PLATO'S STEP-DAUGHTER I FLYNN CARSEN

You Belong With Me

You Belong With Me

"You should have seen Cassandra," Ezekiel said, leaning against Flynn's desk, ignoring its protests, "she took the fight right to the big bad."

"And Ezekiel didn't bail," Cassandra said, bestowing a smile on him.

"Well done," Jenkins said, rolling his eyes.

"I don't think standing on a desk was taking the fight to the big bad," Clara said, brow furrowing.

"Oh no, I didn't mean that," Ezekiel corrected Clara, "I meant when she gave you both barrels back in the Labyrinth. I remember that part - everything else, nah. I particularly liked swellhead" -

- "And did you get that charming girl's number?" Flynn said hastily, turning to Jacob. "You know, Jenny."

"No, I didn't," Jacob said, looking shifty, implying the opposite.

"How is Archibald enjoying his permanent state of pinkness?" Eve asked, straightening a pile of books, only for them to unstraighten themselves again.

"He's loving it," Flynn said fondly. "He'll be halfway to Honolulu by now," he said, brow furrowing, "first class obviously."

"What do we do with them?" Clara said, gesturing to the ball of thread and Barbie dolls.

"Well, without the ball of thread to serve as a power source, the Labyrinth just shrivelled up," Flynn explained, "taking the Minotaur out of existence at the same time. So all we can do with the ball of thread, along with our little friends, is archive them. Anything else is impossible with the Library gone, and yes, I will be back out there, tracking it down," he said, turning to Jenkins, feeling his disapproving stare boring into his back. 'You're the one that called me," he reminded Jenkins.

"So I did," Jenkins said dourly.

~*~

"Hey," Cassandra said quietly, making Clara turn around from where she was leaning over the ornate railing on the upper storey.

"Hey," Clara said uneasily.

"Look, things got a little heated in there," Cassandra said carefully. "I just want to clear the air."

"I think we did, sort of," Clara said awkwardly.

"Sort of," Cassandra echoed, smiling weakly.

"With Flynn, I'm not" - Clara began, only to stop short, colouring slightly. "I mean, I care about him, not about who he is. I'm not interested in power, not like Circe and Karen. It doesn't mean anything to me, but Flynn does."

"Speaking of Circe," Ezekiel said, making them whirl around, "where did she go?"

"Hopefully back to the slime pool she came from," Cassandra sniffed.

"Hot damn she did," Clara agreed fervently. "It might teach her not to mess with us again."

"Us?" Ezekiel exclaimed. "It was me who stopped her singlehandedly."

"I don't think so," Cassandra said, shaking her head.

"I do think so," Ezekiel said, puffing out his chest.

Clara and Cassandra just exchanged glances, before walking away, leaving Ezekiel on his own.

"I was awesome," he said to their retreating backs. "Admit it!"

~*~

Clara and Flynn were having what Flynn called a 'parting picnic' on the riverbank outside the Annex, sharing one last hurrah together before he left to start his search for the Library again. Clara was cradling Flynn's head in her lap, Flynn comfortably cushioned by her billowing blue skirts, her fingers stroking his dark hair. It was a rare moment of rest, Clara watching the sun set on the far horizon, her thoughts twisting and turning like the Labyrinth itself.

"There's something wrong with me, isn't there?" she said suddenly, startling Flynn.

"What in the name of Persephone's pomegranate seeds do you mean?" he said, sitting up.

"I don't know, except that it's staring me right in the face, but I just can't see it," Clara said, shrugging her shoulders.

Flynn forced his face into its usual eccentric lines, understanding now, not wanting her to know he knew.

Clara stared out across the river, dark eyes distant, voice low. "Growing up, I had pictures of Lancelot on my wall" -

- "That figures," Flynn muttered mutinously.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, pray continue."

"I've been obsessed with King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table all my life," Clara continued, almost imperiously, "ever since I was a little girl, they were all I could think about. My mother was obsessed, and I inherited that obsession from her - my middle name is Guinevere for chrissake!" she snapped, throwing up her hands, making Flynn wince, her words touching too much on truth for his taste. "But since I've met you, it's like that love has been crushed down, censored even," she finished, picking up a doily, almost absentmindedly tearing it into strips.

Flynn exhaled sharply, feeling cornered by Clara. He thought he'd thrown her off the scent before he'd left to look for the Library, but obviously this was wishful thinking on his part. But she couldn't know, not now, not this day. "When I first met you, you didn't come across as obsessed with Olde Arthur," he said slowly, making Clara glance up, "there was just these odd little flashes" -

- "I schooled myself to hide it," Clara flared up, startling Flynn again, "it freaked people out so I repressed it, denied it, denying myself" -

- "Clara, calm down," Flynn said, sensing the storm was about break. "Just take a chill pill, savvy?"

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. "All I'm saying, is that I learned to hide who I really was from the world," she said stiffly, "but ever since I arrived here, it feels like I'm being suffocated."

Flynn glanced down at the grass, not sure what he could say to that. It was clear to him Clara's consciousness had been shielding her from her sub-conscious, self-preservation in its most extreme form, the Library later trying to protect Clara from herself. Perhaps this protection continued to manifest itself in Clara's apparent obliviousness over being called Gwen or Guinevere, the references to a past she couldn't remember passing right over her head, the Library still shielding her even now.

"Everybody else has their place here," Clara said, smoothing down the folds of her dress, "Eve's our Guardian, you're the Librarian - Jake has his knowledge of art and culture, as well as his fists, Cassandra her numbers, Ezekiel his light fingers. I'm supposed to be highly intelligent and academically brilliant, but I don't bring that to the table, only anger and violence. I - I don't know where I belong, Flynn."

Her eyes met Flynn's, almost pleading, making Flynn's heart fracture in his chest. Because you don't know who you are, and you can't know, Flynn thought, remembering Guinevere, her passion for power, the reckless rage; that storm that was perhaps still slumbering inside Clara. By lying to Clara, he was denying her, fulfilling Guinevere's prophecy. It had never been about Clara becoming a Librarian, but of finally facing the truth of what she really was. But to learn herself would be to lose herself.

Taking Clara's hand in his, Flynn looked across the river, his dark eyes as distant as hers. "To quote Taylor Swift," he said, turning to Clara, "you belong with me."

Standing by and waiting at your back door
All this time how could you not know, baby?
You belong with me...

The End

Author's Note: The sequel, A Christmas Clara, can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile.