A/N: (Dying, weakly sipping some coffee) Now you come on, sad music? (kicks radio) Stupid radio, so unreliable when I need you! Being angsty is exhausting (at four in the morning), but fun. And therapeutic. :)

What is it about drama and angst that makes me so damn happy? Eh, well this, my friends is the chapter I've been dying to write, for reasons you will soon see, er, read.

Warning: Um…? Slash? Very light slash? Oh, and very sad Chris.

Disclaimer: Evil. They're all plain evil for making me say that I—No I won't say it! (wilts under Chris Redfield's glare) Goody twoshoes… Fine! I. Do. Not. Own. Resident. Evil. Happy?

Chapter Four:

Illusion

The stunned silence was broken by a heavy sigh.

"Wonderful." Wesker muttered. He crossed his arms and raised a pale eyebrow at the man on the floor.

"Even in hell, you manage to annoy me." The blonde man said and lifted a second eyebrow when he saw Redfield swallow loudly, as if the brunette had suddenly lost the capacity to breathe properly.

That voice. Oh god, that voice.

"Shu—shut up." Chris whispered, his voice shaking. "Just—shut up. You're not real."

An annoyed expression swam across the ghost's face and he stepped forward. The brunette scrambled away, tried to stand up but settled for crawling when he didn't have the strength to stand, because doing anything to get away from him was better than just standing there and letting him touch him.

Because then he'd know it was all a dream and he'd wake up, maybe in his apartment, or maybe in a cell just like this one after that one time in the hospital…

"I can assure you that I am real, Christopher. And alive." The lightly accented voice now contained amusement at his panic, typical of that conceited prick—

But he wasn't alive. He couldn't be. Chris had seen him plunge into the damn volcano, had seen those crimson eyes widen seconds before the RPGs slammed into him—

"No." Chris's voice sounded flat, dead. He was backed up against the wall in front of the illusion that was Albert Wesker, who at the tone of his voice stood still. But even if the blonde had continued to move, Chris would have refused to budge. Because if there was anything that Chris knew would never change, it was the fact that the man before him was dead.

It had all ended six months ago in Africa.

Nothing could change that. Chris had learned that the hard way.

"You're dead." Chris forced himself to meet the gaze of his former S.T.A.R.S captain, at the man he once trusted his life with once upon a lifetime ago. His hands were clenched up in trembling fists as Chris repeated in an anguished voice, "You're dead, Wesker. You died in Africa."

Broken. Chris had the eyes of a broken man. Pain screamed from those blue depths, begging for a reprieve from the personal hell that was his mind. After that first month following Africa, Chris had stopped dreaming about his former captain, saving the young man from torturing himself even more than he already did during his waking moments. He thought he was past this, past the fact that Wesker would only trouble him in memory, not in his sleep.

But the blonde man in front of him, watching him quietly, proved Chris wrong.

"Wake up." Chris felt his chest constricting painfully, threatening to burst from lack of air. His throat burned from the lump that refused to slide down his throat, the fire spreading to his chest and threatening to take his eyes hostage.

"Just wake up damnit!" Chris slammed his fist onto the floor, pain blooming on his knuckles as blood seeped from split skin.

The fact that he could feel pain should have been indicator enough that Chris was conscious, but the distraught man could only focus on feeling terror.

A panic attack? Wesker thought, watching the brunette struggle to wake himself up. Or perhaps signs of PTSD, if Chris was shying away from a reminder of Africa. It didn't occur to the blonde that his very presence was what had Chris in a frenzy to wake up, that it was because Chris couldn't deal with the part of Africa in which he killed Wesker that had the younger man so desperate to avoid any memory of the blonde.

"Christopher." Wesker was in front of the frightened man by now and knelt down so that they were at eye level, if Chris were looking at him. "Look at me."

Chris felt a cool hand grip his chin and lift his face to gaze into irritated grey eyes. The brunette flinched and tried to move away but a second hand pressed his shoulder into the wall behind him, successfully keeping him still.

So Chris shut his eyes, vainly hoping that if he couldn't see Wesker, then the unwanted hallucination would eventually disappear. It just had to. Hadn't he been through enough? Hadn't he lost enough?

Opening his eyes would reveal his deepest desires, because that's what dreams did, right? They presented what the subconscious longed for, thirsted for, and after everything the man had done, after everything that Chris had done to compensate for these feelings that shouldn't exist…nothing had changed.

And now that Wesker was gone, it never would.

"Do I need to pry your eyes open in order for you to do as ordered, Redfield?" a low voice snapped. "Because if so, I can guarantee that you will not find it enjoyable."

You sound just like him. Chris felt something inside of him break at that thought. Even if it was some freaky dream, Chris knew that when he woke up, the sense of loss would be just as crippling, overpowering his mind and body until he was nothing but a shell, having to start over from the tidal wave of memories that would slam into him. Because he would be reminded once again that no matter how much good he did and had accomplished all these years, in the end he would never be happy. Not without the man who had started it all.

Chris wasn't sure if he could deal with it again.

In fact, he knew he couldn't.

Wesker saw the brunette's lips moving frantically, mumbling the mantra, "wakeupwakeup". The theory that this was heading in the same direction as the time when Wesker betrayed S.T.A.R.S and first 'died' was becoming more plausible by the second. Not that Wesker had been there to see the trauma in its entirety, it was only until later that he had seen the complete toll of the events leading up to the mansion incident on Chris mentally and emotionally. Even he had to admit that it had not looked pretty. Were it not for his comrades and sister, Chris would not have recovered as much as he had to the point of being able to pursue the Tyrant when he reappeared, and even then, the blonde knew that the former marksman was still haunted by then.

And now that Chris cut himself off from family and friends almost immediately after Africa…

"Why can't I wake up?" Chris's voice cracked and when the brunette finally opened his eyes, the watery depths were glistening in agony.

Before Wesker could respond, the younger man grabbed his wrist, tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping Chris from falling apart. Cold shaking fingers dug into firm pale flesh, grounding him in the insanity that had to be a dream.

A dream and nothing more.

"God." The voice that whispered this was raw, every emotion clawing at the sides of his throat to rush out was loaded in that one word.

Wesker didn't look away and kept his eyes fixed on the younger man's, waiting…

"You think I don't wish—" Chris caught his breath and tears swept his face, now emphasizing the gaunt, ashy complexion that looked entirely wrong on the man usually suntanned and bursting with life. With blurry vision, Chris allowed himself to believe that Wesker really was right there in front of him, and once his vision fully cleared, then he could go back to the bitch that was reality.

"You think I don't wish you were alive?" His voice rose, retaining its brokenness, hiding the silent prayer underneath the anguish pouring out. "You think I don't regret what I did?"

And he did. Every single day, and it was the reminder of what could have been the alternative for the world that kept Chris hating himself for even wanting the blonde man to have survived.

"But I had to." Chris's voice fell back to a murmur. "I've already fucked up so much, Wesker…I've already stood by and let this shit start. The least I could do was end it." He shook his head and laughed weakly. "But it'll never end, will it? Someone new is going to take over from where you left off and it'll start all over again."

Chris knew it would never end. His fight to keep the world safe for his little sister would never meet a peaceful conclusion, and part of him felt relieved by that, because what was there for him if it all really ended? Nothing, that's what. Everyone had their goals and plans to build a family, including his sis, and Chris? He'd come back to an empty apartment, just like he did every night, regardless of whether he stuck with the security guard job or rejoined his team when it all started again.

It was only a matter of time until he died and really, death in battle was appropriate. Fighting, it was all he had left. Without the struggle, without an enemy to eliminate, Chris was nothing. He had nothing to live for and to him, the fact that he had only visited the hospital once for the reason he did was surprising. Then again, wasn't the reason he always dove headfirst into danger the same as his reason for coming to the hospital with self-inflicted injuries? It was all the same thing, except on missions, Chris had the cloak of fighting to protect and complete the mission as a disguise.

Christopher Redfield once believed that there was something else besides saving the world from Umbrella to live for. Christopher Redfield once thought that someday, somewhere along the line as he fought the man who had betrayed him, died and rose again, someday, he would get through to him and somehow find a way to have what they once had, before all of hell broke loose. Or at the very least, tell him what he had never dared to say before, for fear of confirming long buried feelings best left lying six feet under—

"You were right, Wesker." A bitter smile touched Chris's lips briefly. "I am pathetic. How the hell did I mange to kill you?"

"Luck, and the use of RPGs." Wesker answered, rolling his eyes behind his ever present sunglasses. "As well as close contact with an active volcano's interior."

"Right." Chris nodded and more tears washed across his vision, the hot liquid mirroring the burning pain in his chest at the familiar voice and its dry tone.

"Of course, all the luck in the world and advanced weaponry is no match for me, Christopher." Wesker told him with a smirk. As if sensing it, the brunette closed his eyes again and without warning (again), he leaned forward into the captured wrist that kept his face still to inhale the scent that was familiar everywhere, but no longer existed outside of dreams and memories.

Grey eyes widened a fraction at the movement and a flicker rippled in their cold exterior before smoothing out to their usual cool state.

"Yeah," Chris mumbled, almost nostalgically, nuzzling unconsciously into the palm that moved from gripping his chin to cupping the side of his face with gentle fingers. "I wish…" his throat tightened. "That it had been true…in real life."

A shaky sigh could be heard from the former marksman and Wesker slowly slid the hand keeping Chris pinned to the wall to the other side of his face and lifted it up, leaving only two and a half inches of space between their lips.

"Tell me Christopher," Wesker murmured, feeling the younger man tremble from their closeness. "What is it about my presence that disturbs you, besides the fact that I should be dead?"

Chris swallowed and shook his head.

Wesker moved his head closer, feeling almost completely certain that he knew exactly why, but for the first time in a long time, hesitant to test his theory. Upon Wesker's return from 'death' the first time, the blonde was aware that any personal feelings Chris may have held for him in the past were now overpowered by the desire to stop the Tyrant from conquering the world. The battles they had both fought were full with the intent to kill. They were brutal, and they were bloody, and more often than not, innocent people died, including Redfield's comrades. This was what was meant by hatred, this was what insured that Chris Redfield would never stop his fight against Albert Wesker… but it never meant that the former marksman of Alpha team had ceased to care about the former S.T.A.R.S captain at all.

"I never got to say goodbye."

Wesker froze and stared at Chris, who held back a sob at the last word.

"You just left and died. Again and again. But I never got to say goodbye." Chris's throat was choked up with emotion. He could barely speak, but fuck, he needed to get this out of his system, even if it was in his imagination.

"I never got to tell you that I-" Chris found his words cut off by the pressure of Wesker's lips on his own.

It was heaven.

It was hell.

It was real.

It couldn't be.

It just couldn't. Chris tried to pull away, to shove back the ghost of the man he had never stopped thinking about, never completely. But the hands that tried to shove back the owner of the white t-shirt came into contact with warm hard muscle. They ended up sliding past Wesker's well toned body (it felt so real) and up around his neck, locking themselves to bring Chris up close against the one person his heart, mind, and body could never forget. No matter how much he tried.

"Wesker." Chris breathed, his voice almost a gasp as the blonde bit down on his lower lip and took advantage of the parted lips to lightly run his tongue across the inside of Chris's mouth.

The brunette lost himself in the warmth of the man he hadn't seen for sixth months and hadn't touched in this way for years, loving the way that hands capable of twisting his neck now held his face close, softly stroking his skin as if to prove through touch that everything was real. Without thinking, Chris slid his legs around Wesker's waist and bit back a moan when the blonde lifted him up to secure the brunette's hold on him, hands trailing lightly across his ass then digging into denim for a too brief moment. Chris ground against the blonde, protesting the loss of the hands and heard the ghost of a chuckle as Wesker slammed the brunette against the wall and renewed his hold on Chris's face with gentle hands, contrasting against the violent kisses he delivered.

Part of Chris reminded him that it was a damn dream, that none of this was real and when he woke up, he'd be in for a hell of a surprise. And it was that part that finally led Chris to accept that it was a beautiful lie and he'd make use of it while it lasted.

Where was the harm?

But then what little remained of Chris's heart shattered and he finally shoved Wesker back and dropped back onto the ground to lean heavily against the wall. His heart raced at how unbelievingly real it all felt, the blood rushing in his body, the warmth and Wesker's intoxicating smell, the bruised feeling on his lips…

Grey eyes narrowed as Chris leaned forward and buried his face into the blonde's neck. He then felt the brunette's arms wrap around his waist tightly, as if fearing that the older man would vanish at any moment. Wesker could feel the tremors running through Chris's body and knew that despite the kiss (very well, kisses), the younger man refused to believe that this was real.

Chris breathed in Wesker's smell, refreshingly cool and clean, yet warm from the body heat he radiated. His nose touched smooth, unmarked flesh that moved as the blonde swallowed and Chris smiled sadly. He'd take this dream over reality, even if it was under strange circumstances like being kidnapped and brought to what had to be an experimental facility. But all of this had to be some twisted dream influenced by the Umbrella facilities he had visited during missions.

And then he felt the proof that told him it really was a dream, and tears fell, unchecked, soaking through cotton material into the skin underneath that belonged to his illusion.

Wesker lifted his arms and rested them on Chris's shaking back in a loose embrace. He lifted his eyes to the upper right corner of his cell, aware of the watchful eyes on him. The blonde man told himself that there was a reason for why he was comforting the man in front of him, that he would later find a motive for wanting to preserve his arch nemesis's sanity. Perhaps he could use Christopher as a diversion or as part of a plan to leave this place…

Wesker told himself that he would dwell on this later. Right now—

The arms tightened around Chris and pressed the brunette's body closer against the one he clung to.

"I don't care anymore." Chris sighed and tightened his hold on his beautiful lie. "Just let me stay here…just a little longer…before I have to say goodbye…"

Wesker rested his head on Chris's, silently offering his reply. He felt the shaking slowly cease, the wetness on his chest stop growing, and the laboured breathing even out into the deeper breaths of a sleeping person.

All the while, grey eyes maintained their indifference, save for the flickers of something as they gazed into the distance, sifting through memories of a time when things were simpler, even for him.

A/N: Ah. Hope Wesker and Chris weren't too OoC. If they were, I apologize, seeing as how Chris hasn't seen Wesker in over six months and to see him, just like that…I love sad Chris…

(Evil chuckle) Do not, and I repeat, do not, expect another scene like that too soon, people. There's only so much fluff Weskie is up to doing and Chris isn't the type to fall apart every time with Wesker. But do not fear, there will be more soon enough :)

:) Feedback and reviews are always appreciated, good people:) Thanks for the support everyone, you guys are the best! (waves piece of carrot cake) Until next update, bye bye! :)