Author's Note: yet another record, it seems... I've actually managed
to write two chapters without a single day of separation between the
completion of the last and the commencement of the next. I'm becoming
quite a bit more familiar with this pairing, but a major aspect of this
drive to write so constantly has been the massive encouragement from so
many of the wonderfully, magnificently kind reviewers, and, in particular,
the incredible Cherry.
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I assert no ownership of it. If by their request, I shall immediately remove this piece from fanfiction.net, and anywhere else that it may be posted and\or archived.
There's one day remaining until the 'kidnapping' by Bioject's HCF, but it still feels as though it's an eternity away. I'm not certain how I managed to survive this overwhelming agony for such a great duration, but it almost seems that, as the time of escape from this nightmare grows nearer, time slows further... I hate this; I always ask myself why it can't be today, and not tomorrow... However, it seems that it won't be necessary to exterminate the S.T.A.R.S., as they're completely ignorant of virtually everything except for the most basic aspects of this situation.
However, I did intend to dispose of that 'supervisor,' Nicholai. He's a potential liability, and I fear that, if captured, he may reveal everything about our communication. Unfortunately, the man has now disappeared, and has yet to be located, despite the degree of effort that my HCF contacts have exerted in attempting to find him. Regardless, he's only aware of my discontent with Umbrella, and my intention to join another 'organization.' Once I escape, he'll be unable to discover to where I've disappeared, so his information will be valueless.
There is only one problem, though: Birkin. Somehow, all communications with the subsurface laboratory has ceased, and there have been no reports from Umbrella, or HCF, for that matter, about what's happened. Also, there has been reports of murders that characterized the 'zombie attacks' that preceded the 'Spencer Mansion incident,' and I can only fear the worst about what's happened in that sprawling complex. If an outbreak did occur, despite the exceptionally effective seals, something could still escape, particularly a desperate researcher, or some personnel able to escape shortly after contamination.
Although I don't wish for any great disaster to occur in Raccoon, I truly don't care, either. This is Umbrella's pet city, and one of its centers of power. An enormous amount of assets and technology have been funneled into this once-quaint mid-Western city, and it would be a massive loss for Umbrella to ever lose influence, or control entirely, over this now-metropolitan area. Despite the fact that Umbrella, inc., has nearly absolute political influence in the government, even it would be unable to disguise the fact that some monumental disaster occurred in a city financed, and basically controlled, by the world's largest corporation.
Wait, there were reports shortly before the loss of contact about the investigation team that was dispatched to 'keep Birkin in line,' and their emergence from the complex has yet to be reported. This wouldn't be the first time that a small skirmish has erupted in a lab complex, but this would be the most potentially disastrous; the last incidents were in remote, isolated areas, far from civilization, not only several hundred meters beneath a city.
However, this isn't the only agony that's erupted in the day before my joyous escape to freedom: the S.T.A.R.S., particularly Jill, seem insistent on deepening some perceived bond between them and myself. It's now becoming nearly impossible to resist the urge to kill them, as they insist on inviting me continually to all of their inane social occasions; all of their idle chatter, all of their worthless ideas and anecdotes, and all of Jill's attempts to 'cheer me up.' For someone that prides herself on being incredibly capable of interpreting people, she certainly is completely ignorant of my reasons for my state of 'depression'.
Well, perhaps it's merely her own delusions that I've endured some horrible trauma as a result of the 'mansion incident' that's causing this gross misunderstanding, and, although it's infuriating to have her dote over me, and act as though I'm some type of scarred child, it is a bit less complicated than having to explain the true reason; I still wish to shoot her, though. I'm becoming intensely tired of her insistence on 'being my friend,' and prattling on and on about Chris, and how 'heroic and wonderful' he is... He, and she, are the causes of this entire disaster; their actions, their insipid, coincidental meddling caused all of this agony, all of this excruciating pain!
I just have to remind myself that this will soon end; that, tomorrow, this truly horrible period of my life will have ended... Just fifteen more hours and all of this will be complete. Perhaps it's true that one must endure a trial of almost intolerable pain to prove that they're worthy of what they desire most; that they truly have the fortitude and perseverance to grasp their greatest wish, regardless of the agony. That is of no reassurance, however... It's been three months since I last saw him, since we last made love, since we last spoke... I can't tolerate this any longer. I can't take this pain.
I can see everything about him, every feature, every mannerism, vividly, perfectly. But, because of that, those vivid memories and inspired dreams are all the more painful, because, until I awake, I can't discern them from reality; the false sense of hope that's instantly crushed when I awaken to find a cold, lonely bed, and a vacant apartment is worse than a lack of any whatsoever... Hopelessness can't cause delusion; it's a cruel, objective force, but, at the very least, it's not sinister; it causes no false enthusiasm, it causes no false joy, no false happiness.
I've cleared what is necessary out of this apartment, which is virtually nothing, except for all of the photographs of us, some clothing, and my Beretta. I wish that I could take all of the incredible memories of us from this place, but it's impossible; however, even without those beautiful, yet now so melancholy, reminders in this apartment, I'll never be able to forget any of it. This will probably be the last diary entry that I'll ever need, that I'll ever wish to keep, but I'll always keep this... I want to show him exactly how I felt without him. Perhaps it's selfish, perhaps it's just a selfish desire to make him know exactly how I felt, but it's not a desire to cause guilt. No, I could never do that; I could never want to do that. This decision was mutual, and we both were aware of the consequences of it.
He always knew how I felt, what I felt, and he always knew what to do; he knew how to erase the pain, how to make any problem seem utterly insignificant. I want so badly to feel his warm, inviting body against mine; to feel the delightful gentleness of his touch; the reassuring strength of his embrace. This pain is becoming more severe with each passing moment; with each moment that I know that I can't be with him when I wish; that I can't see him, and I can't touch him, my resilience to everything lessens. He provides strength to me and I to him. The mutuality of it is something that most lack, that most never find... The prospect of losing that is too great for me to bear. I have to be strong, and I can't let myself concede to that demon's call; that demand to end my suffering now.
The last time that I felt that embrace was so long ago... I still remember it vividly, however. I'll never forget anything about him. The day itself seemed to be so ominous; a new murder, a desperate investigation into the source by the police, and our efforts to distract the police from the Spencer Mansion until the 'proper time' arrived; that which was assigned by Umbrella to lure them into the 'testing grounds.' The researchers there never realized that the outbreak of the T-virus was intentional; that they were merely guinea pigs along with the S.T.A.R.S. In a sick twist of irony, they became experiments themselves, and the S.T.A.R.S. were the testers, and the tested.
That night, he and I made love for what we knew would be the last time before the 'deception,' and could be the last time for months.
That night, the two of us just stayed at my apartment, and sat together in silence for most of the night, my head on his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart calming me, because I knew that this would be our last night together. I had cried for almost the entirety of that day after work; I was barely able to restrain them during work. However, as the time approached nine, I felt him shift slightly, and his hand gently cupped my chin, and raised my face to his own, his warm, expressive cobalt eyes drawing me into their depths.
He slowly brought his face closer to mine, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the warm ecstasy of his lips against mine, of the melding of our bodies. His arms slowly encircled my waist, and his hands softly, cautiously trekked across my back, the ghostly sensation sending shivers of anticipation and pleasure up my spine. I leaned into his embrace, deepening the kiss, and opening my eyes, wanting to see his own; wanting to see that intense expression of affection and passion clouding their usually clear and sharp depths.
Parting hesitantly, only because of the unfortunate need to breathe, I slid slowly onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, still slowly panting. Again pressing our lips and bodies together, but with more force, more desire. Feeling his hands move slowly up my shirt, his fingers and palms slowly, delicately stimulating my body, I moaned against his mouth, wanting him to continue. He obliged, and he broke this embrace, much to my chagrin, for a moment, looking into my eyes, and speaking softly, almost shyly, something that would seem so uncharacteristic of him, otherwise. "Rebecca, please, will you let me go further?"
My answer should have been obvious to him, but he always insisted on asking; his insistence on it, though, made me feel special, made me feel as though it was always my judgment that would be decisive, that I was too important not to ask. "Yes, Albert... " I softly replied, my voice almost cracking from my anticipation; I could barely contain myself that night, and I was torn between crying and smiling, shaking with trepidation and anguish and writing in ecstasy. The depths of my emotions that night were almost too great to bear; they're still almost incomprehensible to me, even now.
I felt him gently unbutton my blouse, exposing my heated skin to the cooler air of the apartment, and I shivered as his hands slowly skirted around my chest, and I closed my eyes, silently begging for him to continue. I pressed my lips to his again, but hungrily, unable to wait, unable to contain myself any longer. I had to make love to him, to feel him make love to me; I had to feel his body pressed to mine; I had to feel his warmth, because I didn't know when I'd be able to again. Stripping quickly out of our clothes, we slowly made love, savoring it, but both displaying an intense passion; an enthusiasm born from an overwhelming, incomprehensible bond.
Feeling the cooling sweat on our bodies, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, my head pressed to his heart, I could only close my eyes, and smile. Although I knew that this would be the last time that we'd be together for quite awhile, I also knew that it was worth it to share this bond; to experience such great, pure joy; such incredible ecstasy and love. "Albert," I slowly began, feeling tears form in the corners of my eyes.
"Yes, Rebecca?" Came his response, his voice just as fragile and uncertain as my own.
"Promise me that you'll be all right... Promise me that you won't leave me; promise me."
"Rebecca, you know that I'll never leave you. I've always told you that, and it was never an empty promise. It never will be. There's nothing to be afraid of. Tomorrow will be simple, and, after that, we'll be free from Umbrella... We'll be free from all of this anguish that we endure everyday, that we have to hide from two parties. We'll no longer have to pretend to just be colleagues, to act on two sides. Rebecca, this will be so agonizing for both of us, but we have to do it... I wish that there was some other way, but there isn't."
"Let me, Albert..." I quietly began. "Let me use the virus."
"No, Rebecca..." His voice was mournful.
"Why? Didn't Birkin say that it was 99.9% effective?"
"That won't guarantee that you'll come back... It won't guarantee that I'll be able to sleep at night, that I'll be able to live. "
"I feel the same about you..."
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. Please, just trust me." His lips formed a sad, but still radiant version of his smile.
"I trust this, Albert, but it doesn't make me feel any better..." I still smiled, but mine was just as mournful as his was.
"Thank you..." His face slowly lowered itself to mine, and our lips gently pressed together, without urgency this time.
Parting again, I lowered my head to his chest, and closed my eyes, letting his heartbeat lull me to sleep. "Goodnight, Albert... I love you and I couldn't stop loving you."
"I love you, Rebecca, always."
Damn it... Why is it that my life always faces such anguish, such disaster? I miss him so badly. Tomorrow will be the last day that I'm alone; we'll be reunited. Tomorrow is the last that I'll ever have to endure such agony. Tomorrow...
I love you, Albert. Tomorrow, we'll meet again.
Author's Note: That was a truly angst-ridden chapter, wasn't it? I can't wait to see what occurs in the next chapter, when Rebecca finally escapes Raccoon... Of course, nothing is ever that simple, is it? Again, a massive, eternal, 'thank you,' to all of those people that have read this, and especially those that reviewed it, and a positively monumental shout of appreciation to Cherry... You're the inspiration for this, really, because I don't know if I'd be able to churn out these this quickly without your urging. Guten Nacht, Alle!
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I assert no ownership of it. If by their request, I shall immediately remove this piece from fanfiction.net, and anywhere else that it may be posted and\or archived.
There's one day remaining until the 'kidnapping' by Bioject's HCF, but it still feels as though it's an eternity away. I'm not certain how I managed to survive this overwhelming agony for such a great duration, but it almost seems that, as the time of escape from this nightmare grows nearer, time slows further... I hate this; I always ask myself why it can't be today, and not tomorrow... However, it seems that it won't be necessary to exterminate the S.T.A.R.S., as they're completely ignorant of virtually everything except for the most basic aspects of this situation.
However, I did intend to dispose of that 'supervisor,' Nicholai. He's a potential liability, and I fear that, if captured, he may reveal everything about our communication. Unfortunately, the man has now disappeared, and has yet to be located, despite the degree of effort that my HCF contacts have exerted in attempting to find him. Regardless, he's only aware of my discontent with Umbrella, and my intention to join another 'organization.' Once I escape, he'll be unable to discover to where I've disappeared, so his information will be valueless.
There is only one problem, though: Birkin. Somehow, all communications with the subsurface laboratory has ceased, and there have been no reports from Umbrella, or HCF, for that matter, about what's happened. Also, there has been reports of murders that characterized the 'zombie attacks' that preceded the 'Spencer Mansion incident,' and I can only fear the worst about what's happened in that sprawling complex. If an outbreak did occur, despite the exceptionally effective seals, something could still escape, particularly a desperate researcher, or some personnel able to escape shortly after contamination.
Although I don't wish for any great disaster to occur in Raccoon, I truly don't care, either. This is Umbrella's pet city, and one of its centers of power. An enormous amount of assets and technology have been funneled into this once-quaint mid-Western city, and it would be a massive loss for Umbrella to ever lose influence, or control entirely, over this now-metropolitan area. Despite the fact that Umbrella, inc., has nearly absolute political influence in the government, even it would be unable to disguise the fact that some monumental disaster occurred in a city financed, and basically controlled, by the world's largest corporation.
Wait, there were reports shortly before the loss of contact about the investigation team that was dispatched to 'keep Birkin in line,' and their emergence from the complex has yet to be reported. This wouldn't be the first time that a small skirmish has erupted in a lab complex, but this would be the most potentially disastrous; the last incidents were in remote, isolated areas, far from civilization, not only several hundred meters beneath a city.
However, this isn't the only agony that's erupted in the day before my joyous escape to freedom: the S.T.A.R.S., particularly Jill, seem insistent on deepening some perceived bond between them and myself. It's now becoming nearly impossible to resist the urge to kill them, as they insist on inviting me continually to all of their inane social occasions; all of their idle chatter, all of their worthless ideas and anecdotes, and all of Jill's attempts to 'cheer me up.' For someone that prides herself on being incredibly capable of interpreting people, she certainly is completely ignorant of my reasons for my state of 'depression'.
Well, perhaps it's merely her own delusions that I've endured some horrible trauma as a result of the 'mansion incident' that's causing this gross misunderstanding, and, although it's infuriating to have her dote over me, and act as though I'm some type of scarred child, it is a bit less complicated than having to explain the true reason; I still wish to shoot her, though. I'm becoming intensely tired of her insistence on 'being my friend,' and prattling on and on about Chris, and how 'heroic and wonderful' he is... He, and she, are the causes of this entire disaster; their actions, their insipid, coincidental meddling caused all of this agony, all of this excruciating pain!
I just have to remind myself that this will soon end; that, tomorrow, this truly horrible period of my life will have ended... Just fifteen more hours and all of this will be complete. Perhaps it's true that one must endure a trial of almost intolerable pain to prove that they're worthy of what they desire most; that they truly have the fortitude and perseverance to grasp their greatest wish, regardless of the agony. That is of no reassurance, however... It's been three months since I last saw him, since we last made love, since we last spoke... I can't tolerate this any longer. I can't take this pain.
I can see everything about him, every feature, every mannerism, vividly, perfectly. But, because of that, those vivid memories and inspired dreams are all the more painful, because, until I awake, I can't discern them from reality; the false sense of hope that's instantly crushed when I awaken to find a cold, lonely bed, and a vacant apartment is worse than a lack of any whatsoever... Hopelessness can't cause delusion; it's a cruel, objective force, but, at the very least, it's not sinister; it causes no false enthusiasm, it causes no false joy, no false happiness.
I've cleared what is necessary out of this apartment, which is virtually nothing, except for all of the photographs of us, some clothing, and my Beretta. I wish that I could take all of the incredible memories of us from this place, but it's impossible; however, even without those beautiful, yet now so melancholy, reminders in this apartment, I'll never be able to forget any of it. This will probably be the last diary entry that I'll ever need, that I'll ever wish to keep, but I'll always keep this... I want to show him exactly how I felt without him. Perhaps it's selfish, perhaps it's just a selfish desire to make him know exactly how I felt, but it's not a desire to cause guilt. No, I could never do that; I could never want to do that. This decision was mutual, and we both were aware of the consequences of it.
He always knew how I felt, what I felt, and he always knew what to do; he knew how to erase the pain, how to make any problem seem utterly insignificant. I want so badly to feel his warm, inviting body against mine; to feel the delightful gentleness of his touch; the reassuring strength of his embrace. This pain is becoming more severe with each passing moment; with each moment that I know that I can't be with him when I wish; that I can't see him, and I can't touch him, my resilience to everything lessens. He provides strength to me and I to him. The mutuality of it is something that most lack, that most never find... The prospect of losing that is too great for me to bear. I have to be strong, and I can't let myself concede to that demon's call; that demand to end my suffering now.
The last time that I felt that embrace was so long ago... I still remember it vividly, however. I'll never forget anything about him. The day itself seemed to be so ominous; a new murder, a desperate investigation into the source by the police, and our efforts to distract the police from the Spencer Mansion until the 'proper time' arrived; that which was assigned by Umbrella to lure them into the 'testing grounds.' The researchers there never realized that the outbreak of the T-virus was intentional; that they were merely guinea pigs along with the S.T.A.R.S. In a sick twist of irony, they became experiments themselves, and the S.T.A.R.S. were the testers, and the tested.
That night, he and I made love for what we knew would be the last time before the 'deception,' and could be the last time for months.
That night, the two of us just stayed at my apartment, and sat together in silence for most of the night, my head on his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart calming me, because I knew that this would be our last night together. I had cried for almost the entirety of that day after work; I was barely able to restrain them during work. However, as the time approached nine, I felt him shift slightly, and his hand gently cupped my chin, and raised my face to his own, his warm, expressive cobalt eyes drawing me into their depths.
He slowly brought his face closer to mine, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the warm ecstasy of his lips against mine, of the melding of our bodies. His arms slowly encircled my waist, and his hands softly, cautiously trekked across my back, the ghostly sensation sending shivers of anticipation and pleasure up my spine. I leaned into his embrace, deepening the kiss, and opening my eyes, wanting to see his own; wanting to see that intense expression of affection and passion clouding their usually clear and sharp depths.
Parting hesitantly, only because of the unfortunate need to breathe, I slid slowly onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, still slowly panting. Again pressing our lips and bodies together, but with more force, more desire. Feeling his hands move slowly up my shirt, his fingers and palms slowly, delicately stimulating my body, I moaned against his mouth, wanting him to continue. He obliged, and he broke this embrace, much to my chagrin, for a moment, looking into my eyes, and speaking softly, almost shyly, something that would seem so uncharacteristic of him, otherwise. "Rebecca, please, will you let me go further?"
My answer should have been obvious to him, but he always insisted on asking; his insistence on it, though, made me feel special, made me feel as though it was always my judgment that would be decisive, that I was too important not to ask. "Yes, Albert... " I softly replied, my voice almost cracking from my anticipation; I could barely contain myself that night, and I was torn between crying and smiling, shaking with trepidation and anguish and writing in ecstasy. The depths of my emotions that night were almost too great to bear; they're still almost incomprehensible to me, even now.
I felt him gently unbutton my blouse, exposing my heated skin to the cooler air of the apartment, and I shivered as his hands slowly skirted around my chest, and I closed my eyes, silently begging for him to continue. I pressed my lips to his again, but hungrily, unable to wait, unable to contain myself any longer. I had to make love to him, to feel him make love to me; I had to feel his body pressed to mine; I had to feel his warmth, because I didn't know when I'd be able to again. Stripping quickly out of our clothes, we slowly made love, savoring it, but both displaying an intense passion; an enthusiasm born from an overwhelming, incomprehensible bond.
Feeling the cooling sweat on our bodies, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, my head pressed to his heart, I could only close my eyes, and smile. Although I knew that this would be the last time that we'd be together for quite awhile, I also knew that it was worth it to share this bond; to experience such great, pure joy; such incredible ecstasy and love. "Albert," I slowly began, feeling tears form in the corners of my eyes.
"Yes, Rebecca?" Came his response, his voice just as fragile and uncertain as my own.
"Promise me that you'll be all right... Promise me that you won't leave me; promise me."
"Rebecca, you know that I'll never leave you. I've always told you that, and it was never an empty promise. It never will be. There's nothing to be afraid of. Tomorrow will be simple, and, after that, we'll be free from Umbrella... We'll be free from all of this anguish that we endure everyday, that we have to hide from two parties. We'll no longer have to pretend to just be colleagues, to act on two sides. Rebecca, this will be so agonizing for both of us, but we have to do it... I wish that there was some other way, but there isn't."
"Let me, Albert..." I quietly began. "Let me use the virus."
"No, Rebecca..." His voice was mournful.
"Why? Didn't Birkin say that it was 99.9% effective?"
"That won't guarantee that you'll come back... It won't guarantee that I'll be able to sleep at night, that I'll be able to live. "
"I feel the same about you..."
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. Please, just trust me." His lips formed a sad, but still radiant version of his smile.
"I trust this, Albert, but it doesn't make me feel any better..." I still smiled, but mine was just as mournful as his was.
"Thank you..." His face slowly lowered itself to mine, and our lips gently pressed together, without urgency this time.
Parting again, I lowered my head to his chest, and closed my eyes, letting his heartbeat lull me to sleep. "Goodnight, Albert... I love you and I couldn't stop loving you."
"I love you, Rebecca, always."
Damn it... Why is it that my life always faces such anguish, such disaster? I miss him so badly. Tomorrow will be the last day that I'm alone; we'll be reunited. Tomorrow is the last that I'll ever have to endure such agony. Tomorrow...
I love you, Albert. Tomorrow, we'll meet again.
Author's Note: That was a truly angst-ridden chapter, wasn't it? I can't wait to see what occurs in the next chapter, when Rebecca finally escapes Raccoon... Of course, nothing is ever that simple, is it? Again, a massive, eternal, 'thank you,' to all of those people that have read this, and especially those that reviewed it, and a positively monumental shout of appreciation to Cherry... You're the inspiration for this, really, because I don't know if I'd be able to churn out these this quickly without your urging. Guten Nacht, Alle!