AN - An advance warning: this chapter has a fluff content of about 95% ^_^. For all you Chris/Jill and even Leon/Claire fans. I've put them through enough, it's time for a little happiness ^_^. In terms of Leon and Claire, this story is more setting the stages for how they will be in the next story. You're going to see a lot more of them. Chapter title is from Chasing Pavements by Adele.
Thank you again to everyone who reviewed since last chapter: d.x.l, Ivilith, Ninja-Gnome, cjjs, Black Metalmark, Valentine Virus, xSummonerYunax, KT324 and tek. Next up is the epilogue and I'll give details for the next story with the next update. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
Blindside
Chapter Thirteen - As My Heart Drops
'This ain't lust, I know this is love,
But if I tell the world I'll never say enough,
'Cause it was not said to you.'
August 27, 2003. 10:17am. El Paso, Texas.
Yet again, they kept him waiting. Leon tapped his foot impatiently, tugging at the collar of his shirt. The sling he had been forced to continue wearing was proving more of a hindrance than a help. For some reason, the doctors did not trust him enough to rest his shoulder without it. Neither, it appeared, did Claire, who refused to side with him on this one.
All things considered, he was lucky to escape with a painful shoulder and a few days of headaches. As far as he knew, Jill remained in hospital. It was more of a precaution at this point but her injuries had been severe. She would be walking with crutches for at least the next week, doped up on painkillers and antibiotics just to make surviving the day a little less unbearable. In comparison, his sling was an unparalleled comfort.
Eighteen minutes after the agreed meeting time, he was ushered inside the conference room, pleased to see that the panel consisted mostly of individuals he had previously had the opportunity to meet. He knew them all, knew of their leniency and understanding. It was Gregor who would prove the most challenging; the man was not known to be sympathetic.
"Please, take a seat," Gregor instructed. Leon considered refusing, and pointing out that he had been seated for the last half an hour, but knew that it would not help his case. "Leon Kennedy, I would like to introduce you to the new members of our panel; Mr. Alistair Forester of the WilPharma Corporation, Miss Phillipa Singh of Genesis Pharmaceuticals and Miss Excella Gionne of TriCell Pharmaceutical Company."
Leon nodded curtly to the three newcomers, hoping that they were as easily satisfied as the existing members. As far as he could tell, Forester was high up in WilPharma's chain of command, while Singh was several rungs below the CEO of Genesis; evidently they did not see this panel as one of importance. He doubted that the panel were drafted in for his sake; it was far more likely that they had flown in for the assessment of the BSAA, which he understood was to take place over the next few days. Gionne stood out a mile from the others, tapping her elongated fingernails against the desk, breaking only to check her wristwatch every few minutes.
"I trust you have read my report?" Leon asked, confident now in his position.
"We have," Gregor confirmed before referring to a manila folder he had opened only moments before. "Fortunately, every detail of your account is supported by CCTV footage as well as evidence gathered at the scene. Now, how much exactly do you remember of the events following your separation from the remainder of the team?"
His memory was hazy at best, though fragments remained. Gunfire, screams...the impact of his skull against the wall. Details were a little vague after that.
"Not much sir," he answered. "Agent Newburn checked me over, then she swung her arm and...that's the last I remember until I came to in the hospital."
"If you were as badly injured as you claim you were, why did you send Agents Valentine and Miller ahead?" It was Miss Gionne who spoke, a thick accent almost drowning out the scepticism in her voice.
"Well, ma'am," he replied, careful to be polite where she had not. "The priority of this mission was to apprehend the then unidentified Nicholai Ginovaef and procure enough hard evidence to support a prosecution case against Verisanda Technologies. My injuries were debilitating but not life-threatening. I advised Agent Valentine - to whom command of the team still fell - to proceed to the control room with Agent Miller and find a means of communicating with the base team to request extraction."
Excella hummed, and he could tell from her expression that she was nitpicking for no reason other than to amuse herself. Evidently she thought herself above the role she had been assigned.
"You were alone with Agent Newburn for quite some time," she pointed out with a smile. "You sent Agent Valentine into the hands of Mr. Ginovaef, ultimately resulting in-"
"Jill Valentine is my friend," he insisted angrily, temper suddenly out of his control. For her to even suggest such a thing... "I hope you are not insinuating that I bear some responsibility for what happened to her."
He felt in his heart that this was true, that he should have ordered her to remain with him. If only she had stayed by his side a little while, she would have been rescued before she found herself in danger. But it was his own grievance and he had sworn to her during an impromptu hospital visit that he would let it go and recognise that it was not his fault. And perhaps she had been right. After all, she was stubborn and maintained a definitive level of professionalism in all that she did; if he had asked her to stay she would have left regardless. If only that knowledge would assuage his guilt.
"No," Miss Gionne assured him through a wide, amused smirk. "Not at all."
"That's enough, Excella," Gregor warned. "If you would like to review the security tapes, they are currently available to the panel. I think you'll find that they corroborate Agent Kennedy's story. Now, Leon...I have summoned you before this panel to request a secondary report. I want you to focus on each individual member of your team, paying specific attention to skill and competency. As the only surviving members of your team are Miller and Valentine-"
"Wait a minute," Leon interrupted. Maybe it was the painkillers, or perhaps it was the irritation of keeping his arm bound to his body; somehow he was in a fighting mood today. "You doubt their competency? Miller recognised a traitor within the ranks when no other agent within the BSAA had so much as a suspicion, despite repeat assurances from a reliable source that the integrity of the unit had been compromised. And Valentine...how can you doubt her when she identified that the primary lock mechanism on the external laboratory door had been sabotaged, saving the lives of every member of our team? When she subdued a wanted criminal - a man twice her size - despite suffering life-threatening injuries that had severely compromised her strength and skill?"
Gregor stared him down, silently waiting for his rant to wind to a close. Shaking, Leon inhaled deeply, a dull ache now present in his temples.
'Great, you've given yourself a damn headache,' he scolded himself. 'Claire is going to kill you; she told you to take it easy!'
"If you are quite finished," Gregor called, an uncharacteristic smile playing on his lips. "I assure you that doubt is far from our minds. If anything, every surviving agent proved their value tenfold tonight, especially Agent Valentine. The report is merely a record of activity. Despite the mishaps that presented themselves during the course of the mission, it has been deemed a success and it is extremely likely that the BSAA will be awarded full operational status. Your report will go on record as a reference point when assigning roles and titles."
'Oh.'
His injuries must have really done a number on him; he rarely lost his temper in an irrational manner. That was Chris's area of expertise, not his.
"Sorry, sir," he apologised. "These past few days...they haven't been easy. Oh, that reminds me; what is to happen to Nicholai Ginovaef?"
It was a question he should have known the answer to. After all, it was he who had analysed the security tapes, he who had catalogued every crime he could be charged with in relation to Jill alone. He saw it as a favour; the task should have fallen to Chris, but he knew it would have been too much for the older man to bear in his unusually fragile emotional state. As it transpired, it was a wise move. He had still not succeeded in dealing with the emotions the footage had stirred within himself. Never before had he witnessed an individual with so little concern for human life.
But then there was Jill... He had always known her to be strong, to be a fighter through and through, but he had not quite expected what he had witnessed. Her survival instinct far surpassed that which he had previously witnessed, extended even beyond what he thought was possible. She had saved herself from a situation no ordinary person would have survived. But that was the whole point; she was no ordinary woman. Leon now held an overwhelming amount of respect for the girl, and wished that somehow Chris could see her as he had.
'He's in love with her,' he reminded himself. 'He already knows...'
"Mr. Ginovaef has been moved to a secure facility," Gregor informed him. "Aside from the charges relating to the night of August twenty-second and the morning of August twenty-third, he has been charged with numerous offences related to bioterrorism. The likely outcome is execution."
It was no less than what he deserved, but Leon chose to keep this thought to himself. He did not believe in wishing death upon anyone, but he could think of no other recourse for what he had done, not just to Jill but to the world at large.
"As it transpires, he returned to Russia following the destruction of Raccoon City, where he is believed to have worked under Sergei Vladimir for some time," Gregor told him. "He is far more powerful than we initially assumed. Questioning could prove fruitful."
Leon only hoped that they did not wish for him to assist with said questioning.
"Your team accomplished a lot that night," Miss Singh told him with a smile. "You should all be proud of yourselves."
He agreed that a lot had been achieved that night, but at what cost? Four agents were dead, three more wounded. What degree of success had they achieved? The frown that fell upon his features did not go unnoticed by the others. But how could they understand? They sat behind their desks, planning and analysing; they had no concept of what it meant to be on the front line, to witness what most would only ever read of.
But he smiled and pretended to accept her compliment unconditionally.
It was just how things worked.
August 27, 2003. 12:42pm. El Paso, Texas.
As she fumbled with the flimsy plastic key card, Jill realised that she perhaps should have thought this through. Two crutches were all that kept her upright, the heavy bag that hung from her shoulder threatening to pull her to the floor. Should that happen, she knew that she would never make it to her feet again. As it transpired, the painkillers only worked so long as she kept the pressure off her injured leg.
"Should have waited," she grumbled, finally succeeding in pulling the key card from her purse. Sliding the blue article into an open pocket of her bag, she manoeuvred the card towards the reader, only to stumble when she misjudged the distance.
The crutches prevented her from leaning far enough down, the bag determining the range in which she could shift her weight without collapsing in a heap on the floor.
She tried again, perfecting her aim until...
"Damn it!" she cried, watching the key card fall helplessly to the floor. "Nice one, Valentine, now you're screwed."
As luck would have it, a bellboy stood within earshot and quickly ran to her side, retrieving the key card and sliding it into the reader. A flash of green and a tell-tale click later and she was able to push the door to her hotel room open.
"Oh, thank you so much," she gushed appreciatively, accepting the card when the bellboy passed it back.
"No problem, ma'am," he smiled. "Do you need help with your bag?"
Once she had assured him that she was fine, she stepped into the safety of the room, dropping her bag next to the door. The air conditioning was working at full capacity, bringing a pleasant chill to her skin.
Carefully, she ambled towards the bed, positioning herself on the edge before finding a suitable position in which to store the crutches. All in all, she was impressed that she had made it so far on her own.
She had been released after first rounds that very morning, and though doctors had persuaded her to remain in the care of staff until someone could pick her up she chose to leave of her own accord. The time alone was soothing but she knew that her avoidance was selfish. Why else had she spent the entire morning finishing the book Chris had brought her in a café near the hospital? She was embarrassed to face him, and she knew it.
Though her memory of their reunion was hazy, she recalled words that brought a blush to her cheeks. He smelled nice? She could spend the rest of her life with him? There may have been truth to both sentiments, but she had carefully avoided revealing the extent of her investment in the relationship to anyone, let alone the man himself. Her reasons were stupid, but they were their own and she stubbornly stuck to them...until now.
Carefully, she moved her legs up onto the bed, finding it much easier to push herself as far back as was possible and then move backwards than to swing the limbs with complete disregard for her injury.
"Pain in the ass," she muttered. Because as time progressed, the various wounds she had suffered had become more of an annoyance than a pain. She didn't care about the pain; it was the restrictions they imposed upon her.
Speaking of restrictions...
She glanced at her wristwatch and heaved an inconvenienced sigh as she realised it was about time that she changed the dressing. It was an act she had not yet attempted herself, and she had barely been paying attention to the nurse's tutorial.
Pushing down on her sweatpants proved to be an unexpected hurdle. As she raised her body to slip the material beneath her, unwanted pressure was applied to her thighs, sending all too familiar shooting pains through her upper left leg. When she dropped herself quickly to the mattress when she succeeded in pushing the fabric down over her backside, the pain lingered and she swore vehemently, drawing her legs up as she shed the sweatpants.
"Fuck," she breathed through gritted teeth, lacking the courage to glance down at the bandaging. If the stitches had popped, it would mean a trip back to the hospital that she really did not want to take.
Luck, as it seemed, was on her side. The bandage remained unsoiled and, slowly, the pain ebbed away.
'You know you're supposed to wash your hands first, right?'
Jill groaned loudly, cursing her stupidity. For all her insistence that she was more than capable of looking after herself, it appeared that she in fact could not. There was antibacterial scrub in her bag, but sadly it was far from her reach...as were the fresh bandages and gauze. Nevertheless, she began to peel the old bandage from her skin, desperate to feel the cool air hit skin that had been bound for far too long. Each movement brought more pain, and she realised that she would be unable to redress it herself.
The scrape of a key card in the door caused her to jump, spewing curses into the silence when she inadvertently tugged on the bandage. She knew who it was before they stepped inside; there was only one other who possessed a key to this room.
Chris froze the moment he realised that he was not alone, eyes meeting in a moment Jill deemed to be nothing short of awkward.
"What the-" he spluttered, expression as frantic as his tone. "Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
She muttered a sheepish apology, but he waved his hand casually, brushing everything aside.
"Never mind, I don't care where you were," he sighed. "It's...it's good to see you, well...at least showing signs of being on your feet again."
He chuckled quietly, holding his position close to the bed. He seemed afraid to approach her, nervous even to move close. Their contact over the last few days had been sporadic at best. He would stay by her bedside every minute of visiting hours, but the medication she had been given quite often made her drowsy and she would quite often be in no mood or state to carry on a conversation. For the most part, conversation had been light, and the topics they knew they should address remained on hold. On hold, it would seem, until a time like the present.
"Can you do me a favour?" she asked. "I can't...I can't redress my leg. There are clean bandages in my bag...can you help me?"
"Oh, sure," he obliged, retrieving the bandages before disappearing to cleanse his hands. A smile found its way to her lips, sudden happiness startling her with its purity.
'How are you smiling?' she wondered. It was the same happiness that had swept over her the moment he had taken her hand in his at the hospital, and whispered the promise that it would all be okay. At first, she had assumed that it was the drugs. Now, she was not so sure.
"Okay, I'm sorry if I hurt you, but you know I'm a little rough with my hands," he was sure to let her know before he climbed onto the bottom of the bed. Jill pulled her right leg to her chest, allowing him to shimmy close enough to remove what remained of the old dressing.
"You're not rough," she laughed. Her smile seemed contagious, an equally blissful grin forming on Chris' features.
'Do you think you have the guts to tell him all he needs to know?' she wondered. She knew that he felt misplaced blame for her ordeal; he would not have shed tears before her for a simple, passive reason. There was nothing that he could have done, nothing anyone could have done. What had happened, happened and it would have happened no matter what they did that night. She had made her peace with that and hoped that he could, too.
"Is this okay?" he asked, winding a clean bandage around her thigh. The pressure felt just right, his skin rough but his touch gentle.
"Perfect."
She watched as he worked, moving with careful diligence she would not previously have attributed to him. Just as he brought out elements of her personality she had been unaware of, it seemed as though another side of him shone through when he was with her.
"I feel like we should be dressed up or something," he laughed when he noticed that her gaze never once swerved from him.
"Honey, if you want to slip into a nurse's uniform, be my guest," she told him, amused at the image that was conjured in her mind. "Personally, I think those thighs would look quite sexy in white."
"Be careful what you wish for," he joked, smirk firmly in place.
Softly, his fingers brushed against her skin as he tied off the bandage. His touch was sedating, but she knew better than to expect that it would linger.
His fingers retreated sharply, eyes lingering on skin exposed beneath her T-shirt. As though by reflex, she glanced down. So much bruising patterned her skin that she often lost track of the design. The bruising on her hip was not immediately noticeable, and did not pain her as sweat pants were all she could tolerate to wear until her thigh adequately healed, but she had not considered how it would appear to others...especially Chris.
He quickly averted his gaze, expression settling into one of quiet, forlorn agony. She could almost see the emotion bubbling beneath his skin. It was unreasonable for her to wish that he did not take slights upon those close to him to heart; after all, she felt the exact same way when it came to him. But she wished that he would loosen up, would deal with his emotions rather than sit back as they washed over him and wallow in whatever remained.
"Come here," she requested, leaning forward as she held out her arms. He fell into them without protest, reciprocating with pressure that was almost painful.
Pain returned, but somehow she didn't mind. His embrace was desperate and she knew then the emotion that had gripped him since their separation.
"I was worried about you," she breathed.
Incredulously, he pulled back and laughed, fingertips trailing down her arms.
"You were worried about me? I always pull through, you know that. Take a moment to worry about yourself every now and then!"
Smiling, she leaned back into the headboard, taking hold of his hand to pull him to her side. Out of consideration, he was sure to fall on her uninjured side, pulling her into his arms before she could protest.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I've been keelhauled," she admitted. "But I'll be fine. Just don't squeeze me too tight."
He did not reply, but she did not expect him to. Physical contact was how he always expressed his feelings and his arms spoke volumes. From beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt, she saw the remnants of a knife wound, red and puckered skin that was doubtlessly as painful as it was unsightly.
"Are you okay?" she asked. He was never one to take it easy, even when advised that he must.
"I am now."
Chris inhaled deeply, shifting awkwardly beside her. Where she was content simply laying silently in his arms, it appeared that he was not.
"Are you happy, Jill?" he asked.
It had caught her off guard and she simply did not know what to say. She could feel that it was not her love that he doubted, for which she was grateful; she did not have the energy within her to argue with him. But the worry in his voice brought fear to the pit of her stomach. She had known that her previous childishness would have repercussions, despite how she had hoped that things would smooth over easily. How foolish of her.
But honestly, she did not know if she was happy or merely content. There were parts of her life still entrenched in shadow, parts that still ached terribly when addressed.
"I am with you," she told him. "And right now, I...I just want to lose myself to that; to focus on what I have rather than what...what I never will."
He frowned, despite her positive admittance. But she was not going to pretend that she had made peace with the fact that she would never be a mother. How could she? It was not fair, and it sure as hell was not okay. Truth be told, her heart quaked from the realisation. What Nicholai had put her through had simply forced her to put things in perspective.
"I'm far from okay," she admitted, showing honesty while she still could. "But the way I see it is I'm getting all the bad shit out of the way and the second half of my life is going to be something special."
'What if this is the second half of your life?'
It was a dark thought but a valid one nonetheless. She had escaped so many narrow situations; how long until her questionable luck ran out?
"I've never been this happy," she sighed as she pressed her lips to his neck. His groan reverberated through his throat as her lips travelled upwards, kissing the disappointingly smooth skin of his jaw and up to his cheek, moments before he turned to her.
"Honestly...neither have I," he whispered. His breath touched upon her lips, his covering them softly before she could think of a reply. But her affection did not come as easily as his and she pulled away before he could deepen the kiss.
There was so much that remained unsaid between them and though it terrified her to even consider speaking the words, she knew that it was now or never. She had already said too much, and her greatest fear was that he believed it was the painkillers talking. But how to address almost six years' worth of feelings in a moment?
"I..." she succeeded in muttering before her courage left her cold. "We...we haven't really talked about...about us. I guess...now's a better time than any."
'Coward.'
She sensed the apprehension that usually followed such a suggestion. What was it about men not wanting to share their feelings? As open as Chris was these days, he still required some level of coaxing.
"I thought 'I've never been happier' would have covered 'us'," he chuckled. And it had, but its scope was limited. It was enough to be happy in the moment, but they both knew that it was not enough to power a relationship indefinitely.
"What is there left to discuss?" he asked, serious this time. "Previous partners? Sexual history? Because I don't think that's a conversation you want to get into."
This time it was Jill's turn to frown.
"I'll just look at the R.P.D. employment records to find yours," she mocked.
"That's not funny," he claimed, though laughter lingered on his voice.
"I don't care about all that," she sighed. "It's all in the past and trust me, mine is colourful in its own right. I-"
"Oh, now I'm intrigued," he interrupted.
"Chris!" Jill warned. "I'm being serious."
The silence that fell was awkward. She should have known that he would try to deflect the topic somehow. However, she was determined to see this through, even if it was she who did all the talking.
"Alright," he sighed. "You first. Did you mean what you said in the hospital?"
And her evasion had come full-circle. Swallowing her pride, she prepared her answer, though every fibre of her being screamed at her to keep silent.
"Yes," she admitted. "Even the, uh...smell thing. Though I'd prefer it if you forgot all about that."
Chris laughed, though even this could not disrupt his brilliant smile. Without even asking the question, she had found the answer to all that she wished to know; he returned it all, every feeling and sentiment, from the romantic to the downright absurd.
"Then why won't you live with me?" he asked, almost apologetically. But she had promised herself that there would be no arguments, despite the turn events may take.
'You promised yourself you would be honest, no matter what, remember?'
Chris sensed her hesitation and sighed, knowing that she could often be as stubborn as a rock.
"Because I'm scared," she spoke quietly, swallowing her nerves. "You have to know that just admitting all this to you is...it's hard."
It was a redundant statement; he knew better than anyone. But her fear stemmed from a different core to his, it took on a different form. He could not possibly know the nature of her feelings.
"Every time I let someone in, I end up getting hurt," she revealed as tears threatened to fall. "This isn't about what happened in Raccoon, it's just...me. We all have flaws and this...this is one of many."
The release was sweet, but she began dreading his response the moments the words left her mouth. There were many ways he could take this news, and most of them were not good. She had always been forced to fight for her luck; freedom and happiness did not come easily to her. But rather than place uncomfortable distance between them, Chris pressed his lips to her forehead, concern engraved deep in his eyes.
"You don't have to be scared," he assured her. "If anyone hurt you, you know I'd kick their ass...even if that ass is mine."
Smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder, allowing his warmth to seep into her skin.
"I just need some time," she hummed. "I think we both do. But hey, I'm going to need a live-in carer until I'm all healed. I tried peeling the plastic from a sandwich carton earlier...it didn't go well."
"Alright," he laughed, shoulders shaking freely. "I was planning on persuading you, anyway. I'll take good care of you."
She knew that he spoke the truth. But she was in no hurry; the BSAA had scheduled a memorial service for the fallen agents in two days' time. The least she could do was pay her respects to Abramowitz and to Cavanaugh...and to Hillary. In recent times she had begun to wonder why she allowed herself to make friends. She could not even console herself with the knowledge that Hillary's death had been quick and painless. She could not think of a more horrific death. Jones was a promising agent and a warm person - she did not deserve her fate. None of them did.
Waves of fatigue washed over her, aches and pains dulling a little beneath the promise of temporary relief. Though she had slept through the majority of her hospital stay, she continued to crave peaceful rest. Chris seemed to sense this and gently slid her down onto the mattress, disrupting the arm she had wound possessively around his waist. For some reason, she could not let go.
"Thank you," she whispered, knowing that her previous position would have only further aggravated her injuries. Her eye felt roughly the size and shape of a pear and bruising on her torso made sure that every light touch upon her skin hurt like holy hell, but somehow the arm that he placed around her soothed all that it touched. She knew that it was the heat the appendage exuded but found that it was nice to pretend that it was something more.
"I guess we're in it for the long haul, huh?" she mused.
His eyes held hers in a manner she found to be terribly haunting. Something lingered beyond, slipping slowly past his resolve. Whatever fear held him, she knew well, and she found herself hoping that he would simply let go.
"While we're being honest," he whispered, eyelids suddenly hiding all she had seen. "I know we promised each other that work would always come first, no matter what." His eyes opened again, this time confused and a little lost, brimming with unfamiliar emotion. "But damn it, Jill...I want to marry you one day. I don't care what you think of that. It's just...how I feel."
Something caught in her chest, twisting and tugging beyond the boundaries of all feeling. Her heart beat against its own rhythm, her lungs suddenly amnesic. She had never been invited as a date to a wedding, let alone be promised the starring role. And with Chris Redfield? Chris Redfield? Five years ago she would have laughed off the suggestion that they would ever date, let alone marry.
It should have been a monumental decision, one that she would mull over for weeks. She had never thought of herself as the marrying type, but it was something she had always seen in her future. But here it was, laid out in front of her...and all she could do was smile. No, it was not even a smile; it was a grin, one that stretched from ear to ear. She had never been so sure of anything in her life...she wanted this.
"Are you proposing?" she asked, teasing him slightly.
"No," he frowned, though his expression softened at the sight of her smile. "I'm proposing to propose."
She leaned forward, ignoring the protests of many screaming pain receptors to kiss him deeply. It was she who wiggled her body close to his, she who first introduced tongue to the kiss. He may not have proposed, but her heart had reacted in the same way. His hands were wary as they held her, but she could feel his control slowly slipping.
"That sounds good," she whispered before their lips had even parted.
His smile matched hers, eyes glistening with renewed hope.
"Wait a minute," he laughed. "You're fine with the idea of marriage but you won't move in with me?"
"Don't spoil a good moment," she warned him amicably.
Though they shared laughter, she did not feel it in her heart. Suddenly solemn and silent, she shuffled closer still to him.
"Sleep," he urged. "I'm not going anywhere."
Though sleep was her body's intention, the calm had an unwanted effect on her. It was so easy to be lost to one's own thoughts when little else existed. There was nothing to fear in his arms, she knew that, but she had stepped uncomfortably close to danger and could not seem to shake its lingering scent. It terrified her how close she had come to death, and to a fate she considered far worse.
"I'm not afraid to die," she whispered suddenly, feeling the need to express an unsettling realisation.
"Don't say that," he begged. It was not a dismissal of her statement; it was the ushering away of an idea that frightened him to the core.
"I'm not," she insisted. "I realised that when...well, when I was with him."
His eyes locked with hers when they opened, and she could tell simply by the way he held his breath that he was not happy.
"Jill, you fought so hard," he told her. "You rescued yourself; you're putting me out of a job! How can you say-"
"It's not like that!" How could she explain? She still did not fully understand it herself. "There was no skill in what I did...If you trap a frightened dog he will fight to the death for his life. That's all it was; pure adrenaline and human nature. But, Chris...I was bleeding out, and it was obvious that he was not going to let me go. I was weak, and I didn't think...I thought I was going to die in that room. But I wasn't afraid. I made my peace long ago. I'm not afraid to die, I just...don't want to."
Chris did not say a word, but she felt that he understood. Death was a simple fact of life for them, and fearing it only made the job more difficult. Though she approached each mission knowing that the chances of survival were often not as good as one would hope, she had never once shouldered her firearm hoping that the odds would tip against her this time. If death looked her in the eye, she wanted to go on her own terms and she sure as hell did not want to beg for her life. If it happened, it happened, but that did not mean that she welcomed it with open arms.
Jill doubted that she was as strong as the others believed her to be; she simply had a more realistic view of the world.
"I don't ever want to come so close to losing you again," Chris pleaded.
How could she promise him that he would not? In their line of work the worst could, and often did, happen.
'It didn't happen that night,' she reminded herself. Because no matter how bad things were, they could have been far worse. She had known that Nicholai was heartless, but had never conceived that he was capable of such things. The way he had gunned down Tessa in cold blood...
Chris held her close as she shivered, but the bubble of emotion that had formed in her throat continued to rise. Though it was her lover's body that held her, all she could feel were the hands that had torn her skin, delving into remaining wounds, touching her as only Chris did these days...
Bile rose in her throat, memories flooding her senses. Though she had tried to push them aside, she knew that her short spree in captivity would linger. She had almost died that night, had almost...
The tears fell silently at first, before the bubble burst and quiet whimpers turned to heaving sobs. The arms were her lover's again and he held her closer, soothing her gently as he allowed her to simply cry out her emotion. That was one of the many things she loved about Chris; he knew when she needed to be consoled, and when she just needed to be held. Most men believed that they were one and the same, that anything could be solved by a brief hug, accompanying pat on the back and the reassurance of "Cheer up, it will all be okay". Because Chris knew that this wasn't always the case; some things were never okay.
He was quiet still when her tears dried and her body relaxed, languished. And he still held her as her consciousness waned, her heart and mind content in his company.
August 27, 2003. 12:42pm. El Paso, Texas.
It was concern that brought him to her side, he told himself; friendly concern and nothing more. Claire had been taking recent events much harder than the others, weighed down by the sizeable report she had only just completed for her employers. Sleepless nights and all the caffeine a body can take had worn her down until she could barely face the sunlight anymore.
"It's me," Leon spoke after rapping on her hotel room door. There was no guarantee that she was even here. She had been so worried about Chris and Jill that most of her spare time was spent procuring exasperated assurances that they were just fine from her weary brother. Reports of his own had kept him busy, but he knew that he could spare time for her.
'And why would that be? You're an idiot, Kennedy.'
"Quelle surprise," was the greeting Claire offered, along with a sarcastic roll of the eyes. "Come in."
Her suitcase was open on the bed when he stepped inside, clothing spread over the sheets. For a moment, he considered bringing up the subject of her impending departure, but knew that it would only turn to his.
"I was going to visit Jill today, but I rang the hospital in advance and they said she was released this morning," she muttered, fishing for conversation. "I suppose that's good news, right?"
Leon nodded solemnly. So far she had been shielded from the aftermath of the mission, and there was truly no need to involve her in the BSAA's matters.
"Mike returned home," she continued. "Donny is still under observation but he's out of the woods. I...haven't heard about the others."
"They're fine," he assured her, reaching for an arm to still her frantic stuffing of crumpled clothing into her suitcase. "It's all over now and...well, I like to think that they have learned from their mistakes. They were understaffed, underfinanced and unprepared. With the budget they are being allocated, there won't be any room for screw-ups."
But he could tell that he had missed the mark by a mile. Did she still doubt her role with Terra Save? He could not help but feel completely and utterly lost. What more could he say to her? If Chris had failed to calm her spirit then he stood less than a snowball's chance.
"I've been...I've been thinking," she told him. Her eyes danced away from his, arm pulled free as she went about folding the previously-flung clothes. "About...joining the BSAA."
"Are you out of your fucking mind?"
Claire chuckled, paying great attention to the edges of a cotton shirt that she folded between her finges.
"That's what Chris said."
For once, Leon agreed with him. He was young when he had been caught up in the storm that was Umbrella, but he had chosen his path and accepted that sooner or later it would turn violent. Claire, on the other hand...she was only nineteen at the time, ripped from her peaceful student life and deposited smack bang in the middle of a nightmare not even he could have dreamt. She was feisty and there was no denying her strength, but she did not have the heart of a soldier like her brother. She would carry that night in Raccoon around with her for the rest of her life.
"I'm sick and tired of feeling so powerless," she choked, teardrops rolling down flushed cheeks. "It seems you can't make a difference in this world through peaceful protests and motivational speeches."
"Martin Luther King did," Leon pointed out. It was a ridiculous comparison to make, but he knew that he should not have needed to. "And I'm sure Ghandi would have something to say about that."
Claire laughed, which Leon assumed was part of his initial plan.
"I'm...I'm worried, Leon," she sniffled. "I'm worried about them."
It was then that he reached for her, pulling her into an embrace he was not entirely sure she was comfortable with. But she accepted it nonetheless.
"And what would you do if you joined the BSAA?" he asked. "You'd still be apart from them. Even if you found yourself in a combat situation with Chris, what would you do? Psychologically, you have the advantage on him, but when it comes to brute strength... Trust me; he almost lifted me clear off the ground with one hand."
Soft laughter was muffled by the fabric of his shirt, long seconds passing before she realised just what he had said.
"Wait...what?"
"Oh," Leon muttered awkwardly. "It's nothing, he...lines got crossed and he-"
"Oh God," she groaned, pressing her forehead to his chest so that her face was carefully hidden. "Jill, right? I swear, she brings out the best in him but the ass still shines through."
He could remember the argument clearly. Just what had given him the impression that there was something even remotely romantic going on between him and Jill? Perhaps it was true what they said... Jill always teased him about his flirtatious nature, letting him know that she didn't mind it but if Chris caught him flirting with either her or his sister then there would be hell to pay. But how could he alter what was apparently so deeply ingrained in his nature that he did not notice it himself?
More importantly, how did he distinguish this involuntary flirting from the real thing? Was this the reason why his relationships were always doomed from the start?
"I'm sorry," Claire sighed as she pulled back again. "But hey...no tears."
Leon smiled down at her, wiping the remains from her skin. Even with bloodshot eyes, she was still beautiful to him. Those crystal blue eyes, that porcelain skin. Every inch of her was exotic to him, and it took every ounce of strength to remain true to his promise and not act upon lust.
"I don't think I'm coping as well as the others," she sighed. "I'm not built for this. Do you know that after mom and dad died, it was Chris who took care of me? I mean, our aunt and uncle fed and clothed us, but he...he was there for me. They didn't understand, and neither did he but he tried. Never cried a tear of his own...well, not that he would admit. Sometimes I wish I could be more like him."
"If you could only see through my eyes, you would know how similar you are," he laughed. "Claire, life has taken its toll on us all; we just deal with it in different ways."
He could not tell her that he would not erase the night they met. Because despite all of the fear and the suffering, it had been just that - the night they had met. He would take Umbrella and a thousand companies like them if it meant spending an occasional moment with her.
'That isn't lust, Leon.'
Of course it was. She was beautiful, and he knew it. Everything else were merely attachments, occasionally catching on moments as they flew by.
But she felt so fragile in his arms, and though every thought attended to her, not one considered speculations of her ability between the sheets. Even as he considered this, he knew it was a cruel thought to have in such a moment.
'You're in lo-ove,' teased a sing-song voice in his head. But he wasn't. He couldn't be!
Her left hand moved, bracing herself against his shoulder as she straightened her body, his arms falling to her waist. Inquisitive eyes found his, lips parting briefly before sealing as considered speech was deemed inappropriate.
"I guess it...helps having someone to share..." he sighed, but the words became lost on his tongue. Her expression turned to one of curiosity, brow furrowing in a manner he scolded himself for finding insanely cute. But then it relaxed, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
'This is the part you're good at,' the voice snickered. 'Go on...you'll see.'
It happened so quickly that for a moment he did not believe that it had. Her lips were undoubtedly against his, but he had not moved an inch. He sensed her pull back in shock, but pulled her to him, brushing his lips over hers as though to coax them back. A gasp turned into a sigh and she sank into him, every inch of his skin burning where it made contact with hers. All thought melted from his mind, every sensation that was not elicited by her dulled to a level far below perception. And somewhere, deep within the pit of his stomach, painful knots unravelled, releasing waves of bliss that swept through him, urging him to never let her fall from his arms.
But beneath all that, it pushed its way to the surface, breaking through the walls surrounding his heart as a reptile from an egg. It breathed in this new atmosphere, decided that it liked the taste upon the air, and dug its claws into the newly exposed muscle of the organ that had failed him so far. He knew then that it would never relinquish its grip, that it was with him until the day he died, because he knew that it would not. He did not know its name but his psyche chuckled and whispered quietly in a told-you-so manner one single word.
'Love.'
AN - Please review :)