Spaghetti
Characters: Claude, and the Bennet family; Claude/Bennet if you squint (you don't have to squint very hard)
Rating: PG-13 (one instance of strong language)
Word count: a little under 1,350
Summary: Dinner at the Bennets'.
A/N: Written for futuresoon in response to the prompt: "Kids are tricky." Yeah, I want me some domestic!pre-shooting!Bennets+Claude, ma'am :P
"Sorry we're late," and Bennet kisses Sandra's cheek. "What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti," she says, wryly.
"Again?" A mild undercurrent of amusement in his partner's voice.
"I know, I know," and Sandra holds up an oven-mitted hand in a plea for clemency, "but we just about made it through the day, here, and I didn't have the energy for another argument. Hello, Claude," and Sandra gives him half a hug, oven mitt dangling from one hand and a tomato-coated wooden spoon in the other.
"What's the matter with spaghetti?" he asks her. "Always liked it, myself."
She gives him a long-suffering smile. "Oh, you know. Claire's at that age when she won't try anything new."
He shrugs. "Kids are tricky."
He sees Bennet raise an eyebrow - What would you know about kids, Claude? - but he does know. Was a kid himself once, even though it feels like a fuck of a long time ago.
It's not Bennet who speaks next, though, but Sandra. "I'm sure you are just full of interesting stories about your childhood, Claude." She hands her husband a bottle of beer from the fridge, and gives one to Claude. "I'm afraid I don't recall asking - where in England did you say you grew up?"
Scrutiny has always makes him uncomfortable, but Sandra is warm and interested, like she always is, and he can't help responding to her encouraging smile. "Salford. 'S right next to Manchester."
"Salford!" Sandra tries out the name, glancing at Bennet, watching their conversation from across the kitchen, an amused glint his eye. "It sounds so interesting."
He can't help laughing at that. "Not really. It's-" Grimy, impoverished, a post-industrial wasteland, but he doesn't want to say that; doesn't want to puncture her girlish enthusiasm. He settles for a shrug. "It's home." Was home, and even then, not really.
Sandra's stirring pasta sauce again, but looks up. "Do you ever go back, you know, to visit?"
He shrugs again. "Not much point, these days." The past forever awkward: a thing gladly left behind, and yet persistently sticky in memory like tyres on hot asphalt.
Sandra spots his discomfort - always more shrewd than Bennet gives her credit for, he thinks - and lets him off the hook by yelling upstairs to Claire and Lyle that their dinner is ready. She smiles warmly at him as she bustles past to set the dinner table, and he thinks that this is more like home than home ever was.
Claire comes down the stairs, dragging a bear behind her in a way that's straight out of Winnie the Pooh, and smiles up at him. "Hi."
He looks down at her. "Hello." He bends down towards her and whispers conspiratorially. "Want to see something funny?"
She nods, shy but eager, mouth hidden behind the bear clutched to her chest.
Bennet and Sandra are engaged in some discussion to do with the plumbing in the utility room, and don't seem to notice as he flickers out of existence and then reappears behind Claire with his hands over her eyes.
Sandra's back is still turned as she rinses something under the tap, but he thinks Bennet caught it, because his partner glares at him, and for a moment, Claude contemplates sticking his tongue out. He wonders again how Bennet always manages to push him into a corner of being the childish one. Well, almost always; Claude can usually find a button or two of Bennet's to press.
"Mommy!" Claire squeals with delight. "Claude's in-" and she stumbles over the long word, "-invisible!"
"Claire!" Sandra peers around her husband. "Young lady, how often do I have to tell you that making things up is wrong?" She gives her daughter an affectionately exasperated stare, then shakes her head at Claude. "I don't know how she gets these ideas in her head."
He grins at Sandra, and shrugs; when she turns away to get something out of a drawer, he looks at Claire. She's staring up at him, eyes wide; he winks at her. Her face lights up in a big, goofy smile that warms him inside, unexpectedly, and he feels a stupid grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. She tries to return the wink, screwing up her whole face in concentration.
Sandra calls out "All right, everyone come and sit down, now, please. That means you too, Lyle," she adds, in the direction of the stairs.
*
Dinner over, Claire and Lyle are excused from the table. Bennet folds his napkin and places it on the table. "I'm going to run Claude back to the office - we've got some paperwork to review before a meeting tomorrow." And Bennet stands, walks around the table and kisses the top of Sandra's head.
She smiles at him. "Sure. You boys run along ... Claude, when are you going to learn to drive?" Sandra's scandalised tone can't hide the humour beneath. Everybody drives here; everybody.
He laughs it off with something about not liking stick-shifts, and she reaches out, puts a hand on his arm and reminds him that this is America, and Lord knows nearly everyone drives an automatic anyway.
He lets her hug him goodbye and thanks her for the meal. Picks up his jacket where he left it, slung over the back of a chair, and follows Bennet out.
Claire is waiting by the front door. She looks up at him with those lovely big brown eyes. "Are you going to come to dinner again?"
He kneels down to her eye-level. "If I'm invited."
She smiles, girlishly, and the accompanying movement of her head and shoulders is pure Sandra. "I'll invite you."
"Thank you, Claire," he says, matching her serious expression, and stands. Bennet opens the front door.
*
They're barely inside the car, and he's just shut the passenger door, when Bennet turns on him, breath hissing in frustration. "You can't- you can't do that in front of Claire. What if she remembers it next time? Or when she's older?"
He shrugs. "It's not like adults ever believe kids about this stuff. Anyway," and he turns his head towards Bennet, "it's not like you've never had to deal with memory issues before."
Bennet glares at him. "Yes, but not on my own family!"
Claude looks at the road and then back at his partner. "No? I heard you already had." He shrugs, offhandedly. "Could have heard wrong, though."
Bennet doesn't answer.
They drive back into town. As they get near the turnoff for Claude's place, Bennet slows the car a little, and although he doesn't say anything, Claude can see his partner's attention fracturing, plotting each of the possible outcomes from this point. Bloody good chess player, Bennet.
"No, mate," he says, and sees Bennet's gaze flicker towards him. "Some other time." The memory of Sandra and Claire and Lyle still too fresh in his mind; Bennet might be used to compartmentalising that stuff, but he's not. Not when this might as well be the only family he ever had.
Barely a nod, and Bennet steps on the gas again.
At the Primatech lot, he gets out of the car. "Comin' in? There's that report on your desk from Thompson."
"I think I'll head back. Help Sandra put the kids to bed." And Bennet starts the car again.
"All right. See you tomorrow," and Claude heads for the building's entrance.
"Claude," Bennet backs the car up towards him, the driver's window open. "Please don't ... not again. Not in front of Claire. If Sandra should see you ..." A plea in Bennet's eyes that he can't ignore, not even in the name of winding his partner up. There are some things they don't joke about.
He shrugs acquiescence. "Yeah, all right."
As the sound of Bennet's car engine recedes, he looks up at the sky. Navy overhead fades to pale aqua on the horizon above bands of primrose and apricot, and the stars are coming out.
He goes inside.
A/N: I think a debt of gratitude is also owed to varcinie, who wrote the thoroughly awesome Homelife, without which I think this fic would have been very different. Go read it if you haven't; it puts this little fic to shame.
Edit: You know, I'm really not all that happy with this, but I'm struggling to say why. *sigh*
x-posted to brave_new_slash, rare_heroes, heroes_fic
Rating: PG-13 (one instance of strong language)
Word count: a little under 1,350
Summary: Dinner at the Bennets'.
A/N: Written for futuresoon in response to the prompt: "Kids are tricky." Yeah, I want me some domestic!pre-shooting!Bennets+Claude, ma'am :P
"Sorry we're late," and Bennet kisses Sandra's cheek. "What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti," she says, wryly.
"Again?" A mild undercurrent of amusement in his partner's voice.
"I know, I know," and Sandra holds up an oven-mitted hand in a plea for clemency, "but we just about made it through the day, here, and I didn't have the energy for another argument. Hello, Claude," and Sandra gives him half a hug, oven mitt dangling from one hand and a tomato-coated wooden spoon in the other.
"What's the matter with spaghetti?" he asks her. "Always liked it, myself."
She gives him a long-suffering smile. "Oh, you know. Claire's at that age when she won't try anything new."
He shrugs. "Kids are tricky."
He sees Bennet raise an eyebrow - What would you know about kids, Claude? - but he does know. Was a kid himself once, even though it feels like a fuck of a long time ago.
It's not Bennet who speaks next, though, but Sandra. "I'm sure you are just full of interesting stories about your childhood, Claude." She hands her husband a bottle of beer from the fridge, and gives one to Claude. "I'm afraid I don't recall asking - where in England did you say you grew up?"
Scrutiny has always makes him uncomfortable, but Sandra is warm and interested, like she always is, and he can't help responding to her encouraging smile. "Salford. 'S right next to Manchester."
"Salford!" Sandra tries out the name, glancing at Bennet, watching their conversation from across the kitchen, an amused glint his eye. "It sounds so interesting."
He can't help laughing at that. "Not really. It's-" Grimy, impoverished, a post-industrial wasteland, but he doesn't want to say that; doesn't want to puncture her girlish enthusiasm. He settles for a shrug. "It's home." Was home, and even then, not really.
Sandra's stirring pasta sauce again, but looks up. "Do you ever go back, you know, to visit?"
He shrugs again. "Not much point, these days." The past forever awkward: a thing gladly left behind, and yet persistently sticky in memory like tyres on hot asphalt.
Sandra spots his discomfort - always more shrewd than Bennet gives her credit for, he thinks - and lets him off the hook by yelling upstairs to Claire and Lyle that their dinner is ready. She smiles warmly at him as she bustles past to set the dinner table, and he thinks that this is more like home than home ever was.
Claire comes down the stairs, dragging a bear behind her in a way that's straight out of Winnie the Pooh, and smiles up at him. "Hi."
He looks down at her. "Hello." He bends down towards her and whispers conspiratorially. "Want to see something funny?"
She nods, shy but eager, mouth hidden behind the bear clutched to her chest.
Bennet and Sandra are engaged in some discussion to do with the plumbing in the utility room, and don't seem to notice as he flickers out of existence and then reappears behind Claire with his hands over her eyes.
Sandra's back is still turned as she rinses something under the tap, but he thinks Bennet caught it, because his partner glares at him, and for a moment, Claude contemplates sticking his tongue out. He wonders again how Bennet always manages to push him into a corner of being the childish one. Well, almost always; Claude can usually find a button or two of Bennet's to press.
"Mommy!" Claire squeals with delight. "Claude's in-" and she stumbles over the long word, "-invisible!"
"Claire!" Sandra peers around her husband. "Young lady, how often do I have to tell you that making things up is wrong?" She gives her daughter an affectionately exasperated stare, then shakes her head at Claude. "I don't know how she gets these ideas in her head."
He grins at Sandra, and shrugs; when she turns away to get something out of a drawer, he looks at Claire. She's staring up at him, eyes wide; he winks at her. Her face lights up in a big, goofy smile that warms him inside, unexpectedly, and he feels a stupid grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. She tries to return the wink, screwing up her whole face in concentration.
Sandra calls out "All right, everyone come and sit down, now, please. That means you too, Lyle," she adds, in the direction of the stairs.
*
Dinner over, Claire and Lyle are excused from the table. Bennet folds his napkin and places it on the table. "I'm going to run Claude back to the office - we've got some paperwork to review before a meeting tomorrow." And Bennet stands, walks around the table and kisses the top of Sandra's head.
She smiles at him. "Sure. You boys run along ... Claude, when are you going to learn to drive?" Sandra's scandalised tone can't hide the humour beneath. Everybody drives here; everybody.
He laughs it off with something about not liking stick-shifts, and she reaches out, puts a hand on his arm and reminds him that this is America, and Lord knows nearly everyone drives an automatic anyway.
He lets her hug him goodbye and thanks her for the meal. Picks up his jacket where he left it, slung over the back of a chair, and follows Bennet out.
Claire is waiting by the front door. She looks up at him with those lovely big brown eyes. "Are you going to come to dinner again?"
He kneels down to her eye-level. "If I'm invited."
She smiles, girlishly, and the accompanying movement of her head and shoulders is pure Sandra. "I'll invite you."
"Thank you, Claire," he says, matching her serious expression, and stands. Bennet opens the front door.
*
They're barely inside the car, and he's just shut the passenger door, when Bennet turns on him, breath hissing in frustration. "You can't- you can't do that in front of Claire. What if she remembers it next time? Or when she's older?"
He shrugs. "It's not like adults ever believe kids about this stuff. Anyway," and he turns his head towards Bennet, "it's not like you've never had to deal with memory issues before."
Bennet glares at him. "Yes, but not on my own family!"
Claude looks at the road and then back at his partner. "No? I heard you already had." He shrugs, offhandedly. "Could have heard wrong, though."
Bennet doesn't answer.
They drive back into town. As they get near the turnoff for Claude's place, Bennet slows the car a little, and although he doesn't say anything, Claude can see his partner's attention fracturing, plotting each of the possible outcomes from this point. Bloody good chess player, Bennet.
"No, mate," he says, and sees Bennet's gaze flicker towards him. "Some other time." The memory of Sandra and Claire and Lyle still too fresh in his mind; Bennet might be used to compartmentalising that stuff, but he's not. Not when this might as well be the only family he ever had.
Barely a nod, and Bennet steps on the gas again.
At the Primatech lot, he gets out of the car. "Comin' in? There's that report on your desk from Thompson."
"I think I'll head back. Help Sandra put the kids to bed." And Bennet starts the car again.
"All right. See you tomorrow," and Claude heads for the building's entrance.
"Claude," Bennet backs the car up towards him, the driver's window open. "Please don't ... not again. Not in front of Claire. If Sandra should see you ..." A plea in Bennet's eyes that he can't ignore, not even in the name of winding his partner up. There are some things they don't joke about.
He shrugs acquiescence. "Yeah, all right."
As the sound of Bennet's car engine recedes, he looks up at the sky. Navy overhead fades to pale aqua on the horizon above bands of primrose and apricot, and the stars are coming out.
He goes inside.
A/N: I think a debt of gratitude is also owed to varcinie, who wrote the thoroughly awesome Homelife, without which I think this fic would have been very different. Go read it if you haven't; it puts this little fic to shame.
Edit: You know, I'm really not all that happy with this, but I'm struggling to say why. *sigh*
x-posted to brave_new_slash, rare_heroes, heroes_fic