To those of you who have commented, THANK YOU! I love comments. I've been so thrown into this piece for the last few days that it kind of wrote itself. Kind of easy to tell since I've updated twice today . . But for the love of all that is holy its too fun. I don't apologize to Piers for the fun I had writing chapters one and two, but he needed some loving. Also this should explain why Chris is so pissed off at him after they go back on mission and keeps throwing him dirty looks whenever they touch.

None of these characters belong to me! Though I do keep Piers Nivans in a cage in my basement for me own delicious pleasures. I may do another PiersxChris, but you'll have to wait and see!

It was always smell that came back first.

A killer hangover had the ability to knock someone off their feet if they weren't ready for it, but mix that with nostalgia of a life passed living and it was a combination made to kill. Sea spray and crisp ocean air flooded into Chris' dreamlike senses that masked the scent of stale day old vomit and sweat of the motel room that his team and brought him to. It was so vividly clear, that it hardly seemed like merely a memory, clarity and assurance flooding through him as the wisps of water tingling his senses. They had spent three days aboard the ship that brought them to the western shores of Europe, heading toward some unknown destination that refused to come back to him. But he remembered this. He'd come here with a team hand crafted to do the job with the best results in mind, each one in their own respect specialists that were hell bent with a purpose. He didn't know what the hell that purpose was either, but it didn't matter, he trusted these men. Just felt the spray of the sea drifting over him like a blanket, tiny droplets kissing the course five 'o clock shadow he hadn't shaved since getting on board. He knew them all like family, they were his brothers of a family brought together by war. He could hear their laughter as another wave came crashing into the rigging, fading in and out between the slosh of the sea and the creak of the ship.

The creaking was Piers' boot heels urging squeaks from the floor boards beneath him, pacing the length of a match box sized room. His legs hurt him still but he'd seen their medic after their battle and they had given him first aid without looking twice at the rest of what lie under his clothing. A change of clothes, camouflage fatigues most importantly, helped ease the pain of being so completely out of his element. His arms were scabbed and starting to heal, along with his knees which had taken a brutal beating. He was more concerned with if the throbbing in his backside would ever stop or if the battle would continue once his captain came to. Like a bear in hibernation, Chris had been comatose for near twenty hours. Snoring in through a busted lip and out through grit teeth, this was the first he'd seen him move since the boys had brought him here. Grimy disgusting stains and bits of trash still clung to the older hulk of a man and sweat soaked the bed from being so long without a drink. Piers hadn't even pu in the request to stay on and watch after the other man, he didn't need to. Watching over him was his job, ever since he'd joined B.S.A.A he'd been there to catch him if he fell. He wouldn't leave him now that he had hit the bottom.

His men were all perched in his mind's eye, two sitting with their legs kicked out, the other hunched over them like brothers in arms. Ben with that stern set jaw and haughty laughter that would bellow out every time that Carl would make a dirty joke about the hooker he planned to marry back home. They didn't have to find things to laugh about, together they were family and each of their quirks was what made the men special. It was a familiar sight to see them all sitting together there on deck, swapping war stories about the times they'd all thought they were dead and had Chris pull them out alive at the last minute. It scared the pants off their rookie. Finn never got use to the group. So finicky no matter how many times Chris laid a hand on his shoulder to support him and remind him they were all together in this. Andy was jawing something about how Finn would probably piss himself in his first real bioterrorist attack, but not to worry because all the ladies in their team wore Depends in case they couldn't hold it. They were all there, Chris watching over them like his children from a distance, laughing and relaxing and enjoying the sun and spray. Andy, Ben, Carl, and Finn. A smile crossed his half unconscious face, watching the scene play out behind his heavy eyelids, ignoring the buzzing of cars that seemed to try to invade on the scene. Piers had needed help to move him to the motel after he had all but collapsed himself. The boys didn't know, they'd never find out if the man had his way of it. For all the BSAA was concerned, it was a bar fight inside that turned into a battle between the two in the alley, and Piers had had the battle scares to support it.

It was already dark again and the guys had all left. There was barely any of them that wanted to see if Chris would remember who they were or what they had done together. No one wanted to think of the B.S.A.A. losing its best captain, but it was all but given. Everyone else had given up looking months ago, and those that hadn't thought him dead in a barn somewhere figured it was time to let the man leave in piece. He couldn't continue to fight on forever could he? What they saw was a tired man hitting middle age, ready for a walker and a retirement village while the good ol' boys went out from now on to rescue the world. They didn't know how strong Chris was. Didn't feel the power in each flex of his arm while it was tight around him, or the force he struck with when he slammed one of those 'fierce young men.' They had no idea what the hero of the world was capable of, or how much strength was left in him. His body was a testiment to that knowledge and he didn't regret what had happened that night or the heat that spread through him remembering how it felt to be filled by a man like that.

Chris couldn't see those things though, he was too transfixed on the clarity before him. There were no emotions of fear, no clenched jaws or insecurity. He had led these men in and out of every situation imaginable and this would be no different. They would go in, and they would come out, and every one of them would go home to their families safe and sound. A chuckle bubbled from deep his throat, leaning on the railing as he watched them all sharing a flask with each other. His eyes darted over the perfect scene, knowing in his heart that it would never be like that again. He had to enjoy it while it lasted. It would never be perfect and he would never be the man that brought his team out alive. But he smiled all the same. There was nothing missing... was there?

It clawed at the back of his subconscious, cat's claws feral and drawing down his back, piercing and bleeding him to remember what he was pushing away, but he didn't want to leave all this behind and return to the shit hole he'd climbed himself into. Why was he shutting it out? His eyes wandered the steel world, finding each man on deck busy about their business and marking each face and uniform. So many naval officers to their tiny little group of men. Until those hazel eyes that caught him mid sweep. He could drown in those eyes, he did every time he saw them. An oh so subtle gasp broke the chain of soft snores, bring Piers to the side of the flea-bitten mattress, springs poking up in the fabric and nipping his fingers as he leaned weight down to check Chris' forehead for heat, coming up with flecks of a cold sweat that beaded his skin. Piers wiped it away and stepped back, crossing arms tight over his chest and mag rigs to obseve the way the man seemed to jerk a lopsided smile in his unconsciousness.

Flecks of gold in shades of tawny brown and green that seemed to convey every concern and fear in them and carry it with pride. His partner. He trusted him with his life. Three short years together and he hadn't met a man who could read him half so well as the sniper protege. Always geared up; riggings secured, flak jacket in place, with all tactical gear customized and pristine for the specialty only he excelled at. He was a godsend in his own right and not a man among them compared to him. They could enjoy down time, be on leave, or have a beer at the bar, and that kid never cracked a smile, never conversed with his team, he even resented more than half of them. How could someone so young, so overqualified, be so stern? The only time he ever saw him smile was for Chris. The slight curl of the lip and raise of the brow that were meant only for his partner. The first time he'd seen it, they had run a training exercise he had passed heads and tails above the rest and Chris found his fingers squeezing his partner's arm, parting his lips to speak words of approval that he could hardly remember. He remembered that smile though, those lips were made for smiling. After that he was always apart from the team, but like a magnet to his captain never leaving his side even for a brief moment. He was there on deck, on the other side of the railing where Chris had left him so he could go talk with a superior, waiting for him to come back with all the patience in the world, clutching that Anti-Material rifle of his to his chest like a lover and had it crooked in his shoulder as though he could save the world just by the threat of it alone. He could.

He saw the hero-worship the moment he laid eyes on the kid, and in a way Chris needed it. 23 and so promising, but he wanted nothing more than to be by the gruff side of a man well into his prime. It would only have been awkward if he had sucked at his job, but in fact was better than anyone else he'd ever recruited. Always out to prove himself, to be the one that saved them down to the last man. He took every challenge person in turn and if he couldn't do what was being asked he trained himself to the point of breaking so that that time would have been the last time that he couldn't do something Chris wanted. He was defensive and cruel to everyone but lit up whenever he was met approval and his fingers would card through the trim short hair. Chris loved the attention, he reveled in it. He didn't need to ask to know it was more than just admiration that was felt there. Chris felt it too. Piers made him feel like the man he wanted to be. They were perfect for each other, partners that mirrored each other's abilities and fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. And there he was staring at him still with no judgement at all, just locked on each other's eyes as they would stay that way forever. That was the first time he'd ever thought about the two of them together as more than partners. The first time he thought that if he'd kissed him, Piers would have broken every rule and kissed him back.

"Piers.."

The sound of Chris' voice rasping out brought Piers swiftly to the side of the bed, but it was obvious he wasn't conscious yet, just mulling in the splendor of whatever he'd been dreaming. He couldn't help but smirk knowing his name was the one on his captain's gruff lips, despite everything that had happened. Chris seemed almost peaceful there, his arms and legs splayed out across the expanse of a full sized bedframe that seemed dwarfed by comparison of such a large body, thuck with tight ropes of muscle. He was slick with a sheen of sweat that had turned the sheets and clothes stretched to fit his girth a shade darker.

He let the name roll off his tongue a few times in one long syllable, opening his dark eyes at long last to stare at a wicker fan missing two blades that whirred over his head. Continuing on to the thrum of the fan like the name was a chant, humming under his breath each time he thought of the smile his partner saved for him. He could only imagine how his name would come off Piers' lips, gasping it out when he would finally get a chance to be with him. That was until it hit him like a napad to his chest all over again, the twist of lips and groan of pain that tumbled from his mouth when Chris entered him. It finally dawned on him where he was, what had happened the night before. Oh God... Piers. How could he ever meet those eyes again without feeling his stomach wretch? He lurched, rolling over on the mattress that flattened beneath his weight and hurled up what was left of last night onto the floor. His partner came to get him, save him all over again, and then he... It was like a nightmare. A horrible nightmare and all he could hear was Wesker's aristocratic laugh taunting him for becoming the man he always knew him to be. He'd thrown money at his feet and called him a whore. He felt another wave of nausea hit him, the splatter hitting the white foam of stomach acid pooled on the stained carpeting when there was nothing left.

"Hey, its alright Captain, get it out." An all too soothing, familiar voice brought him to his senses of the hand on his back, giving a reassurance rub with every cough and wheeze, spitting the last of the stale vodka taste to the ground. He couldn't look. Couldn't see the cuts on his face from having thrown him into that wall. Why hadn't he fought backand completely capable of defending himself? Piers was a skilled agent of the SOU and was the only man of his crew that could throw a right upper cut that could knock a B.O.W. on its ass, but he'd let Chris turn him into some back alley slut? He couldn't take the idea and ripped himself away from caring hands, batting him away with the back of a fist.

"The hell it is Nivans! Why," He spat again, lurching to a sitting position, smearing his arm across his mouth to remove the bits of whatever that had splattered and clung there, which only in turn got it caught on the flesh of his arm. "Why!? I know you well enough to know that the shit I pulled last night never would have... I could kill you. What was going through your damned head? Just get in one more fuck before he's gone forever? I mean honestly Piers! Where the hell did all your training go! I taught you better than that!" He was shouting, spewing insult after insult as though it would make it better if it was as Piers' fault as Chris' for letting him take advantage of their relationship. And yet there it was, even just peering over his hand he could see it, hidden. That sultry, proud smile, that tugged almost unnoticeably at the corner of perfectly sculpted albeit bruised lips, the quirked brow scratched and marred with a scab from the night before. Why the hell was he smiling?! "I swear sometimes it makes me wonder just why the hell you're my partner. I don't care what happened between us for the passed three years, you don't just bend over and take it when a drunk tells you he wants a quickie. I was on the verge of blacking out I was so waste, WHAT is your Goddamn PROBLEM!? Why the hell are you smiling?!" He threw a hand to the side, clutching his throbbing headache with the other, leaning into it while he shouted, shooting an accusing snarl up at the man who looked so smug, while he felt like shit, bracing his elbows on his knees.

"How many years captain?" There was amusement mingling into Piers' voice, dancing there at the tip of his tongue like a secret only he knew.

"Three you fucking retard! Three years and you just take it in the alley like a bitch all because wha- Oh..." The room filled with a deafening silence as Chris looked from his partner about the room they were surrounded in, like a shroud was lifted from the rest of the world. Disgusting, cramped quarters that weren't fit for a roach, but in it Piers' glowed like a light in the darkness. Kid was so damn proud of himself that Chris might just kill him for that smugness that settled in over his features. Avoiding the vomit pooled at their feet, he slipped an arm about his captain's shoulders, supporting him from the whirlwind of his hangover. Piers... 24 hours ago he couldn't have told you the color of his partner's eyes and now he couldn't forget them even if you'd beat his face in. Certainly had a way of getting his point across that was for certain. "You are such a shit." A chuckle escaped bruised and battered lips, pressure of the two leaning their foreheads together the first good thing he'd felt in a long while.

So damn forgiving this kid. Like Chris could do no wrong even after spitting on him and tearing his dignity into pieces. Piers knew what he was doing. "I'm a soldier, I can take it remember?" It earned a half laugh, that turned into a chuckle in his chest, aggravated by a long while of smoking, drinking, and the blow to his ribs he'd taken that night. Chris' calloused fingers reaching up to grip the sides of smooth skin, pressing their lips together briefly but lovingly. He loved Piers for bringing him away from that place, for being his partner, for being the one that always came back. Everyone always died, left, hid themselves away from him like he was a deadly disease. Piers never left. He gave up his body and his pride to bring back his captain and for that he could have thrown himself wholly into the boy. He pulled away, and resting his forehead against him again, lost staring at the curve in his lip, and lamenting on everything that had happened. He was too happy at the moment to be pissed over letting Piers use himself that way, but he certainly wouldn't let him forget it.

"Such a shit..."