked rapidly, each sentence shooting out of her mouth faster than the one before it, while the others swarmed in, focusing their camera lenses on Claire’s left hand.

Instinctively, Claire clapped her right hand over her left, but it was too late; they’d already seen the ring. “Yes,” she heard herself answer, just wanting to get them away from her.

A buzz rose from the swarm of paparazzi, making them seem more like bees now.

“Yes?! For how long? When did he propose?”

“How did he propose?”

“Have you set a date?”

Oh for god’s sake, Claire thought wildly, what do I say? She and Nick hadn’t talked about this; the news of their engagement hadn’t gone public yet, but she didn’t know if that was because he didn’t want it public or if it was just because people hadn’t found out yet. She didn’t see what the big deal was with admitting they were engaged, but she wasn’t about to spill the beans on something he’d prefer to keep private. “We… uh… n-not yet,” she stammered an answer to the last question and picked up the pace again, walking so fast she was practically jogging now.

She didn’t notice one of the guards radio for help, but within a few seconds, more security appeared, and the paparazzi was held back while she was led quickly away. The guards escorted her all the way out to Nick’s Durango, and after a brief, yet sincere thank you, she scrambled into the vehicle and smacked the power lock button, instantly locking herself in.

She felt too shaken to drive right, but she wanted to get out of the parking lot right away, terrified of being followed and run off the road. Fumbling for her set of keys, she jammed the key into the ignition and revved the engine to life. She drove like a bat out of hell away from the airport, made a few turns to assure herself she wasn’t being followed, and finally pulled into the parking lot a McDonald’s a safe distance away from the airport. There, she threw the SUV into park and lowered her head onto the steering wheel, taking a few tremulous breaths. She could still feel her body quivering.

Nick would probably laugh when she told him later, but she’d been petrified. Everyone has an irrational fear, and this was hers – the fear of being watched, or stalked, or chased. It was the same fear that had made the movie Scream so scary to her as a teenager, the same fear that had turned her into a paranoid basket case the night she’d first seen it, when her parents were away for the weekend, and she was all alone...

These days, she kept that fear in check most of the time. She had other fears to deal with now, fears that were much more warranted. Rejection of her bone marrow transplant, for one. Or a relapse of her cancer. Or Nick’s cancer. Those were rational concerns, much more so than the possibility of being gutted by a psycho in a cheap Grim Reaper costume.

Yet sometimes that primal fear still got the best of her, and now was one of those times. Those people in the airport may just as well have been wearing Scream masks and thrusting knives at her instead of questions; the panic she’d felt inside was the same.

How does Nick do it? she wondered as she sat up straight again, feeling sweat run between her shoulder blades as her heart slowed to its normal rate. How could he stand dealing with all those people, dodging all their nosy questions and escaping their persistent probing?

Easy, she realized after a moment, smirking to herself at the irony of the situation. Nick wasn’t afraid of stalker paparazzi. Nick’s irrational fear? Flying, of course.

***