#redclaire

"I'm pretty sure I blacked out while we were in there!" Sheva chuckles, but is fully aware that she has no idea how she ended up with half of the items that were in her bags.

The baby in Chris’ arm makes a curious little coo the moment Claire opens her door. She’s a big one, but her blonde hair is fine and her blue eyes are bright and she sucks pretty healthily on her fist.

“Hey,” Chris greets. “This is” -- then his head dips, eyes widening slightly at the sight -- “wait, Rosie, no...” Chris has to gently move her hand out of her mouth. The little one fights him for it, but gives up after a while and peers at Claire instead.

Chris smiles sheepishly. “This is Rosemary.”

“Uuuu.”

“Hey, kiddo.” Never mind the fact Claire’s in her forties. Never mind the fact Claire hasn’t been a “kiddo” in what feels like an eternity.

Chris holds up a plastic bag. “I got sushi.”

@redclaire

           Leon hated hospitals. 

          It was more than that. He hated the white blankness of their interior, hated the smell of antiseptic and sickness, hated the maze-like halls and everyone who worked there. It wasn’t their fault, of course. Leon used to be ambivalent of hospitals and hospital-like settings. Things changed. Not for the first time, he wished they hadn’t. Leon hated hospitals for a lot of reasons, but he especially hated them because they tended to mean bad news.

          The receptionist at the front desk was quick to give him Claire’s room number. Perks, he supposed, of being married. At one point, he’d have had to give some convincing story, or claim he was her brother. Much easier to give the truth. He wasn’t really all that good at lying when it came to things like this. 

          By the time he reached her room, Leon was a taught string on a guitar about to snap. He sucked in a slow, calming breath as he pushed open the door to her room. A nurse was just finishing up, talking to her tired looking patient. Monitors beeped around Claire’s bed, and she looked... Too pale, far too pale. Leon dragged the plastic chair from the corner over to the side of her bed as the nurse made their way out. 

This is always the hardest part of visiting, Chris feels, but Claire’s going to have classes again and Chris can’t park in her life forever, even if he really fucking wants to. It’s been a good weekend, though, and he’s happy she’s adjusting as well to her classes as she is. She has friends (but that’s not surprising), and her grades have been good (also not surprising), and while the college she goes to isn’t the fanciest, she seems to genuinely, really enjoy it there.

He wishes he could say the same about the Air Force, but he doesn’t touch on it much in their conversations for a reason. Besides, none of that shit matters nearly as much to him as making sure Claire is okay does.

“I’ll write you,” Chris promises, as if he’s ever broken from that routine since leaving home. Phonecalls aren’t forbidden or anything, sure, but Chris can never talk long the way he can in a letter, and it always feels like he’s never gotten enough of Claire when they have them. “And, hey-- take care of that vest, all right?” Chris’ chest puffs up. “I worked really hard on it.”

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to get on the bus and leave. He wants to see Claire grow, and to know about everything she does, and to make sure she’s okay at all times.

She will be all right though. She’s too brilliant not to be. (And when push comes to shove, it’s not like Chris taught her to defend herself in high school for nothing.)

Chris takes in a deep breath, fingers flexing over the strap of his backpack. “Okay.” She’s gonna be fine, Redfield. Come on. Don’t cry in front of your sister. “One more hug for the road and I’m gone, I promise.”