Faith
"No matter how difficult and painful it may be, nothing sounds as good to the soul as the truth."
-Martha Beck
Flat Rock River, Minnesota - 2019
He left for a few weeks in mid-March. The spring came and swept tenderly over the cold country side. It took the snow and left the budding promise of a warmer season.
Claire did nothing but smile. She was gone for long periods of time and there for longer - but never alone. It wasn't the ghost of Leon Kennedy that was with her anymore - although Rebecca wondered if she'd ever stop seeing the shadow of him on that familiar face when Kevin was around.
Faith had a birthday party while he was gone and the town came out to celebrate. She was cleaning up the mess of it when she realized she was happy.
She just was.
She was happy here. She was happy in this house, in this town, with her life here. She was happy.
And it was ok if he couldn't stay. It was. Because she loved him. She did. But she knew she could do this alone now. She knew, if he had to walk away for the fight, if he had to…she'd survive it.
He'd stayed on Leon's ranch to help her. She didn't need his help anymore. She wanted him to stay, now, because it was what he wanted. Not because it was what she needed.
The door opened. Faith started squealing and laughing and talking over herself. So many stories. So much to say.
She knew he was home.
Her hands paused on the garbage she was throwing into the big can out back.
Home?
Was it?
Rebecca moved into the house to find him holding Faith in his arms. He was in all his heavy gear. He was dirty and looked tired and happy.
Home. It was that. And it came with the risk of knowing every time he left, he might not come back.
When had she become strong enough to survive that? She hadn't died with Leon Kennedy. She wouldn't die without Chris Redfield.
She didn't need him.
The thought stopped her where she stood. She felt it echo. And it was wrong.
It was wrong.
It was her brain insulating her against the pain of losing him. It was her scientist brain protecting her. She was trying to prepare herself for when he left or when he died or when a bullet on a rooftop took him away. And it was a lie.
If he died right then, right in that moment, she'd survive it. But she was a liar.
There was nothing about him she didn't need.
And there was her truth. There it was. She'd loved Leon. Loved him. Madly. Passionately. Desperately. And she'd never, ever needed him. There simply wasn't time for that. They'd run out of time.
She didn't want to run out of time here. It was too goddamn short.
He turned, grinning through the dirt. "Hey."
"Hi." Rebecca picked up the other bag of old cups and plates, "You missed the party."
"I know. I fucking pushed hard to get here. I'm so sorry."
She knew that too and smiled lightly, "It's ok. We'll do something nice tomorrow with just us. Everything ok?"
Faith was clinging to him like she'd never let go. She was rubbing his dirty neck and his arm. She didn't care about his big vest or the fact he, likely, smelled like death. She needed a hug from her Dad.
There it was, Rebecca thought, there was the other part. Leon was her father. Chris was her Dad. That simple. That true.
Truth. It was everywhere she looked in this house.
"Yep. I look bad, I admit, but it wasn't, B. It wasn't bad. It was mostly clean up. The T-Virus Vaccine was on the ground the second the outbreak started. Minimal losses." Faith turned his face to give him a kiss. He did it, no thinking. And smiled at her.
That was it. That simple. Love. He loved her. He looked at her like she was the best thing in his life. It was humbling.
And Rebecca was jealous of her own daughter.
Amused and ashamed a little, Rebecca smiled softly and took the trash out. She lingered in the early spring air, watching the horizon darken with the setting sun. Faith needed him. He needed faith.
The child or the feeling?
Both. Clearly.
She went back in the house to hear him putting her to bed. Laughter. Blackbird. Story time and bath. Faith with fifteen stories about cats and birds that pooped on Mrs. Johnson's purse and Billy Ferguson pulled her hair. Did he know that dogs couldn't look down? Did he know that your pee sometimes had no color!? And his laughter. His laughter. His laughter. It felt like an arrow in her heart every time. She was so painfully in love with him.
The girl or the scientist? Again. Both. Clearly.
Rebecca closed the house down and poured a glass of wine. She rooted out the secret pack of smokes she kept in her dresser drawer and went out onto the porch to watch the night roll in.
Clean, quiet, he joined her after awhile in a blue hoodie with the RPD logo across the front and loose old jeans. She shifted in her chair when he stepped out. He helped himself to her wine and her smoke, without asking.
Which was entirely his thing.
Watching him, Rebecca mused, "How bad was it really?"
Chris laughed, lightly. The fading sun set the salt and pepper of his hair on fire in a way that made her sigh. "Ugly. Messy. Mostly containment. The vaccine helped, it did. But it can't reverse what's been done. We need a cure. I can't believe we aren't there yet. All these years. We can stop it before it happens. Why can't we cure it?"
Rebecca shifted and nearly swallowed her heart. Because he could have sat anywhere. But he sat down in front of her and leaned back. Her legs looped around his waist and her arms curled over his chest, holding.
His head leaned against her shoulder.
A huge step for a man who'd resisted the gentleness of it so hard in the beginning.
What had Claire said? He's so lonely. He needs love.
Love was something she knew how to give him. If he'd take it. Would he?
And would she survive it if he didn't give it back? She'd given Leon the out. You don't have to love me back, she'd said. But she'd always waited for him to.
She'd always had faith he would.
She didn't know if she'd survive it if she gave it now and lost Chris in the rush of it. That was the truth of needing someone. You were so afraid you'd lose them.
Rebecca kissed his neck and snuggled him, sighing. "I'm glad you're back. I'll keep pushing for the cure, you know that."
Chris turned his head. She leaned over. Smooth.
Soft.
Endless.
And never failed to send her heart in a tattoo of want in her chest.
He said quietly, "It's good to be home."
Home.
That word. Was it? For him? Was it?
She kissed him again, eyes open. And she said, "I missed you."
His smile was tender. His hand lifted to stroke a thumb over her chin. "I missed you guys too."
Fuck.
Plural.
Rebecca closed her eyes. She breathed a little. Would it ever be just her? Was she simply looking for too much here?
Quietly, he asked, "What is it?"
Her eyes opened and she took a deep breath. Find your truth, her mind instructed, now you find it. And she answered him, "I missed you."
Curious, Chris studied her face. He seemed amused, "How much?"
Rebecca slid out from behind him. She went into the house. She didn't stop until she was in the bedroom.
The door opened. The door closed.
She turned and he scooped her up to press her into the wall.
Wet. Wild. Tongues and teeth. She was gasping as his hand slid into her sleeping pants to fill her full of his fingers.
Good.
She wanted more.
She grabbed his face, holding it as he plunged those fingers into her need. And she gasped, "I missed you."
He paused, fingers inside her, feeling the wet and want of her. His eyes volleyed over her face. Yeah, she thought, see it. Because it's there.
It was entirely in his hands what he did with it.
Chris slid his hand out of her pants. He helped himself to her shirt and tugged it free. It was sweaters and smooth hands and spilling mouths.
He lifted her and he didn't throw her on the bed. He laid her on it and slid naked and beautiful atop her. Her hands pleasured them both by stroking him. She could touch him a thousand times and it wouldn't change the want of it.
His mouth slid over her collarbone, it tasted smooth and slow along the curve of her ribcage. It lingered and laved the pretty pink crest of each begging breast. It swirled around her belly button and nipped gently at one hip.
Oh, she thought, there was his truth.
A man without words. A man with actions. He nipped the inside of her thigh and had her breath falling out in a needy little pant.
Smooth and tender. Gentle. This was his truth.
She took his face to guide him back to her mouth. Her hands slid over his scarred back and she rolled him to his belly on the bed. She touched him with her mouth, with her fingers. She traced and kissed and worshiped.
And he closed his eyes. Why?
Her mouth nipped gently at his side and she laid there on her belly slightly atop him, petting. Their noses aligned and she kissed his mouth, gentle, sweet. Eyes closed, breathing, he said quietly, "I always miss you when I'm gone."
Lord.
Rebecca made some sound of need and pushed him to his back. His eyes opened, his hands shifted. She mounted him, slick and needy. There was no rush here. There was no raping need. There was just the swell of something tender and raw.
She rode him, shaking, and he leaned up to take her mouth. Her eyes were closed, her body fluid, and he rasped it, stealing her heart, "Look at me."
And so she did that too.
His hands shifted and cupped her face, holding her while they surged together. Faster now, needier, desperate. Her fingers gripped into the soft spill of hair above his nipples and gripped, bringing his noises into her mouth.
He tightened. She shook. She didn't look away.
And she gave him her truth. "I love you."
His hands caught her throat and they rolled. She went, taking his desperate plunging between her legs with small whines of need, she let him drive her into the bed and came apart in his arms while their hands synched above her head.
She didn't look away. He didn't either. And it filled her in places she couldn't begin to name.
He licked her mouth. Rebecca gasped and started trembling. He let go of her hands. His shifted to hold her face. Hers slid over his shoulders and gripped.
And he rasped, hoarsely, "I love you."
It broke over her like a storm or a wave or a bullet in the heart. It brought her mouth open on a small mewl of need. He thrust into her twice and finished, taking her soft cry into him as he gave her everything he had.
Everything.
A terrifying moment for him. And maybe the most redeeming one he'd ever had.
They curled together, breathing, breathing. Breaking.
Because that part was easy to do. The breaking was easy. It was the picking up the pieces that hurt.
The "what does it all mean" conversation was out there. It would come. But not now. Now? Now was for holding on.
She lay on the bed, octopus holding him. His mouth slid against her neck and kissed, gently.
The breaking was easy, she thought, and wonderful.
The middle of the night spilled moonlight over them. She shifted and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Three a.m.
She should be sleeping. She kept drifting in and out.
It was hard to sleep with your heart pounding. She turned over to touch his face where it was peacefully dreaming on the pillow beside her. Her fingers skimmed his jaw and touched his nose. Her mouth touched on his, lightly.
His eyes were colorless in the dark as he opened them. Brilliant. Haunting.
He rolled on top of her. She opened, she lifted, and took him inside with a gasp of want.
They crested, they blended, they came – wet and smooth and needy.
He shuddered above her while she quivered beneath him. The blankets slid and drifted and left them naked and twined.
She said it again, shaking, "I love you, Chris."
And he said it back. He said it. No hesitation. Nothing. Just him. Just the way he was. "I can't do anything but love you"
God. GOD. She was going to wake up and he'd be gone. She just knew it. She felt it in her bones.
But he was still there. When she'd rolled over? Still there.
Her hands slid down in his back and gripped his hips, rolling him inside of her. They slid up his spine and gripped handfuls of his muscles as he plunged desperately between her quaking thighs. She arched, spine bowing, and he commanded, "Say it again."
Yes. Dreaming. She had to be. "I love you."
His arm shifted, draped one of her legs over it, opened her to the push of him inside of her. She gripped his back hard, pulling a raw sound of pleasure from him. Her other hand slid over his ass and gripped, pushing him into her as she lifted to take him. Her other foot planted on the mattress, anchoring her beneath him.
She tightened, gasping, and came on a cry of need covered by his hand. His hand shifted and his mouth tooks hers as he pistoned into her. She bounced, and broke, on a sound like a sob.
He didn't stop. He moved faster, harder, and hoarsely, gruffly, commanded her, "Again."
Two fat tears of it, happiness? Yes. And need. NEED. She sobbed it out, "Oh, god, I love you. I need you. I love you."
She couldn't sing. But it was a song to him. It was the only song that mattered.
He shifted, he jerked her up into his lap and spilled her around him. She held on, pressing her wet face into his shoulder. It was short, brief, fast and finished. She swallowed him in while he spilled her mouth to his and took her tears.
It was insane to think that tears could heal you. Insane. And yet here they were.
Trembling, they clung. Her hands jerked and gripped into his back, hard, exciting him even as it comforted somehow. Possessive, was the little pixie, and his.
His.
It was insane.
And the little voice from the doorway shouted, so loud, startling in the dark. "Mommy, no! Mommy! NO!"
Confused, Rebecca let go of him. He spilled her to the side and rolled. Faith leaped on the bed to strike wildly at her mother.
Rebecca lifted her arms to guard her face, horrorfied, more shocked than anything.
"Faith!" He caught her and dragged her away. She turned and smacked madly at her mother again. "Stop it! Faith! What are you doing?!"
Rebecca huddled back on the bed, shaking. She looked so stricken, so hurt with the sheet pulled around to protect her.
The little girl was weeping madly now. She turned against Chris and grabbed him around the neck. "Mommy! No…"
They locked eyes over her weeping head. The little girl was all storm, all passionate sobbing. Rebecca covered her mouth, holding in a sound of pain. And his hand shifted from the little girl to brush her face. He shook his head, comforting her.
After the sobs turned to hiccups, he eased Faith back to see her face. His voice was gruff and low in the dark room, "What is it? Why would you hit your mama?"
She hiccuped out another sob and breathed, "Her hurt you. Her hurted you."
Again, they locked eyes. Rebecca shook her head, unable to help. She didn't know what that meant. What did that mean?
And Chris instructed, softly, "Show me what you mean, Faith. How did she hurt me?"
Faith shifted. She let go of his chest and pointed to him. She rubbed, so softly at his shoulder and the place where it curled over his neck. "Look what her DID! Booboos! E'bywhere!"
Oh.
Rebecca covered her mouth with both hands. It was the first time she'd seen him without his shirt. The little girl that loved him. The first time she'd seen the scars, the wounds, the battle – on the man who was everything to her. She didn't know the warrior. She didn't know The Human Tank. She didn't know the survival that came in each slash, each whip mark and bullet wound and inch of flesh that was soiled and saturated with pain and remembrance.
To her? It looked like her Daddy had just been beaten up by the only other person in her limited little world. Her mother.
To protect him? She'd laid hands on her mama.
Faith shouted it and nearly broke Rebecca's heart with it, "You mean! You mean Mama!"
Rebecca rolled off the bed, throbbing. It was misplaced, clearly, it was touching for Chris – surely. But it hurt her. She said nothing and left the room.
Hurting for her, Chris eased the little girl back to look at him. "I'm not hurt."
"Booboos! All o'ber!"
He soothed her now, tucking her in to stroke her hair and rock her, "I'm not hurt, Faith. I'm not hurt."
Faith hiccuped against him, clinging, "Booboos…e'bywhere…"
Jesus.
His heart swelled. His voice broke a little, healing them both, "Faith..." Her name, her gift to him, "I'm alright now. I'm ok. I'm alright. I promise."
"I hate Mama...mean..."
He kissed her, holding tight like she'd float away if he let go, "No. Not Mama. Not Mama. Mama saved me. She'd never hurt me. Mama saved me."
Faith hiccuped, squeezing, "No booboos?"
"No. Not from Mama. Ever. Mama loves me."
She sniffled, clinging. "I love you."
That part was easy. And always had been. He breathed it, "I love you more."
And that part? True.
He rocked her and sang to her until she fell asleep, breath hitching. Booboos everywhere. That's what she saw when she looked at him.
He laid her on the bed and rose, moving to the mirror on the vanity. All muscle – he mused – he was all muscle. And survival. And fight.
And it was lost to a little girl that only saw the pain on him. The pain of it. The damage.
There was collateral damage for him now. Not just to his body, which was so used to pain it was almost impervious…but to those around him that waited in the dark to hold on. To a little girl that would strike back her own mother to protect him.
To the woman that threw herself around him and held on and waited when he left for him to come home. Who never pushed or prodded or asked him to quit. Who understood he was a man who needed to see it through, who wouldn't, couldn't, ever quit until it was done.
What was he willing to risk to see the end?
He stayed naked and left the bedroom. He found her wrapped in a little robe on the porch smoking. It was cool but he was, as always, impervious as he joined her there. She shifted and slid over his lap sideways and shared her smoke with him.
Her head laid on his chest, fingers stroking the scars there. He said, quietly, "She loves you, B. You know that."
Rebecca snuggled, sniffling. He was charmed by it. Like her daughter, she clung and cried on him. What had he gotten himself into here? A mess, no doubt, and a beautiful one. Where people cried and loved him.
Rebecca breathed, "B...a stupid name. Like a dog."
He stared into the dark, smiling. "No...B...for blackbird."
She went very still in his arms, breathing. He felt her stiffen and dug for the words she wanted, "Yeah. That song was for you. It was for Claire, growing up. That part was true. But in the castle? When I was alone and I couldn't figure out if I was better off dead or if you were or if we were gonna be trapped there for the rest of our lives? It was for you. Because it was you that kept me going. You and Faith. You...and faith...that our moment would arise."
It turned out the heart could feel a thousand things at once. B. For Blackbird. For hope. And for the faith he'd never really been missing at all. She kissed his chest, over the slick scars there. "You should have said something. All this time, I thought that nickname was to remind me I was young and superfluous and silly."
He kissed the crown of her head, sighing, "Not always the best with words, I guess."
She shook her head and kissed his throat and the line of his jaw, "You're the best with everything. Everything. I'm the stupid one. Not you."
"Silly scientist girl, you're too smart to be dumb."
Rebecca clung, throbbing for him. She whispered, "What will you tell her? About what happened to you. About us. About any of it. What will you tell her?"
He shifted and tilted her face back to him. The smoke curled between them as he kissed her, smooth and soft. "The truth. I got this fighting for you. I got this fighting for her."
"For a silly scientist and her kid?"
They held eyes for a long moment. His hand slid and gripped in that rough way of his that stole her breath and excited her, "No. For my daughter…and my wife."
Her hand fisted, gripping muscle on his back so hard it hurt. And he liked that too. "I never asked you for that. I don't expect it."
He kissed her, eyes open, thrilling her. "I'm not asking for you. I'm not asking at all. I'm telling you to marry me, Rebecca. Marry me. And let me stay."
LORD.
Her heart hammered. It bled. It beat. She licked his mouth and felt him tremble. "Chris…I've been waiting for this moment to arise."
Her hands slid over his scars, they pulled against his heart, and just kept holding on.
That was their truth, she thought, it was here – in their place. In the one they'd made together. In the girl that stood between everything and him like a shield. Like a protector.
And given him back his faith.
~~~~~Fin~~~~~