Disclaimer- Don't own Resident Evil.
I'm simply posting this at the requests of OtakuZombie and another friend, who for some reason unfathomable to me, liked this piece of junk. Haha.
This is just a 'what if' scenario, though I KNOW it's impossible for Steve to have survived that long with a gaping hole in his stomach.
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She would never be sure how he survived.
Perhaps the virus had sustained his body long enough for them to get him to the nearest hospital.
She remembered his broken body, the gaping wound in his stomach, the blood gushing from it. After he had passed out initially, Claire had begun weeping, unable to regain her composure for a long time. Then Chris had stepped in and crouched down next to them, and she had suddenly felt a completely irrational desire to push him away, to keep him from Steve's dead body.
But she was too drained and curious to perform the task, and instead watched in bewilderment as her brother placed two fingers at Steve's neck, near the jugular. After a moment his mouth set in a grim line and he stood up stiffly, turning his back to her before speaking.
"He's alive."
"What?" she gasped, and looking down saw that the flow of blood from his abdomen had slowed to a steady trickle.
His chest moved fractionally with a breath, and with wild hope in her eyes Claire pulled off her vest and then tugged her black top off, ignoring Chris's reproach.
"Claire!"
Her upper body covered in nothing but a bra, she ripped her shirt into a long strip and wrapped it securely around him, watching as it immediately soaked through with his blood.
Quickly she zipped her vest back on and whirled toward Chris.
"Come on, you have to help be carry him!" she pleaded, already pulling one of his arms around her shoulders. "Chris!"
"He can't come with us, Claire." he said softly, gently. But Claire simply found it patronizing.
"The hell he can't!"
"He's infected! The virus is inside him, just like he said!"
She shot him a horrified, disgusted, and completely pissed look. Then she set about lifting Steve up, his body so much heavier than she could have anticipated.
She was afraid that tugging him around in such a fashion would make the wound begin bleeding again, but she supported him as best she could, her muscles screaming in protest after all she'd been through. She had him about half across the dungeon when Chris sighed deeply and then pulled Steve's other arm over his shoulder, instantly lessoning her load to a more comfortable amount.
The jet they used to escape the hell hole was incredibly cramped and she was forced to place the boy on her lap so that his warm body lay comfortably against her. Her arms held him securely, not caring about the blood that would surely coat her hands once she pulled them away.
She pressed her face into his back, her body trembling with relief and fear at the same time. The gentle rise and fall of his chest in shallow breathing was the only thing that told her he was still alive, still fighting...
Hang in there, Steve, please...I love you, too. Don't die. Her confession was meant in friendship, but she had other, more subtle emotions for the boy, emotions she was willing to explore should he live.
Claire held him tighter, not sure what else to do.
Steve recovered.
With no family left, no other place to go, he had taken up residence with Claire in a small apartment not far from her college. Chris had been less than thrilled with the arrangements, fearing a sexual relation or that Steve would show signs of infection.
But there was no sign. Perhaps he was stronger and sharper sensed, but nothing more serious.
Chris needn't have worried.
As for the sexual relationship, however, there could be no consolation to her brother.
It was clear to Claire a year after the incident that she was falling for the handsome red head. Gentle kisses and lasting hugs lead to shed clothes and finally love making, in which Claire was subjected to both pleasure and pain.
Pleasure to be with the boy she loved, but pain from memories that the puckered scars on his stomach and back provided.
Her fingers would always trace over them, causing his muscles to jump or his skin to twitch depending on the temperature of her hands. Often in the throes of passion, when her hands were flat on his back and his thrusts were desperate, she'd stroke the scars, finding them sometimes sexy even with the terrible things they told of.
Scars told stories, and boy did Steve's tell one hell of a tale. He could never tell anyone what had truly happened(they'd lied to the doctors) but she knew, and Chris and Jill, and even Leon, and that was enough for now.
She held him close every night, afraid that if she let go he would disappear in a cloud of smoke. In truth he shouldn't be alive, and it made her edgy, plagueing her mind with nightmares that woke her up screaming on occasion, forcing Steve to hold her and calm her back into sleep.
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Yep. This was originally just a gift for Otaku so...whatever. XD Hope you liked it, I guess. Reviews are nice.