Title: Final Illuminations
Author: Malenkaya
Rating: R for violence and swearing
Summary: RE movie fanfiction. In this sequel to "Fading Away" and "Into the Light", Alice, Michael, Rain and J.D continue in their efforts to defeat Umbrella, finding along the way new allies, new enemies—and new hope for Matthew Addison.
Chapter Summary: In which there are confrontations, forgiveness, and possible character death.
Author's Notes:
Happy New Years everyone! Thanks very much to all my reviewers, whom I emailed earlier; I really appreciate both your reviews AND your patience :)Thank you.
I've also made a few changes to chapter eight—nothing major, just to fix up a few errors, many of which a few of you cottoned on to already :)
Chapter ten will be updated on Friday, February 10th.
Chapter Nine: Between Truth and Lies
"Loop the black wire in through first. Right. Now the red, but hook it up to the blue instead. Good. Now just—"
"I know how to enable a goddamn bomb, J.D!" Rain exploded, turning to glare at J.D from her vantage point of two feet.
J.D loomed above her, staring down over her shoulder. He grinned cockily. "Do you, Rain?"
She scowled at him. He grinned back at her.
"Yes," she insisted childishly. "I do."
She returned to her work, lifting the green wire next and threading it through to connect it to the black—
Behind her, J.D cleared his throat.
She whipped around. "What?"
"If you connect those, you'll set that off in fifty seconds," he said matter-a-factly. "But I'm not saying anything."
"Good," Rain muttered, turning back to the small explosive in front of her. "Keep it that way."
She examined the black wire more closely. Then the red, and the blue, and the green—
And finally threw them down in a heap, climbing to her feet and crossing her arms across her chest.
"You do it then," she demanded, scowling at J.D. "If you're so damn good at it."
"Awww," J.D said in response, grinning and clapping her on the back as he moved across her to take her place on the floor. "Don't worry, Rain, I'm sure you're not the only one who can't enable a simple explosive."
"Yeah, well," she said moodily. "I can shoot better than you."
He turned to grin at her. "Won't do you much good if I blow you up first, will it?"
She grinned back. "Shut up, J.D."
He returned to his work, laughing, and she resisted the urge to kick him.
She let J.D finish the rest of the explosives, standing guard behind him, MP-5 ready and waiting. The security systems would be down for at last ten more minutes, but there was no harm in being prepared.
"So what do you think Alice was on about earlier?" Rain asked finally, leaning against the wall and watching with some interest as J.D set to work on another explosive.
He paused, but only momentarily, and said, "I think that was her poised, cryptic way of saying goodbye."
"You think she's going to leave?" Rain asked, surprised despite herself, and J.D shrugged.
"What else is here for her?" he asked rhetorically. "She fought the good fight. We all did. But once we're done here… what else is there?"
He returned to his work, and Rain stared at his back, feeling oddly empty at the question.
They had spent years fighting, first for Umbrella, and then against it—now that it was over, what else was left?
"One more left," J.D announced, clambering to his feet and turning to look at her. "You okay?"
She looked at him. "Yeah," she said distantly; then, coming back to focus, added, "I'll do the next one."
He raised an eyebrow; she raised hers in response, challenging him, and they traded, her MP-5 for his mess of explosives and tangled wires.
Five minutes time found her sitting in front of a fully enabled explosive, and she smirked at J.D, who'd been watching her like a hawk the entire time. "Done."
"You can't even set off a Molotov cocktail properly," her reminded her teasingly. "What, did you just guess your whole way through that?"
She turned and stood to face him, so they were inches apart. "I learn fast," she informed him acridly, and he laughed.
"Well, it's about time."
They both turned to see Alexei striding towards them, the MP-5 in his hands ruining any wealthy or prestigious image his suit managed to imply.
"I thought you both had gotten lost," he finished languidly. "With the time you took."
"It's been fifteen minutes, Alexei," J.D responded, sounding bored.
Alexei grinned. "Right, of course. Fifteen minutes. Not at all over the eight minute mark."
Rain scowled.
And J.D… grinned. He looked at Alexei and they both grinned, conspirational and somehow in sync.
Rain stared.
"Right, then," Alexei said finally, and turned to her. "Shall we go?"
"Me and J.D are going," she reminded him. "You're staying here."
Alexei looked surprised. "You mean, Salinas didn't tell you?" he demanded, scowling at J.D.
Rain scowled at him too. "Tell me what, J.D?"
He had the grace to look sheepish. "I'm going to be setting the explosives, so Alexei will be with you in the control room."
"What?" she demanded again. "Why?"
J.D looked completely stumped. "Uh, convenience?" he suggested lamely.
Alexei snorted. "Pathetic, Salinas, pathetic," he muttered, then, more loudly: "But as much as I hate to break this up, we do have a job to do."
"Right," J.D nodded. "See you, Rain. Demitrov."
Him and Alexei exchanged looks again—his one of warning, Alexei's one of slight impatience. Then he looked back at her.
Rain scowled at him. He grinned in response.
They split up.
xxxxx
They split up once they'd reached the control rooms—Alice had hurried down one corridor to meet up with Rain, J.D and Alexei, leaving him to wander another on his own, the MP-5 shaky in his unpracticed hands.
Not that he didn't know how to use it. Rain had interrogated him thoroughly before handing over the weapon.
In some ways, her and Alice were far more alike than either of them probably realized.
Michael knew Alice was going to go looking for Matt—that had never been a question.
All he had to do now was ensure he got there before she did.
This—all of this—pained him. He had always known, had always been able to look beyond blinding appearances and see the gritty reality so many other people were willing to ignore.
But he'd never said anything before. He'd always stayed back, let things play out however they played out, and now, he wasn't just viewing the play anymore.
He was the director—creating the play, blatantly manipulating his actors to suit their—and his own—needs.
It made him feel sick.
But someone had to do it.
He wasn't a saint. Maybe he'd had a chance, once, before this whole mess had started. Before he'd been dragged into a whole new world of open warfare, where day after day he saw death and was forced to kill others to keep him and his friends alive.
But then Matt had fallen, and Alice had been lost—and he'd stepped in, simply because no one else had been willing to.
And almost overnight, he'd lost that—spark, that slight touch of innocence that had still existed somewhere. He'd moved from useless pawn to conspiring bishop, and a part of him hated himself for it.
But this would work. They needed Alice—they had lost too many already, and to lose Alice especially was a loss none of them could hope to recover from.
So he pushed on, and built upon his web of lies because in the end, it was what would win the war for them.
It couldn't save Matt, because Matt was already gone.
But at least they could avenge him.
Spotting the door he was looking for, Michael slid in gratefully, closing it gently behind him.
There was a corpse on the floor—but whoever he had been, he had been shot in the head, and thus wasn't exactly a threat.
Michael wondered, sometimes, what it felt like to be a zombie. If they could remember their lives, their loved ones, their own names—if they were inside somehow, locked away and screaming for help.
On quiet nights, he still dreamt of his little sister. Of her long red curls, mischievous smile turned to blank stare of yawning hunger and death.
The only person he'd ever told was Rain, who'd admitted she still dreamt of their time down in the Hive when J.D died as well.
They all had nightmares, here already and waiting still once this was all over.
Michael flipped on the screens and went to work.
xxxxx
Alexei didn't say a single thing throughout their trek to the surveillance control rooms, which was fine by her.
He was quiet—abnormally so, for him—and walked in front of her, pale blond hair catching in the fluorescent lighting and making it appear almost silver.
It was hard to be pissed off at him when he wasn't even looking at her, which was also fine by Rain. Right now, she was more pissed off at J.D anyway.
She had no idea what was going on between him and Alexei, and she didn't particularly care. She hated secrets. J.D knew that, and some of her anger was abated by the knowledge that J.D would already be expecting a fairly big meltdown when she caught up with him.
When they reached the control room she pulled out her MP-5, readying it in her grip and looking towards Alexei for the first time—
Who smiled back at her, and, looking extraordinarily casual under the circumstances, leaned forward and knocked on the door.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she asked, any anger lost in the worry that Alexei may have, finally and unfortunately, gone completely insane.
His grin was slightly maniacal as he looked back at her, only reinforcing the worry, and replied, "It's polite to knock, Rain."
"Is it polite to die?" she replied bitingly. "Because I don't think Umbrella has the same ideas of courtesy you do, Demitrov."
He actually looked hurt when he looked back to her and asked, "What, it's Demitrov now? What happened to Alexei?"
She raised an eyebrow at him, then looked away.
Alexei swung the door open.
"It's empty, anyway," he said shortly. "First response tactic. They leave one guy manning all the controls, and he's already taken care of."
"That's pretty fucking stupid," Rain observed, and Alexei shrugged at her.
"Arrogant," he corrected her. "That's Umbrella."
He held the door open for her, in an oddly gentlemanly way that she completely ignored as she walked inside and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest—
And watching, confused, as he shut the door and locked it.
"J.D's meeting us here in a few minutes," she reminded him. "Why are you locking the door?"
Alexei grinned at her again, and she felt a wave of exasperation wash over her—when Alexei grinned at her like that, it was almost impossible not to grin back at him.
Strangely enough, it was probably the one thing he had in common with J.D.
That, and the fact that both acted like stupid little kids when they were angry—although, according to them, she was exactly the same way.
She stared at Alexei, but he only looked back at her, the same grin on his face.
Finally she opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off almost instantly.
"Ask," he said simply. "I know you want to."
"Ask what?" she snapped. "We have five minutes, Alexei—"
His grin widened, and she repressed the urge to kick him. "Thirty minutes. Rain. And I," he pulled the keys out of his pocket, showing them to her; they flashed silver in the light. "Have the keys."
She stared at him. "What?"
He grinned again, and again she felt the same sensation she'd felt in the hallway, when him and J.D had been exchanging their stupid grins and she'd had no idea what in the hell was going on.
He didn't say anything, so she put out her hand and said, "Give me the keys, Alexei."
He shook his head. "No," he said simply. "They're mine."
She stomped her foot. "Give me the goddamn keys!"
Some part of her realized she was acting like an idiot, but didn't care. Alexei was making her feel like one.
He seemed to realize it, because he finally elaborated. "You said you wanted to know something about me. I'm giving you the chance to ask me anything."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Anything?"
He grinned, slightly; then, looking vaguely mistrustful, said, "Within reason."
"What the hell is going on?" she asked instantly, and he grinned.
"Me and J.D," he said simply, the words strange coming from him, "Set it up. I figured we could use a moment—"
"And J.D agreed to it?" Rain asked disbelievingly.
"Well," Alexei shrugged eloquently. "He took some… convincing."
Rain stared at him. "You threatened him?"
Alexei laughed, she scowled, and he stopped. "No. I tried to bribe him, actually."
She felt frustration welling up in her, and snapped, "Are you going to be serious or not?"
He looked surprised, although not entirely so, and said, "J.D agreed right away. Something you said to him, I guess."
Some part of Rain still dimly remembered that conversation in his room; and none of her remembered saying anything that would convince J.D to agree to such a stupid plan.
But Alexei looked painfully earnest now; his blue eyes slated and serious, and some part of her believed him.
"And we have thirty minutes?" she asked.
"Well," he said, looking at his watch. "Twenty five, now."
"Are you still leaving?" she asked bluntly, and he looked slightly surprised.
She wondered if he'd honestly expected questions all about his childhood.
Alexei looked thoughtful, and responded, "I suppose that depends on you."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn't ask him to elaborate; some part of her didn't want to know.
"Can I ask you a question?" he proposed, looking entirely serious, and she nodded.
"Do you want me to stay?"
Yes, was the first answer that came to mind, followed by the more reasonable, NO.
In reality, she didn't know. Part of her cared about him; and yet she knew nothing about him. Part of her trusted him, could even start to love him—and yet, she still couldn't differentiate actual emotion from physical attraction.
Finally, she said bluntly, "I guess that depends on you."
He smiled at her then.
She couldn't help but smile back.
xxxxx
When Alice walked into the office, she was entirely unsurprised to see Vincent Crawford sitting at his desk, tilted back in his chair and sipping from a glass filled with an amber colored liquid.
She could smell the brandy from all the way across the room, and, likewise, was completely unsurprised to realize it was an expensive brandy as well as strong.
He was obviously tipsy; but he looked at her when she walked into the room, expression insolent, and drawled, "I suppose my guards were no match for you?"
"No," she said coldly, fingering the gun she still held in her left hand. "They really weren't."
Half of them had scattered when they'd seen her walking in, and the other half that had been stupid enough to remain—she'd decimated.
She felt like she was walking on air, like an angel of death—she had never killed human beings, not willingly. She herself had worked for Umbrella before, and knew how helpless most of their workers were here—half of them had no idea what was really going on, and the other half of them were too afraid to get out.
She didn't care anymore. The only thing she cared about was Matt, was the anti-virus—that's what she was here for, and anything, anyone that gone in the way was just a meaningless impediment—things that had to be disposed of, obstacles that had to be destroyed in her war for him.
Maybe, when she found him, when they'd left, she would look at the blood on her hands, at the blood on all their hands, and be sorry.
Until then, all that mattered was Matt.
Crawford, she was surprised to see, looking exhausted; the bitter iron walls of cruelty and malice that had so encased him earlier were crumbling, showing a man now almost resigned, useless.
A man who'd already been defeated and was now only waiting for the killing blow.
"I suppose," he said flatly, "That you're here to kill me."
"No," she said shortly, hoisting the AK-47 higher in her arms. "I'm here for something else."
He looked nervous now, and she was momentarily amused by the look in his eyes, and by the way the sunlight, only now beginning to rise through the windows, found and highlighted that fear. "What, are you going to torture me?" he asked shortly, the alcohol making him more talkative than he probably ever was. "Didn't know you had it in you, Parks."
She thought about prolonging it; about making him believe it. About making him even more frightened than he ever was; making him as terrified as she had been when she'd been watching Matt through the glass, screaming and crying. About laughing at him as he'd laughed at her, about taunting him as he'd taunted her.
But she was here for Matt, and nothing more—and her team was buying her time for a cause three of them didn't even know about, and she was unwilling to risk their lives any further.
"I'm here for the anti-virus," she said flatly, and he stared at her.
And then he laughed.
"Are you drunk, Parks?" he said shortly, ironically, waving the nearing-empty glass at her. "Come to join me in my private hell?"
He was pathetic, drunk as he was, and she was almost mesmerized by the brutal change in attitude.
Almost.
"I don't have time for this bullshit," she said coldly. "You can tell me where the anti-virus is, or you can die. Your choice."
He laughed, long and hard; not the laughter of drunkenness, but the laughter of victory, and she felt a chill go through her; felt, for the first time, the icy ache of misgiving.
"Come to save your boyfriend?" he spat at her. "How unfortunate."
Alice didn't say anything; only relocked her gun, glared at him and waited, feeling the ache spreading through her body, through her blood and into her heart.
Crawford laughed again; and then stopped, abruptly, and drained the rest of his glass.
"The anti-virus?" he repeated, and slammed the glass down.
"There is no anti-virus, Alice."
The sound of glass shattering cut through her like the slivers of a mirror.
xxxxx
"I was trying to steal the anti-virus. Tyler Dormeins attempted to stab me in the back—never a brilliant plan, when you're dealing with me—so I shot him in the knee and wrapped the necklace around his neck. I figured something would get to him, and the world would think it was me."
Rain frowned, and he scowled. "Don't lecture me. The guy was a bastard, he was the one who entered in the wrong code that got the rest of the group killed."
She raised an eyebrow. "And what was your plan?" she drawled. "Swearing them all to secrecy?"
He grinned at her. "I was going to leave them down there too," he admitted. "But at least they would have had a fighting chance. Dormeins didn't even give them that."
"So what happened to the anti-virus?" she asked.
At this, he grinned ruefully. "Umbrella was smarter than I gave them credit for and figured out what I'd done. So they blew up my house."
"And?"
He scowled. "The anti-virus was still inside."
She stared at him—and then laughed, despite herself. "Wow. You're not very intelligent, are you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Rain," he said, but without rancor, and she laughed. "And before you ask—that was it. Umbrella was working on creating a new strain of the anti-virus, but that kind of got put to the side, what with you and your group creating havoc everywhere."
She sobered at that, and said, "You're sure?"
He nodded. "Yes," he said, and actually looked apologetic. "There's nothing. Unless you want to keep Umbrella up and running, there's never going to be any such thing as the anti-virus. Not one strong enough to help Nemesis, anyway."
"Matt," she corrected him. "Don't call him that."
He nodded solemnly, and smiled at her. "I thought he was Alice's."
Rain shrugged. "He was all of ours," she said simply, and he could see it in her eyes again; that glimpse of comradeship that seemed, somehow, to come so easily to her, and was envious, despite himself.
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.
She nodded, and he said, "Is there anything else?"
She looked thoughtful; and then grinned, slightly, and said, "Yeah. Two more questions. What did you think of Olivia?"
"Whiny little twit," he proposed instantly, and was glad to see her laugh. "Smart, though. Nice, too."
She raised an eyebrow, and he added, "But whiny."
She grinned, and asked, "Are you a natural blonde?"
He stared at her. "What?"
Rain shrugged. "Olivia said you had dark hair," she said simply.
"Yes," he said promptly. "It's blonde. And no blonde jokes."
She grinned, and he couldn't help but grin slightly too; somewhere, along the way, the tension had faded, giving way to a sort of easy conversation he hadn't dared to hope for.
It wasn't anything, not really. Friendship, maybe. The beginnings of trust, or any sort of relationship.
But it was a start.
He glanced at his watch, then back at her. "Five more minutes," he said, not without some regret. "You have one more question."
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at him, and he braced himself for a question more personal—there was little in his childhood that had been at all traumatic, but he didn't feel like getting into the fine details of his past. Not now; maybe not ever. It wasn't exactly something he was proud of.
In the end, the question was personal, and complex, and yet completely apart from what he had been expecting.
"Are you going to stay?"
He stared at her, and she explained, "I need to know whether I should slap you, walk away, and pretend this never happened, or forgive you."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "You wouldn't slap me," he protested, unsure despite himself, and the corners of her mouth quirked upwards.
"You're right," she said simply. "Too wimpy. I'd probably hit you instead. Answer the question."
"Yes," he said instantly. "I am." He stared uncertainly at her, and then added, "If you'll have me."
She smiled at him, slightly cryptically but with warmth, and said, "We'll see."
His watch beeped, and he looked at it regretfully. "Time to go."
Rain nodded, and lifted her gun off the table where she'd left it.
He looked at her, and she let out a sigh of exasperation. "Are we going for another round of Twenty Questions, or can I leave? I'm sick of this room."
"Can I kiss you?" he asked simply. "Or am I still wanted dead in your eyes?"
She raised an eyebrow at him, grinning teasingly. "I don't know, Alexei. Do you want to try? I am holding a weapon."
He grinned at her; and then he crossed the room and kissed her, sliding one hand around her, trying not to invade her space too fully, not yet.
He was relieved when she responded briefly, kissing him with the passion of the release of anger and frustration that comes from forgiveness—
And then shoved him away. "Time to go," she announced blithely, and walked past him. "Open the damn door, Alexei."
"Make me," he said, grinning at her; she turned to glare at him and he tossed her the keys.
She slid them into the keyhole and turned the knob; then turned back to him.
"Thanks," she said simply.
"Thank you," he said, equally simply, and then grinned. "Ocampo, are you blushing?"
She grinned.
"Shut up, Demitrov," she said, and opened the door.
xxxxx
By the time Michael reached Crawford's inner sanctum, he was already too late.
Part of him had known he would be. Part of him, when he'd seen Alice stride into Crawford's office and had thrown down the headphones, running upstairs with all the energy he could muster, had already known it was a useless attempt.
But still, he had to try.
This was, after all, his fault.
When he walked into Crawford's office, he walked not into pandemonium, but into the aftermath of a war zone.
Furniture was toppled, and papers lay everywhere, scattered and covered in dirt; broken glass had scattered itself over the floor, giving the almost eerily beautiful appearance of ice twinkling in the rising sunlight.
Amid the rubble, in what remained of Crawford's inner 'sanctum', was Crawford himself, groaning in pain.
Michael bit his lip; but he had seen worse things in this lifetime of war, and he forced himself into the room, forced himself to wade through the glass and destruction to the epicenter of it all.
Crawford was there; bruised, and covered in blood. He had been shot, not in the head or chest region but in one significantly lower, and if the beating he had obviously been subjected to hadn't already done him in, the bleeding almost certainly would.
When he noticed his presence, he didn't seem alarmed; on the contrary, he laughed and spat, "Your friend has a funny sense of justice."
Michael stared levelly at her. "You killed someone she loved," he said flatly. "That's unforgivable."
Crawford spat blood, and Michael was disgusted despite himself; disgusted with what Alice had done, disgusted by the realization that he was to blame for her actions. "Umbrella's done, and so's Addison. This won't get her anywhere; she's fucking insane."
"She's in love," he corrected her simply, feeling sick at the thought; that love inspired someone not only to happiness, to kindness and emotion, but to acts as brutal as this—murder, mayhem.
"Love," Crawford spat. "Love is weak."
"Where is she?" Michael said flatly, not wanting to continue this any further, not wanting to watch the man, despicable as he was, spit up blood and die.
At this Crawford grinned at him, focusing on him directly for the first time since he'd arrived.
Michael wished he hadn't. His mouth was bloody; teeth had been knocked out, and the sight of his macabre grin made him feel sick.
"I would tell you," he said, still grinning sickly, "But I think you already know. Don't you, Mikey?"
"Know what?" he demanded, but Crawford groaned and closed his eyes, blood pouring forth from his mouth, and Michael knew he wasn't going to get any more information from him.
He stood, looking at the ruble and blood—
And the vibration of the headset at his waist made him jump, even as he pulled it on, hoping uselessly that it was Alice.
"Michael," he said shortly, and Alexei's voice flooded through.
"Rain and J.D are in position," he said simply.
"And Alice?"
"Alice is gone," he said bluntly. "I was hoping she might be with you."
Michael closed his eyes, feeling the beginning of a pounding headache. "She's not."
"Are we going to search—"
"No," Michael cut him off abruptly. "We're not.
"I know where she is."