Past, Present, and Future
The following weekend we went on a trip to a lovely little village in Michigan where nobody knew us. It was a place so outlying that the people there believed bioterror was only a legend the city kids had made up to keep themselves entertained, and they obviously didn't know about the B.S.A.A. or Terra Save. We pretended to be a young couple who had gotten married just recently and who was on a trip across the country. Walking through the streets holding each other's hand was a wonderful experience. We went out for lunch and dinner, we went swimming at the lake and we talked to the locals without hiding that we were the happiest couple on Earth.
It was such an amazing trip that we decided to do it again. We did it as often as we could, actually, so the initial plan was to spend Christmas away, too, in a lost place in the mountainside. But, oh well, you know how those things work. Chris was going to be sent on a quick mission on the twenty-sixth, so there was no time for a long vacation. Spending one night in a place closer nearby would have been risky and unnecessarily stressful, and Chris had always been against taking me to—how did he call it again? Oh yes!—cheap motels out of town.
I sometimes think he did that to remark the difference between himself and Wesker, you know? Funny thing, I told him a lot of things while we were a couple. He knew all my darkest thoughts, my hopes and fears, and most of the details about my relationship with Wesker, but I never got to tell him that his Captain actually saved my ass the night he took me to that motel out of Raccoon City.
I guess it's unimportant now.
Where was I? Oh, yes. We decided to stay home and simply enjoy the holidays together in private. It was supposed to be the first of many Christmases.
Ever since their childhood, the Redfield kids trimmed the Christmas tree together. It was one of those family traditions Claire had missed the most the times they hadn't spent the holidays together, one of those things that would eternally unite them. According to Chris, it had been three-year-old Claire's idea that her older brother would help her place the ornaments on the branches while the parents ran the preparations for the Christmas Eve dinner. The little angels with the golden trumpets had always been Claire's favorite, so it was natural that, throughout the years, they had somehow multiplied within the boxes where they kept the Christmas stuff.
"I don't care if it's broken. It's my favorite angel!" She laughed and changed the position of the little figure that was playing the trumpet one-armedly. "And I don't want to hide it in the back corner."
Chris' right hand rose into a comically defensive gesture.
"Okay, okay. You win," he exclaimed with a laugh and put the empty plastic tray away. "After all, saving the broken is what you always do, isn't it?"
Claire tried to roll her eyes at the vague comparison, but the holidays and Chris' presence were keeping her mood so high that she could barely manage a comment that wasn't underlined by a bright smile. When Chris wrapped his arms around her, she gladly snuggled his chest as they both stood next to the tree, contemplating their shiny work in awe.
"It looks better than ever," the older brother pointed out as he pressed his cheek against her temple. "Have you been practicing in secret?"
The sarcastic sigh couldn't be stopped from escaping, and Claire hesitated to remind him of the previous two years, when she hadn't heard from him over the holidays and when the ornaments had become the only way to kill time and loneliness. It wasn't necessary, though, as the brief moment she failed to respond gave all the answers he required, causing him to fall into a faint state of embarrassment.
"Fuck. I'm sorry, Claire," he whispered softly as his hands climbed up her frame until warmly resting on the crotch of her neck. "I'll make up to you for all those Christmases you had to spend alone, I promise."
Yes, he was. She knew he was going to redeem all those nights of solitude, when the tree had been her only companion, those nights the little angel with the broken arm had grown on her just because it was as crippled as her lonely heart. He was going to restore her Christmas spirit, the faith in the magic of the holidays and the joy over snow and fairy lights and eggnog. If there was one thing that defined her brother, it was his patient perseverance, his consuming determination and his never dying will to make things right.
And Claire was damn sure he would keep his promise.
The doorbell rang, splitting both the silence and the moment of intimacy they were sharing as they were drowning in each other's looks and caresses. Claire sighed annoyedly and smirked at Chris before heading to the door, followed by one of his Don't bite them warnings. He wasn't entirely wrong. Whoever dared disturb Claire Redfield's holidays—Christmas preparations included—better had a damn good excuse to do so, or they ran the risk of getting stabbed if not with a knife, at least with one of her murder looks. After spying through the peephole, she opened to the young woman in long, dark curls.
"Oh, hi, Merry Christmas," she greeted in the sweetest voice she could force out, testing once more her skills of passive-aggressiveness. "How can I help you?"
The young woman—a tiny brunette of fragile frame and white, shiny skin, which somehow reminded Claire of a young Alanis Morissette but with way too defined curls— gave her a smile and nodded eagerly.
"Hello. I'm Carol, your new neighbor from-" A bony thumb pointed rightwards.
"Down the hallway, yes," Claire finished her sentence, well aware that the slim figure in front of her had recently moved into their building. "Nice to meet you, Carol. I'm Claire. Welcome."
Carol nodded again, lifting an envelope addressed to C Redfield. "Claire… I see. I'm sorry to bother, but I got this by accident, and I think it's for your… or for yourself, I-" She trailed off.
Claire's eyes widened as she saw what the girl was handing her, and she somehow wasn't annoyed anymore.
"Yes, that's ours," she exclaimed a little too merrily and reached for the issue of Guns & Ammo they had been waiting for. "Chris, look what just arrived."
The girl stared wordlessly at the pair when Chris appeared in the doorway, not quite getting rid of the obvious awkwardness the situation must have made her feel, as her expression suggested. It was easy to recognize her as one of the pacifistic beings who believed that the right to bear firearms should be exclusive to authorities, and Claire kind of admired that she'd gathered the courage to visit the dangerous neighbors. She'd surely get the chance to drop that weapons of different kinds were an important part of Chris' job, and that the discussions about guns he and Barry had from time to time, and which often reached a deeper philosophical level, didn't mean that he was a crazy gun enthusiast.
The close to fifteen handguns they were storing at their apartment weren't any proof either.
"Chris, this is Carol," the redhead introduced the new neighbor with an inviting gesture and the young woman smiled nervously. "She's moved into Mrs. Henderson's old apartment."
One look of the young woman told Claire that Carol was an expert in playing nice, as she shifted her expression from carefully suspicious to a mask of feigned happiness, not wanting to cause any uncalled for trouble on the fifth floor. Or maybe she was just baffled by Chris' good looks. Claire turned to him and smirked, pursing her lips into a playful demeanor. He was really an eye-catcher with that tight shirt on.
"Carol Redgard," the neighbor greeted with a friendly shrug of a shoulder. "This must have been some sort of confusion."
Some sort of confusion, yes, probably because of the similarity of the names, even though the siblings had been delivered all previous issues correctly so far.
"Thank you very much, Carol," Claire said and, after raising one finger to tell the woman to wait a second, she quickly sprinted into the kitchen to grab some cookies and arrange them on a small plate before returning to the door. "Here, take these. For the inconvenience."
Carol's eyes flashed up at the sight of the selection of Christmas pastry, which —Claire was aware— looked just as delicious as they actually tasted.
"Wow, that's very nice, Claire, thank you so much," she accepted the plate with a thankful nod, her fingers curling tightly around the porcelain as though she had never been given a more precious gift. "My son's gonna love this."
The interruption had been brief, which Claire felt excessively thankful for. Once the door was closed, the siblings waited in silence for the footsteps to fade out in the hallway before speaking. Chris was the first one.
"Imagine she steals the mail of the whole floor to bring it back later and see if they offer her anything in return?" he commented cheekily in a whisper, his narrowed eyes flickering suspiciously to the sound of his words, and it made Claire quirk an eyebrow. Chris had a very vivid imagination sometimes. "With all the rewards she gathers she can arrange a pretty decent Christmas dinner."
Propped against the wall next to the door, the two eyed each other, Chris wearing the widest of grins, Claire a ridiculing frown.
"What sort of twisted mind would come up with that?" she hissed as her accusing finger poked his chest, knowing that this kind of contact was a mere tickle to her big brother. More precisely, it was an actual tickle to him, and when she mercilessly repeated the stabbing gesture all over his chest and close to his armpits, Chris began to laugh, shake, and curl, almost surrendering to the attack.
Before Claire could reduce him entirely, though, Chris grabbed hold of the offensive hand and pulled her entire figure into his embrace, causing her to bump against his chest and her arms to just sluggishly sling around his torso. The magazine dropped to the ground and neither of them was currently willing to pay more attention to it. Chris was strong, quick and good in close combat and before Claire could figure where she was, she was already caught between the cold wall and her brother's burning body.
"A very twisted mind," he mumbled in that lustful voice that always turned her on, as his lips hovered over hers, sucking up every mewl of arousal that dared break away.
Claire snickered, but there was no point in playing cool. Chris didn't need to tickle her to take absolute control over her, as the mere threat of his touch was more than enough to make her grant him any victory. He played, he teased, but he didn't fully close the distance between them, and no matter how often Claire urged forth, he always pulled back, leaving her desirous for his flavor.
Fingers entwined, he guided her arms upwards to pin them against the wall above her head, and Claire arched her back to the sound of her own gasps of arousal. Chris used the moment of surprise to bring his mouth past hers and right to her neck, where he began to suckle on the flesh as though he tried to drink from her. Holding her wrists against the wall with one single hand, he let the other descend her curves and caress her waist. What was it about his touch that rid her of her senses and willpower so easily? Claire licked her lips and allowed herself only shallow breathing so the sound of it wouldn't drown the delicious smacking Chris' mouth made when he kissed her skin. A bit of moist tongue darted out and hit her before he trailed it up her neck and to her jawline.
"You know what I want to do?" His breath danced over her ear shell when he whispered to her and Claire exhaled slowly, hoping that the answer was her; however, she found his voice shifting from the seductive, gruff tone of dirty talking to a fountain of merriness when he exclaimed, "I want to have Christmas with you."
Her eyes flickered open as disillusion sank in. She could barely roll her tongue over her upper row of teeth before Chris pulled her by the arm across the apartment.
"You fucking cunt tease!" Claire hissed when they stopped next to the Christmas tree, having unwillingly fathomed that they weren't going to do it before dinner. Chris yelped when her fist hit his ribcage in an ungentle punch full of frustrated carnality.
"Listen, I know it's a little early, but I can't wait any longer," he said in a voice so low that it put a frown to her forehead as her eyes jumped rapidly across his features. What was he going to tell her? "How about I give you your Christmas gift now instead of tomorrow?"
Claire pulled back, her icy stare boring into his and demanding an explanation, not for the exaggeratedly premature time choice, but for a pact they had made, and which Chris had bluntly ignored.
"A gift? We said we wouldn't-"
Words and breath were lost when Chris pressed his lips onto hers.
"Don't distract me," she cried against his mouth. "We said we wouldn't."
"It's just a tiny thing," Chris replied when he broke the kiss and thumbed over her cheekbones. "Sit down. I'll be right back."
Claire watched him disappear into the bedroom and grabbed a pillow from the couch nearby, sinking to her knees and taking a seat on the floor next to the Christmas tree. She watched the little fairy lights shine in the growing dark of the late afternoon, and a strange feeling of home invaded her, even though she was more than displeased about Chris getting her a gift. More than the broken agreement about gifts, what truly upset her was the fact that Chris was the one who had broken it, and not herself. However, if he had gotten something for her, it had to be something really special and unique, something one couldn't just buy in a store. Not that she expected a handcrafted gift from him, as the only thing Chris' clumsy fingers could handle with outstanding skill were firearms, but she didn't expect it to be a wrapped package.
She was confused when he brought, indeed, a wrapped gift.
Chris sat down by her side and handed her the gift with the brightest of smiles on his face.
"Merry Christmas, love."
She eyed the package wrapped in beautiful cyan blue and white paper. It was a book-sized gift with a tiny golden ribbon on one of the upper corners that reflected the shimmer of the fairy lights that dressed the Christmas tree. Claire hesitated, shy like she didn't deserve to be given anything; however, she didn't want to argue with Chris, so she reached for the gift and felt his stare on him as her fingers worked the wrapper undone. The picture of a bright past came to show.
"Oh my god, Chris," she winced at the sight of the photograph of them together, taken apparently on her prom night. "How…?"
Her fingers touched the glass with utter delicacy, as though a single fingerprint of hers would corrupt and break the beautiful memory that night was, the night when she and Chris had appeared in public like a couple. And they truly looked like a couple. The way he had his arms slung around her waist in that precious green dress, and the deep glances they exchanged made them look like the cast of a 90s teenage TV show. It was the first time she saw that picture, and she automatically began to wonder where he had gotten it from. Chris snickered.
"They took that picture when we arrived and handed me a copy when we left," he clarified with the loveliest of smiles on his face before he shrugged. "I assume you were too nervous-" His eyebrows rose shortly into a mocking gesture. "And later too drunk to actually realize what was happening. Everything went so fast after that. Jill left; you went to college. And you know how life has been since then. I should have given this to you long ago, so maybe it would have helped you stand Mom's look all these years."
They had talked so often about the memory of their parents and how it made them feel. The conclusion was always the same: it hurt to know that they wouldn't approve of their relationship, but they had no power to oppose. They were gone, and Chris and Claire were now the only ones responsible for their fate and acts. The family portrait from which Anne-Claire and James seemed to scream at them all the time stood quietly in a hidden corner on the shelf in the living room, always in reach when they needed their advice, but not close enough to judge them. Now, with the picture of them together, it would get company. Claire felt a sudden sting of cold on her cheeks. A couple of eager fingertips quickly confirmed the wetness that ran from her eyes.
"It's perfect, Chris," she whimpered quietly. "Thank you so much."
"Oh, no!" the brunette howled and cupped her jaw in his hands as he approached her face with his. "Please, no. Don't cry, Claire."
But she couldn't stop the tears from running. She hadn't expected to deserve something as wonderful as the memory of the night that had made her once so incredibly happy, given to her by the person she most loved in the world. It had been the happiest and most wonderful night of her life —until then, that was—, but now that she saw the faces, how they had been looking at each other, she realized that Chris had been happy, too.
"There's something I wanted to tell you for a long time, Claire," Chris mumbled as he thumbed over her cheeks. "I once said something and… It may have sounded like that, but I never regretted taking you to your prom."
Claire released another sob, knowing exactly what he was speaking about. The night he had discovered her affair with Wesker, when she had confessed her love for him and when they had succumbed to the urges of flesh for the first time —as a consequence of her insistence and his fragility—, he had spoken of her prom night as though it had been the worst mistake of his life, as though it had been his fault alone that she had developed the forbidden feelings for her own blood. She whimpered. She hadn't forgotten how much those words had hurt her back then, and how that pain had just intensified the guilt and sorrow in her during the time they hadn't spoken. Now, fortunately, it all seemed undone.
"You made me so happy that night." The tears kept flowing, wetting her cheeks and Chris' fingers with the materialized essence of her emotions. "And you keep making me happy every day."
"You always made me happy, Claire," Chris replied and took up the picture frame again. "I was so proud to take you to your prom. And my reaction the night you told me about your feelings for me, it doesn't change anything of that, okay? I was just scared and confused. I'm sorry."
Despite fighting hard against the tears, Claire began to cry more intensely and propelled herself into his embrace, fingers hooking hard into his sweatshirt. "Thank you so much. I love you."
Gentle fingers brushed the serpentines of red that hung loose from her ponytail as their faces touched. Hungry for his kiss, Claire slowly turned her face to his until their lips united.
"Chris," she moaned in a darker tone when the first soft caress had concluded, and the way her hands searched his chest for a place to settle, rip and scratch, caused the man to laugh.
She swung back, shifting all her weight to her upper body and pulling Chris after her to the floor. A lustful groan taught her that he was following her willingly, proof enough to dissuade even the strictest of disbelievers from their dubiety, and arms, fingers and tongues searched for more ways to melt together as their legs untangled until they lay next to each other, under the sheltering glow of the hundred little lights.
Maybe she had been wrong, and they would do it before dinner.
Are you fucking kidding me? I am telling you how I got the most precious gift ever from him and all you care about is that he has ticklish armpits? Fine. Now you know. Congratulations! It's not like this was a big secret anyway. Enemies usually don't tickle you to death.
But don't tell anyone, just in case.
You sure want to know more about Africa, don't you? Yes, it's obvious. Africa is one big issue for all of us. Well, Neil and I didn't find much more than the strange rituals our spies had already observed. We flew into the zone a couple of times more during the last quarter of 2008, before shit hit the fan. Chris didn't like it, but he never made any offensive comment again. It almost seemed like Neil had been wrong, and that there was no viral infection behind the cult that seemed to mess with the minds of the people in the Kijuju Autonomous Zone, so we were about to abandon the research and leave everything to the B.S.A.A. spies and informants.
2009 was always meant to be the twist in our fate.
"I can't feel my feet."
Not that anyone had expected a New Yorker winter's night to be anything but frosty, but the wind that blew so shamelessly around the buildings on 2008's New Year's Eve was more than just that. It wrapped itself around your whole being and froze its way down into your inner core until you believed that sending someone to hell couldn't be considered offensive anymore as hell was usually a warmer place. Chris and Claire had moved to the roof of their building around half past eleven to wave 2008 goodbye properly and see at least a piece of the artwork the fireworks would paint onto the nocturnal canvas. They carried hot chocolate instead of sparkling wine and wore thick winter coats over sweatpants instead of fancy outfits, and yet, it wasn't enough to make them feel comfortable in any way.
"I can feel neither my feet nor my hands."
Claire giggled, surprised by the enormous cloud of vapor she sent flying off.
"I can feel neither my feet nor my hands nor my face," she counted, giving him an amused look as though she expected him to join their very own version of I packed my bag.
Chris didn't even look like thinking of another frozen body part to add. He smiled and lifted his mug, gently placing it against Claire's cheek. The chocolate had long stopped fuming and was slowly solidifying instead, but the mug was still warm and felt good on her skin. Claire closed her eyes and exhaled.
"Thank you," she whispered softly. "Maybe it's better if we go back inside. We can come up again after midnight."
As they had already spent most New Year's Eves on the roof of Chris' building ever since he'd moved to New York—except those years when he'd been too sad, too drunk or too far away—Claire believed it would be a good idea to continue the tradition. Chris had been reluctant to her suggestion at first, saying that he wanted to kiss her at midnight, but the redhead's answer that he could as well kiss her on the roof as neither of the neighbors ever went up there in winter and the rest of the city was too busy welcoming the new year had convinced him. Claire found herself unusually excited over the fact that they were going to kiss almost in public.
When she opened her eyes again, she met one of those reassuring glares he gave her when he believed she was saying something stupidly selfless.
"No way," he said and shook his head. "I'm going to kiss you right here on the fucking roof at midnight."
Thankfully, he finished his sentence with a kiss on her lips, as it would be the last time he'd get to do it that year. They two siblings jumped away from each other when they heard the lock click behind them and the door to the staircase opened.
Shit. How could they be so unlucky? When the leaves and dry pigeon poop made it evident that not even the janitor came up there more than once a month during the winter months, why the hell were they being disturbed by—who the fuck was that anyway?
One brief look in Chris' direction told her that he, neither, knew the bearded man who had just stepped onto the roof. Her brother wasn't only scoffing in displeasure and shivering the cold off, he was also narrowing his eyes into scrutinizing slits. The man saw the two of them and waved his right arm around in ecstatic movements, as the left held the door open until two other figures appeared on the roof, and Claire finally realized that there was an explanation for it all.
"Look, Chris, it's Carol!"
The young woman was walking in a slightly bent position as her hand was holding the one of a little child. At least, that's what Claire believed it was, as she couldn't see much more than a ball wrapped in a shiny blue hooded anorak. It seemed to be walking, though, and the redhead determined that it had to be Carol's son. The curly girl briefly looked at the man before turning her attention to the siblings and imitated the greeting gesture. Chris and Claire stood wordlessly when the three figures approached them, their pace marked by the short steps the little boy could walk.
"Hey!" the woman exclaimed loudly when they finally reached them. "We didn't expect anyone else to be up here tonight. It's nice to see we won't be alone at the turn of year." After receiving a short chuckle from Chris and an affirming nod from Claire, Carol reached for the little child and pulled it into her arms. "Oh, so this is my fiancé Ruben, and this little man here is Mario. Ruben, these are Claire and Chris Redfield."
Ruben was a tall man with a precious skin tan, which he had passed on to his little son. He also had a very firm handshake, which both Claire and Chris usually appreciated in people. Little Mario, who, they learned, was called Super Mario by his parents, was a cheeky little figure about two years old, with a heart-melting laugh and curls like his mother. He dithered whenever anyone spoke to him, but didn't make a sound if he wasn't asked, all busy chewing on an oat cookie twice the size of his hand and absolutely fine with the situation.
"It's nice to meet you, guys!" Claire half-lied. "Yeah, we're usually the only ones up here."
"I hope you don't mind the company," Ruben pointed out with the laugh, not even thinking about the possibility that the answer wasn't a plain no. And what could they have said anyway? The roof could be used by anyone in the building. In summer, it was used by the younger girls for sunbathing; some older ladies did their yoga practices up there. It had just never happened that anyone would get up there to disturb their New Year's celebration, and it pissed Chris off visibly.
"I changed my mind about going back inside," he blurted out as soon as the trio was out of reach. "We can make up an excuse."
Claire shook her head apologetically.
"That would be rude, Chris. What could be so urgent that it can't wait five more minutes?"
Chris scoffed once more, the look of irritation evidently spreading on his face.
"A real emergency maybe? An accident? A terrorist attack?" The redhead rolled her eyes at the fact that he had managed to bring up work again, but stopped resisting when he eventually whispered, "I want to kiss you at the stroke of midnight."
Claire smirked, feeling the bittersweet sting of love at the sight of the puppy eyes her brother was giving her. She wanted to kiss him, too, but with the freezing cold they weren't going to stay for much longer on that roof anyway, so she soothed him with her most naughty look and the promise that five minutes of patience would be rewarded tenfold.
"You guys want some champagne?" Ruben called out from where he stood, with the bottle lifted in his right arm and the siblings turned to face him.
"No, thank you!" Claire said as she began to walk up to the little family. "No alcohol for us."
It wasn't really any of their business that Chris was considered ex-alcoholic, but it didn't need any more explanation as Ruben had already drawn his own conclusions.
"Oh? You're expecting?"
The cold must have frozen her brain, because it took Claire more than five seconds to figure out that he was talking about expecting a baby, but when she finally understood, she burst into loud laughter, especially at the sight of her brother, who had grown so pale he could have been mistaken for a snowman.
"Wh- what?" he stuttered in overtaking nervousness, and not even his sister's shrill laughter seemed to wake him up.
"Oh my god, Chris," she exclaimed, cradling herself in the comfort of the embarrassing confusion, and elbowed Chris in the side. "They believe we are a couple."
Ruben just stared at them in silence, his eyes ripped wide open between the theatrical fanning his eyelashes performed. Carol appeared behind her fiancé and launched Claire a questioning glare.
"Aren't you?"
Claire forced out a girly giggle as though being mistaken for Chris' wife amused her, when they had been playing the loving couple in different places of the world.
"No, no," she said with a shake of her head. "We're brother and sister. I guess that's what we get from introducing ourselves as Chris and Claire Redfield."
Chris still hadn't recovered from the bewilderment the situation had caused, standing still like a rock, but he slowly regained the color of his face.
"Wow, sorry," Ruben excused their straightforwardness regarding assumptions of family bonds. "We assumed you… Well. You look so good together."
That was the moment when Chris found his voice again.
"That's her," he said, pointing at Claire after clearing his throat. "Claire looks good next to anyone."
The redhead had been about to give her own explanation, but she paused a moment to appreciate Chris' intervention and chuckled before adding, "We are quite close. You know? Our parents died when we were children." A pair of watery blue eyes turned to her brother. "We only have each other."
That story always had the same effect on others, causing a mixture of pity and admiration to pop onto their faces. Carol and Ruben were no different, and from that moment on, it seemed like they were trying to look less happy in order not to upset the siblings who had no more family.
If only they had known.
"So, counter bioterrorism?" Carol asked, eyes wide open at the revelation, and Claire wondered how they had led the conversation to the everlasting subject after only two minutes. "Then you're some sort of superhero!"
Those words triggered a reaction of excitement in little Mario. The child had been fascinated by a tale Claire was telling him, listening closely with wide open eyes as though he actually understood what she was saying, but once the magical word had been pronounced all his attention was shone on Chris.
"Soowaman!"
Had anyone ever seen Chris Redfield blush like that? Claire couldn't hold back a soft chuckle when his face turned a bright shade of red and a smile of awkwardness blossomed on his lips.
"Oh, no," he said waving his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm just doing my job."
He was right, it was his job, and not even one he had signed up for voluntarily, but no one could deny that there was indeed something admirable about his work, and the world should know about it—even if his public image would forever rid them of the chance to live their romance openly. Claire laughed and picked up the cookie Mario had dropped when the boy had grown too impressed by the hero that stood next to him to care about food anymore.
"He loves superheroes," Ruben mentioned and shrugged. "My last chance for him to become a plumber like me and my father is Super Mario!"
That comment made Chris roll his eyes. Claire clearly saw the embarrassment grow into his features when he started mumbling out excuses.
"I really don't-"
"Do you want to hear about all the adventures of Captain Chris?" Claire asked the boy and received an enthusiastic shriek from him, as Chris just showered her with his ridiculing glance repeating her last words in a dubitative whisper. Mario, who seemed to feel very comfortable on Claire's lap, hopped wildly up and down. "Then I will tell you all the stories."
"Oh, but maybe some other time!" Carol yelped and checked her watch closely. "It's almost midnight, like in… Ten, nine, eight…"
It was frustrating to see Carol and Ruben kiss each other on the lips when midnight struck, while Claire and Chris could barely hug as Mario was still clinging to the redhead like a little monkey, but when her forehead dropped to his shoulder and Chris rubbed over her ponytail, placing a kiss onto it, it was almost as thrilling as making out right in front of them.
It would always be their little secret.
As Carol and Ruben were still busy with each other —and given that they had ruined their moment of intimacy— Claire decided that she would be the first one who'd get to kiss Mario that year and pecked the boy's round cheek.
"Happy New Year, little man!" she exclaimed, and the boy laughed shortly, but soon stretched his arms out to the man who he had been told was a real hero.
Whoever affirmed that Claire was good with children had never seen Chris interact with a kid, because beneath that hard outside of the B.O.W. fighter, the tough B.S.S.A. agent, the superhero, a golden soul was to be found. Kids had a special sensitivity for the good in people, Claire believed, and she was sure that Mario didn't have to dig very deep to get to the core of her brother. He patted his cheek and mumbled something indecipherable, and he already held Chris' big bear heart in his tiny, sticky hands.
"Happy New Year," Ruben exclaimed and pulled Claire into an effusive hug. "Thank you for having this little party with us. It's nice to know that we live close to nice people like you."
Chris and Claire nodded affirmingly.
"Happy New Year."
Claire doubted that the door had fallen shut entirely when Chris grabbed hold of her and drew her into the long-announced kiss, which turned out to be more passionate than she had imagined before. Her hands slid up his chest and along his neck and jawline, up into his scalp, where they fisted the short strands and yanked. Chris groaned a bit and the pair stumbled backwards until Claire's back crashed into the wall behind her; she bit his lip in shock over the collision.
"Ouch," they yelped almost in unison and shared a laugh, taking a moment to breathe before engaging in another long kiss. Claire's arms and legs slung around his body and Chris lifted her with apparently no effort until she was tightly settled in his grip.
"You look irresistible tonight," he whispered between the soft bites he gave the skin on her neck and made her chuckle. Wrapped in sweatpants and his old S.T.A.R.S. shirt as she was, he had to be blindly in love to find her attractive.
"I think the only one who can find me irresistible right now is Mario and only because I have cookies in my pockets," she replied and thumbed over his cheekbones in a sensual way. Chris laughed.
"He's a cute kid."
"He really is." Claire shortly pecked his mouth and exclaimed jokingly, "We should have one ourselves!"
Upon seeing Chris' look shift from sweet and tender to downright alarmed, she quickly cupped his face in her hands and turned it up to look at her. "Hey, that was a joke, okay?"
It had been a joke, yes, but she should have known that he wouldn't find it funny. Chris had always been very cautious about the subject, even using double contraception methods and often altering the sexual rituals during Claire's fertile window, and even insinuating that they should challenge fate and risk bringing a child with all kinds of genetic disorders to life had been a mistake. They wouldn't grow a family together, that was clear. Not that they didn't want it. A child with Chris would be the apex of happiness, but an irresponsible one. Claire's lip twitched as they looked at each other in silence.
"We could also kidnap and adopt Mario!" she added excitedly, hoping that it would remark that she wasn't serious about her words. "He obviously loves us more than he loves his parents."
Chris' expression relaxed, but before he could either agree or disapprove, a phone started ringing nearby and the siblings turned their attention to the direction of Claire's handbag, which hung over the backrest of a chair.
"Oh, that must be Sherry," Claire said, thankful for the interruption, and Chris put her down so she could walk into the dining area and get the call. The screen announced an unknown caller. Yes, it had to be Sherry, who was calling her from her government cell just as she did every year right after midnight, so it was probably not the first time she was calling. "Hey! Happy New Year!"
There was a loud noise on the other end of the line.
"Happy New Year, Miss Redfield," a depressed voice chuckled and put her on alert. "I'm sorry I have to call you on such an important date."
"Who's there?" she asked demandingly, her features distorted into a dark frown. The voice was barely audible through the strange noise, but the way the man spoke meant that he knew her. He also had her phone number. Chris' intuition took him to his sister's side a second later, where he stabbed her with urgent glances and tried to catch pieces of the conversation.
"I don't have much time left," the voice of the man told her, and the high-pitched sound of a voice close to tears told Claire that the caller was, indeed, running out of time. The noise in the background was loud, constant and it sounded threatening. Was it a stream of water? A shower maybe? If only she could identify the voice of the caller.
"Who is speaking? Where are you? What's going on?" She fired those questions through the line like a machine gun. "If you need help, I can send you a team."
"Not now, Claire. Listen, closely," the man explained and made a dramatic pause. "Fisher is following a good lead. Don't let him abandon the investigations in Africa."
Her eyes ripped open widely and she stopped breathing. That guy didn't only know about her, he also knew about Terra Save's secret research.
"What the fuck do you know, you asshole?"
Startled by her word choice, and still trying to hear what she was being told, Chris stared at her in awe.
"Is that any way to treat someone who's trying to help you, Miss Redfield? Especially as I am a friend of yours and your brother's."
A friend.
There weren't many people in the world who believed to be friends with both of them, and only one of them wasn't currently in Canada, having a New Year's Party at the Burton residence.
"Richardson?"
Now everything seemed to fit. The caller was Bill Richardson, the nosy journalist and self-declared expert in bioterror who had blackmailed Claire with the pictures of herself and Wesker some months before. The revelation made Chris clench his strong jaw, and Claire decided to activate the hands-free speaker, flooding the dining area with the mysterious, white noise.
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Claire? Listen, the people you and your brother have in Africa won't tell you anything. They've all been bought by the enemy."
That didn't seem to content Chris, who grew more tense with every second that passed.
"Richardson, what the fuck do you want?" he suddenly interrupted and received a chuckle from the other man.
"Oh, Agent Redfield! Happy New Year!"
That was the moment when Chris nearly snatched the phone from Claire's hand, but the redhead was faster, turning away and holding the device closer to her face.
"Where are you, Bill?"
Another chuckle followed.
"In a freight container," he finally said and made Claire frown. "They locked me up in here before pushing the thing into the water. Don't mind if the connection isn't good. I'm basically underwater right now."
So, that was the background noise they were hearing. Brilliant. The guy was calling them before drowning miserably.
"Richardson, tell me where to find you. We have to get you out of there!" she howled. The journalist wasn't particularly her favorite person on Earth, but no one deserved a death as horrible as that.
"I appreciate your efforts, Claire, but it's too late for me," he said. "But I need you to pick something up. There's a locker storage facility at the corner of 10th Avenue and West Thirty-Ninth. They're open twenty-four-seven, but you'll have to knock three times. Tell them who you are, and they'll let you in."
He wanted her to get something from a locker storage, like in one of those action movies Chris loved so damn much? This was all too much information for her.
"What do you mean? Telling them who I am?"
"I paid a little extra amount of money to assure that someone could pick my stuff up in case I couldn't come myself," Richardson explained, the shake in his voice evident now. "I told them my girlfriend would come."
A little disgusted, but too anxious to care, Claire blew out a breath. Her hand reached intuitively for Chris' and squeezed it tightly, feeling the tension running through his veins.
"Okay," she told Richardson. "I'll do that, but please let me help you first."
"We don't have time, Claire! Get there as soon as you can. Now that they know I was following them, it's only a matter of time that they will find all the intel and destroy it."
She felt the bile rise into her throat when she heard about the people who Richardson had been following. Who were they, and why would they care about a second-rate journalist like Richardson and what he could have found out? Her concerned look jumped to Chris.
"Who are they, Bill?"
The man sighed.
"You will find out. Hurry up, Claire. get the intel and do with it whatever you consider appropriate. I'm counting on you," he said and ended the call.
It's sad, you know. Bill Richardson was always looking for a good story, but he never got to tell the biggest and most impacting story of them all. He'll never know, but that New Year's night, he helped save the world from the most dangerous of all terrorists.
A/N: We hope you enjoyed the chapter. You see the action begins just here. Richardson is a character from Xaori's Inside, Outside and we wanted to get him killed ever since LOL [One minute of silence for the greasy guy, please] Don't be sad, he believed he was more important than he actually was hahaha
We hope you're all safe and healthy.
And please, please, please, forgive the incredibly late chapter T_T Real life is being a bitch sometimes, you know.