Weary eyes scanned the entirety of the Swiss hotel room. The lavish interior and padding did little to reassure a good night's sleep. He couldn't sleep. Fear. Excitement. What kept him up at such an ungodly hour, he hadn't a clue. His unit was headed towards Honk Kong in less than four hours.

Then again, who wouldn't be full of mixed emotions before heading into a biohazard warzone? This was to be his greatest challenge yet. The operation in Edonia was a cakewalk; at least for him anyway. Mulling the thoughts of that day over and over again, he kept scanning the room with his eyes until they settled on the bed opposite of him. It wasn't long before it was occupied by another individual, but not without a couple of drinks to quell their trauma. He was the man that Piers couldn't seem to recuperate with just will alone; the fact that he forgot not only him but his own being sent small pangs of unparalleled sadness to his heart. Alas, what could he do besides watch him from across the room right now? Every few minutes he would beguile himself into thinking he heard a small whimper come from the man.

"Captain," he said in a barely audible whisper.

Silence…

"Captain," he said a little louder.

Nothing. He never took his superior to be a hard sleeper. Then again if you're a borderline alcoholic, then you may be associated differently otherwise. Little did Piers know to himself, he was already halfway out of his bed, feet sinking into the carpet beneath him. He got up and slowly approached his bedside, peering over him.

The captain's expression on his face was far from that of a sleepy one. His brow furrowed and eyelids reddened to show that he'd been crying. Another wrenching feeling in Piers's chest stabbed him with regret. He could do nothing. The battle to be won was internal and entirely up to Chris whether or not he wanted to conquer his trauma. He could only watch.

An involuntary hand reached out and put it on the captain's shoulder. He was vibrating..no… shaking.

"Chris," Piers whispered. He hated seeing people in their worst states. While being a wholehearted optimist, he still failed to see any consolidation on how to deal with these things. The whole point of being secondary support was to support the primary. Yet the broken shell of a man such as Redfield's took several precautions. In the end, man wouldn't be completely whole anyway.

Piers gazed over Chris's quivering figure a moment more, sliding over the lightly chilled skin on his arm.

If only I could do more for you than to just stand here, he thought to himself. Another whimper came out of him and he was shaking more than ever.

The least I could do is keep him warm…

With a wrap of an arm around Chris's midsection, he quelled his constant shaking and moved in closer.

Its okay Piers, you're not spooning him…you're just comforting him. Ah hell, what's the difference?

A few moments later, the air seemed to get lighter, accompanied by the sound of light breathing and the rise and fall of Chris's chest. The smell of Jack Daniels and aftershave, while although dissenting , comforted Piers. It wasn't long before he had his face buried deeper in between the pillow and his captain' s back, finally catching sleep before the big operation. A realization hit him. He couldn't completely cure Chris. It didn't mean he couldn't be there for him. That's all Piers could do in a situation like this; help to gather fragments and pieces of a forgotten past and mend them back together.

I'll help you get yourself together Captain. Step by step…