Disclaimer: I rarely bother with the story of how a fic happens, because honestly it's usually something so off the wall it will confirm I'm crazy, or something so simple and stupid it just doesn't need it. I've recently begun shipping this particular couple and after watching some of the chapters from the game, I realized their relationship was a lot deeper than would probably ever be explored. In my head I had some light fluffy thing turning around which is unusual since I rarely write fluff. Then I was on my way into work and a remake of Sarah McLauchlan's Possession came on, this one done by Evans Blue. It's a lot darker than Sarah's version and really drives home the twisted mind the song details. Then this popped into my head. It's a bit dark, even for me. And it touches on some things I never really write about. And while it's a topic that's uncomfortable to most, I don't want the subtly of it to be lost here. Anyway, turn away now if you're easily offended or can't handle a darker subject matter.
Possession
Her body was broken. Battered and bruised and she had lost track of the amount of blood she'd spilled already. He had done everything in his power to break her. Nights like this he tried to do it physically but somehow he always knew when she had mustered enough strength to hide inside her own mind. He might be able to control her body, make her do things she didn't want to do, but he had never managed to control her mind. That was the one thing about her now that he didn't own.
When he was done, he zipped up his pants but didn't button them, letting them ride low on his hips. Glaring down at her, he somehow knew she was not with him. That her mind had gone someplace else. No matter how many times he infected her, how many times he twisted the virus that lived inside of her, or how much P30 he pumped into her, he could never have total control over her. No matter what he did to her, tore apart her body in every way he could think of, she always escaped him. Not physically, no, but she wasn't here. What he'd just done to her was lost, her mind gone. Most likely with the one he hated the most. He spat on her, the wad of saliva landing on her shoulder. She was his dammit, and he'd do with her exactly what he pleased. He owned her.
She offered nothing, just a blank stare up in his general direction. Blood stained the mattress beneath her but already her body had begun healing. Bruises were fading and cuts were closing in front on him and he smiled. At least something was going right. Her body would be nearly immortal before he was done with her. Which meant he could tear it up that much more. Maybe it was time to bring out the toys. What he could do to her with his own body never got so much as a twitch out of her anymore.
When he wanted to break her, he used less of the P30. He wanted to own her, posses her until she belonged only to him. Make her love him like he knew she loved his enemy. Crave him like a drug. Right now he merely owned her body and it wasn't enough. He knew that bastard had touched her, Made her scream his name in passion, made her want to reach for him in the middle of the night.
Wesker had yet to get the same from her. Sometimes she fought against him, but most of the time she merely lay there, not fighting back, not giving him anything. Not even the satisfaction of an acknowledgement he was there.
Her cell was small, sparse, barely anything there but the walls and the bed. Often times he wouldn't allow her to sleep on the bed, using his power over her to force her to sleep on the floor. There were times he had refused to let her use the bathroom until she could no longer hold it. But each little victory was hollow because she still denied him what he wanted most.
The blonde reached down, intending to get one last hit in, one last cut. But he never quite reached her. The door slammed open, bouncing off the concrete wall on the cell. At first all Wesker could see was the outline of a body, but he knew who it was. He'd know that bastard anywhere.
"Redfield," he growled low. "You're like cockroach, never quite as dead as one would hope."
Chris gave the man a smirk, purposefully ignoring the body on the mattress behind the man. If he looked he'd lose it, go berserk. He had to get her out of here and there was only one way to do it. One chance. If he couldn't do it, he'd kill both of them and someone else could take up the fight. He couldn't let her suffer like this.
"I could say the same for you Wesker." He fired, not bothering to take much aim, merely trying to drive the man away from his true goal. Bullets tore through the air and a few hit their target. Some of them center mass. Whatever his old Captain had done to himself had made it all but impossible to kill him. But Chris didn't care. That wasn't what he was after. Not today. There were more important things right now.
The impacts were enough to drive him back, forcing him to stumble slightly as his foot caught the corner of the filthy mattress. She didn't move and once again the dark haired man forced himself not to look. To look would make his heart break, make him distracted and he couldn't afford it. Especially with this. Couldn't accept anything less than success in this mission. Even if it were the last mission he ever did.
Not wasting any time, he dropped the clip from the Beretta, letting it clatter to the floor. In less time than it took most people to blink he had a new one loaded and was firing again. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he was gaining ground. His enemy was snarling at him like an animal. Chris couldn't give him the chance to fight back because he knew he would lose. That's how this had happened. How he'd lost everything in the first place. Lost her.
Forced back, Wesker ran into the wall. Small sprays of concrete peppering his face as the bullets tore into the space around him. Redfield was giving him no chance to go on the offensive, making sure he was too busy dodging bullets to do anything. He snarled when he realized he was pinned in the corner and launched himself at the bigger man. He'd always hated him, always wished he would just die. Always wanted to posses everything the man ever cared about. Tear apart his world. And, he had to admit, he'd done a pretty fine job of it so far. Redfield might be bigger, but that was it. Wesker knew he was better in every other way. And when the day came that whore admitted it, he'd make sure Chris would be able to see her say it, hear it with his own ears. Let her words and her utter devotion to the man who owned her break his enemy completely.
As he landed he brought his fist down into the center of the other man's chest. And got a grunt for his efforts. Redfield went down to a knee. Had it been anyone else, the man's sternum would have shattered. The blonde wasn't entirely sure why it hadn't in all honesty. This man, his most hated enemy, the one who had always stood against him, was barely able to hold him off. Wasn't able to throw him aside. Wesker grinned coldly. He pulled back, ready to deal the next blow, somewhat surprised by the lack of fight in the other man. He'd expected better.
Then he felt the needle slide into the skin of his hip and the screaming agony ripped through his body.
Wesker went down, sprawling onto the floor. The searing pain ran along his nerves, stripping them to nothing but pure burning sensation.
Chris didn't waste any time. Not even to kick to the large man on the floor. He knew it wouldn't last long. That Wesker's body would soon overwhelm the cocktail he'd injected. Thanks to the sample of Jill's blood stored at the BSAA, and the viral antibodies it carried, they had managed to create something that would take the villain down for a few minutes. But just that. Time was not on their side.
He knelt next to the mattress and brushed a strand of hair off her face. The blonde didn't suit her. Neither did the damage to her naked body. Once again he forced himself not to see these things. To only see her face. "Hey sleepy head," he said softly, a smile coloring his voice, "we need to go now."
Her blue-grey eyes flickered open. He didn't like the frown that crossed her face, preferring to see the smile that never failed to touch his heart. But he understood her confusion. "Chris?"
"I'm here. It's time to go home now." He picked her up, cradling her in his arms like a small child. Mindful of the damage he could see, and the damage he knew had to be there.
"Home?" Her voice was hoarse, a mere whisper of what it should be. But it held a note of hope.
"Home. With me." He kissed her forehead. "You're safe now."
As Chris moved towards the door with her tears began to leak down her cheeks. "Safe." She repeated the word a few times as if not understanding it. Her head fell to his shoulder and she shivered. He didn't have far to go as as soon as they were clear he'd cover her. But they had to move now. Had to get the hell out of here.
As they passed, Wesker latched on to Chris's boot, his fingers like claws, digging into him through the leather. "She's mine," he growled. "I own her."
"She belongs to no one," Chris replied, tearing his ankle free. With a vicious kick, he landed a blow to the side of Wesker's head. Time was ticking away like grains of sand in an hourglass. They only had a few minutes now to get a head start.
The smile played on her lips and he scowled down at her. It was faint, a mere shadow of what she was capable of, but it was there. And it made him wonder what thoughts made it happen. What shadow in her mind managed to touch her in this place?
Deep inside she withdrew a little further. Her body curled itself into a fetal position, arms going around her knees. But her mind... her mind was still her own. Chris was looking for her. She knew it, had no doubt at all of that fact. He would find her. When he did, she would be free again.
But for now, Jill Valentine was merely a possession