A/N: There are pieces of another story blended in here. When I took this one down, I borrowed against it for another story on the scenes that were too good to let go of. So there's a hint of familiarity in parts of this. But the tale remains - two sets of broken lovers in a way, looking for their truth in the lie of what they were. It will lead them to a battle later, but for now, we keep on going with the romance.

Chapter 6: Innoculation

"Panic made pains in the heart that echoed - in the ventricles and the atrium - and the soul. She yearned to feel numb once more."

MAINE, DECEMBER

"They can't see you. I swear. Come out here."

The cabin that faced the beautiful Cobscook Bay was a safe haven for a man that wouldn't emerge into the sunlight. Within the warm embrace of the firelight, he lingered. On the water, he could see the boats and the faces of the happy that dwelled and fished and laughed.

Piers Nivans didn't belong there.

Sometimes, when he was with Claire, he felt like maybe he belonged. Maybe he could belong somewhere, where they could be friends forever and not feel the judgement of a world that would label him a monster. She was so beautiful. Her skin was silky and pale, flawless, and smooth. Even if he HADN'T been ruined...he would have never tried to garner her interest in him.

For one, she was his Captain's sister. In his job, in his kind of lifestyle, what could he offer the Captain's sister? And if he failed her? His Captain would never look to him again with any respect.

But maybe..maybe...when he'd been whole...he might have done it anyway. The sight of her in the sun, her hair afire in the warm light, her eyes the same shade as the Bay that blushed and surged behind her...left him yearning a little.

He MIGHT have tried once...if he'd been...human.

But he wasn't human. He was broken. He was empty.

Most days he couldn't feel anything but bitterness and regret. He should have DIED down in that lab. It was his last great gift, his purpose, his shining self sacrifice that would take him to the beyond in a blaze of glory.

He should have gone "down with the ship" and sent his Captain on to survive and glorify the BSAA with his legendary leadership.

But no.

Someone had recovered his mutilated corpse and brought him back to life. He'd awoken a shell, empty and fragile, immersed in pain and screaming. He'd awoken a monster.

The effects of the virus were mostly permanent. Some were tempered and controlled through conversion therapy and regressive persuasion...but most of it was lasting. Maybe he didn't have a stabbing blade of an arm anymore or the rotting signs of a Javo...but he wasn't HIM anymore either. Besides the grotequeness of his appearance, there was the emptiness in his heart.

He wanted to FEEL alive. He did. He wanted to feel it.

But he felt dead inside.

"Come on, please, just for a minute? If you hate it that much, we'll go back. I promise."

And then there was Claire.

Claire.

He never felt dead inside when she was with him.

And that scared him most of all.

He eased out of the cabin onto the porch with her. Touched, she took his hand and curled their fingers together. They stood in the sun for a long moment, watching the boats on the water.

She'd rented this cabin as a test for them, for him, for them. They were away from the hospital, they were together, they were enjoying time away from the world where no one knew them. She was hoping it would break him out of his funk. She was hoping it would let him start healing a little in ways that didn't include his body.

She'd heard the nurses speculating as she'd been packing his things in her car. She knew they weren't aware she was listening. They were so cruel. They were laughing lightly about the damage to his body. They were speculating if he was ruined "all over." One was musing, if he were scarred down there, was he still functional? And the other wondered if a woman alive would bother to touch him anyway to even find out.

Her face flaming, Claire had turned toward where they were sitting on a little bench enjoying their lunch together, and he voice SHOOK with rage, "For the record, he's not only functional, he's fantastic. He fucks like he'll kill you with it. His dick? Beautiful. In fact? He's beautiful all over...which is more than I can say for you fugly ass bitches. It takes a real heartless set of cunts to sit around laughing at a man who was destroyed saving your worthless lives from the virus that nearly killed him. If there's any justice in the universe, you'll all get herpes that spreads to your faces and makes you as ugly on the outside as you are inside."

Horrified, the three nurses had sat there as she'd turned away to finish loading his bags.

After a long moment, she'd lifted her head to find him watching her from the doorway. And she knew...he'd heard every word.

She was afraid that their laughter would break him, but it turned out of her defense of him healed something in him instead. He'd hugged her, right there in the open, for the first time ever. And it felt like she'd burst with love for him.

Maybe part of her was here with him now to touch him. She knew, in some way, if she touched him and he didn't shy away...that it would be what he needed to come back to himself. There was no chance of that happening in New York.

So, they were here. And he was standing in the sun with her.

And there was hope, maybe for the first time ever, there was hope.

She mused, softly, "You want to take the little boat out later?"

She was sure he'd say no. She was positive he would.

But he said, "I think I would. Did I ever tell you I used to have a little sloop?"

Her heart was hammering in her chest, "Nope. Hand carved?"

"Yep. All by me."

"You are more like Chris than you'd think. He has one of those himself."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She turned her face up to him, watching his ravaged profile in the warm sunlight, "Tell me you'll stay this weekend...with me."

His face turned down to her. Their gazes lingered.

His bad hand lifted and, just a little, touched the edge of her jaw. For him, it was almost like a kiss. Her breath held with excitement for it.

And his answer made her yearn. "...I'll stay. I can't think of any place else in the world I'd rather be."

For the life of her, Claire couldn't either.

NEW YORK, DECEMBER

"You can't make me."

The words lay between them like a land mine. One wrong step would set it off. And it would rain fire and brimstone down upon them. It would set the world afire. It would burn and burn and destroy everything it touched. The pain would mean the end. And the end would be better…worlds better…then this.

"It only hurts for a second and then it's over."

"You promised I would enjoy this. Christopher, you lied." And it was accusatory, it was exasperated. And she was more than alarmed at what he was suggesting. In all her life, she'd had men attempt to lure her into all manner of nefarious things.

But this…how had she let him get her here, in this position? She was losing her edge. He'd stolen her edge. Where was Ada Wong?

She shifted and looked at him, hard. Ah, she thought, there she was. She was lost somewhere in the damn ice blue of those eyes.

"I think this violates the rules. It has to."

"The rules said nothing about it. I checked…twice."

And now she laughed. He tugged her hand again and she realized she was out of time. It was now or never. And Ada Wong had never been a coward before…she wouldn't start now.

So she let him pull her…out onto the ice at Rockefeller Center.

She wobbled for a moment on the ice skates and he was there to catch her arm and guide her easily alongside him. She was annoyed to discover he moved fluidly on his skates. The puffy black parka he wore complimented his sock hat. The little hat was tucked carefully around his ears to keep them warm and his hands were happy and snug in gloves with just the tips of the fingers missing. She had to admit, he looked scrumptiously adorable all bundled up against the cold.

She was dressed in a Northface coat herself, this one a pretty plum color with a white fox fur hood. A cashmere infinity scarf in brilliant white was tucked carefully and perfectly around her neck and her short cap of hair was hidden beneath a matching white fur hat. Her hands were encased in soft leather gloves in mocha brown.

If he'd have mentioned what horrible torture he had in store for her, she would have dressed warmer beneath the coat. She was wearing white leggings that, when not tortured by ice skates, tucked into knee high brown Jimmy Choo boots and an oversized gray cable knit Ralph Lauren sweater with a floppy neck line that was cinched at the waist by a fat brown leather belt. The outfit was very chic and very chilly in the cold New York winter air.

Chris laughed a little as she wobbled again. "Ada Wong – I thought you could do anything."

"I can, you patronizing ass, " And to prove it, she let go of him to skate off alone. She could ice skate, it was true. But she hadn't had to in years. Of course, one never knew when it might be necessary to flee across a frozen river in their line of work so it was probably the best idea to get some practice.

She poured on some speed, getting into the spirit of the thing, and turned backward now, cruising easily as she found her rhythm.

"I stand corrected!" He passed several other skaters and caught up to her, taking her hands as she skated flawlessly backward now and he joined her. "I am forced to eat my words."

"Who taught you to skate anyway? You seem a lumbering buffoon. I find it hard to believe you can glide like you do."

He laughed, delighted with her. She'd managed to insult him like a lady. She was so fucking perfect.

Chris mused, chuckling, "Putting aside the feeling you're calling me clumsy, I played hockey. I learned to skate young."

"Ah. Yes. Hockey. Makes sense. A barbarians version of skating."

"What? You think I'm some Kennedy type? He was probably a figure skater. He's skinny enough to fit in those stupid spangled spandex girl suits they wear."

Ada smirked a little, liking the jealousy on him. It suited her. She wanted him jealous. It would make it easier to control him when it suited her.

"I'm fairly sure he does back flips on skates without thinking about it. Don't be jealous...I'm sure he can't punch boulders with remotely as much finesse."

He skidded to a stop on the skates. They held gazes. She was utterly serene. Not a smile. Not a sly wink. Nothing.

And he just...burst out laughing. It was a good laugh. It was full bodied. It caused people around him to smile at the sheer joy. He laughed like he did all things: all in, completely, unconcerned by the judgement of others.

His face was slightly pink from the cold air. The tip of his nose flushed. She lifted a hand to brush away a snowflake that had settled there and did something very unlike her; she let her finger settle on his mouth afterward for just a fleeting second. For her it was akin to a hug. It stole her breath a little, that intimacy. And she didn't like it at all.

He drew her to a stop beneath the giant tree, pulling her around to face it. And she had to admit, in all the years of her living in the city, she'd never taken the time to come see the tree here. It was amazing, huge and beautiful, casting it's light over the entire world it seemed. You had to stand and admire it, for just a few moments at least.

The snowflakes tickled her eyelashes as they flitted down to the delight of the other skaters.

"It's something huh?"

She nodded, smiling. "It is. I've never actually come to see it before."

He slid his arms around her waist from behind and pulled her back against him. "Well I'm glad you decided to come with me, Ada. It's the first time I've come to see it in years. I guess I haven't really had a reason to in a long time."

The alarm bells were tolling loud and fast in her head but she settled back in that embrace, unsure why it was scaring her so much. It wasn't against the rules after all, affection was allowed. But why was she afraid of it? "I didn't exactly decide to come, Mr. Redfield. I was coerced."

He was grinning a little.

And she conceded, "But thank you for bringing me."

"Thank you for coming. It's nice to have someone to share Christmas with."

She pulled away now, hating herself for the panic that was settling like a clawed thing into her chest. This had to be against the rules. Had to. Hadn't she said no emotions? No.

She shook her head and skated toward the exit. He followed her, likely unaware of the storm that was brewing inside of her. She stepped off the ice and moved to sit down and unlace her skates.

"Hey! Everything ok?"

Ada shook her head, setting the skates aside to pull on her boots. "Nothing. Just getting cold and it's starting to snow."

"Okay. Let's go get some coffee. There's a great little shop around the corner called Serendipity. Fantastic scones."

Ada nodded and watched him slip on his boots. He offered her a hand to help her rise and she ignored it, moving toward the street. She knew he was watching her with a little confusion and she was sorry for it. But she had to walk off some of this panic.

It was Friday night and cold, the breath fogging out of the mouth in a pretty white clouds. A cold front had pushed in during the day and brought the beginnings of snow with it. By the following morning, there would likely be some accumulation. It had already started to gently frost the windshields of cars.

He reached for her hand and she pulled away again, moving a little farther until they were nearly three feet apart. Saying nothing, he tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat. He wasn't a fool, he knew the signs of subtle rejection. He just wasn't sure what she was about with it.

For the last two months they'd had a really good thing going. They enjoyed each other, it was as simple as that. There hadn't been any pressure. Zero. Once or twice a week they would have a meal, see a play, get naked and sweaty and sticky together, and simply be. That's it. They would BE together. One time, she would choose. One time, he would.

He'd taken her to a Mets game, to the Bronx Zoo, to Coney Island. He'd watched Ada Wong eat a Coney Island dog and figured he was probably the only man on earth to have ever seen it happen. He'd seen Ada Wong in a Mets ball cap and figured he was the only man who had probably ever seen that either. It was a bit like seeing a chupacabra, he figured no one would ever believe him if he told them.

She'd taken him to the Met as well, to see La Boheme, which he hadn't all together hated surprisingly. And she'd taken him to the Rainbow Room, and they'd gone dancing…twice. She was a study of contradictions in what she loved to do. One night she'd simply taken him out driving in her flashy little red Maserati. Ada, it seemed, loved fast and beautiful things. It suited her and he was never bored. Never. And she was without equal when it came to passion. He'd never, in the whole of his life, had a woman that was so willing to touch him whenever it suited her.

She'd had him in the shadows of that little red Maserati with the top down and the starlight in her hair. She'd ridden him and robbed something from him he couldn't get back. It was ok, he was a willing victim, but he yearned a little for her to let him in where it mattered. She was never unguarded, even if she was completely uninhibited in the bedroom.

But she shied away from affection like this. Sometimes, rarely, she let him touch her in a manner that was more than sex. Rarely. But sometimes. The sight of the playful otters at the zoo had made her laugh in delight and hug him. Full body, no thinking. She'd just hugged him. But something had shifted in him, hard. And he knew, even if she didn't, that this was more than sex.

He wasn't sure he was ready for it either but the other option was to cut her off. And he didn't want to. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to. But he was sure of one thing, she was trying to pull away from him and he didn't like that one bit.

They passed by Serendipity without going in for coffee. Without saying a word, they moved to the privacy of the BSAA building. Neither said anything as the elevator rose, leaving them standing in awkward silence.

The door had barely closed on the penthouse before she said it, "I think it might be time to rethink this."

He tossed his sock hat on the shiny black piano that sat off to one side of his living room. Behind him, New York was alight with holiday cheer. The Empire State Building was twinkling red and green and the tree they'd left behind was declaring it was the most wonderful time of the year. The puffy parka quickly followed and Ada felt herself wince as he gave no concern to the fact that he had just tossed his clothes onto an $80,000 Steinway grand piano. It was clear he knew nothing of the value of thing.

He was always saying it, but it was never more clear in than in this moment: he was no Leon Kennedy.

Leon knew the value of beautiful things. Chris Redfield? He was a man as comfortable in an eight dollar Hanes shirt as he was in a three thousand dollar Armani suit. He simply didn't care about the worth of the mundane or the material. He valued what mattered: devotion, emotion, dedication. And it was what made him so unique and utterly reliable.

You almost forgot he wasn't simple until he did something unpredictable, and stole your breath.

The sweater he wore was oatmeal colored, an Irish fisherman sweater that was probably as soft as it looked. The jeans beneath were, as always, old and faded and nearly worn through at one knee. One of the back pockets had started to rip away. But they fit right, in all the right places, and the sight of him never failed to make her blood heat.

He poured himself three fingers of vodka. He rarely drank. He'd come back from his druken months of regret and steered clear of it. She knew he was hurting, badly, if he was willing to drink.

"Chris, did you hear me?"

"I heard you." He shot the drink back in one fluid motion. "Take off the coat Ada. At least have the decency to dump me without your armor on."

Because he was very much right, the coat was armor, she took it off and hung it neatly on the coat rack beside the door. The hat was hung nicely beside it. She was just vain enough to scoop a hand through her hair as she rejoined him in the living room.

He was standing looking out the window now, one hand tucked carelessly into a pocket, the other bringing a second drink to his lips for a smooth swallow. "Did you want a drink?"

Ada shook her head. "I shouldn't stay. Could you look at me please?"

He turned, studied her. "Just do it. Say it."

"It's not fun anymore." She heard the words and knew it was better to do it this, like this, then tell the truth. Which was what? Her mind wondered. What was the truth? Chris, I'm ending this because I'm afraid it's gotten too close, it's gotten too comfortable. Chris, I'm ending this because I don't want you to get any closer. I need to retain my control, I can't do that if you're too close. "We said we'd end it when it wasn't fun anymore."

"We did say that." He turned, set the glass down on the piano, and settled himself on the bench. His fingers danced carefully over the ivory…and started to play. Moonlight Sonata spilled out of the wonderful, beautiful, brilliant instrument that he masterfully stroked.

Yes. A simple man...until he did something unpredictable and stole your breath.

"A long time ago, I had to help Rebecca figure this damn song out while we were at the Spencer Estate," He smoothly tickled the keys, coaxing them to sing their song flawlessly, "After it all happened, I figured, what the fuck…I'm gonna learn how to play the damn piano. Because you never know when it might be something I need again."

He touched the piano with such skill, such precise and perfect ability; she felt her heart stutter and drop. "Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking of it as a necessary skill. And I just fell in love with it. There were times I wanted to give up and stop doing it. Because it would have been easier to just quit when it got hard. I guess my point is that we don't always get what we expect from something Ada…sometimes we get something even better. But the hard part is sticking around to figure out if it's worth working for it. "

She hadn't realized she was moving toward him. She didn't think he had either, until she slid over him and settled on his lap, straddling him. What really turned her on was that he didn't hesitate, and didn't stop playing the song, even as she put her weight on him.

His eyes turned up to her face but he kept on playing, muscle memory and practice, and sheer talent. Another check in the column of things she liked about him. He was unflappable, and so unpredictable, and so immensely diverse. How could she have guessed the depths of him? Would anyone have suspected what lay beneath the beer and nachos jock that he portrayed to the rest of the world?

Ada said nothing now, her hands pushed under the sweater and lifted, freeing the soft lambs wool from his body. He stopped playing long enough to let her and began again, the low, eerie strains of Beethoven's classic piece filling the room with it's ethereal beauty.

Ada put her mouth to the side of his neck and licked a wet, smooth line from collarbone to pec. Her nails raked gently through the feathering of hair that decorated him there. She pressed warm, moist kisses over the rigid scope and breadth of his chest, delighting in the muscled strength of him. Her teeth teased at the St. Christopher's medal that he wore on a sterling silver chain, a gift from his parents at his graduation from flight school.

She skimmed her hands down the ridged and wonderful planes of his stomach, marveling at the muscles there, plenty to tantalize without being overly defined. He wasn't ripped out, like a body builder, even though it would have been easy for his body to lean that way. He was simply muscular, strong, with a suggestion of definition beneath the warm, wonderful skin that turned into goosebumps beneath her teasing nails.

Her mouth turned, kissing smooth and soft, up his neck and along his jaw. He hadn't shaved in almost a week now and the hair had gone from a shadow to the beginnings of a fantastic beard. Not stubbly, it had passed into soft, and it met her lips sweetly as she crossed his jaw to his cheek.

She kissed the tip of his nose, still cool from the outside, and both of his closed eye lids. And her thumbs traced his soft and wonderful mouth. She nuzzled his growing beard with her nose, loving the tickle of the soft hair.

"How long until it's a full beard?"

Her voice was soft in the quiet against the back drop of music from his still playing hands. Eyes closed, he answered, softly, "Won't be much longer. Hasn't taken me longer than a few weeks since I was about fifteen. Why?"

"I think I'd like to see it on you. Will you let it go for me?"

He stopped playing and his eyes opened. This close, they were startlingly blue, almost the shocking blue of ice and winter sky. They were so close that their noses brushed as he answered.

"Yes."

She brushed her nose against his, once, twice. He didn't move, not a muscle, as she cupped his face, ran her thumbs along his cheeks.

Outside the snow had started to come down in fat, heavy, flakes. It would be more than a few inches by morning at this rate.

She met his eyes now and held them. "I want to stay the night here with you. I want to have you on this piano."

He was so very still, she found she liked that. It was like he was trying to avoid the strike of the snake. She pressed her mouth to edge of his and she wanted, almost painfully, to kiss him. And it scared her enough that she retreated from the idea of it with a vengeance.

"Say yes, Chris. Say yes. Let me have you."

He lifted his hands now and slid them around the inside of her thighs. "Yes."

The moment he said it, he wanted it back. Because he was afraid if he let her that far in, he'd never want to let her out.

And he'd somehow lost the game without even knowing the rules.

Because he was the guy stupid enough to start falling for a spy.

MAINE, DECEMBER

The dishes were done. The fire was quivering prettily in the little wood-stove. The crackle of flame and logs was nearly musical.

Her voice was so very soft when Claire asked, quietly, "You know why I brought you up here, don't you?"

Piers turned toward her, shaking a little. "I know...I don't know if I can, Claire."

The admission broke her heart and somehow gave her strength. She stepped up to him, trembling a little. Her hands lifted to settle on his ruined face and he almost...almost...pulled away. She saw what it cost him to stay there and let her hold him like that.

He was so very tall, she had to lean up on her tip toes to get her mouth close to his. She watched the panic on his face and wanted, desperately, to soothe it away. He breathed, gently, "I don't want to hurt you, Claire. For anything. Ever."

Her thumbs brushed his mouth, lovingly. "We won't hurt anymore now, Piers. Not anymore. I won't push you. I won't hurt you. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. But I want...I want you to come take off your clothes, let me see you, let me touch you. Just...lay down beside me and hold me...let me hold you..."

He was trembling as he cupped her arms in his hands. She petted the shape of his face so perfectly. And there was nothing but tenderness on hers as he watched her.

He wanted, so badly, to just say yes. To just, just once, pretend he could have her.

And that he was himself again.

So his breath came out on a tiny sound of need and he whispered, "...yes."

His head came down, hers came up, and the press of his mouth was smooth and perfect. It robbed every thought but him from her head. It left them both clinging where they stood. The kiss was endless, effortless, and perfect. There was no rush to see it end. There was no rush to run away. They both wanted it to go on forever.

And the fire crackled happily as they held on, lost in each other.