Chapter summary: The second time Chris Redfield meets Piers Nivans' parents, he's there to tell them their son is dead. Somehow, that conversation goes better than he thought it would, and he finds some comfort after spending time with them.
The first several hours of his flight were full of weather-related turbulence, which meant that Chris was now running on over two days without sleep. No matter how he adjusted his seat, he was unable to find a position that felt comfortable for more than half an hour at a time. He put off taking the pain medication the doctor gave him until they cleared the turbulence; the pilot in him wouldn't allow him to try and sleep until then.
At the higher altitude, he took the medication, and even though narcotics usually made him drowsy, he still couldn't get much rest. The few times he managed to fall asleep, nightmares plagued him. At first, it was the same dream he had after Edonia: the screams of his men and the look of desperation on Finn's face as he reached toward Chris' outstretched hand, before an enormous J'avo dragged Chris away.
The new one was much worse. The sight of the Haos heading toward them and flinging Piers across the room like a rag doll played over and over, with Piers screaming in agony when he hit the wall. Then he stared that thing in the face while it squeezed the life out of him.
The pain is what woke him up, all the squirming in his seat doing a number on his bruised and battered torso. In the darkened and nearly empty cabin, it took him a minute to realize where he was. Even though he was awake, Piers' screams echoed in his head, so he used a trick Leon taught him. He fished some ice from his glass and held it in his fist, focusing on how it numbed his palm and fingers. It calmed him enough to take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds, repeating that process until his heart no longer pounded in his ears.
He wiped his wet hand on his pants, noticing the sore, red knuckles from earlier. His reflection in the small window was frightening and even in the dim light, he spotted the massive shadows beneath his eyes and numerous small cuts and bruises on his face. He looked like hell, but thankfully the dress uniform would cover the worst of it. His entire torso was tinged with blue and purple bruises in the shape of enormous fingers, something that genuinely scared the doctor who looked him over.
The lone crew member approached him and asked if he needed anything.
"Can I get coffee and some more water, please?"
He nodded and disappeared to the galley, returning a few minutes later with a large bottle of water and a small carafe of coffee. Before he even asked, Chris answered his question.
"No cream or sugar, thanks."
The crew member smiled and left him alone once more.
He had the thick manual in his backpack about how to perform a death notification, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it out and read through it. It contained an actual script of what he should say and how to deliver the news, and the thought of actually doing it still made him uneasy.
Chris was never one for following orders down to the letter, but he wanted to do this right. He owed it to Piers and his family, and he wanted to demonstrate just how much the world owed Piers for doing what he did.
And if that took memorizing some lines and preparing the hardest speech of his life, so be it.
The Nivans family lived on several acres near Fayetteville, North Carolina.
According to Piers, during a long ride between checkpoints after their first mission together, the estate had been in the family since 1897. Built in proximity to Fort Bragg, the home of the Army's Special Forces Command, Piers grew up traveling from upstate New York, where he was raised and went to school, to visit his grandfather there. When Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Charles Nivans, retired since 1979, moved to San Diego in 2004, his parents chose to leave the on-base housing and moved in.
Piers' father Colonel Thomas Nivans, an officer of the United States Army, still worked closely with the Special Forces at Fort Bragg. The leader of the B.S.A.A. bereavement team called before their flight landed to verify the whereabouts of Colonel Nivans, and they informed the team he was on several days' leave to celebrate the Fourth of July holiday coming up in two days.
Under his dress uniform, Chris began to sweat, and it wasn't the North Carolina summer heat that was the problem. Even though he spent three hours rehearsing what he planned to say, the only thing that came to mind as they drove was the disappointment Colonel Nivans once expressed about Piers joining the B.S.A.A.. Chris overheard the comment during the celebratory dinner after Piers was sworn in, when Colonel Nivans believed no one could hear him whispering to his wife.
He shook his head and glanced down, inspecting his uniform. He'd never been a fan of all the pomp and circumstance involved in wearing his dress uniform, though he would admit if pressured they looked good. He hadn't worn it for months, yet the navy-blue jacket still fit him perfectly, as did the matching trousers. The gold stripe down each leg was creased in the correct place. The collar of the pale blue dress shirt underneath stood stiffly against his neck, and his tie laid flat against his chest. The hour and a half he'd spent getting everything ready during the flight paid off.
The driver of the sleek, black sedan pulled over just down the street from the driveway and looked at him in the rear view.
"Captain, is there anything else you need to prepare before I drive up?"
Chris thought about it for a moment, running through the checklist in his head. When he reached the end, he sighed.
"No, corporal. You can drive up. Thank you."
The driver pulled back out into the street and turned into the long driveway leading up to the Nivans' estate. Chris saw a curtain move in one of the upstairs windows when the car stopped in front of the house, and his stomach lurched.
"Here we are, sir. God speed and I'll wait as long as necessary."
"Copy that."
Chris climbed out of the car into the sweltering humidity, grimacing slightly at both the strain on his ribs and the noise all of the medals and decorations on his chest made when he moved. He put his hat on and turned toward the front door, the heels of his dress shoes clicking loudly on the flagstone pavers of the front walk.
Before he even reached the front steps, Piers' mother stood at the door, one hand covering her mouth and the other clutching the door frame. Being a military wife and mother, this was the single most terrifying sight for her. Chris faltered briefly, careful not to let his neutral expression falter, before ascending the steps. The grief in her eyes was immediate and profound, and it was clear who Piers got his eye color from. He paused on the top step, making eye contact with her, and that's when she screamed.
Thomas appeared behind her, gently guiding her away from the door. A moment later he returned without her, in time to see a young woman, presumably Piers' college-age sister Natalie, scrambling down the stairs. She saw Chris and froze, immediately looking at her father, asking what's wrong. He gestured to a room down the hall behind him and turned back to Chris. Once Natalie left the entryway, he opened the door and Chris stepped forward.
"Colonel Nivans, I'm Captain Christopher Redfield. May I come in?"
Thomas nodded and stepped aside, letting Chris pass.
"This way please, Captain."
Chris removed his hat and followed him inside. Everything about Thomas Nivans screamed military: the grace with which he carried himself, the quiet way he commanded respect, and his intelligent, perceptive gaze. In his presence, Chris suddenly felt like a rookie cop all over again as he followed him to the study just off the hallway.
The sobs grew louder as they approached the study, and Thomas entered first, taking a seat next to his wife. She clutched at her daughter's hands, trying to steady her breathing.
"This is my wife Caroline, and our daughter Natalie."
Chris nodded and carefully took a seat on the sofa across from them, trying to ignore the way his body protested the movement. On the mantle above Thomas' right shoulder sat a large photo of Piers grinning from ear to ear, flanked by Caroline and Natalie just after being sworn into the B.S.A.A.. He swallowed hard and looked back at Thomas, who watched him intently.
"Sir, before I continue, I need to confirm your identities as next-of-kin."
Thomas gave an understanding nod and wrapped an arm around Caroline, drawing her close.
"Thomas Andrew Nivans, Piers' father. This is his mother, Caroline Elise and his sister, Natalie Jane."
Chris looked at each of them for a moment before placing his hat on the mahogany coffee table. He saw another family photo, just to the left of the first one, this one showing Piers standing between his parents in his Special Forces uniform. He quietly cleared his throat and looked at Thomas once more, before glancing at Caroline and Natalie.
"The Director of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance has entrusted me to express his deep regret that your son, Lieutenant Piers Thomas Nivans, was killed in action in Lanshiang, China yesterday, July first, two thousand and thirteen. The Director extends his deepest sympathy to you and your family in your loss."
Thomas closed his eyes and let his own tears fall, hugging Caroline tightly as she wept. Natalie held a pillow to her chest, staring blankly at the floor near her feet. Unsure what to do next or how to proceed, Chris sat with his hands folded in his lap. He chose to remain silent, prepared to wait as long as necessary to answer any and all questions they might have, protocol be damned.
Much to his surprise, Natalie broke the silence first.
"What happened to him?" she asked, tearing her gaze from the floor to the front of his uniform. "Were you there?"
Chris turned to face her.
"Yes, I was there. We were rescuing two hostages from an underground research facility when we were attacked by a large creature, something called a bio-organic weapon. We call them B.O.W.'s for short."
Natalie hesitantly made eye contact with him, her hazel eyes brimming with tears.
"He told me about them, once," she said. "We were watching Independence Day over spring break a few years ago and he laughed at the aliens. When I asked what was so funny, he said you guys fought stuff bigger than that on a regular basis."
"We did, but a lot of them aren't much bigger than a person."
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but Natalie spoke first.
"Is that what killed him?"
Chris' mouth went dry and he looked down at his hands.
"It seriously injured him, but no, it's not what killed him."
Natalie flinched and her skin paled before she turned to her parents.
"I don't think I want to hear any more."
Caroline patted Natalie's knee, giving her a tight smile.
"That's fine, darling."
Abruptly, she stood up and Chris scrambled to do the same out of respect, but couldn't move quickly enough. Natalie turned to him and held out a hand to stop him.
"It's okay, Captain. I can see you're hurt."
Once Natalie left, Chris shifted his focus back to Thomas and Caroline. Thomas studied the bars, ribbons, and medals on Chris' uniform.
"It's not often a commanding officer handles these types of situations," he said, waiting patiently until Chris looked him in the eye. "Usually there's a designated person or team to deliver the news."
There was no malice or disrespect in his tone, only curiosity at why a higher ranking soldier like Chris sat in their study.
"I volunteered, sir."
Caroline's eyes widened.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I volunteered. As Piers' commanding officer, I wanted to be the one to meet with you, ma'am. It didn't seem right to send a stranger."
Thomas and Caroline both looked at each other before looking back at him.
"He spoke very highly of you, you know," she said eventually. "Even though we've never met, I feel like we know you."
Chris, clearly taken aback by the admission, took a moment to allow that to sink in.
"What else can you tell us about what happened?" Thomas asked. "I'm aware most of what you do is highly-classified, but it never hurts to ask."
Chris leaned back against the sofa, resisting the urge to press a hand to his side.
"I'm prepared to answer any questions you have, sir. As far as I'm concerned, you have a right to as much information as I can give you."
Thomas looked at Caroline and squeezed her hand. She returned the gesture and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
"I have a feeling I don't need to hear some of these things, so I'm going to go make some coffee. Captain, would you care for any?"
"That would be great, thank you."
With Caroline safely out of earshot, Thomas leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. Chris took that as his cue to continue.
"Our team suffered heavy casualties over the last two days, and the intel we had led us to a research facility developing a potentially catastrophic virus. They had two hostages and one of them had antibodies for this virus in his blood."
"Did you rescue the hostages?"
"We did, sir. Piers remained by my side to give them a chance to reach the surface after we encountered the B.O.W."
Thomas stood and moved to the window next to the fireplace, staring out into woods behind the house. Like Piers, he had the tendency to fidget when things got stressful, which was ironic considering he was the best sniper Chris had ever seen. Apparently that wasn't at all stressful for him, as he could remain motionless for hours, if he needed to.
"You mentioned the creature injured him, but it's not what killed him."
Chris shuddered at the memory of Piers being tossed through the air, and the screams that followed. Thomas noticed.
"This B.O.W. was the biggest I'd ever seen. Just before it grabbed me, Piers pushed me out of the way." He shook his head to focus before continuing. "When it let go of him, he collided with some debris and that's what injured him."
From his profile, it was easy to see the family resemblance as Thomas clenched his jaw, something Piers did on the regular.
"Despite the evidence to the contrary, I can handle this, Captain Redfield," he said calmly. "Please continue, and spare me no details."
"Yes, sir."
The pain medication had long since worn off, and the headache and throb in his ribs returned in full force. Chris took a deep breath, allowing the grief to smother everything else. He held up a hand, making a fist, mimicking what the Haos did.
"It had me in its fist and would have killed me, had Piers not intervened. The debris nearly severed his arm, and he injected himself with a sample of the virus so he wouldn't bleed to death. The virus mutated what remained of his arm, stopping the bleeding."
Chris' voice started to waver, and Thomas turned. Chris shook his head and tried to remain stoic, but the façade already began to crumble.
"He fought the mutation longer than anyone should have been able to, and he's the only reason I'm still alive. Sir, I tried to save him. I—"
Thomas returned to his seat on the sofa, cutting Chris off.
"Captain, I understand."
Chris sat there, speechless.
"Over the last few years, Piers and I had a lot of discussions about his enlistment with you and I finally understood why he joined."
Relief coursed through him at the realization Piers and his father were on good terms.
"I've lost men in battle, though nothing even remotely like this," Thomas continued. "But I know my son. He wouldn't have been down there if he hadn't believed in what you were doing. This isn't your fault."
Thomas held a family photo from when Piers and Natalie were young, his fingers tracing the glass.
"It's not fair to Piers that you're taking the blame for something he chose to do. He saved your life for a reason." He waited a moment until Chris looked at him before he continued. "What do you think his reason was?"
Chris recounted the events of the last seven months, beginning when Piers found him in that shitty bar, bringing him back and helping him rediscover himself and their mission. Piers' faith in him had been unwavering, and despite the numerous instances when Chris pushed back or didn't deem himself worthy of it, Piers saw past that and kept pushing. He saw what Chris didn't: someone who would continue their work, and fight the battles that needed fighting.
But before Chris could begin to answer the question, Thomas interrupted him.
"Whenever you're angry or feel guilty, you need to think about that and remind yourself there's still a mission to complete and a war to fight. Remind yourself you're here to do that because Piers wanted you to be. He knew you were the right man for the job."
Caroline returned with a silver tray carrying three mugs of coffee, some sandwiches, and a plate of cookies. Her eyes were red, and tears still dripped down her cheeks, but she smiled.
"With the time difference, I'm guessing you came straight here, Captain," she said. "Please help yourself."
Chris reached for a mug, wincing when he stretched too far. Caroline frowned in concern, sliding the tray closer.
"With everything you've been through, I'm so grateful you're here," she said quietly. "But you seem to be in a lot of pain."
Not wanting to be rude by denying it, Chris said nothing, his silence confirming her suspicion. It was getting harder to ignore the pain radiating in his chest, and between the pain, his exhaustion, and grief, tears welled in his eyes. Thomas took Caroline's hand as they stared at Chris, watching him try to hold it together.
"I'm here because your son was an incredible solider, but more importantly, he was a good man. It was an honor and a privilege to fight alongside him." Chris swallowed past the ache in his throat. "Piers was more than my second in command. He was family."
"Is it dead?" Thomas asked. "Did he kill it?"
Chris nodded, tears finally spilling onto his cheeks.
"He did. After he knew I was far enough away, he ended it. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting it all sink in. Caroline excused herself and returned a minute later, handing a framed picture to Chris. It was a picture of the two of them at Piers' promotion ceremony two years earlier, when he earned the rank of lieutenant. They were both in dress uniform, shaking hands and grinning for the photographer.
"He kept this in his room," she said fondly. "I want you to have it."
"I can't accept this, ma'am. It belongs to you."
She shook her head, smiling gently.
"Please, I insist. Piers would want you to have it."
Chris studied the photo, still able to hear the laughter and music in the background. Ben and Andy were standing behind the photographer cracking jokes and making faces, prompting both Chris and Piers to laugh. It was a good memory, one Chris would hold onto when things inevitably got dark in the days and weeks to come.
Thomas glanced at Caroline and she smiled sadly in return.
"Captain, this may sound strange, but we would love it if you stayed for dinner to tell us more about our son."
Chris froze, having no idea how to handle the request. Thomas stepped in, giving him an out if he wanted one.
"Caroline, he likely has places to be. I'm not sure he's got time to stay."
Chris shook his head.
"The only place I want to be is right here, as long as you'll have me."