Without End (Fashion)

In the midst of the chaos that is life and life eternal, one would think that the clothes one chooses to wear and the accessories one chooses to add and the hair style one chooses to adopt would not matter in the slightest.  And those things shouldn't matter.  They really shouldn't matter.  Yet throughout the ages, they have and they do.

In some sense, fashion is important simply because it gives people something to defy.  Sometimes when you feel powerless, when the only choice you feel you have in a day is the clothing you decide to put on, that choice to go with or defy expectations is liberating.  I've seen men and women of all different ideals use fashion as a platform throughout the centuries I've lived, and it never ceases to amaze and inspire me.

It's such a simple thing, what we choose to wear and how we make ourselves look on the outside, but it sends a message.  I've dressed as a peasant and I've dressed as a movie star and everywhere in between.  People treat you differently, you feel differently, you even act differently as a result.

Now, I tend to wear things that let me blend, that let me not be seen, but there were times in history when I was not afraid to stand out.  Times when I started wearing slacks while most other women still wore skirts.  Times long before that when I dared to show a bit of my ankle in public.  I was a rebel back then.  Nowadays, opting to show nothing more than a little bit of ankle would be a whole different kind of rebellious.

Some of those things, the old ways, they don't seem to return, but others do.  People seem to have a strange sense of nostalgia for times they never knew.  It baffles me, but I can't say that I dislike seeing people dressing in period attire from the time I was young.  I simply smile to myself when they get it mostly right and chuckle when they get it horribly, horribly wrong.

In some ways, it doesn't matter if they mess up that aspect of the past, but in others it really, really does matter - a lot.

Fashion may seem frivolous, but it doesn't have to be that way.  It hasn't always been that way.  Fashion my never end, it's existence may never change, but what it has stood for has certainly morphed through the eras.  I'm proud of the secret wardrobe I hold of all the different fashions from throughout those eras.  Some items will never again see the light of day because I'm half afraid they would crumble to dust after 250 years of existence.  Yet it's still good to know they're there, that a part of the past is hidden away in my closet.  And also to remember that there was a start to the fashions I possess.  It reminds me that even though I'm going to last forever, there was a time back before I existed.  It's humbling.  And it reminds me, too, that sometimes the sames that seem so frivolous, like fashion, can be the most important of all.

Without End (War)

Some wars are big, and some wars are small.  Some are global, and others are waged within a single soul.  Sometimes I feel like my whole life has been a war, waged between what I can do with my forever and what can never be because of my forever.  But I have literally forever to figure that out.  Others aren't so lucky, and though I don't want to fall in love, never again do I want to fall in love, I'm willing to get a little bit close to someone if it will help them figure their own stuff out.

Small remarks, little words, short phrases, suggestions.  Never an explanation of how it comes from centuries of living.  Just a thought, a spark, a comfort.  Sometimes simply telling someone, "It won't always be like this" is all it takes.  Sometimes, a lie is what brings peace.

There will always be war.  I have seen so many.  The first big one I threw myself into was the American Civil War, but it certainly didn't stop there.  If "wars and rumors of wars" are a sign of the end, then it seems like the end has been coming for quite some time, which makes me think even more than before that it just might never fully arrive.  Some wars, I was proud to serve.  World War II, against something evil and vicious.  The very worst of humanity defeated by the very best.  It gave me hope, just long enough before we were plunged into a stupid background battle for power and dominion against one of the countries that had fought alongside us in the past.

I think lots of it comes down to not realizing how similar we all are.  We're all a little selfish, and yet we want others to feel like we aren't.  We want to do good in the world, we want to do what's right, we just disagree about what that is.  Sure, there are truly evil and vicious people who exist, but that just draws into focus how very similar the rest of us are when we are able to recognize that evil and fight against it.

That's the big, the grand.  We're all also alike in the wars that wage within our souls, those wars I try to help with in small ways, like becoming someone's friend even though I know they're going to die an eternity before I do.  I suppose its good that such battles must ultimately be decided by the one who is fighting, and not by outside influences.  Otherwise I might risk getting too close again, and my own internal struggles tell me that is something I cannot do.

War will always be there, but wars will always be ending, too.  Peace, tenuous though it is, is forever, too.  In small moments, in the breaks between the battles, peace can be found.  Even for someone like me, there can be moments of peace, moments of thinking things aren't so bad, moments of seeing the beauty in things.  A sunrise, a bird singing, the wind blowing gently through the autumn leaves, a light dusting of snow, children laughing.  There are these moments where war seems to cease, even if it really hasn't, and peace can be found.  Those are the moments where I start to think that "it won't always be like this" isn't a lie after all.  It may be like this again, cycle after cycle of fighting and war and death, but there will be these moments in between, too.  As certain as the fact that I will be alive tomorrow and the next tomorrow and the tomorrow after that, there will always be times of war and there will always be moments of peace.  Those moments of peace are what we should all try to cling to.

Without End (Love)

They say you never forget your first love.  Well, for most people, "never" is a lot shorter than for it is for me.  After 160 years to forget, though, I can say that idiom is really holding up.

I never planned to love anyone.  At the point I first fell in love, I already knew what I was, what fate was set out for me.  My parents were already gone, so there was no pressure from them.  I had no reason to put myself out there for anyone, so I didn't.  I worked odd jobs, whatever someone would hire an unwed woman to do, and it was working one of those jobs at a general store that I met him.

At first, he was just another customer, but what made him different was that he noticed me, even though I was trying my hardest to blend into the background.  And yet in noticing me, he wasn't crude or domineering like most men of that era had been towards me.  He was kind.  Concerned even.  Like he was curious to know who I was and what I was doing here.  And for some unknown reason, I decided to open up and tell him what little bits I could.

When we got married, he still didn't know the full truth.  In the back of my head, that was a problem, a big problem.  He was going to want children, even though we hadn't talked about it, that was just expected in that day, and I wasn't sure I could go through with that knowing I was then going to have to watch them die.  I knew I was going to have to watch him die one day, too, but I was trying my hardest not to think about that at all, not to think about anything except how much I loved him and wanted to spend what time I could with him.

In the end, I realized how selfish I had been.  It wasn't just I who was going to lose him.  He was going to lose me, too, and in an even worse way.  I wouldn't be able to grow old with him.  I wouldn't be able to properly see his life through to its end.  That wasn't fair to him.  If I really loved him, I would have never married him to begin with, I realized.

So when the inevitable war rolled around, I saw my opportunity to go off to serve as a nurse and never come back.

My love, being the kind and generous man he was, signed up to fight for the union as well.  We were together at first, but then battles and the wounded brought us apart.  I still remember the last kiss we ever shared the night before he was ordered to go fight in a battle so far away.  Part of me feared he would die in that battle, while another part almost, cruelly, though perhaps it would be better if he did die.  That way, I wouldn't have to break his heart.

But from all I heard, he lived.  So I had to do my duty, and when the war was ended, he was greeted with a letter from me instead of with the warmth of my presence.  I wrote to him about how much I loved him but that there were secrets I had kept that doomed our relationship.  I still did not tell him what those secrets were.  As much as I did love and trust him, I was afraid.  I would afraid he would try to tell me it didn't matter, that he still wanted to be with me.  I was afraid I would believe him.

So I left his life, leaving him to suffer for a while, and hoping he could find love again in a way I knew I never could.

And eventually he did.  At least, he got married again.  I saw the announcement in a paper in they looked happy.  Later I found a story about one of their children.  And then later still, much later, I read the obituary announcing that he had died.

Going to the funeral was even harder than writing the letter that told him good-bye.  Even after I wrote that letter and left his life forever, part of me wondered if "forever" could possibly be shorter than I planned.  But as I watched his casket lowered into the ground, I knew that "forever" was really going to be forever.  I saw his widow and their grown children and grandchildren and even a couple of great-grandchildren.  He had had a long and loved life, it seemed, and now he was at peace, and his family at least had that comfort and the hope that they might see him again in heaven.

I had no such comfort.  I knew that heaven and hell were not for me.  I would never die.  I would never be returned to the ground.  I would never have the hope of seeing those I loved who had passed before again.  Until the earth burned out, I would walk it, and I would be alone.  I would never forget my first love and for me, never meant forever.

Without End (Song)

I never thought I could sing well until I really tried.  I had sung before, in that little church building I can barely remember now, over two hundred years ago, in that tiny frontier town where I was born and where all of my family died, so long ago.

After what happened to me, I didn't think I had much more to sing about.

But as decades go on, life gets quiet without a song, without music of some kind.  When the radio was first invented, it enchanted me, all the voices I could hear and the things they had to share.  And then vinyl records became available, a way to play and replace the music I found I liked to hear but still didn't feel up for singing.

There had been financial crises and wars and death all around me, but I lived on.  I saw people I dared to love pass on, but I lived on.  I lost anything even close to dear to me, but I lived on.  What reason did I have to sing?

Yet somehow, music still found its way into my life.

It had never been a big part of my life before, centuries before, when I was still young and thought I would live a normal life.  But no one can live without music of some kind.  No one can truly live without a song.

As more decades passed, I saw the songs in others, I could hear them.  It wasn't just the musicians.  It was the teenage girl in her car, probably having just gotten her license a few months before, a sparkle in her eye as she shouted out lyrics I couldn't hear through the glass window.  It was the parent with their child in the backseat, singing nursery rhymes to the little tot who would one day grow up to be that teenage girl.  It was the college student with his friends, who didn't care about blasting their radio with the windows rolled down so that everyone around could hear.  I saw some people scowl, but I found I like it.  My life was... strange to say the least.  I could remember back to when if I wanted music, I had to make it myself.  Now, music was all around, accessible, pervasive.  Everyone had their own song.

And I decided it was time I try to find mine.

I was two-hundred and twenty-nine years old when I decided to start trying to sing again.  And it became one of the little ways I could at least try, despite all the war and famine and loss and death, to make the world around me just a slightly better place.

Without End (Intro)

When you've lived for hundreds of years, it starts to feel like you've lived forever, even though you haven't.  Those around you don't know the things that you remember.  They talk like they know things, but they really don't.  And you don't want them to know just how old you are, so you simply smile and nod and go on with your day even though inside you're screaming, "You're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong."

It's strange, too, to see how many people still adhere to ideas that would be called "old-fashioned".  You lived in a time when those ideas were common place.  You've seen which ones were helpful and which ones were hurtful.  You think you have a pretty good idea of what a better world could look like.  But again, if you explicitly admitted to anyone your insights, if you tried to explain how you gleaned them, they'd lock you up for sure.  So you keep quiet about most of it, while doing what you can in subtle ways to influence those around you for the better, and you wonder how long you can go on like this, all the while knowing that you don't really have a choice.

Is eternity a blessing or a curse?  Maybe it depends on where and how you're spending it.

You used to try to find out if there were others with your... condition.  But how do you go about asking someone if they are immortal?  You certainly can't do that.  So you combed through town newspapers over the decades, trying to find people who didn't seem to age or who disappeared and then reappeared with different names but the same face fifty years later.  It didn't really work.  You assumed that anyone else like you would have behaved much like you have - frequent moves, frequent identity changes, frequent physical changes with dyes or even surgeries.  You've done your best to make yourself impossible to track, so why would you expect anything less from anyone else like you?  Even if you aren't truly one of a kind, you might as well be.

So you do the thing you've been forced to do without end - you survive.  You keep living, if that's really what this is, and you try to do what you can to make the world around you a little better in the time in which you find yourself.  What else can you do?

Clara (Part 13)

Clara beat the cops to the warehouse.  She had tried to convey the urgency, but it still had to go through a certain amount of beauracracy, she was sure, before a squad car or, as she would have preferred, several were sent out.

She used the opportunity to sneak around a bit, peak in windows, see what she could see.  The answer to what she could see was absolutely nothing, so she decided to just risk it and slip in through any unlocked door she could find.  It was somewhat disconcerting that the first door she tried was unlocked, but she knew for sure she was walking into a trap, as she had already expected, when all the lights in the warehouse seemed to turn on at once.  Now she could finally see what she couldn't see from the outside:  Chris tied to a chair, beaten and bloody, gagged and possibly unconscious, with a gruff looking man towering over him from behind, a knife drawn and at Chris's throat.  Clara took a step forward and the man called out, "Ah, that's far enough!"

His shout showed Clara that Chris was not unconscious as her former partner opened his eyes and looked up at her in terror.  He started to shake his head at her, but stopped when the knife the other man was holding grazed against his skin.

"It's so nice to see you again, Clara," the man with the knife said.

Clara did not even try to hide her genuine confusion.  "Have we met before?" she asked.

The man made a sound that she thought was supposed to be a chuckle.  "Not officially," he said.  "But I've seen you and heard about you and well, figured out who you were and then when your little friend here decided to fall on a grenade for you, so to speak, by convincing our paper to print his name instead of yours, well, I just couldn't resist."

"You work for the Globe," Clara stated.

"Well, not really work for so much as pull certain strings," the man stated.  "I admit, I would have preferred to have influence at a more prestigious paper, but you take what you can get."  He paused and then added, staring directly at her, "And when someone starts to take from you, you do whatever you can to stop them."

"What do you want?" Clara demanded, having to really fight to not rush at this man.

"I want either you or Chris dead," the man said.  "And whoever lives off the streets and warning anyone else who gets heroic ideas to stay off the streets as well."

"Well that's not going to happen," Clara stated.

He smirked.  "Oh, but I think it is, Clara.  Because you care.  You care about people.  You care about Chris.  I'm willing to bet that you're the one who's going to volunteer to die."

At this Chris started shaking his head vehemently, despite the blade just barely scraping across his skin and causing him pain.  Clara realizes then that this man, whoever he is, apparently the force behind some of the street gangs she and Chris had been thwarting or something, is right.  She'd been telling herself she didn't care, and she didn't, not like this, not personally, until just now.  And she realized, too, that she couldn't get out of this herself, not alone, and she found herself hoping against all hope that the ones she had spent years not trusting would earn her trust tonight.

"Okay," she said as slowly as she dared, knowing she had to stall for time as much as possible.  "You.. you're right.  I can't... I can't watch him die.  I do... I do... care... about some people.  I care about him.  If you let him go, then, well, I suppose I will let you... let you do what you want with me."

The man's face warped into a manic grin and she feels strangely relieved.  "I can't say I'm surprised," he said, "but I am certainly pleased.  You're the one I wanted to take out more anyway - more of a threat - more of a bother - and you've been around longer.  So if you'll just walk around to the left over towards that other wall, you'll find some rope you can use to tie yourself up, and when that's done, I'll let Chris go, I promise."

The way he said, "I promise" certainly gave Clara pause.  She already knew it was a very distinct and likely possibility that he was just going to kill them both anyway.  But she wasn't planning on either of them dying today.  Still she did as he requested, slowly as she dared, hoping, hoping....

And then what she had hoped for happen.  She heard cars pull up outside.  There were no sirens, but she just knew what this was.  The man's eyes darted around nervously.  Probably he knew, too.  "What the?" was all he got out before he was falling over backwards.  He had moved his knife away from Chris's throat in the surprise of hearing someone else approach and Chris, bless his heart, had used the opportunity to push himself backwards.  Clara knew that was only going to be a momentary distraction, though, so she rushed towards the two of them as fast as she could.

She got to the center of the room just as the man had stabbed Chris in the arm.  Nothing even remotely fatal, thank God, so she pushed Chris out of the way, in a manner that may have been comedic had this not been such a serious situation, and stepped on the other man's arm, causing him to release his knife, while also pinning him to the ground.

"I don't know who the hell you are!" she shouted.  "But you can't do this shit to people I care about!"

And before he could respond, the cops where there, pulling her off of him, and handcuffing both of them before they could figure out what on earth was going on.  She didn't care.  She was safe.  Chris was safe.  That was what she did care about.


In the end, the city did press charges against Clara for vigilantism.  They had a really tough time finding an impartial jury, but eventually they got one that ended up convicting her of the more minor charges brought against her and recommending a shortened sentence, which the judge seemed all to happy to provide.  They put her in a minimum security facility, far away from anyone truly dangerous who might have been angry at her, like the man who was her downfall and was now serving twenty-five years for kidnapping and aggregated assault.  Clara, on the other hand, would be out in less than a year if she behaved herself, which she had every intention of doing now that she recognized there were people "on the outside" that it was okay for her to care about.

Her family was shocked by her arrest and prosecution, to say the least, but she liked to think they were at least a little bit proud as well.  Her brother told her when he came to visit that he was sorry he had misjudged her and thought all of this was just due to some guy.  "Well, it kind-of was," she admitted.  "Just not in the way you'd expect."

That guy, Chris, somehow managed to escape any punishment whatsoever.  Probably because he hadn't actually be found in costume pinning a criminal to the ground, and because Clara refused to say anything against him under oath.  He told her he couldn't believe his name had been in the paper as the Ninja and yet she was the one in jail instead of him.  "It's because the paper lied," Clara said over the prison phone.  It amused her somewhat to lie about a lie.  She was sure she and Chris would talk about it more after they got out.  She had agreed to get dinner with him when that happened, though she insisted she had no romantic interest in him. 

He said that was okay, he was happy just being friends.

Clara knew enough about relationships to know that could be dangerous, but they were adults.  They could handle it.  Chris would be respectful of her boundaries, she was certain, and if her boundaries did change, if she found herself caring more or in a different way, that would be okay, too.  She certainly wasn't going to tell him, or anyone for that matter, about such thoughts of course.  One step at a time and all that, but she realized that if she did care about Chris romantically, that would be okay.  Caring wasn't a sign of weakness, she realized, it was a sign of strength.  Caring had given her the strength to call the cops, to incriminate herself in order to save someone else.  She might not be able to act as the Ninja anymore, but it was worth it in her book.  She would find other ways to help, other ways to show she cared.  Clara knew she could be a hero, even without a mask, especially without a mask.  And Clara could care.  That was what heroes do.

Clara (Part 12)

It was two days later, the day Clara was released from the hospital, that she received follow-up on the flower threat she had received.  She did not receive this follow-up directly.  She received it in the form of a headline from the tabloid, The Globe, Chris had used to work for.  The headline read, "Reporter Turned Hero".  Clara's eyes grew wide as she picked it up from the newsstand.  In a daze, she handed over her money and barely watched where she was going as she stumbled the rest of the way home.

Back in her apartment, she read the full article.  She was not mentioned.  Not a single time by name.  The Lady Ninja was mentioned, but only as someone who had led former Globe reporter Fred Douglas to turn his own attention to bringing criminals to the sort of justice that could only exist outside the law, as the article stated.  At first, Clara had been hopeful that using the pen name in the article would keep Chris safe, but as she flipped the paper over the read below the fold, there was a picture of him smiling up at her.

His career will be ruined, she thought.  There was no way his current boss wouldn't read this.  Even though The Globe was a tabloid, it was a very popular tabloid, and she was certain the more legit papers kept abreast of what it was printing.  Her only hope was that Chris's boss wouldn't believe this drivel, that Chris would deny this drivel.  But how had this drivel even come to be?  She had been the target, not Chris, right?  Unless he had done something remarkably stupid...

After she had finished reading the article twice, she tried to call him.  His phone went straight to voicemail.  She Googled him to confirm what paper he was now looking for and then called them up to ask if she could talk to him.  The receptionist she spoke with was very kind as he explained, after having put her on hold for a couple minutes, that apparently Chris had not come into work that day.  The receptionist said nothing about The Globe's big reveal, so either he didn't know or he didn't want others to know.

Not sure what else to do, Clara decided to take a page out of Chris's own playbook and show up at his apartment unannounced, hoping he would be there.


It turned out he was not there, but it also turned out the door was unlocked, so Clara went in and what she saw was beyond alarming.  Signs of struggle were obvious - chairs upturned, coffee table pushed aside, a painting having fallen off the wall.  She found Chris's dead phone on the ground, with what looked like blood on it.  What gave her hope was that there was blood, but not a lot of it.  If the place had been cleaned up after or if there had been blood everywhere, either one of those would have been cause for greater alarm.  Chris was somewhere dangerous, but she had to hope he was still alive.  And as much as her initial instinct was to get on this right now, to do what she could to find out for herself what had happened, she found herself instead taking out her phone and calling up the police first.


Turns out the blood was enough to get them on the case fast.  She told them she and Chris were friends and that she read the paper he used to work for and had seen the article about him and came over here to demand an explanation.  No outright lies, just a failure to give every little detail.  She told everything that she felt was necessary though, every thing that she thought might help them figure out what had happened.  And then she went home to suit up and do her own search.

As she walked through the front door, she stepped on a note that had been slipped under her door.  She unfolded it to see a message composed of letters cut from magazine headlines.  It read, "Two Ninjas Enter.  One Leaves."  And then the address of a warehouse downtown.  She didn't hesitate.  She was already getting ready as she called in an anonymous tip to the police about where Chris was apparently being held and then she was on her way herself.  She didn't care that she was calling on the police and also going out as her alter ego.  She didn't care that this could get her into serious trouble.  She didn't care about any of that.  She just didn't care.

Clara (Part 11)

All things considered, it was a remarkably long time before Clara was significantly injured again.  She had bumps and bruises over the weeks and months, and once a seriously sprained wrist that put her out of commission for several weeks, but it was close to another year before an injury landed her in the hospital for more than a day.  This time it was a nasty knife wound to her left shoulder.  It was mildly terrifying, considering it wasn't too far off from her heart, but yet it wasn't so close that it was going to stop her from continuing to do what she did.

At least she told herself it wasn't going to stop her.  And it wasn't the knife wound that gave her pause.  It was one of the gifts she received while recovering in the hospital.

Given that she didn't have any close friends and had insisted on not contacting her family this time, it was somewhat remarkable she got any gifts at all.  Work (her day job) sent her a small bouquet of flowers the second day in, but then on the third day, another bouquet arrived.  This one was anonymous, but it came with a note that simply said, "Secrets are meant to be revealed."

When she read that, panic welled up in her heart.  All she could think to do in response was call the only other person whom she knew was aware of her secret.

"Clara?" Chris answered.  "How have you been?"  He sounded nervous but like, surprised nervous, not like he had been found out nervous.

"I might be in trouble," Clara admitted.

"Where are you?  Can I help?"

Even after all these months, he still cared, Clara realized.  "I'm in the hospital," she said, and before he could say anything about that she quickly added, "I'm fine, physically, but I think someone found out my secret."

Chris was silent for a moment.  Clara felt her heart thumping.  Then she heard the sound of a door closing and the quality of the sound changed, like Chris was in a closet or something, as she heard him speak in hushed tones to say, "I didn't tell anyone, Clara, I swear."

"I know," Clara admitted.  "But someone knows.  They sent me flowers with a note that says, 'Secrets are meant to be revealed.'"

Chris was silent for another moment before he said softly, "That isn't necessarily a threat..."

"Isn't it though?" Clara questioned.

He sighed.  "Yeah, it probably is, I was just hoping..."  He sighed again.  Then he asked, "How can I help?  If you knew it wasn't me who told, surely you must have something else in mind that I can do."

Clara paused at that.  She really didn't have anything in mind.  It was just that he was the only one she could talk to about any of this.  "I don't know," she admitted.  "I just... I'm not sure what to do."

"What hospital are you at?" Chris asked.  "I'll come over."  And then after a beat.  "That is if it's okay with you."

Clara smiled despite herself.  "Yeah, I'd like that," she admitted.


When Chris arrived, the first thing he asked was to see the flowers.  Clara didn't expect much to come of his inspection, but much to her surprise, his face lit up when he saw the note.  "I recognize this handwriting," he said of the note.  "I'm sure I've seen it before."

"I assumed it was just written by the flower shop," Clara noted.  "Surely whoever found me out wouldn't be so sloppy as to write the note themselves."

Chris shrugged.  "I don't know," he said.  "But I don't really make a habit of sending or receiving flowers, yet this handwriting is really familiar."

"Like its someone you work with?"

"Well..."  Chris seemed to be searching for words as he blushed a little bit and then he said, "Well, no one I work with anymore, but probably someone I used to work with."  When he glanced over at Clara, who was giving him a quizzical look, he said, "I got a new job.  One with a real paper."

Clara, despite not caring, couldn't contain her excitement.  "That's great, Chris!" she said.  "Congratulations!"  And then she winced a little at the pain that flared up in her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked, leaning forward in his chair as he set the flower note back on the nightstand.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Clara said.  "I'll be out of here soon, but I just I don't know what to do about..." And she gestured towards the note.

Chris shook his head.  "I can try to contact my old boss, see if he'll tell me what's going on."

"Not if it's going to out you, though," Clara stated.  It was definitely a command more than a question, but still, Chris shrugged.

"Frankly, I don't really care," he said.  "About anyone thinking I'm a ninja, I mean.  I haven't done anything in almost a year, so they can't pin much on me.  You on the other hand..."

"They can't really prove anything about me either," Clara noted.  "I mean, any evidence has to be circumstantial."  She paused and then questioned, "Right?"

Chris shrugged again.  "I don't know, Clara," he admitted.  "I haven't exactly been following you around.  I don't know what someone might have found out."

"But even you didn't have real hard and fast evidence until I admitted things to you," Clara noted.  "And you're a pretty decent reporter."

"Good enough to graduate from the tabloids, I suppose," Chris admitted, still a little red.  He sighed and then stood up. "I'll see what I can do to find out who sent the note.  In the meantime, take care of yourself."

Clara nodded.  "I will," she promised.  "Text me if you learn anything."

Chris nodded.  "I will."  He paused as if he wanted to say more, but then he just walked away.  Just before leaving the room he turned back and simply said, "Good-bye, Clara."

"Good night," she replied.  And then he was gone.

Clara (Part 10)

Clara was in the hospital for three days before being released.  Her mother and brother stayed around that whole time plus another day after that, while her sister and father went back home after the doctors can given the all clear for Clara to go home the next day.  She didn't see Chris at all during that time, though she did get one text from him two days in that simply said, "I hope you're doing okay."  Clara thought longer than she cared to admit before texting back, "I am.  Thanks."  And that was that.

It was the evening after all of her family had gone home that Clara heard a knock at her door, and even though she had never given him her new address after she had moved, she was not at all surprised to see him there.

"I hope you don't mind me just kinda showing up," he said when she opened the door.

She gave him a look that was half smile, half smirk, and said,  "Would you have avoided showing up here if I did mind?"

At that he frowned.  "A few months ago, probably not.  But now..."  He sighed.  "I do care, Clara."

She sighed and felt her heart beat a little faster as she remembered what had almost happened the night she was shot.  He had been trying to ask her out on a date.  There was no question about that.  The question now was whether he was going to bring it up again or not.  She hoped he wouldn't, but if he was, she'd rather it happen now than when they were back out in the field.  As quickly as all those thoughts had passed through her head, she stepped aside from the open door way, gestured for him to come in and said, "Alright, let's get this over with."

Chris looked nervous as he entered her home.  He glanced around, perhaps noting the similar arrangement to her old apartment, where he had previously invaded her space uninvited and unwelcomed.  Perhaps he was thinking how different it was to now been invited in, and wondering just how welcome he was.  Wanting to make him feel at least a little more at ease, Clara gestured to the couch and said, "Would you like to sit down?"

To her surprise, Chris shook his head and let out a sigh.  "No, I don't think this will take long."  He looked up at her from where his gaze had fallen to the floor and said sadly, "I don't think I can do this anymore, Clara."

She frowned.  "Do what?" she asked, fearing he was about to make some awful confession of love to her or some such nonsense.

"Go out and risk us getting hurt, risk you getting hurt.  I... I care about you Clara."

"I never asked you to care," she replied.

He nodded, knowing.  "Yeah, but I can't help how I feel."

"And I can't help how I don't feel," she said, looking at her feet, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at him.  She gave a slight start when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his hand away when she looked up.  He sighed again.  "I can't stop you from doing what you do," he said.  "But I don't think I can do it anymore.  Seeing you in that alley, covered in blood, I was scared.  I know I said I wanted to help people, but I just can't... not like this..."  He closed his eyes as he asked, "Do you think that makes me a bad person?"

"Hey, no, of course not," Clara said immediately and without thinking, allowing herself to smile, just a little.  She very nearly placed her hand on his shoulder at that, but she stopped herself before she even raised her hand.  "You do what's right for you.  As long as you don't share my secret, my identity, that's all I care about."

There was silence for a moment and then Chris dared to ask, "So you really don't care about anything else?"

Clara's expression dipped back into a frown.  "No, I'm sorry, I mean, I care about you as a person, but not, not the way you want me to, ya know?  I don't think I'm capable of that."

"I think you're wrong," Chris said, and then he turned red as he quickly added, "about not being capable I mean, but if you don't feel anything... extra... for me.  I understand.  It kinda sucks, but I understand."

"Sorry," Clara said again.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Chris told her.

"Friends?" Clara asked, surprising herself as she held her hand out.

Chris smiled and shook it.  "Friends," he agreed.  He then glanced down at his wrist and chuckled when he realized he wasn't wearing a watch.  He glanced up at the clock on her wall instead and said, "I suppose I should be going, but take care of yourself, Clara."

Clara nodded.  "You, too, Chris," she replied.

"I'll do my best to keep any more mentions of you out of my magazine, just, be careful."

"I'll try," she promised.

And then with one final nod, he was gone.


It was another week before Clara felt recovered enough to go back out as the "Lady Ninja".  The first night back out, she worried briefly that someone might realize the Ninja had disappeared while she was absent recovering.  What she didn't know was that Chris had thought of this and had been going out in her place while she recovered, but stopped the night he saw her finally re-emerging from her apartment with her gym bag in tow.  He told himself at the time that he wasn't stalking, he was just making sure she was covered, and after she was back out there, he would never look after her again.  He told himself it was over, it was really over, as he drove away that night.  He and Clara might say there were still friends, but it was easier if they weren't even that.  Otherwise, for him at least, it would be too hard.


Clara took it easy at first, not wanting to risk getting shot again.  She stopped fewer crimes, on account of going to nicer parts of town, but she felt safer herself, and that was important, too.  Within a few months, she felt ready to go back fully to her old ways, back without bluetooth devices and men who were more charming than they should have been worrying about her and trying to ask her out on dates.  She never saw nor heard from Chris a single time during that duration.  She considered texting him several times, when she wasn't out on her quests, because she figured that was what friends do, but she also figured he could contact her if he really wanted too.  After all, he was the one who cared in a personal way.  Clara was not capable of such things.

Clara (Part 9)

Fortunately for Clara, it didn't seem like it was going to be too hard to avoid Chris in the near future as her family started to arrive about an hour after he had gone, having rushed to her side from their various locations as soon as they were notified of her situation, and Chris did not appear a single time while they were there.  She wondered if maybe he didn't want to try to explain who he was and how he knew Clara, since there would naturally have to be lots of lying involved, but she didn't think about it too much.

For her own part, Clara had no problem lying to her family.  She told them she had been the one attacked and had tried to resist and had been shot, but this guy in a Ninja costume had come to her aid, frightened her attacker away, and gotten her to the hospital before disappearing.  She was perhaps more pleased than she should have been to have been able to naturally weave the Ninja into the story without having to expose herself as at all connected to any of that.  She could at least thank Chris for giving her that.  She also told her family, as she had truthfully told the police, that she didn't get a good look at her attacker.  She wasn't even sure of the person's gender, as they had been wearing a very baggy hoodie and had their face covered.  This wasn't particularly unusual for those who were up to no good, she had found, but it was frustrating when the wrongdoer got away like this.  She tried not to let it get to her.  She just hoped whoever it wasn't wouldn't hurt anyone else any worse than they had hurt her, though she also knew hope wasn't worth much.  That was half the reason she did what she did, after all.

Clara's family was very fussy about her while they crowded around her bed.  Her parents had arrived first, followed closely by her sister.  Her brother didn't get in until the next evening, having booked an early afternoon flight following the middle of the night phone call.  Her brother was also the least fussy.  Though everyone in Clara's family was much more emotional than she, her brother was the closest to being like her.  That ability to distance himself from others, though not quite to the degree Clara did, was, strangely enough, the quality that made her feel closer to being close to him than to anyone else in her family.  Which is to say, still not very close, but there had always been potential there.

That second night she was in the hospital, while the rest of her family was catching up on sleep after having driven to her side through the previous night, her brother sat with her alone, and he surprised her by saying softly, "So are you going to tell any of us what really happened?"

She was completely taken aback by that.  "What happened with what?" she asked.  She only partially feigned ignorance.  She feared he was talking about how she got her injury, but what reason did he have to believe anything she had said was less than honest.

He smiled, just a little.  "Let me ask a different question then," he said.  "Why were you were you were when you got shot?"

"I was going for a walk."  Clara repeated what she had told everyone else.

He shook his head.  "You forget I used to live here, Clara," he said.  "And unlike the cops, I know you at least a little.  There was no reason for you to be where you were."

Clara fell silent at that.  She felt her heart beat a little faster.  She couldn't tell him.  There was no way.  It was already too much that Chris knew.  She couldn't put her family in danger.  If there was anyone she could ever care about, it would be them.  And you don't tell your secrets, not these kinds of secrets anyway, to people you love.

"I had my reasons," she said softly, looking away.

"Do they have anything to do with that guy that came to check on you?" her brother asked.

Clara's head shot up at that.  "What guy?"

"Said his name was Chris.  Just wanted to make sure you were still doing alright.  He stopped by a couple hours ago, but seemed a bit spooked by all of the rest of us being here."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, even though that was exactly the kind of behavior she had guessed at, given that she hadn't seen Chris at all since the previous night.  "He's just... I met... I mean..."  She trailed off and sighed again, having no idea what to say.

Fortunately, her brother saved her.  He placed his hand on her knee and she looked over at him in confusion as he said, "It's okay, Clara.  You're allowed to have a boyfriend who lives in the wrong part of town."

Clara immediately opened her mouth to protest and then just as quickly closed it again.  Huh.  Her brother knew something was up, but he had no idea what.  He was so far off the mark, she would have laughed had she not known that would just make things more complicated.  But huh.  Chris had saved her again, when she thought he was only going to cause trouble.  She didn't have to fake a blush as she considered how embarrassing that was and then leaned into her brother's mistake by just saying, "Yeah, well..."

He smiled and gave her knee a pat.  "I never thought it would happen, but he seems like a nice guy."

She was about to ask for more insight into that loaded statement when her brother chuckled to himself and leaned back.  "Well, I suppose I should get going so you can get some rest.  If Chris comes by, tell him he won't face any trouble, at least from me."  And he gave her a wink and with that, he was gone.

After he left, Clara let out a deep sigh and leaned back in her bed, not even having realized she had leaned forward to begin with.  She had really dodged a bullet there (har har).  Maybe, just maybe, having Chris around, even if just as a fake secret boyfriend to use as an excuse for odd behavior, wasn't the worst thing in the world after all.  As long as he knew there was nothing actually romantic between them, maybe, just maybe, he could be, if possible to even think it, something of a friend.

Clara (Part 8)

It was a couple months into their training that Chris proposed the idea that it wasn't actually "too risky" for the two of them to operate in the same part of the city at the same time.

"If anything, it's less risky," he noted.  "We can back each other up if things get to be too much."

"I didn't mean that kind of risky," Clara noted.  "I mean us getting caught."

"I know," Chris consented.  "But still, is it really that much more likely we'll get in trouble the two of us together than the two of us apart?"

Clara frowned and just looked at him for a moment, but then sighed and admitted, "Probably not."  She took a slow breath in and out and admitted, "I just don't know how well I'd operate with another person around."

"We seem to do fine here," Chris noted, gesturing around the dojo room that had become their regular spot.  He secretly wondered if Clara somehow really did have permission to practice here, considering how they had been doing this for close to a dozen weeks and still not gotten into any sort of trouble, but he didn't ask.

"That's sparring," Clara noted.  "Working against each other for practice.  You're talking about working together."

"Well not necessarily directly together.  We could just be near-by, take on our own... incidents, but be within shouting distance of one another."

"Seems kind-of inefficient."

Chris shrugged.  "I suppose we could spread out a little more and have ear pieces or something... so we could call for back-up."

Clara thought on that and then smiled and nodded.  "Yeah, that seems reasonable," she consented.  "I suppose having someone to call on if there's trouble wouldn't be so bad..."  She didn't mention that she was thinking more of her being able to back him up.  Why rub it in that she was still quite a bit better at this stuff than he was?  He was getting a lot better, after all.

"Well good then," Chris said with a nod.

"Good," Clara agreed.  "Now let's get back to practicing."


Clara had to admit that the whole "back-up" thing worked out better than she had expected.  There wasn't really a need for "back-up" in the first couple weeks they tried it out, but it was strangely reassuring to know that Chris was present, even if it was just a voice whispering in her ear.  He did a lot more talking than she did, and at first she would try to shush him, but eventually, she found she liked it, and it didn't seem to be doing any harm.


It was during the third week that the whole "back-up" thing became much more... significant.

Clara was perched on a fire escape watching for signs of trouble, but mostly listening to Chris.  "Not much happening tonight," Chris noted.

"Nope," Clara agreed.

"Maybe what we're doing is finally really starting to scare the bad guys away, like for good," Chris suggested.  "Maybe we can... retire or something."

Clara smiled.  "Unlikely," she noted.

"Well, maybe we could at least, like take it easy or something... take some nights off?"  His voice seemed just a bit shaky at the end.  Clara heard him sigh and then he said, "Maybe do something more fun?"

Clara felt her heart rate increase.  If pressured, she might admit that Chris had become something like a friend to her, but more than that...

Her silence, typical though it was, must have alerted him to her thoughts, because he quickly added, "I don't mean anything like... too fun?  I mean..."  He sighed again.  "I just thought maybe we could get dinner sometime?  Something not as... ninjas... something as Chris and..."

"Hold on," Clara interrupted, trying to calm the pounding in her chest as her eyes darted towards movement below her.

"I didn't mean..."

"Shhh," Clara ordered, and then she clicked off the audio so she couldn't hear any further protests or stumbling from Chris as she focused on the problem at hand:  a nervous looking young woman, clutching her purse and looking over her shoulder as she darted into the alleyway.

What happened next, was a bit of a blur.  Shortly after first woman entered the alley, another threatening figure entered behind her.  The second person demanded the woman's purse, and Clara sprung into action, startling the first woman, but also enabling her to escape as Clara confronted the other individual.  It seemed like a typical-ish encounter, at least until Clara's opponent pulled a gun on her.  It wasn't the first time this had ever happened to her, but it was the first time it caught her completely off guard, and the first time she got shot as a result.

The next thing she knew, a ninja was standing over her, pulling off his mask to reveal Chris.  Chris?  That's right, Chris was a ninja.

Then there were sirens and lights.  A brief moment of panic when she remembered she was still dressed like a Ninja herself, but she looked down to see she was wearing jeans now with her black shirt and no mask at all.

Then lights... there were lights overhead, flying by, and a voice, Chris again, fading into the background, and then nothing but darkness.


The next thing Clara was aware of after that was a faint and fairly regular beeping noise.  When she opened her eyes, it took her only a few seconds to realize she was in a hospital room, and only a few seconds more to notice that she was not alone.

"Chris?" she asked softly.

And then Chris in his chair had scooted up next to her bed and was leaning forward with a look of simultaneous relief and concern on his face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She tried to move to sit up, but winced in pain.  "Sore," she replied.  "What happened?"

"You got shot," Chris said.

"Oh," was all she said.  She already knew that, and she had kind-of expected more information than that simple yet terrifying statement, and yet she wasn't sure she really wanted or needed more.

"You called 9-1-1," she stated.

Though it wasn't said like a question, he still answered, "Yes."

"And you were the one who changed my clothes?"

"Yes, though I didn't dare do too much... just enough that it wasn't obvious you had been in a costume."

She looked over at him.  "And you?"

He shrugged.  "I didn't have time to change, but I at least managed to take my mask off.  I don't know if anyone realized that I had been..."  He trailed off and looked away for a moment before he looked back.  "I figured your identity was more important to keep secret than my own."

"Well that was stupid," Clara said.

Chris seemed taken aback by that.  "What?"

"If someone's identity should be kept secret, it's yours.  You have more personal connections than I do."

"You have family..."

"But they don't live here.  Do you have family who live here?"  She already knew the answer.  She had googled him when she first learned his real name, after all.

"Well yes, but..."

"No buts," she protested.  "This is why I'm not close to people.  Maybe you shouldn't be close to me either."

"Clara..."

"I should probably get some more rest," she said.

Chris frowned and looked like he wanted to protest, but of course he couldn't.  He had to know she was right.  So instead he gave a slight nod and said, "Okay.  Yeah, get some rest."  He scooted the chair back to where it had been and stood up.  "I'm glad you're okay," he said quietly.

She couldn't help it.  She looked up at him and smiled despite her frustration.  "Thanks," she said.  He turned to leave, but she called out, "Chris?"  He turned back and she said, "I may disagree with some of your choices, but thank you.  Thank you for saving me."

He smiled back.  "You're welcome," he said, and he was gone.

She couldn't bear to tell him, but it had dawned on her as they spoke that thinking about him might have been what distracted her enough to get her shot in the first place.  She cared at least enough not to intentionally hurt anyone more than she needed to.  Maybe she could just quietly drift away.  Like she had in the past if someone tried to be her friend.  It would be better that way.

Clara (Part 7)

They met up behind the dojo at 11pm.  It had been closed for 2 hours at that point, the owners and teachers long since gone home.  Chris looked nervous when he got out of his car.  "You know the owners here or something?" he asked as he approached Clara, who was leaning casually against the wall near the back door.  "They give you a key."

Clara shook her head.  "Nope," she said holding up a lock-picking kit and grinning more than she normally allowed herself to.  "Not strictly legal, remember?"

That didn't seem to make Chris feel any better.  "Isn't our whole purpose to prevent this kind of illegal activity?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow.  "I don't know about you," she said, "but my purpose is to stop people from getting hurt, and finding a safe place to practice, well that ultimately helps accomplish that."

"And you've done this before?"

She nodded as she went over and started fiddling with the lock.  "Dozens of times," she said.  "Now let me concentrate."

He remained silent as she worked the lock picking tools and after a couple of minutes, the door was creaking open.  When she looked back at Chris she saw him winch.  "That's not at all an ominous sound," he noted.

Clara, despite her best intentions, laughed.  "Someone isn't as confident as they pretended to be," she teased.

Chris opened his mouth as if to protest, but then apparently thought better of it and simply shook his head with a slight smile as he followed her into the dojo.


It was dark inside, and Clara didn't turn on the lights until they got to a relatively small internal room.  "This is one of the private rooms," she said as she flicked a switch that lit up the room in a soft glow of artificial light.  "Not visible from the outside.  That's why I use it."

"Smart," Chris said, still sounding a bit nervous.

She looked back at him as she walked into the middle of the room and he slowly followed, closing the door behind him.  "Are you sure you're up for this?" she asked.  "I mean, being a Ninja and all."

"I've already been doing it for a couple of weeks," he noted.  "If I wasn't up for it, I wouldn't have started."

"It's not too late to stop," she said.  "I mean, there are other ways you can help people."

"There are other ways you could help people, too," he replied, looking directly at her and sounding more confident than he had all night, more like the man who had been accusing her of being the "Lady Ninja" before he had any real proof and less like the nervous new Ninja he was trying to become.

She nodded.  "Fair point," she said, "but at least I know I'm good at it.  You, have yet to prove yourself."  And with that, she launched herself at him.


Clara was actually rather impressed with Chris, all things considered.  Though he hadn't countered her first lunge at him, he at least got out of the way, and although she was able to throw him to the padded floors many times that night, he overall held his own.  When she helped him up the last time that night she said simply, "Not bad."

"Not great either, though," Chris replied.  He sighed.  "I thought I was doing okay, but sparring with you..." He shook his head.  "Maybe you were right to suggest I shouldn't be doing this."

Clara shook her head right back at him.  "Naw," she said.  "I mean, do what you want, but I think you can do this."  She smiled just a little.  "At least, if you care about my not quite expert opinion."

Chris laughed at that, though Clara wasn't quite sure why.  "Of course I care," he said.  "You're the whole reason I'm even attempting this."

"And me not wanting you to get hurt is the reason we're here tonight," Clara said.  "I might not care about people in any deep way, but I at least care enough to not want to see you get hurt doing something I inspired you to do."

Chris chuckled, a much more reserved and quiet laugh than the one he had allowed himself just a moment ago.  And then he looked down like he was embarrassed.  "Thanks," he said, apparently to his feet.  Then he looked back up and asked, "Do you really feel like there is no one in your life you care deeply about?"

Clara shrugged.  "I mean, not really," she said.  "I told you that in the interview.  Even my own family, the people I grew up with, I never really felt that close to them."

"I just find that so hard to believe," Chris said.

Clara shrugged again.  "Some people are just like this," she said.  "They don't really connect with others."

"No, I know that," Chris argued.  "I mean..."  His voice got softer.  "I find it hard to think of you that way, as someone who doesn't form bonds with others."

"First of all, you hardly know me," Clara noted.  "And second of all, don't make it sound like its such a bad thing.  Those lack of bonds make it easier for me to help others, without really putting anyone at risk."  She paused for a moment and then allowed her own voice to get a little softer as she asked, "What about you?  Who are you close to?"

Chris's eyes darted away nervously again.  "Not a lot of people," he admitted, "but more than zero.  My mom and I are fairly close.  My dad less so.  My younger brother, I always loved him and he looked up to me, but he's almost 10 years younger than I am, so it's a different kind of closeness.  I have friends, buddies, but I mean, no one who knows about this whole Ninja thing."

"Good," Clara said.  "They shouldn't know."

"You know," he pointed out.

She grinned in a manner that some would describe as wicked.  "That's because I'm your sensei," she said.  "I have to know."

He laughed.  "Have to is a bit extreme but all things considered, I'm glad you know."

"Yeah, yeah."  She rolled her eyes.  "Now come on, we should go.  Gotta rest up so tomorrow we can to this for real."  Then she quickly added, "Though not in the same part of the city.  Too risky, ya know?"

Chris nodded.  "Yeah of course."

She gave one final nod back and then gestured for him to head out the door ahead of her.  She turned off the light and pulled the door shut behind them.  They walked back out in silence as Clara flipped the simple lock on the door handle and pulled the now re-locked back door shut behind them.

"Well, good night, Chris," she said, walking to her car, but not looking back at him.

Because she didn't look at him, and because it was pretty darn dark, she didn't see him smiling after her.  "Good night, Clara," he said in return.

Run

Run.

It wasn't a command, simply a fact.  A thought inside her own head that she knew to be true. 

She had to run.

Run from the darkness, run from the fear, run from the pain.

And then she opened her eyes.  And darkness surrounded her still.

Being alone is painful, but it isn't the greatest pain.  Being alone in the darkness is.