Chapter Text
Claire wakes up to the sizzle of butter on a frying pan.
For a moment, she’s not nineteen and trying to get her life back on track. It’s the same bed, the same roof, but she’s young and carefree again, with her parents making her favorite crispy bacon. Her brain slips forward, and then it’s Chris, frying eggs early in the morning before they both head out to school.
Her mind returns to the present, but she has no clue who could be cooking downstairs. Chris is out of town, trying to gather intel and figure out a treatment plan for Steve. That leaves only one person, but Steve’s been a heavier sleeper than her these days, with both of them barely dragging themselves out of bed before midday.
When she walks down the stairs, it turns out to be Steve, his back turned towards her as he watches the stovetop. His outline is bigger now, broader - he’d hit a second growth spurt quickly after Antarctica. Poor guy was making up for lost time and nourishment, and he wasn’t picky. But now, those shoulders are scrunched up and tense as he holds a spatula over the pan.
“Steve?”
He jerks upright in surprise and turns. “Claire! I didn’t think you’d be up already.”
“What are you doing?”
“You said you wanted french toast yesterday, right?”
She’d brought it up on a whim, knowing very well she’d be too tired to do anything but crash and eat a banana close to noon. Breakfast was out of the picture most days - and when it wasn’t, it was whatever they could grab with minimal prep. It wasn’t like her wishes for french toast were obscenely difficult - it’d just fallen to the wayside, amidst secretive medical appointments and settling back down in the US.
Claire glances at the mixing bowl, the cracked egg shells piled neatly on the kitchen counter. Behind Steve, the buttered pan hisses against a slice of bread. “So you woke up early to make all this?”
"It's nothing, really..."
She huffs in joking exasperation. "Well, I can't eat nothing. But I can eat lots of french toast."
Steve half-pouts, but doesn’t have any immediate quips in return. She claims victory with a fond smile.
“I just want you to know how much this means to me. Thank you - this is so sweet.”
A pink flush settles on his cheeks. “You’re welcome.” His last mental wall comes down, and she sees him - the innocent, affectionate young man she’s come to love these past few months. Her own face goes warm as she takes it all in - her, him, finally free.
She reaches out for his face, eyes slowly shutting as she leans in.
With a rough grab, it’s all denied.
"Claire, we can't," Steve yanks away her hand mid-way to his cheek, holding it with clammy fingers. "I'm infected... What if I..."
Her eyes flutter back open violently. "We saw the test results together, right?" She tries to be calm, even if she's rattled by his sudden outburst of terror. "Your virus can't spread."
"What if they missed something? Then what? I couldn't live with myself if something happened."
"Steve, I'm okay with-"
"Please, Claire," he whispers, pain in every syllable. The hand grasping hers becomes both stiff yet detached at the same time, as if he's ready to fold in on himself. Preparing to detach completely, as he's been want to do these days. Claire’s heart aches, for it's moments like this that he needs comforting the most.
"Okay," she says slowly, "Would you be okay with a hug?"
Steve's eyes burn with shame as he looks away and quickly nods. He releases her hand, but his own trembles in the background. He bites his lip, trying to hold back the storm of emotions underneath. When Claire hugs him, she tries to embrace it all - the shame, the fear, the love she knows they hide.
When she leans her head against his chest, she feels him swallow nervously. "I..."
She doesn't answer, doesn't say anything. Just starts swinging gently in place, melting against him as his arms finally hold her tight. Her hypothesis was right; he doesn't let her go. He holds her with arms interlaced over her back, head leaning over her shoulder. His heartbeat slows in real-time. And at the same time, hers seems to pick up, at least in her thumping eardrums. He needed this - and she did, too.
“I love you,” she whispers, gently tapping her fingers over his spine. A soft, slow rhythm. A step back towards quiet normalcy.
The hands over her back stiffen, and she worries she’s jumped the gun again. But no, he just brings her close, coarse skin on his cheek pressing against her neck.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he replies hoarsely, “Someday, I promise I…”
“Shh.” She sways in his embrace, if only to stop that train of thought. They weren’t keeping score - though if it were up to him, he’d have a list of go through for all eternity. It wasn’t wholly new - she remembers how desperately he tried to be useful in Antarctica. But something had shifted since then - that teenage pride was now something more akin to guilt.
She debates bringing it up now, but quickly tosses it aside. Steve’s still trying to get back on his feet, not to mention the looming mystery over his infection. There would be a better time for soul searching. Claire takes a slow breath to ground herself.
Acrid smoke fills her nostrils.
Both of them split, but Steve’s faster. "Shit - the toast-"
Said piece of toast is quickly flipped over, revealing a particularly nasty charred underside. Steve winces. The twist in his lip is more distraught than Claire expects.
"Sorry for distracting you. I can take that slice-" she quickly intercepts.
"No, I'll eat it. It's my fault, should've paid more attention..."
“Or we could just chuck it out?” she tries.
“It’s not that bad…” Steve says - whether for him or for her, she can’t really tell. “And uh… I’m kinda hungry. Zombie metabolism and all, you know?”
The smile trembles, but it’s his own attempt at normalcy. A joke at his expense, to get her to laugh.
She ruffles his hair. “A zombie couldn’t make the best breakfast ever.”
“I literally just burnt one-”
“But you said that’s not mine, right?” she smirks. “The other slices will be delicious.”
“You haven’t even had them yet.”
“I can just tell,” she smiles - no, she beams when Steve matches her. “But I’ll leave you to it, Chef.”
Turns out she’s absolutely right - Steve gives her a feast with fresh berries and warm french toast sprinkled with powdered sugar. It’s her first proper breakfast since Raccoon City - a meal where she’s not sorting through Umbrella leads, nor rushing to the next destination. A moment where she can just relax and take blissful bite after bite. She wishes Chris was here - he loves his french toast too - but to know he’s nearby and safe is already fortunate enough. And to see Steve enjoy his breakfast as much as she does is icing on the cake.
Things are looking up.
"Hey, I think you have a little sugar on your face..."
Claire breaks from her reverie to a fond smile and a cheeky pointer finger gesturing towards her face. Maybe she’d been too relaxed…
She does a lazy sweep with her thumb. "Did I get it all?"
"Almost - just missed a bit right here..."
The touch is gentle, reverent. She wants it to last forever - a warm thumb brushing against her cheek, his shoulder leaning on her ever so slightly. But he separates too fast with a thin smile on his face, as if asking her if even this level of contact is alright again. Yes, she wants to respond, to scream - hell, she even misses Rockfort now, when the two of them didn't worry about stepping on eggshells, if only for the need to survive.
Instead, she grins back at Steve, tilting her head playfully. "All good?"
Her reward is a smirk, and a piece of toast dangled before her. "Least until your next bite."
For Steve, the nightmare of their capture isn’t over yet. She knows that. And she knows that the day he's free, she'll be ready to accept him with open arms.
Until then, she’ll stay right here by his side.