Author's Note: Pardon the long update everyone. This chapter went through a lot of edits. On a better note, Ghostbusters Afterlife got a trailer! Looking forward to seeing the movie. I am going to give a reminder that since Ghostbusters has different universes (the movie verse, animated version, extreme ghostbusters, 2016 dimension etc.) this fanfic and its follow up The Venkman Present will have different outcomes. So don't expect Afterlife to be part of this canon: that seems more with the movie canon. After all, RGB has an episode called Take Two where it's revealed the movie is just an adaptation. That's the thing I like about this franchise: different universes have unique outcomes so there's a lot to explore. :)

(All characters, places, and objects from The Real Ghostbusters do not belong to me. They belong to Dan Akroyd, Harold Ramis and Columbia Pictures. Television. OC's are only mine!)

Chapter Six

Where a Deeper Bond Begins

July 3rd rolled along with anticipation. What'd started as a good plan for Saturday afternoon, ended up being better. Not long after Peter arrived back from his outing with Claire, his fraternity was discussing a last-minute change for the holiday. Instead of going to the beach, they wanted to go with some other sororities to Lake George. The only ones not going were at least two other members who were already visiting family in other cities. Considering it was a three-hour drive from Manhattan, it was too spontaneous for Peter's liking. He declined saying he'd find something else to do.

He was honestly pleased with the change when he quickly realized it gave him a whole free day with Claire. He ended up calling her and they worked a new plan which left them more excited. They'd have dinner at her apartment and watch their favorite shows together. When Claire gave her address, he was a little surprised. She mentioned before that her office was only ten minutes from Columbia University, so he figured she was close by. It turned out she lived half an hour away! He made note that he'd commute to her area more often.

Maybe Peter wasn't spending the 4th of July like he usually did, but now he didn't care. He'd be spending time with her and that was satisfying enough. For Claire, her wish was coming true. She wanted to have a good day and spending it with Peter was just that. Even if he wasn't her usual type, she was grateful they'd become friends.

Peter spent Saturday morning looking for a real present for Claire but had a difficult time. He couldn't decide on a book because it seemed like Claire could already have the copy. He wasn't sure about jewelry because so far, he'd only seen Claire with simple hoop earrings. He wasn't getting her clothes because he didn't know her size. He gave up on those and went for the practical, but meaningful option: flowers. Before leaving, Peter dug through his secret stash of treats for something Claire would like. None of his frat brothers knew that he had chips, cookies, chocolate and jellybeans stowed away under his mattress. He settled on M&M's and hid them in his shirt pocket.

Claire's apartment was on the fifth floor (or really the top floor) of the building. It wasn't hard to find the correct one since Claire's was the first door to the left of the hall. Not to mention, that when Peter entered the hallway, she was already waiting for him. She was leaning against the doorway; reminiscent to how Peter acted when she arrived for the first ESP test.

"Oh," she gasped in awe. "Roses! You didn't have to do that."

"You didn't think I wasn't going to get you some sort of birthday present," he kidded. It was a small bouquet of yellow roses in cyan colored tissue paper.

"Aw, thank you Peter," Claire said cheerfully, "I love them. Roses are one of my favorite flowers." The moment the bouquet was in her hands, she deeply inhaled their fragrance. After she did, she waved her hand for Peter to follow her inside. "Come on in. The pizza just arrived and there's ice cream for dessert."

Her apartment wasn't that big, but it was comfortable. It wasn't messy like the frat house. It wasn't overly tidy like some of Peter's past girlfriends' homes. It was just right. The first thing he noticed was the living area which had a dark green couch and the tv perched on small, boxy cabinet. The only carpeting was the small rug between the couch and coffee table. There was a kitchenette with a small table pushed against the wall with two chairs. (Though it was one of those extendable tables that could add more seats.) There was one rectangular window which was partially covered by blue, gauzy curtains. By the tv, were two doors: one closed and the other slightly open revealing to be the bathroom. From what he could see, it had cyan tile.

What caught Peter's attention most were the multi picture frames around the living room. A few of them were locations: green forests, running creeks, prairies covered with wildflowers and old towns in a desert. Some had Claire with her two close friends, Eileen and Rebekah, as children and adults. A good number of photos were of family. They seemed to be on vacations, having picnics and celebrating birthdays. There was even one with a cat that was silvery grey with light green eyes.

However, there was one photo that stuck out to Peter. It was Claire, probably around twelve or thirteen, and her family. She was holding the cat while he rubbed his face under her chin. They were in a living room with a Christmas tree that was decorated with tinsel and ornaments that could've been handmade. It was a far cry from Peter's experience with family. They looked happy, but somewhere in Peter's knowledge of psychology, he figured something was off.

He suspiciously eyed Claire's father. He looked more like a mannequin than a living human. He looked stiff as a board, his blonde hair was plastered to his head, and his smile didn't seem genuine. Beside him was the sister who seemed to be a high schooler. She looked remarkably like Claire with the small slender nose and strawberry blonde hair. Her blue eyes were a lighter shade, and her face was squarer like the dad. Regardless, she was as beautiful as Claire. The only thing Peter didn't like was the arrogant smile.

Claire didn't notice Peter analyzing her family portrait but arranged the flowers in a vase. She set them on her small dinner table. "Much better," she said with satisfaction. She turned to realize Peter was looking at the pictures.

"I didn't know you had a museum in your apartment," Peter said looking over all the frames.

"It looks like it doesn't it?" Claire laughed as she came near. "I packed too many pictures when I moved from Indiana." She pointed to the one Peter's eyes were still locked upon. "There's Mom, Dad and my sister, Caroline. That was ten years ago for Christmas."

"I see where you got your looks," Peter said. "Your mom's pretty." She had the same cornflower blue eyes and round face but striking red hair that was curled for the event.

"I'll let her know you said that," said Claire. "Oh, and right there, that's my cat Rocket. We got him shortly after the Moon Landing. He's the only pet we've owned. You had any pets?"

"Not with how much we moved," Peter answered. "We always went somewhere new with Dad's jobs."

"That had to be hard moving around," Claire said sympathetically.

"Yeah well, its one of those things." Peter was ready to put the conversation behind him. "You really like retro stuff. Your tv cabinet and table looks like something from twenty years ago."

"I've tried to have some old styles because I like them, and it reminds me of my childhood home. It helps me feel less homesick. Enough about my apartment though. You're here for dinner and dessert."

As Peter started following her for the kitchenette, he noticed two cards with ripped envelopes on the coffee table. Birthday cards no doubt. He wondered if she'd gotten any calls like she expected.

"By the way," Claire said, "Ray called this morning. I think somebody told him it was my birthday." She knowingly smiled at her guest.

"Just reporting the daily news," Peter answered. "He felt awful missing it."

"Exactly what he said," Claire was holding back laughter. "He sang "Happy Birthday" for me."

"No surprise there," Peter chuckled. "I first met him days after my birthday and when he found out, he brought me cupcakes during a lecture."

"He's a sweetheart through and through. My close friends, Eileen and Rebekah, called me today-they're cards arrived just in time-and they hoped we can visit soon. My sister had a quick talk with me."

"I guess she had sudden plans too?"

"Not like that. She's on a long business trip so I wasn't going to see her either way." Claire wasn't ready to bring up a certain chat she had with her father and changed the subject before Peter could inquire. "Now what to you want to drink? I have lemonade, iced tea, water, 7UP, Sunkist or even milk."

Once they got everything settled, Peter helped set up the TV trays. Claire had gotten out her nice glass cups and plates which were blue and white. It was a little more formal than he was used to when being at others' homes. Egon had a small apartment and if he ever had company, they ate with paper plates from the coffee table and couch. Even then it was better than fraternity dining. If dishes weren't clean, then it was paper plates. If not, everyone was just eating with their hands and out of napkins. Usually, it was Peter or at least two other frat brothers who took initiative for the dishes and cleaning.

Once the shows started, it honestly felt no different to hanging out with Ray and Egon in Weaver Hall except Peter would steal glances at Claire while she watched Rhoda and The Bob Newhart Show. After yesterday with how she glum she appeared, it made him glad to see her cheerful and listen to her laugh. She grinned when she found that Peter kept his word on bringing a candle with matches and stuck it into her M&M covered ice cream.

As the television droned into commercials, Claire lowered the volume and they talked. It led to short conversations about Peter living in a frat house and how Claire used to share her apartment with Rebekah until she moved to California. However, as the evening drew deeper into night, Peter was determined to know one thing. He waited until Claire got up with dirty dishes, to which he quickly offered to help.

"Hostess does the dishes," chuckled Claire.

"And Mama Venkman raised me to clear tables whether guest or host," he answered. "That's why I'm a busser."

The tiniest blush etched Claire's cheekbones. She rinsed the plates off, planning to thoroughly clean them later and Peter fetched the rest of the cups and silverware. Since it was quieting down, it seemed the right time to ask her about yesterday.

"Claire, there's something I've been waiting to ask you about."

"Mm-hm," Claire hummed as she rinsed out an ice cream bowl.

"I think you know what it is…" He watched Claire grow rigid and droop her shoulders. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I figured you'd ask," Claire said. She took a spare towel and wiped her hands. "Well, Mom called me, and we talked. She only had a little time. Dad didn't say anything except happy birthday." She paused and sat at her small table. "You're probably more interested in how and why my original plans were canceled?"

Peter sat across from her. "So, are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked gently. "I could tell you were upset yesterday." Claire took a deep breath and he listened intently as she began.

"Dad just retired and some people at work pitched together to get him tickets for some cruise, but it would be leaving on July 2nd and be back next week. They couldn't find another ticket. Mom tried compromising, but Dad wouldn't have it. They'd have to fly out to Florida for boarding. Mom kept apologizing to me, but I don't blame her. I know she tried to work it out, but it wasn't meant to be."

"So that's why," Peter said understandingly.

"Exactly," Claire said softly. Her eyes widened as if she was worried someone had caught her stealing. "I don't mean to be ungrateful for them," she quickly said. "I know they always hoped to take a cruise one day and I want them to have fun and….and I know I'll be fine." She smiled, but Peter wasn't buying it.

"I think the next time you talk to him you should say it bothered you." Claire was about to protest but Peter continued with a hand wave. "Hear me out. You have right to be even a little bit upset of your birthday plan being canceled: that took planning, money for purchasing plane tickets and I'm sure you haven't seen your family in a long time. It's frustrating. He ought to know his own kid was hurt even if it wasn't intended."

"Maybe," Claire said quickly as she sat up and gave another smile. "Aside from that, I still have fireworks to enjoy tomorrow." She distracted herself by talking about how she watched fireworks from her apartment building. It led to an agreement of meeting up again for the holiday.

Peter was going along with it, especially since it was another chance to be with his love interest, but he knew what she was doing. He was picking up that she didn't like talking about certain things and would brush it off if possible. She didn't want to talk about confronting her dad and he didn't understand it. If somebody annoyed him, he was upfront with it, even getting in that person's face.

What's up with her dad that she's scared to confront him? Peter thought. What's the worst that can happen? He won't bite her.

He had a point about Claire speaking up for herself, but he didn't know the man. Jim Venkman and Arnold Teague were different fathers. If anyone had the choice between the two, they would've picked Jim.


The next day was just as good. Claire and Peter met up at the movie theater for a showing they'd wanted to see. (Peter's celebrity crush, Michelle Pfeiffer was in it.) That followed a late lunch at the same diner they'd gone to before. They spent most of it sharing memories. Claire's were full of joy: summer vacations to other states, picnics in the park, and running through sprinklers in her backyard. It was more than Peter could say. The most memories he had were with his mom and she would always pull together last-minute ideas. Sometimes it was climbing up the roof of their rental house for fireworks. Sometimes it was eating cheap popsicles in a small apartment which didn't have air conditioning. In her short time, Mrs. Venkman tried everything she could to give her son a decent life. There was one thing both Claire and Peter had in common with the memories: no mention of their father.

Finally, when it was dark, the best part began: the firework show. The way to the fire escape was through Claire's bedroom. Peter wasn't sure about the fire escape being a good spot, but she promised it would be a great view. She'd done it for every 4th of July since she moved to New York. Peter forgot his uncertainty for the location when Claire led him through her room.

Keeping theme with the size of the apartment, it was small, but cozy. Claire and Rebekah had shared the room like siblings. There were two closets with wooden sliding doors and after Rebekah left, Claire used her emptied one for extra storage. There was a vanity with a tilting mirror and a velvety blue jewelry box. The vanity doubled as the desk since Claire kept her typewriter there and a desk chair pushed to the side. She had a bulletin board full of memories: postcards from different states, old playbills from her dance performances, ticket stubs from Yankees games and polaroid pictures with captions. On the far side of the room was the nightstand which had a mini cassette player and Claire's copy of Night Glow. Then there was the bed: a full double mattress with pale blue covers. Satin covers no less.

Peter, who'd offered to carry the ice bucket of drinks she'd prepared, felt he'd probably have to dump the whole thing over himself to cool his testosterone and fantasies. He imagined what it'd be like to share that bed with her…and not just for sleeping. How enjoyable would it be seeing her beautiful face, a content smile and her eyes deep with desire close to him. He could almost hear her whispering his name, longing for him. The thud of the window being opened drew him back to reality. Claire was already out, and she stooped to look back at him.

"Come on," she laughed. "It's better than you think."

Peter followed her all the while his conscience mentally smacked and berated him. And how do you think she'd feel if she knew what you were just thinking! She's not looking for a boyfriend and you know she's not the kind to have casual flings! It was close to a month since they first met, and Claire hadn't shown interest in dating. She seemed more pleased to have another friend. Peter shoved his wants aside.

It turned out the fire escape was a surprisingly good location. The metal planks were wide enough to sit upon, and the railing bars were close enough to lean against securely. The fireworks were high enough over the buildings and just as loud to make viewers jump at the first flare. Over and over, they burst and shimmered in the brightest colors. The crackling, sizzling and thundering booms were like a symphony.

While watching the display, the friends sipped on the icy cold drinks. Claire had an assortment of berry flavored wine coolers, Sunkist, and 7UP. The warm air left them so thirsty that when the wine coolers were half-empty, they went onto the sodas. Peter brought a bag of jellybeans from his dorm and Claire sorted through for flavors she loved. When the fireworks were over, they chatted idly. No urgency to keep up a conversation and eventually it sunk into a comfortable silence. It was then that Claire, who'd been wrestling some conflict since yesterday, decided to open up about something.

"Peter?" she said hesitantly. "Have you ever felt intimidated by someone?"

"Do you count?" he said with his playful grin. Claire smiled back but shook her head. "Then not really. If I ever feel like someone is, I just talk right back. There's a reason some of the frat brothers have nicknamed me The Mouth."

"Has your dad ever intimidated you?" Claire asked after a pause.

"No," Peter answered. "I'm more annoyed by him than intimidated. Why you ask?"

"I can't stop thinking about what you said last night," Claire explained. "You made a point about telling my dad how I feel and you're right. I started typing up a letter for him, but I couldn't do it."

"Why a letter? Why can't you just tell him over the phone or in person?"

"I like writing things out so I can prepare the appropriate words. It's like rehearsal for me. I don't want to panic when the time comes. I've done that for years when it comes to deep discussions with Dad. I just…" She couldn't speak. Peter noticed she was trembling.

"Are you scared of him?" he asked softly. Claire nodded once. Suddenly he felt anger at a new horrible realization. "Has he hit you?"

"No." Claire looked Peter right in the eye. "He's never hit me. He yells things at me."

"Oh." Peter tried sorting his words out so Claire wouldn't be more unhappy. "I…I guess I don't get it. What's the worst that can happen if you stand up for yourself?"

"You don't understand Peter," Claire said quietly. "When I do tell Dad I'm upset over something, he says I'm wrong for thinking."

"You still should," Peter said with a shrug. "My dad's done a lot of crap I don't like, and I let him know. He doesn't listen to me, but at least I said something."

"I'm not blunt like you," she said. "I can't just say…"

"You've been blunt with me," Peter said. "You were able to speak up on me being a skunk. Why's this any different?"

"You didn't intimidate me." Claire's delicate fingers twisted the pop tab of her 7UP. "You joke about being a skunk, but you're not a snake with a poisonous bite."

"I bet a fox could take on a snake," he said confidently.

"No, a mongoose can take on snake," Claire said sharply. Her fingertips drummed against the aluminum can.

Peter sighed partly in frustration. "Then why don't y-"

"He knows how to turn things around on me!" Claire's voice started rising. "Anytime I've managed the smallest courage to discuss how he's made me feel, he snaps at me, saying I'm ungrateful to him! He says I shouldn't be upset after all he's done for me!" She clenched both hands around her soda can enough to cause the sound of metallic crunching.

"Oh," Peter said half to himself. He felt stupid for not understanding Claire sooner. "Well," he said reassuringly to her, "even if he's taken care of you, it's okay to be upset that he's hurt your feelings. You don't have to act like it doesn't bother you. I mean, your parents ought to know you'd be happy and upset at the same time."

"I know and you're right about that," she said calming her tone. "I just have too many issues."

"Diagnosis: you've got dad issues," Peter said as he leaned against Claire, shoulder to shoulder. He said it within good humor. That and along with his witty grin Claire found she could smile a little. Peter stretched his legs out and took a sip from his can. "I do too," he added sympathetically. "It's complicated, isn't it? You love them, but they do stupid things."

"Dad is a complicated person," she sighed. "I love him, but…"

"He's let you down?" guessed Peter.

Claire didn't answer yet. She was thinking through her words. So often, she felt afraid to say anything bad of her father because she did love him and there were good memories. She didn't want to disappoint him, all the while she was hurt by his inconsideration. She'd try pushing it off while it chewed her up. However, sitting there with Peter, she felt that he wouldn't judge her. It didn't seem only pure luck that she was revealing it to a friend who just happened to be studying psychology. The stress of keeping the negativity bottled up was reaching its point and needed releasing.

"I think," she said hesitantly, "in a way he has let me down. I know he loves me, but he doesn't show it. He wasn't always like that. When I was young, he used to say he was proud of me. He wasn't a big hugger, but when he did, I felt loved. If he hugs me now, it's more like a side hug and I don't feel any affection. It's changed too much."

"My dad's not a hugger either," Peter admitted. "About your dad though, something must've happened for him to treat you differently. People don't just wake up and have a whole shift in personality."

"You're right about that." Claire slipped her hand through the window to discard her empty can. "He wasn't that terrible in my childhood."

"When'd it start?"

"I think it was when I was twelve," Claire said while recalling the changes. "He changed a lot after Grammy-his mother-passed away from a heart attack. He sort of blames me for not getting to see her one last time since she died just two days after my birthday, and we were on summer vacation. He said if we weren't on that trip for my birthday, he'd get to see her again."

"Did he outright say he blames you?" Peter inquired. Maybe he didn't and it was his actions that made Claire think he did.

"Yes, he's told me that every year." Claire felt the stinging of tears threatening to form. She blinked hard to prevent them. "He started drinking a lot more. It's not as bad as it used to be, but I worry what could trigger him to spiral again. Mom worries about that too." Claire heavily sighed, feeling weighted by her concerns. She dug through the ice bucket for a new wine cooler. "Anyway, after that he became more critical of everything, especially me. He'd pick fights with Mom, and he still does. Caroline was already in college since she pushed a grade ahead, but I think even if she were at home, he wouldn't say anything about her. They're so alike."

"Sounds like he didn't know how to handle his grief." Peter began reaching out to Claire's shoulder, but withdrew. Maybe she didn't want to be touched right now.

"Sounds right," Claire agreed. "I just don't know what can make him happy. Then again, I don't think I can make him happy."

"Maybe he needs a hobby," Peter suggested.

"If you count laying before the television and getting drunk as a hobby, then he already has one." Claire rubbed one of her eyes and sipped her new drink. "Maybe your dad could give him other ideas," she added with a little sarcasm.

"Trust me," Peter smirked, "you don't want my dad giving any ideas. The last thing you want to hear from him is an idea." At least he could be grateful his dad wasn't as verbally abusive. "Well, I'm sorry you've had to deal with that" he added kindly. "Can't imagine a dad treating his daughter that way. Your grammy dying wasn't your fault and him blaming you had to make your grieving harder."

"I wasn't that close to her," admitted Claire solemnly. "I wish I had been. I'm glad Mom's been there for me. I know she can't do too much to change Dad's mind, but I've never second guessed her love."

"Good moms never have their kids second guessing their love," Peter agreed. "I know my mom never did."

"I don't know anything about her," Claire said modestly, "but seeing how you are, she must've done something right."

"I can promise you she didn't teach me to fake answers for tests," he joked.

"I didn't mean that," Claire chuckled. "I mean that you're smart, kind and a good listener. I wouldn't be surprised if those traits were influenced by her."

"Yeah. She was a great mom." A small pang of loss hit Peter as those memories weaved through his conscience. It seemed like forever since he last spoke to her; forever since their last hug before death took her away.

"Peter," Claire said gently calling him away from his thoughts. She inched closer to him. "Maybe this isn't my place to ask, but I've been wondering this for weeks."

"Shoot," he said with a shrug.

"I keep remembering what Ray said that one time," Claire explained. "You're doing so much on your own. So, does your dad help you in any way?"

"He helps give me headaches," Peter answered dryly. Claire wasn't up for his sarcasm.

"Seriously, does he help you with anything? I know Ray said he's a conartist, but he should be offering some support."

"He thinks he has," Peter said bitterly. He shook his head as if to clear his mind of bad memories. "Whatever. He's an average Joe who doesn't know how to make an honest buck. We'll just leave it at that."

Claire understood and didn't ask more, but she still wanted Peter to talk about it. With what little information he divulged, she felt sorry for him. It wasn't fair that his dad was a crook and even if Peter had some conning ways, at least he tried to make things right. It wasn't fair to lose his mother either.

"When my parents come home, I'm going to call them up and tell Dad how I feel. Not just my birthday, but with everything." She was nervous, but she bravely smiled. "It's gone on long enough."

"You tell him," Peter encouraged. Then with a wink, he added, "Be the fox that stood up to a skunk."

"Said the skunk who gave the fox advice," Claire kidded. "Actually, I don't think the term suits you."

"Then what suits me? Weasel, rat, swine, louse, mongrel, jacka-"

"None of those!" exclaimed Claire. She smacked her drink down and grabbed his shoulders. "Who's called you those things?"

"Lots of people when they're ticked with me," he answered casually. Goosebumps were rising again feeling Claire's touch. "I had a girlfriend say I was a fink and I thought it was some sort of creature until Egon told me to check the dictionary."

"It means 'a contemptible person' or 'fail to do something promised because lack of commitment.' I remember that on a vocabulary test." Claire slowly let go of him. She looked at him in consideration.

"Sticks and stones," smirked Peter. "You just bring out that tough side at your dad like you did with me." He raised his half empty wine cooler bottle up. "Here's to you Foxy."

Claire chuckled and raised her bottle to his for a toast. "Thanks to your support…Venk?" She'd hesitantly tested the waters with a nickname.

"That's new," Peter grinned approvingly.