The Hazards of Crawlspaces
AN: Set during the RE0 game where Rebecca and Billy use the crawlspace in the train's kitchen compartment to get to the storage/rear compartments. I want to write a multi-chaptered Billy/Rebecca story so this one's like a field test I guess : D Critique is appreciated, especially on characterization!
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"You should probably go first," came the low voice to her left as she stared down at the seemingly bottomless hole in the floor of the kitchen area.
She stared up at him, her lips giving way to a frown as a fisted hand rested on the top of her left hip, "Why?" She asked, suspicion still heavy in her tone, despite the fact that he had saved her life at least twice that night.
He stared down at the petite field medic, the annoyed set of his eyebrows indicating that she was acting naïve, or worse, childish again. She felt a flare of irritation in the unspoken insult. So she was a rookie, big deal. At least she wasn't the one putting up some heavy machismo front.
"I'm not going to try anything. You're small, that's all." He said in exasperation, muscled arms holding the metal panel that until a moment ago was placed securely over the crawlspace entrance. He smirked for a moment, "My shoulders are too wide, I might get stuck."
Rebecca scowled, obviously not convinced.
"Remember, we're partners. If I was going to try anything I would have done it by now."
Her eyes narrowed the tinniest bit, the radio on her utility belt hissed static.
He held her glare, and for a moment the pair was engaged in a rather intense stare down. After a few moments, he growled in frustration, running a hand through his dark hair, the handcuff jangling and catching a glare from the light above the panel. He groaned when he saw her stare zero in on the cuffs, knowing that his movement had only cemented her position regarding the convicted ex lieutenant.
"At least give me the big gun," he muttered in defeat at last, gesturing towards the shotgun Rebecca was holding.
She was still a bit hesitant, but not as heavily guarded as before, now that he had volunteered to enter the crawlspace first. She handed him the shotgun, and he rotated the cold metal in his hands for a few times, leading her to wonder if the weapon was some kind of security item for him.
"Alright, you follow me then," he said in a rather placating tone, lowering himself into the dark passage. She watched him disappear before she started to go after him.
"I better not catch you looking at my butt," she heard his voice say teasingly a bit in front of her and she felt her jaw go slack. First the fantasizing comment, then 'doll face', now he was accusing her of being some sort of pervert. Great. Of all the homicidal maniacs to be stranded with, she had to get the one with the arrogant sense of humor.
Her palms lay flat against the cold metal as they scuffled forward, her knees following the action. She could hear Billy moving only a few inches in front of her, and she paced herself so she wouldn't run into him. The sound of the shotgun and her utility belt scraping against the metal sides was an oddly comforting noise, and she managed to continue her sloth's pace through the passage without claustrophobia taking over.
Still, it was pretty cramped, and Rebecca was sure that if the crawlspace was illuminated, she would see Billy's butt mere inches from her face. She felt her face heat up at the thought, thanking whoever was listening that the crawlspace wasn't lit.
Not to say that she thought Billy had a bad butt, or that she would mind looking at it. It seemed nice, in those tight jeans anyway. Not that she'd really had a decent chance to look with the constant attacks from creatures straight out of a B movie. Billy himself wasn't unattractive, if one ignored the constant chauvinism. And the criminal record.
She felt her inner tangent abruptly halt when she heard the sound of Billy struggling with the opening at the opposite end of the crawlspace, and she felt her blush only intensify- embarrassed and angry with herself over the trivial and very inappropriate for the situation thoughts. With one final grunt, Billy managed to pry the cover open, and the sudden light made her squint and bring a hand over her eyes to shield them. He gripped the edges of the exit, and lifted himself up. Rebecca tried to avoid staring at the intricate tribal swirls that decorated his bicep while he did so.
For God's sake Rebecca, he's a condemned criminal. And I hardly think that right now is a proper time to be entertaining those sort of thoughts.
She nodded, already deciding to abandon all further contemplation of Billy's convicted ass.
She was startled to see his left hand, the handcuffed one, suddenly dart into her field of vision, hovering above her face. She stared at it in bewilderment.
"Grab it, I'll pull you up," he said flatly, and when she looked up she could see him standing crouched down in front of the exit, staring at her blankly.
She flushed again, but grabbed it anyways with a muttered protest of, "I could do it myself, you know…"
Her booted foot rested on the edge, and she used it to propel herself upwards out of the crawlspace. As soon as she was safely out, she dropped his hand as if it were red-hot coals. Billy watched her the whole time with a puzzled expression and she felt like squirming for some unknown, foreign reason.
"Are you alright?" He asked, and Rebecca turned to face him, noticing that he was scrutinizing her face.
"I'm fine, why?" She replied edgily.
"Your face is all red, you sick or something?"
Her gaze drifted to the ground almost immediately, "The crawlspace was warm," she lied poorly.
He continued staring, "I didn't think it was that warm-"
As if by some severely twisted divine intervention, the tell-tale snarl of another one of those monstrous dogs was heard, followed by the clicking of toenails against the metal floor of the storage compartment. Acting instinctively, Billy quickly severed the conversation and aimed, a solid shot being fired from the shotgun and piercing the dog's skull. Rebecca sighed in relief, both at having her unfortunate crawlspace revelation dropped and not getting her throat torn out by a modern hell hound.
Billy started to walk forward, cautiously making sure that the dog stayed down, and Rebecca returned to a calm reprimand of herself.
It had to be the clustered quarters, plus your nerves are pretty much fried tonight, her inner voice reassured her, you know better not to complicate the situation anymore than it already is. You're just being forced to cooperate, that's all. It's only about survival right now.
She stole a quick glance at Billy, who then rammed down his boot into the skull of the canine, a sickening crack being heard as he gave a reassuring nod to himself.
She paled, before silently agreeing with her rational side, Just about survival.
And she made a solemn vow to avoid any and all crawlspaces in the future.