"You have no idea who I am but you're being so patient with me."

Like I said, at least one chapter of each every month ;)

Birds chirped in the waning Summer dusk as Claire sat slumped on the varnished bench in the hospital gardens. A lukewarm cup of coffee lightly rested on her thigh as she gazed at the flowers. At the orange roses. Fiery passion and energy. It did fit her very well.

"Roses."

Claire blinked from her empty stare over to the man in the wheelchair beside her.

"Yeah. They're roses." she confirmed.

Fiery passion and energy fit Chris very well too. The passion and drive to live. He had always had it, never lost it. Not even under Wesker's trap at the Arklay Mansion. Not even when Wesker badly injured him in Antarctica, but injured his pride more. Nor the events in Finland, or on the Queen Zenobia cruise ship, or anything that he had been up against that would mentally cripple an average man. He had never lost his fire.

Until last December. Last December his roaring, tall fire had been smothered and suffocated in Edonia, and the remaining embers barely glowed amongst the ashes that had replaced the flames.

Claire passed her eyes over him; loose grey sweatpants (easier to put on when the wearer was practically incapable of giving a leg shake or two), a black shirt that USED to be tight against his arms and chest muscles, and a loose khaki green jacket, open. He had tried to shave a little bit, but his shaking hands had nicked the skin on his cheek. In a rare twist, he had become disheartened, and Claire had shaved the rest of his stubble for him. She had gently instructed him to tilt his head side to side, and up, but his constant stare no matter which angle his head sat had made her slightly nervous. He was still trying to read her, even now.

He had been doing physiotherapy for some time already, in fact the doctors couldn't understand how he was recovering so quickly, and his favourite was pull ups.

Claire looked back to the flowers again, but she shuffled in her seat as Chris' own gaze fixated on her. He was never a man to stare, even he, the big brash man that he was, considered staring to be incredibly rude. By his own nature he was a very polite, well spoken and gentle man.

Was.

"What are you thinking about?" Chris finally asked. Claire sighed and shrugged.

"Nothing in particular." she responded. Chris still stared at her in silence, and she shuffled in her seat again, rapping her fingers on her knees.

"You're thinking about me, right? Are you thinking about things from the past?" Chris asked, his tone was much softer, much more like the brother she knew. She sensed even a slight sliver of concern in his voice.

"Maybe I am. But it probably doesn't matter much anymore. I can't share the past with you." Claire bit her lip at that last sentence, and let out an involuntary choke. She hoped that Chris hadn't heard it, but he wheeled his chair closer to her. She jumped when he touched her hand.

"I may not remember anything about myself, or you, or even us as siblings, but don't dismiss your memories for my sake. If they make you happy, then cherish them. I only wish I could recall everything. But I don't want you to be upset. I can see that you care very much about me, and I thank you for that. It comforts me that there's someone around me who knows who I am."

Chris looked to the sky and curled his lip, as if deep in thought.

"Knowing that you know me, it doesn't make me feel so alone. It's a scary sensation. I'm meant to know you, I'm meant to know where I am, who I am, what I do for a living, yet I just have nothing but blank pages in my mind, or like a photo album with nothing but empty images. It's the best way I can describe it. I know this is hard for me, being unable to remember literally anything about me, but I imagine it's even harder for you, and I'm so sorry."

Claire let another choke escape her quivering lips, and Chris was quick to squeeze her hand with his own, though with a tremble.

"Your boyfriend showed me photos of us throughout the years." said Chris. Claire nodded, but then looked at him with confusion.

"Boyfriend? I don't have a boyfriend!"

Chris returned his own look of confusion.

"That blonde guy, Leon, is his name? He's not your boyfriend?" he questioned. Claire wanted to burst out laughing, but she worried too much that her laugh would wound his dignity.

"Leon? My BOYFRIEND?! Oh God, no, no he's just…he's someone I escaped a city with back in the late 1990s. Been involved with him in one or two other bioterrorism related things but, no, we're just friends, if it can barely be called that."

Chris stared at her more, and she had to look away again. He nodded and looked back at the flowers.

"I'm sorry for making that assumption. It seemed like you and him were a thing."

"Then in that case, I'm sorry that that's how you perceived it. I'm too married to my job, I think. I don't bet that I'll ever settle down, now. Not at my age." Claire explained, and she sighed. She had in fact wondered for years if she could be settled down somewhere by now, she wondered whether Chris would be too. But they both became far too committed to their causes once they had returned from Antarctica. For them, fighting bioterrorism and rescuing the victims of said bioterrorism had become as normal as breathing, as familiar as one of the senses.

For Claire, the rescuing could continue, but for Chris the fight was well and truly over. If he remembered anything, he could at least be an advisor to the BSAA, but without his knowledge, he was of no use to anyone. She grimaced at the thought of him being considered an empty shell of the man he once was, but she wasn't exactly far from the truth. Surely the BSAA wouldn't just turn their backs on their most accomplished man? Would they?

"Tell me, er, Clara?"

"Claire."

"Sorry. Claire. Tell me, Claire. Was I a good brother?"

"No." Claire answered. Chris bit his lip and looked down to the ground.

"I'm sorry." Chris uttered, and Claire couldn't fight her emotions any longer.

"You were more than just a good brother. You were an amazing brother. You were compassionate, affectionate, funny, playful. You doted on me, you took such good care of me growing up, and…I know that you're still in there somewhere, Chris."

Her tears fell onto his knuckles, and he used his free hand to twist one wheel of his chair so he could face her. Taking her other hand with his other, he let her cry, occasionally brushing her pale skin with his thumbs.

"And you're still an amazing brother. You always will be. You have no idea who I am but you're being so patient with me."

He had heard her tears frequently as he lay comatose, and, though he didn't know her, he felt more and more compassion for her with each crying session she had. He didn't react like that to others who had visited him and cried. Only her. It was because of this that he decided to acknowledge her as his sister when she had told him. Maybe there really was a part of him that remembered her, an explanation to his yearning to comfort her. Maybe he really was in here somewhere.

"Tell me about yourself." Chris finally said. Claire continued to shed tears, and he gently lifted her chin to have her look at him.

"Pretend that we've never met, and that you want to tell me everything about yourself. Your music interests, your hobbies, your likes and dislikes. Food that you like. Anything. Act as if I've never known anything about you. Let's have a normal civilised conversation."

"But is it really a conversation if it's going to be one sided? You can't exactly tell me about yourself."

"I can tell you that hospital food is a lot left to be desired," Chris laughed, "maybe your cooking is better."

Claire laughed herself as she went to wipe a tear from her cheek, but Chris had beaten her to it, and she slid her hand onto his.

"You did like my cooking, but any cooking is better than hospital food." Claire smiled wryly at him, and he returned his own weak smile. Both Redfields. Smiling. She could barely believe it but it was happening.

"So come on, tell me about yourself!"

"Oh God," Claire sighed, "Well, you're my brother…"

"No no. Don't involve me, talk about yourself. What music do you like?"

"Uh...classic rock, I suppose? I like a lot of music, really."

"Favourite band?"

"Queen, but do you even remember them?"

"Not about me, Claire, it's about you."

Claire sighed again, sharper this time, but Chris cut her off before she could speak.

"Ok let me sidestep here, was I the kind of brother that would scold you for sighing at me like that?"

"Er…yeah…"

"Then don't sigh at me in that tone, Claire."

Claire stared at him in awe and hope. That is literally what he would say to her if she sighed roughly at him during disputes or moments of him gently chiding her.

"Favourite food?"

"Oh erm…I change it up every now and then, you were the fussy eater, not me."

"About you, not me." Chris tapped his finger against her knuckle with each syllable.

"Sorry,"

"What about hobbies? What do you do?"

Claire shook her head. "I don't get much spare time because of my work, but I like running, swimming…chilling out in our hot tub…"

"We have a hot tub?!"

Claire laughed.

"More like YOU have a hot tub. I got home from being overseas a couple of years ago to find you had bought one."

"Nice! I probably won't be able to use it now though," he gestured to his legs, "Anything else you like to do?"

"I used to play co-op video games with you on the rare occasion we were home together. Some goofy games, some pretty intense games. We would sometimes break out the old Sega Genesis."

"I see you somehow have spun this to include me, but that's fine. What about your dislikes?"

"Suffering. I hate seeing suffering and pain." The younger Redfield rubbed her thumbs together.

"Well, that escalated." Chris scoffed.

Claire shook her head; "I don't dislike a lot of things, but I've seen enough of what bioterrorism can do that I know for a fact that I despise those."

"How did you get into that line of work?"

"Look, Chris, if I go into that, I'll need to explain everything, and we'll be here forever. Can I tell you another time?"

"Ok, that's fine, that's fine."

The pair sat in silence, and Claire noticed Chris still holding onto her hand, still staring at her. She picked up her coffee and took a sip.

"Family?" Chris asked softly. Claire looked at him over the top of her coffee cup in surprise. He already knew the answer, and she wasn't expecting him to bring this topic up so soon.

"What?"

"What about our family?"

"Oh we…we don't have one. Not anymore."

"I know you said our parents are dead, but is there no one else? No other siblings, cousins or anything?"

"No…no it's just us. Mom was an only child, Dad had a younger brother who died when he was a kid."

"Damn, any idea what happened?" Chris tilted his head in curiosity as Claire took another sip of her coffee. She smacked her lips, and continued.

"He ran into the street after his ball, for whatever reason he didn't see or hear a cop car coming down the street. Hit him at 50 miles per hour. Killed him instantly. Dad never really talked much about it."

"That's pretty rough…"

Yeah…I think you met three of our grandparents, Grandpa Redfield died like a week before you were born. I vaguely remember seeing Granny Redfield, but I was only four when she died."

"I see," Chris hummed, "What were our parents like?"

"They were good people. Really looked out for us and wanted the best for us. They didn't have favourites between us, they loved us equally, taught us to treat everyone equally. I think that's why I hate all that bioterrorism pain and suffering so much. Because of the values we were raised on."

"What happened to them?"

Claire took a deep breath, recollecting that moment when Chris had told her what she was about to tell him. He squeezed her fingers, like he knew it was still a painful memory for her, and he gave her a nod of encouragement.

"They had a date night. Dad took Mom to her favourite restaurant. He wasn't drinking, but on the way home he lost control of the car, it left the road, rolled down the hill, and…"

Claire heard him suck in air, waiting in anticipation for her next words.

"The car exploded. Mom died in the car, but Dad somehow survived. He had severe third degree burns…this is what you told me, anyway. You said he was unrecognisable. And…you said he had died not long after you got to his hospital room."

"Damn…I'm sorry. It took a lot of courage to reiterate the event to me, thank you." Chris caressed her hand, and, and her heart warmed. Even though he didn't remember how to be her brother, he was doing a good job of being her brother.

"You were a Momma's boy, I was a Daddy's girl." she smiled.

"Really?" Chris chuckled, and he looked over Claire's shoulder at something. She twisted in her seat to see the senior doctor, beaming at them both.

"I'm pleased to say that you can go home tonight, Mr Redfield! We're happy with your progress, and we're happy with your sister's care training. Your physiotherapy will continue at home as well as in the unit. We've also seen the modifications made at home and we're satisfied that they'll meet your needs."

Claire grinned and turned back to Chris.

"You're coming home, bro!"

Chris edged closer to her and did something he had not yet done. He hugged her, and another sob caught in her throat, she couldn't even muster the effort to lift her own arms. She was so emotionally overwhelmed by feeling her brother's arms around her after so long.

"You're doing great, and you'll continue to do great." Chris whispered in her ear. He was doing it. He was absolutely being her brother without knowing what he was doing. Claire raised her hands up and gripped his forearms.

"I'll look after you, Chris."

"I know you will."

Claire pulled away enough to catch her breath, and Chris once again brushed a tear away.

"Barry was helping me prep the house out for your return home, he's there now fitting handlebars in the bathroom. He's already modded out other things for you." She wiggled to the side and up to her feet. "I'm going to call him to let him know we'll be leaving later."

Chris watched Claire walk down the path a little and pull her phone out. He couldn't quite hear what she was saying, but he could hear the elated tone in her voice. He smiled as he watched her pace with a bounce in her step, before turning his wheelchair and looking back down to the roses. He passed his eyes over the various colours in the fading light, and shrugged.

"Mom preferred red and white roses.

Let me know your thoughts, and let me know if you're enjoying this so far!