A/N: I don't know. A little fluff between Quil and Claire. Wouldn't these kinds of problems come across eventually and inevitably? R&R, please. I'll love you forever!
Over the blast of music and the simmer of oil in the frying pan, Quil heard the telephone ring. He wiped his hands on the dish towel hanging on the stove handle and reached for the phone.
"Hello?" he answered.
"Boys are stupid and don't know anything." Claire sobbed into the phone. It amazed Quil how quickly the small girl had grown up. One second it seemed like she was just a tiny two-year old, and the next she was nearly a grown woman.
Quil set the wooden spoon on the counter next to the stove. "What's wrong, Claire?" he asked her gently.
She took a moment to calm herself, and as she spoke she hiccupped. "This stupid boy at school was being a stupid idiot." She tried to explain.
Quil felt his forehead crease in concern. "How? What did he do to you?"
Claire seemed to sense the anger distressing Quil's tone and tried to calm her breathing. "He didn't do anything serious. He just told me that he liked me, and I told him I didn't feel the same way and then he just, like, freaked out…"
Quil sighed. "I'm sorry, Claire," he apologized.
Her tone thickened and more tears flowed. "It's okay, Feather," she said, using his nick name by means of calming the both of them. "What are you doing?"
"Makin' dinner. You hungry?"
"Of course," she replied, and Quil could hear the grin in her voice—he could see the dimples in her cheeks.
"Then come on over, silly!" he called into the phone.
She giggled. "Okay, I'll be there soon," she told him, and hung up the phone.