122.
Oh, fuck me.
Title: Strings That Tie to You, 1/?
Rating: PG for now.
Fandoms: Silent Hill and Resident Evil.
Wordcount: 1,609.
Characters: Claire Redfield, Chris Redfield, Henry Townshend, Eileen Galvin and a mention of Leon Kennedy; eventual Henry/Claire and Leon/Eileen with hints of Henry/Eileen and Jill/Chris.
Warnings: None so far.
Notes: This is all your fault, elvenpath. AU-ish.
Synopsis: An encounter in the street leads to a date downtown. Meddling brothers, ex-girlfriends who mean well and surprise romances to follow. My summaries are shit and I will give any of you sex to write a better one.
“I met someone today,” Claire said, lifting her cup to her lips. Chris paused mid-gulp and fixed her with a wary look across the table.
“Is that right?”
She nodded emphatically and set her drink down, lacing her fingers together and leaning toward him in a conspiratorial manner.
“His name is Henry and he's very sweet. You'll like him.”
At this, Chris quirked a brow. Claire's boyfriends - if they survived the grueling Q&A sessions and murderous leers he subjected them to whenever they arrived at the Redfield sibling's shared apartment to pick her up - were anything but sweet. They were better classified as criminal; scum; trash. In reality, the wildest man she ever dated was a chain-smoking jazz musician who wore socks with sandals, but in Chris's opinion few of them were good enough for his little sister. This case was no different.
“Please tell me he's at least employed.”
Claire grinned and playfully swatted his arm. “He is, as a matter of fact. He's a photographer and he's in town for a week to take pictures for a travel brochure.”
“Make sure that's all he takes pictures of,” her brother warned, thick brows furrowing the same way a lion's would when it spotted a predator advancing toward a cub.
“Geeze, Chris,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, gathering up their cups and depositing them in the sink. He turned in his seat to watch her, one arm propped on the back of the chair.
A photographer, huh? Claire pursuing someone with tattoos ranking in the double digits was one thing, but this guy sounded too soft. Chris would be the first and loudest to attest that she could be a handful and he was immediately under the impression that this mystery fellow wouldn't be up to par.
“How'd you meet him?”
“Well,” she began, raising her voice over the sound of the running faucet as she rinsed the dishes, “I was walking home from classes when he stopped me for directions to one of the ritzy restaurants downtown. As a joke, I asked him if he was meeting a hot date and, get this, he actually blushed! I've never seen a full-grown man blush in my life--”
Chris coughed fitfully into his hands, trying to mask his laughter.
“--It was kind of endearing. Anyway, the answer was no, he was there on an assignment. I decided to be a little daring, so I invited him to have lunch with me there tomorrow.”
“You're a fast worker.”
“I learn by example,” she shot back and Chris chuckled, rising out of his seat and poking around in the fridge for a snack. He reemerged with a plain bagel and bit into it.
“You know,” he began, speaking through a mouthful of food, “if Mom and Dad were here, they'd want me to chaperone this date. You don't know anything about him. He could be dangerous.”
Claire dried her hands on a paper towel and chucked it into the garbage. “If Mom and Dad were here, they'd tell you to mind your own business. And chew with your mouth closed.”
He swallowed and stuck the bagel back in the fridge. “I'm serious. What if he turns out to be a deranged pervert who takes pictures of girls through their bedroom windows?”
“Getting a little misty for your high school days?” Claire asked with a smirk, moving from the kitchen to the living room and flopping onto the sofa. Chris occupied the space next to her, a staid expression carved into his broad, handsome face.
“I'm just trying to look out for you.”
“So why don't you trust me?”
“I do trust you, it's the other guys I don't trust!”
Claire frowned and pulled an afghan across her lap, tucking her feet beneath the blanket. Chris meant well, he always had. Up until a few years ago, she reveled in his protective nature. No one on earth made her feel as safe as he did, but she was a grown woman now who was capable of thinking and acting without consulting her brother. And she had a good feeling about Henry. Even though she only spoke to him for a few minutes, Claire could gauge that he was the shy, retiring type. Her head fell back against the cushions with a sigh.
“Just you?”
“Just me.”
“Don't turn this into an interrogation. It's not like I'm going to marry him.”
“Just me, cross my heart.”
“I'm going to hold you to that.”
Chris abandoned the comfort of the couch in favor of smoking on the back patio. Claire called for him one last time as he gripped the handle of the sliding glass door, his other hand drawing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“I mean it, Chris. All I'm asking is that you give him a chance.”
“My best behavior,” he assured her, and slipped out the door. Once outside, he leaned against a wall just out of sight and deftly lit a cigarette, maneuvering his cellphone out of his other pocket and scrolling through the numbers until he settled on one and punched the 'Call' button. It rang three times before the person on the other line picked up. “Hey, Leon?”
* * *
Surprise and delight lanced through Eileen Galvin as she pressed an eye to her peephole and found Henry Townshend waiting outside her home, stiffly combing a hand through his wind-ruffled hair. In short order, she threw open the door, squealed “oh my God!” and flung her arms around his neck.
“I wasn't expecting you for another day! Does this mean you're gonna take me up on my offer and stay here?”
He patted her back and half-smiled against the crown of her head. “No, sorry. I'm already set up in a hotel.”
Eileen relinquished her hold on him and took a step back, arms crossed and obviously displeased. “But Henry, that's silly. Why pay for a room when you can sleep here for free?”
“I need your help with something,” he said with some hesitation, shrugging out of his jacket. She moved in to help him and hung it on a brass hook mounted in the wall, gesturing for him to make himself at home.
He crossed the room in a sort of daze and collapsed into a suede recliner. Eileen followed and perched herself on the arm of her loveseat, resting her chin in her hand. A moment of silence passed between them and she took the chance to get a better look at her ex-neighbor.
It had been roughly a year and a half since Eileen moved to Colorado from West Virginia, the memories of her attack becoming too much to bear. Her mother, who lived near the Colorado-Kansas border, arranged an apartment for her until she found a job as a dental assistant.
To her amazement, Henry stayed behind, though he moved away from Ashfield and was now rooming with his cousins in the next town over. He was thinner than she last remembered with a few more wrinkles criss-crossing his forehead, but the most jarring change of all--
“You shaved!”
Touching his smooth cheek, he suddenly felt very sheepish and sunk down in the chair.
“It suits you,” she said. “You look ten years younger.” Another pause, this one slightly more awkward than the first. “There was something you needed?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Henry sat up straight again and peeked at her from beneath his lank fringe. It was then that she was strangely compelled to offer to trim his hair - it was getting awfully shaggy. “A girl invited me to lunch tomorrow.”
Eileen could barely contain a smile, capturing her lower lip in her teeth. “A girl or a woman?” she teased.
“Woman. Uh, young woman,” he hastily added. “Still in college, I think. Her name's Claire.”
Now this was interesting, and certainly not what she anticipated when he showed up at her door, though it would explain the absence of his five 'o clock shadow. Henry was making an effort to look nice.
“Tell me more.”
Idly scratching the back of his neck, he regaled Eileen with the story; how he stopped Claire and asked where he could find Martine's, a popular restaurant chain in the area; and how she turned it around and asked him to meet her there for a meal.
“I thought she was kidding, but she wasn't laughing or anything. I'm supposed to be there by three.”
“Is she pretty?”
A nod.
“Very pretty?”
Several nods.
“This all sounds great, but I'm kind of failing to see where you need my help.”
Henry picked at the faded denim fabric of his jeans, unable to meet her gaze. “It's just that... it's, uh. Been a while. Not since you and I were together, you know.”
She did. They lasted less than a month. Not that they didn't care for each other immensely, but they weren't quite what the other was looking for. In the end, being friends was enough. They regularly sent emails back and forth and made it a point to see each other whenever his work brought him close to Colorado.
Eileen brought her knees to her chest, toes wiggling in her house shoes. “You want dating advice. Is that it?”
He ducked his head and laughed a quiet, raspy laugh. It was embarrassing for him to admit, but at almost thirty years of age first dates still made Henry uncomfortable.
“I guess so. Yeah.”
She reached across the gap and laid her hand atop his. “I'd be happy to.”
_ _ _
Con-crit would be swell.
Title: Strings That Tie to You, 1/?
Rating: PG for now.
Fandoms: Silent Hill and Resident Evil.
Wordcount: 1,609.
Characters: Claire Redfield, Chris Redfield, Henry Townshend, Eileen Galvin and a mention of Leon Kennedy; eventual Henry/Claire and Leon/Eileen with hints of Henry/Eileen and Jill/Chris.
Warnings: None so far.
Notes: This is all your fault, elvenpath. AU-ish.
Synopsis: An encounter in the street leads to a date downtown. Meddling brothers, ex-girlfriends who mean well and surprise romances to follow. My summaries are shit and I will give any of you sex to write a better one.
“I met someone today,” Claire said, lifting her cup to her lips. Chris paused mid-gulp and fixed her with a wary look across the table.
“Is that right?”
She nodded emphatically and set her drink down, lacing her fingers together and leaning toward him in a conspiratorial manner.
“His name is Henry and he's very sweet. You'll like him.”
At this, Chris quirked a brow. Claire's boyfriends - if they survived the grueling Q&A sessions and murderous leers he subjected them to whenever they arrived at the Redfield sibling's shared apartment to pick her up - were anything but sweet. They were better classified as criminal; scum; trash. In reality, the wildest man she ever dated was a chain-smoking jazz musician who wore socks with sandals, but in Chris's opinion few of them were good enough for his little sister. This case was no different.
“Please tell me he's at least employed.”
Claire grinned and playfully swatted his arm. “He is, as a matter of fact. He's a photographer and he's in town for a week to take pictures for a travel brochure.”
“Make sure that's all he takes pictures of,” her brother warned, thick brows furrowing the same way a lion's would when it spotted a predator advancing toward a cub.
“Geeze, Chris,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, gathering up their cups and depositing them in the sink. He turned in his seat to watch her, one arm propped on the back of the chair.
A photographer, huh? Claire pursuing someone with tattoos ranking in the double digits was one thing, but this guy sounded too soft. Chris would be the first and loudest to attest that she could be a handful and he was immediately under the impression that this mystery fellow wouldn't be up to par.
“How'd you meet him?”
“Well,” she began, raising her voice over the sound of the running faucet as she rinsed the dishes, “I was walking home from classes when he stopped me for directions to one of the ritzy restaurants downtown. As a joke, I asked him if he was meeting a hot date and, get this, he actually blushed! I've never seen a full-grown man blush in my life--”
Chris coughed fitfully into his hands, trying to mask his laughter.
“--It was kind of endearing. Anyway, the answer was no, he was there on an assignment. I decided to be a little daring, so I invited him to have lunch with me there tomorrow.”
“You're a fast worker.”
“I learn by example,” she shot back and Chris chuckled, rising out of his seat and poking around in the fridge for a snack. He reemerged with a plain bagel and bit into it.
“You know,” he began, speaking through a mouthful of food, “if Mom and Dad were here, they'd want me to chaperone this date. You don't know anything about him. He could be dangerous.”
Claire dried her hands on a paper towel and chucked it into the garbage. “If Mom and Dad were here, they'd tell you to mind your own business. And chew with your mouth closed.”
He swallowed and stuck the bagel back in the fridge. “I'm serious. What if he turns out to be a deranged pervert who takes pictures of girls through their bedroom windows?”
“Getting a little misty for your high school days?” Claire asked with a smirk, moving from the kitchen to the living room and flopping onto the sofa. Chris occupied the space next to her, a staid expression carved into his broad, handsome face.
“I'm just trying to look out for you.”
“So why don't you trust me?”
“I do trust you, it's the other guys I don't trust!”
Claire frowned and pulled an afghan across her lap, tucking her feet beneath the blanket. Chris meant well, he always had. Up until a few years ago, she reveled in his protective nature. No one on earth made her feel as safe as he did, but she was a grown woman now who was capable of thinking and acting without consulting her brother. And she had a good feeling about Henry. Even though she only spoke to him for a few minutes, Claire could gauge that he was the shy, retiring type. Her head fell back against the cushions with a sigh.
“Just you?”
“Just me.”
“Don't turn this into an interrogation. It's not like I'm going to marry him.”
“Just me, cross my heart.”
“I'm going to hold you to that.”
Chris abandoned the comfort of the couch in favor of smoking on the back patio. Claire called for him one last time as he gripped the handle of the sliding glass door, his other hand drawing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“I mean it, Chris. All I'm asking is that you give him a chance.”
“My best behavior,” he assured her, and slipped out the door. Once outside, he leaned against a wall just out of sight and deftly lit a cigarette, maneuvering his cellphone out of his other pocket and scrolling through the numbers until he settled on one and punched the 'Call' button. It rang three times before the person on the other line picked up. “Hey, Leon?”
* * *
Surprise and delight lanced through Eileen Galvin as she pressed an eye to her peephole and found Henry Townshend waiting outside her home, stiffly combing a hand through his wind-ruffled hair. In short order, she threw open the door, squealed “oh my God!” and flung her arms around his neck.
“I wasn't expecting you for another day! Does this mean you're gonna take me up on my offer and stay here?”
He patted her back and half-smiled against the crown of her head. “No, sorry. I'm already set up in a hotel.”
Eileen relinquished her hold on him and took a step back, arms crossed and obviously displeased. “But Henry, that's silly. Why pay for a room when you can sleep here for free?”
“I need your help with something,” he said with some hesitation, shrugging out of his jacket. She moved in to help him and hung it on a brass hook mounted in the wall, gesturing for him to make himself at home.
He crossed the room in a sort of daze and collapsed into a suede recliner. Eileen followed and perched herself on the arm of her loveseat, resting her chin in her hand. A moment of silence passed between them and she took the chance to get a better look at her ex-neighbor.
It had been roughly a year and a half since Eileen moved to Colorado from West Virginia, the memories of her attack becoming too much to bear. Her mother, who lived near the Colorado-Kansas border, arranged an apartment for her until she found a job as a dental assistant.
To her amazement, Henry stayed behind, though he moved away from Ashfield and was now rooming with his cousins in the next town over. He was thinner than she last remembered with a few more wrinkles criss-crossing his forehead, but the most jarring change of all--
“You shaved!”
Touching his smooth cheek, he suddenly felt very sheepish and sunk down in the chair.
“It suits you,” she said. “You look ten years younger.” Another pause, this one slightly more awkward than the first. “There was something you needed?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Henry sat up straight again and peeked at her from beneath his lank fringe. It was then that she was strangely compelled to offer to trim his hair - it was getting awfully shaggy. “A girl invited me to lunch tomorrow.”
Eileen could barely contain a smile, capturing her lower lip in her teeth. “A girl or a woman?” she teased.
“Woman. Uh, young woman,” he hastily added. “Still in college, I think. Her name's Claire.”
Now this was interesting, and certainly not what she anticipated when he showed up at her door, though it would explain the absence of his five 'o clock shadow. Henry was making an effort to look nice.
“Tell me more.”
Idly scratching the back of his neck, he regaled Eileen with the story; how he stopped Claire and asked where he could find Martine's, a popular restaurant chain in the area; and how she turned it around and asked him to meet her there for a meal.
“I thought she was kidding, but she wasn't laughing or anything. I'm supposed to be there by three.”
“Is she pretty?”
A nod.
“Very pretty?”
Several nods.
“This all sounds great, but I'm kind of failing to see where you need my help.”
Henry picked at the faded denim fabric of his jeans, unable to meet her gaze. “It's just that... it's, uh. Been a while. Not since you and I were together, you know.”
She did. They lasted less than a month. Not that they didn't care for each other immensely, but they weren't quite what the other was looking for. In the end, being friends was enough. They regularly sent emails back and forth and made it a point to see each other whenever his work brought him close to Colorado.
Eileen brought her knees to her chest, toes wiggling in her house shoes. “You want dating advice. Is that it?”
He ducked his head and laughed a quiet, raspy laugh. It was embarrassing for him to admit, but at almost thirty years of age first dates still made Henry uncomfortable.
“I guess so. Yeah.”
She reached across the gap and laid her hand atop his. “I'd be happy to.”
_ _ _
Con-crit would be swell.