Work Text:
The smell of whatever Al was cooking was divine. He'd named the dish — it sounded French, probably. Claire never had the patience to cook anything demanding or fancy, but she was happy to let herself be treated. She knew good food when she had it, anyways.
It was kinda surprising that Al had a kitchen like this, clearly designed to entertain and to allow guests to chat with their host while they cooked or made drinks. He didn't really do small talk, at least that Claire noticed. The idea of a bunch of people sat around watching him cook while he ignored them made her smile.
His stoic nature did make getting to know him a little hard. Claire, admittedly, had the upper hand; she at least knew a tiny bit about him from Chris. But what really worked to get through to Al? A stupid mistake. He'd walked into her as she left the S.T.A.R.S. office, spilling an entire cup of coffee on her new jacket. She'd tried to run off because she was so mad that she'd managed to ruin the only nice clothing she had right at the start of her summer break.
Well, that and she didn't want to face her brother's very intimidating boss, who was also probably covered in coffee. Al had tracked her down, a sniffling mess in a stairwell, and offered to have the jacket sent off for dry cleaning. Would she mind walking with him to drop the coat off? Not at all. Claire occasionally wondered how he managed to be that suave without anyone he worked with clocking it. It was the sunglasses, probably.
Al stepped away from the stove and glanced over at her.
"Wine?"
"As long as you aren't going to bust me for underage drinking, sure."
A hand brushed against hers, a small, almost invisible touch, as Al placed the glass of wine in front of her. He had a small, wry smile as he stepped back.
"I will look the other way, just this once. I assume you'll be on your best behavior."
Did it ever take much to make her blush? No. Did it still surprise her when he managed it? Yes. She picked up the glass and raised it as if to toast.
"To good behavior."
Al raised his glass in response. "No, to best behavior, Claire."
Their glasses clinked quietly before Claire took what was, in hindsight, a large sip. She was not a wine lover, by any stretch of the imagination. Her drink of choice was whatever light beer the host had and whatever shelf liquor she could flirt a bartender into mixing her something with. Wine was a lot more complicated.
Kind of cat piss adjacent, really.
She must have made a face, because Al was staring intently at her. "Not to your liking?"
"I, uh, don't really drink a lot of wine. I know you need to have a palate for it. No time like the present to develop one, right?"
He nodded, and turned back to the stove just as a timer went off. If she had any clue what he was making, his confidence in the kitchen probably would have been impressive. As it was, watching him maneuver multiple hot pots and pans in complete stone-faced silence was actually kind of scary. He was melting butter in one, preparing vegetables in another, and as soon as he set the vegetables down, the fish he'd mentioned earlier went in the pan.
Claire resigned herself to taking smaller sips of the wine as she watched something people probably paid good money to see in a fancy restaurant. Al was giving her dinner and a show, a lot better than what he promised when he'd suggested she come over.
She let her mind wander into wishful thinking as she watched Al work. Claire knew she was a sucker for him, but this was the first time they were having dinner together for Christ's sake. There's no point in thinking this is or could be anything more serious than a fling for him.
A loud series of raps at the front door, not far behind her. She looked over her shoulder; the running lights of a car shone through a nearby window.
"Al? Were you expecting anyone else for dinner?"
The clatter of something metallic in the kitchen was the only response she got. The knocking returned more insistent now. Faintly, she could hear a higher pitched man's voice through the door.
"Albert! I know you are in there, you bastard. Don't leave me hanging like this!"
The abrupt sound of something being shoved in the oven almost sounded like a reply. Al washed his hands and walked past her. His expression was now decidedly sour. Fair enough. Who the hell bangs on the door of a single guy this time of night on a Friday?
Claire watched from her perch, wine in hand, as Al threw the door to his home open to reveal a man and a girl who she assumed was his daughter. The man was slightly built and messy with shaggy, sandy-blonde hair, eye bags that suggested he existed on a diet of coffee, NoDoze, and cigarettes, and an attitude to match. His daughter looked up at Al excitedly and waved her hands, exploding into the home as he stepped aside to let her in.
"Hi Uncle Al! I'm sooo excited. Daddy says I'm staying with you this weekend. We haven't had a sleep over in ages!"
Her father sighed sheepishly, still standing awkwardly on the front steps of the house while his daughter loudly announced the fact that her dad sucked, if you could read between the lines, and what she was looking forward to doing during the weekend.
"And then! I want to see that Transformers movie again."
She danced around with the characteristic energy of a child dropped off at a relation's home. Unhinged and giddy.
"William. We've had this discussion more times than I can count."
"And I've told you, Albert, getting childcare is hard more times than I can count."
William crossed his arms and leaned toward Al with all the menace of a scorned younger sibling, glancing around and trying to avoid eye contact. Claire was familiar with the situation — she'd done the same when dealing with Chris on a number of occasions.
William locked eyes with her, and she froze in place, wine glass awkwardly pressed to her mouth.
"Oh no, Al, I didn't interrupt something, did I? Annette is going to kill me."
Al cleared his throat impatiently and stepped into William's sight line.
"Yes, you did. I'm sure she will. Now, when do you plan to collect Sherry?"
"We'll be back Monday evening. You know how it is with conferences. Travel takes forever." William extended a small gym bag and dropped it in Al's waiting arms. It was obvious he was ready to flee back to the Mercedes he'd driven over in. Probably not a cop, then.
"All the usual supplies are in there. We'll call, let you know if anything has changed." She watched as William deliberately angled himself to see her past Al's shoulder, like an oversized kid trying to get a glimpse of something secret. "Sorry to interrupt, Miss…?"
Claire locked eyes with Al. His expression was unreadable. Better to just be honest than fib and make a complete idiot of herself. "Uhm, Redfield."
"Huh, don't you work with a guy with the same last name, Al?"
In the complete whirlwind of chaos that the two visitors brought with them, none of the chaos seemed to touch Al in the least.
"I do. Shouldn't you be going? You don't want to miss your flight."
It wasn't a suggestion. William waved his hands dismissively.
"Bah, we'll be fine. Sorry for interrupting your evening, Miss Redfield. Hope you like kids! Sherry, be good for Uncle Al!"
"Of course I'll be good. Love you daddy! Tell mommy I said bye!"
With that, William traipsed off the steps and back towards his car. Al quietly watched the car pull away before closing the door, locking it shut behind him.
After her father's departure, Sherry climbed up on the chair next to Claire. Her legs didn't quite reach the floor in these taller chairs, and she kicked her legs as she looked at Claire. She had the same sandy-blonde hair as her father, but her eyes were a bright, expressive blue that freely showed her excitement to be at "Uncle Al's House".
Sherry extended a hand, a perfect imitation of the handshakes she'd probably seen her parents use. "Sherry Birkin."
Claire put her glass of wine down and reached for Sherry's hand. "Claire Redfield. Nice to meet you."
Al strode past the two of them and back into the kitchen, pulling the oven open and then closing it again before it let too much heat out. Even though it was open only for a short time, the smell wafted out into the house. Claire's stomach grumbled with anticipation.
"Claire, our food is finished, but Sherry doesn't eat fish. I'll need to make her something, if you wouldn't mind waiting."
She shook her head; the idea of asking a little kid to sit and watch her eat made her stomach churn. It would be beyond cruel.
"Thanks for remembering, Uncle Al! Can I just have a sandwich?"
He set a cutting board on the countertop, turned, and pulled a small, brightly colored plate out of the cabinets, and then began rummaging in a pantry off to the side. He had immediately pivoted to the role of sandwich maker within a matter of seconds.
Claire stood up and hovered awkwardly at the entrance to the kitchen. She could make a sandwich and let Al spend some time with his niece. Give him a chance to just sit still for once. Selfishly, Claire wanted to actually see what he was like when he wasn't on the go.
"Show me where the condiments are, and I can pull something together for Sherry, Al. I can make a mean sandwich."
He paused, glancing over at Sherry before looking back to her. "I invited you over for dinner, Claire. Not to help me care for a friend's child. I couldn't ask you to do that."
Well, it's now or never. She walked into the kitchen, past Al, and opened the fridge. "Okay, then don't ask. What do you want, Sherry?"
"Awww, too slow, Uncle Al. Ham and cheese, please, Miss Claire."
Quickly, Claire collected the cold cuts, bread, and condiments, depositing them on the counter where Al had placed the cutting board and plate. She'd be done in no time.
Al stood there like someone had just pulled a cord and deactivated him. Claire smiled at him and started prepping her ingredients. He watched her for a moment and when he was satisfied with her work, he left the kitchen with his glass of wine and sat down next to Sherry. They chatted quietly while she put the finishing touches on the dish, grabbing a pickle and some carrot sticks from the fridge and laying them on the plate next to Sherry's sandwich.
It looked just like something she or Chris would have made when they were newly orphaned. Chris used to arrange the carrots into a smiley face. Somehow, as relaxed as Al seemed to be around Sherry, Claire doubted he'd find the idea of her playing with food endearing.
As she turned back to serve Sherry her sandwich, she managed to catch the tail end of a whispered conversation. Well, as whispered as an overexcited kid could manage anyways.
"Well, I think she's really pretty. And she's really nice."
Pretending she didn't hear that, she deposited the sandwich on the counter to a small round of applause from Sherry. Claire took a mock bow. Can't let down the audience, right?
Sherry dug in, fully distracted by her sandwich. She ate pretty gracefully for a kid; her table manners might have actually been better than Claire's. Al took the sudden silence as an opportunity to finish his glass of wine. Claire didn't hesitate, refilling the glass from the bottle Al had set aside before they were so rudely interrupted.
He looked at her for a moment longer than seemed comfortable before allowing himself to speak.
"Thank you. You are more forgiving than one could expect."
Sherry was looking at them, her eyes narrowed and searching as she chewed the last of the carrot sticks thoughtfully. Al made some sort of subtle gesture; seemed like it meant 'don't stare' because Sherry made an effort to look less intently at Al. She just honed her focus in on Claire instead.
The empty plate was pushed across the counter and Sherry jumped down from her seat.
"That was tasty. Thank you, Miss Claire."
As she wandered toward the expensive looking entertainment center in the lounge, Al called back to her.
"You remember the rules?"
"Yep. VCR only. My tapes are in the drawer under the unit."
Sherry's voice faded as she walked away from the kitchen.
"Maximum of one Disney princess video per day. No Looney Tunes after 7 pm. Transformers with supervision only. Of course I remember, Uncle Al!"
Claire and Al sat together at the counter, facing the kitchen as they ate the meal he'd spent a great deal of time and attention on. The bottle of wine went down easily between the two of them. Sure, it probably wasn't what Al had in mind, but it felt real. Felt nice, actually.
A tiny voice in the back of Claire's mind nagged at her — sure it was nice, but what if Chris found out? She swatted the idea down. She could handle a pissy big brother. God knows she'd done it every other time he found out she was dating. Besides, at least he knew this guy.
Al began to clean up before she could even consider helping.
"Go sit with Sherry. She certainly has more questions than you have answers. It'd be better for her than watching her favorite video again."
Slinking into the lounge, Claire noticed Sherry was fast asleep, sprawled across half of an immaculately clean leather sectional with a Beauty and the Beast blanket clutched in her hands. She turned off the VCR and the TV and sat down across from Sherry.
Al joined her, draping himself across the middle of the sectional. He glanced down at Sherry, analyzing her for a moment before adjusting the blanket to cover her more fully.
"I should have guessed she'd be asleep already. It is well past her bedtime. Will is not as observant of it as he ought to be."
The whole thing struck her as ridiculous. A longtime bachelor family friend was better at scheduling for a ten-year-old than her own father. How could her dad just drop her off anywhere and head out of town like it was a minor inconvenience? Sure, it wasn't her circus, but she also couldn't stand watching the monkeys rip up the big top.
As Al leaned back against the couch, Claire could have sworn he sighed. It was the first time she'd heard anything even verging on a complaint or an expression of real tiredness. His slicked-back blonde hair didn't budge.
"I would ask if you had a good evening, but I suppose babysitting without compensation hardly qualifies."
"Al, I have a car. If I wanted to leave, I'd just go."
There was a long pause before he looked over at her. His eyes were a pretty intense icy blue; she'd realized that he only took the glasses off in a small number of situations. Maybe the interrogation room, and maybe at home. Hopefully not some weird combination of the two.
She looked back at him.
"Well, you'll just have to have me back over for dinner again."
He rested an ungloved palm on the top of her thigh.
"Yes, I'd like that very much."