AN: (screaming like little girl while jumping up and down and twirling) I cannot believe the number of reviews and story alerts I've gotten from just one chapter! Thank you so, so much! You're all too kind and it does this scared brainless writer good to know that somewhere, over the rainbow, people like this fanfic.

More AN: (now cowering in corner nursing a cup of coffee) That being said, so sorry for the very late update. Believe it or not I placed school (face palm followed by slap) in front of this because really, I can't afford to screw this year up…

(Wesker staring unblinkingly at writer) Sigh…and the last couple of weeks have been very difficult, especially the one before spring break (which already ended). In a way, I can feel a little what Chris is feeling…seriously, when the past comes to haunt you, it really won't let go… So here's the next chap, people.

Warning: Not too exciting, but I promise it is necessary.

Disclaimer: (sniffle) I have not, do not, and shall never own Resident Evil or its characters.

Chapter 1

On the Horizon

Drip, drip, drip.

The drops of water from the damaged sink were the only sound within the cell. They echoed throughout the small space, irritating its sole occupant in the lower level of the steel framed bunk bed.

Drip, drip.

Grey eyes opened, full of frustration at the incessant noise that refused to let him sleep. And at this point, sleeping was the only thing he could do, at least until his full strength returned or another variable was added to this stupidly simple (but with his diminished strength, now complex) equation.

Boredom was his companion, grudgingly accepted over another…feeling.

And it would be the only human sentiment the prisoner would allow.

For now.

Feeling satisfaction at the sight of his captors' bloody corpses after hours of torture was a concession he was willing to make.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*RE*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drip.

The bead of sweat rolled off the tip of a strand of dark brown hair and plopped down on the clenched fist resting on a bare knee.

For a moment, silence reigned in the dark room, except for his ragged breathing.

"God." Chris Redfield sighed heavily and leaned his head forward, shutting his eyes to shake off the latest nightmare.

Ever since he had returned from Africa it had been one nightmare after the other, night after night. At first the dreams were typical scenes full of the undead surrounding him, tearing him to bloody pieces until all he saw was a haze of red.

Other times, Chris found himself frozen to the ground, helplessly watching as first Sheva then Jill were consumed by the dead, their dying screams, outstretched arms begging for him to save them haunting him even in the moments when he was awake.

It's not real, it's not real. Chris tried to reassure himself. But the look in their eyes, fear, panic, pain, so much of it…

Wesker must have felt a lot of it when the lava got him. Chris's mind whispered, and the brunette shuddered and raised his head to concentrate on the rustling curtains shielding him from any view of the dark silent world outside.

Wesker's dead. Chris thought firmly, but felt the strange feeling inside of him grow heavier, the same feeling he had sensed on that day but routinely suppressed. He felt nothing about the death of that man, felt nothing about his former S.T.A.R.S captain and the man who he had once trus-

"What time is it?" Chris wondered aloud and glanced at the digital clock next to the bed, sighing again when he noted that it was four a.m.

"At least it's Monday." Chris muttered, unsurprised at his relief at the usually detested day of the week. Mondays had become something of a salvation for him actually, allowing Chris to focus on his job as a security guard at a local hospital and wipe any thoughts about anything other than the task at hand out of his mind.

But the end of the weekend had been a particularly rough one for Chris, and the young man felt the need to gather his strength to shove away any strong emotions deep within the recesses of his mind, preferably into an eternal abyss where the light of day would never reach.

Talking to himself was of course, part of the package.

The Monday pre work ritual usually took about ten minutes, not including the time from the aftermath of a nightmare, but today Chris decided to add another fifteen minutes.

He had screwed up again.

It didn't matter how hard he tried to stay together, they always saw in the end how…how defeated he was, sensed how-how broken he felt. And empty, so damn empty on an almost daily basis.

Jill and Claire had invited him for a night at the movies and despite his internal cringing at the thought of being out in public and having to pretend to enjoy some third rate movie that wasn't worth half the money spent on tickets, Chris had reluctantly agreed.

It was a big mistake.

"Chris, what's wrong?" Claire had asked, concern written all over her face when she saw Chris suddenly bolt out of the darkened movie theatre.

Jill had motioned for her to stay behind while she went to talk to her partner in the men's bathroom, ignoring the raised eyebrows and amused grins of the men inside. She found Chris gripping the sides of a sink tightly, staring emptily at the basin and breathing quickly, as if he had been running for minutes, not seconds.

"Chris?' Chris heard the worry in Jill's soft voice, and god…the only thing he wanted to do was turn to her and collapse into sobs, find comfort in the person who had been through everything with him.

But he couldn't. Not when part of the problem was related to who had captured Jill and controlled her, made her suffer and commit acts she would never have consented to in a hundred years.

No…he had no right to lean on her, to ask for comfort. Not when he wanted what was gone, felt shattered and empty for the wrong reasons.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Jill was okay, and had suffered a hell of a lot more than he had. Why could she move on when he could barely hold on?

"Hey." Jill put a petite hand on his shoulder and Chris swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the touch.

He didn't deserve this. They didn't deserve this. Not after everything they had been put through.

"I'm fine." Chris said, shrugging off his friend's hand. He didn't miss the half worried, half hurt look that flashed across her face but didn't respond, instead he turned on the water faucet and began to wash his hands.

In the back of his mind however, a little voice mocked him for thinking that washing his hands would absolve him of his sin, of his disease that had him longing for what the whole world had condemned as evil.

"Okay." Jill caught Chris's weary blue eyes in the mirror when he remembered that she was still there, and smiled at him in understanding, before turning away.

"If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you, Chris." She told him and Chris closed his eyes to shut out those horrible words of kindness.

"I still have nightmares too." Jill added and left the restroom, leaving Chris feeling all the more guiltier for wishing that some of those nightmares could come back.

"I'm sorry." Chris murmured in the now emptied restroom, realizing that he would never take Jill up on the offer, or his sister's when she offered.

"I have to do this alone." And with that, Chris walked out of the restroom, out of the movie theatre, and out of reach from Jill and Claire, and anyone ever connected to what had happened then.

It had proven to be too difficult in the end. If Chris really tried, he could barely make it through a phone conversation with people he knew since back then, and in person? Almost impossible.

That was what Jill and Claire had come to realize and while Jill had backed away and had understood, his baby sister had been furious and would have stormed over to his apartment if she had known where he lived.

But no one did.

"Time's up." Chris sighed, reading the bedside clock.

He rose up slowly from his bed and grimly began to get ready for work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*RE*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Garden Grove Hospital.

It was a well known and often used place where Chris spent the majority of his time at.

The tall grey building opened its sliding doors to let in the stream of patients, doctors, nurses and interns in as usual, while Chris watched from his spot right next to said doors.

Now and then, the brunette in his black uniform would stroll around the entrance, only grazing the parking lot, shying away as soon as he saw a group of people approaching.

The sky overhead was white grey and something in Chris's chest tightened at seeing the uninterrupted smoothness of grey. The air was slightly chilly since it was still early, but Chris welcomed the cold for it numbed him, and after his morning's dwelling on the horrible weekend, he really didn't want to feel anything.

He never really did anyway, since Africa.

"Morning Chris." A young woman greeted, slowing down in her nurse's uniform and stepping out from the stream of people entering the double sliding doors.

"Morning Jean." Chris offered a polite smile, too tired to really attempt some conversation. He hoped his downcast mood would somehow escape Jean's attention and made sure to keep his gaunt shadowed face away from the nurse.

The dark haired woman noticed though, and lightly touched his arm in concern, caramel eyes noting the quick movement from the brunette to escape her gaze.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her voice softening. "You look more tired than usual." She pulled Chris against the wall next to the entrance and they both reclined against it side by side so Chris could continue to watch the morning crowd of doctors, interns, and nurses. Jean however, kept her caramel gaze on the young man she had befriended on the day he first began working here. There was something infinitely sad about Chris Redfield, she realized, but never pried, knowing from experience the need to privately mourn whatever, or whoever (she strongly suspected) was lost.

Chris kept his eyes on the rush of people making their way into the hospital, feeling the weight of his friend's gaze on him. He wondered how he would get her off his back without being rude, seeing as she was only worried about him. But she couldn't help him, could she? She wouldn't understand how messed up he was, or anything that he had been involved with in the past couple of years, unlike his other friends and sister. But they would know enough, too much in fact, and would judge him and hate him for his feelings.

Chris suddenly straightened up, his eyes widening. Jean was perfect.

"I just had a rough weekend." Chris said, finally, his voice barely containing the relief he felt. "Jean…I…can we talk about this later at lunch?"

He would finally be able to do this. He would finally be able to get this heavy, life crushing weight off of his chest, even if he had to edit the truth, even if the person he was telling it to would only understand half of what he would tell her.

"Sure." Jean watched him, relieved now at seeing some sign of life in his eyes. It was the most excited she had seen him since they became friends, and to her, that was definitely a good sign.

RE

The day had initially started out as a moody one, and even when Chris's shift ended, the world continued to brood, a chilly breeze now joining the still cloudy sky.

The brunette shivered in his leather jacket as he waited for Jean in the parking lot, leaning against his car as he smoked a cigarette. He knew it was unhealthy and all, but hell, anything that distracted him from the nightmares was good enough for him. It was still hard to fight off the paranoia whenever he walked into a crowded area, or into a parking lot where cars were always on the move.

Soon he saw her familiar face and felt calmer, knowing Jean would distract him from his usual fears, and also knowing he was finally taking the next step in forgetting everything. It would do him a lot of good Chris knew, to talk about what had happened in Africa, well everything really, with someone who wouldn't know exactly who he was talking about.

Jean was a nice girl, and an incredibly sharp one who had her own secret past. Chris knew she was the right one to talk to and smiled as he waved at his friend.

And then…all of hell broke loose.

Chris should have seen it coming, really. He knew by now that he had the world's worst luck, and part of him was always uneasy, uncertain if it was all really over.

It started, strangely enough, with a crow.

The black bird had suddenly swooped down out of nowhere in front of Chris, flying across him and cawing loudly, as if alarmed. The brunette only had enough time to notice the flash of red eyes before looking up in time to see a white van screech to a halt right in front of him.

There were no words written on its side visible to Chris, but his heart had still thumped in dread, the pounding quickly rushing in his ears as if an alarm had been triggered. Instincts born from years of fighting Umbrella screamed at Chris to get a move on, to run like hell because trouble was coming and it was coming for him.

But Chris was rooted to the ground, only staring as he wondered if it was possible, that after everything if there was a possibility that—until he saw the logo on the mercs' Kevlar vests as they jumped out of the van.

Nope, Chris thought, backing away before leaning forward into a combat stance. Not Umbrella.

But it was someone who was just as bad.

The question was, who?

AN: Yep, trouble is on the horizon for Chris. Okay, okay, it's right in his freakin' face. The next chapter will have a lot more action, promise. See you next update! And as always, any feedback and comments will make my day, especially any advice on kick butt action scenes!