Archive of Our Own

The sound of chimes tinkles gently in the air, causing her to look up.

"Welcome to Jean Medicine Home—Claude!" Nineh's smile warms even more at the sight of the familiar young man entering the pharmacy sideways, carefully hefting a covered stonewear dish in mitted hands. He must have pushed the door open with his hip. "How nice to see you! What's that you've brought?"

The other customer in the pharmacy—not a regular, but a visiting botanist all the way from Cross Kingdom—glances over. Then the man returns to studying the display of specimens on the wall, waiting for Bowman to return with his special order.

Claude greets her with his usual bright, lovable smile. He sets the dish carefully down on the counter. "For you and Bowman."

"Oh my..." Nineh lifts the cover to reveal a beautiful golden gratin. The quick peek is enough to fill the room with a mouthwatering scent: baked buttered rice simmered with cream sauce, chicken, mushrooms and onions. "This doria looks and smells heavenly…! You really shouldn't have."

Claude laughs, an embarrassed and cute little sound. "Thanks. I think I made too much food for two people." He scratches his head, and because he's still wearing the mitts, the rubbing creates a bit of static, making his hair fluffier than usual when he lowers his arm.

Nineh would have chuckled at the sight, but his words give her pause. "…Is Graft all right?"

"Oh, no, he's feeling much better. It's just his appetite's still recovering. Your potage and gruel recipes are perfect. And the chawanmushi—he's obsessed with steamed eggs now." Claude grins. "I think I am too."

Nineh smiles back at him; she can obviously imagine. There's a reason the savoury, silky egg custard is her personal favourite. Packed with bite-sized shrimp, fish cakes, mushrooms and all sorts of other meats and vegetables, it's a pleasure to dig into: a soft, melt-in-your-mouth, soul-warming cup brimming with flavourful treasures.

"Speaking of Graft—" Claude removes a mitt and reaches into his front apron pocket, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. He hands it to her. "I came to refill the herbs for his medicine."

"Claude!" Bowman steps into the room with bundles of dill whip and clarisage. Their fragrance mixes with the wafting ghost of cream sauce in the air. It creates an interesting layered effect—sweet grassiness, earthy herbaceousness, rich doria. It causes Nineh to ponder cooking dishes with the powdered herbs. "What is that amazing smell!"

"It's just chicken doria," says Claude.

"'Just'," says Bowman, in his inimitable way. "'Just', the man says! As if we won't be feasting like kings tonight!" Then he looks over at Nineh. "Second only to how we feast like kings every night, of course."

Nineh bursts out laughing. "Dear! I'm not going to be offended if you compliment Claude's cooking. He's worked very hard."

Claude smiles. "80% of my recipes are Nineh's anyways."

"True, true. Just making sure you all know the honest feelings of my heart." Bowman walks around the counter to the botanist. "Sorry about the holdup. We love our chitchat here. These are the herbs you've been looking for; you'll want to be aware of a few things when working with them…"

One at a time, Nineh takes out large jars from the shelf, sets them out on the counter, lays out squares of butcher paper, efficiently scoops and measures ingredients from Claude's list. As she folds them into neat paper packets, Claude glances over at his list and scratches his head. "Oh! I forgot to write down—rose hips. I was at the library the other day reading up on herbal teas. This book said rose hips are supposed to strengthen the heart, blood and skin, and help with joint pain."

Bowman rejoins them. "They're good for cold remedies too. A best-seller." He steps around Nineh and rifles through the cabinets on the wall. "Hmm… I think I might've sold the last packet this morning…"

"I'm sure we have more in the back," Nineh says. She pulls out a pair of pot holders from a drawer and, one in each hand, picks up the doria dish. "I'll take this temptation with me while I'm at it."

"You're the best, Nineh."

After spiriting the doria safely to the kitchen and swiftly locating the remaining stock of rose hips in the storage room, Nineh comes back downstairs. She's barely taken a step towards the storefront room when the botanist, edges of dill whip fronds peeking out of his bag, hails her with a "Pardon me, ma'am."

Nineh stops and smiles pleasantly at him. "Was there something else you needed?"

The man hesitates. Then he says, in a hushed voice, "Er… I was wondering. About that young man… talking to Doctor Jean right now…"

"Hmm?" Nineh turns her head and peers through the doorway to the front room. Bowman and Claude are still conversing at the counter. "You mean Claude?"

"Is he by any chance the swordsman who came in second in the Sorcery Globe Arms…?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Is he wearing…" The man squints, as if doublechecking his vision. "…an apron and quilted oven mitts?"

"They're adorable, aren't they? He made them himself. I only helped with some of the seams. Those oversized pockets are perfect for all manner of cooking utensils. There's even loops for a sword belt, if needed."

The man frowns. "It seems—rather… domestic?"

Nineh nods patiently—and just a little stiffly, letting her smile set in a tighter line. "Yes? And?"

"...Do you think he's losing his edge?"

"I'm so sorry," she says politely, allowing a hint of displeased disapproval to perfume her tone. "I don't understand what you mean."

The man flinches and flushes as if he'd been scolded. "Ah. Never mind."

"Is that all?" She beams genially at him. "If you have more questions, why not ask Claude himself? I'm sure he's more than happy to chat about things. Like all the monsters he runs into when he's out collecting rare herbs—such as the ones you ordered." She walks back into the main room, the botanist following sheepishly.

"That's interesting," Claude is saying. "But then what's the difference?"

"You see," starts Bowman. But Nineh can't hear his answer.

In fact, no one can hear his answer. Because right then a boom splits the air, as if lightning has struck a massive tree and cracked the trunk end-to-end in one blow. Simultaneously, the entire building shudders as if a demon bird has crash-landed outside. Cabinets shake. Jars and pots rattle. Mortars and pestles spin and ring loudly.

Bowman instinctively swivels, stretches out his arms and braces them against the shelves in a flat hug to the wall. A few jars out of reach above him spin and topple. A left hand grab—a right hand grab—a quick shuttlecock-heel kick to toss a bowl back in the air, and he catches it in the crook of his arm.

Then it's over. 

Nineh claps in delight. "Nice catch, dear!"

It was all very impressive, as expected of her sweetheart. Nothing hit the ground. Except for the botanist lying dazed on the floor. "Wh-what—"

"Precis!" Claude turns and dashes out the door. The ribbons of the bow at the back of his apron, flailing cheerfully, are the last thing they see before the door opens and shuts behind him with tinkling chimes.

"Precis!!" they can hear him yell outside, his shouting growing fainter as he runs for the house on the other side of town.

"—was that…?" the botanist finishes. "What's a pre-sis? Some kind of earthquake?!"

"You could say that," Bowman replies, as he methodically checks the containers he caught and puts them back in place on the shelves, then inspects everything else for cracks.

"Such a cute little joke, dear." Nineh serenely rearranges her shawl around her shoulders, then pats her hair, smoothing it out. She smiles down at the botanist. "Oh, goodness, no. Precis is a lovely young lady, our resident brilliant inventor. I'm sure she's just working out a few details in her latest experiment."

As she walks to the front door, the botanist cries, "An experiment?! That was—that must've been some kind of high-level Heraldric magic!! A powerful attack Crest!!"

Nineh opens the front door and peers out at the sky in the distance. There's no smoke coming from the south. A good sign. She closes the door. "No, I'm fairly certain that wasn't Heraldry. And she's a very powerful young lady. It makes sense her experiments are too."

She walks back to the counter, bending down slightly and reaching behind it. She pulls out another square of butcher paper and lays it out on the counter, weighs out the rose hips and efficiently packs them into one more folded packet. "Dear, it's almost time for my walk. I'll make a stop at the Neumanns'. Claude still has store credit from last month's Sanctuary collection. I've noted it in the ledger."

Bowman gives her a one-armed hug around the waist and a quick peck on her cheek. "You're on top of everything, as always."

Nineh makes her way to the other side of town, the basket full of paper packets hanging from her arm. As she approaches, she can see the Neumann house is standing and looking completely normal. There are no cracks or holes blasted in the side, which is another good sign.

When she's just started up the steps to the house, Bobot trots out to meet her. It runs in a little circle and then back inside through the laboratory, inviting her to follow.

A very good sign.

She enters the open work area. As usual, it's strewn with strange pieces of metal, wires, cables, and all sorts of objects she can't make heads or tails of. She doesn't see anyone.

"Claude?" she calls. "Precis? Graft?"

"Nineh!" Precis pops up from behind the half-wall at the side of the lab. Her hair is frizzier than usual, but it's endearing on her, and she seems as cheerful and energetic as ever. "What brings you to our humble abode?"

Graft pops up next to her. Claude was right; he does look better, barely rheumy-eyed or red-nosed at all. "If it isn't Missus Jean! Can we offer you some tea? Fancy jam tea? Aloe, apple, raspberry, strawberry?"

"Please don't trouble yourselves, I just came to drop these off—and make sure you were all right." Precis comes out to take the basket from her, and Nineh finds her gaze dropping to the young woman's leg, to the colourful woven patch with flower-like stitching that covers her left knee. It's charmingly wobbly, and the sight makes her smile. Claude must have darned the leggings for her.

"Nineh!" Claude rushes out from the other side of the lab, clutching a broom and a dustpan. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you do delivery!"

She waves her hand in the air. "It's no trouble at all. I go for walks around town as often as I can; it's good exercise—and a good excuse to see you three." She looks around. "And what you've done with the place."

"Of course! I'm always ready for a spot workplace healthy-and-safe inspection. Did I say that right, Claude?"

Claude sighs and shakes his head, but he smiles. He leans the dustpan and broom against the wall and takes the basket from Precis, then goes to the kitchen.

"While you're here, Nineh, let's catch up on boring girl things." The last three words are loud and emphasized, presumably for Graft and Claude's benefit. Precis grabs Nineh by the arm and pulls her out to the front porch.

Outside, they sit down on the steps. Precis sighs. "Sorry I haven't seen you in forever. Every time I remember and look up from my work, Claude's gone and done every chore already."

"Does he complain about it?"

Precis shakes her head. "No, no."

Nineh looks her in the eye with motherly concern. "Is everything all right with you two?"

"No!" Precis shakes her head more emphatically. "I mean—yes. I mean, no… I mean…look at him!" She gestures towards where Claude is, inside the house. "He's as handsome as a prince—literally. He's one of the best swordsmen in the entire world. He saved the whole universe. And now… now he lives in my house. And takes care of me and my dad. And cooks and cleans. And makes me chocolate crepes and fruit milk every week."

"That sounds like a dream come true."

"For me!" Precis looks indignant. "What about Claude?" She clutches strands of hair at the sides of her face and her expression becomes despairing. "I turned the Hero of Light into a househusband! How can he be happy like this??"

"I think," says Nineh gently, "that's a question you should ask Claude."

"I like that idea," says a quiet voice behind them.

They both turn. Claude is standing there, looking at them. He's still in his apron, holding a small tray with two mugs. Bobot peeks out by his legs, bright eyes blinking.

"Claude!" Precis gasps. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here…? And I thought Nineh might want to drink something after her walk. And you might too, after all your work today."

He holds the tray out to them, and Nineh takes one of the mugs. The liquid inside has a vibrant red colour, and is decorated with a slice of lemon and a little sprig of mint leaves. "Thank you," she says, and takes a sip. The scent and flavour are very raspberry, with the added refreshing mint and tangy citrus. There must be honey in it too. "This is lovely."

Precis looks at Claude. When she doesn't take the remaining mug, he sets the tray down between her and Nineh, and then walks around to sit next to Precis on the steps. He folds his arms and rests them on his knees and looks evenly back at her. Bobot copies his actions like a small child and sits on the porch next to him.

Precis frowns. "How much did you hear?"

Instead of answering the question, Claude replies, "Why do you think I'm not happy?"

Precis wraps her arms around her knees and looks down. "Because… sometimes I see you looking up at the sky. You look sad. You haven't seen your mom in years, ever since you landed on Expel. You used to travel through the stars, experience all sorts of amazing things in outer space… Everything here's so backwater compared to what you know. And don't you miss your home? Don't you wish you could go back? Do cool things and be cool and have epic adventures? Instead of… clean up after a weirdo and her goofy dad and bake cookies?"

Claude reaches a hand out, tucks his fingers under Precis' chin, and tilts her head up to him. "Between outer space and Expel, I definitely prefer Expel. You're right that sometimes… I do wish I could go back to Earth and see my mom. I wish I could tell her I'm alive and let her know what happened to Dad. And most of all I wish you could meet her. But…" He smiles tenderly. "I love living with you and your dad. And you're not a weirdo." He wraps his arms around her in a hug. "Even if you are, you're my weirdo. Don't you like my cookies?"

Precis hugs him back and then wipes the corner of her eye. "I love your cookies! But I love you more and I don't want you to be sad!"

"I can't be sad when I'm with you. You're the most positive, supportive person I know. And just because I miss my mom doesn't mean I'm not happy." He tilts his head at her pointedly. "You know what I mean…?"

Precis sniffles. "But you don't have any excitement in your life anymore."

"Uh." Claude's eyes dart in the direction of the laboratory. "I don't know about that. And I can go to the Sanctuary to collect herbs. And take on mercenary jobs when I want. Linga has a beautiful river for fishing… A gorgeous library. A stunning observatory. Bowman and Keith get us access to practically anything we want. I even get to audit classes at the Academy, like music and art—"

Precis cackles. "Like that time Bowman signed you up to volunteer as a life drawing model—"

Claude turns red. "Can we not talk about that." Precis cackles again, and says nothing else. Nineh dips her head curiously; sounds like she'll have to ask Bowman about it.

"Anyways," Claude continues, "You know what people from my homeworld would call this kind of life?"

"What?"

"'Retirement.'" Claude laughs. "It's the kind of life people work hard for decades dreaming of." He smiles at her again. His expression is peaceful and content. "I love the pace of living here. I have everything I need."

He releases her from the hug and holds her shoulders, looking her deeply in the eyes. "I'm happy being here with you. Can you please believe me on that?"

Precis rubs her eyes, and nods.

Then Claude says, "By the way—you still haven't told me what you're working on. The thing that caused the explosion today."

Precis pauses. Then she mumbles, "I want to make you a spaceship. It was supposed to be a surprise."

Claude's eyes widen. Then he says, "I'm surprised. You don't need to do that."

"I want to."

"I'm not trying to stop you. It's just… it's—a lot. And saying 'spaceship' still doesn't explain exactly what caused the explosi—"

She glares at him. "You are not helping me." Before Claude can say anything else, she adds. "I know you're smart. You don't have to prove anything to me. But you can't help me! You're not allowed." She puffs her cheeks out stubbornly.

"You're way smarter than I am. Knowledge alone isn't intelligence." It sounds like a discussion they've had many times before. "I'm just saying. There's a lot going on in a spaceship. Maybe focus on figuring out one system at a time. Like… mechanical flight."

Precis covers her ears and squeezes her eyes shut. "La la la I'm not hearing any of your hints! I'm not letting you break your pact thing and get in trouble la la la la la—"

Claude watches Precis la la la-ing with her eyes closed. Then he places his hands over her hands.

After a few seconds, Precis squints one eye open to see what's going on, then the other, staring silently up at Claude.

From where she's sitting, Nineh can easily tell—the look in Claude's eyes is the same look she sees in Bowman's eyes from time to time. She knows exactly what's going to happen next, and calmly holds her breath. Willing herself to be as unobtrusive and invisible as possible. As Claude slowly leans in, tilting his head slightly to the right, his lips parting ever-so slightly—

"There you all are!" Graft cheerfully squeezes in next to Claude on the steps, pushing Bobot out of the way. "What are you talking about that's so good you forgot all about this old man?" He gingerly clutches his own mug of raspberry jam tea over his head as he settles in, then lowers his arms. He huffs, "Boy, this porch sure doesn't seem wide enough these days, does it. Maybe it's because Claude's cooking is too good. Time to build an extension, you think?"

Claude and Precis both drop their hands and sit up straight. Bobot beeps several times, then runs back and hops into Claude's lap.

"Oh my god, Dad!" Precis exclaims, outraged. "I can't believe you just barged out here and interrupted us like that! Claude and I were having a private, super romantic moment and you completely ruined it!!"

Graft stares open-mouthed at his daughter. Then his thick eyebrows furrow fiercely and he leans over across Claude, jabbing the air with a pointing finger. "Who's the one who ruined the moment? I say something funny and nice about Claude's cooking, and suddenly you're in an uproar over nothing! And if you're having a private super romantic moment, Missus Jean's been here the whole time. She can sit and watch and I can't??"

Precis leans over from the other side, eyes blazing. "Yes! Because she's not messing up the mood! Unlike you and your vertically-giant obtuse head!!"

"You and your horizontally-giant obtuse mouth!!"

"Now, now," says Claude in between them, raising his hands up in a mollifying gesture to either side of him. Bobot in his lap blinks and beeps rapidly, its arms wrapped on top of its spherical head/body, almost as if in distress.

Nineh laughs. She places her empty mug onto the tray, sweeps up the hem of her dress in one hand to avoid stepping on it as she gets up, then lets the fabric fall again as she stands. "Thank you for the tea. I need to be getting back. I'm so happy you're all safe and well. And if you keep up your honest, open-hearted communication, I'm sure you'll be all right." She winks at Precis.

Precis smiles at her. "Thanks, Nineh."

"Please. I didn't do anything much at all."

"Wait, Nineh. Before you go." Claude picks up Bobot, hands it to Precis, and then jumps to his feet and runs into the house. He's soon back, holding the basket.

Nineh looks down. There's a tin inside it.

On the way home, she stops, opens the tin. It's filled with cookies, and she takes one out and inspects it. It's a blobby shape, cute and homey, generously dotted with half-melted chocolate chips. The edges are darker and slightly burnt-looking. She takes a bite and savours the delightfully crispy-outside, chewy-inside, oozing-with-chocolate texture and taste.

What an adorable pair, she thinks as she walks back to Jean Medicine Home. They really are perfect for each other. Just like her and Bowman.

She hums as the cookie quickly disappears in her hand, looking forward to dinner with her husband.