This one's kinda angsty, sorry. Again, criticism is welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil or the characters used in this fanfiction, although I wish I did.


Claire Redfield stood alone as the hot sun set fast, cloaking the camp in darkness.

The other survivors were gathered around roaring campfires, hungrily finishing off their daily rations, attempting to make nonsense conversation to take their minds off the day's losses and keep morale as high as it could possibly be after losing a good ten people to the undead horrors of the world they lived in. The children were tucked up in vehicles, lost in the wraps of sleep, wandering through dream worlds, while adults began wearily making preparations to go to sleep.

Not Claire Redfield; away from the few remaining survivors milling around before bed, she stood solemnly, feet planted in the sand, hands behind her back, a line of crude graves stretching out in front of her. Her head bowed as she swore a silent prayer for the dead. She wasn't religious - if there was a God, how could He let this happen to the world? - but she wished to pay her respects to the friends lost, and praying for them seemed the right thing to do.

Lifting her head finally, she swept the makeshift graveyard with her eyes, allowing herself to relieve old memories of each lost soul, each of them strong and brilliant in their own way, each bringing a different talent to the convoy, each dearly missed. She remembered how she found each of them, introduced them to the convoy, looked after them, watched as they'd formed relationships with other survivors, and how she'd finally pulled the trigger when she couldn't stop them turning into the thing that every one of them lived in fear of becoming.

It was times like this that made her wish someone else was the leader. She needed the convoy as much as they needed her; the convoy made her feel useful and brought her ever closer to finding her brother at long last, and in return, she kept the survivors alive. At times like this, however, she felt like giving it all up. Memories of loading her Glock, pressing it to the soft temple of each of the survivors and apologising softly before pulling the trigger twisted her stomach in ways she didn't know were possible. It never got any easier, either. Every executed survivor weighed heavily on her, and the guilt of not being able to save them built up in toxic amounts.

Clenching her teeth, she forced hot tears away, determined to keep it under wraps until every single survivor had gone to bed. Only then would she be alone and only then could she let go. If anyone suspected for a minute that their leader was weakening, things would no doubt start slipping, people would start dying and everything they'd built would fall apart.

Lost in her dark thoughts, she didn't hear the quiet footfalls of someone approaching until they were upon her.

"They were good people we lost today," a low female voice murmured. Alice; the one exception to the rules she set herself to keep order in the convoy, the one person who didn't want to take from her, the one person who she could be honest around.

"They really were," the leader agreed in a soft voice, tones of guilt and self-loathing in her voice.

Picking up on her friend's angst, she whispered, "It's not your fault, you know." Alice continued staring at the graves, trying to sooth Claire by not putting all of her attention on her, knowing she likely wasn't proud of being seen in such a vulnerable position, even by someone whom she was open with.

The redhead paused for a long while before replying darkly, "I pulled the trigger. I couldn't keep them safe, and I pulled the fucking trigger on them because of it." Her hands had balled into tight fists by her sides, and her teeth were gritted tightly together.

"You had no choice; they were already infected. You did the right thing," Alice reassured, her voice calm and sincere. She knew from experience how hard it was to kill infected friends, as early as the Hive incident when she couldn't save Rain from her ghastly fate. She also knew what happened when you let them live, and that, while painful, it was a lot safer to kill one infected than leave them alive (ish) and let the infection spread.

"I should have kept them safe in the first place. They put their lives in my hands and I let them die," Claire insisted, voice cracking slightly as a lump rose in her throat. She cursed internally as tears stung her eyes. Oh god, not here, not now, please. She hoped to god that all the survivors were asleep in their vehicles by now, because all the strength in the world would not stop the tears now.

Hearing the faulter in the other woman's voice, Alice swore she felt her heart break inside herself. Reaching out towards the redhead, she wrapped her arms around her slim body and held her against her own.

Alice's strong hug was the last straw. As the leader held onto the blonde as tight as physically possible, burying her face in the crook of Alice's neck, one hot tear spilled down her cheek and soaked into the soft material of Alice's overshirt, then another and another until she was weeping silently, her lover holding her in a tight embrace, allowing her to cry it all out, murmuring loving words softly into her ear.

"You're not alone anymore, Claire," the blonde whispered softly as Claire Redfield held onto her for dear life, the moon reflecting delicate white light on the pair.