Jill

Claire woke with her brother's name on her lips, along with the fruity-sour taste of prom punch that seemed to burn itself into her tongue. She groaned a bit at the painful impact of daylight on her eyes and tried to sit up, soon regretting the attempt. Everything around her spun and the acid bile threatened to rise. Chris had been right, it seemed. She had way too much to drink.

Her narrowed eyes drove over the surroundings. By the light of the sun and its angle, Claire concluded that it had to be past noon already and she swung —no, she had trouble trying to shove both of her legs out of the bed. It looked like she had a nice hangover. Shit. What had they made that punch of? She'd have to ask Kelly if she felt as sick as she herself did. Claire turned her head to the space between herself and the wall, where Chris had laid down the night before and the memories of her brash acts and close sins came back in a wave of regret and shame. Hands on her face, she screamed into her palms until the pressure in her chest would disappear. Her fingers ran through her hair and undid the already loose braid, combing her hair nervously in an attempt to pacify her anxious spirit.

Mom looked terrified from behind the glass in the frame. Had she feared something would happen between her two children, and that they'd even let her watch? Claire huffed out a laugh.

"Don't worry, mom," she whispered as her hand reached under her dress. "I still wear my panties."

She got up and stumbled out of her bedroom, her rumbling stomach leading the way downstairs reluctantly. The smell of bacon and other fried tortures emerged from the kitchen and Claire wondered if Chris was cooking breakfast. Maybe he had gotten up right before her. She slowly descended the stairs, sliding her fingers over the cold wall and the handrail to hold herself on her feet. Before she could turn into the kitchen, though, a piece of conversation made her freeze.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me, Chris, but I have to get back to my own place someday." That was Jill's voice. Her tone was low, with a little hint of desperation in it. "I have brought you and Claire enough trouble."

Claire felt herself hold her breath unconsciously. Was Jill moving out?

"Dammit you're being ridiculous," Chris replied in an uncommonly rude tone. He tried to sound angry, but Claire knew too well that it wasn't rage that spoke out of him. He was hurt to the core. "It's about being practical. You could save a lot of money if you stayed here."

Claire put her hand onto the wall comfortingly, as if her touch would help Chris be strong. Jill kept skeptical.

"I live half an hour away from work as well." Okay, that was hard to deny. Jill had once told her that her apartment was just a ten-minute-walk away from the RPD, and even though Chris and she drove to work together, their house in the suburbs of a neighboring town couldn't compete with that kind of comfort. Chris grunted at her words. He always made animal sounds when he didn't know how to reply. Jill used the silence to keep speaking. "Also, remember that this was just going to be two weeks."

It was true. The two weeks they had promised her they'd need to get her apartment ready had impudently turned into almost three months. Apparently, the refurbishment was done now.

"Look, they said you can get back Saturday next week, right?" Okay, maybe it wasn't entirely ready yet. "You can still think about it."

Jill's audible sigh advanced her next move.

"Chris, please, don't make this harder. We said we were going to keep this friendly and…" She paused. Claire's heart almost sprang out of her chest as she heard her words. "Maybe you… we are getting too attached. Remember that we work together."

Too attached? Claire leaned against the wall as she heard the brunette reasoning. Getting attached to a coworker was bad in their line of work, wasn't it? But good Jill should have thought about that a little earlier; before bedding Chris, probably; before moving in with him and sleeping in the same bedroom. Wasn't she seeing how much she was hurting him? Caught between anger and hope, Claire stopped breathing; she waited and listened. How was Chris going to respond? He had been so full of life and joy since Jill had moved in with them, and Claire had believed that the brunette felt the same about him. She sighed. Hopefully, Chris would give one of his badass responses.

"Attached. I see." Claire heard him huff out a laugh, before the cabinets fell closed with a loud noise. Footsteps followed, coming closer to her and she barely had time to leap onto her feet and run back up the stairs. When Chris reached the staircase, everything looked like she was just about to come down, and that she hadn't heard anything of their intimate talk. "Hello and good morning, Cinderella." Her brother laughed, standing with his arms crossed and waiting for her to reach the lower floor. "How are you feeling?"

Claire made a face of disgust and waved her hand rejectingly.

"Not so well." She walked down the last steps and let her brother pat her head. "I think I need a glass of water and some fruit."

Jill's head peaked curiously out of the kitchen.

"Good morning! How are you? Did you have a good time?" Claire barely managed to smile at the brunette and Jill understood. "Oh, I have a great remedy for hangovers. Come with me."

As Claire followed the brunette into the kitchen, she glanced back at Chris, catching sight of his face of disappointment and pain. However, neither Jill nor him spoke a word about the imminent disaster, keeping silent about their feelings.

That silence went on during the whole week. Jill didn't even mention that her apartment was almost ready and Chris was avoiding most of the conversations anyway. Before, they had always seemed to be waiting for Claire to leave the room, but now the redhead felt that she was the only reason they could still behave like normal adults around each other. Jill tried to make eye contact; Chris wouldn't respond; and Claire watched them all the time.

When she dared ask Chris if he was alright, he shrugged the subject off. It was work, he said; that Wesker was just being a dick again and that he needed someone to remove that broomstick and shove something else up his ass instead. He would crack a corny joke every now and then and Claire would laugh at it, never insisting. He didn't want to concern her, not knowing that his silence was paining her more than the outspoken truth. She hated seeing him suffer like that and she wished she could help him out of the hole of misery he was in. However, Chris wanted to handle his troubles alone, and she would let him do just that. But nobody would make her move away from his side. Once he was ready to speak about it, she would be there.

The nights were the most awkward thing about their current situation. When darkness fell, silence became impossibly discernable in the house and Claire was thankful whenever either Chris or Jill had nightshift. When they were both home, they would just stay up indefinitely, only to avoid being spotted when they didn't disappear into the same bedroom. After challenging them twice and losing both contests, on Thursday, Claire had shown some mercy and had gone to bed a little earlier — also because Wesker would be waiting for her the following night and she didn't want to draw needless attention to herself when she'd walk through the station. Unsurprisingly, two pairs of feet followed her upstairs not long after, their ways parting as they both walked into different bedrooms.

Chris had said Saturday next week. That meant two more days until Jill's apartment was ready and, so far, they hadn't even told her about it. Claire sighed. It was something she wasn't part of, but as a living member of the same household, she wished they wouldn't treat her like a little child.

Maybe it meant that Jill was staying, eventually. Maybe it meant that there was still hope for Chris and his bad choices.

Or maybe it meant that it was, really, none of her business. Claire turned around and decided she'd try to get some sleep. Her own bad choices had kept her awake long enough.

Claire didn't quite know how Wesker kept the other S.T.A.R.S. members or the Captain of Bravo team away from the office on Friday night but, so far, nobody had ever caught or interrupted them. That night, Chris and Jill had been sent on another useless assignment in the middle of nowhere - alone, it seemed. Under other conditions, she would have expected them to be happy to spend some more time together, but as they had barely spoken a word to each other in the previous days, she pictured their shift to be uncomfortably silent. However, that was none of her concern. She was busy enough not being late for her meeting.

Wesker was waiting for her, sitting at his desk and pretending he was reading some report, when she stumbled into the S.T.A.R.S. office at ten o'clock. From the way his lips curved she knew he was displeased and her look dropped to her watch. She was on time, so his bad mood wasn't probably her fault.

"Captain Wesker," she gasped, stomping into the office and throwing her jacket carelessly onto the chair. "Hello."

"Miss Redfield." The man nodded and pointed at the chair her jacket occupied. "Please take a seat, I'll be with you in a minute."

Claire was dying for a place to sit, but as her heart was still hammering loudly in her chest after her record sprint through the station, she preferred standing until she'd catch her breath again. Refusing the offer with a grateful headshake, she pointed to the desks outside of Wesker's office.

"I don't want to bother you. I'll be waiting outside, if you don't mind."

He didn't. No offensive comment or gesture, not even a hum, was given in response, and Claire was free to walk through the huge S.T.A.R.S. office. Most of the desks were buried under stacks of paper, and ammunition was lying around like candy instead of being organized in locked cabinets. She shook her head. If this was the elite of the RPD, she didn't want to know how the other departments looked.

Her way through the office brought her inevitably to Chris' desk, with its coffee mug stains and the pencils with bite marks on one end. He'd always had the habit of chewing on his writing tools when he was nervous, even as a child. This job at S.T.A.R.S. seemed to fluster him more than she'd perceived so far. Or maybe it was the current situation he and Jill were going through that was making him so uneasy. Claire turned her head to the left and found her brother's guitar sitting in the corner, like a guardian on night watch. Chris had never really learned how to play it, giving up on music after their parents' accident. The instrument had belonged to their father before he'd given it to his son for his fourteenth birthday. The guitar meant everything to Chris, so it was just natural that he'd keep it where he most needed it.

Claire smirked as her fingers strummed the loose strings and the guitar's dark growl echoed through the room, a little louder than she'd expected. Wesker didn't seem to have finished yet, and she didn't want him to complain about any noises, so she turned to the desk next to Chris' instead. The first time Wesker had let her stroll through the office, she'd wondered whose workplace it was; so tidy and neat, and with a S.T.A.R.S. beret resting on it. She should have known that it was Jill's. It screamed her name from every possible spot and angle. Claire approached the surface as a photo frame she hadn't seen before caught her attention. It was a picture of a dog. A Golden Retriever perhaps? She shrugged at her own mental question, as she had no fucking idea about dog breeds.

"Have you found something interesting?" Claire turned and found Wesker leaning in the door frame of his office, watching her like he was paying for it. She shrugged a shoulder.

"I didn't know Jill had a dog," she explained. Maybe that was the real reason why the brunette was so crazy for moving back to her own place. Where was the dog now? Had Jill left it with a friend of hers? Claire pouted a bit at the idea, because she herself had always wanted a dog. With their complicated schedules, it was hard for the Redfield siblings to take care of a four-legged friend, but Jill could certainly have brought her pet for the two weeks she'd supposedly stayed with them.

"She doesn't." Wesker replied and made her look up.

"She doesn't?"

The man chuckled and walked towards the desk, where Claire was currently searching for the right question to ask.

"She showed up here with that photograph after Speyer had been so considerate to suggest that women should have pictures of their boyfriends with them to show the world that they needed a male being beside them." He took up the frame and turned it around to show her it still had the price tag on it. "The dog came with the frame."

Claire couldn't hold back a smirk. That picture surely showed Speyer how much of a man Jill really needed.

Claire sighed a bit as she took the frame from Wesker's hands and stared at it.

"I think you can soon stop worrying about that friendship between my brother and Jill," Claire muttered sadly as Wesker's words about Jill distracting Chris came back to her.

"So?" The blond leaned against the desk and nodded at her with what Claire identified as feigned interest. She kept talking anyway.

"She might be moving out, soon." She turned back to the silent guitar in the corner. "I also think they will stop… you know."

Wesker grunted in response.

"Stop what, Miss Redfield? Jumping onto each other's genitals as if that was what they're getting paid for?" He laughed darkly at Claire's hurting glance and the redhead replied with a serious expression.

"Did you do this?" She asked bravely, unafraid of his reaction. Jill had never been so concerned about getting involved with a coworker, as she had shown during so many nights. Why would she care now? "Did you speak to Jill?"

Wesker sighed, his hand reaching for his sunglasses and slowly pulling them down his nose. With his eyes staring directly at her, he was even more frightening and Claire even wished he would put those things back on.

"Miss Redfield." His voice was low, as usual. "This is not kindergarten. We are in a police station and we fight for peace and justice in Raccoon City." He shook his head in derision as he freed the frame from Claire's hands. "It is widely known that there's no room for distraction of any kind in the RPD, but even though I believe your brother's behavior is unprofessional and not worthy of a S.T.A.R.S. member, you are wrong. I have nothing to do with any of Jill Valentine's personal choices." Claire's blue eyes held his glance as he put the picture back onto the desk behind himself. "Also, I always believed, from your own speech, that you wanted her gone."

Claire's lip twitched in anger. Who did he even think he was?

"I want Chris to be happy." With the sternness of the very same man in front of her, she countered his verbal attack. "That's everything I ever wanted."

And a smirk appeared on Wesker's lips as he put the sunglasses back on.

"Everything?"

Arms crossed, he showed her how patient a S.T.A.R.S. Captain could really be, waiting for her reaction like scavengers waited for the lions to finish their meal. Claire gasped.

"Everything."

If there was something Claire had learned about Albert Wesker, it was that he liked resolute, courageous people. But liking; or rather tolerating them, didn't mean he would, ever, stop mocking their every word.

"And do you think Jill Valentine is giving him the happiness he deserves, Miss Redfield?" He pushed one finger up, tucking one loose lock behind her ear. Claire's lip began to shake in expectation. That delicate touch of his always held her captive between sickness and arousal.

"Well," she whispered. Wesker trailed his fingers down her neck as she swallowed. "He seems so much bet..."

"I didn't ask what he seems to be, Miss Redfield, nor for your explanation," his gruff voice shouted at her. "I asked if you think that Jill Valentine makes him as happy as he could be. Yes or no? It's a question with an easy answer, isn't it?"

Claire stood still like a statue, holding her breath as Wesker's fingertip reached her collarbone. Yes or no. Yes or no.

"No," she breathed and stood Wesker's mocking laughter with dignity.

"I expected that. Don't you believe that he would be so much better off…?"

"With me." Her teeth dug into the corner of her lower lip as the blond stroked harshly over her chest and down her abdomen. Claire closed her eyes to intensify the sense of his touch on her body. Wesker chuckled.

"Did you enjoy your prom night, Claire?" With a mouthful of arrogance, he called her by her first name and made her shudder. "Chris was so excited to take you that I couldn't deny his wish." When he put another hand onto her waist, Claire squealed with surprise under his touch. "Did you dance?"

Claire took a deep breath as she wanted to fight, but just resigned to melt in his hands. Ready to give in to him once more, she nodded, being rewarded with another one of his creepy grins.

"I'm sure you looked…" His mouth was so close to her ear that the humid breath tickled on her skin. "Lovely, together." Savoring that scent of his in all her pores, Claire reached for his hand. "Shhhh." He caught her wrist and held it tight — so tight her fingers curled into an involuntary fist. "You're not allowed to touch."

Right, she wasn't. She was the object; the one who was touched. Wesker spun her around and sat her ungracefully onto Jill's desk, pushing her knees open and stepping between them. Claire arched her back and gasped out a moan as the man's strong hands lay around her waist like a pair of pliers, holding her steady as he pressed himself against her spot.

"Are you thinking of Chris, Claire?" The heat rose between her thighs and he must have felt it. Hands travelling upwards, he brushed the curve of her breasts with the tips of his thumbs.

"Yes," she cried out and squeezed her eyes shut harder, feeling the man's pressure between her thighs. "Yes."

Wesker chuckled, his fingers indelicately tugging on the buttons of the soft pink shirt.

"What do you want him to do to you, Claire?"

Her tongue flicked over her upper lip as she tried to articulate the proper words.

"I… I want him to touch me." Her wish just evoked another laugh.

"Touch you?" he whispered grunting. "You don't need to be politically correct around me, Claire. Call things by their name."

The air began to caress her skin as Wesker undid button after button of her shirt, and she pictured herself in the green dress again, dancing and swinging in Chris' arms. How easily her entire wardrobe would come apart in his grip. Claire moaned.

"I want him to fuck me," she howled and gained an approving hum from the man between her thighs.

"Is that so?" Palming her breasts in the soft cream-colored bra that left nothing to imagination, he made her squeal a bit more. "How hard?"

Another gasp followed.

"Very hard." Her own hands stroked over Wesker's and tightened his grip on her breasts. "I want him to come in me and…" Claire never got to finish the sentence.

The phone rang. The goddamn phone rang and Wesker let go of her faster than a teenage boy being caught masturbating. With a steady stomp he walked back to his office, where the ringing emerged from and picked up.

"Wesker," he yelled into the device, obviously annoyed. Claire stayed seated on Jill's desk, pouting a little at the interruption. "Am I the only one in this damn city who is doing his job, I wonder." She heard Wesker complain, without raising his voice. "I see. Got it."

Claire tucked her hair behind her ear as the blond came out of the office, waiting for him to continue.

"So, where were we?"

Wesker sighed.

"Get dressed."

She laughed nervously as both of her eyebrows jumped up in expectation. So, it was one of those nights he wanted to take their game out of the station. It wasn't the first time.

"Are we going out?" She leaped off the desk and stood in front of Wesker, almost brushing his chest with her own again. However, the man shoved her away with a strong grip on her shoulders.

"We aren't going anywhere. You go."

Once she realized what he was telling her, Claire's jaw dropped and she felt her knees weaken.

"Sorry, what?"

"You heard me, Miss Redfield," Wesker turned around and walked to the door, ignoring her shy mewls of disappointment. "I don't have time for you tonight, so make it quick. I will send your brother home before midnight."

She should have been relieved, shouldn't she? That's what she told herself as she stalked after him towards the exit, quickly grabbing her jacket before she gave him another irritated look.

"Well," she hissed. "If you were going to work, you could have surely told me before…" A shrug ran through her both shoulders as she spoke. "Are you telling me I have come all the way to Raccoon City in vain?"

Wesker stared darkly at her as another sigh found its way out.

"You'll get over it, Miss Redfield. So, stop the pouting," he muttered and pulled out a dark leather wallet. Claire's jaw dropped as he handed her a couple of twenty-dollar notes. "This should be enough to cover your ride."

She stared at the money incredulously. If this was his way to make her stop pouting, he was surely doing it wrong. Before she could come up with a sassy comment, though, Wesker had already turned the handle and was inviting her to leave the office.

"So, then… until next week?" she asked timidly.

Wesker nodded and held the door open until she was out of the S.T.A.R.S. office, slamming it shut as soon as she stood in the corridor.

They had never been interrupted before. Claire's look jumped from the shut office door to the money in her hand.

"Asshole."

She had been given the night off, Claire thought during her ride back home. She was free for the second Friday in a row and she should have been happy about it, as she finally could watch the late show she hadn't seen in weeks. As Chris was still working and wouldn't come home before midnight, she could have leftovers and ice cream and an endlessly long shower. She could even invite someone over. Or she could go out.

She didn't do any of those things. Once back home, Claire locked the door, tossed her jacket into a corner of her bedroom and dropped onto her bed in the dark. And there she lay, listening to her own deep breathing and losing herself in thoughts. She should have been relieved. The phone had saved her from another session of slimy, filthy hands on her body. Wesker had barely touched her.

Claire shoved her hand into the back pocket, where the cash the Captain had given her burnt on her skin. He didn't have enough with using her like a hooker, he was now also paying for her like one. A cheap one, even. Perhaps he hadn't touched her, but he had certainly found a different way to shame her. Had she ever felt that shoddy?

Claire turned to her left, facing the frame on the bedside table, and her mother's face in it. Was that a spark of satisfaction in her eyes, Claire wondered. She probably thought her daughter had gotten what she deserved, being left alone with her shameful thoughts, as well as unsatisfied.

Because Albert Wesker hadn't just told her he wasn't going to sleep with her that night. He had thrown her away like trash, denying her the pleasure she needed to protect her mind from insanity.

And she deserved pleasure. One hand drove up her body.

"Chris." As she whispered his name, Claire shut her eyes and began brushing her breast with the tip of her fingers, feeling the hard nub through the thin layers of her clothes. Oh, how she wished it was her brother's hand instead of her own.

"Touch me," she whispered, as soft and quietly as if he was there with her. He would have chuckled, kissed her and undressed her gently if he'd been there, and Claire's hand slowly moved below the fabric of the shirt and touched her breast through her underwear. An airy moan released itself as she rolled her nipple between two fingers and her right hand pushed downwards, past the waistline of her pants. It didn't even surprise her how quick and easily her fingers went inside as she tried. She was impossibly wet.

Her left hand had stopped caressing her breast with care only to start tugging on it, rolling it in her flaming palm as the fingers in her pants began searching for the right angle, the perfect spot and the ideal pace. Her mind pictured Chris; his hands on her breasts and his face between her thighs. Oh, how much she wished he would taste her entirely and savor all the love she had. He could forget Jill. Jill would never make him suffer again.

"Take me," the whisper came out more like a shout and she laughed at the carefreeness in her words. "I'm yours!"

Another deep gasp left her lips as the tickling heat in her rose. Pictures of Chris on top of her took her in, so real she almost believed he was really there with her. She cried, she bucked and she knew she was so close to her climax that she barely noticed the eyewear on Chris' face. The dark sunglasses flashed up right before her and her eyes fluttered open wide — wider. Claire froze. The shock rushed so deeply into her bowels that she feared she'd choke on the revelation. Her numb fingers tried to check if she had eventually succumbed to the wrong fantasy.

"Wesker."

She hadn't come. Thank god she hadn't come. Claire sighed in relief and sat up, fingers pulling her clothes into place. How did that happen? How could that man make his way into her dreams and thoughts while she was pursuing pleasure?

In shame, she stared at the picture of her mother, who looked mockingly happy. Everything seemed fine to her as long as it wasn't Chris who was the center of her daughter's fantasies, didn't it? Pouting and confused, Claire blamed the unwanted swap on her tiredness and got up to get ready for bed.

She woke in pitch darkness as sounds of clumsy moves emerged from the floor below. Shocked at first, Claire relaxed quickly when she became aware that burglars didn't make that much noise when they entered a house at night. It had to be Chris and Jill returning from their shift. She gave the alarm clock a hasty look before sinking back into the cushions. It was 4 am, a little late for them to end their Friday shift. Wesker had told her he'd send Chris home before midnight, hadn't he? Claire listened, expecting whispers, or at least footsteps, someone walking up the stairs and into the bedroom. Together or alone. Nothing happened, though. No other sound was made, and Claire wondered if her brother and Jill had stayed up to talk.

A glass shattered to the ground and ripped her off the pillow again. Curiously, she climbed out of the bed and opened her bedroom door, just enough to hear better what was going on down there.

No voices were heard, but the TV was on. Someone was collecting shards and tossing them into the trashcan, it seemed. Still no words. Claire bit her lip. Something was wrong there. She pushed her door open and tiptoed to the stairs, the weak light of the living room lamp just showing her shadows of what was moving on the floor below. Claire knelt on the upper stair and listened again. A click, a clunk, and the signature sound of a liquid poured into a glass was all she perceived. Getting onto her feet, she slowly descended the stairs.

She found Chris sitting — no, hanging — at the table, with his head in his hands and an empty glass of Bourbon in front of him. He was alone.

"Chris," Claire whispered as she walked to him, running her hand over his shoulders. "What's wrong? Where is Jill? Is she okay?"

She knew the answer before asking, but she wouldn't let him know. It was time he came clean and spoke to her about his troubles. Her hand squeezed his shoulder slightly, reminding him that she was there, silently requesting an answer. Chris grunted darkly, reaching for the bottle and filling the glass again before he even turned his head.

"She's gone." He blew out a laugh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Her apartment's ready."

Claire let go of him and took a seat next to him at the table, quietly removing the bottle from his reach.

"Gone? Without saying goodbye?"

As Chris turned, she saw the reddish shimmer in his eyes. Had he been crying? Had her god-like brother been crying over the absence of a woman who didn't know how to treat a man like him? Chris nodded, a malicious smirk on his face.

"She'll come to get her stuff," he whispered. "Tomorrow, probably, when I work. We had a fight, you know?"

Claire's hand reached for his and held it. He let her. He even turned it and pressed their palms together. Oh god, how could Jill be so heartless and leave that man so broken?

"A fight about what?" She shook her head. "What happened?"

Chris licked his lips and drank again. He sighed to the sound of the ice cubes clonking back into the glass.

"She says we're getting too attached, and that it's better for both of us if we didn't cross lines."

Claire's eyebrows jumped up sarcastically. Was there a line they hadn't crossed yet? Her thumb flicked over Chris', silently comforting him.

"Chris," she said softly, "maybe she's right. You two work together and…" One deep breath gave her the time to find the right words to say. "Maybe these things distract you."

Chris grunted again.

"I know she's right," he hissed and hit the glass back onto the table. "I know she is, but it's just hard to accept when…"

He couldn't finish the sentence. Even Claire noticed the knot in his throat and decided she'd say the hurting words for him; no matter how deep they cut herself.

"When you're in love?"

Wow, that had hurt indeed. Claire quickly checked if she was still breathing before she found the strength to press her brother for an answer. Chris chuckled.

"Have you ever been in love, Claire?"

She flinched. If she had been in love, he asked completely openly without the slightest hesitation. He expected an answer as if he himself hadn't tried to hide his feelings from her. Of course, she had. She knew everything about being in love and about not being meant to be. If only she could tell him, so they could carry their burden together. Claire didn't know whether to respond or not, also because she feared Chris would demand name and address of the unknown subject to pay him a kind visit of informative nature.

It wasn't a question he'd request an answer to, and Chris kept talking without waiting for a further response.

"It's great when it goes well," he muttered, pouring himself another glass. "You feel like you can handle everything, just because you two are together. But when it goes wrong…" A sigh followed before he gulped down the burning content and exhaled deeply. Claire just sat and watched, wondering how Jill could have been so stone-cold and leave him suffering. He was such a good man, as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside. The grimace on her face tried to turn into a comforting smile as she thumbed lovingly over the back of her brother's hand. She didn't have the words nor the actions to make his suffering end, but if Chris dwelled in pain, so would she.

Claire rocked her chair closer to his, wrapping her slender arms around his torso until she could lay her chin onto his shoulder. Breathing in deeply, she noticed how good he smelled, and she wished she could stay embraced to him forever.

"You'll find someone else," she mouthed the words, meaning she could be that someone else.

Chris huffed out a laugh and looked at her, allowing her an up-close look at his red, galled eyes, and Claire wondered if she had ever seen him so hurt. He laid his arm around her, accepting her offer to comfort him willingly, and his touch made her heart race. His breath stank like alcohol. Her poor brother. She gently rubbed her nose against his cheek and kissed it, the stubble scratching deliciously on her lips. God, she wanted to kiss him.

I can make you forget her.

Chris' hand gently caressed over her back and down to her waist. Claire's heart threatened to burst in her chest as his fingers softly slipped over the hem of the short pajama top. Was he even aware of how close he was to breaking her with pleasure? The vibration of her arousal rushed through her body like lightning and even caused her to jump a little. She crossed her legs in despair. This was a very dangerous game.

Chris served himself another drink and began to sip it silently. Claire's eyes rolled to the golden liquid in the glass as she held on tighter to his upper body, as if she feared to fall.

"Can I have one, too?" Her innocent question made Chris click his tongue.

"No fucking way, young lady! You drank enough at your prom!" He laughed full-heartedly, but eventually handed her the glass. Claire eyed him as she downed the contents. It burnt beautifully in her throat.

"Ugh. You shouldn't be drinking this." She grimaced and gave the glass back to her brother, along with a chiding grimace. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

Chris chuckled as she curled in his grip.

"I will. I'm just having a goodnight-drink." And he filled the glass again, receiving a sad sigh from his sister. Half the bottle had disappeared already. She turned her face back to his, scanning his features. She could easily slide her hand over his thigh.

Let me take care of you.

The scenes began to play in her head vividly. Had the alcohol already taken over her senses? If so, Chris had to be floating in the blurriness of his mind as well. He drank again and Claire couldn't resist the temptation, slipping her hand carefully under his shirt. Just a little. Just enough to feel how hot and soft the skin on his back was. It was, indeed, passionately hot and silken. She breathed in deeply. He seemed oblivious to her doing.

Claire rolled her shoulders a little, stretching as best as she could in Chris' grip and hoping the loose shirt she wore would do the rest. It didn't. Her brave brother sternly refused to risk a look at her cleavage. Good boy. Mom would be so proud of him. Claire sighed a little and Chris furrowed a brow.

"Are you okay? Does your back hurt?" he asked so naively that Claire almost laughed. What the fuck had she been thinking? That he would let her touch him just because Jill was gone? She was still his little sister and nothing would ever change that. She was the one person on Earth Chris would never, ever touch.

"No," she replied, headshaking. "But I will get back to bed if you don't mind. And you should go, too."

He nodded softly and released her from his grip. A little embarrassed about her clumsy, genuine try to seduce him, she didn't even push her tits into his face when she got up, lifting herself carefully. He rewarded her self-control with the widest of smirks.

"Thank you, Claire," he whispered. "I'm so blessed to be your brother."

Yeah, that was all he was — her brother, who was currently drinking himself into a coma because Jill Valentine had left him. Claire took another deep breath and raked her fingers through his hair in a mocking demeanor.

"Don't make me worry, you crybaby." She turned on her heel and walked towards the stairs. "There are other girls in the world." And she heard his deep grunt before she reached her bedroom.