Another two weeks had gone by since Claire was told to "prepare for the worst". Two weeks of no improvements, two weeks of painful, agonising waiting for a twitch, a murmur, ANYTHING from Chris. Two weeks of nothing. Nada. Zip. Not even his heart rate had changed. When the hell did Chris become so monotonous?

If it was any typical Summer, Claire could've been rubbing sun lotion into her milky skin, soaking up the rays in the yard with Queen blasting out of her speakers. If Chris wasn't away with his work with the BSAA then he would be on the next sun lounger over from her, his old aviator glasses from the air force resting on his nose, also working to tan that hot as hell body he had worked so hard to get since his ass whooping by Wesker in Antarctica.

They'd be sharing a cold beer under the midday sun, and they'd be sharing chicken wings and sticky ribs from the brick barbecue that Chris was so proud of building a couple of meters down from the house. Maybe they'd share a crisp, fresh salad, with little garlic croutons.

They'd wind the evening down in the hot tub with a glass of red wine each, though that normally derailed into the both of them sharing the physical bottle between them, passing it back and forth over the heated bubbles. Chris would always have to bring his legs right to the side of the tub or a foot either side of Claire's hips; she liked to claim the foot space for herself. They'd still be there long after the sun had set, skin pruney from the water, pointing out constellations, correcting each other on which ones were what, and helping each other to determine which planets graced the sky at that moment.

It was the advantage of living just beyond the city's edge outside of the light pollution, though since it was one street off the main road into the city, it failed to escape the bustle of commuters, and they frequently would hear and feel the rumbling of heavy goods trucks as it travelled by, or the occasional crunch of a minor car crash at the junction.

They'd talk and laugh and joke well into the early hours of the morning, Chris would smoke and Claire would secretly but unashamedly love how, in her eyes, him pinching a cigarette between his fingers made him look incredibly cool and badass. On the rarer occasions she would snatch the cigarette from him and indulge in the nicotine as well, but then she'd laugh at him and tell him he was a bad influence for not trying to stop her.

Claire wasn't particularly a smoker, she never had been, nor had she ever been a heavy drinker. In fact the only time she ever did smoke was usually on her rare nights out with friends. She hated to even try to guess how much she had drunk since she learned of Chris and his deteriorating condition, she despised that she smoked her seventh cigarette of the day as she squatted against a wall outside of the hospital's main entrance. And it was only 11am. Even Chris would be amazed. Or disappointed. She wasn't sure which, but she'd take either right now if it meant he could regain the capacity to scold her.

She watched a couple cross the parking lot, arms wrapped around each other's waists, the man carrying a car seat with a fresh new born baby bundled up in it. To her left, a quivering elderly man was being guided out to a waiting taxi by what Claire assumed was his elderly wife. The taxi driver assisted them both into their seats as he collapsed the man's walking frame and placed it into the trunk.

How was Chris going to go home? She didn't even consider the ifs. WHEN was he going to come home? Would he walk to her car and get into the passenger seat, or would he take it upon himself to drive? He never did enjoy Claire's driving. You drive like a goddamn old woman, sis, he'd laugh at her, and she in turn would threaten him with the prospect of walking to their destination. It almost always backfired on her though; "well, if I walk, at least I'd get there faster!" he would say. Claire huffed to herself. Unlike him, she drove sensibly.

She finished her smoke, stubbed it out against the ground and tossed it into a vat of water that was left out for cigarette ends. Blowing the smoke from her nose she stood up and stretched, shielding the hazy sun with her palm before she walked and turned the corner of the building. She wished so much that she didn't have to endure what was to come, but she couldn't just run away from it, she couldn't escape it. She was scared. She was scared in Raccoon City, yet overcame the ordeal. She was scared at Rockfort Island, and in Antarctica, and she got through that too. As time went on and the more incidents she got pulled into, she was less scared of the viruses and the terrorism. Maybe she was just so used to the bullshit by now.

But this? This was easily the scariest moment of her life right now. She entered the room where her brother lay, and took stock of her surroundings. How many times had she been in here, yet never noticed that little plastic plant on the windowsill? Or the swinging arm with a little tv screen attached to it for the patients who were far more copus than Chris? Or that one, just one little light that wasn't working in the corner ceiling tile. None of it mattered to her. Chris was the only thing in this room that she could pay attention to.

She sat in her usual seat by Chris' side and placed her hand on his arm, like she had done countless times in the last month or so. Was it a month? It felt like a year. She couldn't even properly remember anymore. The weeks, months and years just all kind of melded into one nowadays. Neither of them were getting any younger, that's for damn sure. That, and Chris was now 40 years old, she had hoped for a nice celebration for him, but he was AWOL in Edonia for it. He probably didn't even remember it was his birthday when it happened, if his amnesia was anything to go by.

She looked over at his face, at the stubble that had continued to pile around his chin. He had become well acquainted with a little bit of facial fuzz over the last few years, and she personally liked him looking less baby faced with it, but somehow Claire didn't think he'd approve of his beginner's beard. Was there a way to shave it down a little for him? Not like he cared at this stage. Or did he? No. He didn't. He hadn't responded to anything, so unless he was screaming internally at his personal attempt at becoming a middle aged Santa Claus impersonator, he wasn't going to give a shit about it.

Claire wanted to talk to him, but she had exhausted every spiel and speech that was humanly possible to his ears. She had nothing to say and quite frankly if he could hear her, he was probably fed up with the sound of her voice. She saw the two doctors slowly walk past the window, one of them glancing in, and then the door opened. The older of them entered, sat down and exchanged looks between her, before looking at Chris. Claire's lungs slowed painfully. She didn't like his expression.

"Your brother hasn't made any improvements, and at this stage I believe this really is simply drawing out his death. I'm sorry."

Her lungs slowed? Nope, they fucking stopped working altogether. So did her heart. Just straight up fucking seized in her chest cavity and turned into lead.

"So...you really can't do anything for him?"

The doctor shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, Ms Redfield. All I can advise is that those who want to see him do so. To say their goodbyes. Then as his next of kin it will be your decision to turn his life support off. I know this isn't the news you wanted to hear. We have exhausted everything on him. I'm afraid he's not coming back from this." The doctor spoke gently and calmly as opposed to the white hot fire of anguish and grief burning inside Claire.

Chris was going to die.

Chris was going to die and she was going to be left behind. Again. Just like their parents had left them behind. Why her? What was so precious and special about her? What had Chris done to deserve to die so young? She could think of plenty of people far more deserving of this exit than him! Where was the justice?!

She looked up at the doctor with wet eyes and nodded hesitantly.

"I'll begin making phone calls."

Claire stepped outside once again, lit up another cigarette and flicked her zippo closed. That gorgeous metallic clink as it snuffed out the flame. She used to be able to spend hours opening and closing her lighter. It was the one Chris gave to her way back when, back before they were thrust into this macabre way of life. Back when nothing involved zombies or viruses or corrupt governments trying to cover up outbreaks. Back when they were both oblivious to the despicable experiments ongoing at Umbrella Corp.

It had all started with them. Ultimately, Umbrella will be the cause of Chris' death. They were the reason Chris got tangled up in it all. The reason she got tangled up in it. That bastard Albert Wesker must be sneering from the molten grave right now; this was what he wanted, after all. He wanted Chris dead from the very start, back during the Arklay Mountains incident.

Claire shook her head and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. This wasn't the time to shed tears or think about Umbrella or Wesker. This wasn't the time to be angry with events from 1998. She pulled her phone from her pocket and started from the top of her contacts list. She dialled and pressed the phone to her ear, inhaling her cigarette deeply.

" Hello Claire."

"Hey, Barry…" she responded, but her voice caught.

"Claire? Is everything ok? Is Chris ok?" came Barry Burton's concerned but gruff voice.

She drew a courageous breath through her smoke.

"Chris is...he's on his way out. I'm sorry. If you want to see him, now's the time. His life sup…" she choked again, "he'll be leaving us tomorrow afternoon."

"Claire I'm so fucking sorry. I can't believe it...Listen, I need to see him, of course. I've got nothing on right now. I'll get over there as soon as I can."

"Ok, Barry. Thank you. I've got more calls to make, so I'll see you when you get here."

"No problem, Claire, I'll bring Kathy and the girls, if you're fine with that. I'll leave it up to them if they want to see him."

"Absolutely, Barry, it's fine."

"Ok, Claire, I'll see you when we get there. Stay strong. See ya."

"Bye, Barry."

Claire hung up, lit yet another cigarette and scrolled the contacts for the next person who would want to see him.

This was it. Chris' day.

Claire didn't want to believe for a second that she'd be the only one between them that would see the end of the day, but this is where things were at now. For the first time in her life she'd be going to bed tonight as a generic person. Just a woman. She'd no longer be a sister. It fucking terrified her. She hadn't slept at all last night, her tears flowed too hard and the thought of being alone for the rest of her life haunted her. The combination of lack of sleep and constant crying made her head feel like it was clamped tight in a vice, and no amount of painkillers was shifting that headache.

She had always hoped that when she and Chris had grown old and grey that she would be the first to go, and that Chris would be the one to put her to rest. She never wanted this. She never wanted it to be the other way around. He was the strong one, she wasn't.

She didn't know if she should've worn something nice or just turned up as her normal self. It wasn't like he was going to see her, so she was with him in her usual attire of jacket, vest and jeans. Sure, it was too warm for the jacket, but she didn't care anymore. He'd probably slip the mortal coil very rapidly if he knew she was in a summer dress like she had initially planned. He'd always joke that he'd never live to see the day that his baby sister wore a dress, and so she stuck by his joke as if it was a final wish from him.

The doctors had now allowed her to hold his hand rather than simply touch his arm, and she gripped him dearly. She had been allowed to give him a shave, but she left some of his stubble, just as he would like it. She had tidied his hair how he would normally style it. He looked like Chris Redfield. And he was going to pass away as he looked in his life, not as a frail man defeated by the one thing he swore to take out. She watched his chest rise and fall to the hiss of the machine, his heart monitor slow and steady. She raised his limp hand to her lips and kiss his knuckles tenderly.

"I wish I could've done more, Chris. I'm sorry," Claire whispered, brushing his fingers past her lips, "I know I told you a lot of things, but I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me. I always was too damn shy to tell you. I wish you could wake up so I could tell you finally."

She rubbed snot from her nose with a tissue and sniffed hard.

"Thank you for being my brother. I truly did have the best big brother in the world, and I'm so fucking grateful. Thank you for everything you ever did for me. I'm sorry I could never repay it all. I wish I could have a few more days with you. I did think about asking them but I think they just want you to die at peace. And why should I make you suffer for longer just to be selfish? That wouldn't be right of me."

Claire whimpered and clenched her eyes shut as the door opened. She knew it was time.

"I'm sorry I'm so late, pretty lady." Claire gasped and shot her eyes open. The door was quietly closed, and standing there was the blonde haired government agent she had escaped Raccoon City with, back when he was a rookie cop. He was in a black leather jacket with white rings around the arms, and black jeans. Chris had very briefly worked alongside him in China. She held some past grudges against the man, but not today. She stood up and threw herself at him, erupting into tears, convulsing with each breath.

"I'm scared, Leon. I'm scared!" she wailed into his shoulder as he held her warmly, and she could hear her tears tapping lightly at his jacket. He thumbed the leather on her back awkwardly, and Claire felt his head turn to look at Chris.

"Hey big guy. Look what you're doing to your sister."

Claire looked at Leon's face, but he didn't look down at her. He glared at Chris some more, then continued.

"Agent Kennedy, here. Come on, Redfield, wake up. The world needs you. Claire needs you. You just gonna leave her hanging like this?" He waved a hand up in the air, a look of discontent on his face.

"Leon?" Claire started.

"I bet everyone has told you about how sad they are. You're better than this, Chris. Fucking fight it. Don't you dare leave your sister. Don't break her like this."

Claire gripped Leon's jacket tightly, his words calmed her and pained her at the same time. Everyone else had been full of sorrow; Barry, Kathy, the girls Moira and Polly. Rebecca had cried, Jill had tried not to cry. Even Clive O'Brien had come to say goodbye. Several BSAA agents had visited. All of them had said goodbye.

"You're gonna wake the fuck up, Chris, and you're gonna apologise to Claire and to everyone for scaring them so badly. Come on, Captain Redfield. You've got so many more goddamn missions to complete. Start by completing this mission by shoving your middle finger up in the face of Death."

Claire pressed her head back into Leon's shoulder, and silently cried as he carried on chiding Chris softly. He only stopped his verbal tirade when the doctor stepped into the room.

Heeeey, so of course IRL stuff, the teeny little dregs of my post covid illness and just generally being awesome at procrastinating has completely destroyed NaNoWriMo for me, I'm 4130 words behind as of this chapter release XD Never mind, always next year.

I hope you liked this chapter. I'm kinda struggling to write it actually. I KNOW what I want to write but it's just getting it typed up I'm having issues with.

F in the chat for Chris amirite ;)