I promise that one scene, that that will be the only one of it's kind unless I get quite a few requests wanting more. I'm not too keen on my ability to dish that kind of scene out. I also don't want people turned off from this because there will be more ClaireXSteve, I'm just trying to forward the plot and this has been my initial thought since ANM, so please bear with me. I also gave 2,000 some words since I haven't updated in a while. I need to finish a few commissions, but I'm going to try and get the next chaper up soon which I'm planning on being more about Claire and Steve. Also when this entire fanfiction is done and I do get enough requests, I'll try my hand at just an extra chapter for the scene in this, but that's the only thing I'd be doing for it. And sorry I'm trying not to give it away cause I don't want to do a footer note. Review and favorite if you like it please, at least review. Though I'd like to know if I could do anything better, I'm also thinking I should rewrite previous chapters.
I'm also going to be babysitting a lot, so it's hard to write when I'm doing that, and then hanging out with people and school's coming up. Thank you if you've read up to this far. 3
Chris sat on his bed, shaking his head as he tried to clear his mind. He knew he should go and comfort Claire and apologize. It was so silly of her to even get upset over his stupid comment; but he knew she wasn't over their parent's deaths.
"Shit!" he muttered, lying back on the comforter, the bed still in a mess from the night before. Of course making the bed had never been one of his priorities-not like making his sister happy was to him.
"Maybe . . ." he hit his head with the palm of his hand; not liking the thought, but maybe . . . just maybe being "friends" with him would cheer her up. He got back up at the thought, going back out into the living. First he looked around to see if Claire had come back out through his doubts. Seeing she hadn't, he walked over to Steve who was just sitting on the couch and staring dully at the T.V.
"Hey, help me cheer Claire up," he sat down beside him, gritting his teeth.
"I thought you didn't want anything to do with me," Steve didn't even glance at him, yawning as the show went to commercial.
"I don't, but I think if we pretend to be friends . . ."
"Nope," Steve smirked, getting up and walking to Claire's room, knocking on the door. "It's me, will you let me in?" There was no immediate response, but the longer he stood there, tapping lightly on the wooden blockade, the door finally cracked open slightly. Light words were exchanged before Claire allowed Steve inside, shutting the door and locking it behind them.
This left Chris dumbfounded and a little angry, running a hand through his hair he got up again, putting his shoes on and getting his jacket. He made sure he had his keys and wallet before quickly fleeing the apartment.
"Steve, I just don't know . . ." Claire muttered, hugging her pillow, "I haven't seen Chris in a long time and then we blow up at each other . . . it's not usual."
"You must just be anxious," Steve smiled, scooting closer to her offering his hand to her. He glanced back at the door when she took it, "I wonder if your brother's okay? He seemed pretty upset after you came in here . . . want me to talk to him?" he looked back at her, staring into her eyes questioningly.
"Um . . . well," she blushed, looking away from him, gripping his hand tightly, "could you just get him to come into my room? I want to talk to him and let him know I'm okay. Okay?"
"Yeah, all right," he leaned over and kissed her cheek, forcing her to let go of his hand as he exited the room. Claire waited for Chris to walk through the door, flustered and her mind racing about what she was going to say. Mostly she was embarrassed about how she acted, 30 and acting like a kid. Too much was happening at once with Steve back after he died . . . since Chris didn't want to accept Steve.
She jumped when the door opened, it being Steve again. "Where's Chris?" she asked, trying to see behind him as he shut the door.
"Yeah . . . he doesn't seem to be here. He didn't leave a note anywhere from what I can see either."
"What? He wouldn't just do that!" she got up, shoving him out of the way and opening the door again, being stopped by Steve.
"He's not there, Claire! He could be anywhere!" he pulled her away by her arm, shutting the door again before holding her tightly. "He'll come back, where else does he have to go?" Steve tried to comfort her, rubbing her back.
"Let me go!" Claire struggled, "he's going to disappear again! He always disappeared! YOU DISAPPEARED," she scowled, pushing him away. "You went and died! And-and I know you're just going to disappear again! I just need to get back to work, I need to help get rid of the bioterrorism and every last trace of Umbrella and whatever is threatening us now. They took my brother away from me once!" she escaped his grasp, hitting him with the door. Claire ran as fast as she could through the living room, just barely grabbing her shoes along the way as she hit the entryway, running out into the hall.
Claire had made it a couple blocks away, breathing heavily as she glanced back for Steve, "gotta find Chris . . ." she started walking for a while, trying to think of where he might go. "Maybe he's at Jill's? Didn't they both come back?" she mumbled to herself.
She headed off to Jill's, not bothering to get a cab. It was getting dark out as soon as she reached the apartment complex; she hurried up to the room, quickly knocking on the door, and waiting, not so patiently.
The door opened after a few minutes, a surprised Jill standing there in a robe, "Claire? What's wrong?" she asked, glancing behind her.
"I'm looking for Chris, is he here?" she tried looking around Jill, obviously anxious.
"Sorry, I haven't seen him," Jill sighed, blocking her way, "I'm a little . . . busy right now. I'll call you if I see him, all right?"
"Jill, come on!" a man's voice was heard farther back.
"Hold on! I'm coming!" she flushed, rolling her eyes, "sorry, Claire." The door closed and the click of a lock could be heard on the other side.
Claire let out a long sigh, pushing her bangs back as she stared at the door for a moment. She forced herself to leave, not sure where to look for Chris, she didn't just want to wait at home for him, so she went out in search for him; racking her brain for clubs or bars, though she never saw him as the guy who poured a glass every time something went wrong.
Then an idea hit her. There was still Rebecca's house-maybe even Leon's-it was worth a look.
Chris was sitting on a bench and watching the trees. "This wasn't how I thought it'd be . . ." He was sitting in a park, some equipment set up for kid's to play on nearby; a couple swing sets, monkey bars, all that jazz. It was too dark for any kids to be around, and it didn't seem like anyone else had thought the park a good place to hang out at the moment.
Chris flinched when a tree branch snapped, standing and looking around the foliage. He turned his back for a moment, grunting when a cloth was forced over his mouth and he was being held onto tightly. He struggled for a moment before losing consciousness due to the chemical on the cloth.
Claire had searched everywhere by the end of the night, heading home in hopes Chris had come back. She hurried inside the apartment, "Chris?" she called worriedly, but there was no answer from anywhere, so she wandered in, looking in each room and finding nothing, not even Steve was present.
"Where did he go?" she murmured, having figured he'd still be there, "Steve, maybe it was too good to be true. . ." She walked over to her couch, finding the remote peeking out of the cushions. She moved it to the side table to the right, sitting down with her knees curled up to her chest. "They'll be back," she told herself, despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her that there was something more to this, as well as Steve's return; whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Chris opened his eyes, he could still smell the lingering chloroform from the cloth, feel the hands that held him down as he fainted. He sighed, sitting up on the bed as he looked at the dark room. Computer lights were the only thing that caught his eyes until he noticed how his left ankle was cuffed to what seemed to be a sturdy metal bar.
"So, you're awake?" a man's voice came from behind the leather chair that sat in front of the many luminescent screens that showed video, data, and pictures. A few of the screens caught Chris' eyes; one being a video of him and Claire, and another couple being him on missions. "Do you know why you're here, Christopher?" he questioned, a small hint of a smirk tainting his usual monotone of a voice.
"Not exactly, but I do know that you're a damned stalker," he hissed, messing with the handcuff to see if he could figure a way out. Damn it, I'd know that voice anywhere . . . .
"Stalker, hmm; I know you detest me, but that just wounds me," his smooth voice cooed as he swiveled to face him. "But it does look like my monkey stirred up a bit of trouble, considering the little argument you had with your dear sister. Really, family should stick together, though as hard headed as you are-" he chuckled, getting up and walking over to Chris, his face was pale and hard to see, his whole body more of a silhouette against the bright screens that flickered different colors. One thing about him was very obvious sunglasses and blonde, slicked back hair.
"Stay back!" Chris yelled, almost seeming like he was trying to look bigger with his body language.
"Now why would I do that?" he grabbed Chris' large jaw bone roughly, pushing him back onto the bed, "toys don't talk back to their masters," a slight smirk was on his face as he seemingly stared into Chris' eyes. Chris felt angry and overwhelmed, it was one thing when Wesker was choking him in the midst of battle, but now to be staring him in the face in Wesker's very own territory; captured by his lifelong enemy.
A door opened a few feet from them, and Chris did his best to look over, his head still being held in place. He immediately recognized him when the man there came closer, "Steve…" he squirmed.
"Wesker, shouldn't you be attending to other stuff by now? We should put him in that room you prepared now that he's awake," Steve sounded a little scared, not looking at either of them.
Wesker didn't seem to spare a glance at Steve, instead he tightened his grip on Chris, seeming to be calculating things as he slowly got on the bed and hovered above him.
Chris shut his eyes at the pain and how utterly discomforting the situation was, just what was he trying to do? He then attempted to knee him in the groin with his free leg, but it was caught by Wesker and thrust back down. "Be a good boy," he let go of his face, straddling and capturing both of his hands, a demented look now in place.
"Get off a me you bastard!" Chris continued to struggle, not getting anywhere. Chris had never encountered this before, normally someone would have saved him by then or something would have distracted Wesker; but this time it seemed as if nothing of the sort would happen, as for even Steve slunk out of the room, not willing to stand up to the man.
"You still don't know your place, do you?" Wesker grinned devilishly, "of course the only reason I've kept you alive is so I can teach you your place." He brought out a knife out of his pocket and easily flipped it open; he let it waver over Chris' face before sliding it down Chris' shirt.
Chris stopped struggling, watching the sharp knife cut through the fabric. He bit his chapped lips in a flight of anxious worry, he didn't stop even when he tasted blood, the taste distinct on his tongue; and apparently the color was as well, for Wesker had stopped cutting, having just reached his naval.
"Oh, what could this be?" he stretched himself out further, admiring Chris' face with fiendish delight, "blood," he licked some of the red stain off of his chin, leaving Chris cringing in disgust as he turned his head away, forcing himself to stop biting himself and nurse it instead.
Damn it, Chris thought, repulsed by the position he was forced into, the entire situation was in Wesker's favor.
"Have you had enough already? I haven't even gotten to the good part," Wesker whispered smoothly in his ear, nipping at his lobe.
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, Chris started to struggle again, hitting his head against Wesker's and knocking the man's sunglasses askew.
The man frowned down at him; his cat like eyes glowing in the dark, "I was going easy on you too," Wesker strengthened his grip on Chris' wrists, grinning again when he saw him cringe. He used his other hand to unzip Chris' pants, the shifting in weight letting Chris know where the knife had gone; the cold steel was against an exposed part of his side, his shirt having come un-tucked at some point.
It had been a few hours before Chris was finally left alone, having been shoved into a bright, all white room; the door leading into the hall was locked, so he had no way out. He only had his pants then, his shirt torn to shreds earlier with no promise of replacement.
He only had a bed and a bathroom inside, which he despised very much as he sat on the bed and tried to burn a hole through the door with a hateful glare.
I can't believe he did that to me, he flushed with anger and embarrassment, clutching the sheets till his hands went numb.
Chris didn't know how long he had been in his thoughts since there was no clock or watch anywhere in the room; he also hadn't noticed a white piece of paper having been shoved under his door. He laid his head on the pillow to sleep off his scarring experience, vowing to get back at Wesker for that.