Bittersweet Reunion
A Resident Evil Fan Fiction
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my OC
Local Bar – 24 June 2005
It had been almost a week since that fateful mission, when Chris and I had worked together – albeit on opposite sides – to release Jill from the mental control of that evil son of a whore who had plagued our nightmares – and even filled my mind with new ones – for the best part of a decade. He was dead, and I was so fucking happy that if I were still alive, then I would be going blind with ecstasy. I had agreed to meet them both at this public house in town, just as the Sun was beginning to set. I hate these locales. I never understood the point in them – where is the fun in getting royally pissed off your face and then going in a blind rage, I will never know. I thought as I caught my reflection in a nearby mirror – a small, approximately 5-centimetre-high, gold Ace of Spades embossed in the centre of my forehead – made me think back to that fateful day, when HE killed me and then had the monstrosity to resurrect me as a hard-light hologram… and assign me to be Jill's watchman on pain of permanent deactivation and eternal oblivion. Looking back, at the time, I would have preferred to be switched off and left to rest in peace, but now I feel a sense of hope for the future. I spent most of my life wandering from situation to situation – I had to die before I could take action and control of things. How ironic. I thought. Before I could continue with my introspective philosophical musings, however, a voice at the bar caught my attention.
"Mancini? Is there a Gaetano Mancini here, known to his friends as Gordon?" The bartender spoke up. I knew who had asked for me. Sitting up, I approached the bartender and raised my hand to confirm my identity. "You've got some friends of yours who want to speak with you, Gordon." I thanked the bartender in Italian – my native language – before turning to face my two-person audience: a tall man, several centimetres shorter than myself, with dark auburn hair and a bulky build, and a short woman (at least she was taller than my mother) with brown hair – Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine.
Pity… I rather liked her when she was blonde. I thought to myself as the three of us went to a secluded area of the bar to talk. "What is it that you want?" I asked calmly. "That piece of shit's dead and the world is safe."
"We just came by to thank you, Gordon… and to tell you how much we didn't really appreciate your help until recently." Chris finally spoke up, his declaration making me raise a solitary eyebrow in mild surprise. "The incident at the mansion, the Raccoon City disaster, the end of Umbrella… and this latest escapade. We both owe you our thanks."
"Really? Wow… that means a hell of a lot." I replied almost speechlessly but able to reply just in time. "I know I'm not much of an action man like you, and I also know I'm not STARS material… but it feels good to be acknowledged after all these years. I feel like the great geniuses of history, who are only appreciated when they're no longer around."
"The difference is that you're still here to be appreciated." Jill spoke up as she looked at me – there had been hints of an attraction between us, particularly during her brainwashed-and-crazy-blonde-bombshell episode, but all that went to shit after I died saving Chris's life – the most sensible and senseless decision I had ever made simultaneously.
"We might need you for future assignments, so if we do need a man in the know with a little enigmatic eccentricity and a propensity for extreme heroics with a ruthless Machiavellian streak, then don't worry… we've got you covered." Chris smiled. I looked at the time – it was getting rather late, but I did not feel like leaving just yet. He held out his hand for me to shake, and with some mild hesitation, I shook it, the two of us exchanging reassuring smiles, safe in the knowledge that despite our prior interpersonal conflict, we had come out of it as fire-forged friends. As he got up to leave, I tried to avert my eyes away from Jill's – I knew she had a soft spot for, or at least had taken a stronger liking to, me since the Raccoon City incident (and our relationship had only strengthened during her time with P30), but there was no way something of that nature could work. Sure, you have interracial relationships, you have intergenerational relationships, and you can even have interspecies relationships if that is your thing… but a potential relationship between a living woman and a dead man? That would be necrophilia, even if I were just a computer-generated simulation of my former self, a digitised ghost. I was a hard-light hologram and she was a living human, and whether or not something like that could work is not up to me to see if it is worth pursuing.
"Gaetano…" Jill finally spoke up as she smiled slightly. Her using my real name caught me off-guard as I looked at her semi-reluctantly. "…thank you." Before I could reply, I felt her kiss me on the cheek before getting to her feet. "We'll be in touch." Those were her last words as she got up to leave with Chris on their next epic mission. A song started playing on the bar's jukebox – a song that encapsulated and epitomised me in both life and death.
"No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes"
As the song ended, I smiled softly to myself and got up, leaving the bar as I headed for home. I had always thought of my motherland – Italy – as home, but I never felt quite satisfied there, nor was I happy when I studied at university in the UK.
Maybe this – the US – is home. I thought. I walked into the city streets and headed towards my bungalow residence, a man against the world, and with a sense of hope for his own posthumous – albeit ironic – future.
The End
Music: "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who (from the 1971 studio album Who's Next?)