Firstly, this is dedicated to Luxor Nautalis who convinced me to make this into a series. And thank you to all who have reviewed so far. I greatly appreciate your kind words and encouragement.

I have gone a little AU with this because I want to play God and make Alice and Claire roam the desert for forty years before they reach the promised land. Lesbians, Israelites. Same thing, right? That and I'm not a big fan of how the fourth movie went story-wise. Soooo... in my world Las Vegas was relatively uneventful.

Please review. I'm a Soldier and if you do not review I will be sad. You don't want a sad Soldier weighing on your conscience do you?

Tangled.

It was all jumbled now. Nothing was ever certain anymore. The lines which had been so clear, so defined were now blurred and indistinct.

Neither Claire nor Alice had spoken of their kiss, mentioned what had transpired between them that morning. But it was not as simple as resuming their previous routine of casual friendship; no, it could never be that easy. While it was never discussed, neither woman seemed capable of pretending nothing had happened, nor could they feign ignorance of one another's feelings.

The kiss had irrevocably changed the dynamic of their relationship.

Alice knew that Claire was in love with her, no matter how much she resisted the feeling or denied herself, but she seemed to accept Claire's decision. She never pushed, never said anything, but nor did she pretend not to be aware of Claire's feelings. It was almost as if she was waiting, patiently biding her time.

Claire knew that Alice shared her feelings of affection, what was more she had openly offered Claire the very thing she yearned for. But it was not possible for her to accept. To accept would open herself to grief, to injury. The only constant in the world was death; Claire refused to open herself to that vulnerability, to expose Alice to the same risk. Claire could not let herself love Alice; it meant she would risk losing her, and Claire knew she could not survive that loss. More importantly, Alice would be faced with the same somber truth that she was. She was protecting Alice. It was better this way, for both of them.

The kiss had fostered an intensity that blossomed and paralyzed the two women. It was always present at the surface of their every interaction, every word. It was intensity so fierce that it was nearly tangible. Every word exchanged, every action was deliberate, meticulous, careful. The two women were constantly on edge in one another's presence. It hung in the air like an oppressive cloud over them whenever they were within arm's length of one another.

It was the way Alice gazed at her unabashedly, unbound affection clearly written on her face, spoken in her eyes, as if wordlessly promising Claire her loyalty, protection, and love.

She always looked that way at Claire now, even when they fought and argued which was more often. Clipped words bled into disagreements which led to cruel silences. And still, Alice endured, never wavering, her expression always seeming to whisper, "I'm here. I'll always be here."

It threw Claire off balance: the constant shift between fire and ice, between desire and anger. The ground kept shifting beneath her feet, one minute torn by an immense longing to be held by the older woman, the next wanting to shove her away, scream at her that no matter how much they both wanted it, the T-virus had already destroyed everything that was good in the world. Love was a weakness no one could afford if they hoped to survive.

When they finally reached it, Las Vegas had not yielded enough food or supplies for the arduous journey to Alaska. Luckily, no one had been hurt fighting through the hordes to find that out.

That was not to say there was not violence. The Infected had finally found them after they had gathered what food they could while they were trying to fuel the vehicles. Just a few at first, but the trickle gradually became a surge.

Claire and Alice helped fight off the waves of Infected, providing cover so Joel and K-mart could fuel the vehicles without interruption. At one point, two Infected grabbed Claire as she ran to aid Carlos; she attempted to shrug them off, to rip herself out of their grasp, but they had their hands clenched around the button-down shirt she wore over her tank top.

She was on the ground, the sand searing hot underneath her, the zombie frenzy of feeding descending on top of her. Kicking, flailing, she fought to keep moving, keep her hands and arms and legs out of their mouths. It was all a blur of sand and decomposed flesh as the primal need to survive took over. She had dropped her pistol when she was knocked down. She could not search for it without slowing down enough to risk being bitten. All she could do was thrash like a mouse caught in a trap.

One of the Infected disappeared, his rotting head snapped back as if kicked in the face, falling motionless to the desert floor. Then the other as his head exploded, the momentum carrying his body to slump across Claire's midsection as it died a second time. Alice appeared and yanked the corpse off of Claire by the scraps of its filthy shirt without even glancing down, her eyes and revolver still trained on the approaching zombies.

Shrugging off the shock of the abrupt rescue, Claire snatched up her gun and fired a series of shots into the zombie running at Alice from behind, and then climbed to her feet.

Alice stayed at Claire's side the rest of the fight, never straying too far away, as if she were protecting Claire and not the convoy. They fought side by side, nearly in tandem, playing off of one another's movements, always covering the other's back. It was a dance, choreographed but effortless. Alice moved, Claire responded.

At the call signaling that the vehicles were as fueled as they could be, Claire dashed for the Hummer while Alice covered her. Once Claire threw the driver side door open, she turned and fired so Alice could bound back to the vehicle.

As they sped away, the Infected horde fading into specks along with what remained of the Las Vegas skyline, Claire exhaled. She glanced over to Alice, who was emptying her revolver of spent shell casings. The scarf that normally covered her head had been pulled back, revealing her unruly hair that seemed to be every shade and hue of brown: a rich earthy brown, chestnut, dark chocolate all highlighted by strands of honeyed-brown. Her hair was always disheveled, always beautiful, even though Claire was fairly certain Alice cut it herself with one of her kukri blades.

Alice always appeared so strong. Her fingers deftly replaced the spent casings, her expression one of stony contemplation. Fighting the Infected never bothered her; she never shrank from violence. Even the goriest of struggles was regarded with cold, surgical precision. This instance was no different from any other.

"Thank you," Claire remembered the panic, the bubbling terror that had seized her when the Infected had been on top of her, of how the sight of Alice rushing to her defense had immediately quelled that feeling.

Alice looked over at her. The stoicism melted away instantly, her lips pressed together as if she were about to smile. Instead she nodded wordlessly before turning her eyes back to the road in front of them.

Why was everything so much harder now? It was as if the edges of their relationship had frayed and were now tangled. Claire was so confused, her own feelings so puzzling that she could not discern where she stood anymore. She was no longer Claire Redfield, leader of a convoy in the Nevada desert, Alice's friend.

Now she was lost and alone in the desert, with no point of reference with which to obtain her bearings.

The actual story part where things happen and it isn't just abstract emotion and junk will pick up with the next chapter.

And again, please review.