A/N: An interlude before the gang arrives. For those of you who haven't read Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (or just don't care much about it, either one works) the Queen Mab thing is an allusion to R&J. Mercutio, a cynic, says something about dreams being a bunch of crap, pretty much. I put the allusion in there because Claire feels the same way about dreams, and tries to brush them aside.
On a lighter note, this is just a short chapter – sorry 'bout that. Been pressed for time lately. Have fun reading it, and please review!
Chapter 3
Before the sun started across the sky, as the moon was beginning to fade and the heavens were shifting to watery green and dull, sullen orange, a girl in a house on the outskirts of a forest dreamed a dream unlike any other, and the angry Queen Mab rode through her brain in a rage, painting those dreams with misery…
Claire was back at Raccoon, in a dark room with a high ceiling. It was blisteringly hot, and a faint bubbling noise came from the iron smelting pot a floor below the platform she was standing on. And a huge, hideous monstrosity stood before her, its blackened skin peeling off as she shot it with her Beretta. It barely took notice of Claire's assault and charged. She rolled to the side, but a second too late – the foot-long claws on Mr. X's mangled hand ripped a gouge in her bare, grimy thigh up to the middle of her hip, just below her red leather shorts.
Her hands, despite the gloves, were slick with sweat, and suddenly Claire was glad she'd given Sherry her biking vest. It would have made her hotter. There was something shiny on the ground close by. Should she risk trying to see what it was?
A scraping noise echoed through the room, and Claire jumped again, avoiding Mr. X. Blood dripped from the cut in her leg as she grabbed a long, orange-and-yellow-and-black striped weapon from the floor. What was it? A rocket launcher? A sub-machine gun? Did it matter?
Claire aimed at the beast hurtling towards her and pulled the thick, heavy trigger. A blue line of electricity shot out from the barrel, knocking her backwards and perilously close to the edge of the platform. Mr. X howled in pain and rage and dropped to his knees. She re-aligned herself with her back to the wall and fired again, and kept her finger on the trigger until only wispy bolts that sounded like static came from the muzzle.
Long before the power ran out, Mr. X lay still on the floor, a gaping hole ripped from his groin to his neck. Claire dropped the weapon, barely noticing the block lettering on the side reading 'Spark Shot Weapon – For Use Against Experimental Animals'. Her arms ached from holding the weapon steady, and her leg and hip throbbed mercilessly. She had to get back to Sherry, though.
And just as suddenly, she was no longer in Raccoon City, but in Antarctica, with young Steve Burnside dying in her arms. The furious, hulking monster he'd been only moments before was gone, replaced with a dying shadow of a boy. The axe he'd carried fell to the floor. The noise sounded tinny against the Steve's raspy, ragged breathing. Her waist and wrists burned from Alexia's tentacle, but she ignored them and stared, shocked, at Steve's pallid face.
"I…I love you, Claire…"
"Steve!? Steve!" He didn't answer her, and his head lolled against her hand. Steve was dead. There was no one left to hear her cry, and for the first time in ten years, ever since she'd first gotten into a fight, she cried, her sobs echoing hollowly off the sides of the room.
Claire sat up in bed, a cold sweat breaking across her brow, panting for breath, her eyes wide with terror. Just a dream, she told herself. It was only a dream. After a very long time, she fell back asleep, and then she dreamed no more, for Mab had halted her livid ride with the sun's first warming rays…
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Dawn broke across the forest outside Paris, shooting lavender and goldenrod arrows through the sky to kill the last few glittering stars. Claire yawned and rolled over in bed, burrowing her face into her pillow to block out the light. She'd been so tired yesterday night that she had completely forgotten to close the blinds, and sunlight was streaming all over her bed. The warm, downy quilt that she'd found in a closet after arriving was plush and soft. It reminded her of the eiderdown her grandmother had before she died. Granny had left it to Chris, who brought it to his various lodgings over time.
It had blown up with the rest of Raccoon City.
Groaning, she sat up in bed, realizing she couldn't go back to sleep. It was probably five or six in the morning, and Chris wouldn't be up yet. Jill probably wasn't, either. The heat was off, and the air in the room was still and chilly. It nipped relentlessly at Claire's exposed face and neck. She could stay under the blankets…or get up and turn on the heat. Neither choice was appetizing, but in the end she decided to make a sprint for the basement.
At break-neck speeds she raced down the first flight of stairs, into the hallway below. She yanked the basement door open and sped down the rough stone stairs. It feels like a freezer down here, she thought as she switched the furnace on and ran back upstairs, shutting the door behind her. She was wearing a heavy sweatshirt and an old pair of Chris's pants, but she still felt cold.
Claire brewed a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, wondering what she should do next. Boredom was an affliction she hadn't really suffered from lately, being concerned with thoughts of Steve and Leon and Ada. The details of her troubled dreams came to her then, and with a sigh she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away. Steve's death wasn't her fault. Why did she keep dreaming of him bleeding out in her arms?
For all she knew, he wasn't even really dead. Wesker had taken his body away, and they might have revitalized him or something. But that only made her even more uncomfortable. If he was alive, how would she tell him that she didn't love him back? That she was head-over-heels for Leon, and no matter how much he cared for her, she didn't like him that way?
It would be tough, that was for sure. Claire took another sip of her coffee. It tasted like sludge. With a scowl, she stood and dumped it down the drain. She opened the fridge. They had practically no food. She'd have to go out before the others got here and buy something. After rummaging through the pantry, she came up with blueberry muffin mix and several tins of canned fruit. An idea occurred to Claire, and her eyes lit up. As long as she followed directions, nothing could go wrong, right…?
In the fridge she found several eggs and in the freezer above it, some frozen bacon. Smiling happily, she set about making breakfast for the household.
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Jill lay beneath her covers, feeling languid and tired. Had Chris meant what he said? Or did he only mean it as a friend? Had she overreacted? She tossed restlessly, and heard the heat blast into her room through the radiator. Too bad she couldn't feel the heat – her nose felt as it was about to fall off. It was much too early for Chris to be up, so Jill figured it had to be Claire. Maybe she should take advantage of the shower while everyone was still occupied…
Jill pulled the covers up to her chin and shivered. She wished they could afford to have the heat on all night, but they had to conserve funds. After the Raccoon incident, everyone in the group but Barry had pooled their funds, even Sherry, although Claire absolutely refused to tap into the account, saying that Sherry would need it for college and a real life later on. They had a lot of money between them, even without the girl's inheritance. Sherry, in fact, had the most money; she practically had more than the rest of them combined! Quite the heiress, you might say…
Barry had left the group, apologizing profusely. But he couldn't leave his family. He'd saved Jill from Raccoon and given as much money as he could to their cause, and offered to do some snooping in the States for them, but in the end, he'd left them. It was only to be expected. Jill couldn't blame him. If she had two kids and a loving husband, she probably wouldn't be freezing out in a ramshackle house, either. Barry would be dropping the others off and immediately returning to Washington state, where his family awaited him.
Jill's thoughts eventually turned to Rebecca Chambers, the Bravo Team medic. Apparently, Becca had gone through a short period of "puppy love" with Chris after the Spencer Estate…well, who wouldn't? He was hot, she'd admit it, and sweet and nice and funny and smart…and a hundred other things, as well. Just thinking about Chris and Rebecca together made her envious, so she stopped. Chris had been kind but firm, and had rejected Becca's advances as best he could without hurting her feelings.
Rolling over again, Jill stared at the ceiling, trying as hard as she could not to think. She took a deep breath through her nose to calm herself down, and instantly sat up in bed. What the hell…!? Was something burning!? Jill leaped out of bed and flung open the door, heading towards the staircase. She took the stairs two at a time and traced the scent to the kitchen, where Claire stood, calmly frying bacon on the stovetop. Jill's mouth opened and closed several times before she regained her composure.
"Ah…Claire?" Claire turned and looked at Jill. A bright, sunny smile crossed her face.
"Good morning, Jill! I thought I'd make breakfast for everyone. Eggs, bacon, fruit salad and muffins! Sound good?"
"Er…Claire, I think the muffins are burning…"
"Don't be silly," she replied cheerfully. "That's the way the oven always smells. Sit down and I'll make you some coffee." Jill shied back.
"That's okay, really, I think I'll just go take a shower now, since it's open and all," she sounded nervous and skittish. Then again, near Claire's cooking, who wouldn't?
"Oh, I understand. Have fun!" Claire called out as Jill raced up the stairs.
An hour or so later, when she deemed it safe, Jill went back downstairs and found Claire gone. A pile of warm, sugary blueberry muffins sat on a plastic plate in the center of the table, along with a covered bowl of various fruits in a congealing sauce, and a plate of slightly over-done bacon. The eggs were in the trashcan. They looked rubbery. The note on the table informed Jill that Claire had gone shopping, and had taken the truck. She'd be back in about an hour and a half.
Jill regarded the food suspiciously. If what Chris said was true, then Claire had done an exceptionally good job at preparing breakfast. She loaded a plate with a little of each bit of food, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't too terribly bad.
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It felt good to be out of the house for a while, away from Chris's watchful eye and Jill's tedious piano playing. She drove into the small town nearby as most of the stores were opening. The time was close to nine o' clock, and the snow had stopped falling. Stepping into the local store, Claire nodded and smiled at the owner, who smiled back, and headed into the depths of the shop. She picked up all the necessities, and a few luxuries, too – some real coffee, for a start, and a couple of candy bars to celebrate the reunion of the group. Today's newspaper was the last little item she picked up. She couldn't read or speak French, but Jill knew some, and Rebecca did too. They could piece together what they needed.
Claire handed the owner a thick wad of cash, knowing it was too much, and waited for her change. After she received this, she smiled prettily at the owner, leaving him dazed, and left the shop. After loading up the truck, she started it and turned to go back to the mansion. It took about half an hour to get to town, and she wondered idly when the group would reach the house. Chris had said not to expect them before noon, but still, if they got in early…
It took a short period of time for the heat in the truck to kick in, and Claire was grateful for the blast of air that hit her face, bringing color to her cheeks. Although she was eager to see Leon, Claire especially looked forward to seeing Sherry again. She almost felt like she was the girl's mother, in a way, and wanted to talk with her again, to so how she was. A shadow of a smile crossed Claire's face as she remembered how exuberant Sherry'd been after she'd given the girl her "Made in Heaven" embossed vest, with the angel holding a bomb near the end of its fuse.
Would Sherry still be the happy girl Claire had left in Philadelphia three months ago?
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After the groceries were unpacked, Claire retired to the bathroom to get a shower before the others arrived. Chris finally left his room and nearly choked on a muffin when Jill informed him that Claire had made them. She turned a laugh into a cough and busied herself with the French newspaper.
"Not bad," Chris said. "I'm surprised. I would've thought Claire would burn the house down trying to fry bacon."
"I thought so myself," Jill admitted. "I came down early this morning and found her cooking and nearly had a heart attack. It smelled like smoke, and I thought something was burning to cinders down here. But it was only the oven. Apparently it does that every time you try to bake something."
"So that's what smells down here. We'll have to try and fix it up before the others come." He opened the fridge. "And somebody's gone grocery shopping, I see. Was that Claire as well?"
"Yeah. She wanted to make spaghetti or lasagna or something for dinner. A home-cooked meal for the heroes returning home."
"You gonna help her?"
Jill looked up, surprised. "Me? I can't cook at all. I mean, I can't make brownies from the box. They come out all lumpy and stuff." She returned to the paper. Her high school French didn't seem to be helping much.
"Oh, come on. Think of it this way: you can't get worse than Claire. I remember once, I visited her dorm room, and there was this disgusting mass of cheesy pasta she'd made for me on a plate. I nearly hurled looking at it. And when she left to use the bathroom, I dumped it out the window. I was really rotten stuff, oozing all over the plate 'n everything…" His voice trailed off. "You know, I think the plant it fell on died."
Jill laughed and threw her untouched muffin at Chris. It bounced off his forehead. "You're full of crap, you know that?"
"No, really. I'm almost certain it did," he said firmly, catching the muffin. He took a big bite out of it and looked at her. "Really."
Jill rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Right."
The sound of a car approaching the house reached the kitchen. Chris and Jill looked at each other.
"Already?" Muffin crumbs flew from Chris's mouth. Jill pushed her chair away, looking pointedly at the offending particles. He swallowed. "Alright, I'll clean it up." He waited until Jill left the room before sweeping the crumbs off the table and brushing them under a rug. "All done…"
And then he joined Jill at the door to greet the laughing, jostling group of people approaching the door.