Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Remembrance Part 2-May 1921

Author's Note: Smut warning! Also, thanks to ofautumnleaves for a major plot point.

Memorial Day Night

Music drifted out from Clara's room, a soft sound almost drowned out by the cacophony of the party going on beyond the hall door. The fact no one realized he still had the key to Clara's hall made Richard worry about how lax security had become in the suite.

He was there because Jimmy had told him, when they were done with the job, that Clara had been frantically looking for him all day. 'I told you about hurting her, Rich' Jimmy had said in a sardonic voice, but at the same time Richard heard an edge. He'd asked Jimmy how. He meant, how could do the things he did and then go to her? Jimmy understood and pointed out he was going home to Angela and Tommy.

Richard didn't have an answer. He just didn't know how he could do these things and then go to Clara.

'Clara loves you, at least in part, because she thinks you actually see her and not the Princess of the Ritz. If nothing else, you should go talk to her. You're a soldier, but you don't have to be just a soldier. And Clara? Behind that princess facade? She's a bruiser.'

Richard stood outside her door for as long as he dared before he knocked. He didn't like the idea of her being frantic with worry over him. He wasn't worth it.

"Yes?" Clara asked sleepily from behind the door, suspicion evident in her voice.

"It's. Richard. Harrow."

"Richard!" Clara had the door open and her arms around him before he could react. She pressed in for a tight hug. His head fell to her shoulder, and he smelled the ocean salt and orange smell of her. He didn't think he'd ever feel Clara's weight pressed against him or smell her again. His hands lifted, but he couldn't make them go around her.

Clara realized he wasn't responding and leaned back to look at him. He looked...gone. His mask had marks all over it. His good eye looked less lively than the painted one. His head hung on his shoulders like his neck could no longer bear the weight.

"Richard?" she asked, notes of fear creeping into her voice. He lifted his head to look at her, but she could see that it took effort. "What's wrong?"

She was wearing the pajamas she'd been wearing almost a year ago when Jimmy sent him to her room to make sure she was okay after the d'Allessios tried to kill Nucky on the Boardwalk, he noticed. Just like that night, the right strap had fallen off her shoulder. But now he could just reach over and use his fingertips to push the strap back up onto her shoulder. He could put his hand on her face and she'd lean up and kiss him. He could tell her that everything felt impossibly dark and the nightmares kept playing behind his eyes even when he was awake and he knew she would pour herself over him and try and share her warmth and light with his cold and shadowed soul.

Beyond her hall, rich men were having women. Women whose names they probably didn't know, that they certainly didn't care about, whom they would never think about again, and that they only appreciated in the same way Richard appreciated a piece of cheese when he was hungry.

Anger flamed inside him. He loved Clara. The fact that a few months ago she stood in front of him and kissed him still felt unreal. That first night, when her feet were on top of his and he fell asleep with her breath on his cheek, was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. So why must he give up what he held dear?

It was because he loved her, he knew. He couldn't bear to poison her with his darkness.

"I don't know," he responded with a click.