Choices
The streets were crowded with people. A wide variety of figures testing their tolerance to different degrees of alcohol under the joyful effect of the New Year's celebrations passed Claire by as she waited for the door to the storage facility to be opened, and she felt strangely out of place at that corner. Not because she was still dressed in sneakers and sweatpants while all others were showing off their most fancy suits and elegant dresses—even despite the freezing wind that was blowing—but because all others were so blissful and euphoric, unaware of the horrible crime that had taken place somewhere near the bay shortly after midnight, to the consequences it could have for the people in the city, and to the question that had been spinning through her head since the end of the phone call.Why her?
Fine, that question was a dumb one. Richardson had chosen her to pick up the intel he'd hidden at the locker storage because she was the only available option, if he wanted to make sure it would fall into the hands of some powerful decision makers in the counter-bioterror milieu. Yes, he could have called Chris himself, but not without risking getting disparaged or not being taken seriously.
She had knocked on the rolling shutter door three times. Richardson had said he'd paid for a special twenty-four hour service so she could pick the stuff up anytime, but maybe he hadn't paid enough so they would even skip the New Year's party, and Claire began to wonder if it was appropriate to come back after the break of dawn. Her knuckles hurt from the cold and the shiver anxiety used to hold her captive when she knocked for a second time.
Knock, knock, knock.
It was quite a simple code, she realized, and wondered if she had misunderstood the journalist when he had transmitted her the way to enter the facility at nighttime, as any drunkard could have knocked the same way by pure accident. There was no doorbell—at least not on the outer side of the shutters—and Claire was close to giving up as there was no apparent way for her to get into the facility. Just when she decided to turn away and let it all be, something crackled to her left.
" Don't you want to knock again? "
The voice came from the intercom system next to the door, which strangely wasn't equipped with a doorbell button. It had, though, a camera.
"What for? You already know I want to get in, and now I know that you're already inside," Claire replied a little snarkily. When she didn't receive a response, though, she repeated the knock on the shutter door. "Happy?"
The speaker crackled again.
" Would you mind identifying yourself? "
She nodded. Waiting for a group of loudly-partying passengers to pass, she pulled out her Terra Save ID card from her pocket to lift it in front of the camera.
"Claire Redfield," she said, giving the lens a challenging stare. "I was told my arrival was announced."
Silence.
"You are Claire Redfield? " the speaker exclaimed in surprise, and Claire rolled her eyes at the comment, knowing that she didn't exactly match the picture the employees of the place had drawn of the girlfriend Richardson had introduced her as. One needed a strong stomach to get intimate with that guy. " Hold on ."
A noise was heard to her right and Claire turned, finding a door opening next to the rolling shutters. A man in uniform appeared and waved her in.
"Welcome, and happy New Year!"
The young man, whose name tag advanced his name was Bruno, was apparently the security guard of the facility. His navy blue uniform was wrinkled and had something like a ketchup stain on the chest pocket.
"Happy New Year," Claire muttered with a sheepish smirk and walked past the man. The small room that welcomed her was warm and cozy, despite being a simple office. It had a small Christmas tree in one of the corners, and a TV in another one. On the desk, she found the empty wrapper of a cheeseburger and a can of Coke.
"I assume you're coming to get Mister Richardson's belongings," Bruno said and walked around the desk. "We didn't expect you to show up here tonight."
Claire huffed and licked her lips, not holding back her annoyance or concern.
"Neither did I," she confessed coldly, but the man remained cool to the decrease of temperature in her voice and kept searching the upper drawer of the desk for something.
"We usually don't keep copies of the keys to our storage rooms. Privacy is everything to us," he said and took the chance to slide a promotional leaflet over the desk, which Claire didn't hesitate to ignore. "But Mister Richardson insisted."
She wasn't in the mood for small talk, and she clearly didn't want to waste more precious time. If Richardson had really caught the attention of the wrong people—something unsurprising, given his nosy, annoying nature—she needed to get her hands onto the intel and take it to a safe place as soon as possible.
"I will have to ask you to pay the outstanding fee, Miss Redfield," Bruno mumbled and turned a piece of paper to her. "It's two-hundred seventy-five dollars and fifty-two cents."
Outstanding fee?
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she hissed with wide-open eyes. "There must be some sort of mistake."
Bruno shook his head, obviously a little intimidated by her reaction.
"No mistake, Ma'am," he replied lowly. "You can pay in cash, check or card."
Claire blinked at the man in disbelief at the unpaid bill, cursing Bill Richardson and all his dark affairs that had her stand in a locker storage facility on New Year's instead of lying in bed with Chris. There wasn't much she could do, though. Understanding the business's policy, she knew that stubbornness and threats wouldn't get her anywhere. One hand dug into her pocket to pull out a handful of bills.
"I got a hundred and twenty bucks," she said as she slammed the money onto the desk. "I promise I'll pay the rest later."
Bruno remained unshook.
"We take credit cards and checks, as well," he answered, a challenging grin growing on his lips. What a dumbass, Claire thought, regretting having been close to liking him.
"Look, this is a very urgent matter," she said as she leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "I wouldn't want to leave any traces here, but I swear, I will come back later and pay the missing amount."
That was the moment the young man seemed to understand the urgency of the situation.
"Did something happen to Mister Richardson?"
Claire bored her intense stare into his and took a deep breath, stretching out the dramatism of her words.
"You know that I wouldn't be here otherwise," she whispered, and something shifted on the man's face. "You shouldn't open to anyone else today, just to be sure." Her look gestured down to the 9mm handgun in the man's holster. "Your gun loaded?" A nod. "Good. But don't open anyway."
Bruno reached for the money on the desk and quickly counted it before replying with an approving nod of his head. "Fine," he said and handed her a tiny key which was tied to a key tag by a chain. "34 F. It's right down the hallway. Take the stuff and get out of here."
Despite the general mess she was currently in, Claire couldn't hold back a tiny, victorious smirk as soon as she'd had her back turned to the young man. She wasn't a fan of threatening innocent citizens, but in this particular case, it was a true warning more than it was a threat. They didn't know who Richardson had been investigating, but if they had gone as far as drowning him in a freight container, they were probably capable of killing anyone they considered knew too much. The thought that she had done the right thing made it easier for her to advance through the hallway towards the locker 34 F, where she'd find all the information Richardson had apparently gathered. She was surprised to find it was a whole storage room he had rented, and she feared she should have brought a bigger bag—or a truck, maybe.
"Awesome."
The key slid into the padlock as though it had been recently oiled. Claire's heart hammered loudly as she removed it, about to push the door to the storage open. Putting her hand onto her gun, she slowly opened.
Everything in the room indicated that Richardson had been using it as a makeshift office. An unlit candle, a book, a box of matches and an old typewriter waited for her on the surface of a desk; one chair stood next to it. The rest of the room was empty, though. Not carrying a flashlight with her had been a mistake, she realized, as there was no light switch in the room, and Claire used the screen of the phone to light up the desk. There was a note on the paper sheet that sat silently in the roller, two short phrases that apparently meant nothing to nobody.
You know the rules. Enjoy the views from the rooftop.
Claire found herself rolling her eyes at the words on the sheet. Puzzles and riddles had always been some kind of fetish of Umbrella workers, who fed them to attempting survivors in every corner of Raccoon City, Rockfort Island and the base in Antarctica, and she hated everyone who tried to use them like this was all just a game.
"Views from the rooftop, huh?" she mumbled to herself as she drew the phone screen closer to the book next to the typewriter. It was a children's horror book, a title of the Goosebumps collection, and she immediately knew that it wasn't a coincidence.
"Stay out of the basement," she read on the cover and slid her hand over it. "If I'm now enjoying the views from the roof..." She leaned down and inspected the desk, which had a line of drawers on the right side. "The basement is most probably the lower drawer. I'm still checking the others, just in case."
She found a goddamn red notebook in the upper drawer and a blue folder was in the second one. Claire began to flick through the documents, finding pages and pages of hand-written notes that spoke of different deliveries and how someone was covering it all up. The only name she found within the pages was the one of a guy called Adam, who was apparently writing a little blog about his life in Kijuju.
Uninteresting. Richardson had probably placed those notes there to distract anyone from finding the real intel.
The third drawer, the lowest of them all, was locked.
Claire cheered to herself. Maybe she had forgotten to bring a flashlight, but she hadn't forgotten to bring Jill's old set of lockpicks, which Chris still kept in his wardrobe. The wardrobe had become the place where the most useful of Jill's belongings had been stored over the previous months. The lock picks, her spare handgun, some books, the golden piano charm. Yes, Chris had eventually taken the thing off, storing it along with the rest of her stuff. The day Claire had noticed he wasn't wearing it anymore, they'd had a long talk about memories and belongings.
I can live without all her things, but I can't just get rid of the charm. It would be like throwing away the idea of her.
Jill deserved to be honored. Claire knew, and she understood. The brunette had been part of Chris' and her life, like their parents, like all those who still were, and even though the feelings and conditions of their relationship weren't comparable to Chris' and Jill's, she would want to keep the wallet she'd once given to Leon, too, if she found out anything happened to him. She would also want to keep the stuffed animals she had gotten for Sherry if the girl was gone, and the shiny Swiss knife she had handed over to Moira when she'd started college some months before. She and Chris had started talking openly about feelings, the current and past ones, and they had come to the conclusion that it was healthy to remember those who weren't anymore, that it was fine to wish they were still around, but that it also was okay to move on without them.
Just as the thought concluded its journey through her mind, the drawer clicked open. It was empty, though.
"You gotta be kidding me," she howled and pushed her hand into the case, inspecting every corner of it with her anxious fingertips. Nothing. No false bottom. No other hidden object.
Claire turned her attention back to the notebook and the folder, shaking the pages loose in hope she had overlooked something, but nothing slipped out of the bindings. In despair, she searched the drawer once more. "There's nothing in your fucking basement , Richardson!"
Anger rose inside of her and pushed her to her feet. What the fuck was happening there? had someone already come and taken whatever Richardson wanted her to have? Had one of the employees taken it? Maybe Bruno didn't know about it, but what if there had been a change of plans and they actually kept it all in the front desk or in a safe or... Claire was determined to stomp back to the security guard and demand explanations; however, not before she needed to let her rage flow and she kicked the desk so hard it should have flipped over.
It didn't.
Claire bravely ignored the stinging pain in her right toe and breathed deeply as she tried to fathom what had happened, eyes jumping across the room to find whatever felt so off. The desk should have moved.
Kneeling down again, Claire found that it had been screwed to the floor, and she snickered to herself.
Nobody should ever say again that violence didn't take you anywhere.
She pulled on the handle of the drawer until the case jumped out of the support rail. Below, she found the same tiled floor that covered the rest of the storage room, but the beam of the phone screen soon showed that one of the tiles was loose. With the tip of her knife, Claire levered the tile up, finding a small wooden case underneath.
"Not bad, Richardson," she whispered to herself. "Not bad."
The case was full of maps, names, pictures and about one thousand dollars in cash, the wad of fifty dollar bills having a note clipped to it that said For the inconveniences . Claire had barely time to pocket the money and stuff the documents into her handbag before her phone began to ring and rattle in her hand.
"Chris, I'm almost done here," she called into the phone and made her way out of the locker and into the hallway. Bruno was leaning back in his chair, both booted feet on the desk as he chewed on his fries. That was what a security guard looked like.
"Keep the rest," Claire said hurriedly and dropped four fifty-dollar bills onto the desk as she spurted past it. Before she disappeared through the door to reunite with her obviously worried boyfriend, she gave the man another serious glance. "Remember. Don't open to anyone until dawn."
"Fuck, Claire, what took you so long?" Chris hissed as she jumped into the passenger seat next to him. "I was about to go in there myself."
Two blue eyes rolled almost automatically at his words.
"Would you have punched the door off the hinges? Would have been one helluva show," she laughed and waited for the grunt he'd reply with. "Richardson had everything well-hidden. Sorry I worried you."
Chris shrugged a shoulder and snuggled deeper into the seat before clenching his hand around the steering wheel.
"What did you find?"
Claire tilted her head to the side; there was no easy answer to give.
"Documents, pictures, money," she said and turned to him. "We should have a closer look at this."
He nodded once, with wearied moves, sluggish like a sloth, or like someone who had gotten no sleep yet that night.
"Okay, let's get to the BSAA," he said and turned the key. His Land Rover, an excessively off-road vehicle for a life in a city like New York, started rumbling nicely and obediently.
That didn't distract Claire from the conversation, though.
"What? No," she said and put her hand onto Chris' over the shifter. "You take me home. I want to have a look at this."
As though he had anticipated her petition, Chris huffed in displeasure, turning his impatient glance to her.
"Claire, do you think this is CSI and you're Horatio Caine?" he asked in a shaming tone. "Richardson was assassinated by those guys. Do you want to get yourself killed, too? Just stay away and leave this to people who know how to handle terrorists."
When he reached for the folder in her hands, Claire pulled away, playing more offended than she really was by his words. It was always the same, and she was long used to it. Chris became irritatingly insulting when he wanted her to stay the fuck away from trouble. A part of her appreciated it; the other just wanted to beat some common sense into him.
"Mac Taylor," she replied bluntly and left him confused.
"What?"
Claire smirked. "You say I want to be Horatio Caine, but we're not in Miami. We're in New York, so I'm Mac Taylor."
He watched her through narrowed eyes, scrutinizing her moves and reaction in the dim shine of the city lights.
"Yeah, but you're a redhead. So you're Caine."
They laughed. Jokes like those always helped cool down their temper until they were both capable of a human conversation again. As soon as the laughter died away, Chris cleared his throat and turned back to her.
"This is a very serious subject, Claire and I just don't want you to get hurt. We have people at the BSAA who are used to such cases. We know how to track down terrorists. Not even Fisher and his sixth sense can compete with our intelligence team, trust me, baby."
Claire sighed, hating how easily one word of his would disarm her and leave her vulnerable to any senseless arguments from his side.
"Chris, listen," she said and took his hand again. "I know you're just worried. But Richardson contacted me for a reason."
"Yes, he contacted you so you could hand this over to the BSAA," the older brother snorted and had her fuming.
"No, he contacted me because there's something going on within our own rows and he couldn't just implicate any counter-terror organization, the press or the authorities." Chris had his eyes set darkly on hers. "He said that our spies in Africa have been bought off. We need to know who we can trust before telling anyone." She knew she hit a nerve whenever she mentioned the possible traitor within the BSAA, and she was willing to make good use of it. Waving the folder around frantically, she continued, "The clue is in these documents, Chris. Please. Just let us have a look at it alone. Then we can decide what to do. Please take me home."
Chris kept silent for a minute, letting the soft purr of the engine be the only source that even tried to drown the shrieks of joy and hope that were projected across the streets. Neither of the partying people had the slightest idea that the two people in the car were deciding the fate of the city, maybe even the whole world—and that they were awkwardly fighting over it.
Chris blew out a breath and put first gear.
"If Fisher knows about this before my team does," he said with a grunt, but turned into the direction back to their apartment, "you and I will have a problem."
Claire snickered. What was that if not an empty threat?
"We already have a problem, and it's your stubbornness."
"Look who's talking!"
We know by now that it wasn't the BSAA spies in Africa that were bribed, but some of the leaders or high-ranking decision makers of the West-African Branch themselves. Whenever they'd receive a piece of intel from their contact in Kijuju, Reynard Fisher—you remember, don't you? They guy who isn't related to Neil—they would make it disappear or simply ignore it. That kept the BSAA in the dark about anything going on within those walls of the Autonomous Zone, but we all know how that ended, right?
Oh, but I'm jumping too far ahead. Of course Richardson's file contained a lot more than just assumptions that might prove Neil's theories correct.
The smoke hung loosely between Chris' fingers now, and Claire felt strangely relieved about it. Hadn't he spent the previous hour and a half puffing one cigarette after another, with that frantic move he only adopted when he was extremely nervous, the drags of smoke as frequent as the ticking of a clock? He had a very upsetting way of dealing with tension, especially when there was nothing for him to punch, break or shoot — yet. She understood how the dozens of reports in Richardson's hidden folder weren't particularly easing his nerves, but for the moment, she really needed him to calm down.
Richardson had prepared an extensive study on the Kijuju Autonomous Zone and the strange cult that seemed to take over the civilians, taking advantage of their longing for hope and need of salvation. As the BSAA spies had pointed out, though, nothing of it truly seemed to link the zone to any bioterror deals or infections.
So why was Richardson so convinced that they were hiding intel, and that there was, indeed, a major threat lingering in the scarce shadows of the zone?
After finishing reading, Claire slipped the current report onto the top of the pile of read documents and proceeded to go through the next and last one of her half. This one had to be interesting. It was a thick folder with a bunch of stapled sheets, hand-written notes and photographs. The first thing she saw when she flipped the folder open, was a picture of Richardson and a beautiful young woman at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant. The journalist looked unusually happy, clean, thinner, dressed up to the nines and even a little younger. The woman, a beauty in her early thirties, at most looked like she had something better to do. His smile was sincere, her's wasn't. His eyes spoke the language of love, hers the one of astuteness.
"Uh-oh." Claire broke the silence with her expression of concern. "I think I know where all this is going."
With a serious look, she handed Chris the photograph, not paying much attention to his reaction as she was already scanning the next document for revealing content.
"Oh my god, that's Jessica!"
Claire looked up, meeting in the icy stare of her brother the reflection of the woman in the shape of a very unpleasant memory.
"Jessica Anderson? Here it says she's another freelance reporter," she informed after quickly checking the notes. "You know her?"
Chris huffed out a laugh and tossed the picture back at her, it spun twice on the surface and came to a stop right in front of Claire, who now saw the two people on it heads down.
"Anderson, my ass." He tapped the picture, the fingertip insisting on the identity of the brown-haired beauty. "That's Jessica Sherawat."
Claire arched an eyebrow.
"Shera-who?"
"Sherawat," he replied, taking a moment to let the conversation breathe before providing more information. "She used to work for the BSAA, and we were partners in the mission on the Queens Semiramis and Zenobia, searching for Jill and Parker. You remember Parker Luciani, don't you?"
Claire nodded. She remembered the kind, round Italian from the camp in Hungary, where Chris had been restlessly searching for Jill's body. She was surprised, though, that Chris remembered the day she had met Parker.
"She was a mole, and secretly worked for Morgan Lansdale and the FBC."
Claire's eyes ripped open as her finger sank to the picture.
"That woman is the traitor who nearly got you all killed?"
And the one who, according to the witness of the late Jill Valentine, had spent the entire mission trying to get into his pants. Claire snorted at the thought.
"So, do you think Lansdale has something to do with this?"
Chris had already jumped up, falling back into the scheme of frantic nipping on the cigarette. He was stomping in circles through the apartment, as loudly as though he wanted to awake the dead until a look at the watch reminded him that it was too early in the morning for such noiseful interruptions.
"I don't know," he gasped and raked the fingers of the smokeless hand through his hair. "That bastard has been locked away for years, and every move he makes is reported to the BSAA, but-" He sighed, bloodshot eyes jumping around the room in search of thoughts and ideas. If someone in the BSAA was hiding information from upper ranks, they would never know if Lansdale had received visitors or made any suspicious move. "Maybe I should contact O'Brian."
Claire pouted softly. Though the former director of the BSAA was still working as an advisor for the group, she had heard that he preferred spending his days writing trashy detective novels lately. She absentmindedly flicked through the rest of the pages, until she found another interesting detail.
"Chris, look at this."
Her brother sighed in exasperation, tired of being delivered bad news with the year only a few hours old, but he obediently walked back to the table upon his sister's request.
"Is that…?" A grunt was released when he recognized the person in the pictures. "Governor Casey!"
John T. Casey was the Governor of New York, one of the politicians who had shown to be most interested in the fight against bioterrorism over the years, and who constantly requested updates about the situation in his territory and surroundings. The picture showed him with Jessica Sherawat, meeting in a hotel room, where they seemed to exchange something. The pictures had been taken from a building across the street, which made it hard to identify what was being traded.
"Maybe Richardson took these pictures himself. But, what does that mean?" Claire asked as she saw the irritated glance of a dark revelation on her brother's face.
Chris pulled the next best chair away from the table and dropped onto it, exhaustion clearly drawing its ugly lines all over his face.
"Casey recently demanded to speak to me personally. He had heard about…—how did he call it?—Rumors about a warzone in Africa." The man shook his head in denial, as though he couldn't believe his own actions. "I should have questioned his sudden interest in this subject."
Claire's eyes narrowed at the revelation that there was, indeed, a hint that may be leading them to something going on in Africa.
"What did you tell him?"
Chris shrugged.
"That it was nothing he had to worry about, of course. That the BSAA was surveilling the zone, and that nothing has been encountered yet."
Claire's look dropped back to the documents and pictures. Casey and Sherawat had met on different occasions, at press conferences, in Central Park and in restaurants, speaking to each other while they were seated at contiguous tables. They were trying to hide their connection, which could only mean that Casey knew that Sherawat wasn't the reporter she had pretended to be in front of Richardson. The entirety of the story, though, was hard to figure without the contribution of a living witness.
"So, do you think he turned to Jessica for more information or…?" Claire vaguely suggested in hope to keep the conversation flowing, knowing that Chris wouldn't like where it was being taken.
"Or that Jessica got him in contact with the wrong side?" He folded his hands in his nape as he lowered his head into a posture of defeat, and Claire could see how much this all drained the power from his limbs. Nothing clearly confirmed Richardson's theory, but the sheer thought that someone in the BSAA could be corrupt was fatiguing him. Although, as he had mentioned, it had happened before that a spy had infiltrated the ranks of their organization, with Jessica Sherawat working undercover for Morgan Lansdale. And corrupt politicians were nothing new either. Claire reached for Chris' hand and his fingers untangled, curling around hers afterwards. When he looked up, with the sleep-robbed eyes turning to her, she saw how much it meant to him to have her with him.
But what was the solution to this problem?
How could they figure out what Casey was after without digging too deep and waking a sleeping dragon — or a B.O.W.?
And what did he really have to do with Kijuju?
"Maybe…" Claire cleared her throat, knowing that her upcoming suggestion wasn't likely to be received with bliss and elation. "Leon could know something."
His reaction was predictable. She had even foreseen the roll of his eyes he always offered when something truly annoyed him and he wasn't allowed to yell the shit out of himself. He breathed loud and deeply through widened nostrils, visibly waiting for the rage to pass without bursting.
"So I can't share this intel with my team, but you want to show it to Kennedy? What makes you think that, out of all the people who we could possibly contact, he's the best subject to learn about this?"
Claire waited patiently for her brother to breathe in and out a couple of times more before responding, a calm smile underlining her words. She herself didn't feel comfortable about sharing the information with her friend. No matter how well they got along, the divergence of their professional paths had more than once caused them to stand on different, although not entirely opposite sites, and just as she knew Chris' reaction, she could also predict how Leon would receive the intel. But what choice did they really have?
"Chris, I'm sure there are people in the BSAA who would never betray you, who would give their life for the cause, and who you can trust blindly. The question is, do you know who they are? You could trust Jill. You can trust Barry and Rebecca, because you know they were there with you when everything started. They saw how Umbrella could turn peaceful lives upside down in just one night and I can't believe any of them would ever work for the enemy after all they went through, but what about the others? What about those who never witnessed an outbreak?"
He breathed out deeply, giving her the needed time to end her speech.
"Just as you can trust your ex S.T.A.R.S. comrades, I know I can trust Leon." She said, eyes drifting to the side, but she could still see Chris' demeanor remain unchanged, serious and uncommunicative. "He went through Raccoon City, just as I did. He saved my life more than once. Chris, I know we can trust him."
He didn't like her reasoning. Everytime the two of them began to argue, displeasure carved its little wrinkles deeper between Chris' eyebrows, especially when the subject was a certain government agent. Truth was, Chris had never liked Leon. Respected? Yes. Trusted? Probably. But liking him had become impossible the moment Jill Valentine had called him cute, and even more so when he'd turned out to be his sister's secret lover.
But he knew Claire trusted Leon, that the agent had been in the fight as long as her, and almost as long as Chris himself. The other man had seen the origins of it all; he had stood in the midst of a burning city, and that was something you never forgot, let alone betrayed. Claire saw the moment something clicked and Chris changed his mind, when he admitted that Leon Kennedy could have connections to the right people in the government to either confirm or refute the theory Richardson's intel seemed to point at. Leaning back in the chair, Chris let a pout roll over his lips, just as a reminder that he wasn't entirely persuaded by Claire's plan. Then, he nodded.
"Okay," he mumbled, arms reluctantly crossing over his chest. "If you think it's the right thing to do, tell Leon."
Claire smiled at him, showing how deeply impressed she was by his effort not to let his hatred towards the agent sabotage the mission. Leaning forward, her hands stretched over Chris' strong knee, climbing up his thigh to a dangerous point that made his eyebrow jump.
"Claire?"
Before he could question her doing, she had dropped onto the floor in front of him, spreading his legs so she could fit in between as her cold hands began to work on the buckle of his belt. Her eyes were fluttering suggestively as her lips showed a smile, and she felt a chuckle escape his mouth.
"I thought you were going to call Leon," he grunted, not really complaining, before Claire unzipped him.
"It's four a.m. on New Year's, Chris." That was enough explanation, she decided, and reached for the hidden treasure in his pants.
Richardson couldn't be saved; his documents had been secured. There was still time to save the world at the break of dawn, maybe after breakfast. Leon was probably busy with a nameless beauty anyway, so why shouldn't they make the most of their time, as well?
They deserved a moment of relief, and Chris needed to fucking relax.
Her mouth watered at the thought of his hard member, and the way Chris' eyes shone like little diamonds when she bit her lip showed her how much the anticipation was arousing him. She loved every piece of human reaction she could pull from him, proud to be the one who made Chris Redfield lose his mind and willingness. He growled in surprise when her cold hands dug into his boxer briefs and groped his dick shamelessly, stroking him with skilled moves. His head dropped back a little, not enough to lose sight of her, and the rhythm of his gasps increased at the pace of her hand on him. When she finally pulled him out of the underwear, he was more than ready to be devoured by her, his tip already slick and shiny.
Claire moistened her lips and opened her mouth, running her tongue around the head of him while her hand held him upright. Chris stretched his hands over her shoulders instantly, a soft moan underlining the desperate want in his move. Once the tip was bathed in saliva, Claire descended slowly, shifting her hands to rest on his thighs for support as she let her mouth be the only one in charge of his pleasure.
"Oh god, yes."
And he loved it. A victorious chuckle freed itself from the lips that were sealed around his dick, moving up and down as her tongue flicked rapidly along the downside of it. When she lowered herself enough to deepthroat him, Chris groaned in pleasure and momentarily fisted her hair and pressed her into him. He pulled back quickly, though, blurting out an apology or two.
One naughty look was sent into his direction. Would he ever understand that letting her suck him was one of the biggest declarations of love and trust he could give her? Claire moved back to the tip, her tongue lapping in hunger against the swollen flesh. She loved his scent, his taste, the way he grew bigger and harder in her mouth. Hard and warm and pulsating, he made her feel like the most beautiful woman on Earth.
"Baby." Yup, when he called her Baby , he made her feel desired and pretty, too. "Take your shirt off."
Eyes fluttered, checking if he was aware that she would need to release him to remove her shirt, but Chris seemed to accept the terms gladly. His dick popped out of her mouth with a loud smack and Claire reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. Only the tiny bra was now protecting her bosom from Chris' lustful stare and she couldn't wait to get rid of it, but she could barely reach for the clasp on her back before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth, arms snaking around her body. Claire's eyes fell shut; she embraced him tightly as he ran his hands along her spine, downwards to her thighs. A second later, she was settled tightly in his grip and he lifted her up. Their lips united, Chris sat her on the edge of the table, stepping between her legs, and pushing the loose bra up to let her breasts pop out.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he huffed when he broke the kiss and let his gaze wander down her body, and Claire mewled.
Before she could think of a proper reply, Chris filled his hand with one breast and his mouth with the other one and stole all her words, leaving nothing but a heartfelt moan on the tip of her tongue. It slipped off her lips instantly. He gently pushed her upper body down until she rested on the table. On top of all the documents? Who really cared? Her arms stretched over the papers in search of support, finding it on the edge of the surface. Chris was, meanwhile, running his tongue down her belly, kissing her navel on his way, and starting to work on the strings of her sweatpants. The redhead laughed when her brother hooked his fingers into her waistband, and she placed her feet on the table to lift her hips so he could pull her pants and panties to her knees.
"Oh, Claire," he chuckled darkly when he palpated her slick heat. "You get so fucking wet when you suck me."
Holy shit, yes. She loved giving him oral and her body had always responded very positively to it, getting her terribly wet as soon as she took him all into her mouth for the first time.
"It's a proof of my love for you," she whispered and put a soft smile onto his beautiful face.
"I love you, too," Chris responded and kissed the inner side of her left thigh, placing a chain of humid kisses down to her spot. Claire gasped at every little sign of love he crowned her skin with, her response intensified by the decreasing distance between his mouth and her clit.
She curled at the first stroke of his tongue, so much he had to hook his hands below her knees to hold her in place. His face buried in her, he drank up her wetness and covered her skin in glistening pearls of sweat. Claire raked her fingers through his hair, pushing him harder against her when she actually wanted him to reconsider.
"Chris," she moaned, her tone somewhere between pleasant exhaustion and frustration. "You didn't finish."
Which was unacceptable. She had started it all because she wanted to see him happy and relaxed, and now it was herself who was close to climaxing. Luckily, Chris didn't argue. He looked up, smiled, and stood upright between her legs as he removed his own shirt, dropping it to the floor afterwards. He looped his arms around her, pressing her tender frame against his broad torso as he kissed her voraciously, fingers tangled in her hair and all, and he didn't stop until she quivered in need of air.
Chris didn't waste a second longer. As soon as their lips parted, he pushed his hand into his back pocket to dig out the condom, and it made her chuckle proudly. Did he really find her so irresistible that he preferred carrying a condom with him, even though they were only a few feet away from the bedroom, where they usually stored them? She gave him a hungry glance from the table, biting her lower lip as he rolled the rubber on, and he returned it as soon as his eyes jumped from his dick to her. He winked at her and slipped her leg over his shoulder, his left targeting her breast as the right helped himself into her waiting hole.
They both cried out at the first penetration, just because of how deep he went, and it seemed like they both had to regain their composure and gather their thoughts afterwards. Chris dropped down, only one arm keeping him from crashing right onto her, and gasped heavily. So did Claire, her chest going up and down at a constant, deep pace. She helped herself up and placed a kiss onto Chris' mouth, hungrily licking over his lips, and he began to move again.
With her right leg slung around his hips and her heel pressed into his butt, Claire clung tightly to his body as he meant to fuck her senseless. Her arms found support on his wide shoulders as she embraced him, and her bouncing breasts brushed his chest with every thrust, sending short but intense tingles through her body. Chris' mouth dropped to hers and he sucked her lower lips between his teeth to gently nibble on it. Claire moaned into his kiss, fingernails scratching over the tense skin on his shoulder blades, making an awfully painful sound. Chris didn't mind the torture, though, he kept going without flinching, like a machine, like his body had been trained only to please her, and Claire began to feel her orgasm build up in her lower parts. Before she could reach her climax, though, Chris's gasps intensified, he broke the kiss and began to quiver. Worst timing ever.
"Don't stop, keep going," Claire cried as her nails dug deeper into his skin, urging him to continue. Just a bit longer.
Fortunately, just a bit longer was enough for her. She buried her face in his neck, nuzzling his skin as she tightened her grip around him, so hard one could have feared she'd melt into him if they stayed like this just a second too long.
They came together, in the midst of a cloud of moans and grunts, the sound of wet skin and the smell of the fluids that were moistening it, and toes that didn't cease to curl. The tension held their bodies captive and stiff until the last drop of pleasure abandoned them, and they collapsed on the table, Chris careful not to crush his sister under his muscle mass built up during months and years of extreme daily workouts.
Claire panted, her mind stealthily slipping back into her body, and she turned her head to kiss Chris' temple. Hopefully the documents weren't going to be soaked with sweat, it would be awkward enough to hand them over to anyone after having just cummed on top of them. Chris seemed to have a similar thought, as he pushed himself up and looked across the table.
"I would pay to see Kennedy's face when you show him the papers."
Claire chuckled and ran her hand up his neck, fingers softly raking through the last strands above his nape. Chris leaned down to kiss her again, one of those short and soft kisses that always left you hungry for more. It was the wonderful ending to an overall dramatically shitty night, and nothing could ruin that moment of magic.
"So, is now a good time to call Leon?"
Or so she thought.
"Goddamnit, Chris, how often do I have to tell you that you can't smoke here?"
Whoever had dared call her stubborn in any moment of her life, they surely hadn't known her big brother. As soon as Leon had confirmed that he was nearby , and that it wouldn't take him more than a couple of hours, which, Claire knew, would be at least four, Chris had started arguing with her again. He wanted to be there when Kennedy learned about the intel; Claire wanted him to stay away. The conversation with Leon wouldn't be easy, that much she knew, and she didn't need Chris to be there to raise the tension or to eavesdrop, always with the risk that he'd jump out in the worst moment. Their discussion had ended, like so often before, with Chris slamming his hand onto the table and telling her he was going anyway because he was the older one, and Claire hadn't spoken a word to him again. Until now, when he was turning her apartment into a smokehouse.
Eye-rolling, Chris clicked his tongue at her complaint.
"The window is open," he exclaimed, gesturing to the open framework, but he eventually crackled under Claire's killer gaze and tossed the cigarette out. "I don't know why we couldn't do this in our place. Hell, I don't even know why you're keeping this shoebox when we're living together. You don't need it anymore!"
Claire was organizing the papers on the table, wondering which document Leon should have a look at first. Chris was right about her apartment. She didn't need it anymore, but she felt safer knowing that she had a place to go if she ever needed it. The fact that she hadn't been there in months made it evident how good she felt about Chris and their relationship, but now that she needed to meet with Leon in a private place, her apartment was the ideal location. And even though her brother was perfectly aware of it, he still had to be a Redfield and complain.
The doorbell rang and Chris awkwardly tensed his biceps. Claire immediately jumped up and pushed her brother into the bedroom.
"You stay in here!" she hissed as she grabbed the handle, one finger of her free hand pointing threateningly at her fuming brother. "I can handle this."
When she finally got to open the door, she found Leon with his hand hovering over the doorbell to ring it a second time.
"Sorry it took me so long," she excused herself and pushed the door open widely. "Thank you for coming."
She couldn't deny that Leon looked kind of wasted, the shirt underneath the leather jacket wrinkled, the upper buttons undone.
"You said it was urgent," he muttered as he stepped inside, his vigilant nature pushing him to check his surroundings closely. "I came as soon as I could. What's wrong, Claire?"
She closed the door and looked at him, exhaling deeply as she considered where to start. At the beginning, maybe? Wouldn't that bore him, or unnecessarily raise the tension?
"I've found something," she said bluntly, choosing straightforwardness was the best method. Walking over to the table, she took up the papers, gesturing to the chair to invite her friend to take a seat. "And I would like you to have a look at it."
Leon blew out an exasperated sigh, and Claire recognized the look on his face. It meant that he thought she was getting herself in trouble—again. It was always the same story between the two of them; they worked perfectly as long as they didn't talk about work. Once they started talking about work, Leon took the overprotective leading role and she was bound to comply, to be pretty and silent, to stay the fuck away, because anything else would be too dangerous for a civilian like her. She was used to this kind of attitude, as Chris always did the same, but neither of them could seriously expect her not to intervene. Not when her brother was missing in Europe. Not when someone had been spreading a virus in Penamstan. And not when some politician's dirty business would risk hundreds of lives in Kijuju.
Thankfully, Leon Kennedy was never as quick to judge as Chris.
"I kinda knew you wouldn't just want to grab dinner," he commented and offered her a weary sigh followed by a nod. "Show me."
Claire smiled and slid one of the pictures of the governor and Jessica Sherawat over the surface, watching Leon's expression darken instantly.
"Seems like you know what you're looking at," she commented, her blue stare boring into his face with fury. Leon looked back at her.
"Where did you get this from?"
Claire's eyes narrowed as she hesitated a second. Admitting she'd had contact with Richardson would inevitably lead to another level of awkward accusations from his side.
"Claire, answer me."
She inhaled, rolling her eyes in annoyance, and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
"You probably heard about the journalist they fished out of the sea this morning."
Leon's eyes flashed with terror; his fist met the table surface with a short, targeted thump. The redhead let her eyebrow rise into an expression of skepticism, without showing how surprised she was by his reaction, so uncontrolled and explosive—so unlike him.
"Claire, how often do I have to tell you to stay out of trouble?" He reached for the rest of the documents, but Claire was able to grab them in time. "Let me have a look at this!"
She held his intense stare bravely, her eyes burning from how long she hadn't allowed herself to blink. Leon wasn't particularly easy to dissuade in his will to do things his way, but this time he would have to listen to her.
"I don't want you to take the documents and run off to your government friends with them," she hissed, earning herself a huff from the blond. "I called you to get more pieces to this puzzle, and to warn you." She tapped the picture in front of him without letting go of the rest of the folders. "If Casey is, in any way, in contact with the wrong side, this will be a problem for all of us. And I need to know if his business is related to Kijuju, as well."
Leon's steady, deep breathing told her that he goddamn knew that it took much less than a corrupt Secretary of Defense to cause a major problem for the government, but he kept his look set hard on her. Claire sighed silently. What had she really expected?
"Claire, I know you only want to help," the agent muttered after another moment of silence, tilting his head in attempted complicity. "But you know how dangerous this all is. If you keep digging too deep, you're gonna get yourself killed someday."
It took all of her willpower to keep calm and not to slap his goddamn face. Chris, Leon… it was always the same with those two. They would do anything to keep her away from trouble, which she appreciated immensely—on one hand, at least, because the other one was boiling with fury. Intoxicated by the gentle attack of concern she was so well used to already, Claire responded in a way that would always trigger the other part—if the other part was Chris.
"You're still treating me like a child," she said, calmly, as she crossed her arms. "I thought things had changed between us, Leon. Because I truly hope you didn't see me as a child when I was sucking your cock."
And it still triggered Chris, as the thud emerging from the bedroom proved. Leon, however, remained relaxed, with his narrowed eyes still set on her as though he was trying to scrutinize and absorb her inner world. He ignored the noise from the bedroom so excellently that Claire even believed he hadn't heard it.
"You're mixing up personal and professional issues and you want me to take you seriously?" he asked after a long moment full of judgement. He got up and walked across the room in slow-motion, returning to the silence that wouldn't take them anywhere.
Claire would have followed him, but she somehow preferred staying at the table, where she had the documents close. Not that she believed Leon would just grab them and run away, but… yes, honestly, that was what she thought he might do.
"You once told me I had chosen a different path than you and my brother, Leon," she said and watched him turn back to her. It was funny that they were, right now, at the same distance they had stood away that night after the Harvardville incident. "But you goddamn know that I didn't choose that path willingly. Providing medicines and shelter is incredibly important, and gratifying, and now that I've been doing this for so many years, I wouldn't want to do things differently. But no matter how hard we fight, what we do, how much we spend, we are always two steps behind. My god, how often is the BSAA already one step behind the terrorists?" Her finger dropped back to the picture. "But this is the key that might give us an advantage and actually do something before things go to shit."
Of course, she knew that the BSAA had prevented as many outbreaks as they had fought in, and that National Security's numbers couldn't be much different, but she was also aware that she had just hit a sensitive nerve in the agent. Leon couldn't help wanting to avoid more tragic deaths of the innocent, more families destroyed by corporate greed and poor decisions of politicians, and she knew that, as long as there were people like Leon working in their rows, the government wasn't entirely lost.
"Why don't you ask your brother for help?" the blond unexpectedly asked and ripped a chuckle from her lips. Maybe he wanted to give in, but he wouldn't let her know that she had already convinced him. "If this is linked to Sherawat, the BSAA might have access to more information than I do."
Claire sighed deeply, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
"The informant said that there may be people in the BSAA who know more than they are willing to share, if you know what I mean."
Damn, if he knew. The defeated look of compassion on his face showed just how well he knew what it felt like to be betrayed by your own people. Another ravaging noise of frustration came from the bedroom, and Claire saw Leon's eyes jump momentarily to the door. He didn't say anything, though. He just sighed.
"I'm not asking you to hand me over incriminating microchips about Penamstan, Leon," Claire continued before he could say anything. His look had dropped to the ground, the tiny wrinkles between his eyebrows showing his displeasure. "I actually don't want this to be made public. I'm offering cooperation and intel that might be helpful. All I want is your word that you will keep me updated about anything related to Kijuju."
Leon's look travelled back to her, but the silence went on. The tiny twitch of his mouth meant that he was thinking, probably carefully nibbling on the inside of his lip.
"You're really interested in that zone, aren't you?"
That was undeniable at this point of the story. Yes, she kept a special interest in Kijuju and whatever might be going on there, but the reason for her concern was blurry at best. Was it just the fact that she had invested many working hours in the camp there or that it was her first big project as Head of Operations at Terra Save? Was it because she felt Neil was right and that something was going on there? Or was it just that she wanted to prove to Chris, Leon and the world that Terra Save and she herself were as needed and useful as the rest of organizations?
"Yes."
Leon huffed out a laugh.
"Okay," he murmured and nodded. "I will keep an eye on the situation and keep you updated." He took a step towards the table and let his look jump to the bedroom door again. "But I don't want anyone here to believe I didn't try to stop you."
A pleased smile grew on Claire's lips as she watched him take a seat again.
"Everyone here knows how hard you tried."
You know the rest. That meeting was the beginning of the biggest cooperation ever between the US Government, the BSAA and Terra Save.
A/N: Hey world! Xaori here! I apologize for the delay, my dearest readers. Life has been a rollercoaster in the past weeks and months and I find little time and motivation to write. I still hope you forgive me, that you're all doing well and that you enjoy the new chapter. A big thank you to all of you, and especially to my REwrite friends.
Xaori loves you
Dear Guest reader: I hope you eventually found out what the actual fuck happened lol
InsertNameHere: Hahahaha Maybe Chris has other reasons to avoid knocking his sister up. Just have patience. We'll soon learn more. Anyway, thanks for reading.