AN - This is where things start to get moving. There was a lot I needed to include, such as the introduction of a couple of OCs and some scenes ended up getting cut, but hopefully the pacing is alright. A few of you mentioned the shopping trip and I actually feel quite bad that I haven't written it here ;_;. But don't fear, it may very well show up in a future chapter. There may be some mistakes in the chapter - when I uploaded it, the word count was about ten less than it was previously. Some words may have got deleted; I hope not, but it's possible.
I don't have anything more to say this time except Happy Easter!
A huge thank you again to everyone who reviewed: Ultimolu, namine redfield, .-SnipingWolf, Kenshin13, tek, Sparkle Valentine, Rock Lees Lotus, Chaed, KT324, Ninja-Gnome, xwittychickx, xSummonerYunax and Ivilith. Keep them coming! I truly love hearing from you all ^_^.
Blindside
Chapter Two - Withdrawal
-+-
"What is Man? A Miserable little pile of secrets"
~Andre Malraux~
-+-
August 14, 2003. 9:17am. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas.
Waiting was all anyone ever seemed to do round these parts. Wait for a supervisor to show for a meeting, wait for a room to be prepped...wait for the doctor to trawl through the details of each individual's medical exam.
Chris was third on the list, and what had apparently only been a seventeen minute wait had drawn out for what seemed like half an eternity. The reasoning for his urgency eluded him; did he truly believe that he had failed? It was preposterous. Though he enjoyed the occasional beer, a frequent cigarette or two and was sometimes perhaps a little too partial to fast food, he had never been in better shape. He worked out whenever possible, and jogged with Jill almost every morning. He could not guarantee that his lungs were in the healthiest condition, but the rest of his body was well above par.
"Christopher Redfield?"
"See," Jill whispered. "I said you'd be next, didn't I?"
He smiled awkwardly before rising to his feet and trudging towards the open door, exhaling every step of the way. Jill's assurances that he had absolutely nothing to worry about did nothing to calm his nerves; what if he failed? What would happen next?
"Please, take a seat," the doctor urged. "This will only take a moment."
Chris obliged, but kept his eyes on the doctor as he perused a battered filing cabinet to his left, muttering 'Redfield' repeatedly beneath his breath.
"Ah yes," he announced at last. "Here we are. Christopher Redfield; date of birth June seventeenth, nineteen-seventy-three?"
He confirmed that these details were correct with a sarcastic tone to his voice; how many other Chris Redfields were there in the BSAA's employ?
"That's great," the annoyingly cheerful man announced with a wide grin as he found the seat opposite Chris. "I'll keep this short; you passed. However, there were concerns regarding the results of your physical."
He was shocked, to say the least, even took a moment to glance down at his body to ensure that he had not developed a beer belly since he had last caught his reflection
"My fitness was an issue?" he asked.
"Oh no, you came out top on almost everything, Mr. Redfield," the doctor explained, eyes hard as they drilled the importance of the forthcoming information into his mind. "However, your lung capacity was found to be a little lower than would be expected for a man of your age and height. I believe you are a heavy smoker?"
"Well, I wouldn't say heavy..."
These days he did not find occasion to smoke, and he had begun to smoke only when he felt the need to as opposed to his usual habit of lighting up whenever he felt like it - which was, more often than not, quite regularly. He had assumed that the fewer cigarettes he smoked, the less harm would be dealt to his body. Evidently, this was not the case.
"Christopher, I'll level with you," the doctor sighed. "Smoking is a bad habit, period. But in a line of work such as yours, fitness is of the utmost importance and you can't afford to find yourself at a disadvantage for any reason. Aside from long-term risks such as cancer and cardiovascular disease, you are putting yourself at risk for cardiac arrest, loss of eyesight, even impotence. As a man of thirty, I assume you will be thinking about starting a family soon? If you continue to smoke, you will be looking at the possibility of fertility problems. It all adds up."
Despite advice from friends and professionals, no one had ever laid it out like this before. It was harrowing to hear words such as 'cancer' and 'impotence' spoken seriously with his name in mind. He had always faced smoking with the mentality of 'if it happens, it happens'. But now... His performance was at stake, too. He could not afford to be a weak soldier; his life was not the only one that depended on that fact.
"Think about it," the doctor requested, sliding a brown paper envelope across the table. Chris interpreted this as a signal that his time was up, and he took the envelope as he exited the small, stuffy office, shock seared into his thoughts.
The manila envelope contained all that the doctor had warned him of; implications of his continued smoking and a more detailed report of every test that had returned within normal limits.
Strange though it seemed to him in that moment, the prospect of infertility worried him more than the thought of a heart attack. Family was never far from his mind and despite the twists and turns that his life had taken, the desire to one day have a family of his own had not faded nor altered. The last five years had all but lain waste to these plans...but then Jill had returned his love. It was strange how one kiss could bring normality to a chaotic world.
"Can I say 'I told you so?'" Jill's disembodied voice asked.
He turned suddenly, failing to notice her approach or the long moments she had spent reading the print-out at his side.
"Don't start," he groaned. "I know this is bad, but...I've tried to quit before, Jill, and it was hell."
Her eyebrows furrowed as her features twisted into a frown and she rested fingers tenderly on his bicep.
"It could be different this time," she told him. "I'll help you, we can do this together. You know how much I hate you smoking."
And that was it, that was all he needed to hear; it suddenly became less about him and more about her and her often misguided feelings. He knew the sight of worry in her eyes far too well, and he knew that she feared for his health. If she wanted him to quit, then he would.
"Alright," he agreed. "But I'm doing this for you, not for some balding moron with a PhD."
Jill chuckled before pressing her lips to his cheek in a congratulatory manner.
"How about you do this one for yourself?" she asked, and he had to admit that her words had sense. His previous attempts to quit were always for the benefit of those around him; perhaps this was why he had always failed, because deep down he had not wanted to lay aside his weakness?
"But if I do it for you, you lose the right to complain about my temper until I'm through withdrawal," he teased.
"Oh no," she protested. "It's nicotine patches up the wazoo for you."
"I'm sure they don't go there, Jill."
"Jill Valentine?"
She huffed at the sound of her name, far too embroiled in the teasing match that had broken out in the sterile waiting room.
"Hold that thought," she groaned and swiftly left his side, the drab grey walls and remaining recruits all that kept him company. Yet he found that a smile still lingered. It was not his usual smile, not the cocky grin that others had learned to roll their eyes at. No, it was a different smile, one that only she could bring to his lips.
He carelessly folded the paper in half and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans, throwing the crumpled envelope into a nearby waste casket. Perhaps for the sake of irony, he found his fingers itching to hold a cigarette. But he dared not satisfy his cravings one final time and swore an oath to himself that he would destroy the remainder of the packet he had left in their hotel room.
A solitary thought drifted to the surface of his mind and he entertained it for but a brief moment. Would they still be living out of hotels if the BSAA became officially sanctioned?
He laughed off the thought; he knew perfectly well that the GPC were looking into purchasing several abandoned army barracks, making for uncomfortable yet suitable accommodation.
'I suppose we should make the most of luxury while we can,' he sighed inwardly.
If the BSAA were sanctioned, just how many days would they spend away from home? Where would the North American headquarters be situated? The three most likely possibilities seemed to be Manhattan, Washington D.C. and Arlington. The latter two options were ideal in terms of his current residence, and though the third appealed to him with the distance that would be closed between himself and family members, it would mean uprooting and hauling his belongings a few states over - and likely instigate another argument over living arrangements with Jill. Aside from that, it would take him away from Barry and Rebecca, and they were two friends he did not want to leave behind.
Everything had changed after Umbrella's fall. Though he and Jill had known that they would continue the fight until Wesker and Spencer were brought to justice, the others had been less enthusiastic. Five years of running and hiding had taken their toll, and when it came down to the details, the others had not experienced Wesker as the everlong partners had. Leon's commitment to the government had taken him away, as had Claire's desire to take a peacefully preventative approach to bioterrorism. He had been so sure that Barry would join in the formation of the BSAA, but alas, their old friend had expressed his wish to make up for lost time with his family, and to open a gun shop as Robert Kendo had suggested he do many years ago.
Chris did not argue the matter; he understood Barry's position. Had he children of his own, he knew that he would likely have made a similar decision. Barry knew that he would carry on the search and trusted that they would one day avenge the deaths of their friends.
Rebecca, on the other hand, had taken the knowledge she had gained during time spent assisting the various doctors and medical researchers that their organisation had picked up along the way, and had enrolled in college before Umbrella's case had closed. He did not know what it was that she had chosen to study, but knew that she was currently undergoing an internship at a local hospital and was putting shame to her fellow interns.
He envied the paths they had followed but knew that he could not just turn his back and walk away when there was still work to be done. He was a soldier, through and through, as was Jill. There was no other path that lay before them, only the same dark road that lead inevitably into an uncertain future. He had planned to one day reduce his workload, settle down and begin the life he longed to make for himself. But when the time came would he know how to stop? Or would he one day open his eyes and realise that he was days away from retiring, the family he had longed for all his life suddenly an impossibility?
'Where is she?' he asked himself, shaking away these disturbing thoughts. Fifteen minutes had already passed, and though several recruits had entered the second examination room, Jill was yet to emerge.
It was unnatural of him to worry about her, especially when she had proven many times in the past that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. He had faith that whatever situation she found herself in, she would be able to handle it with minimal assistance.
The door opened, and finally she returned to the emptying waiting room. Her envelope was tucked beneath her arm, no interest shown towards the record of her examination. This was the first oddity that he noticed. The second was a balled-up handkerchief she attempted to push stealthily up her sleeve, sniffing quietly as she allowed hair to fall onto her face.
"Jill?"
She jumped a little, obviously not expecting him to have waited for her. She did not reply, but when her eyes clumsily found his he knew in an instant that something was not right. Remnants of moisture clung to her lashes, and the smile that she offered did not quite reach her eyes.
"Jill, what happened?" he asked. Apparently now was a good time to start worrying.
"I passed," she revealed, though the corner of her lips twitched downwards. Was she not happy with this news?
He reached out, but she brushed past without as much as a second glance. No explanation, no search for comfort.
In the end, he was left only with his confused thoughts and a lingering fear that he could not shake off.
August 14, 2003. 1:24pm.
As she bounded down the hallway, Jill swore to herself that she would make more of an effort to memorise the layout of the temporary base. If she was late for another meeting she was sure she would face disciplinary action.
'You practically own this unit,' she reminded herself. 'You could turn up half an hour late, butt naked and they wouldn't say a damn thing.'
On this occasion she was able to present an excuse for her possibly tardiness, though somehow she did not think "I have spent the last three hours crying my eyes out" would be acceptable. The tears were unwarranted and extremely inconvenient, but she had been unable to stem the flow and was forced to resort to locking herself in the women's bathroom until she was in a presentable state. She had never before cowered in a toilet cubicle; not even during her high school years. It sickened her to know that she had been reduced to such a clichéd state of desperation.
Chris had attempted to call her after her abrupt exit, and initial ignorance turned to guilt when she discovered fifteen text messages and seven voicemail calls on her cell phone. Why did she avoid him? Even she did not know. Part of her scolded her childish actions but her heart beat against the tide of reasoning and its tune played as a dirge.
'You're being ridiculous,' she told herself. 'He's your boyfriend; it's his job to comfort you. Why face this alone?'
'He wouldn't understand...'
Once again, pain fluttered in her chest. Because that was the truth of the matter; he would not understand. There were many things that had gone unspoken in their short relationship and those that she knew he kept hidden meant that this was a deal breaker. There was no coming clean, no sharing of burdens. It was selfish, but she loved him and she was not sure that she could take such a destructive blow when her heart and mind were still healing from old wounds.
'Maybe it would be for the best?'
She chased this terrible thought away. No, she would not feel sorry for herself. She had cried, she had protested and she had tried to reason...now that it was all out of her system, she could hold her head up high and carry on with the task at hand.
But she felt it; the hole that had been carved into her being. Something was missing, never to be replaced. It was a part of her she had never expected to miss; a part of her that she had taken for granted and assumed would always be there. Though she tried and tried to convince herself that her enamoured heart had blown everything out of proportion, she knew that she was wrong. It wasn't something that could be put right or glossed over. It wasn't okay, no matter how she twisted it.
'He would leave you if he knew.'
It was a thought she could find no argument for. If he did not leave her today, it would be tomorrow, or some unforeseen date in the future. Because no matter how hard they tried to ignore it, it would always be there, widening the gap between them until he was in someone else's arms.
She drew a shallow breath, but it caught in her throat and she coughed, each particle of expelled air cutting her throat on the journey. Her steps were cut short and she fought against the hand that longed to grip a nearby doorframe. If she steadied herself, she admitted to weakness and if she admitted to weakness...well then it would all come forth; twenty-eight years' worth of troubles.
"Jill Valentine?"
She was grateful for the voice that called her name, and she rubbed at her eyes as she turned.
"It is you!" the stranger exclaimed, her voice suddenly adopting the quality of a star struck groupie. "I heard they signed you for this mission but I didn't believe a- I'm sorry, Lt. Hillary Jones, US Navy; just transferred."
The girl looked to be roughly the same age as she, hair a light shade of brown, gentle blue eyes wide with eagerness and awestruck glee. Jill had yet to meet the other members of the team, knowing only that most had recently been recruited, several having transferred from other branches of the armed forces. She had briefly perused personnel files but had not paid much attention to detail.
"It's...nice to meet you," she laughed, offering a hand that was then shook vigorously.
"I'm sorry," Hillary blushed, a faded southern accent colouring her words. "I'm not usually this excitable, but it is an honour, Miss Valentine."
Her words confused the teary-eyed woman, but she smiled all the same and placed a warm hand on her shoulder as they continued towards the venue they were both doubtlessly set to find several minutes late.
"Thank you," Jill spoke awkwardly. "Can't say I understand your reasoning, but I appreciate it."
"What is there not to understand?" Hillary laughed. "You're the only woman I know of to have trained with the Delta Force, you were hired to the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. division, single-handedly brought down Umbrella's most relentless bio-weapon and led the infiltration that secured Umbrella's downfall! I actually applied for your position in S.T.A.R.S. but the Captain turned me down; he was a hard man to please, must have seen something special in you."
Her enthusiastic words stung but Jill refused to let it show. Vengeful hatred was not a pleasant emotion to display.
"Oh hell, I'm sorry," Hillary gasped. Her apology was tearfully genuine, and those four simple words were enough for a strong wave of affection to surge within Jill's chest. "No, really. Sometimes you forget, you know. I...I actually lost a few good friends in Raccoon. Guess you could say that's why I joined the BSAA. Don't want anyone else to ever have to go through that kind of pain."
"Yeah..." Jill found it difficult to convey just how deeply she understood what Hillary was trying to convey. Prevention: that was a main component in her decision to continue the fight and eventually found the BSAA; if she could save just one person from feeling the agony of losing a friend in such horrific circumstances, she would leave this world a happy woman.
She was sure to acquire two nearby chairs when they finally entered the meeting, though felt tremors of discomfort when she realised that the only spare seats in the room were two next to Chris.
"Where have you been?" he whispered when she took a seat at his side. "I've been trying to find you all morning!"
"I went for a jog," she lied. "Needed to clear my head, I'm fine."
She found that she could muster a smile that was significantly more genuine this time and an accompanying squeeze of the knee seemed to satisfy him temporarily. Although he seemed to relent, she knew that the conversation was far from over and sighed in resignation.
'You have to talk to him sometime,' her thoughts reminded her. She shot a sarcastic 'thank you' into the back of her mind and settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair.
Barely a few moments passed when Leon stepped into the room, ten manila folders balancing precariously on his arm. Of course, the first assignment was controlled not by the GPC, the UN or even the BSAA themselves, but rather by the government. They were not yet a fully-sanctioned military unit and so had no leader, no General to guide them. Though such positions had been offered both to herself and to the other members of the original eleven, she, Chris and several others had refused; they preferred the involvement of mid-range ranks and would not settle for an office job.
"Sorry I'm a little late," Leon excused, shaking off the last of his 'outside' personality. Jill could almost see his skin shed and a new, more authoritative shell form. "As you will all no doubt no by now, I am Agent Kennedy and I am the US government's representation on this assignment."
The lights dimmed, and a projector at the back of the room suddenly whirred into life.
"Thank you, Marshall," Leon acknowledged. "There are ten individuals in this room, each one emerging from a different role. I will tell you now, whether you are ex-Navy, ex-S.W.A.T. or even ex-day-care assistant, you are all on the same page. Forget your former rank, forget your training; today you start as equals and have just as much to prove as the person sitting next to you."
She picked up on a short, whispered chuckle from Chris's direction and cast him a warning glare. They had both never taken order from Leon, or even been subject to one of his infamous pep talks, but she knew that Chris would find standing below his less-qualified friend nothing short of hilarious.
"At this point in time, this meeting is a mere formality. Training will begin tomorrow morning - you are all expected to be on time and ready to go - and following initial assessment, you will all be divided into two teams; Alpha and Bravo."
Jill could almost smell the cold sweat that Leon had so far succeeded in disguising. He had no trouble with combat situations, but place him in any position of leadership and he all but crumbled. Chris was similar in this respect; although he was a skilled leader, he did not work well with planning and delivering speeches. Leon had always been somewhat of a lone wolf, preferring to work solo than as a member of a group. The current arrangement must have been killing him.
"The target is a facility three miles from the Mexican border," Leon explained as several slides appeared on the screen behind him. Each slide depicted a similar scene; clinical, grey walls, surrounded by a fenced perimeter. The facility appeared to be quite large, and from the construction she could tell that a lower level existed; perhaps several lower levels. "It is registered as a research laboratory, with a primary purpose of testing chemicals for the cosmetic industry. However, we have reason to believe that its true purpose is far more sinister in nature."
The slides changed again, a number of faces - some familiar - flashing before them.
"The individuals you see behind me are registered employees of this facility," he explained. "You may recognise some; they are all known former employees of the Umbrella Corporation. The files I will hand each of you at the end of this meeting detail the specifics, but it is largely suspected that this facility is not only being used in continued experimentation on the T-virus but is also a major link in a bio-weapons smuggling chain the government has been trying to break for the last two months."
Jill frowned. It was not like the government to shirk off such an integral task, especially when the receiving party was an inexperienced unit such as the BSAA.
"Your mission will be to infiltrate this facility, arrest the individuals concerned and retrieve all research data," Leon continued. "To put it simply, you will be closing down the facility. Security will be present and we have no idea what will be found inside, so extreme caution is advised."
Leon's pacing became hypnotic, and Jill found that her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She had suspected that the first assignment would be as simple as an explorative infiltration. In her heart she had hoped for something more, but knew that it was unlikely.
"This mission is of high importance because Intel has led us to believe that the leader of the smuggling ring we have so far failed to bring to justice will be visiting the facility at the time of the raid," he explained. "Not much is known about the leader, but it is believed that he has strong connections to the Raccoon City incident, and to the late Sergei Vladimir. Unconfirmed Intel suggests that he may also be connected to terrorist leader Albert Wesker, whose apprehension is of the highest priority."
Suddenly, Jill's attention was focused solely on the words he spoke. A sudden shift in the chair to her right signalled that Chris had taken his words as seriously as she. It was the first sliver of news they had received of Wesker since the Caucasus shutdown; the hope they had been searching for.
"Apprehending this man comes at the cost of any other task," Leon stressed, offering no more information on their former captain or his whereabouts.
Chris turned, his expression mirroring the desperate hope she could feel burned into her own features. Wesker's capture was the key to their freedom; if interrogating this so-called 'leader' brought them but a half-step closer to discovering his location then it would be an end that justified questionable means.
She knew that Chris wanted this as much as she, that his interest in the mission had suddenly peaked.
One thing was for sure; things were about to get interesting.
August 14, 2003. 1:30pm. Location unknown.
The day was not yet over, but already the lab had seen a thorough-clean, work surfaces glistening artificially. The specimens curled in their cages, having long since resigned themselves to the dwindling prospect of escape. Rats, mice, rabbits, frogs...even fish that swam in repetitive circles around an oversized tank, several fewer in number than earlier that day.
"In summation," Dr. Norton spoke into his Dictaphone as he reached the end of the written report he had been perusing, hoping that it would satisfy his superiors enough to secure temporary leave. "Subjects F through K displayed reduced motor functioning up to thirty minutes before complete transformation. The primary factors in length of incubation can be confirmed as onset of necrosis, age of subject, BMI, intelligence, genetic structure and also strength of mind. Subjects that appeared 'resigned' to their fate - measured by the level of challenge they presented - succumbed an average of two hours before the other members of their cohort. Infection via exchange of fluids - such as biting - appears to encourage a faster transformation, with multiple lesions and associated blood loss and unconsciousness significantly reducing the incubation period."
A droplet of sweat trickled down his brow, falling into his eyes before he hastily wiped it away.
"However, I am still unsure why this is happening; apoptosis appears to be accelerated in certain subjects with no reasonable explanation," he continued. "The virus...could act randomly; there may be no order at all to...to..."
He swore and slammed the Dictaphone against the sterile bench top. There was no way he could hand in this report. He was beginning to wonder why he was still on this case; every different test he ran on the T-virus returned with inconclusive results. They had wanted to know the reason for differing incubation times - where the bigwigs had referred to 'incubation' as the time before so-called transformation or reanimation - but try as he might he could not discern any genetic or chemical reason with sufficient supporting evidence. There were theories and results that appeared promising, but not the level of high supporting evidence the higher-ups would accept.
Were they soon to lose their patience with him?
"Mike," called the watchman from the doorway, his visage obscured by the water of the generous tank that partially extended into the centre of the lab.
"Damn, Martin," Mike hissed. "Don't creep up on me like that.
"Sorry," the watchman chuckled. "You got time to spare? We need help prepping the warehouse. Looks like they're bringing a bigger shipment than we're getting rid of."
Mike eyed him suspiciously. There was no reason why any shipments should be delivered to the facility; in terms of the production line that they were all deeply embroiled in, the facility that currently housed them was close to the beginning. They specialised in viral research, not in weapon production.
"Trust me; whatever you're thinking, we've all thought it ourselves," Martin sighed. "Come on."
He was followed closely, Mike's confusion growing with every step they took. The arrival of specimens meant that the base would be likely be under strict security conditions; leaving would be extremely difficult.
"I was hoping to get a few days off soon," he sighed. "Guess the wife will be disappointed again."
Too many hours were spent in the confined facility, and not enough with his family. With one child and another on the way he knew where his priorities lay and they most certainly were not amongst his colleagues. After all, this job had been a favour...
"Play your cards right and you could walk out of this with a promotion," Martin reminded him, clapping a strong hand on his shoulder. "I have no idea who this Major guy is, but I've heard he's got pull where it counts."
It was then that purpose returned to Mike's mind. He was here for a reason, and he owed it to his friends and to his family to keep his head in the game and his mind on the job.
"You have to know something," he pried. "Everyone knows something. It sometimes feels like I'm being kept in the dark around here."
"Well...I heard he's European," Martin offered, as useless as this snippet of information was. "Other than that, we're all equally in the dark."
Again, suspicion fell. He had never met the 'Major', did not even know his name, but already too many questions lingered around his identity. He must be important, not only to the facility but to every member of the post-Umbrella movement.
Martin offered no more, and Mike chose not to ask. He needed those few days of leave, just as he needed to prove to the others that he could be trusted. He knew now that his life depended on it.
August 17, 2003. 10:00am. BSAA temporary headquarters, El Paso, Texas.
Three days. Was that all it had been? Three days without a single smoke, three days living in what he became more and more convinced was his own personal hell.
Leon was hardly making an effort to reduce the stress that now weighed upon his shoulders. In fact, in recent days Chris was sure that he could see a sloppy read target painted onto the younger man's forehead.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, anger fuelled by Leon's lack of response to his rage. At the very least, the man should have been terrified. Hell, he himself was not entirely sure what he planned to do. He could very well have taken his head clean off; it sure felt like a perfectly reasonable course of action.
"It wasn't my decision to make, Chris," Leon replied calmly. He remained bent over the table between them, scrutinising the blueprints that had been delivered earlier that day.
Once again, he seemed thoroughly uninterested in Chris's rant. Truth be told, he was used to the verbal abuse by now.
"We're partners," Chris fumed. "You don't split partners up, that's the whole fucking point of a partnership!"
Hard though it may be to believe, his anger had subsided greatly from the moment the teams had been finalised; Jill and Leon leading Alpha, Chris and a new recruit leading Bravo. Relegating him to Bravo had been the first mistake, separating him from Jill had been the second.
"You picked a hell of a time to quit smoking, you know that?" Leon muttered. "Have you been paying any attention at all to what we've been going through?"
Chris was silent. Because he had truly not been able to concentrate on anything in recent days. All he was sure of was his hatred towards every item of furniture that was in his way, every door that remained closed when he needed it to be open, every face that smiled as it passed him by, every...
Maybe the patches weren't working?
He knew that the government and several military officials were overseeing the upcoming mission, that control would not turn to the BSAA until they were given the all clear. When- If that came to be, the power would effectively be with the original eleven until suitable personnel were recruited. Chris had no problem with following orders - in fact, he had chosen to follow rather than to lead - but he simply could not stand it when orders that made absolutely no sense at all were handed down.
"It will be impossible to break through the outer perimeter without triggering the basic security systems," Leon explained. "Jill herself agreed that there was no possible way to gain access to the facility without triggering a silent alarm at the point of entry. We need one team to arrest staff, and a two-man cell - namely, you and Jill - to head deeper into the facility and retrieve research data and shut down the higher level biomedical labs."
Chris followed Leon's finger as he pointed to the centre of the blueprints.
"As you can see, and as I have already explained, the facility is built on several levels, three of which are essentially basement levels," he continued, careful to convey his irritation at having to repeat himself. "We are not naive enough to believe that there won't be security features present inside the facility; your experience of similar Umbrella-owned facilities should give you a sense of what to expect."
Chris grimaced. Booby-traps, guard dogs, armed personnel...bio-weapons. Umbrella had a tendency to release every last one of their test subjects if a break-in occurred, obviously expecting to lose but intent on taking down most of the infiltration team with them. It made sense to expect nothing less from their remains.
"We believe that we have pinned down the motion detection software they have installed. Basically, it assigns a signal to each breach and this signal tracks the breach as it moves through the compound. If our two-man cell entered separately from the main group, their presence would be detected upon entry and followed. So, two teams will enter the facility here and here; you on one team, Jill on the other. Due to the size of the groups a one-man detachment should not register on their system, so when the groups reach the checkpoints here and here, you and Jill will detach from your respective groups and will rendezvous here, while Alpha and Bravo merge and begin a sweep of the remainder of the labs. You and Jill will then descend to the lower levels and retrieve the research data on levels B2 and B3. Any of this ringing a bell?"
If his words were intended to mock his much older and far stronger colleague, it was a daring move. Rather than retort with an angry outburst, Chris placed a further step between himself and Leon and huffed in defeat he dared not admit vocally.
Withdrawal had worn him down a lot quicker than he had anticipated. Or had it been Jill? Her silence grated on nerves he never knew he had. Smiles, kisses, a simple stroke of his hair; her actions screamed love, but her demeanour contradicted all that her lips told him. Her heart may have been with him, but her mind had been elsewhere ever since she had entered that damn doctor's office. He had tried not to probe - after all, it was a personal matter. But respect could only take him so far; he worried for her, and that worry had slowly begun to turn to fear. But fear of what? Of a ticking medical time bomb? No, if it was serious they would never have passed her. Then what was it? Was he afraid that he would lose her?
He did not want to even contemplate this option.
"I know you're worried about this mission," Leon sighed, lowering his voice to a more friendly tone. "We all are. But it is your mission, Chris; you are in charge. I may have the authority to assume command whenever I see fit but I trust you and I honestly don't believe that the need for me to exert that power will arise."
Somehow, this seemed unfair. He fought, he pushed, he insulted, and Leon returns his anger with a compliment? It was against every unwritten rule of decency.
Chris could not help but feel placated by this reassurance. It was truly not the best time to allow himself to get riled up; he had more than enough planning and preparation to do.
"I can handle this," Leon assured him. "Go get some fresh air, it might help."
Chris highly doubted this; there were many smokers on the base and the instant he stepped outside he would walk straight into a cloud of smoke that would crush his current success in an instant of time too short to measure.
But he accepted Leon's proposal without argument; the less time spent in the presence of others, the better.
August 17, 2003. 9:15pm. El Paso, Texas.
It was perhaps pure luck that the building rented by the UN as a temporary headquarters for the BSAA was situated two doors down from a rather comfortable hotel. With minimal funding, they would otherwise have been confined to sleeping bags on the floor of whichever room was unoccupied that night.
Jill also welcomed the temporary break from the strain of preparation that a warm bath and freshly-made bed provided. As Chris's partner, she had seen a painful amount of preparatory paperwork find her in-tray and after twelve hours of slogging through every detail, with breaks only for a hastily-consumed sandwich and a single strenuous training exercise, she was happy to finally leave the base.
Soapy water drained from the tub as she slipped into her pyjamas. With an eight am start, there truly was no rest for the wicked. But she held on to her smile, the heavy scent of lavender lingering upon the air. She could have happily remained in the small bathroom all night, soaking in the humidity and relishing the refreshing comfort. But she knew better than to believe that she could.
As she left comfort behind and stepped into the harshly conditioned air of the bedroom she realised straight away that Chris had not yet returned. It was entirely possible that he was avoiding her, but she could not be sure. She would not have blamed him if he were. Somehow talking to him seemed so difficult these days. After her initial dismissal he had not pressed the matter of her medical, but she knew that it still played on his mind. A great deal of effort had doubtlessly been put into his restraint and this just made everything more difficult; he cared enough to cause himself discomfort that she could easily relieve.
'Relief?' she asked herself. Would her words truly cause him relief?
As though her thoughts summoned him to her side, the door opened, clicking shut a moment later as he raised his eyes to hers.
"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice unintentionally accusatory.
Why did she always feel the need to argue? Was it truly easier on them both than a little kindness would have been?
The look that he shot her almost broke her heart. It seemed that the energy had been drained from him, his mind close to snapping and his soul even closer to giving up.
"Please don't start," he begged, quieter than she would have expected from him. "I've had a really bad day, I don't need another argument."
Even his posture seemed unnatural, and the way that he dropped to the edge of the mattress made her doubt that the man who had entered was indeed the man who had left that morning.
The lack of nicotine did not help, she surmised. When stressed, Chris would always smoke his troubles away; now that was an impossibility.
A shaking hand rubbed at the back of his neck, brow furrowed as he attempted to shake the baggage he had carried from the base. It was a hopeless scene of a man so lost he may as well have been in a foreign country. Though she tried her best to maintain its shield, her heart bled and filled her with the desire to comfort him as she always had. Just an embrace, a kiss perhaps to show that though the world may be loading him to a breakdown, she was there and she cared.
'It would be hypocritical.'
But how? Their relationship had not changed, yet her mind seemed to be seeking to persuade her that it was failing. Perhaps it was the toll that lies took on love. She was holding on to something that would be better off dead, she knew that now. All that she wanted was for him to be happy, to have the best life that fate could offer him. But she could not give that to him, not anymore.
'But you still love him,' her heart reminded her questioning mind. 'Sometimes that is enough.' Was this one of those times?
She tentatively stepped towards him, confidence building as she clambered onto the bed and reached towards him. He welcomed her sudden appearance, arms sliding over hers desperately.
In his embrace, she could feel all that she knew she could never leave; he would not have held her so tightly if she meant any less than everything to him. It was as though she was all that he was sure of in that moment, and he did not want to leave any opportunity for her to slip away. As long as he held her like this, she could convince herself that she was doing the right thing and that if his arms continued to express love that words had so far failed to emulate then maybe, just maybe everything would be alright.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, to which he shook his head and pressed his lips gently to hers.
"Thank you," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. For the briefest of moments, she caught the weary hopelessness that reflected within his eyes and suddenly she could not pull herself close enough to him.
Her lips found his and she could tell that this was what he had been waiting for. Her fingers lightly stroked his hair as they always did in moments so forlorn, and feeling began to warm in the pit of her stomach. She felt his need in a simple touch and opened her mouth to him; a silent invitation that he accepted gladly. Warmth crept up her thigh as his hand brushed along bare skin, fingertips sliding unintentionally beneath the hem of her shorts.
"Stop it," she told him, pulling away prematurely. She could find no explanation for her actions; she was more than willing to see the night through, eager even.
"What is it?" he asked quietly, apologetic without the need to speak the word.
She searched for an answer but could not for the life of her discern why she had disconnected herself from an admittedly pleasurable moment. The concerned quality of his voice only served to irritate her further; why was he not angry, or at the very least annoyed? With the sudden rush of diluted animosity, she physically pushed him away and jumped to her feet.
"It's always about sex to you!" she cried out.
He looked at her, unblinking, words visibly on the tip of his tongue. They both knew that her statement was far from true; she had initiated her fair share of intimate moments.
"Jill, I never-" he began, but cut himself off knowingly and jumped up to gently confront her. "Please talk to me; you really haven't been yourself lately."
And there it was, the anger she had been waiting for.
"You're smothering me, Chris," she growled, dodging his hands as they reached for her. Her mind told her that her words were true; it spewed toxic lies, turning her heart away from what it knew and what it screamed out in the hope that she would listen.
'Sex is dangerous,' her deceitful mind told her. 'Minutes of pleasure for a possible lifetime of pain? Sex spreads diseases, it ruins lives! What if he got you pregnant?'
The questions all but crippled her, and it seemed ironic that there was nowhere for her to go but into his arms. She did not want to feel this way; so lost, so confused and so out of place in the life that had previously made her ridiculously happy. But in his fearful hold she felt that happiness did still exist, despite what she had begun to convince herself.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "You're not. You're- So much is happening right now; I don't really know where my head is at."
It was a feeling he could associate with and so she felt his body relax against hers, hold as soothing and gentle as always.
"Promise you'll talk to me if something is bothering you," he requested, secretively offering her the opportunity to open up. "Ever...please."
She looked into his eyes and achieved a half-smile.
"I promise," she assured him. Because she would. She would reveal all that she kept hidden...just not today. It was a situation she needed to analyse, to understand and to accept before she even thought about what she would say to him. But conversely, it was a situation she could not keep secret, one that concerned them both; sooner or later he would have to know.
In an attempt to silence any further requests, she returned her lips to their rightful place and found that he responded with unbridled enthusiasm. Her fingertips brushed against the stubble at his jaw; a new look, induced perhaps by stress and the choice of sleep over an extra five minutes in the bathroom on a morning. It was a look that she eagerly approved of, and hoped that he did not rectify any time soon.
"Hmm, hypocrite," he hummed when her hands began to wander down a familiar route. She found herself amused by the fact that he had caught on to her intentions before she was aware of them herself. He always had seemed to know her body better than her.
She crawled back onto the bed, casting him a 'come hither' look as she propped herself up onto her knees, attempting seduction but knowing that she had likely failed. Always one to follow orders, he joined a split second later, resuming the kiss with enough force to send them both crashing down onto the mattress. Limbs flailed and laughter echoed around the room as lips slipped, and somehow his nose found its way to her eye.
Not even the promise of what was to come could cease the vocalised hilarity, furthered when an attempt to unwind her legs resulted in an almost catastrophic blow to his groin region.
"Does anything ever go right for us?" she giggled, half-blinded while he continued to laugh into her collar bone.
He made as if to reply, moving so that he gazed into her eyes and suddenly she was lost. The intensity of his expression overwhelmed her senses, pulled her in with promises of love and many other wonderful things. She could almost taste his emotion, and though she felt the need to turn away and to attempt to reclaim the sanity that had slipped away, she could not. Fingers stroked the hair that framed her face, but she could barely feel them, could barely feel the leg that had wrapped around hers, or the back of the remaining fingers that gently stroked her cheek. She had never been submissive, had never even pretended that she felt the need. She had never liked the idea of bowing to a man's will, of awarding the control to someone she knew had only themselves in mind. But Chris was a whole other story; she could not help feeling submissive on occasion. She could insist that he was not getting his way, that she would hold the reins; but he knew exactly where to kiss, and the right amount of pressure to apply to which small stretch of skin. In some shameful way, she enjoyed his enslaving touch.
"Do we have any condoms left?" she asked, bringing a pause to the moment before she lost her mind entirely.
The fingers stilled, curiosity fighting with lust for precedence.
"Did they take you off the pill?" he asked.
"No," she whispered, nervous though she hoped it did not show. "I just want you to use one...please."
He studied her expression carefully, and suddenly she felt vulnerable in a sense that was not so welcome. But he must have sensed that it held importance to her, because a thumb suddenly rubbed against her cheekbone and he smiled gently.
"Alright," he agreed and touched her nose gently with his. And then it came rushing back; that desperation, that desire.
There had been a clinic near her apartment in Raccoon, and every time she walked past its windows she would laugh at the healthcare posters it tiled on every available surface. 'She'll want you more if you wrap it up', was one of the more laughable slogans. She had never felt differently about a boyfriend because of his contraceptive habits and thought the mere idea that it would make a difference was ridiculous.
As usual, Chris succeeded in proving her wrong. He did not hide his dislike of the things, but every time she asked he would obey without protest or complaint.
These thoughts immediately fell from mind, his lips departing her own in search of warmer skin. Fingertips moved to caress her waist, hot breath igniting her skin as his kiss touched upon the cleft of her breast.
She had never been so sure that she needed him, and knew then that she was absurd to debate the future of the one almost-perfect element of her life.
But she had decisions to make, and she honestly did not know where they would leave them.
AN - Please review :)