The Human Tank

"Temptation is a woman's weapon and man's excuse."

-H. L. Mencken

Silver Lake Montana -Spring -2018

The birthday party was kind of insane.

In all his life, Chris Redfield had never seen so many little monsters in one place. Small, scary, they were like the ankle stabbing freaks in Silent Hill. They just kept trying to cut you down.

He'd been ass deep in bad guys so many times in his life, and none had scared him like a party filled with toddlers.

The bouncy houses, the cakes and cookies, the party favors and balloons - the laughing parents and madness. It swirled and bled around the huge ranch in a way that you either had to jump in and enjoy it, or run screaming.

He stood off to one side, smoking, and considered the running.

But he'd never been a coward.

Beside him, a little girl in a pink dress - someone's kid from the church B was always attending in town clearly - queried, "You're so big. You a mountain?"

He started to answer and one of the kids next to her said, "No, stupid head. He's an X-Men. 'Membo? It's why he's all beat up. He fighted Magneto."

The little girl had big eyes, "Did you win!?"

Again, before he could answer, the boy with the missing front teeth said, "O'course him won! He still ALIVE! He's JUGGERNAUT! My Dad said he killed like four billion zombies with a stick."

The girl was staring, enraptured, "Dat's why he's so big! Four billion!? In one day!?"

Chris said nothing, waiting for the boy to answer again, "O'course! And he shooted seventy five ninjas in the face!"

Tongue in cheek, Rebecca spoke and had him jumping, "Seventy five? You're getting soft in your old age, Captain Redfield."

He laughed, lightly, and turned to look at her. The pretty weather agreed with her. Her hair had grown out and was sort of shaggy around her face. The natural red and gold of it streaked through the dark, highlighting the perfect bone structure. She was still battling the "muffin" as she called it. And he heard her nightly in her room cursing and doing push ups and sit ups.

It was charming.

It was amusing to see her so upset over something that clearly made no difference. She was thin and attractive and petite. She'd never been anything else.

Faith was pushing some other kid over in the mud and making people laugh.

Amused, Chris gestured with his head, "Speaking of fighting ninjas."

"I know." Rebecca laughed, "I shouldn't encourage it. But that kid was a bully anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, always stealing her pacifier. She's not amused."

"Shewolf."

Rebecca grinned, lighting up her face, "Like her mama?"

"Naturally."

She rubbed his arm almost absently and winked at him. The touching was inherent with them. It always had been. It the castle, it had kept them sane. A hug. A hand holding. A rub of the arm. Gentle. Unassuming.

It continued now.

But it made his teeth grit sometimes.

She was ok. She really was. She had the hang of things and the ranch hands here were up to speed on the way to keep the world turning. Kennedy hadn't left her a turd. He'd left her a gold mine.

Kennedy. Chris shifted, watching the laughing children and their excited parents. It should be Leon Kennedy standing here.

What were they always giggling about behind their hands? The Human Tank. Jesus. What a nick name. Even in his own profession he was a joke. The guy who mowed you down and squashed you flat. As much finesse as a five fingered punch to the throat.

Softness. Gentleness. It wasn't his thing. He was a "tank". He just destroyed where he rolled. And he was teaching Kennedy's kid to do the same it seemed.

A sharp whistle drew his eye and there was Claire on the water slide bouncy house. She was laughing with Faith on her lap. She waved and finger gunned him. And if she was listening inside his head right now?

She'd smack the shit out of him.

She was always telling him he was "selling himself short." In the kitchen that morning, while he sat there with that damn guitar playing for the baby. She'd stood against the counter, sipping her coffee.

And she'd said, quietly, "...what a liar you are."

He'd stopped playing, Faith had thrown peas at him in anger, and he'd picked up strumming again to please her. But he'd glanced at his sister. "How so?"

"Nobody knows you. Not really. Not completely. All my life, you've been this...mountain."

And there was that nickname too. The Mountain. Lord.

But she used it differently than the rest of the world. "You stood between me and the rest of the world. If they wanted to hurt me, they had to go over you. A brutal climb, big brother, on a good day."

"That's just loyalty, Claire. It's not something to glorify me for."

Interesting, Claire'd thought at the time, he discounts his own greatest attributes. Mr. Fucking Humble.

"Isn't it? You can't find it on any street corner like an eight ball of coke, Christopher. It's not in all of us."

He'd glanced at her, surprised, "There's no one more loyal than you, Claire. Don't do that. Don't sell yourself short."

And there was that, Claire'd thought, he was so fucking stalwart. He didn't even let you attack yourself. She'd said, "Thank you. And where do you think it comes from?"

He'd shrugged, stopping strumming to wipe food off Faith's face, she'd growled and pretended to bite him which had him laughing and kissing her. Yeah, Claire'd mused, the Human Tank her ass. What a squish.

"Age? Experience? Just being you? Who the hell knows?"

Claire'd taken the chair across from him. She'd put her hands on his knees and drew his attention. "It comes from you, big brother. Where else? Remember when Mom and Dad died? They tried to put me in that foster home. Just for one night. Just one. You were at basic training. You weren't, techincally, allowed to leave. It was the middle of the night and they were poking me in that sedan..."

She'd shifted, getting a little choked up. His hands rolled up to grip hers, squeezing. No tears on his end. Did he ever? She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him cry. She couldn't remember him doing it ONCE after their parents had died. Sometimes he got a little misty. But there was never the tears.

And she'd finished, "There ya came. In that uniform. Right off the bus. Barely eighteen. Shouting at the top of your lungs."

"I don't think I was shouting that loud."

"Oh, you were. You were." Claire'd laughed, swiping aside a tear, "That's my GIRL, you shouted. Get her outta that car! I could hear the people arguing. There were procedures, there were rules in place. You? Rules? Never in my life had I seen you follow any rules. And you just...mowed them flat to get to me. The Human Tank."

Their hands gripped so hard it had her eyes leaking a little on a laugh. "Yeah. Forget what the Bioterror World says, Chris Redfield. I see you. You're not a tank because you lay your enemies flat...you're a tank because you'll destroy anyone who threatens what you love."

He'd shifted, uncomfortable as always with the insight. But she'd pressed on, "Leon was my best friend."

The pain on his face had hurt them both. She'd woven their fingers, pressing on, "He was. He was my best friend in the world. You didn't fail him."

Oh, lord, Claire'd thought, was there anyone, anywhere who was in more hell than Chris Redfield? Leon had saved Rebecca - instant hero. And Chris had stood at the bottom of that tower in the control of the man who'd destroyed them all. Not a hero.

A villian.

Claire could see the guilt and the pain and the remorse all over him like a cloud.

He'd shook his head and tried to rise but she'd held on, gripping so hard, "You didn't fail him, Chris. In the whole of that battle, only Leon died. You all walked away. Wesker was defeated. Ada Wong is dead. And Faith is right here. Right here, Chris. You saved his daughter. You didn't fail him. He knows that, wherever he is, he knows that. Why don't you?"

At the sink, rinsing Faith's bottle, he'd finally spoken, surprising her. He often times held his silence to a painful degree. "That kid has no father. I failed her. Every fucking kid deserves a father. And Kennedy? He'd have made a helluva good one."

Ooh-oh oh oh. She'd risen. She'd moved through the kitchen and put her arms around him from behind. He didn't lean. But it was close. He vibrated in her arms. And Claire'd said, "He would have. He was full of so much love. But don't you kid yourself and don't you sell yourself short...that kid? She has a father. Look at her. Really look at her. And you'll see it."

She'd kissed his back and walked away.

And he'd stood at the sink throbbing with the pain of it. He didn't want to be that guy. He didn't want to be the guy standing here coveting Leon Kennedy's life. Faith laughed and drew his attention.

And he put it aside to face it another day.

The party went into the late afternoon. The whole town had turned out. It was filled with laughter and excitement.

Kennedy had known what he was doing. This place? It was a happy place. No wonder he ran here when he could. It was a place where you WANTED to hide out. Because you couldn't do anything but enjoy it.

They cleaned up the party. Claire and Devon took Barry and his wife into town for drinks.

Faith was fussy, overly tired, and combative. She didn't want her bath. She didn't want her sock monkey - Herbert. She didn't want a hug. She wanted to be a holy terror. She cried. She threw things.

Rebecca, so frustrated she was on the verge of tears, left Faith in her crib to scream and throw a massive fit. She stood in the hallway, breathing and trying not to weep. A big hero that she was, she was being defeated by a toddler.

Chris came up the stairs sweaty and blowing hard like he'd been working out. He probably had been. He lived at the damn training ground.

He paused to look at her face and tossed his assault bag on his floor in his room. Turning back, he perked up his ears and listened. Faith was in her room shouting and smacking her crib.

Rebecca was leaning in the hall with her eyes closed channeling Jesus or something and looking for some peace.

He said nothing. He paused beside the door where Rebecca was leaning. She glanced at him in frustrated despair. And she said, "I'm failing here."

Chris smiled, eyes twinkling. "Hmm. Not seeing failing. Flailing maybe. But that little monster in there would make anybody flail a little."

"Not you."

"Hah. Well...I'm the Human Tank." He picked up Excalibur and went into the room.

The moment she saw him, Faith sniffled and murmured, wetly, "Mama...MEAN!"

On a small laugh, Chris sat down on the bed. He strummed a few chords and had the little girl lying down to watch him.

He said, conversationally, "I don't think Mama is mean. I think Faith is sleepy."

Faith shook her head, putting her thumb in her mouth, "Faif not seepy."

"Hmm. You get the fibbing from your Dad, I think. Also the inability to recognize your own weaknesses. But we'll let it pass."

Faith shifted on her mattress, "Faif not seepy. Mama mean. Faif Mack Mama! Pop!" She smacked her sock monkey like it was Rebecca.

"Hmm. Only mean little girls hit their Mama."

Faith looked stricken and so sad. "Faif no mean..." She muttered now, watching Chris stubbornly, "Mama...mean."

Chris nodded, sagely, "Also stubborn like he was it seems. And potentially deaf. He was both when it suited." He strummed the first chords of American Pie and she grinned around her thumb. "There we are. Some Don Mclean, pretty girl?"

"Yesh. Sing pwease. Pie song."

Pie song.

His heart shivered.

A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

In the hallway, Rebecca did what she always did when he played. She listened. She heard the joy of her daughter.

She had a moment where she wondered if they were both pretending here. Were they all pretending? In Leon's house. In Leon's life. Somehow, they'd stepped into the roles he'd set up without trying.

Had she once stopped to think about if she WANTED to be a rancher?

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

That was part of it, she knew. The music died. The day it died. The death of Leon Kennedy had bound them here. In his life. In his house. In his retirement.

But it was a stopping point. It was never meant to be permanent. Eventually? They'd move on. Both of them?

Or just Chris Redfield?

So bye, bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

And he would. He would if he stayed here.

This wasn't his place. It was his guilt that bound him here and that loyalty he was so good at. He'd promised to watch over her. So, here he was. If he stayed here, in Leon's house...in Leon's chair...in Leon's life...he'd start to stifle. He'd wake up one day and wonder if he was still Chris Redfield.

She wanted to take his pain. She wanted to take his sadness.

She just...wanted to take him.

She wanted to touch him. Like she'd touched Leon that first time. Just..instant. Needy. Desperate. But different.

Different. Because this man?

This man was her friend. Her companion. Her compatriot. The guy who'd given up his own freedom - twice - to help her.

She couldn't repay that with a senseless roll in the hay.

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again
So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend

She wanted a moment. That moment. That one moment. To know if what she felt for Chris Redfield was the echo of what she'd felt for Leon Kennedy...or if the girl who'd once loved a hero who'd saved her from a hunter...if that girl had simply become a woman who loved a man who'd saved her from a monster.

Love?

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell

And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died

Faith laughed in the room. Her heart? It swelled.

Love. Maybe not the kind that she'd so desperately cultivated for Leon Kennedy. Maybe not that kind of love. The kind that burned and burned out and blistered where it scorched. Maybe not that.

But the kind built on the back of years of friendship and devotion. Of loyalty and dependability and trust.

It made it sound so sad when you said it loud like that. But it wasn't. It wasn't at all. It was the surest of anything she'd ever felt in her life. She'd chased Leon Kennedy like she'd catch him and own him.

You didn't chase Chris Redfield. You didn't have to. He wasn't running. He stuck. He stayed. Sometimes to his own detriment. She felt safe when he was there. She felt secure. She felt good.

And she'd missed feeling good.

And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died

There was nothing sad about loving Chris Redfield. And the music? It hadn't died with Leon Kennedy.

It was just playing a different tune. And she was still trying to figure out the lyrics.

She touched the cross at her throat. She thought of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

And she took a moment, just one, to ask God to offer her a sign. Did she push here? Or did she let him go?

In the room, the guitar played, the baby laughed, and the lyrics filled the hallway, offering her a glimpse into what God was telling her.

They were singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die

If she trapped him here, it would be the place he went to die. He wouldn't be Chris Redfield anymore...he'd become the ghost of Leon Kennedy.

After dinner, Rebecca found him strapping himself down to head out to the training ground. She watched him move, with purpose and drive. No wasted movement. No unnecessary shifts.

She'd once thought of Leon as poetry in motion. He moved so cleanly, so perfectly, a dance with the devil or the truth or the future. But Chris?

He didn't dance.

He just...kicked in doors. And kept on going.

He would stifle here. He would fade away. And he'd never let up. He'd simply wake up one day and he'd look in the mirror and he'd see...what? An old man who'd lost his fight or lost his purpose or let it be taken from him. He'd blame her. He'd blame Faith. He'd blame himself for being too good.

She couldn't let that happen.

So, she said softly, "Maybe it's time for you to get back to work."

Surprised, he glanced up. He was strapping on his boots. The black he wore was something to see against the pale room. She was so used to his lazy hoodies and his t-shirts. He had a variety of stupid t-shirts. The one beneath the black vest he wore was pale green and had the Muppets on it. But this? This was him. In the heavy gear. In the combat boots. In the battle.

He was a warrior. Not a rancher.

She was trapping him here with guilt and loyalty. It was a shitty cage to keep someone you loved in.

But he asked, "You want me to go?"

Lord.

LORD.

She laughed a little, shaking her head, "No. Not ever. I'm terrified to do this alone. But I can't stand the thought of you feeling like you have to stay here. Like you're obligated or something. I'm ok. I'll be ok. And I'm so grateful to you for staying. But if you want to, if you need to, get back your life...that's ok too. I won't be angry. I won't fall apart. I'm ok now."

He braced his elbows on his knees, watching her. So quiet when it suited him. He only showed you what he wanted you to see. A careful man on a good day, he was good at shutting down when he was trying to protect you.

And then he said, "B - I'm right where I need to be. If duty calls, I leave, you know that. I don't feel trappped here or obligated or oppressed. Am I thrilled to live in Kennedy's house? Not really, he owned a bunch of stupid girly shit like aromatherapy candles and fungus schway stuff...so it's a bit like living in a chic's dorm..."

Rebecca felt the grin spread over her face, eyes twinkling, "It's feng-shui. It's a practice based on the idea that our homes are a mirror of what's happening inside us. The purpose of feng shui is to get your environment in alignment with who you are and where you want to go—to harmonize your energy with your home's energy."

Chris blinked, snorting out a laugh, "That's the gayest thing anyone said, ever. Proving he was a girl under all that hair. But I can live anywhere, B, and be ok. This is his house. I get it. I'm just taking up a room for now. When you're done with me? I'll hit the bricks. But don't push me out to "save me" or something. I wasn't afraid of Leon Kennedy when he was alive. I'm not scared of his ghost. He wants to haunt me? Bring it. I could use the laugh. I bet even his puns in the afterlife are awful."

"He'd probably just haunt you and steal your chips anyway."

Chris grinned, laughing lightly, "Paranormal...snacktivity?"

Her mouth twitched. His did too.

"That ghost joke was "bootiful.""

They both laughed, rolling eyes.

And he finally quipped, "Ok. So maybe I'm channeling way too much Kennedy in this house after all. Time for a break. Jill should be here soon and we're gonna hit the training ground. You wanna come along? Claire is here somewhere with Devon. So the baby is covered."

"Sure. I'll go throw something on and meet you downstairs."

"Cool beans."

She left the bedroom. He remained sitting for a long moment.

She was worried he was stifling here. He understood the concern. In all his life, he couldn't remember two weeks total that he'd gone without taking a mission. This was a hiatus for him. It was a long one.

The interesting thing?

He was kinda enjoying it. In one hand, it was a nice change from the fight to just...exist. The baby...she was something. She kept him entertained. The ranch was bustling. There was always something to do.

He'd never put much thought into what happened after he retired from active duty. Assumingly, he'd still man the helm of the BSAA until he died, but what about outside that? He had the cabin, sure. But he'd always planned to buy a plot of land somewhere and be self sufficient.

Farming, naturally, and raising his own livestock.

This was close.

It was KENNEDY's. So that sucked. But he was also a wise enough man to know it wasn't Kennedy's anymore either. Leon was dead.

In his business, he knew what dead was. It wasn't always permanent, so that was just...fucked up. But it was here. They'd buried him. They'd mourned him. They'd taken over his house like weird guests on Clue.

But this ranch? It didn't feel like Leon Kennedy's. It hadn't in awhile.

It didn't even feel like Rebecca's.

It felt like HIS.

An interesting feeling. The kid, the ranch...they felt like his. That was the main reason to run here. He was getting posessive over Kennedy's life.

But the thing about that? He and Rebecca had been in that castle for so long together, before Kennedy had rushed that roof and died, how long had it been since she'd even seen him?

They'd had one moment together on that roof in what...eighteen months now? At least? He'd been dead the better part of a year. The kid was one and B had been several months preggers when they'd gone into captivity. When was the last time, honestly, she'd sent more than a minute with Kennedy?

Was she really still his woman?

Whoa.

WHOA.

Whoa.

Out loud, he said, "...really? Semantics?"

He was making excuses.

He was making excuses for why it was ok to look at Kennedy's woman.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to go.

Before he started thinking it was ok to touch her too. Protect her, take care of her, didn't mean fuck her.

At least here, in this moment, he could admit that's what he wanted. He wanted to fuck her. That simple. That basic. He'd over looked her for years. Forever. She'd found Kennedy on that chopper and teased him about being blind to her. She was right. He had been.

In the castle, he'd been able to really just...stop...and see her. His friend. His pal. He was a guy. He looked. And he liked looking.

But here? Now? He enjoyed her. They clicked. It was easy and friendly. They laughed and got along like gold. The tension was all on his side, clearly, but that was ok too. He could handle a few stiffies when he thought about her. Again, those had been his constant plague since he was twelve years old.

But he didn't want to compromise their friendship by putting the moves on her either. With Leon Kennedy watching him from the great beyond and giggling like a schoolgirl. Ugh.

No.

Chris picked up his assault bag and stepped out of the bedroom. He closed his door and turned.

Rebecca came out of her room so fast it was startling. She was almost running. She bumped into him, he dropped the bag, and his hands caught her arms to keep them from both going over.

Laughing, she grabbed his wrists and held on. "Sorry! I thought I was taking forever! I was sure you'd left me behind."

"You ever known me to leave you behind?"

Oh.

A good question.

Rebecca giggled a little and rubbed his wrists. "Nope. You got me there. You ready?"

"Yep. Just headed down to wait for Jill."

Rebecca gave him a thumbs up, grinning. "Ok. Let me get your bag!"

"You can't carry that, skin and bones, trust me."

"Pfft! Watch this." She ducked down, she grabbed the bag and made the most adorable OOMPH sound ever, and her face turned beet red.

Amused, he let her try. She put the loops over her arms like a back pack, fail. She put the loops over one shoulder and tried to heave it up, fail. Finally, she pursed her lips and gave him the stink eye.

His face was very deadpan. But those eyes of his? They were CLEARLY saying I Told You So.

He ducked down and helped her pick it up. She grunted, huffing like she'd run a mile, and had him smiling. She balanced the bag on her arms and waddled forward. Her gait was splay legged for support.

Impossibly amused, Chris followed behind her. "Lift from the knees, B. Not the back. You'll strain something otherwise."

"I got this, Redfield! Mind ya business!"

She started down the massive staircase, slow but steady. She made it down about four steps and teetered. She tried to hold on and tottered. She let out a squeak of fear and Chris grabbed her before she went down.

She spilled against him, laughing. The bag thunked onto the stairs and slid down like a sled.

Giggling, Rebecca mused, "So maybe I could stand to lift some weights."

"Maybe."

"A few."

"Potentially."

She laughed and shifted to stand up right. She started to tease him about catching her and she realized he wasn't looking at her face.

He was, however, staring down the V-neck of her top into her cleavage.

Her mouth went bone dry. She licked her lips and she said, "See anything good down there?"

His eyes snapped up so fast she was surprised he wasn't dizzy from it. She watched the color shoot up his neck to his ears. She'd wondered before. She'd never been quite sure. She was sure as shit about it now though.

He was blushing.

He was looking.

He was looking at her like that.

Still.

Finally?

Something.

He laughed, hoarse and dry, "Sorry. Male prerogative."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, yeah? See boobs, stare?"

"Yep. That's pretty much the agenda."

Her eyes twinkled at him. "Admittedly, nursing has given me a huge set of boobs."

Lord. This was the strangest conversation he'd had with someone in a long time. "...that's an affirmative."

Rebecca grinned. Chris grinned. It was all harmless. Really. Harmless.

And then she said, "Too big? What do you think?"

Yep. The strangest conversation he'd had in a long time.

Hands down.

She couldn't help it. His blushing? It was making her feel so good. She'd felt dead lately. The only time she didn't? When she'd brushed him that night in their hug. When she'd pressed a kiss to him on New Year's.

And now.

NOW.

She wasn't dead. Why did she keep forgetting that?

Hoarsely, he laughed again, "I think that question is relative."

She tilted her head, "Hard to tell in a sports bra huh? I should wear a sexy bra and really try these bad boys out right? Wear a low cut top down by the barn. What do you think the ranch hands would do?"

She was trying to kill him.

Maybe.

Potentially.

"Fall off their horses and get trampled. Maybe start stalking you. I suspect you would have a lot of unwanted peeping toms at night."

"Hmm." She shifted and her hand slid over his chest. It curled around the vest he wore. "You one of them?"

Dangerous ground here.

But he said quietly, "Maybe. You want me peeping in your window like some kind of perv?"

Her other hand slid up the back of his arm. His hands curled over to grip her elbows, squeezing. "...maybe. Try it some time and find out."

Lord.

She shifted into his "zone". Right into his attack zone. If he was going to kill her, she was making it easy. But he wasn't gonna kill her.

He thought vaguely that he was gonna kiss her though. That was probably where this was headed. She breathed, "You don't have to be outside my window, Chris. You can just...come on in."

Yep.

That's where this was headed.

He dropped his eyes to her mouth. She felt her pulse speed up and excite her.

And then? A VERY loud voice, "What's taking so long!? I'm getting bored! I'm going to start breaking into locked shit down here to amuse myself! REDFIELD! SHAKE YOUR ASS!"

Jill.

They both let go.

And he thought, nope, you're wrong. She's just...being B. Friendly. Joking.

Why did it feel like a little weird devil was on his shoulder saying, "Liar liar pants on fire"?

Why did it have Leon Kennedy's face?

Rebecca was flushed, trembling a little. Chris picked up the bag. He went down the stairs.

No awkward moment for him apparently. He just...got on with it.

Rebecca stood on the stairs, relearning how to breathe.

Nope. Not dead.

Although she was seriously considering killing Jill Valentine.