Saoirse :
The Drive Within
Chapter Three:
Leighis (*1)
May your joys be as bright as the morning,
and your sorrows merely be shadows that fade in the sunlight of love.
Irish Blessing
The great green sea stretched in a frothy wave over the craggy cushion of crushed rock and stone. Claire picked her way gingerly over the broken crevices, avoiding losing her balance in a way that had always irritated her gangling brother. Young, Chris had been skinny and clumsy. Now? He was huge and clumsy.
So, he'd always been jealous of Claire's grace.
She wished he'd get his head out of his ass and come see her, but it wasn't easy when the world was on your shoulders. Chris would always be a man for whom the fight just naturally came first. She mourned and missed more than Piers daily; often times it was Chris in her heart without hope of healing. He'd drifted so far away, she missed the face of the boy who'd used to be her best friend and then her shield against the world.
Of course, he'd raised her to shield herself, so although she loved him...she didn't need him to protect her anymore. It didn't stop the want of his company though, and that's what motivated her on the fine cold morning where she found herself picking through herbs to begin building her own apothecary. From the shelf of stone above her, Molly called down, "The heather, Claire! The heather and the lichen near your ankles!"
Right.
She'd come down for something specific.
Ducking, Claire extracted the plants she needed. Molly had insisted on braiding her hair that morning, reminding Claire of the years her mother spent reminding her that hair was a gift and was best treated like one. She'd rinsed the red of Claire's mane in lemon and vinegar to cleanse it and often treated the whole with a homemade conditioner that smelled like lavender.
It was still hard to watch the sun on a face that she'd mourned for a lifetime, but Molly made it hard to be sad in her presence. She was boisterous by nature, and engagingly sincere. She laughed with her whole body and cooked until Claire felt fat and content. When she was feeling particularly lost, Claire found herself at the Doolin Pints enjoying the company of strangers.
She was rapidly learning that the small town didn't know a secret that wasn't worth repeating. They gossiped and wagged tongues at everyone. The old folks were the worst, often remarking about who was "having another bairn they couldn't feed" and who was "skirting behind the unwilling back of their poor love." She discovered Derry McKeen was the worst of the bunch, breaking his faith to put babies in the bellies of at least three girls in town.
Apparently, according to Molly, his mother had boxed the ears right off his head for the mess of it.
The interesting thing? She didn't hear anything about Leon skirting with anyone. He was a bit of a flirt, so to find him celibate in a land of beautiful and eager young things was interesting. She'd questioned him one day while they were enjoying a walk.
He'd laughed and mused, "Me and a virgin...a catholic virgin no less. You know what they do to men who soil the sweetness of their girls here, Redfield?" He lifted his hands and mimed shooting himself.
She laughed, "...please...there's no violence like that."
"Oh, not violence, my darling...not even close...I'm speaking of a shotgun wedding. You wed them if you bed them in Ireland, kid. So beware the idea of casual sex. It died out long before the great potato famine."
She laughed again. Her arm looped through his as they walked. He wouldn't let her dwell, her old friend, he was good at bringing her out of her funk. The renovations of her house were going as fast as possible. She had a local father and daughter team working on it with her. Contractors by trade, they were never afraid to work long days and get the job done.
Brianna, the girl, was there now putting up sheet rock with a few local helpers. She was small but mighty, barely topping at five feet with hair as long as her hips that she kept pinned up in beautiful red gold ringlets. The beautiful blue of her eyes were hidden by the glasses on her pert nose. She waved as Molly and Claire came upon the gutted house, smiling happily, "We've gotten the walls in now, to be sure, Claire. You'll have a home by weeks end, mark me words."
Claire waved back and Molly mused, "Tis a bit of a wild one, that girl. She's been known to sniff where her sweet tipped nose gets into trouble. I hear she's been chasing after our Mr. Kennedy, it seems."
Claire smirked and sighed, "Doesn't surprise me. Leon tends to bring attention."
Molly arched her brows, "Was that jealousy in your tone, lass?"
Claire chuckled, "Never. It was never like that. He's not for me. He never was. We might have once, but life had other plans. Leon isn't a guy you chase...you yearn a little, I think...but you don't chase him. He's not the type you can catch."
Molly looked contemplative as Claire went up the hill toward her house. She tapped her finger on her lips and murmured to herself, "...hmmm...not the type to catch...but perhaps the type to fall?"
She'd be in the world long enough to recognize a good thing when she saw it. She wondered, if and when Claire was ready, she'd see if herself. All she knew for now was that Claire was in need of some healing. However she chose to find that, there was never a wrong choice for letting go.
The soft press of lips left her a little breathless. Her hands trembled as they lifted to cup his face. She shook her head, but the words came anyway, "...I'm too old for you."
He pressed her against the wall while she simply opened her mouth to touch of his tongue with hers. Age - it plagued her about him. It was so taboo to be the older woman. If she were the man, this story would be different somehow. If she were Leon and Piers ten years her junior, no one would blink, no one would care, no one would notice. The double standard of their ages, if they did this, would plague them both forever.
His hands skimmed buttons. Her breath hitched and she offered, once more, "...Piers...people might t-"
He tilted her face up to him and grumbled, "People? Forget people...forget everyone but me. I've dreamed of you, Claire..of this...and us...forget anything but me..."
They kissed wetly. Her heart hammered. She knew it was a risk for him too. If Chris discovered, he'd go ballistic. His men weren't even allowed to sniff around her, let alone touch her. She'd obeyed and never flirted. She'd never looked. She was risking things here and now, they both were. Maybe it was time to just make the risk worth the cost.
Without another word, her hands jerked at his shirt. The buttons scattered and pinged around the room. He grunted, she pasted the feeling of his ridiculous stomach with her hands and pushed them into his pants to grip his ass. With a chuckle against her mouth, he invited, "...there's my girl."
He carried her to bed. He stripped her, he stroked her, he stoked and seduced her. The feel and taste and pleasure of him left her breathless. It wasn't just that he was gorgeous, it wasn't that he was almost forbidden, it was that somehow, someway, in some fashion...he'd wormed into her blood. When she watched him between her thighs, sinking into her while she arched to take him, she knew it wasn't just sex.
It might have been, once, if they'd met and fucked and forgotten, but he wasn't a man you fucked and forgot. He kissed her while he plunged into her. The perfect press of his fan of lashes on those gorgeous cheeks told the story of gods on mountains with lightning bolts. He was the lightning bolt between her thighs and into her heart.
Claire knew she'd never be able to feel anything else but him again.
She awoke sweaty, tangled in sheets. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Hands gripping her face, Claire shook herself while the dream subsided. It was getting worse. She'd been trying for months now to just let go of him.
Her hand traveled down to skim the soft bump of her belly. It had gotten worse when she'd started to show. There was no more pretending it was just a nightmare. She was pregnant, her husband was dead, and she couldn't get away from his ghost that haunted her dreams.
Her hand traveled down to touch between her legs. Wet. She was wet and ready. She was swollen and ripe. She hated this goddamn influx of hormones even as she coveted the baby in her belly with love. She was ungodly horny and ungodly sad and just trying to make sense out of nothing.
She laid against the pillows and stroked herself. Her hips humped against her fingers. It felt good. It always felt good. She just never finished it. Her body simply refused to orgasm.
Sighing, she curled away to watch the moonlight in the shadows. She was staying with Molly while her house was renovated. She kept hoping someone would renovate her heart, sadly, it was still a wreck.
She dressed in the dark and took herself down to the Doolin Pints to try to gather some kind of ability to relax.
It might have been the same as any other night - with old Tom Shannon and Brody O'Leary arguing about everything on Earth- save for the commotion. The place was packed to the rafters. People were laughing and drinking and dancing.
As she ducked inside, Claire's brows shot up as someone stuffed a beer in her hands and spun her into a dance. She ended up at the bar, winded, but smiling. Beside her, Tom Shannon informed her, "Tis the Hannigan's girl, Brenna. She's come back from university and engaged to a yank, none the less, so her parents be having a ceili to celebrate. Yeh chose a fine night to wander down from your hill, Claire, as there's magic in the air."
A ceili, it seemed, was a raucous and wonderful party. It included everyone from baby to batty old men. It was the town and the village beyond and the county. They all came, they all danced, they all drank. She couldn't find a moment to be anything but entertained.
And then she caught sight of what was happening on the stage.
She'd seen him stand with a knife versus a G-monster. She'd witnessed him blow the top of a zombies head off in the pouring rain. She knew he could dodge lasers, they said, and fist fight lickers (though she was less likely to believe that). This was the first time she'd stood there staring in abject surprise.
Because she no idea Leon Kennedy could play guitar and sing like that.
Not like that.
The music thumped prettily. The band was laughing with delight. He was in a green short sleeve vintage tee with a pickle on the front that read Just Dill with It. He had a tattoo up his right forearm that made her pause and tilt her head. It was a word she didn't understand, likely gaelic, and in a pretty scrawl. As he strummed and tapped his foot, she realized it was the first time since Harvardville she'd even seen his arms.
Muscled. He was bigger than she remembered, finely honed in a way that said retired or not, he hadn't slacked on his training. He was handsome in the way that suited that Keith Urban rocker look of his. He looked like he belonged on that stage. He sounded like he did too.
I've been climbing my way through the sky
Searching for answers that I'll never find
Losing my breath as I fall
Learning to fly, letting go of it all
Learning to fly, letting go of it all
The song was up tempo and encouraging. The lyrics were somehow inspiring. All in all, it was the perfect song for a woman who'd flown a lifetimes worth to start over.
I'm gonna live
Like tomorrow never comes
There's no end in sight
Tonight we black out the sun
Better hold on tight
Before you know it's gone
And live like tomorrow never comes
At one point, he caught sight of her and winked. Claire saluted him with the beer she'd never even sipped. She arched a brow and he nodded his head at something. The beer in her hand was replaced with water.
Amused, she whistled to encourage him.
I've been trying to open my eyes
Take it all in as the world passes by
Getting lost in the twists and the turn
Finding these questions inside me still burn
Finding these questions inside me still burn
Her heart hitched a little and she pressed a hand to her chest with a laugh. Damn him. He was always so good at getting to the point. Even his music was like a bullet to the brain in the boiling heat of an inferno of truth.
I keep looking for some kind of sign
Trying to hold on in this race against time
I can't say where the next bend might be
That is the beauty in life's mystery
That is the beauty in life's mystery
I'm gonna live
Like tomorrow never comes
There's no end in sight
Tonight we black out the sun
Better hold on tight
Before you know it's gone
And live like tomorrow never comes
When the song ended, he set the guitar down, jumped off the stage and moved toward her. Claire said nothing, waited, and let him tug her into hug that was really more a dance. People laughed and murmured, she knew it was going to stir up gossip, and someone was giving her the filthiest look from across the bar. She had no doubt hearts were breaking all over Doolin thinking he was off the market.
It was hard to stop, mid dance, and let them know it was just old friends enjoying the moment.
Into her ear, he invited, "Black out the sun, Redfield...and live like tomorrow never comes."
She shook her head and leaned her cheek against his, accusing, "...you set this up to remind me what I'm here to do, Kennedy?"
"...not the ceili, kiddo...the song? I guess that's all up to how you want to see it."
Claire let him spin her and remarked, "...what if I keep getting lost in the twists and the turns?"
He dipped her and brought her back, eyes bright in the warm bar, "Then you find the answers. You're already on your way. Just listen...they're out there."
She gave him a narrow look and remarked, "...I don't know when you became Mr. Myagi."
He laughed and hugged her. She sighed, arms looping around his waist, and he returned, "Somewhere between the end of the world and the rest of my life, Redfield...it was learn and let go, or hold on and go down in misery. Instead?"
He shrugged. She nodded, inhaling, and finished for him, "You're just here...living."
"You got it. Wanna give it a shot?"
She really, really did. She just wasn't sure how to stop the man in the mirror above the bar from haunting her. She smiled. Piers smiled back in the mirror. She let Leon spin her into another dance.
And she just tried to black out the sun.
Sadly, in the darkness was usually where all the misery was.
It was just a little less sad with an old friend beside her.
*1 - (lay - heese) healing.