~ 7 ~ Cushions and kisses
"Are you okay?"
I avoid looking at Piers, because through my blurred vision I see the tears that have formed in my eyes. Wesker... I will never forget how he looked at me while he fell into the lava, neither what he said to me before Sheva's bullet hit him. What would have happened between the two of us if she hadn't interfered at that moment? I might have helped my former captain to come to his senses. Maybe he would have become good in the end, maybe he would be here now, with me...
Or maybe I'm lying to myself. However, I still can't believe that I fired a rocket into the man's chest, not five minutes after he confessed his love to me. Even until today, I don't know what to think of it, if I should believe him or not. Of course he might have lied to catch me by surprise, but then he could have allowed the rock to hit me instead of stopping it. Maybe it's just his way to love that a normal person doesn't understand without further ado. That stern, strange, brutal way... I'll never know.
Anyway, a part of me died with Wesker who had been accompanying me for more than a third of my life, and what he said to me made me is more thought-provoking for me than I would ever have admitted in front of him. It's true that the Earth will never be a safe place. It's a vicious circle: As soon as one threat has been disposed of, a new one raises from the darkest shadows of science, and that's actually nothing new to me, but still there was a time, a relatively long time, when I believed that Wesker was the only threat to this world, and that everything would be fine once he was gone.
Now he is gone, I've survived him – and yet I don't feel better. Sometimes I honestly wonder if there's any point in continuing my struggle, or if I had better accepted some certain offers when they occurred to me instead of looking at them from a moral perspective...
"You're all pale! Shall I get you some water?" Piers asks, worried.
I shake my head and rub my eyes as if they ached while I'm actually wiping off the tears. "Everything's alright, don't worry. I'm just... tired, that's all. Would you mind continuing this conversation tomorrow? It's quite late anyway."
I don't remember what exactly I told him. Which ones of the sentences I constructed in my head actually came out aloud, how much Piers knows about me now. But I'm too exhausted to feel ashamed. Although I don't work for the time being, my day has been long, especially the evening. An evening full of memories of so many things that shouldn't have happened. I only want some rest.
When I get up, Piers has already gotten out of the armchair and is standing right in front of me to help me. He doesn't look like he wants to leave yet, and it's obvious that he has an important question. "Is there anything you can tell me so far? Is there a chance for you and me?"
I give his dark green eyes a puzzled look, raising one eyebrow. Did he just try to hit on me?
"Well, I mean, if you think I'm suitable for the BSAA." he adds, and I immediately feel silly. Of course! He wants to know if he has a chance to join the BSAA, nothing else. It seems to be very important to him, an interest that makes me like him more. But I guess he has no idea what will be in store for him if I say yes. It would be a shame if someday he ended up like me, sad and desperate, deprived of all hope that what we do will eventually pay off. If his enthusiasm and vitality should ever go down the drain, I don't want to be the one who did that to him...
"Listen..." I have to choose my words wisely, ignore what I was just thinking, to tell him exactly what has to be said in a situation like this, and which is actually true: That a simple conversation with me in itself is not enough to make a decision like that. I'll have to explain this to Claire too later.
"I see you are committed, but I can't promise you anything spontaneously. You must go through a couple of tests, a psychological profile of you must be created. It will be done by people that are professionals in their fields, I'm just a captain. But I take our conversation as... let's say, your official application."
I don't miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes as I walk past him to accompany him to the door.
"Never mind," he says suddenly. "You don't need to put it into pretty words like this. I know a rejection when I get it."
I turn around to him. "It's not a rejection!" But actually, it is. I don't want him to start working for the BSAA, in fact for the strangest reason one can probably have: Because I like him. And he should make something of his life rather than following the same path that I have. I'd never have based a professional decision on thoughts like this before Africa. But in the end, it's not my decision anyway.
As soon he walks through the door, I don't think I'll get in touch with him again, and it will be the best for him. I still need to think about what to tell Claire, though.
"Is it because of your trauma?" Piers asks then. "Are you afraid that something like that could happen to me as well?"
The guy can read minds. And now I know I won't be able to just put him off that easily without being impolite. "Alright, follow me." I say as I lead him up the stairs to my room that no one except Claire has entered since I'm here. At first he stays by the door, looking around, while I switch on the lamp next to my bed and tidy up some of the mess that makes me look like a layabout. I don't care about hiding that from Piers, though. Working for the BSAA, you're usually busy keeping order in the world outside your own four walls rather than inside.
When the room looks somewhat presentable, I finally ask him to come in and have him sit on the bed because the desk chair is full of clothes now, the S.T.A.R.S. vest lying on top.
"I want to show you something. And if you're still keen on joining the BSAA after that, I'll make sure myself that you'll be assigned to one of the units." I say, looking for a specific folder in the little file cabinet above the desk. Since my order phobia does not stop at my cabinets, it's not that easy, but I find it eventually. It's a folder that actually belongs to the records room of the BSAA, but I've made myself a copy of it for more than one reason.
I sit down on the bed next to Piers, placing the folder between us. It shows mutilated bodies of BSAA agents, brave men and women who were killed on duty by zombies or worse creatures. I can see him batting an eye, but Piers maintains his composure.
"That's not all." I turn a few pages. Next we see the mutations diverse viruses have caused to various bodies. "This..." I point at an old photo of a G-virus monster, pixelated, but scary nevertheless. A big shapeless chunk consisting only of eyes and teeth. "My sister met one of those in Raccoon City when she went there to look for me. It may sound unbelievable, but that used to be a human like you and me. The harm viruses like these can cause to a human body is not only incredibly disgusting, but also unpredictable, and once you're infected, there's as good as no hope left. Most mutations happen very quickly."
I turn the page once again to show Piers the effects of Wesker's Uroboros virus, when he suddenly says: "You want to get rid of me at all costs, don't you?"
I look into his eyes seriously and say: "A doctor must inform a patient about the risks before the operation. That's what I'm doing with you right now, just in a different context. If these pictures make you feel sick, Piers, then I don't want to see you in a field operation. It helps neither you nor your team-mates if you throw up at the sight of a mutation."
"That's not what I mean. I'm just wondering if you also do that with everyone else who applies for this job, if it's me, or if you're just in a bad mood because of your current situation. What must happen to make you happy again?"
"That has nothing to do with it."
"Oh yes, I think it does." Piers insists. "So: What would make you happy right now? Or rather, what could I do to make you happy?"
"Are you trying to bribe me?" I ask warily.
"No, I'm only trying to find what Claire is always so enthusiastic about whenever she speaks of you. I admit that this is one of the reasons why I'm here tonight. I still want to join the BSAA, nothing has changed about that, but I'd hoped...« Piers pauses for a moment and looks away to blush for two seconds precisely, then he regains his composure and continues: "I'd hoped to be able to work with you."
Oh dear... Claire must speak highly of me when she tells others about me. I hold Piers's gaze for a few more seconds, then I snap the folder shut and put it aside.
"Stop mourning your past, Chris." he says – the first time he calls me by my name. I'm starting to wonder how much he actually knows about me and what Claire was thinking when she brought us together this evening. Am I starting to annoy her? I can't blame her. But does that mean she has to call for back-up to cheer me up? Because Piers seems to be trying exactly that.
Something else crosses my mind... where the hell is Claire? She cannot still be sitting in her room, reading that short story. She must have read through it three times by now. But before I can think about it, something white flies into my face. Despite all the training, my reflexes are not fast enough to repel it, and so it knocks me over on the mattress. I hear Piers laugh, and when he removes the pillow from my face, I even see it through a whirlwind of dancing white feathers.
At first I stay lying down, motionless and perplexed, but just one second later I have to spend all my energy on trying not to laugh hysterically. Chris Redfield, conqueror of monsters, viruses and their inventors, savior of many civilians and survivor of numerous outbreaks of zombie epidemics, is knocked out by a laughing soldier trainee with a pillow.
"You don't think you're getting away with this, do you?" I warn him, still trying hard to keep my facial muscles under control.
Piers puts a cunning smile on his face and shrugs. That's enough to reinforce my desire for revenge. I quickly pry the pillow out of his hands and bash him up with it, realizing that there's no more sense in trying to pull myself together. He huddles up on the bed, laughing into his elbow in which he hides his face while I can't stop beating him with the pillow. Later he starts putting up resistance, grabs the second pillow and fights back. My bed turns into a real battlefield, but the pleasant difference is that this time white feathers are flying through the air instead of lead, blood and intestines.
But I'm stronger. My pillow hits his forcefully and hurls it across the room. It bumps into the desk chair, knocking it over, the pile of clothes explodes like a bomb and scatters all over the floor.
Piers is lying diagonally across the bed now. He lost his scarf during the pillow fight; it must be somewhere under the blanket. I lie down next to him, still laughing and wiping the tears off my face. I feel like a little child again, something I haven't felt for a very long time, but I also don't remember the last time I had so much fun. I even feel warm now.
"You're giving up?" I ask, poking Piers's side with my elbow.
"Hm..." He seems to consider it. "Keep dreaming!"
Piers is fast, once again faster than my reflexes, I'll give him that. I can't even react as quickly as he takes away my pillow, sits up and beats me with my own weapon. When I try to jump off the bed to get the other pillow, he shoves me back and sits on my legs to prevent me from getting up. Another blow with the pillow, then he raises it one last time, but doesn't hit me anymore. He drops it instead, smiling at me.
It's no longer the same impish grin like last time, and I get goose bumps; a feeling I'm pretty familiar with by now. An endless second passes, we're just looking at each other...
And then he bends over, still smiling, and kisses me.
Yes, there you have it... I'm called Mrs Nivanfield for a reason.
