Author's Note: Thank you for the great comments! Love you guys!

Disclaimer: I do not own RE.

Chapter 4: Horizon

The auburn-haired woman puckered her lips in thought at him, her eyes absorbing the strange situation in front of her. After a moment of mental debate with herself, she heaved a sigh. "Alright, well, once again you're right, Captain. Let's get him back to the base for medical care."

Everyone in the loop, including Chris, stared at her with plate-sized eyes. Glaring at them, she exclaimed, "What? I'm not that heartless! Get them in the HUMVEE and let's get out of here."

The troop mobilized, Chris still gripping Nivans as though someone might walk up to him and snatch the sniper away. Piers buried his face against the larger male's shoulder, using his left hand to hide his mangled face. The embarrassment and vulnerability in front of the Captain was enough to choke the life out of him as it was, let alone the whole damn platoon. He could sense their gazes briefly sweep over him in uncertainty and reluctance and feel their shivers as the glimpsed at his arm.

Disgusting.

Redfield lifted himself and the now-trembling Nivans into the back of the cluttered HUMVEE, settling on top of a field bag as he adjusted his seating. A quiet agent shut the doors behind him and slapped the side of the truck, signaling a go for the driver. Lurching forward, they sped back into civilization. Chris lifted his knee to prop up Piers' legs up, noticing the lieutenant using his good hand to block the view of his face. Frowning, the Captain wrapped his fingers around his hand, straining against Nivans to reveal his face again.

"Don't look at me," whispered Piers with a wavering voice, "please."

Aware the two soldiers in the front could hear them, Chris dipped down and murmured, "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm filthy, Captain—"

"Piers," he said firmly, brown eyes going hard, "you've got the cure in you already, and by tonight, you'll look like your old self again...like I said, there's nothing to be ashamed of."

Gazing up at the reassuring expression Redfield offered and how tight he was clutching Nivans' hand, the sniper sensed relief flood him. With a hard swallow, Piers let it go, shutting his one useful eye closed. The soft vibrations and white noise from the drive was as relaxing as settling in Chris' arms, and he was in and out of a worn-out sleep until the moment when the truck squeaked to a stop and the back doors swung open again. Squinting at the wave of sudden, blinding light, Chris released Nivans' hand to bundle his knees up again and lift them both out of the back.

When a gurney was strolled out to meet them, terror clapped into the sniper at the thought of being separated from the older agent. Quickly, he slung his left arm around Chris' neck as he gasped and protested, the Captain stumbling at his partner's struggling.

"No!"

"—I'll take him up," said Redfield quickly, turning away from the white-clad doctors.

Chris had no intention of going anywhere, but he didn't expect Piers to contest like that. Of course, he couldn't blame him—being still half-aware after three months of rotting at the bottom of the ocean with the c-virus in him was a sight to behold, and doctors might be tempted to poke and prod where they shouldn't.

But the Captain wasn't going to abandon Nivans, especially now. No-one would get their grubby hands on his partner without Redfield watching like a cracked-out hawk.

Caio led the way as they entered the military hospital, through back-door hallways and up dusty stairs, rather than using the front entrance. Not once did the Director glance at him or Piers, her expression stony and no-nonsense, as usual. She brought them to a single room with a king-sized bed, filled from floor-to-ceiling with all sorts of cold, elaborate medical machinery, allowing them to go inside by themselves. The only thing not grim and unfeeling was the large window thrown to the farthest wall which faced an eternal, brilliant ocean just on their doorstep.

As Chris settled Piers to the bed, the lieutenant still seemed wary and reluctant to let go, a slight protest escaping him.

"I'm not going to be even five feet from you," assured the Captain as he smoothed a hand around Nivans' neck, "I'll be right here."

Piers nodded, but seemed less than convinced. It wasn't Chris he was worried about, but...

Suddenly, the door clicked open, Caio reappearing as a slew of nurses and white-clad doctors poured into the room behind her. Before Nivans knew it, the medics were pushing him down, urging him to lay flat on the bed as they clipped his clothing away. Chris was booted to the sidelines, standing beside Caio with worry plastered all over his face. As he did so, the woman shoved a bunch of clothing to his chest.

As Redfield took it, Caio murmured, "I doubt you'll need your combat gear. Keep me posted on any changes."

Eyebrows furrowed, the heavy male stated, "Anders..."

"Don't worry about him, I already radioed him to turn around. Nice attempt at a sneaky move," she taunted, but it was half-hearted. When Chris didn't answer, she pursed her lips as she watched him staring intently at his partner squirming on the bed. "Keep me in the loop."

"Wait—" said Chris, then, although he still didn't look at her. "I don't get it...why didn't you…?"

Caio's eyelashes swept down as she peered at the limp lieutenant on the bed. "It's as you said...he sacrificed everything..."

A heavy silence filled the space between them, before he nodded and she disappeared with temperate steps. As Piers was dotted with IVs and electrodes, wires crossed over his frame like slithering, plastic white snakes and the machines around him were summoned to life. Nivans continued to compliantly lay there and Chris' heart tightened with pain. Piers seemed exhausted, his skin becoming a ghostly pale, the blotches of purple and blue blood standing out more than ever. After what felt like an eternity, the doctors swept from the room as quickly as they arrived.

Piers glanced sadly at Chris, the very look of a broken heart as a trace of a smile graced his lips. "How do I look?" he asked through his oxygen mask.

A grin dawned on Redfield's features as he drew in close, settling to his knees. "Like a sleeping beauty."

The sniper answered with a raspy, small laugh. "You're something else, Captain...are you ever going to take off that flak jacket for me...?"

"I suppose I'm out of character," said the larger male. Pulling at the velcro around his waist, he pushed the heavy thing over his shoulders and against the wall. Then, he peeled away the sweaty second-skin navy shirt from his frame and tossed it over the flak jacket.

Unfolding the black t-shirt Caio gave him, he glared at it. "This thing is huge!"

"You're huge, Captain," said Piers, his hazel eyes glazing over Chris' bare chest. And he was, even if he wouldn't admit it, his pecks and chiseled abs more delicious than Nivans could even dream of. If he could, the young soldier wished he could stare at Redfield forever. Every morning when they woke up, every evening when they went to bed and all the tiny moments in between...

As Chris tugged the dark material over the rippling muscle and over his giant arms, the fantasy blurred from Piers' thoughts. Leaning over the bed once more, the heavier male shrugged, "I guess you're right. I'm bigger than I thought I was."

"They call you Captain Bearfield for a reason," joked the sniper as he adjusted his oxygen mask. For some reason, he felt far weaker than he did before...maybe it was because he didn't have a reason to run or hide or fight anymore, but the exhaustion seemed to press on his very bones, egging him to close his eyes. But he didn't want to sleep—he wanted to keep talking to Chris.

Redfield's eyes widened with surprise. "Bearfield?"

Laughing at his duped expression, the sniper stopped before he descended into a nasty coughing fit. "You've never heard of that before? It was big when we were in training. Captain Chris Bearfield, the one guy crazy enough to take Wesker head-on."

Without warning, the Captain lifted his hand and ruffled Piers' fluffy brown locks. "Don't even talk to me about crazy, Nivans. All the things I did don't compare to your one little stunt."

Chuckling, the sniper playfully batted the larger male away. The fact he was so casual, so uncaring that half of Piers' body looked like it went through a meat grinder left the young soldier feeling awkward. Chris was so perfect, body and mind, everything he'd always wanted to be, and now he was...he was...misshapen and so, so filthy. The fact reminded Nivans of how he took advantage of his Captain in the forest, how he greedily stole something without permission, especially in his current state. Like a damned animal. The embarrassment and shame overwhelmed him all at once like a heavy, cold wave crashing down on him.

"Captain…" murmured Chris' partner, dimly and with forlorn.

Redfield got a funny feeling Piers' sudden tone was not a good one, but he rested his hand beside the young man's face and remained quiet. If Nivans wanted to say something, he had every right to.

Not looking at him, the sniper deeply swallowed. "I'm sorry...about what happened in the forest. I'm—I'm really sor-sorry, I'm terrible to have—"

"Piers," said the Captain gently, cupping Nivans' jaw so that he could look at his subordinate's young face. Tears welled up in the bloodshot hazel eye, a clear line slipping out of the corner as Chris gave him his best reassuring expression. "You don't think I haven't thought about it once or twice?"

This stunned Piers, even making him jump. The light which pooled and melted his eye into an honey amber color was enough to make Chris smitten on the spot. "What—really?"

"After everything we did together and all the shit you put up from me...well, yeah," laughed Redfield as he ruffled Nivans' bangs again. This induced a blush and a smile, lifting the Captain's heart a little more as he smoothed his thumb over Piers' brow. "Plus...you have thick lips...and soft skin...and beautiful eyes—"

"Eye."

"Oh, shut up."

They chuckled again, grinning stupidly at each other as Chris swept away that one tear with the soft pad of his thumb.

Then they talked on and on about everything and nothing at all, for hours on end as the sun peaked and sunk to the horizon again. Through horrible hospital food, tests and awkward walks through the empty corridors they giggled and joked.

As the minutes swept by, Chris was happy to see his sniper's infected arm shrinking—the spikes jutting out withdrew beneath the surface, the boils altogether disappearing as his skin seemed to reshape itself, although it was still flushed with painful purple and yellow colors. They bound a cottony wrap around the skin, smothering it with ointment in the hopes it would excell the healing process. Piers was just glad he didn't have to stare at the bloating thing anymore (or that he didn't lose his arm altogether).

His right eye, however, remained inflamed and sore, unable to close. Chris meticulously squeezed eyedrops and tenderly massage the area, bringing a measure of temporary relief. Nivans was still self-conscious, attempting to bat his superior away even if it brought him discomfort.

As evening descended and a magenta sky threw violet shadows into the bland room, Redfield curled his legs beneath him as he rested his head against the cot. He was describing an old mission he went on with Sheva, colorfully painting a picture of grungy Africa and of monsters and men which seemed so distant now. As Chris talked, Piers listened, his single eye drooping with weariness. Although he spoke to Piers quietly—his hand clenched around the sniper's—his stomach was upset and his muscles kept clenching as he dryly swallowed now and again.

Piers was growing weaker.

Throughout the hours of the day, it had become more apparent that with the virus receding, so was his strength. As they wandered through the tight hallways, sometimes his sniper would stop and sag against the wall without even realizing it. The Captain nearly panicked during those moments, but years of training helped keep his cool as he enveloped his strong arm around Nivans' narrow hips to shoulder the burden.

"I'm sorry, Cap'n..." he whispered, words slurring a bit.

"What're you saying sorry for?" grunted Chris as he shrugged nonchalantly. He looked as calm as ever, his usual straight-faced form, but inside he was jumbled and lost and so horribly helpless.

"Hogging your time like this...Alpha team must be—"

"Alpha team will be just fine," assured the older man, taking Piers' other cold hand into his own. "They've got Anders to keep them busy. You're stuck with me."

Nivans peered up at the Captain, choosing not to say anything and instead leaned into Chris' soft shoulder. He didn't feel so disgusted with himself anymore to refrain from avoiding Chris' touch, but tried to enjoy being in the presence of the man he looked up to most...while he could. He sensed his body's stamina withering away like a wilting plant, each step eating away what little energy he had left.

In his mind, Chris wanted to believe his young subordinate had the will and the tenacity to get through this. His stubborn heart willed for Piers to fight for his life, for his future...yet...as Nivans laid there in the cot, his drowsy hazel eye half-lidded and his bee-stung lips slack, Chris feared for the worst.

Redfield gripped Piers' ice-cold fingers to his lips, smoothed his warm palms over frigid forearms and biceps. Anxiety was settling over Chris like nothing he'd experienced. He lost men in battle, in a matter of minutes, in the flash of a gunfight. Watching Nivans be slowly swallowed was unbearable; it killed his heart to sense the sniper slipping through his fingers and no matter how tight he held his young partner's hand, he couldn't stop it.

When night veiled the window, Chris asked Piers if he wanted to go for a walk.

For the first time, Nivans tiredly shook his head, sending a jolt of dread through Redfield's system. A nurse stood at the corner of the room with a silent doctor perched in the doorway. Tense, Chris swallowed the painful lump in his throat as he got to his feet.

"I'm going to talk to the doc real quick, okay?" he whispered.

"Mmkay," sighed Piers, his eye flickering like dim candlelight.

When he entered in the hallway with the small group of doctors, Chris took a minute to fight back the abrupt wave of emotion which slammed into him. This couldn't be happening—not again, not after losing him once before. He wanted to scream until his voice gave out and beat at the wall to pieces, to tell God to go fuck himself, but all he could do was plant his hands on top of his head and force out a trembling sigh.

"His body is simply too exhausted," murmured the brunette doctor gently as Redfield stared at the cracks in the wall, "without the virus supporting his system, and the three months in that wrecked base... We already gave him warm fluids, his body temperature is regulated, but his body is just so weak...it might be possible, if he makes it through the night...but the odds are stacked against him." Her voice faded.

"I'm sorry."

Chris' heart felt like it was breaking in half, his eyebrows creasing together as his jaw tightened with pain. He mustered a half-decent response, just nodding fruitlessly, as his chin trembled and he tried to collect his scattered thoughts. This can't be happening.

Returning to Piers' side, he leaned over his woozy partner. "Oh, Piers..."

Nivans protested in the form of slurred grumbles as Redfield tugged the electrodes from his bare chest. Curling a burly arm around the young sniper's shoulders, he slowly brought his sniper upright as a nurse's remained just outside the doorway. Nivans slackened against the heavy frame of his Captain, mumbling wordlessly against his neck.

"Piers, you've gotta fight this, okay?" he murmured hoarsely, tears stuck in his throat. "You've gotta fight just a little longer..."

Shivering against Chris' warm arms, Nivans mumbled, "I'm tired..."

Pressing his lips to his partner's temple, he said, "I know you are, but you've gotta. You gotta try, okay?"

When Piers didn't answer, the Captain sucked in an aching, quivering breath. Pulling the lieutenant into his lap, Redfield embraced his lean frame as fully as he could. Skimming his hand up and down Nivans' arched back, he rocked the sniper in his arms as though trying to comfort himself as much he tried comforting Piers.

This can't be happening.

"Please stick in there a little longer..."

A/N: To be continued...! Thank you for reading!