Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or Resident Evil.
So I am going to keep my word to write a Chris and Piers fiction. (I know I started too early but hey, I'm on a writing spree now so I suppose, why not?) Personally a touching note to my friend, he's a big 'I-need-to-love-him' fan of Piers: I hope this fiction touches you in a brighter light, helps you bear with the burn of reality. Another to my awesome girl, a Macauley fan and lastly of course, an anonymous wife of the deceased Albert Wesker who has insistently adopted Piers in her own stubbornness, and words, "He needs to be loved!" So here I am, loving.
While I enjoy every author's take on the relationship between Chris and Piers, here's my take before Edonia. I think everyone deserves to have a slice of heaven while everyone's still alive and kicking asses, raving in parties and leisure like the ordinary. We need to lighten up a little and I hope this little fiction can make anybody's day a happy day.
And so for the adoration of the Alpha Boys I have been thinking about, I present "Growing Up".
If you can't take man on man, then you must have missed my summary.
Growing Up
by Seraph Wes W.
- For the strength to fight for a better tomorrow, protect the lives of loved ones, commit to a relationship greater than love, sacrifice for the greater good, heal the souls of the broken bones and jumpstart away -
"Oh I'm starting to believe that this could be the start of something good"
— Daughtry, Start of Something Good
"Will that be all? The boys are ready to unload and heat up the arena with these new babies. Captain's waiting at the hangar to debrief us and he suggests that you should join us too, 'mam."
Stepping out of the C-5 Galaxy is the all-too-famous Jill Valentine, the representative of the US division of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance, codename B.S.A.A.. She has been put in charge to oversee the entire exchange program ever since Command has given word to commence the European division. Taking first breath of Lincoln, Jill clutches her furred trench coat tightly as she follows closely behind her local navigator, Marco is his name. When the man she is about to meet insists she put on something warm upon arrival, she thought the brute was overreacting to the local weather. She is right about now thankful that she ever heeded his advice, which she often does not. Arizona was perfectly snuggly the last eight hours she was there before she boarded the plane ride over whereas Lincoln is as deadly cold as Portland ever was the last she remembered after her internal transfer. Promptly following her navigator, she suddenly recalls a Marco back in the Portland base camp who was only a private about a year or so ago. The one with her right now is fitfully branded as a specialist.
"Marco huh? Is it Marco Rose?" Jill peels her curiosity.
"Yes 'mam. I was under your guidance about a year ago back at home camp. You were the toughest woman I've ever met, and the best mentor at boot." Marco responds humbly, feeling a sense of recognition that she even remembers him. "I'm honored that you remembered me, 'mam."
Jill smiles, "I've not known many Marcos. Especially not one who's exemplary good with explosives."
Marco laughs inwardly, feeling a little shy to hear his achievement from another prestigious upper. It has been a few short months since his transfer with the first chosen batch of soldiers to set up base in Lincoln. The weather has been grilling them under training, many of which have taken ill due to its frequent changes. Only a handful has yet to step foot in the infirmary, which the boys are more than grateful that the captain insisted to have the facility set up on first priority basis. It has also been rumored that the captain is one of the few who has survived the initial cold outbreak, a tough man on the outside as well as the inside.
"Here we are. There's captain."
Warm thrusts of heated ventilation swiveled through the hangar, perhaps the residue of the recently used engine buzzing in the background as well. Jill finds a sense of familiarity to the surrounding, a resemblance to the first day she experienced when she first joined B.S.A.A.. She sees her friendly correspondent waving an arm from afar, making quick talk as he dismisses his subordinate and approaches her. Noticing that his captain is making his way over, Marco subtly salutes and takes his departure, rounding up the fresh recruits on the other side of the hangar for their tour around base camp. Day one, getting familiar to the surroundings and memorizing the out-of-bounds zones more importantly. The new boys in town look thrilled, pin sharp focused and ready to take down any zombie apocalypse.
It is a bustling day at the European branch.
"Jill! Glad you made it." A quick word and the man quickly flails two arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace since a long time.
"Now, now you big old bear. I can't quite deny that you're making me feeling very comfortable right now." Jill teases, returning the gesture with two hands to the half of his back—though she isn't quite joking on the comfortable part.
"Three months in the making and the first thing you do is flirt with me? It's tall sign you missed me that much, huh?" The captain laughs, counter-responding to his good old friend.
"Silly bear, I didn't know you enjoyed hibernating in this godforsaken weather. It's a good and rare thing that I'd listened to your advice this time." The female counterpart slowly loses her hold, both returning to their formal standing on all eyes.
"That's a first. I know how much you hated the cold."
"Yeah, you can count on that. C'mon, there's another reason why I'm here apart from making sure the babies didn't get stolen by some flying zombies."
"No shit. Flying zombies are the worst to deal with. Remember that time when we're in Africa they tried to overhaul our runway and I had such a hard time—" the captain finds it hard to suppress a silent grin loudly flashing all over his face. The aftermath of that particular incident has walked a mile in the Hall of Shame for the zombies. Although it was never a matter to jerk around when it comes to global security, that one served pretty much as an after-dinner joke amongst the soldiers for a good period of time. B.S.A.A. 1 : Zombies 0.
"Chris," Jill sternly holds her tone, "I'm warning you. Don't get me started on—"
"—Right! How about my office, Jilly?" The pet name always works. Always.
Jill observes the medals, code of honor plaques mounted on walls and the inevitable mountain of paperwork left on Chris' table after entering the pale green office for the first time. Yup, this is Chris all right. Old habits just don't die even after one and a half decade later. Paperwork is definitely not his forte even though marked priority one on his to-do list. The snippets of sticky notes taping on his whiteboard and table corners are far too arrestive to be ignored.
"Aren't you going to get through with any of those paperwork?" Jill asks, removing the thick outer layer as she hangs it on the clothes stand right behind the door.
"I did plan to do them today before you arrive. But how can I waste your precious time doing these paperwork while you're in town?" Chris defends, which he knows he could be digging his own grave at this very moment.
"Don't try to makeshift for the excuse you've just used, Chris. We all know by now that you are never once keen with paperwork. Not in Raccoon, not in Portland and I can most certainly see not here either." Breathing, she allows the rising temper to simmer stably before pulling out a brown folder from her carrier. "Which is why, I'm here offering a solution."
Chris watches Jill as she pulls a chair out across his desk, which he has already comfortably settled in, slapping the document over his stack of overdue reports that were yet to be tucked, filed, kept, torn, shredded or done-something-to-it away. Instinctively, the captain retrieves the parchment papers hidden in the foreign container, eyes sweeping through the contents briefly before he dumps the intel back on his messy table.
"What's this?"
"Project Rehabilitation. Well that's what I'll call it if it weren't Command's decision to send him in." Jill crosses a leg over her thigh, the tip of her knee-length boot caressing the footboard of the captain's covered legged desk.
"Erm, well in that case… what is my position here exactly?" Bewildered, Chris looks at the profile once more, "I mean, just look at his records. He's a clean slate of disciplinary action and pragmatic behavior. He doesn't need to be under anybody, he should be leading somebody by now and that is giving credit where it's dued."
"Yes, I understand his records are quite intimidating for his age but nobody's perfect." Leaning forward, Jill pinpoints a remark handwritten by one of the majors in Command, evaluating the candidate's personality. "You should perhaps take a closer look at this portion. It's the reason why we need you, Chris."
Though still a little lost on the insinuation for the whole matter, patient granted, Chris slides up his chair with his elbows pressed against the surface of the processed trees as he reads the content Jill pointed out. She has a point; the boy lacked the most important aspect for a leader indeed.
"… Lone wolf, prefers to be stationed alone, operates solo. First Lieutenant Williamsburg reports that candidate is rarely seen building rapport with his platoon. Personal activities on camp are strictly alone and out of sight. Fellow soldiers are unable to provide any testimony regarding the candidate and they are disinterested to make contact with candidate due to his extraordinary record. For that, candidate is also often easily mistaken for a proud, overbearing and unfeeling person due to his precise nitpicking—by pointing out the flaws and mistakes of anybody who has displayed incorrect activity. Lt. Williamsburg strongly believes that the candidate possesses a great amount of talent that will be beneficial to the B.S.A.A. in years to come but rectification to his closed-up persona must be corrected."
Chris blankly looks at Jill once he finished reading the extended information. It is never easy dealing with closed-up bottled-down characters. In this case, the situation seems exceptionally bad since this one has already made his way into the invisible black book of records privately summed up by the soldiers themselves. Taking a second look at his photo, Chris swears if this boy was handled by the female counterparts in the B.S.A.A., his current situation would have made a big turn for port and steer smooth-sailing all the way.
"Well, Chris?" Jill breaks the silence, waiting to hear what her old partner has to say.
"I'm assuming Command is approaching for my help because the US division has nowhere to use such a talented man," Chris begins his analysis, one by one.
Jill nods.
"The tension between him and the rest of the platoon must have been thick, not that it matters to him anyways. He's there to start and finish the job. He doesn't look like he cares about anyone else there is out there as well."
She nods again, but promptly adding, "Well, it's not entirely true that he cares for no one at all." Chris eyes a suspicious look back at her.
"When asked upon his initial interview, it was recorded that he has a role model whom he looks up to very much. This person is none other than the famous celebrity of the B.S.A.A., Captain Chris Redfield." Jill says it with such vigor that even Chris has to stifle a laugh at her impersonation of a ring announcer. But he swore he could have second guess that coming his way, something remotely relating to him otherwise Command couldn't have sent someone to fly four thousand miles just to oversee some slabs of metals in the shape of APCs or so. Or at least they could send someone less important than Jill Valentine.
"So… I'm supposed to babysit him?" Chris sighs, sending obvious signals that he is not keen on the nanny job.
"Look Chris, we wouldn't have asked for you if we could give him help elsewhere. In terms of leadership and guidance, you're the perfect fit for the job. Everyone here in the European branch is thrilled to be under your command. You have been building trust and rapport between teams and that is exactly what we need right now. The boy needs a new environment, somewhere completely unbiased to start afresh. So if we are going to fix this character of his, we need the best man on the job to give him the best guidance. You."
Chris sighs again. This is precisely the reason why they sent Jill on the job. Other than the fact that Chris knows she is a master at debating and reasoning but most importantly, Command knows he rarely rejects anything from Jill. Make that never reject anything from her.
"I swear to God, sometimes I really hate you Jilly."
Jill smirks, closing the topic, "So we have a deal?"
"Yeah yeah, whatever it takes to help him, right?" Chris grumbles, he sure hopes his boys are ready to accept a new ace on the team, someone harder on the books than he is.
"Oh c'mon Chris. The other reason I think he's perfect here is because he'll make sure you keep your work done on time. Williamsburg personally vouched for it. The boy's as punctual as a rooster at daybreak." The chuckling hidden behind her hand makes it obvious that that is more of a dig than a compliment.
"Right," sarcasm filling the air, the captain's eyes rolling a little, "Guess we're babysitting each other. How great." Chris presses the pads of his thumb and index finger into the corner ducts of his eyes, shaking the reluctance off to try to graciously accept the situation. It didn't really help much.
Therefore regaining attention, he collects the information together as he tucks them away into the folder it came with. Then carefully, he settles it on the top of his tray as he continues to sweep the remains of the other paperwork to the side of his desk, revealing the clean glass top resting on the wooden furniture. He is taking minimum time to adjust to the new situation, not too sure if he is really up for the job in fact. If there is any nitpicking to be done, his latency is probably the first on the newcomer's goddamn list. Like Jill said.
Damn it Jill.
"So, when is he coming?"
Grinning, Jill withdraws a phone from her jeans and taps on a key, connecting, "Send him in."
"Great. What did I bother trying to reject the offer when he's already here?" Chris sighs a third time. That is just how Command rolls.
"You'll like him, Chris. Trust me." As much as she tries to reassure the captain, the latter isn't biting it. "He's not that bad. I can see that much from our little talk on the plane ride here. He's just really sh—"
The door swings open. A fully suited up pristine soldier with a noticeable trendy Armani haircut stood by the door before his escort salutes and leaves him there. All eyes on the prize, Chris is surprised that the boy looks better than his photograph did. Ladies in Foxtrot are gonna love him.
"May I introduce to you, Captain Chris Redfield." Jill points out as she stands up from her seat, folding a hand out introducing the captain who politely stands up too.
Quickly hiding his state of surprise in a matter of split seconds, the boy takes a few steps forward as he enters the room, a hand up to his brows saluting. He almost couldn't believe his eyes.
"Piers Nivans reporting, sir."
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