Work Text:
Sherry spends two months with Leon and Claire.
In some ways, she thinks that this might be what it’s like for normal children with normal parents: Her own mother and father had always spent so much time at work, and her time with them had always been so limited. Annette had been the more present of the two, William putting in an appearance every now and then for school events or the odd trip to the park. But he’d always had his briefcase with him to work in the quiet moments, and Annette had been much the same.
Claire and Leon, on the other hand, are so connected with Sherry it’s surreal.
It’s funny, because Sherry is just realizing now how young Leon and Claire are: Claire is only nineteen, and Leon’s recently turned twenty-one. Neither of them are married, not even dating, and neither of them has kids. “What about nieces or nephews?” Sherry had asked at one point.
“Nope, no siblings,” Leon had said with a shrug.
“Naw, Chris hasn’t managed that yet,” Claire had giggled.
So how is it that you two are so much better at this than my parents were?
It seems like a traitorous thought to have. Sherry’s parents had been detached, but they had not been mean or bad or abusive. They had always ensured that Sherry had been fed and clothed and educated, and had been more than happy to answer questions and have conversations when they could.
But Sherry knew, and continues to know, that she had not been her mother and father’s priority. School events were abandoned if they were needed at work; Sherry had learned to manage her expectations from a young age, learning to see it as an unexpected pleasure when they did show up at an event. Spare time at home, if not asserted or captured by Sherry at just the right moment, would be dedicated to paperwork and research until the wee hours of the morning. Similarly, conversation had always been work-based unless Sherry turned it in another direction- and even then, once a polite or necessary amount of discussion had been had, the discussion would return to work eventually.
It is uncomfortable, but the longer Sherry spends with Claire and Leon, the more she starts to notice the difference. When she speaks, they pay very close attention to what she says and seem genuinely interested; it doesn’t seem like they’re simply humoring her or waiting to get back to whatever they wanted to talk about. They even prolong the conversations with questions, something she knows William in particular had always been careful to avoid.
Self-sufficiency had been taught to Sherry young, and so when she wakes up those first few mornings and finds that Leon or Claire has started breakfast, it’s vaguely surprising- but then she remembers, from those conversations with classmates, that most parents make breakfast for their children in the morning. Many of them even sit down and talk around the dinner table, instead of leaving their children to get breakfast on their own or leaving their care to a babysitter or nanny.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Claire asks, eyes wide and blinking.
Sherry has been staring at her food as she contemplates this. She looks up, nods, and then forces a smile. “It looks great,” She says, and eats a strip of bacon quickly enough that she almost chokes on it. It really is good, but Sherry is having trouble remembering the last time she sat at a table with her parents and ate breakfast.
She’s having even more trouble processing that she never will again.
One night, she wakes up from a nightmare (of her father spearing her mother on one of those monstrous claws) and finds Leon at the doorway, peering into her room with concern. “Everything alright, Sherry?” He asks. Sherry thinks she can see the outline of his gun under his shirt- he and Claire usually carry one, just in case.
“I’m okay,” she whispers, even though she’s still trembling a little. The image of what her father became is not one Sherry thinks she’ll ever be able to shake.
“Alright.” Leon clearly doesn’t believe her, because after a moment’s hesitation he steps into the room, over to the bed and gives her a hug. “If you need anything, let me know.” He leaves the door cracked open a little when he leaves, soft light coming in from the hallway.
Sherry lies back down, squeezing her eyes shut.
She can’t remember the last time her father had done something like that.
The day comes, at the two month mark, when Claire has to leave.
Sherry has had some warning of this: Claire’s brother Chris is still missing, but she’s gotten some reliable word that he is not one of the thousands dead in Raccoon City, from the virus or the bomb that reduced the city to rubble. Claire feels compelled to seek him out and make sure he’s okay, make sure that Umbrella hasn’t found a way to silence him the way they have so many others.
Sherry understands. She doesn’t want Claire to leave, but she understands deeply the desire to secure the safety of the few people you have left.
“I’ll try to call, and get back soon,” Claire assures. She hugs Leon first, and Sherry notices that it lingers- for all their insistence to the contrary, she suspects they are closer to being boyfriend and girlfriend than they want to admit.
Claire hugs Sherry a different way, tight and with overstated affection, kissing the top of Sherry’s head. When she pulls back, she’s smiling sadly- but when she sees the tears on Sherry’s face, the smile evaporates. “Aw, Sherry,” Claire mumbles, hugging her again. “I promise I won’t go away forever.”
Sherry sniffs. She cannot put into words all of what’s making her cry: That her beloved, affectionate Claire is leaving, and that she could be in danger and may possibly never come back; but also, she’s crying for her mother, for the last goodbye they had shared in the facility before she had died, leaving Sherry in Claire’s care. Sherry does not want to lose anyone else.
But she stops herself from crying, schools herself into something a little more stoic so that Claire can leave. Her brother might really need her, and Sherry doesn’t want to make her feel any guiltier about leaving to help him than she already does. Together, Sherry and Leon watch as Claire drives off, right up until she rounds the corner of the road and disappears completely.
Sherry sniffs.
Leon turns, and then envelopes her in a hug so tight that it lifts her off her feet. “It’s okay,” he tells her. “Claire will be back. I’ll look after you.”
Sherry offers him a watery smile. “I know.”
She still has Leon, and that will keep her going for now.
-End