Author's Note:
Hey guys, didn't make you wait as long for this chapter xD hope you like it! I know it kind of seems like I'm rushing through things, but trust me, the pacing is exactly how it's supposed to be. All of the recent developments are going to have more limelight.
Thanks to my reviewers and everyone who's alerted me.
Read/Review, thanks :D
Nightmares
Rebecca sat at the Chief's desk, moving a long stool over. Sitting in his chair seemed inherently wrong. She wouldn't have before. Why did a zombie apocalypse have to change that. She didn't want to… arouse his anger? Disrespect him?
She sat.
Billy.
She must've zoned out, lost her sense of time, her touch with reality. When she returned, the Chief looked at her, gun in hand. "Chambers?" he growled, his voice frog like and throaty. She nodded.
He sat down next to her.
Rebecca thought perhaps he was trying to comfort her, barricaded in his office. Rebecca leaned against the short back of the bench, feeling uncomfortable. But why should she feel awkward around this man, old enough to be her father?
He put a hand on her knee, the heat from his hand soaking through her pants. He was sweating. She didn't blame him.
His breath smelled like a hamburger. McDonalds. Lots of ketchup, mustard. Probably pickles.
But he was trying.
"Chambers," he breathed, slightly too close for comfort. He was a bumbling father, like Barry, right? He was a familiar figure, like John—
She wouldn't think about it.
Was it her or did his meaty hand slide higher?
"I know it's hard," he whispered, in what she assumed was supposed to be a soothing tone. "I know this has been extremely hard…"
His hand definitely slid higher. She wondered if he was drunk and trying not to fall over on her. He really could crush her. His hand squeezed around her thin thigh. She patted his hand dully, trying to let his words pierce through the veil.
But his hand slid even higher.
Rebecca was distinctly uncomfortable. She scooted away, but she had mistakenly slid the bench too close to the desk, and she couldn't move any farther away.
His hand slid to mid-thigh, wiping the sweat of his palm against the thin material of her sweat pants.
"Chief," she said, feeling nauseous. Was she imagining things? Was she insane?
She felt the cool barrel of his gun as he slid his armed hand under his shirt, resting against the curve of her hip.
His hand was inches from her.
She was truly going to vomit.
The scent of his breath, combined with his sickly false words made her sick as he squished her between his large thigh and the cool metal of the inside of the desk.
"So hard," he murmured again, as she tried to ignore his words and shut her eyes. A gun. A hand. Which was preferable?
He gripped her tightly and she burned, her face red. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire.
His arm pulled her close and his leg pressed her harder as he soothed her with false words of comfort. He was literally leaning over her, holding her. His thumb traced circles on her skin, the metal of the gun chafing her. His other thumb did the same, and she felt a deep shame, a deep fear.
He began to rub her, hard, too hard, painfully, cooing in her ear about the death of loved ones. The gun dug into her skin and she cried out, trying to get away.
At her cry, his eyes flashed dangerously. A predator.
She'd shown weakness.
He dropped all pretense. The smell of beef coated his breath and he licked her ear, growling. "Like that?"
She was afraid to look, and she shut her eyes.
He carefully set the gun down on the desk, taking her pain for pleasure.
He stood, a struggle. He yanked her down on the floor, throwing himself on top of her, crushing her with his thick weight, slobbering on her, and she panted, holding back her tears.
She shut her eyes.
"Rebecca!" Billy shook her roughly.
Her sobs abruptly stopped. "B-Billy?"
It had all been real.
Billy was real, Kyle was real, and the memory of Irons, was all too real. It wasn't just a nightmare, it had truly happened.
She was in a hotel room. Billy was holding her hand. Kyle was 'scouting'. They were two people in her life she'd never be able to forget. And now she didn't have to. They were both here.
Billy looked at her, his deep blue eyes luminous in the night light.
The hotel room had on bed. He stood in his jeans, shirtless. It was a warm night. No zombies around. Only Billy. Only her.
She didn't realize that the tears were still dripping down her cheeks until Billy sat down next to her. "Are you okay?"
She couldn't help it. She barely knew him. She didn't know him at all. But he made her feel safe. She broke, letting the sobs shake her, until he gathered her in his arms, his warm, strong arms that cradled her with all the gentleness she'd never known.
She let everything out.
She cried for Lindsey, for Johnson and Jacob, for Jill. For Claire being away at college, for Chris being away. She cried for Irons, for Kyle, for the "Ada" Kyle had thought she was. She cried for Wesker, for her injuries, for her disgusting clothing. She cried for herself, because her period was due any day. She cried for Forrest and Richard and for James Marcus. She cried for Joseph and Kenneth and Enrico and Edward. She cried for her childhood. She cried for Umbrella.
She cried for Billy.
It was probably an hour later when her cries ceased. But he never stopped holding her silently, calmly.
"Thanks," she sniffled, snorting and feeling like an idiot. Billy wasn't crying.
He handed her a tissue from the nightstand and she blew her nose. She looked ridiculous, she knew. But she couldn't bring herself to care.
She exhausted herself and she leaned against him tiredly. He moved and sat against the headboard, pulling the blankets over her. She cuddled up to him, and he tightened his grip around her, still quiet.
She fell asleep in his arms, peacefully for the first time in weeks.
Billy glared at the décor as Rebecca's breathing became steady. His heart thrummed with pain as he thought about the wrenching sobs. She had so much to cry about, he thought. He didn't know the half of what she had to deal with. Christ, he felt fucking guilty for her.
He wondered how she knew Kyle. He wondered where they'd go next, or even if there was a 'they'. But he was exhausted. Rebecca's fitful sleep had agonized him, to the point where he couldn't stand letting her soak her pillow. But holding her was infinitesimally sweet. The tenderness he felt for this small, young girl just continued to grow.
He thought about the apparition. About Anna. Her scream, her disappearance.
Billy felt lighter. Something that had weighed him down was no longer a part of him. He grieved, inwardly, but he knew it was time to let go. Anna Richmond was gone, and he had to accept it.
He brooded, taking care to keep his grip gentle on Rebecca. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and closed his own eyes, images flashing behind his lids.
He slept peacefully for the first time in years.
She woke up screaming.
There was nothing. Not even fear. That's what scared her.
She woke up to Billy's intent gaze.
His eyes were dark blue and navy.
She stopped screaming.
The room was empty. Just the two of them. She felt butterflies low, in the pit of her stomach. She didn't dare move, didn't dare touch him. She hardly even dared to breathe. She remained, frozen.
Billy looked at Rebecca. Her scream halted, and afraid that she'd begin again, he kept eye contact.
Her eyes were luminous, shining, wet with tears and glowing iridescently. She barely took any space on the mattress.
He wondered if he was asleep, if the shine in her eyes was part of his dreams.
But why would he dream about Rebecca?
Great tears welled up, dripping from her cheeks down onto the pillow. Obscenely large, they fell, leaving dark spots on the worn, white sheets.
It was a dream. He'd never seen tears this enormous.
He traced the wet trail down her cheek. She stayed perfectly immobile.
He wondered what she'd do if he kissed her.
It was only a dream, right?
He could dream.
It was all that he had left.
She traced his lip with a single finger, her expression filled with wonder. It was his dream. She would kiss him back… if he dared, even in dream.
He rested his hand atop her cheek. Her skin was paper thin, but smooth, soft. She had a tiny cut across her forehead, a hair width long. Her eyelashes swept across her cheeks. Gently, carefully, he inched towards her, and tasted her lips.
She made a little mew in her throat, and her small hands held his larger one against her cheek.
Flavored like misery, sorrow, and hurt, her lips were soft, small and dry.
He felt calm flood him. A calm that hadn't come over him since Anna's death. It was almost… peace. More satisfying that content, less exuberant than joy. He didn't have a name for it.
Releasing her, he moved away. Her tears had stopped.
She was terrified of him.
He saw it in her eyes, a deep-seated fear that completely threw him off balance.
"Don't," she almost whimpered, her voice a whisper. "I can't. Not again."
Goosebumps ran up his arm. "Rebecca," he broke out, his voice cracking. "Are you afraid of me?"
She couldn't be. Not after everything they had been through together.
"Irons—" she said, her eyes in a trance. "Stop. Stop!" she screamed.
Kyle's license identified him as Duke Travis.
He passed through security with ease, keeping a superior smirk pasted on his face, his expression and expensive clothing contributing to his facade. Years of working for Maggie had been a fiscally brilliant move. Although when he was on the job, his living quarters were less than satisfactory, his retirement had given him a lovely two million. And he wasn't picky. The money would last him a lifetime.
Which wasn't particularly long, considering the usual lifespan of an agent. He didn't mind. He had his own reasons for what he did.
"Going to the meeting room, sir?" a guard asked him respectfully, noting his clothing and name tag.
He answered imperiously, adding a slight Italian lilt to his words: "Yes. In which room may I find the President and Senator?"
"Room B-204, sir." The guard inclined his head slightly as Kyle passed. This was an important moment. A contact had given him a complete identity within the government. It didn't matter that nobody actually recognized him: his false name made him a valuable commodity.
He reached the room, slightly late. A short, squat man looked at him angrily. "Travis!" he boomed, his voice flat and nasal, his brows wrinkling to add more cracks in the concrete of his face. "Welcome!" he barked.
Kyle took it in stride, continuing with the accent. "Thank you, sir. What is it we are discussing?"
He took a seat next to the President. Secret Service agents fidgeted. From the corner of his eye, he spotted an agent.
He looked away immediately.
"We were about to vote on option A… you missed the explanations, but you're here on time to vote, Mister Travis," someone leaned and whispered in his ear.
Before he could ask what option A was, Senator Davis glanced up. Twelve people in the room. "All for wiping Raccoon?" he asked gruffly, raising a hand.
"Aye," the room chanted. Six people raised their hands. Kyle realized the impact his decision could have on any survivors in Raccoon. It decimated Ada's chances of coming out alive, if she still was.
Coldly, he raised his hand in the air and echoed: "Aye."
The President looked at the men and women that made up the secret court. His most trusted friends… plus a few. His eyes were tired: he was relatively young, and halfway through his term.
A woman strode in the room: tall, with caramel skin and rich dark brown hair. Her pencil skirt framed her muscular legs, but her bookish glasses and clipboard belied the athletic appearance.
The president looked up. "Yes, Hunnigan?"
She sighed, and hissed into his ear. Kyle kept his gaze averted. Ingrid was another contact.
The president nodded, shooing her away, and looked at everyone in the room. "Raccoon City will be decimated. Umbrella Corporation is bidding for more time, however."
"How much time?" Kyle demanded roughly, trying to keep from shouting. The viruses needed to be destroyed as soon as possible. And if Raccoon was destroyed, wouldn't that be the end of Umbrella?
"Give them till October first," Davis answered for the president. A woman glared at him. "That's too much time! There's an outbreak of some sort and if it's contagious it could spread like wildfire!"
"Like the Black Plague," someone added somberly.
Kyle wanted to tear his hair out. It was worse than that! This wasn't just a virus that could kill you. This was a virus no one could escape. This was a virus that killed, that reanimated. If his information was correct, it wasn't the only one. Umbrella could have dozens more, germinating beneath the ground in their cesspools.
He sighed. "October," he agreed.
She thrashed against him wildly, terrified, screaming. "Rebecca!" he shouted frantically. "It's Billy!"
She fought him wildly, clawing at him. "I don't care, I don't care if you kill me, just stop!" she screamed hysterically, sobbing. Her terror wrenched at his heart, her eyes frenzied.
He grabbed her wrists, thin and starved and weak, and pinned them above her head. She stopped fighting, but she weeping that came after tore at him.
"Jacob," the evidence of her sorrow reflected in her eyes, in her hoarse voice. "Johnson, I'm sorry I ran. I should've stayed. Jill… Claire, Chris… I'm sorry for everything."
Her sorrow seemed to tire her out and she closed her eyes tightly. "God, Billy, I'm sorry,"
His heart lifted. She came back to reality.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
"It's okay," he whispered back, trying to comfort her.
Her eyes flew open. "Billy?" she asked incredulously. "You're… here?"
"Yes," he coaxed a smile from her gently. "You're here, with me, with Kyle. You're safe here, Rebecca, calm down."
Like a wild, exhausted mare, she relaxed. "You have cuts on your face," she reached for his face. He released her wrists and she touched his face tenderly.
He stayed perfectly still, but yet she flinched at the feel of his growing beard. "Irons—" she began fearfully.
"No, Rebecca," he shook her a little. "You're in shock. It's Billy. Billy Coen. Billy from the train,"
He rolled away from her and she sat up, wiping tears from her eyes.
He couldn't describe the feeling that hit him, like a brick to the chest. "Rebecca… what happened? Why are you afraid of me?"
"I'm not afraid of you," she looked incredulous. "Never you, Billy." Her voice became faraway.
"What are you afraid of? You were shouting about… Irons," he hesitated to inform her of his mission, so quickly gone wrong.
Her face seemed to shutter in on itself: an expression too old for her age. "Nothing," she lied, staring him in the eye.
What she went through in less than two months rivaled what he had seen in years with the Marines. He took her hand, slowly. "Don't do that, Rebecca," he told her gruffly. How would Anna say this to her? Don't go cold? "Don't shut people out. It hurts," he admitted awkwardly. "It hurts like hell. Don't let it break you, Rebecca."
She looked at him. "Has it broken you?"
He released her hand swiftly.
She glared at him. "Don't be a hypocrite, Billy! How do you know how much it hurts? You know, I know next to nothing about you. Don't tell me not to break, when you're cracking yourself."
"I'm not cracking," he answered quietly. "I'm healing. And you will too. But it's hard. Don't break." His voice was tight, filled with contained pain.
"Tell me, Billy!"
And he did.
He told her all about Charlene Regan's stupid fucking sweet sixteen party, and meeting Anna. He told her how he felt about her, how much he loved her, how the feelings didn't die when she did. He told her about his grandparents, smiled at stories that seemed like ancient history. He told her about his mother, about Ada and Kyle. He told her about seeing her at the police station, about the creature she ran from. He didn't mention Irons.
She crawled over to where he sat on the bed and squeezed his hand. "That's more than I would've ever known about you."
"You knew about Africa."
"That doesn't count. I don't need to hear about the lies. I want to hear the truth. I don't care what you've been accused of; I want to know what you've been through."
"You do, now."
She looked at him, her youthful, unlined face filled with worry of a woman twice her age. "You should cry, Billy." She told him achingly, looking at him the same way Anna used to. "Just let it out, even if it's only once."
Billy was used to adversity, to tragedy. What he didn't know how to react to was kindness, understanding, and trust. Rebecca had been all three things.
He let the lump inside his throat swell for a minute. "I'll cry if you tell me what scared you," he answered, his voice thick. He swallowed the pain.
She looked at him sideways, her eyes ashamed.
A suspicious grew in him. "Rebecca—"
"Don't guess!" she ripped out, turning her burning face away from him. "Let me tell you." She took a deep breath. "Irons…" the words sounded like they were form a movie, not her life. Zombies. Rape. All as unrelated to her life as anything could be. Yet it was true. "Raped… me."
She felt close to vomiting from her own words. It sounded like the complaints of a woman in court. It wasn't something she wanted to confess to Billy, strong, stoic Billy.
Billy felt rage boil inside him. He wanted to kill that fucking bastard. Rebecca was close to a child. He should've shot him. Fucking Christ… he let a rapist get away scott fucking free. Hopefully, he'd get eaten by a creature.
Billy's rage culminated in his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't swallow the lump. So he didn't.
All the rage, the fury, the sadness and pain swelled inside him and he let it free, let the tears wash it out, cleansing him.
Rebecca enveloped her thin, muscular arms around him, pale and small, barely able to wrap her arms around his arms and rested her head in the crook between his next and shoulder. "It's okay," she soothed him. "Just cry."
The fact that Rebecca was trying to comfort him was almost more than Billy could bear. Christ, she was a fucking innocent kid. Her goddamn life had been ruined by a faceless corporation. Her entire life. Jesus. He swiveled and held her, pulling her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her bony frame and cradling her, dripping tears in her soft hair. She reached up and kissed his cheek, but he turned his face down towards her, capturing her lips, the taste of her mingling with the tears stinging his cuts.
"Rebecca," he drew away, fearing her reaction.
She looked up at him, her eyes impossibly beautiful, heavy lidded. "Help me… forget, Billy."
He didn't dare breathe. To have sex with Rebecca? Here? Right now?
He had almost made his decision when she turned her face away. "Please…" she whispered softly. "Please, Billy…"
Unable to resist the hypnotizing sound of her voice, Billy slowly leaned in, tightening his grip around her, worried that she'd break.
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
"I need it, Billy… help me."