A/N: Hello, all. So, I have taken some time to consider where I actually want this story to go, and I think I have a plot in mind. Yay for plots. Because I have been aimlessly writing with no idea where to take this. Anyway, I just bought the Umbrella and Darkside Chronicles, so that's happening now. Enjoy. Leave me some reviews, kay? Maybe some suggestions of things you want to see? I'll admit, writing about a small child from Wesker's POV has been an interesting adventure for me.
Adjusting:
The day goes by much faster than I'd expected. As I make my phone calls and file my reports, Jake seems completely content to just sit at my desk and color. At the end of the day, I pack up my things, and Jake skips alongside me out of the precinct. Just as I'm leaving, Jill stops me, a genuine smile upon her lips. "You can do this," she says. I want to tell her that I don't believe I can, but I don't think I've ever admitted weakness in my life.
We make it out to my car, Jake eyeing it like he's never seen one before in his life. The realization hits me that I don't have a car seat. Does he need a car seat? I think he does, anyway. I begin to make a mental list of things I'm going to need to get. Car seat…food…what do small children even eat?
"Come on," I say to him, pushing the rest of the thoughts out of my head. Picking him up in my arms and setting him on one hip, I open the back door of my car and slide him in. "Sit tight, okay, kid?" I say gruffly, buckling the seatbelt across his chest. He just stares up at me with those wide blue eyes, but never says a word. I don't say anything either, just go around to the driver's side and pull out of the lot.
It doesn't take long to get to my house from the station. At least, it usually doesn't. But I feel like I'm in the car for ages. My mind has been racing nonstop since this morning, Jake, STARS, Umbrella, Claire…when did I get spread so thing? I'm going to have to make some serious adjustments to my life routine in order to cope with all of this. Who is going to watch Jake during the day when I'm at work? I'll need a bed for him, too, I suppose. And clothes.
These are all things I'm going to have to figure out, but right now I'm just trying to focus on the road.
At long last, we are pulling up to my house. I kill the engine, pausing for a moment to take a steadying breath. Jill's reassurance rings in my mind. I can do this. Of course I can. I don't think there's ever anything I haven't been able to do. I have to keep focusing on that thought as I go around to the other side and pull Jake out of the seat, placing him on his feet on the pavement.
I'm caught off guard when he reaches up and grabs my hand, although it's really more like a finger, since his own grasp is so small. "I'm hungry," Jake tells me, as I'm putting the key into the door and turning the knob.
"Okay," I say levelly. I never really have food in the house, since the only time I seem to be here is when I'm sleeping so I usually just opt to go out. Still, I venture into kitchen and stare into the nearly empty fridge. There's a half empty container of milk and some cheese, but definitely nothing to provide a substantial meal to the kid.
I feel a slight tugging at my shirt, and turn to see Jake looking up at me. In some ways, he looks helpless, but he has this defiant look in his eyes. And he is so small. The only child I've really been around is Sherry, and she's hardly even a child anymore.
"Hey…daddy?" He asks, blue eyes wide, his mouth not seeming to want to form the word. "How long is Mommy going to be away for?"
I open my mouth but find I have nothing to say. When I hear a knock at the door, I couldn't be happier to get away from that conversation. The clock on the stove says that it's going on six. A slight frown creases my brow. I hadn't been expecting William yet, as he usually doesn't leave the labs until he absolutely has to.
Going to the door, I pull it open, and am fully surprised when I see not Will, but Claire.
"Oh," I say simply, the single word void of any emotion. "Hello, Miss Redfield."
Claire twists her mouth into a small smile, but there is a shadow of fear in her gaze. "I should have called," she blurts, tugging at her ponytail. She does this when she's nervous, I've noticed, in the same way I am constantly slicking back my hair. Everyone has something they do, I suppose, some little subconscious trait they do to try and calm themselves down.
After all, we're only human.
"It's fine," I assure her, stepping aside and motioning for her to come in. Claire gives a shaky laugh, but steps into my house. "What are you doing here?" I ask her then, as I'm closing the door. It's not that I mind seeing her, exactly. It's just that, from what I can tell, the extent of our relationship has been a few nights of shared passion, and for her to show up at my house when the sun is still shining has sort of caught me off guard.
Claire opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, Jake comes barreling into the foyer. "Daddy, I'm hungry!" He pouts, going so far as to stamp his foot on the ground. From behind my dark glasses, I shift my stare from him to Claire, seeing a slow smile spread onto her innocent face. I don't know why I was expecting her to freak out or something, but I find myself letting out a slow breath of relief.
The redhead drops to her knees in front of him. "Hi there," she greets, her voice going up an octave or two. "My name is Claire. Who are you?"
The child gives her a toothy grin. "Jake," he says happily. I watch from a few paces away as their blue eyes lock, both so young and full of innocence. A feeling I cant quite name passes through me. I've never been one for emotions, seeing them as an obstacle to achieving a goal. But standing there, watching Claire and Jake exchange a single look, I feel something oddly similar to serenity.
It is something I haven't felt in a long time.
Claire straightens up and comes over to me, her hand finding its way to my forearm. "I didn't know you had a son," she says softly.
"Neither did I," I blurt without thinking. I can sense that Claire is studying me, searching my unreadable face for something, although I cant seem to figure out what it is. Either way, she isn't going to find it there.
"Look," I say then, running my fingers through my hair. Nervous habits. Then, I do something I don't think I have ever done before in my entire thirty-six years. Staring right into her crystalline eyes, I swallow hard and say, "I think I need help."
