Dark Skies
By: Hotaru
Notes: This was originally gonna be a one-shot fic, but it's too long already and I wasn't done with it. So...if people like it, I'll try and make a story out of it. Most likely it'll just be two long chapters. Anyways, enjoy.
Tick. Tick. Tick. That incessant ticking.
Dark eyes flicked up at the clock, staring at it momentarily before shifting back down to the papers in front of him. Fingers drummed on the wooden table, before flying to a drawer and yanking it open. A silver flask was produced, and the man took a long swig from it. Closing his eyes, finally relaxed, he screwed the cap on and returned the flask to the drawer. The phone on the desk rang loudly, and he reached to answer it before it rang a second time. "110th Precinct, Chris Redfield speaking." He answered, rubbing his eyes. "One moment please." He connected the caller to the lieutenant's office and hung up the phone.
It had been three weeks since he had been transferred to desk duty, forced to sit behind a desk in an old closet until the day was through. It was his fault that he hadn't bothered to show up for work for a few days, after all. There was a knock on his door. Tossing a mint into his mouth, he cleared his throat. "Come on in." He said, pretending to act busy. "Hi, Chris. How's desk life treating you?" It was the beautiful Jill Valentine. Chris's former partner. She was fast on her way to becoming a detective. Everyone in the squad loved her, and she was an outstanding cop.
"It's great. I get to answer phones all day, and sit in a room without a window." Chris answered, leaning back in his chair.
"Well...maybe if the Sarge feels compassion for you, he'll end your sentancing a little early." Jill replied, pulling off her navy blue hat.
"Fat chance. He was itching to punish me."
"And that's why you shouldn't have given him a chance."
She was right. Always right. She called him each day that he didn't show up for work, yelling at him. "Yeah, you're right. So, how's the beat?" Chris said finally.
"Not bad. I'm supposed to be at lunch now, so you feel like getting a bite to eat?" Jill offered. A bite to eat usually meant a hot dog from the stand around the corner.
"Eh..I'm not all that hungry." Chris answered, his fingers fiddling with the knob to his desk drawer.
"Are you sure? It's nearly four...have you even left your office today?"
"Just to take a piss. I'm alright, go enjoy your lunch." Chris tried to wave her off.
Jill stood up and pulled her hat on. "If you want to stick around and work, I guess that's fine. But make sure you eat something soon. I'll try to stop in after my shift is over." She said, before pulling open the door to Chris's office.
"That's not really necessary. Take care." Chris said, picking up a file and concentrating on it. Jill frowned, and closed the door behind her. /There's something up with him. If I don't figure out what it is soon, he's going to destroy his career./
Once Jill was gone, Chris pulled his flask from the drawer. He held it up to his ear and shook it. /Almost empty./ He thought, standing up and walking to the door. He opened to make sure no one was nearby, before locking it and flopping into a chair. He unscrewed the cap slowly and let his eyes close. He had been in that office for around eight hours. His shift ended at 6:00. That was way too much time to be cooped up in a room by yourself. Putting the flask to his lips, he took a long drink, polishing off the remains of the alcohol inside. With a sigh, he put the flask in his jacket pocket to refill when he got home.
Pulling out his wallet, Chris opened the contents. Five dollars. He had already spent his last paycheck, and only had $20 at home to last for another week or so. With a sigh, he unlocked his door and walked out into the hallway. He saw fellow officers as he made his way to the front door. "Redfield!" A voice barked. /Goddammit/ Chris thought, before turning around to face the sergeant of the precinct. "How's it goin', Sarge?" Chris said, plastering on the fake cheer.
"Redfield, how are you enjoying desk duty?" Sergeant Myers asked.
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"No."
Refusing the urge to roll his eyes, Chris said, "It sucks. I hate the office I'm in, and I'd really like to get back out on the streets again."
"Oh, is that so. Well, by all means, remember that the next time you choose not to show up for work." The man retorted.
"Are you just here to bust my balls or is there a point to this talk?" Chris asked, the anger building inside of him. That alcohol was clouding his head, but he did not need his superiors to know he was half drunk at work.
"After a recommendation by your old partner, I'm inclined to believe you've grown up in the past three weeks. If you're ready to be a man, and set your goddamn alarm clock, you can get back to your beat on Monday."
Chris's eyebrow twitched. "Is that right?" He questioned.
"...no. I don't think you're ready." Myers replied, before turning away. "Maybe I'll think about it again next week." He added with a wave..
Clenching his teeth, Chris swerved and kicked open the doors to the police station and charged outside. Angry tears were in his eyes as he blindly flew down the sidewalk. Turning a corner, he screamed and punched the wall of a building. Heaving, he fell to the floor and held his head in his hands. He could feel the blood on his knuckles, slowly dripping down the back of his hand. "Excuse me, young man...are you alright?" A creaky voice questioned. Chris's head shot up. A little old lady was bent over him, looking concerned.
"No, not really. But thanks anyway." He replied, wiping his eyes.
"Here, dearie, you're bleeding." She pulled out a tissue and pressed it over Chris's knuckles.
"Thanks." He mumbled, before standing up. "I gotta get going. Thank you."
She smiled, and was on her way again. Chris looked up into the clear blue sky, and sighed. /What the hell am I doing with my life? I let that fat bastard's comments get to me...but he's right. I blew my damn paycheck on fucking booze, and haven't eaten a real meal in more than a week. Jill's been warning me, and I haven't listened to a word she's said. I told myself that once I got my job back, I'd swear off the booze for good. But I can't sit in that damn office all day without a few drinks.../
He slowly walked back towards the police station, observing the people he passed. They all looked busy, like they had an important place to get to. They had some direction. But not Chris. He hadn't had any motivation to live since he lost his friends, and nearly lost his life. /I don't know how Jill manages to move on. She never seems depressed, or lost... She must be stronger than me after all.../ Stopping at the hot dog stand, he pulled the $5 bill from his pocket and ordered a soda, and a hot dog. He walked to a nearby park and sat down on a bench, eating slowly. A few pigeons gathered by his feet, so he tossed little pieces of his hotdog bun to them.
It felt good to be outside, in the sun. He had developed agoraphobia after the incident. It is a fear of situations or places from which escape might be difficult or embarrassing or in which help may not be available. He experienced that to the nth degree in Raccoon City. No one was there to save him. He couldn't even rely on his gun all the time. There was only so much ammunition, before you had to avoid the walking dead. Shivering, he stood up and rubbed his face. The pigeons scuttled away as he walked back to his work place. /I won't let it get to me. I won't let that dick, Myers, control me. I'm not a pawn anymore./
Pushing open the large wooden doors, Chris walked briskly past the front desk, and ignored the stares and jeers of his "fellow" officers. Myers had made a fool of Chris behind his back. No wonder there isn't any trust in the police force. Myers was coming down the stairs as Chris passed by. "Hey Sarge!" Chris greeted with a smile. Myers wrinkled his brow at the man's cheery demeanor. "What's your problem, Redfield?" He questioned.
"Not a thing. It's a beautiful day out, you should go get some exercise, work off that gut." Chris replied, before going into his office and slamming the door with a smile.
/I bet I just confused the hell out of him./ He thought with a grin, before flopping into his chair. He picked up a pen and tapped it against the table. The door to his office flew open, and Myers burst in. "Redfield, what the hell has gotten into you?" He exclaimed.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sergeant." Chris replied, looking down at an old case file.
"Your behavior out there!"
"You don't like it when I'm cheery, is that it sir?"
Myers slammed the door. "Don't play me for a fool, boy! I tore out your pretty boy heart before you left, and you bounce back in like you won the Goddamn lottery!" He hissed.
"So you do admit to harassing me? Well, sir, I try not to let your petty comments get to me. You can walk all over me, but I don't think I'm going to give a damn anymore, okay? All I want to do is get back on my beat." Chris replied with a sigh. "I could always complain to the Chief of Personnel about your behavior towards me, if you'd like."
"...fine, have it your way. Give me one reason, Redfield, and I'll throw you outta the force and you'll never get back in!" Myers threatened before storming out of the office.
Chris was a little bit worried about the flask in his jacket pocket. Myers could send someone in when Chris left the office, to search for any evidence. That'd ruin his chances for sure. /When Jill comes by, I'll have her take it out for me...then I'll have to explain it. Dammit. Maybe I can give Claire a call.../ He could always rely on his little sister, Claire. She worked nearby at the library, to help pay for college. She didn't actually attend a college, yet, but she planned on it.
Picking up the phone, he dialed in the number for the library. He managed to memorize it, in case of emergency. "Hi, can I speak to Claire Redfield, please? This is her brother." Chris said when someone answered the phone.
"Sure. One moment please." The woman on the other end said. While he was waiting, Chris searched the contents of his desk for any evidence his boss could use against him. A pack of breath mints wasn't all that suspicious. /A bottle opener? When the hell did that get in there?/ He wrapped the thing in paper before tossing it in the trash.
"Hello?" Claire said on the other end.
"Hey Claire, how's it goin'?" Chris greeted, opening another drawer to rummage through.
"Chris! How are you?" Claire replied, suprised that he was calling her for a change.
"Well, my boss has got my balls in a vice, and he ain't letting go." Chris replied.
"Ew, gross. What's the matter?"
"I was put on desk duty awhile ago, and he basically hasn't let up about it since. It's up to him whether or not I get my actual job back, and it's been getting me pretty depressed lately."
"Oh, Chris, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you tell me? I would have come over to talk or something.."
"It's no big deal...but what time do you get out of work?"
"In about fifteen minutes." Claire answered.
Chris glanced at his jacket. "I need you to stop by to take something outta here. I don't feel like explaining but it could get me in a bit of trouble, and I can't afford trouble right now." He said lowly.
"...what is it? Drugs?!" Claire questioned.
"No..you'll see when you get here, just don't give me a hard time about it, okay?"
"Alright, but you will be explaining every thing to me eventually, right?"
"Of course. Thanks, Claire. I knew I could rely on you."
"No problem, big brother. I'll see you soon."
"Alright. Take care."
He hung up the phone and sighed. He opened the middle drawer in his desk and rummaged around until he found some change, before getting up and walking out to the candy machine. He stared into it, before deciding on some chocolate. "Heeeey Redfield." Chris glanced up.
"Hey Murphy. What's up?" He replied.
"What's with you and the Sarge? You run over his cat or something?" Murphy was on the fast track to becoming a detective, but he was a lot more immature than the others in line for an upgrade.
"Nope. He just doesn't like me."
"That's bull. There's gotta be something. Did you find his stash of booze or somethin'?"
"He's got a stash?"
Murphy snickered, and pulled Chris into an empty hallway. "Yeah. Word 'round here is someone found it, and he lost his chance for any kind of promotion. Everyone thinks you're a snitch." He whispered.
"But I didn't find anything. I didn't even look." Chris replied.
"Well...that's the word. Sucks to be you, eh? Catch ya later." Murphy skittered off, leaving Chris alone to ponder. /Someone framed me? Who the hell would do something like that?/
Chris returned to his office, and left the door open so he could see when Claire arrived. He had run out of actual work to do an hour ago. Now, he was just dawdling until he could go home. The moment Chris saw Claire walk into the precient, he pulled his coat on, and made sure his flask was still in the pocket. Claire walked down the hall and into his office with a smile. "Hi. Long time no see." She greeted, kissing him on his cheek.
"Yeah, how's it going?" Chris said, closing the door. "Gimme your purse."
"What for?" Claire asked.
"To take something for me. No questions, remember?"
"I'll let it go for now, but you better explain this to me, in detail soon."
Chris held up his hand, like he was a boyscout. "I promise." He took her purse, and turned around, quickly slipping the flask inside. "Alright. Take this home, and call me later and I'll explain everything, okay?"
Claire resisted the urge to keep inside. "Okay...are you in trouble?"
"No, not really. I just want to get my job back, and I can't screw up again. Thanks, Claire." He kissed her forehead, and lightly pushed her out into the hallway. He caught an angry glare from Myers but smiled at him anyway. /I'm done letting him push me around/ He thought, closing the door to his office once Claire was gone.
--
Later that night, Chris was alone in his apartment. A few bills had come in the mail, and the rent was due. He finished off a bottle of beer and tossed the bottle to the side. /How am I going to be able to pay all this off? I promised myself years ago never to be in debt...but it looks like I won't have any choice./ There was a light knock on the door. Chris was already half-drunk, so he wasn't going to attempt to walk to the door. "What?" He barked, rubbing his face. The door to his apartment opened.
"Chris...?" Damn. It was Jill. Chris jumped up, and staggered a bit.
"What are you doin' here?" He asked, trying to see clearly.
"I came to check up on you because you were gone after my shift was over. What's with all the beer bottles..?"
"I haven't cleaned in awhile. Don't worry about it." Chris stumbled around picking up a box from the floor, and tossing the bottles into it.
"Are you drunk?" Jill asked, closing the door, and leaning against the wall.
Chris chose to ignore her and continue to collect the bottles. "Chris, I'm worried about you. Have you been drinking?" Jill asked, going into the small kitchen, and opening the refrigerator door. "You don't have any food!" She exclaimed.
"Yeah I do." Chris corrected.
"A jar of peanut butter, and a box of baking soda does not count as food. When did you start drinking?"
"It doesn't matter, cause I'm fine. Now will you please just...go?"
"I'm not going to ignore this, Chris. Did this start before, or after you were assigned to desk duty?" Jill asked. Chris flopped on the couch.
Jill sat down beside him, and shrugged her coat off. "I'm not letting you destroy yourself. I'm not leaving until you get a handle on things." She said softly.
"After Raccoon....after Umbrella. We were on the job so soon after that, I didn't really recover. I'd be on my beat, and walking and just seeing dark alleys and shit, and I felt like I needed something to calm me down.." Chris said, resting his head on his hand. "I was at home one day, and there was some scotch or something laying around. I was already wound up from bein' at work, so I had a drink. It calmed me down a bit, and I figured if I needed to relax, I could have a little drink, and that'd be that." He took a breath, and let everything soak in.
"Keep going." Jill prompted. Chris nodded.
"Alright. I knew already that some people that work in the house kept a bottle around, for emergencies or whatever, so I figured I could keep some in my locker, and if I needed it, I could have some. It doesn't look right, a cop buying booze...anyway, pretty soon, I was carrying it with me, drinking all the time. One night, I got so fucking drunk...I passed out in the hallway of my apartment, and my landlord had to open the door, and shove me inside cause I was 'disturbing' people or whatever. I slept for the whole next day, woke up, spent the next day throwing up, and wondering how the hell I was going to explain why I wasn't at work. And Myers was constantly on me about everything. I kept thinkin' that I wasn't going to get anywhere on the job with him as my boss, so I just didn't really care."
"You could have requested a transfer.."
"Yeah, well, I chose to hit the bottle instead. I would stay up late, watching infomercials for stupid chopping machines and weight loss pills until four in the morning. I'd drink the entire time, until I'd either pass out or fall asleep, then roll out of bed at seven."
"How long before your binge did you do this?"
Chris sighed and rubbed his face again. "Not long." He admitted. "I'd fall asleep when I got home, at like five or six. Get up sometime in the morning, and repeat the cycle. I ran out of money, I stopped eating. I haven't cooked dinner in weeks. I've spent all my God damn money on booze...and I couldn't do anything."
"Why not?" Jill questioned.
"I was afraid. I've let everyone down before, and I'd do it again. Claire's disappointed in me, and you..."
"What about me?"
"How could I admit to you that I had fucked up?" Chris looked at her, with tears in his eyes, his voice cracking.
Jill's heart broke when she saw him. "Chris...you don't ever have to be afraid of talking to me. You can come to me, no matter what the problem is." She said, unable to keep from crying.
"It's not that easy...I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to be in control! I can't...I just can't deal with it." Chris groaned, covering his face with his hands.
"Chris, I don't think that you're supposed to be some kind of...super being. You're human. You can only take so much. I...was a real mess after Raccoon, you remember right? But I talked to you, and worked through my problems. I wanted you to know that you could do the same. All you had to do was pick up the phone."
"It sounds so easy, but it's not. I don't know, maybe cause I was used to being the bearer of all the problems. I wanted to be able to solve all the problems, and when I finally had some problems of my own...I didn't know what to do. I had some alcohol laying around and figured it'd help me loosen up, and get rid of the stress. It kind of got out of control."
Jill pulled him into a hug, and sighed deeply. "Alright. You're going to pack a bag, and you're going to stay with me for awhile. I'll take care of you until you're well enough to be on your own."
"That makes me sound like a damn kid." Chris replied.
"Well, I don't think you're a child, or that you should be treated like one. But we deal with alcoholics all the time. No matter what they say, they can't just stop cold turkey without help. So I'm going to help you, until you get your regular job back."
"I'm just gonna be a burden on you. I can't pay you. I can't pay my own rent."
"That's okay. It's gonna be okay."