Valensteins

It was the first time that Chris had been in Jack's Bar, and it was probably going to be the last.

Leaving aside that he wasn't one who usually drowned his sorrows, the place just wasn't that good. There were only two waitstaff, and with the pub being as full as it was, they simply weren't enough to keep up with demand. The beer was okay - bit warm, but this being February, the warmth he could do with. The food however, tasted terrible, and the seating was similarly lacklustre. Oh sure, having beer barrels as tables might look nice from the outside, but being propped up on a stool for an hour did a number on his rump, and there was barely room for both his plate and his paper on it. Not that anything interesting was happening in Raccoon City nowadays, but still, it could take his mind off...other matters.

Also the toilets. Christ, the man's toilets needed cleaning. He'd told the male waiter (Walt? Will? He couldn't remember) about it, and while the kid had promised to look into it, Chris wasn't feeling optimistic. But then, he wasn't planning on coming back here. He needed food, he'd go to Emmy's. He needed drink, he'd also go to Emmy's, or failing that, stock up from one of the RPD's vending machines. Still, it was only 9:29, which meant that by his reckoning, he had one more hour to burn before hitting the hay and turning up for work tomorrow at 6am. Simple, right?

He sipped more of his beer. "Simple," he repeated to himself.

"Pardon?"

He looked up at the waitress by him, holding a tray of half-eaten food on one arm, while she held a cloth with her other.

"Did you say something?" She asked.

He tried to smile. "Just talking to myself."

She smiled, and unlike his, it looked genuine. "Get that a lot here." He watched as she bit her lip, before saying, "if you want to talk-"

"No."

Chris sipped more of his beer, watching the smile fade from the girl's eyes, before she headed on to the next table. Maybe she was flirting, maybe she was just being friendly, but whatever the case, he wasn't in the mood to find out. He had no intent on talking to women this evening. Heck, he had no intention of talking, period. Only talking he was listening to was via the bar's TV, namely the pundit on Raccoon 7 informing him that next week would bring rain, showers, and more rain.

"Never thought I'd find you here."

Chris winced and closed his eyes. Seriously?

The man sat down at the table beside him, giving him a look that said "yes, seriously." His lips however, moved in a manner that said, "but hey, seeing is believing."

"So you have seen it," Chris said, not meeting the man's eyes. "Want to head off? You have to be up by five tomorrow."

"Five-thirty. And you're going to have a hard time of it yourself if you keep drinking stuff like that."

Chris sipped his beverage. "Beer isn't that bad."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Guess not." He slid the beer aside and looked the man in the eyes. "It's only my first y'know."

The man snorted.

"Fine, second." He went to lean back, remembered that this was a stool rather than a chair, so instead glanced at the paper. "What are you doing here, Barry?"

"Checking on you."

"Yeah, sure. And I might grow a third arm." Chris sipped more of his beer before pushing the empty glass aside. Appearing out of thin air, waitress girl put it on her tray and smiled - not at Chris, but at the man opposite him.

"Barry Burton. Haven't seen you here in ages."

Chris blinked - you know him?

Barry shrugged. "What can I say? Come for the food, stay for the people."

Recalling the lentil soup he'd had earlier, Chris found the first part of that statement hard to believe. And as for the second, while not suspect, it was a bit eyebrow-raising to hear it from Barry of all people.

"The usual?" the waitress asked.

A shadow passed over Barry's face. "No," he said. "Just lemonade."

"Lemonade? I...um, okay." The waitress glanced at Chris, before heading off in a hurry. Under normal circumstances, he might have taken the time to clear the air, to make it clear that for all his grievances right now, they had nothing to do with her (unless she was the one who did the cooking). Still, these weren't normal circumstances. They hadn't been normal before Barry walked into the bar, and they sure as hell weren't normal now. Question was, did he let it slide, or...

"So," Chris murmured. "Been here before then."

Yeah, he was going there.

"Could say that."

Chris snorted. "Waitress sure did." He went to grab his beer, before remembering that it was no longer on the table. "So how did you find this place?"

Barry shrugged. "Word of mouth. Officer Ryman was dispatched around here a year ago - street brawl, knives, tasers, that sort of thing. Apparently he stopped off at this bar afterwards."

Chris blinked. "While on duty?"

Barry shrugged.

"Ryman, Ryman..." Chris murmured. "Isn't that the guy who keeps applying for STARS?"

"Trying, and failing. Guy's a good shot, but he's got discipline issues, and Wesker being Wesker, well..."

Chris knew what Barry was talking about. He'd met Ryman a few times on the station's firing range. Good shot, nearly as good as him and Forrest, but the guy had a mouth, and a foot, and couldn't help but put the two together. And while STARS Bravo Team was still looking for its last recruit, Chris knew that there was no way Ryman was joining the team. Wesker ran a tight ship after all - the man didn't care what you did after hours, but on them? Be on time, or don't come back next time, as he'd said on more than one occasion.

Chris frowned as the waitress brought Barry his lemonade. He wondered what Wesker was doing today, of all days. Wondered, and failed miserably. The man was a complete cipher, but in a way, he'd have preferred his company here tonight. Because Barry being Barry, Barry being his closest friend, Barry being here at all...sooner or later he'd have to touch on that topic.

"So," Barry asked. "How are you and Rachel?"

Provided his old USAF buddy didn't touch on it first.

"Oh, great," Chris murmured. "Absolutely great."

Barry gave him a sympathetic look. "That bad huh?"

Chris said nothing.

"Won't say I told you so, but..."

"But?"

"Like I said, won't say I told you so."

"Gee, thanks, dad."

A silence lingered between the two men for a moment. silence broken by Barry sipping his lemonade (loudly), before asking, "it's over then?"

"Yep."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Nup."

"Anything I can do?"

"Also nup."

Silence returned between them, the sound of lemonade slurping not even breaking it. Chris looked at his watch - 9:41. Figured he could give it another twenty minutes before heading home. Before reflecting on the events of the last few months.

Rachel Summers. Rachel Bloody Summers - journalist for the Raccoon Gazette, a news outlet that was about 50% tabloid journalism, 20% sports journalism, and 30% "real journalism," whatever that counted for these days. Having met her at an RPD press conference last November, he'd deduced that she belonged in that 30%. He'd also deduced that she was smart, she was attractive, and that while cops and reporters usually went together like oil and water, those two traits might be worth taking the plunge, especially as she'd been interested back. Hence three months of one and off dating, of repeated attempts of getting their schedules to sync, of everything from conversations over the phone to copious amounts of coffee. So much that upon reflection, Chris figured he should have known that it was going nowhere. That when he turned up at her apartment this evening, flowers in hand, only to find that she'd forgotten what day it was, what they'd planned for it, and that she was seeing someone else, that he had no-one to blame but himself. He could hit the bullseye on the firing range, but hadn't, or refused to, see what was right in front of him.

Thing was, Barry had known. Barry had told him it was a bad idea, and as it turned out, Barry was right. But for him to have realized it today, of all days? He glanced at a calendar on the wall, its image showing an obnoxious picture of Mister Raccoon and Mrs Possum skipping in hand, with a heart in red ink drawn around February 14th? He sighed, and gestured to the waitress. She slowly approached, and quickly departed when he grunted, "'nother beer."

Barry pushed the lemonade aside. Chris waited for some words of wisdom to come from the man, but was left wanting. Which wasn't going to help him much, because for all his problems with Rachel Summers, Barry being here confirmed something he'd suspected for awhile. And as his wingman, both figuratively and literally, he knew it was his responsibility to at least try and help.

"Listen, Barry..." Chris drummed his fingers on the barrel, searching for some words. "Are you okay?"

Barry forced a smile. "Course I am." He patted Chris on the shoulder. "Come on. You're the one who gets to be miserable tonight, not me."

"Yeah, sure..." Chris drummed his fingers quicker and harder. "How about Kathy and the girls?"

The shadow returned to Barry's face. "Fine," he murmured. "Absolutely fine."

"Absolutely?"

"Absolutely."

The beer arrived on the barrel. Chris barely noticed.

"Moira's...six now, right?"

"Seven, and not letting Polly forget it."

"Ah." Chris took a breath, before taking the plunge. "And Kathy?"

Barry didn't say anything, and for a moment, Chris was tempted to let the matter drop. But he'd dug this hole. Barry could have sat somewhere else, or not come into the bar at all, if he didn't want company. Even if most of Barry Burton was shut off from the world, Chris figured at least part of him was open. Wanting help, even if it just be words.

"I mean," Chris said slowly, "it being Valentine's, thought you and her...I mean, you mentioned that you had something booked two weeks ago, and..."

"Hmm?" Barry, who'd been drumming his fingers on the barrel as well, looked back at Chris. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, we did. Just that Kathy had her book club meeting today, and we were double booked, and we argu...I mean, talked it over, and, well, you know how it is. Women. Books. Jane Austen."

"She chose books over her husband?"

Chris regretted the words immediately. For a split second, he was afraid that Barry was about to punch him. The spark in his eye, the way his fist clenched, the sudden drop in room temperature...okay, the last part was probably a figment of his imagination, but the other signs weren't. Fortunately however, a split second after that, Barry returned to the veneer of normality.

"Like I said," his friend murmured, "double booking."

"Right." Chris took a sip of his beer. It was cold this time. Too cold. Apparently J's Bar didn't serve Goldilocks.

He glanced back at the TV screen, watching an ad for some kind of heart medicine - "just right to fix a broken heart," the spokeswoman said, giving a pearly white smile that Chris guessed was spruced up post-production. A spinning red and white umbrella came into frame, as a cheerful voice said, "Umbrella - our business is life itself." He toyed between cracking a joke about broken hearts and remaining silent, before choosing the latter. Barry and Kathy...there'd been problems. Longer than he'd known Rachel, longer than perhaps he'd even known at all. Looking at Barry, looking as he watched the ad, as if thinking about broken hearts himself, he wondered what he could do, if anything. Sibling issues? Sure. Being pseudo dad to a sibling after his parents had died? Sure. Marital issues? He had no idea. He knew that Barry loved his family more than anything. From the times he'd met them over the years, he knew that at the end of the day, Kathy, Moira, and Polly knew that as well. But maybe that wasn't enough. Maybe when those cracks started forming, there was no way of fixing them. Watching Barry call the waitress, asking not for a lemonade but a beer...he just didn't know. Barry was hurting. Hurting even more than him. And he had no idea how to fix that.

"Cheers," Barry said, holding up his glass.

But he could try and play along at least. "Cheers," Chris said, tapping his glass against his friend's. "Here's to...Valensteins."

"Valensteins?"

He'd wanted to say Singles Awareness Day, but Barry wasn't single - not yet at least. "Valensteins," Chris repeated.

"You think of that yourself?"

Chris sipped his beer. "Of course," he lied.

"Of course." Barry wasn't buying his bullshit but nevertheless rose his own glass. "Well, here's to Valensteins."

The two men sat there in silence - fewer people were in the pub now, which meant that Chris could hear the TV better. Car ads, travel ads, an ad for an Umbrella product that he probably already owned without realizing it...he looked at his watch again. 10:01. Time to head home. He got to his feet, stumbled, but managed to steady his footing, placing his hands on the barrel for balance.

Didn't drink that much did I?

Given the brief smirk that Barry displayed, maybe he had.

"I'm heading off," Chris said. He took a step to the door, paused, and looked back at his friend. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you tomorrow."

Chris knew that the first statement was a lie, and that the second was highly suspect. But it was too late to do anything. He couldn't wind back the clock. He could only give so much help to Barry in regards to his family issues. And Claire? Given what her last fax had said, he had no idea where to start with her. Yes, he could start walking for the bar's exit, but what happened after that.

"Y'know, much as I hate to say it, there's plenty of other fish in the sea."

Apparently what happened to that was Barry uttering platitudes that he really didn't want to hear right now. Nevertheless, he stopped and turned round to look at him.

"I mean, there's Jill."

"Jill," Chris said blankly, unable to believe what Barry was saying. "You've got marriage problems, and you're looking at co-workers?"

Barry looked up at him through bleary eyes. "Not me, dumbass. You."

Chris stared at him, then at Barry's drink, then Barry again, then the drink again. He tried to ask if this was really the first beer his friend had had tonight, but no words came out, even if the question was still on his mind. Because intoxication was the only thing that could explain such a ludicrous statement.

"Just a thought," Barry said, before returning to his glass of tears.

"Yeah," Chris murmured. "Well, just keep that thought to yourself, alright?"

He headed for the door, not bothering to respond as waitress girl said have a good evening. His head was spinning, and for whatever reason, over Barry's suggestion.

Jill. Jill Valentine. God, the surname couldn't be unfortunate right now. Suggestion was absolutely ridiculous of course, since the RPD had rules against fraternization, plus Air Force and Army didn't mix (even former members), plus that was assuming there was anything. Which there wasn't. Jill kept to herself, holding her own in a special forces team that was otherwise entirely male, and their interactions had been nothing but professional over the last two years. Yeah, over the past month she'd repeatedly asked him if he was okay, as if she'd noticed that something was wrong, but that was just workplace courtesy. What a stupid-

"Hey, watch it!"

Chris recoiled - he'd already reached High Street and not realized it. Nor had he realized that he'd nearly stepped into the path of a motorbike. He looked at the rider who looked back at him and raised a finger, before jetting off into the night.

Asshole. Chris put a hand to his forehead - he had a headache coming on. And while there was an Umbrella billboard up above, showing a happy man, woman, and daughter overlooking a green field, he doubted that whatever they were selling, they could help him right now. Not unless they had medication that could treat the head and heart simultaneously. Or maybe they did, but-

You're overthinking things.

Chris sighed, and making sure he was on the footpath, began to head for his apartment. Soon, it would be spring, and after that, summer. Like in the billboard, the sun would shine, the grass would grow, and Raccoon City would ever remain "Home of Umbrella."

Bad as things were right now, he figured they'd return to normal soon enough.

A/N

I actually saw a "Valensteins" event advertised this year's Singles Awareness Day. One of those things that stuck in my mind (and my story idea list) to jot down, even if it's a month after the event.

Update (27/03/20): Corrected punctuation error.