Day 3
Last night Claire had a nightmare that was a direct descendant of her session yesterday. She thought that Cyrus' little game had been revealed. As the sounds of furniture being pushed next door floated through the walls she drank her hot tea from a mug, staring as though eventually her efforts would grant her x-ray vision.
"Claire, I'm out!" Tim's announcement brought his girlfriend back to the reality of the dining area and away from the faint noises of wood being dragged along a wooden floor. "God, they're still moving stuff?"
She smirked. Claire, don't mention him meeting Walter, I chided herself. As he came to stand next to her chair she could see out of the corner of her eye that his tie was hanging, unsecured. Claire stood up from her chair and grabbed the ends. "Here, let me help." Such a simple gesture had managed to trigger such a traumatic memory. Tim's stubble was the same, just lighter in color, and he had the same length of hair, but it was parted on the side and slicked back. His nose was thin, as was his with a little bump on his bridge. 5'10, he was too short. His eyes weren't as sunken, but they were as tired, as brown. The tie in her hands felt different now that she wasn't trying to claw it from her neck. Candy cane stripes even made it look innocent.
Yet the tie was all he needed. Claire's throat was closed, her screams cut off by someone other than herself. An attempt at a breath was in vain, made evident when hers grew shallower with each attempt to fuel her lungs. It all grew hazy, dark, and fuzzy as the little bit of light betrayed her by becoming nothing more but blots on an oil painting. When the tie loosened she wanted it back as an involuntary gasp of air brought pain along with sweet oxygen. The fire in her throat was almost as blinding as her asphyxiation. His wet, hot hand touched her cheek, matching her own in pallor and temperature so that he'd already become one with her. His thumb pressed down on Claire's bottom lip as she coughed and gasped, and then she felt it…
"Forget how to do it?"
Claire felt dizzy, losing her balance at first until she found a service, holding onto the cheap, round table made of a dark, stained, plastic, wood grain for support.
"Claire?!"
Quickly, she shot back "I'm fine!" She felt like it was all happening right there. It wasn't. Holding the edge of the table, she sat back down, feeling tears attempt to collect as her eyes burned. No, Claire, she thought miserably.
Tim grabbed her shoulders. "Are you okay?!"
Blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay Claire said, "I'm fine. I just had headrush." The lie came as easy as the others, however, the explanation was less believable. Tim just saved his inquiries for the courtroom.
With an incredulous laugh, he patted Claire on the back and so he would just stop she cleared inhaled deeply, and grabbed one of his arms. "Don't scare me like that again!" He cupped her face in his hands. "God, you're as dramatic as ever."
She managed a smile, but if Tim were as perceptive as he thought he would've seen that in her blue eyes there was more. "And I love you."
She was caught off guard. Automatically, she grabbed his face, his hands still on hers, and she pressed her mouth to his. There must have been a code somewhere that this was a requirement.
With more passion, more desire, and more love than she could manage to muster, Tim brought a hand to the back of her head, gently grabbing tresses of brown hair that had grown too long for her taste, deepening what started as barely more than a peck. He pulled back after a moment. "Try not to chew gum and walk today," he whispered.
Almost instantly, Claire slapped him across the chest. "Get out!" she playfully yelled.
"All right, all right!" He looked down thoughtfully at his forgotten tie. "I'll figure it out," he assured his partner, pulling it loose and from around his neck. "So what's the plan today?"
As she prepared to tell him, "nothing," she ran her fingers through her hair, the act itself lending an idea. "You'll see"
When Claire walked into the salon, she didn't know what she wanted to do. Should she have gotten a bob? Should she have gone blonde? Decisions, decisions. Too big of a decision would have brought more attention to the… incident. This attention was not the kind that was meant to be supportive either, but rather a criticism attached to her in regards to her value to the organization. Was she too broken to move seamlessly within? Would she creak? Would she snap? Would her wounds fester and leave behind an inimitable air that announced that it was from her own, personal brand of suffering? These are all questions that Claire asked herself.
A decision needed to be made, lest she walked inside and ran out like a coward. So she browsed for a moment, considering every option as anxiety crept over her, coating Claire's stomach so thickly that she felt twenty pounds heavier. That anxiety would not leave until she made a choice that would bring her one step closer to walking out of that salon with some transformation, no matter how small. Questions would be asked, comments made, and she would more than likely be made to feel guilty for wanting a change. She couldn't cut her hair as it was the most obvious change that screamed, "My past doesn't define me." To make it all look less conspicuous she also decided to have a "spa day." Now she looked new, but in a typical way that a woman would. Her hair was darker in color with a few traces of copper left behind to act as highlights and to further distinguish herself from the girl that went through what she had. Claire Redfield looked civilian for once.
As she waited for her Jeep to be released she popped into the nail salon next door, treating herself to a mani/pedi. For a moment Claire stared at her nails that were so uncharacteristic, giving her a look of femininity that she'd fought since acquiring consciousness. They were a deep, red with an unavoidable shine due to some convincing to get a gel coat. It wasn't a decision that she'd regretted though. Claire stared at her matching toes in the lime-green, foam flip-flops provided to wear out of the shop. She began wondering what kind of mindset she'd take on if she continued this. What if she became a woman that kept a standing appointment? The kind of woman that didn't feel right without an overlay and color? Had the Terrasave operative run out of that fuel? That drive to fight? Had this exhaustion led her to yearn for a lifestyle that she'd denied herself?
She thought back to how it felt when she looked back at herself when the proud stylist revealed the results of her labor. Claire looked like she was normal. She looked the way she was supposed to on leave. She could have still been a student, the fun friend, Tim's colleague… anything. These what-ifs occupied her mind the entire drive back to her apartment. So much so that she made it upstairs without remembering to collect her shoes from the floor of the passenger's side of the Jeep. Exhausted at the thought of having to run back down and up all over again, the young woman dropped her head in a highly exaggerated display of exasperation, trudging back to the elevator and to the parking lot. It could have waited, but the younger Redfield had a bad habit of allowing her Jeep to collect shoes until eventually Tim began to shovel them out himself. There was nothing else to do other than sign on for a chat with Dr. Cyrus and she was dreading that, and so this would give her a bit of time to calm her nerves.
She opened the door and immediately found the pair of gray, barely-worn Timbs, looking around to see no activity other than her own. Yet it felt like eyes were set on the woman for whatever reason. The quiet of the complex was so unnervingly deliberate that she had to remind herself not to revert to a previous mindset that kept her alive while on duty. As she shut the Jeep door and secured the boots under her left arm Claire allowed her eyes to wander to her window upstairs that was left drawn to allow the sun to naturally warm the apartment since it was too warm for heat and too cool for air-conditioning. The sun's reflection directed a glare from the glass back at a set of clear, blue eyes and as she turned to escape it she saw curtains falling in a window of the adjacent apartment. So someone was watching me, she thought.
Or maybe someone looked to see what was going on just outside. You did just loudly slam your door shut.
She still continued to stare though. Who was checking? Was it Walter? Was it the roommate with no identification provided? Then, Claire remembered that hand that was burned so that the white skin was in such stark and dramatic contrast. So fresh. The TerraSave operative had seen sixth-degree burns but knew that there was such a slim chance of coming back from that that there was no way that's what was witnessed. The severity was haunting nonetheless. Charred skin wasn't something that you forgot and it wasn't something that you just brushed off when witnessed.
Rather than head back to the apartment she locked the doors and headed to the office a few buildings down. The receptionist, a pretty blonde in her early thirties greeted her rather warmly. This employee was obviously new and in need of this position. The office always reminded Claire of high school with its too-high counter, the mounds of paperwork hidden by it, and now the new hire that looked like she belonged in a library with her square-framed glasses and dated, ruby lipstick. She wore a pink, floral top that was too flowy for her tastes and she had a mole over her top lip to the right of her cupid's bow. Claire could see her cleavage very clearly with the provision of her low-cut shirt and a pointless, black cami that did little to cover as was its intention.
"Can I help you?" Her question revealed a set of neglected, smoker's teeth that were not being done a service with a porcelain mug of coffee –also stained- sitting on a separate desk to the left against the wall. More than likely, this was job one for her day, and if she'd give up two packs she probably wouldn't have even needed to be here.
"Yes, I'm Claire Redfield. I came to see Joe." The property manager had a soft spot for her as she was his best tenet; she was never home.
"Give me just a second sweetheart," the receptionist continued, smiling, wrenching one out of Claire as well. She picked up the phone and hit four numbers, but then she frowned, setting it back on the receiver. With a nervous smile, she picked it back up and punched in four more numbers, this time giving a chuckle. "I am so sorry," the blonde said regretfully, going through the failed process once more. With a huff this time, the phone still in hand the chesty woman yelled, "Joe! You have a visitor!"
A thick, Jersey accent came from behind the door in back with, "Why are you yelling?"
"The phone's not working!"
"Well, who is it?"
"Sara Fields!"
"WHO?!"
The brunette woman almost gave the office worker her best face palm, embarrassed for the both of them and their complete lack of professionalism. "Claire Redfield!" she shouted before she could further butcher the very simple name.
"Well, send her back!"
With a nod to the secretary, Claire headed for the wooden door just beyond her desk with a sign that read, "Joseph Russo."
A mess lay beyond the door, discarded filing folders were strewn about a wooden desk that had lived through the construction of a previous complex that was probably far across town. Its sharp corners were padded with brown, Duck Tape, leading one to assume that an accident or two had occurred here in the past. An out-of-place MacBook set in the far, left corner, providing a blunt disparity between past and future. It also pointed to the ideals of efficiency held by the forty-something-year-old man that preferred to keep a mess for the sake of his own form of productivity.
"Claire!" Joseph threw his arms out in excitement upon seeing Claire. "Love the hair! How have you been?"
"Same as always." She looked around his desk again at the mess. A black blazer was draped over the back of a black, office chair with leather that was undoubtedly splitting on the seat. His white button-up was unfastened just until it reached wiry, sparse, chest hairs that barely peeked out. His brown hair was slicked back, displaying a hairline that was beginning to recede just above his temples, but long ago he'd accepted that he would begin balding at some point. "You've been busy." It was small talk that would act as a formality. She didn't come here with the sole intention of visiting. Though the company was appreciated she was preoccupied with the thoughts that Dr. Cyrus was perhaps toying with the psychological aspect of her leave, and though simply quitting would have been an option in a former life she merely wanted to prove everyone back at the organization wrong.
Raccoon City survivors are not broken.
"Ah, no!" He waved his hand around. "Julia is a mess," he leaned in and whispered. Joe was always a bit of a comedian but it was obvious that there was a bit more behind that statement than she was privy to. "So, how may I help you? I'm sure you didn't just come here for my company."
At that, she took a seat in the chair closest to the door and gave a smile of guilt. "It seems that I have new neighbors, Joe."
He raised a bushy brow to silently ask what of it. "It's what typically happens when there's an available apartment."
With a skeptical smirk, Claire crossed her legs.
"Look," he leaned in and lowered his voice as though he was prepared to divulge a secret, and his visitor was most certainly interested. "I know you didn't want another neighbor but you weren't exactly paying the rent on the space. These are nice apartments and this guy was willing to pay top notch for it. Plus, what comes next? The Ackermans and the Johnsons move out and then you want me to leave the whole floor vacant for you?"
Claire looked at the rubber tree in the corner, feeling slightly ashamed for ever bringing that proposal to him in the first place. "It was unfair."
"Hell, even Tim was coming over and referencing family members that needed a place to stay."
Claire's head snapped back in his direction at this information. Why was Tim seemingly running to someone first? Thus far he'd been one step ahead of her in every idea.
Tim's not a part of this.
She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing away from him even though a desk separated the two of them. She needed to remind herself that favors were basically investments, and she'd invested nothing into an apartment that was costing her "friend" money not to rent out. "Well, can you at least tell me who these guys are?"
With a sharp sigh and an incredulous expression he sat back and looked up to the ceiling. "You're the neighbor. Ask 'em."
"I'm asking you." She'd officially gone back to on-duty mode at this moment.
"Some bald guy named Walter Shilling came to me two weeks ago practically begging for that spot. 'Offered up three months of rent plus last month's. Said he wanted a short lease, only half a year, but he needed it right now really bad." His demeanor was disconcerting. Something about this deal was bothering Joe and it was more and more evident with each bit of information that he provided.
"He didn't give you any information?"
"About himself? No."
"But you're renting him an apartment. There are stipulations."Claire's brow drew inward suspiciously.
Joseph looked around and bit his lip, seeming at a loss. As his eyes darted around an idea struck Claire. He wasn't going to just hand over information, she had to ask for him to be able to paint the picture for her.
"There's another man. One in a wheelchair. Who is he?"
As soon as the question left her lips, he lifted a few filing folders and slid one out. He peeked inside before saying in a low voice, "Scott Connor, in his forties.
Claire mentally took all of this in. "What does he do?"
"He's retired."
"Retired from what?" she fired back in rapid succession.
"He was one of those doctors that ran around the world. Third-world shitholes." It was a very flimsy alibi if it were an alibi, but who was present to dispute any of this?
"Have you seen him?" Flashes of that ghostly, white hand, charred by God knows what kind of fire assaulted her. She wished she hadn't seen it herself, but she'd only wanted the confirmation from someone else that what she'd witnessed was a reality.
"No." Claire had almost become disappointed until he added, "But the Walter guy said that he'd been forced into retirement. Some accident." Once he saw that her own gears were turning he almost jumped up from his chair. "You don't think this has something to do with what happened?"
Claire raised her hands to signal for him to calm down. "Joe."
Slowly, he took his seat again, not appearing any calmer, but willing to hear the woman out. "I wasn't supposed to make it out of that city, Claire."
"None of us were."
"You think those cult psychos could have come to Aurora?" It was a thought to be considered but easily dismissed as well. The cultists were at the bottom of anyone's list of priorities and they'd been flocking to Russia as of late. White supremacists in Aurora? Sure. Fanatic cultists though?
Claire got to her feet. "Don't go changing your name just yet." She couldn't make any promises about getting the organization on it, but she could do her own digging. She just had to be discreet about it all.
When she heard a knock at her door Claire couldn't believe that she was excited about it. Usually, she dreaded company that wasn't her brother and some days she wasn't looking forward to that, but she'd still had an agenda and an old friend happened to be in the area. He claimed he just happened to be in the area that is. All she'd requested was a phone conversation, but Claire knew that it would be better for her to just accept the intel however he preferred to give it. She opened the door with progressively waning expectations over the years; Leon was not handling life in the way that she hoped he would have. He'd been failing to shave, get a haircut, or apparently get some sleep. Claire had come to the conclusion that he was attempting to work himself to death due to his lack of time off. She couldn't tell anyone the last time that he hopped on a plane to go somewhere that was not in need of his… skills.
Without a word of salutation, only a smirk of what appeared to be relief, he walked past Claire to stand just behind her as the door was closed. Once only one of her myriad of locks had been secured, she turned to face him and was immediately being smothered by the brown leather of his jacket. This was almost ritual, one that was missed dearly despite the following conversations being filled with the rehashing of repressed memories and conspiracy theories.
As Claire turned her head into the agent's chest, finding his heartbeat, she felt her arms raise around his waist. This was the closest thing that she had to home. His scent was back, untainted by the whiskey and bourbon that had been permeating his skin for the past year. He smelled like Leon again, and it was indescribable but in combination with his Eros cologne, she could confidently say that he smelled like a fresh start. He smelled untouched by the darkness that had tainted them both, and he felt so solid that Claire knew that she'd made the right decision in mentally declaring him an anchor in life. As long as Leon Scott Kennedy survived, then so would she.
"Your hair looks different." He pulled her back cupping her cheek in one hand and bringing the other up to rub the freshly, cut ends of her hair.
"I got it dyed," she proclaimed almost proudly.
He scoffed. "Nice." Leon released Claire completely to go take a seat on the tan, leather sectional in the living area. "So, what's up?" Upon taking a seat near the window he leaned on the arm of the chair with his right elbow, resting his left hand on his knee with both of his legs open in what adorable, awkward Leon considered "cool." All that was missing was a beer, but he was sober now and both he and Claire wanted him to stay that way for the rest of his visit. At the sound of furniture groaning as it was moved across a wooden floor shot from next door his head snapped to the side. "'The hell?"
Holding her hands out towards the wall as if presenting something Claire said with sarcastic enthusiasm, "Meet my new neighbors: Scott Connor and Walter Shilling!"
He raised a brow in interest.
Claire finally came over to take a seat next to him, a move that seemed to give him the approval to drape his arm around the back of the couch. "Leon, I need some information about the cults."
He rubbed his eyes, the sudden shift in conversation seeming to shock him. "That's what you called me about?"
"Look, it'd make me and another survivor feel better if you could just tell us that Aurora isn't seeing any of them."
He licked his lips, took in a deep breath, and probably thought of how much better he'd feel with alcohol in his system. "There's been an uptick in hate groups and domestic terrorism but I don't think that has anything to do with the cults. This has more to do with the political climate. The cult takes anyone."
"You don't think they could be recruiting them though?"
"Claire, you're talking about a bunch of losers that are already indoctrinated in cults."
Arguing any further would definitely make it seem like she wanted there to be something even if there wasn't, and so she decided to leave it alone for now. "I'm sorry. I just felt the need to ask for a friend."
At that, he settled into the couch more, a longing in his eyes that Claire should have placed so that she could avoid his probing into an area that he was restricted from. "What's really wrong?"
"Leon," Claire said almost warningly, not wanting this to go any further. Her own brother was being kept in the dark about her incident report, but she was sure that Leon had been snooping. Claire couldn't do this. She couldn't explain to either of them that she'd finally fallen prey to the horrors of this world. It was like a career-ending admission. Even worse, it was confirmation that a woman had no business throwing herself into the fray. Little Claire Redfield had found herself alone with a wolf in disguise, and she was utterly devoured. It didn't matter that he was thrown into a prison set deep into the earth. He was still here and people knew that because of what had happened he still had power over her. He'd overpowered and taken her, and he now owned her.
"Claire," he began, a look of heartbreak disturbing her composure. "There was an incident report."
"There are incident reports written up all the time!" Claire countered in an urgent whisper.
"A personal, incident report..." If Leon saw it then he should have just told her, but she knew that he didn't because of some stupid idea that that is what would be invasive. No, the probing. Outright lying was an option that she didn't want to take up, and telling him didn't feel like an option at all. She was Claire Redfield, she had survived the Raccoon City incident after valiantly riding in to save her brother, she had been imprisoned on two continents because she was just that loyal and brave. She survived the horrors of Rockfort, and the devastation in Antarctica, and came out of it to become one of the most productive members of an Anti-Bio Terrorism effort. One incident, one loss of a battle in an ongoing war did not define who she was or how she should be viewed.
Then why not tell him?
In reality, it was merely because she felt that she needed no sympathy, nurturing, or Purple Heart in this world that had come about thanks to Umbrella. No matter how glassy her eyes had become, no matter how her throat burned as she held back the tremble that wanted to control her voice, Claire would maintain a face of resolve. I won, she told herself. Every day that she fought she won. Leon would not take this from her. No one would.
"Claire," his own voice was raspy, his own eyes shining with tears. "I swear I'll kill him."
It all came shattering down as her lip twitched, nodding inexplicably and involuntarily as though she simply needed to move. Claire felt something cold and wet hanging from one of her bottom lashes, and she told herself that she still wasn't crying. When the tear finally met her cheek she felt her composure shatter.
Leon wasted no time in grabbing his friend, pulling her close to his chest as she began to sob silently as her voice became caught in her throat. This silence was unintended and Claire realized that once again her attacker had taken her voice. He began to rock gently, his hand on top of her head as he forced her to look away from him. Any doubt that he had managed to keep it together was gone when his body could be felt shaking, his shoulders moving up and down quickly.
Claire held Leon tighter than previously and shut her eyes so tightly that there was nothing but blackness and the feel of him. "He didn't win, Leon."
He let out a gasp that more than likely kept a wail at bay, and he pulled back to grab her face in his hands.
Opening her eyes, Claire could see that his own were becoming red as a torrent of tears soaked his cheeks. She placed her hands atop his, rubbing her thumbs over the back of his hands.
Forehead to forehead now, he began closing his eyes, causing two tears to fall to the leather beneath them. The pair stayed there for so long that Claire wondered what time it was, so long that their eyes had dried, but not so long that their faces could lie. His breathing had finally returned to normal and now he rubbed his cheek against hers, and it would have been lovingly had the stubble not scratched her slightly with his movement. Whatever the sentiment behind it, this tender affection was appreciated. Tim didn't know what she'd been through, so he didn't know any better in his actions that made her feel like nothing more than a means to an end. Tim only knew his partner as invincible.
Did Tim know me at all?
Before Claire could ponder that the sound of locks turning interrupted the moment, proving to be the only thing that could pull them away from this instance that was the closest thing to peace that she'd experienced in what felt like an eternity.
A/N: Please don't hate me for this slow build-up. Something about this story has honestly captured me. I intended for it to be short but as I think of its progression I feel it becoming longer than I first wanted. I keep seeing a part II but we'll see how this goes. Also, I've never been a Claire/Leon fan, however in some parts, it may lean that way because of the nature of their relationship and what Claire has been through. I've decided on a very different approach to this story. This chapter was going to be longer but if I didn't stop it was going to be too long. It would have ended on a "normal" note and I hate to say it but this just feels like it may keep you all intrigued. So yeah, expect more soft-core cliffhangers throughout this story. Anyway, drop a review and let me know what you thought!