Saoirse :

The Drive Within

Chapter One:

Dóchas (*1)

Here's to a long life and a merry one
A quick death and an easy one
A pretty girl and an honest one
A cold beer and another one!

Irish Blessing

The flight over the greenest place she'd ever seen left her a little breathless.

There was nothing but rolling hills and cloudy skies. She was quick to discover that it was considered a fine and dandy day in the West Counties. The wonderful man who drove the "lorry" to take her toward Clare, informed her that she'd flown in at a grand time!

He said, "There'll be plenty of daylight left, you see, for you to set eyes on your new home. Sure and there's a grand stretch in the evenings before it goes down. It'll be past eleven before the darkness sets in."

He drove through the town of Ennis, the namesake of her dead uncle who was a bit of a stook in life. She was delighted to find out what stook meant. She had a feeling it was going to mean jackass. Ennis itself was a darling little town.

Her driver (by name of Derry Maguire, in fact) was so sweet to tell her all he could as they drove. It seemed Ennis was the county town of Claire, making it somewhat like a capital would be in the states. Derry remarked, "The Irish name of Ennis is short for Inis Cluana Rámhfhada." (*2)

The thing she noted most, besides the adorable architecture that felt old even as it felt modern somehow, was that the town was so clean. She remarked on it as he turned down a street and Claire was given an earful of a beautiful street band regaling a crowd with their tunes. "Ah, yeah, Ennis is beautiful. She often wins Tidy Town awards for it."

As they passed out of the city streets, they were once more in the rolling country. Claire admired it as the lorry shimmied along cobbled roads and finally onto dirt ones. They passed a man walking two cows, a woman carrying a basket while her children laughed, and paused to let a herd of sheep meander over the rutted road.

It felt a bit like stepping back in time, honestly, and Claire had to admire it as they moved.

The last month had been a nightmare, if she was being honest, so a break from it all was welcome. The rolling green hills and the lovely skies took her mind off the misery she was mired in. She'd been married to Piers for a handful of months. Nothing really.

There was the age difference – with him being eight years her junior, the secret of the relationship itself which she still hadn't revealed fully to her own brother, and the whirlwind romance of it with little time in between to acknowledge that, although they'd been talking and flirting for three years – they'd spent so little time together.

And now he was dead.

He was dead, and she was pregnant.

She was thirty-four, her twenty-six-year-old husband had died saving her brother, and she was pregnant with her first child and alone. She was alone.

Because she'd pushed Piers so hard to protect Chris that he'd died doing it.

Claire sighed, staring out into the rolling clouds. That was the biggest part of it, for her. It was the guilt. The guilt kept her up at night. The guilt and the hurt and the loss and the regret. She'd wanted him forever, and had him for so little time.

It seemed impossible for her to reconcile that with knowing she'd pushed so hard at him to protect Chris.

The smell of the sea drew her attention. She stared out her window as the lorry rolled to a step beside a beautiful old pub. Derry smiled and cocked his cap at her, "There we are indeed. Doolin(*6). She's a right smaller than most of the other towns, but the view? It's priceless. If you're feeling adventurous, head down to the Cliffs of Moher. There's nothing quite like them in the world, I imagine."

Claire smiled and offered him a tip. He scoffed, patted her hands, and wouldn't take it, declaring, "You keep that for the fairies, Claire. I'd be watchin for them as the sun sets, for there's nothin they love more then a new face and old blood."

Such a fascinating culture. Claire gathered her little bag and moved toward the building, appreciating the beauty of the tiny town. It was tucked together so sweetly with houses in colors that caught the eye and brightened the sky that hung gray and lovely behind them. Pinks, hued oranges, sharp whites and reds - all lent color to what might have felt dreary on a day that looked like rain but offered none.

She was swiftly discovering the weather in Ireland was lukewarm at best. It was summer in the isles, and yet it was a comfortable seventy degrees. In fact, many had little jackets on as they moved about their day. Claire felt under dressed in her summery blouse that was a good buttery yellow. It was tucked into skinny jeans and calf high camel brown boots. From the waist up, she was chilly. From the waist down, she was perfect.

The story of her life, she mused, to be half prepared.

With a small smile, Claire tucked into the pub, chuckling at the name: The Doolin Pints. A pun. A ridiculously clever little play on words to highlight the area and the purpose of the establishment.

Inside, the first smell that pleased her was lemon. It smelled like lemongrass or something inside. It was a good smell mixed with the familiar yeasty scent of good beer from the tap. The bar ran the length of the floor, offering a view into a small office beyond and the galley kitchen. The little booths tucked around in the pretty corners were cloaked in dark brown leather, cracked and lovely with age. There was a small raised stage to one side with the view of the fireplace beyond it. It wasn't lit, but the fire was laid for later in it. She sniffed, and smelled the peat there, smiling. Peat was Ireland's answer to burning wood. It was turf, for lack of a better word, and harvested to turn into briquettes for burning.

Claire moved to the bar and chose a stool, settling on it to listen to the laughter of the three men at the end of it. One looked to be older than the hills around them, and was missing most of his teeth. He was cackling and telling a story about a man who'd tried to out smart the wee folk.

When the story ended with the man turning into one himself, Claire chuckled. It drew the attention of the old man and his two younger companions. They both wore jaunty little caps on their heads like Derry, telling her they were likely farmers or the like, and there during a lull for a pint. The first one grinned widely, the second giving her a once over. The old man remarked, "Well and there's a lass with skin like the milk of faeries herself. What brings ya to Doolin, lass?"

Claire smiled, shaking her head, "Honestly? I don't even know myself. It was a snap decision."

The younger of the other two men nodded, "It often is for Yanks. Yeh turn up lookin for an answer to a question you've not yet asked."

The old man mused, "Perhaps it were the wee folk callin."

Claire laughed again, "I'm sorry. I'm not sure I believe in things like that."

They gave her knowing expressions. Their looks were so indulgent, as if she were adorable. The other one said, "That's alright, darlin, to be sure. The wee folk don't need yeh believin in them, yeh know. They believe in you."

Claire smiled, charmed by their accents anyway. "Is that so?"

The old man nodded again, " They are members of the Tuatha Dé Danann (*3) who invaded Ireland and were banished to live under ground. Yeh be better knowin them as faeries...or Sidhe (*4)."

The younger one informed her, "You'd be knowin about the Sidhe, lass, surely. As your hairs as red as the fairies."

The old man nodded, looking pensive, "Aye. You have week folk in yeh."

She couldn't help, Claire just laughed. "Well...my mother was a local before she met my father and moved over seas."

They all nodded, making AHHHH sounds, as if it all explained the world somehow. The old man nodded again and gestured with his head, "Go on then, tell us her name. I'll be directin yeh to where yeh can find yer kin, I promise yeh."

Claire glanced around to see if the bartender was ever going to show up so she could get some fizzy water, but he appeared M.I.A. Instead, she sighed and remarked, "Her name was Brody. Siobhan(*5) Brody."

And the old man laughed, loudly, "The cousin of the right biggest eejit that ever walked the lands!"

One of the other men burst out scoffing, "Ennis McDougall! What a maggot!"

The third one shook his head, looking angry, "Stole me favorite cock and put it in a stew pot, he did! Claimed it was "his by rights" as it was on his fecking land."

The old man chuckled, "He was a right arse he was, the bollix."

Claire sighed, shaking her head, "So I've heard. I'm actually hoping someone can point me toward Molly O'Shea? She's handling the estate I guess since he passed away."

The angry man with the stolen chicken mused, "It's back to hell, he went, lass, I promise yeh."

Yikes. Claire kept her face calm, but she was laughing inside. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Ennis was as useless as he were ugly."

She shook her head, picking up her suitcase. "Well, maybe I can just go take a look at the scary state of his house then."

"I warn yeh, it were a right mess when last I saw it. He was a feckin gobshite, there's the truth."

Claire laughed, unable to hold it in. "I believe you. Everyone I talk to says he was a real waste of space."

The old man rolled his wrist, waving away the other two's pissing and moaning. "If you're looking for Molly, lass, yeh best head over and passed The Village Shoppe...it's the local chemist. Yeh can't miss it. It's orange as a parking cone, it is. Just head passed that and up the hill there. Molly's place near the Standing Stones."

Claire nodded, sliding to the floor and bending to pick up her bag. "Great. Thank you so much. I'm not sure who the bartender is here, but the service could use some work, huh?"

"It could. But I was always better with a gun than with being punctual."

She nearly dropped the suitcase back on the ground as she rose. The smile split over her face, unbidden, "...you've got to be kidding me."

"Fraid not. The pubs a pun, sweetheart, not a joke."

He came around the bar in a sweater the color of good oatmeal and jeans faded and old. The scuffed brown boots were comfortable and lazy. The hair? It was classic. She hadn't seen him since Harvardville. How long had it been now? Nearly ten years, if her math was right. They still spoke. They still emailed.

But she hadn't laid eyes on Leon Kennedy in almost a decade.

He was blonder than she remembered. The hair looked light and soft where it effortlessly scooped his perfect jaw. He fit here, she realized, with the wild celtic blue of his eyes and the name. Kennedy - of course he was Irish. What else could he be?

Claire laughed and embraced him, feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time now. What was it? He picked her up to hug her, her feet dangled, and she knew what it was. Home. Like Chris, when she saw Leon, something always felt like home. It could be a thousand years between seeing each other, and it would still feel like that.

She'd always been so comfortable with him.

He set her down, grinning, "You look like a million bucks, Redfield."

She shook her head, rubbing his arms. "What are you doing here!?"

His arm hooked over her shoulders and his other one picked up her bag, "Let's take a walk, kid, and I'll tell you a tall tale."

As they left the bar, the old man mused, "Two Yanks in Doolin...must be the work of the wee folk." And so the argument began again. It would seem, for those in Doolin, the wee folk were really responsible for everything.

Claire looped her arm around his waist as they walked. The adorable little village just got better as you walked. People milled and laughed. Stores offered tiny little open doorways for you to enter and browse their wares.

But none of it was as good as finding him here. She was suddenly both off to find her next meaning in the world, and holding firm to what she'd left behind. It was an interesting place to be. She didn't feel alone anymore, and she was grateful to know it.

He was talking about what had brought him to the Emerald Isle. "I needed the furlough, trust me. I just..." He paused, shaking his head, "Enough was enough."

He was talking about Simmons and Tall Oaks and the death of the President. It was awful. It was unconscionable. It was insane. She'd lost Piers...he'd lost seventy thousand people before it was done.

Claire answered, quietly, "I know. I'm sorry for it. I can't even imagine what it feels like."

He squeezed her shoulders a little and kissed her temple. "Sure you can. Besides...it's nothing next to what happened with you." They paused at the curl in the road that would lead them to Molly O'Shea's, "You didn't invite me to the wedding."

The moment was a strange one. She felt the crush of something that she'd been keeping at bay for so long. It stole her breath and she whispered, "I didn't invite anyone. Not a soul. It was...impulsive. It was stupid and young and brash. It was...and now...and I just..." She trailed off and shook her head.

He pulled her in to hug her and her arms wrapped around his waist. She put her face against the soft weave of that sweater, hiding. His chin dropped to rest on the top of her head and Leon mused, "Not stupid, Claire. Taking your happiness where you can? That's not stupid...it's brave."

Yeah. He'd always gotten her. Always. Maybe better than her brother. Maybe better than anyone.

Claired rasped, "I want him back."

And broke his heart to hear the pain of it. Leon nodded, rubbing her back gently, "I know. It's the one thing I can't do for you. I'm so sorry."

She clung, hands digging, and then she let go, centering herself. She took two deep breaths and closed her eyes, fighting down the grief. She'd had enough of that. It was enough of it. She was here to move on, not hold on to the pain. She had to stop letting it rock her.

She had to start saying goodbye.

His big hand cupped the side of her face, gently turning it up to him. "You got this, kid. And whatever you don't got? I do."

Claire laughed, shakily, and patted his hand. He dropped it and they moved down the path again together. "Thank you, Leon. I mean it."

"Sure. We're both here. There's a reason for that, right? Gotta be fate or something."

She nodded and shrugged, "Maybe. Or just shitty luck that pushed us both out of our lives and into new ones."

Leon shrugged himself, chuckling, "Maybe. But I wasn't courting a happy ever after, kid. I was just plodding along from one pain to the next. Doesn't make for much I'm missing back there. Here? I have the pub, courtesy of my shitty father who didn't do much in life but drink and bed hop, but luckily one of those whores he was banging squeezed out a baby -moi- so we're grateful for that anyway."

Claire gave him a sympathetic look and he shook his head, "Don't feel sorry for me. I grew up fine. Foster homes and feeling lonely was better than a father who was half scoundrel, half drunk. Besides, he died and left that place to me. I feel more at home here than I ever felt in America."

Surprised, she lifted her brows, "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. They were thrilled when I showed up. They needed a constable, and I fit the bill. So I do that when I'm not at the bar. No one judges me here. Sure, they think I'm a Yank with more mouth than brains, but I'm Irish to them - of extraction. And the old man was a popular guy here. They liked him...unlike Ennis McDougall."

He laughed. Claire did as well, "No kidding. I'm kin to the most hated man in Doolin."

"Fraid so. Good news is, the Brody side of your family was well liked. So you're still in good standing there. And Molly O'Shea? The most wonderful woman ever conceived. If I wasn't fairly sure she'd shoot me down, I'd ask her to marry me."

Claire smirked, rolling her eyes, "You're an easy sell, Kennedy. Always have been."

"It's the potatoes, Claire. I need them. I can't help it. I need them."

She one armed hugged him as they walked. "I missed you, Kennedy. Maybe too much."

"Same. As always. Same. The question remains if I missed you...or your ass more. I can't decide. It's a fine hiney it is, Claire. To be sure."

She chuckled, accepting the harmless flirting. It made her feel good to have him do it. It felt natural. He was a shameless lech. He'd never met a woman he didn't hit on. And his Irish accent? Incredibly charming.

She grinned at him, "You sound like a native, Mr. Kennedy."

Hers? Awful. But she wasn't trained to speak eleven thousand languages. So she gave herself a break. "You sound like a Yank, Claire Redfield."

She smiled, shaking her head, "What are we doing here, Leon?"

"Living, I think. You need anything at all, Claire, you come find me." He gestured with his head, "That's Molly's just up the rise there. You want me to tag along?"

She hesitated, took two steps and shook her head no, "I can do this part, I think...but..." She paused and considered and added, "You want to come by Ennis McDougall's house later? I have a feeling I might need some help renovating it. It's apparently a disaster."

Leon winked at her, "As the lady wishes, so shall it be. Seven?"

She nodded, watching him wander back to the village, "Leon?"

He turned to look at her, pacing backward, "Claire?"

"How much Irish do you have in you?"

He laughed, eyes twinkling, "At the moment? None. But I've got more than a little Scotch in me, I can promise you that."

Claire shook her head, happy to hear the bad humor again. If there was nothing else, his horrible joking would take her mind off things. "It seems I have a little greek in me."

He tilted his head, looking at her, "From the plane?"

"...nope...from the husband." She waited, watching him. He froze, blinked, and arched his brows - and he got it.

"...damn. You growing a parasite, Claire Redfield?"

She felt her eyes tear up and lifted her hands in a defeated gesture, "So they say. Maybe I'm growing a wee folk."

He smiled, watching her, and his sympathetic face nearly killed her. She shook her head, swiping her hand at the one stubborn tear that tried to fall. "Don't. I'm ok. I'll be ok. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like the sad little girl with the dead husband and the baby in her belly. Like I'm some weak little thing that's going to break down and fall apart. I..." She shook her head, denying the pain, "I'm fine. I'm not pathetic."

His look was cool now, and strong, "I think you're sad. I think your husband is dead. But I don't see pathetic. You're the strongest woman I know, Claire. It's ok to hurt. It doesn't make you weak. You know that."

She laughed, wetly, "Right. Tell my brother that."

"I don't need to. He raised you. Chances are, all the good things in him? He learned from you."

Damn.

She blinked, shaking her head, "...you're a sneaky thing, Leon Kennedy."

"I have my moments." He paused, watching her in the dying sun, "I'll bring paint samples. For your nursery."

She nodded, taking a shaky breath, "Right...thank you. It's...I'm glad to see you, Leon."

"Claire Redfield - I wish we could find each other when the world wasn't falling apart. But I can't be sorry you're here." He winked at her and turned back to the path, "Call if you need anything."

She wouldn't. He knew that. After all, she was the strongest woman, without a doubt...and she was also the most stubborn one in the world.

Claire faced the house on the rise - and felt a bit like the girl who'd once road her motorcycle into a burning city. She didn't know what waited for her, but the only way to get there was to take that first trembling step.

(*1) Dochas (DOE-Hass) -Hope

(*2) Inis Cluana Rámhfhada - "island of the long rowing meadow"."

(*3) Tuatha De Danann (Too-ah Day Don-an) - In the Mythological Cycle of Irish Mythology the Tuatha Dé Danann lived in the other-world and were a magical race who became known as the Sidhe Faerie Folk in Irish folklore

(*4) Sidhe (She)- Fairy folk

(*5) Siobhan (Shih-vawn).

(*6) Doolin - Want to see Doolin? Play Folklore on the PS3. It's a rad little game that didn't get much attention back in the day. I stole the town from there. Probably because it's my ideal place to retire and die when I'm old. Also, we'll have us a little murder mystery as well while Claire starts her journey in Doolin.

A/N: A quick note to my readers: This could be a slow burn on the Cleon. It's really about Claire finding herself. Leon is her friend here. And he is, as I always write him, quirky, punny, and charming and good for her. Eventually, they'll find their way to each other. If you've ever read anything else of mine (Absolution especially) you know that I'm a big believer in the ability to find your way through any tragedy with hope and strength. And I'm also a big believer that love can sometimes take a lifetime to grow or it can happen in a minute. So this story is that. It's Claire, who is the strongest woman in the series in my opinion, looking to herself and her past to push her through her own grief. If that's not for you, that's ok, but that's what this story is. It's a story of what pushes us to keep going, even when we feel like we'd rather just give up. Thank you for reading. Please see the bottom of each chapter for relevant explanations or notes.