Author's Note: Are you guys reading Partners in Action over at TheDonutMistress' page? Because you need to be.
chapter nine
trap
noun
/trăp/
a move which may tempt the opponent to play a losing move
Cusco, Peru
16 September
Alejandro Velasco Astete International Airport; baggage claim
11:22 AM
Leon doesn't like their guide.
Their flight contains little conversation. Leon's reminder that any stunt she pulls with Ashley will come back on him is drowned out by how pleased with herself Claire is, and sleep follows right after. He can zonk out anywhere after so much travel, but she took a few Benadryl to help her along. The twenty-two hour flight is passed in shifts. Each of them would awake to find a different time passing option on the other's lap: Claire found Leon's phone loosely in his hand, before drifting off with a book cracked open across her chest; he pocketed his cell in favor of going over the information Hunnigan left him on the PDA before his eyes droop closed, and Claire trades her book for snacks.
It's probably the best way it could have gone, he muses. There are absolutely worse ways it could have gone—traveling like that can take all sorts of tolls—and he's glad that their wait for the baggage carousel to start is a bored one, versus cranky. At least, Claire's not cranky. Leon on the other hand, well...
This Carlos guy can take a long walk off a short pier.
From his... swagger to his Photoshopped smile, Leon has a hard time believing their BSAA contact has seen any kind of combat. Not one to judges books and covers (Leon's been accused of looking a bit too pretty for the field, himself), he can't help but feel that Carlos may be the master of compartmentalizing if he's seen anything like what might still be lurking around Mixcóatl.
Claire laughs. Again. Let's not forget that dazzling bit, Leon gripes to himself, checking the arrival times for the bags for the umpteenth time. She likes Carlos just fine.
"It's true," their native friend insists. "I'm fluent in Brazilian Portugese, Castilian, y español. Translator, soldier," he drops his voice into something Leon can only consider especially suave and adds, "Your future husband."
"Oh man," she laughs again. It's not that cackle she lets out when something's so funny she can't help herself, but Leon can tell by the shine in her eyes she's truly amused. "Long list of women that works on?"
"The list could end, if it works on you."
Leon tries not to huff too loudly, staring at the metal baggage carousel. The still damn not moving carousel. What's he in a hurry for, anyway? As soon as they get their things, they can then be trapped in a car with Carlos Oilvera. Probably not even his real name, he sniffs, checking his phone like he doesn't care at all about what's happening to his left. He doesn't care, because why should he?
He's about to remind them this isn't a date, when the bong of the heavy announcement bell sounds, accompanied by the blinking blue light. "Finally!" Leon exclaims, stepping forward to the edge, forgetting his own reminder that being eager to leave is a waste.
The gray shutter at the end of the belt squeaks and shakes its way up but the belt doesn't begin to move yet. Claire comes up to his side, snapping a pink bubble of gum between her teeth. "Want some?" she asks, pointing at a new bubble.
"I've got gum, thanks," he smiles at her. "Didn't know you did."
"Got it from Carlos."
Of course she did. He nods, rubbing his lips together to keep from pursing them. The black rubbery conveyor belt begins to slide as the machinery kicks up into a steady hum. The first bag to come out is neither her black duffle with a purple ribbon nor his blue travel case. Now the real waiting begins.
After a few moments of Claire smacking and snapping her gum, she advises him Carlos went to get the car. Leon only gives a single nod, a bit curt too be polite, but he doesn't notice.
She does. "What's up with you?" she asks. It's not nearly as acquisitory as it could have been, but Claire has a certain tone when she speaks. She could mean it casually or be inquiring on his mood. He takes a moment before answering.
"Nothing," Leon tells her with a shrug, still feeling weird about his complaints over Carlos. "Just eager to get started."
Claire nods thoughtfully, chewing on that for a moment. "That's it?"
"Yeah," he answers stupidly, not expecting such a timid prod.
"Yeah, right," she smirks, but gives nothing else as the purple bow announcing her bag passes in front of them and she scoops it up.
Pando Province, Bolivia
17 September
rain forest; unnamed road
08:54 AM
Claire's purple-tied bag sits alone in the boot of the jeep.
Leon's never arrived.
"So sorry, my man," Carlos tells him again, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. "I did not know direct flights did that."
"Seriously," Claire agrees, twisting in her seat to look at Leon. "It's not like there was a shuffle for it to get lost in."
His response is to shrug at both of them, uninterested in discussing it further. Claire had expressed condolences, but didn't feel bad enough to not call 'shotgun', and Leon tries to get comfortable in the conservative back seat without looking like he's sulking.
"Everything important was on me," is all he offers, grimacing. He can feel the road worsen, the rear suspension having been worn away sometime ago. Still though, as much of a pain in the butt as it is to have to buy clothes, his wallet, his passport, government badge and papers, gun (checked in with the air marshal), and the PDA with the vital intell Hunnigan gave them are all accounted for, between his jacket and his jeans.
It's a long drive from the airport in Peru, just over half a day, and they'd stayed the night at a rustic but clean hotel before the boarder. No use arriving in Mixcóatl in the middle of the night—not if things are still going bump in it.
Leon did not miss the commute. 'Choppers could only fly him and Krauser so far in before there was no where to land, and he can see no one's made any effort to make for an easier journey. Being the most sparsely populated, it's also the least transversed, and boy howdy does it show; thick vegetation leaves only the vaguest hint of a road, and Leon's lower back can confirm no one in the government office has been inspired to pick out any of the rocks from the dirt.
I'm going to be feeling this for days, he thinks with a grimace, the tires hitting another batch of well placed rocks to jostle him around the back seat. It's all worth it for Sherry, though. If there's even a hint that they're investigating this correctly, Leon would suffer any number of bumpy rides. They've been on bumpier ones, right?
Carlos and Claire talk about the region; she's interested in learning the area, and their chatty guide is ever eager to hear himself talk. Leon contributes sparsely, wrapped up in slightly unrelated thoughts. Like why this town is open to the public still. In the follow up debriefings, Leon and Krauser had been assured the area would be on government lock-down until there was one-hundred percent certainty the BOWs had been eradicated—even still past that, Mixcóatl would be fenced off and patrolled to block access to the laboratories that dam had been converted into by Javier Hidalgo and his mysterious backer. Probably a former Umbrella employee. According to Carlos though, that information was extremely exaggerated.
BOWs were hunted with a prejudice, that much of the promise was kept. The local government budget couldn't allow for much else to be completed, though, and the comprise was to heavily chain up the dam entrances. Leon's not a bureaucrat, paper pushing is far from his style, so the most he gets on status updates after he's done his job is a memo. It's nothing he personally oversees—especially back then.
The reality of the situation leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and there's a sudden concern for Maneula. He'd been told she made a full recovery. Coming back here now, seeing how untrue what he'd been told is... Believing in her happily ever after seems incredibly foolish. He'll ask Hunnigan to put in a few calls when he gets back. Just to be sure.
As the thick scenery begins to clear away and the dirt turns to mud, Leon knows they're getting closer to the town.
"...and with the river, Mixcóatl was by and large a fishing town." Carlos' voice finally breaks through the dark cloud of Leon's thoughts. He decides to shut down all those questions, he can think about any of that when they're through here. This is about Sherry.
Claire's nearly learning out her window, hands wrapped over the top of the door panel, trying to see between the leaves for the village. "Are we going to be in the water?" she asks, not even trying to hide her lack of enthusiasm for the idea. Leon doesn't blame her; even without monster viruses, unchecked water systems can be teaming with all kind of bacteria.
Carlos laughs. "Not at all, señorita. Plenty of ways to get around on land. Several bridges, too," he assures.
"Actually," Leon interjects, and the two are startled by his sudden contribution. "A lot of the bridges got pretty damaged, from what I could see the last time I was here." Which is a half-truth; yes, a lot of the bridges and docks had been unusable, but also he damaged several himself. Nearly every one he came across.
Carlos' incredible frown is noticeable in the rear view mirror, and it makes Leon's smirk tighter. "Jeez," Claire says amiably. "I thought you were asleep back there. Did you really have to blow up everything?"
His shrug is uncommitted. "There were spiders."
"Oh my God, Leon." She reaches out and taps Carlos' leg with the back of her hand. "Want to hear a great story about him and spiders?"
Leon scowls at her. "They were the size of cattle, Claire."
"You screamed like a kindergartner."
"I wouldn't know what to compare your shrieking to when you saw some bugs."
"Excuse you; a hundred cockroaches the size of diner plates are not 'some bugs'."
Carlos' bark of laughter cuts between them before Leon can reminder Claire he heard her down a hall and through a door (it woke him from his latest stint of unconsciousness after being shot; she'd probably just counter that he hallucinated it from blood loss), but she remains twisted around in her seat to glare at him good naturedly.
"You two go back a ways, eh?" Carlos asks, shifting into a lower gear to help with the traction as the mud gets thicker.
"Yeah," Leon says, meeting her warm glare with a smug look.
"We shared our first rodeo," she adds. Their staring contest comes to an end when she sticks her tongue out and rights herself in her seat. Leon huffs a laugh. To Carlos, "In Raccoon City."
There's an odd silence from the driver's side, before Carlos mutters a contemplative, "No kidding." He lets out a slightly forced laugh, though it's more disbelieving than cutting. "Well, that's a hell of a thing to have in common," he says, and Leon's isn't sure he's taking about himself and Claire.
"That was my first rodeo, too."
Tyrka, Russia
22 September
Khutors; town inn
11:38 PM
Chris is starting to think he's getting too old for this.
The banging on their door is unrelenting and desperate; someone needs to get inside. Water sloshes heavily around, splashing onto the tiles as he struggles to stand. He places his big hands on either side of the tub, having to put some actually effort into lifting his heavy body out of the water in a hurry. It might have been tough any day, but with his clothes soaked through it's even more of a trick.
Rebecca doesn't wait for him—Good girl—and by the time he's dripping on the floor, she's pulled her gun from her holster and moving for the door. His gear is at the foot of the tub, behind the door, and instead of struggling with it on the floor, Chris elects to scoop up his belt and grab his gun as he moves.
"—I think it's Daniil," she tells him, hand on the door but waiting for him before she opens it.
"Yeah," is all Chris says, wiping his hand on his comforter to combat a slick grip. He figures it's their guide; he can him repeating, "Flash, flash, flash!" loudly from the other side. They share a nod and Chris aims as Rebecca prepares to open the door.
She pulls it open and steps back in a single motion, Daniil takes a panicked leap into the room. "Slow down, buddy," Chris commands, though he tries to keep his tone light. The yellow light of the room makes the splatter across his chest and neck look brown, but Chris knows blood when he sees it.
Immediately, he begins to ramble in Russian, the words bursting from his mouth like they can't be said fast enough. He's so freaked out he either doesn't notice Chris' gun or doesn't care, but he's not manic as far as Chris can tell. That can come with the fever after someone's been bit. The large, puffy vest he'd been wearing earlier is gone, and his grey hoodie was hit by several sprays of blood.
Rebecca keeps her handgun trained on the floor and places a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down," she says, catching his eyes and maintaining contact. "Calm down; what's happened?"
Daniil nods several times, taking gulping breathes trying to steady himself. He's spooked, but not hurt. Chris lowers his weapon, ignoring the way water is puddling beneath him and keeping his socks wet.
"Mina," is all he manages at first. The girl with the cough. Chris groans internally. Great. "I was to think I would go to her, checked for you, so you know, how bad her sick is. But, when I am arrived, Mina's family to tell me she is to go to Bad House."
Hell, she turned. Chris has a solid guess as to where this is going to, and turns towards the bathroom to get a towel. Daniil doesn't seem to mind, and keeps talking to Rebecca.
"I say I have been to Bad House, best is if seeing her is by me. She was, she was-" Chris runs the complementary towel over his face before sliding it to his neck. "She attacked me," Daniil goes on from the main room. "You said the head, so I grab the radio and I..." What he did was obvious, and Rebecca doesn't push him to say it. Chris puts a hand against the wall for balance as he lifts a leg to peel off his wet socks.
"You are best to know," he concludes, and Chris makes purposeful steps to his bag. Unzipping it, he digs around for a fresh pair of socks (because running around with wet feet is a nightmare in itself), and Rebecca steps around him to get to her bed where her holster and belt are hanging. There are several moments filled with the sound of buttons and clasps and vinyl being pulled over wet clothes, but they're quickly ready to go.
Rebecca comes to stand between Chris and the door, and it takes him a moment to realize she's blocking his path. "We need to go to Mina's," she tells Daniil. "Can you do that?"
He swallows thickly, clearly unhappy about the idea, but nods. "Da."
"Good." She puts on a small smile. "Go wait downstairs."
He does so without a look back, and Chris thinks the kid may be tougher than he realizes. Once his footsteps sound like they've reached the stairs, he looks down at her red head. "What?"
She takes a long breath, staring up at him with a strong eye. She's sizing him up, and he impatiently squints at her in response. "Are you good?" Rebecca asks, one hand resting on her gun with the other on her hip. It's not a confrontational stance, just comfortable.
His immediate reaction is snap that he's fine, but this isn't one his subordinates; it's Becky—and even if it were someone serving underneath him that shouldn't be his attitude about it. Is he good? He certainly doesn't feel good. Life's been bad enough lately, and Valram hit him like a bag of bricks. A bag he's still under, not to mention there weren't supposed to be any damn monsters to begin with—
—But you can do your job, can't you? Unpleasant surprises are so common in this business it's almost unfair to keep labeling them 'surprises'. Chris is in bad shape, but this place is far worse. You won't have to get it together if you keep it together, he tells himself. Your partner needs you; shape up.
"The best," he says with a tight smile, but at least it reaches his eyes.
Chris can't tell what she's thinking (she's too smart for him most days), but if Rebecca doesn't believe in him—doesn't trust him—she doesn't say so. Instead, she nods, though there's a hesitance that's unmistakable. He'll just have to make sure he doesn't do anything to confirm her doubts. Well.
Anymore than he has.
"Let's go," he says, urging them on with a slightly strained smile.
"After you."
Does she trust him to lead the way?
Or does she not trust him at her back?
Author's Note: Thus begins the steady stream of B-squad characters that we'll be meeting up with for the next little while. Since I've been able to maintain a solid distance between posted chapters and written ones, I was thinking of adding a preview for next chapter at the end? Or maybe mentions of who'll be there, if that wouldn't be ruining it for some people. Or would you rather I increase the update schedule to twice a week? Let me know! If I don't hear anything back on it, I'll assume things are how you like it and won't fix what isn't broke. Be good to each other! We update Tuesdays.