All characters © Hasbro Inc. and Sunbow Entertainment. This fic takes place following the episode "Video Wars" and is written solely for the enjoyment of fans. This fic is also part of the Jem femmeslashathon.
Dedicated to my beloved friend Denisia.
Clash stood by the side of the building, shivering despite the heat of the warm Los Angeles evening. She clutched her arms around herself.
It was over, all over. She was ruined, for good this time. Cousin Video had replaced her tape with one that belittled the Misfits, and it was shown on live television. The Misfits were furious. Jem and the Holograms now knew that "Sarah" had betrayed them. Both bands hated her, and cousin Video had won again.
The worst part had been the derisive laughter of the Misfits, driving away in their van as Clash begged. It was thousands of tiny thorns tearing up Clash's guts, and her cheeks burned with shame and sorrow just thinking about it.
Now she truly had no one and no place to belong. The smattering of warmth she'd felt from Jem and the Holograms were but a memory, as were afternoons lounging around Pizzazz's mansion with the Misfits. Last time Clash had messed up for the Misfits, she had wormed her way back into their hearts by bestowing them with all manner of gifts that glorified the group: framed concert photos, artistic collages, scrapbooks brimming with articles.
But now it wouldn't matter if Clash could build a 10,000 square foot Parthenon dedicated to the Misfits, replete with a towering marble statue of the band. She was finished, and her last several interactions with Pizzazz left little doubt of that fact.
Clash slumped down into the bushes that lined the side of the building. She remained there, staring blankly ahead, unable to conceive of what the future might hold for her. She was dimly aware of when Jem and the Holograms and Video left the studio, her presence unknown to them. The producers and crew left shortly there afterwards. Clash remained huddled against the building, obscured by the bushes. The evening turned into night and grew quite dark but Clash was oblivious.
She did not hear the car pull up or notice the footsteps. But when Clash sensed a presence, she blinked. Believing that she was seeing a mirage, Clash parted her lips and asked, weakly, "Stormer?"
"I had a feeling you'd still be here," Stormer said quietly.
"W-what are you doing here?" Clash managed. She remained seated on the ground, her knees pulled up against her chest. Stormer stood before her, having changed out of her maroon Misfits outfit. The songwriter now wore black jeans and a lovely red sweater. Her full hair was pulled into a ponytail though some lovely wisps peaked out against her face.
"I just wanted to see if you were alright. You had a rough day."
Clash looked down. "I'm sorry. I messed up so bad."
"You did," Stormer nodded. "Pizzazz and the others are really pissed."
"Yeah, you don't need to rub it in my face!" Clash barked, and then instantly regretted it. Stormer had displayed nothing but kindness towards her. Even after the other Misfits had all berated her at the studio, Stormer had said nothing, only extending her arms towards Clash in a gesture of sympathy.
Stormer looked at Clash. She mused that the brazen, crafty girl who had first penetrated the Misfits' inner circle was gone. Once Jetta had joined the band, Clash had continued to weaken her own position with a series of missteps. She had become an obsequious pest rather than a scheming partner-in-crime.
"I'm sorry," Clash stuttered. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. That was stupid of me."
"You've done a lot of stupid things lately," Stormer said flatly, crossing her arms.
Clash winced because that sounded more like something Jetta would say. But still. Stormer was here, and that had to mean something.
"It was nice of you to check on me," she managed.
"Come on," Stormer said, extending a hand. "You can't sit here all night."
Incredulously, Clash reached for the soft hand held out by Stormer and struggled to her feet. She followed Stormer back to her car.
"Where are we going?" Clash asked, once Stormer started the engine. Clash left her seatbelt undone.
"Somewhere where you can unwind a bit," she answered enigmatically.
Clash smiled and began to feel less numb. Emboldened by Stormer's caring, she placed a hand on Stormer's thigh.
The hand was promptly lifted up and returned to its owner. A chagrined Clash blushed and then began to ramble on about a movie she saw a few days ago.
When they reached their destination, Stormer led the way inside the bar. Clash coughed as the stench of cigarette smoke assaulted her respiratory system. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she looked around. Loud music blared, with sounds of glasses clinking and random snippets of conversation in the background. Several women sat at the bar and at nearby tables, drinking heartily. A few stood to one side playing darts. Two pool tables were also crammed inside the bar, and one was the site of a spirited game. The walls, painted in dark colors and peeling in areas, were covered with various movie and music posters, including two Misfits posters. Clash noted that her shoes stuck to portions of the floor.
"Roxy and I used to come here, way back when," Stormer said, seating herself at one of the tables and sounding older than she was. Clash sat next to her, straining to hear over the loud sounds of the bar. "Pizzazz never liked the bar scene so she didn't come with us. But Roxy and me still drop in here every now and then – sometimes with Jetta too. We mostly do it to hang out and not to meet anyone. After all, we have enough groupies who throw themselves at us that we don't need to come here to find a date."
"I know," Clash said sullenly. She felt intense pangs of jealousy directed at those groupies. None of the Misfits had ever invited Clash into their beds no matter how hard she hinted, flirted, or pleaded. Obviously they hadn't found her attractive.
"What do you want to drink?"
"Um….how 'bout a long island iced tea?"
"Sounds good," Stormer said, rising from her seat and heading for the bartender. Clash sat, waiting for the Misfit and looking around the place. So many women laughed and talked together, in couples or in groups. Those playing darts or pool looked to be having a blast. Clash had never felt so alone before in her life. She understood that Stormer's gesture, bringing her to this place, was done solely out of pity and that Clash truly had no chance at returning to her previous position as the Misfits' lead fan.
Stormer returned holding one drink. A young woman stood next to her, holding two other glasses.
"This is Gwen," Stormer offered by way of introduction. "I met her here a while ago."
"Hi," Clash said.
"Hi," Gwen responded, handing Clash one of the long island iced teas. Gwen was a petite slender woman whose hair was dyed multiple, loud colors. Abundant make-up adorned her face. She had a brilliant smile and sparkling eyes. As she handed the glass over to Clash, Clash noted her hands which appeared strong and firm. She gauged Gwen to be three or four years older than herself.
The three women fell into an easy conversation. Gwen described her work as a graphic artist. Clash listened, intrigued.
Just minutes later, Stormer glanced at her watch. "I gotta get running here," she said, rising to her feet. "I hope you two have a good time."
"But Stormer…how will I get home?" Clash asked.
"Um," Stormer began, feigning uncertainty. "Well, I don't know. Maybe—"
"I can take her," Gwen said. She turned to Clash with a beguiling smile. "If that's okay with you."
"Sure," Clash managed. She had the feeling that the Gwen-Stormer interaction had been rehearsed but it didn't bother her in the least. For the first time since the disaster earlier in the evening, she felt a modicum of happiness.
Stormer extended a hand towards Clash. "This is farewell," she began. "I wish you well." She looked at Clash and then at Gwen as if to imply that Clash was being left in good hands.
Clash, flustered at Stormer's formality and fully understanding the meaning of her words, just grasped the hand and smiled. "Goodbye. And tell the others someday I said farewell too."
"I will," Stormer said. She then smiled, dropped the grave tones, and said breezily, "Have fun, girls!"
Clash watched Stormer skip out of the bar, and then turned to Gwen. Gwen was smiling at her. She had dimples.
Clash gently placed her hand over Gwen's. "So tell me more about that project you were working on," she asked, thoughts of the Misfits beginning to fade from her mind.
Feedback is always welcome.