Howdy.
So, as odd as it sounds, I got this idea in the shower...I have no idea why, but I did, so I ran with it. This is kind of going to be a preview for my new fic I'm writing featuring everyone's favorite age-deversified couple Quil and Claire. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it, I'll try to get the second part up soon!
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"No Claire."
"Yes Quiw."
"Your mom said no." He shook his head at the stubborn rosy-cheeked three year old in his arms; there really was no way to change her mind. Once she had an idea, she went forward with it…no matter what.
"But, I say yes." She folded her pudgy arms across her chest and nodded, as if that made it final.
"Nope. Sorry munchkin, we're gonna have to stay here today."
And then she did it, the one thing he could never say no to. She cried. Not loud and shrieky like most babies, but quiet and sniffely so that no matter what it was, even if all you said no to was another scoop of ice cream, you felt like the worst, dirtiest, scummiest thing on earth.
It was harder for Quil to deal with; that look, the one that made him feel as if he'd hurt her, broken her heart in some way, made him want to shrivel up and die.
"Pwease?" She sniffled and placed one tiny little chubby hand on his big warm chin, opening her brown eyes wider than should have been legal.
Quil exhaled loudly, showing his obvious disapproval; then rolled his eyes with a smile. Claire giggled loudly, wriggling in his arms with excited jitters.
"Fine! I give up! We'll go, but if you tell your mom I'm going to bake you into my lasagna." He pointed one giant finger right at her face to drive home the point; she just squealed louder and patted his nose affectionately.
"Siwwy Quiw."
oOo
The line for amusement park tickets hadn't been long when they'd pulled into the parking lot, but Claire had dragged poor guilty Quil over to the goat pen so she could watch the babies drink from their mommy. Then she'd noticed the baby chickens, running around their pen, chirping loudly over the dull thrum of parking lot traffic, and it had taken Quil almost a half an hour just to convince her that her father wouldn't want one for a "Happy Summer" present. By the time the pair had visited not only the goats and chickens, but the ducks, pigs, ponies and rabbits, the line to get into the actual park was almost three times as long as it had been upon their arrival.
Realizing this, Quil picked up the suddenly angry Claire and stuffed her under one arm and he sprinted, as inconspicuously as possible, towards the steadily growing line. An old couple with their grandchildren eyed him skeptically as he pulled to a stop, just inches away from ramming into their doe-eyed grandson.
"What are you doing to that child?" The woman asked, raising one badly drawn eyebrow.
Quil returned the gesture and pulled Claire from under his arm, tossing her into the air above his head, which was a ways away from the pavement, and caught her as she abandoned the angry façade, giggling into his shoulder.
"Playing." He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Right Claire?" He jabbed her lightly in the stomach sending her into another un-controllable fit of giggling.
The woman eyed the hulking teenager and the comparatively fragile little girl, and then turned regretfully around, dragging her grandson in front of her so as to prevent any more near collisions.
The smile quickly fell from Quil's face, even when Claire burrowed her head into his chest, still fighting the urge to laugh. This was the reason he never went anywhere with Claire outside of the reservation. People always took one look at the freakishly gigantic dark skinned teenager, holding the pink-laden little girl, and assumed the worst. That Quil was some freaky kidnapper or pedophile that liked really young girls and took them to random places to do away with their innocence.
How could they expect that of him, when the idea pissed him off so much he had to fight the oncoming tremor every time it popped into his head? He tried picturing Claire in the arms of some stranger, scared and weeping with all she had; and his heart stopped.
Never. He vowed silently and looked down at the three year old cuddled tightly to his chest.
"Quiw?" She asked suddenly, turning her perfect angel face up to stare into his eyes.
"Yeah baby?" He asked, tugging her jacket back over her shoulder.
"When a' we gon' go inside?" He glanced at the line in front of him and faked a smile.
"Soon baby, real soon."
oOo
"Where's her mom?" a feminine voice interrupted Quil and Claire's animated story telling and a shiver passed up and down Quil's spine. He turned slowly to glare at the source of the disturbance.
"At work." He answered. The implications of the question were obvious enough, but he figured if he beat around the bush she'd leave him alone and forget all about the giant boy and his "daughter."
"Oh," The little blond sighed, brow furrowing. "And you're taking her-"
Quil stuck out his hand to stop her. "She's not mine."
That statement stuck in his throat for all the wrong reasons. He wasn't all that worried about what this curious stranger thought; she had no idea how much Quil loved the little warm bundle in his arms. She would have no idea the kind of commitment he put in every single day just to see her. She's not mine, felt like a lie worthy of the devil himself. Quil wouldn't go so far as to say he owned Claire, no, she was definitely her own person, but she was his. They would be married some day. They would have kids and grand kids, and they would be happy…but how could this stranger know that?
She saw a twenty something guy holding a little girl. Not eternally bound soul mates.
R&R please!