Chris has begun to breathe on his own, but is all as it seems?
Waheeeeey it's only been three months since I touched this but here I am, new chapter, and as promised, before the end of the month! I totally didn't forget that February only has twenty-eight days, by the way. Nope. Totally not. What kind of twat forgets that, you know? o.0
Claire watched her brother in astonishment, and she subconsciously found herself synchronising her own breathing with his; it was slower than what was normal for him, but fuck, she didn't care. He was breathing on his own! She could see it for herself!
"So…hold on," Claire began, and she ran her hands up and down her face in her confused state, "the steroids weren't administered to help him. Only keep him alive for longer?"
The doctor nodded.
"I didn't mean to cause any upset at all, but you made a fleeting remark about getting more time with him. With all due respect for your brother, he should not have made an improvement. Certainly not so great that he began breathing on his own merely hours after the administration."
"Heh. When I said back at Harvardville that Chris was a fighter, I wasn't kidding." Leon quipped, but Claire ignored him.
"But what if this is just a chance thing? You know, like that final fight before death?" Claire snapped at the doctor.
"I can assure you, Ms Redfield, that this is absolutely not the case. This is a genuine improvement. I've seen what you speak of, this is definitely not that, be reassured."
Claire stared at Chris. She could see the marks that the tube had left against his skin and on his lips. That man needed some chapstick badly, she thought, and Claire smiled to herself, just enough that it wasn't obvious. She wondered if he'd like cherry or peach flavoured chapstick. Her smile faded and she looked at the doctor again.
"How long until he wakes up?"
"We're not sure, and honestly we wouldn't want to make any predictions given that we didn't expect this."
Silence fell onto the room as she once again looked back to her brother and his regained bodily function. The colour had returned somewhat to his skin, and his eyes weren't as sunken as they were previously.
He actually looked like the man she knew, loved and looked up to. The man she knew all of her life as Chris Redfield, her best friend, her confidante. Her older brother.
"Do you need to be in here or can I be alone with him?" Claire asked. The doctor passed his glance to Chris, then back to Claire again.
"No, being alone with him is fine. Do you plan to stay the night as usual? I can get a fresh blanket brought in for you." The doctor gestured to the crumpled and sweat soaked blanket that she had previously used. Claire nodded, and the doctor scooped the blanket up with one hand.
"I'll have a nurse bring a clean blanket for you." he said, and he left Leon and Claire with the breathing BSAA captain.
"Alone, or alone alone?" Leon asked. Claire turned to Chris and sighed.
"Alone alone, Leon. Please".
"No problem, Claire. Hey." Leon tipped his hand at her, and she turned her eyes to him. "There's two badass Redfields in this room."
Claire smiled faintly, and reached her hands out to him. He took them and pulled her in for an embrace.
"Thank you for your support, Leon. Really." she whispered softly. Leon patted her arms and pulled away. "I'm sorry things have been rough between us since…" Claire closed her eyes and thought back to the day he refused to hand over that data chip. She had snubbed him up until he came to see Chris in hospital.
"Look after yourself, and look after the big guy over there. Keep in touch, keep me updated." Leon nodded to Chris. Claire nodded back and squeezed his hands as he stepped away and out of the room. He passed one more glance at Claire before finally closing the door behind him.
Claire blew a single breath into the air and pushed her hair from her eyes. Stupid haircut, why did she even bother with it? She made a decision to regrow her hair back to how she had kept it all of her life. She turned and pushed the reclining chair closer to her brother's bed, and it made a soft clack when it touched the metal frame. Sitting down and accepting the fresh blanket from the nurse, she reclined, shut the bigger bright light off, and twisted her head to look at Chris in the soft, warm glow of the auxiliary light.
The imprint of the tube still showed on his cheek, even in this light, but she knew it wouldn't be there for much longer. She watched his mask steam up and clear with each breath he took. His own little breaths from his own strong lungs. She smiled and reached for his hand, pulling it closer to her. So much warmer, bro, so much better, she thought. He wasn't brain dead, and he had made a sudden improvement seemingly right as he was about to die. His body temperature was returning to normal, his breathing was improving by the minute.
He was fighting. He was taking a bold stand against the odds and fought with every ounce of his being to stay in this world. Claire brushed his knuckles with her thumb.
"Because you're Chris Redfield, bro". Claire remarked in a low, sweet voice, before drifting off into the first dreamless, peaceful sleep she had the pleasure of experiencing in months.
Claire pulled her clothes from the line in the yard and shielded her eyes from the evening sun. After the reassurance that Chris was slowly recovering she felt more confident to leave his side to tend to her own needs; she wasn't allowed to use hospital shower facilities or the laundry room. She chuckled to herself. Normally she'd take her time and enjoy a shower, or she would leave the clothes on the line for some time after they had dried, but she had recently become the master of the shower and laundry speedruns. She was so paranoid and worried that she'd miss the moment when he finally opened his eyes.
In fact, that emotional and almost seemingly impossible moment had happened the previous day, sometime after midday.
Chris had always said he had wanted to get around to reading a certain book series when he had the time, and Claire had remembered this. She had been reading the first book of the series aloud to him, occasionally glancing up at him from the small print on the page, and she saw the moment his eyes fluttered open. She had quietly placed the book down and held his hand as her eyes filled with happy tears. He didn't return the firm grip that her little hand gave his own, but he eyed her, watched her, listened to her. She could tell he was very heavily sedated, and perhaps he wasn't even fully awake, but just seeing his eyes again for the first time in nearly a year was the best thing she could've hoped for. She could've sworn she saw his mouth break into the tiniest of smiles, and she decided to read it as such. She told him how much she loved him, she told him how proud she was of him. His mouth twitched once more, and then the man slipped back into slumber.
She continued to read the book to him, but the 'what could've been' viciously rushed on her mind like a powerful tsunami crashing against the shoreline. It was possible that she wouldn't be here experiencing this book for the first time. It was possible that her personal hygiene sessions would've lasted more than five minutes out of fear of missing anything. It was possible that she could've been at home, alone in her bitter and abhorrent mourning, it was possible that she would've been laying flowers next to his name and crying for him and longing for his brotherly hugs and advice and encouragement for the rest of her lonely life.
He had defied everything. He had held up a fist and middle finger and uttered a "fuck you" in the face of Death. Now it was her turn to offer her sisterly hugs, advice and encouragement, oh God ESPECIALLY the encouragement. But her heart glowed with pride in her chest at his determination to live. She couldn't remember the last time that she felt this proud to have him as a big brother. She had kissed him on the forehead, watched his mouth smile, just a little one, and picked that book up to the page she was on.
Claire stirred from yet another peaceful but physically uncomfortable night's sleep, with the blanket tangled between her knees and her hair over her face. She kept her eyes closed, yawned lazily and stretched her limbs, and her joints popped noisily but painlessly. She regretted not asking for some variety of bed in here, it would've beaten this stupid plastic recliner any day (or night, more correctly).
"Bet that hurt." a voice croaked weakly, and she jumped with a start, sliding out of her seat and hitting the ground on her knees with a thud. She groaned and rubbed her knee caps harshly to mask the dull throb, and she looked up to see Chris replacing his oxygen mask, his full but light gaze totally fixed on her.
"C…Chris?" she gasped. He pulled his mask away again.
"I heard you've been sharing my room with me." he slowly mumbled. His voice, oh God HIS VOICE. It was beautiful music to her ears, a gorgeous melody; she had almost forgotten how he sounded. His crisp but warm voice, the voice who calmed her and reasoned with her and made her feel loved for all of her life. A bit raspy now, but she could still hear his brotherly tone that gave her the comfort she has pined for so desperately ever since he was hospitalised.
"Yeah…Sorry," she admitted, and she quickly brushed a tear away, "It's not been amazingly comfy, but I just couldn't leave you alone here. Not for long, anyway."
"But…why?" he asked, before replacing his mask again. Claire giggled and shook her head.
"Because I'm your little sister, you jerk." she continued to smile at Chris, but slowly, just slowly, her expression morphed into one to match the confusion on Chris' face. He frowned with turbulence, and he remained silent. His eyebrows twitched as he thought hard, and he licked his lips before removing his mask again.
"Sister?"
Claire inhaled sharply, silently, and she turned her gaze to the floor. This agonisingly dense revelation of the tone in which he said that one word crushed her at every possible angle, and her lungs gave the feeling that they would implode at any moment, like someone had reached into her chest cavity and vacuumed the tiny voids between her organs. It should have been a word that was comfortably familiar to him, a noun he was accustomed to. A biological female relative that he should love dearly.
"Yes…I'm your sister. I'm Claire." Claire thumbed her chest as if to emphasise her identity to him.
Chris continued to stare at her, confounded and confused. She could see it out of the corner of her eye, but she still couldn't look at him.
"You're my big brother, Chris. You're six years older than me." Claire shook her head in utter disbelief. Did he really not remember her? Did he remember himself?
"Why can't I feel my legs?" Chris asked. He massaged his thigh, and moved his hand further up his body, "Why can't I feel anything below my waist?"
A FEW DAYS EARLIER
"Miss Redfield."
"Doctor. You were able to run tests on my brother, then?"
"We were able to, and we got the results."
"And?"
"The good news is, he hasn't suffered spinal cord damage."
"The bad news?"
"The seizure he suffered has caused prolonged paralysis."
"What?!"
"It's unusual, in that it's not the normal kind of paralysis that can be caused by seizures. It's almost like his brain has forgotten that he exists below the waist."
"So he's paralysed from the waist down?!"
"I'm afraid so, Miss Redfield. And his MRI scan did in fact show signs of brain damage, against what we initially thought. We think this is what is causing his paralysis."
"What about physiotherapy? Can that help him?"
"It's not injury related, so it could be unlikely that he'll learn to walk again, if it is in fact the brain damage that's causing it."
"He'll…probably never walk again?"
"I'm afraid it's highly likely that your brother's bioterrorism fighting days are over."
"You're paralysed from the waist down, Chris," Claire uttered sadly, "you might never fight bioterrorism again."
"Bioterrorism?"
"Y-yes…bioterrorism. You're a squad captain in the BSAA." Claire inwardly cringed. If he didn't remember her, how the hell was he meant to remember the BSAA?
"Claire….your name is Cla- wait. It's your voice I kept hearing. You kept talking to me." He coughed roughly and replaced his mask, inhaling the steady trickle of oxygen. Claire went to touch his hand but, if he didn't remember her, she didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable by doing so. She retracted and instead held her own hands together.
"The best thing for you now is to rest." Claire stated, finally she looked at him, and she wasn't entirely sure she was holding back the pooling of tears in her eyes enough. Chris glanced her up and down subtly, but she knew, she fucking KNEW that it wasn't his brotherly gaze. This was one of his cold, aloof 'I don't know who the fuck you are' gazes.
"Am I supposed to know you?" For saying he just gave her 'that' lookdown that he stung unfamiliar folk with, his voice was far softer than his eyes were.
"Just rest, Chris. We'll cross that bridge when it comes to it."
"Is Chris my name?"
"Yes, but-"
"Keep talking to me." Chris uttered, but he coughed again and inhaled from the mask. Claire shook her head at him.
"You need to rest."
"Please. Claire. Talk to me."
"What is there to talk about if you don't remember anything?"
"Then tell me. Tell me who I am. Tell me who you are." Chris groaned as he tried to sit up, but Claire bobbed her hands at him, silently demanding he lay back down.
"Really, you need to rest. Please. We'll talk another day."
"Who am I?!" Chris half shouted, slapping his chest with his hand, and the fabric of the hospital gown rippled from the impact.
Claire bolted from the recliner and grasped his hand. Hard. It startled him and she felt his torso tense up under her knuckles as she pressed their hands into his sternum. She forced her blue gaze into his own.
"You are Chris Redfield," Claire explained, sternly and sharply, "And right now, you are going to do as I say, and rest. Your physical recovery is what is important right now. Your memories can wait."
"But I need to know!" her brother complained weakly.
Claire let go of his hand harshly and stormed out of the room. She couldn't. She couldn't deal with this. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through pursed lips and she tried to calm herself.
Piers had warned her that when he found Chris in that bar in Edonia he was suffering with post traumatic amnesia. So what was this? Was this just the continuation or something else? Was it really brain damage caused by the seizure? She pressed her hands against her neck and looked up to the ceiling, and she could feel her pulse fluttering against her palms.
Her heart was crumbling. She had so many memories, so many good memories that she shared with Chris, and now she alone was the only one who could recall them. No one to retell, or reminisce or share those memories with on a mutual level. She was alone in those happy memories, like an old photo with a person blurred out. She was alone in the sad memories, alone in her childhood grief after that day that their parents never came home. She harboured a new type of grief. A new loss. The loss of her brother, in a metaphorical sense.
But…
She bit her lip. She wasn't sure exactly how much he couldn't remember. Does he remember their parents? Does he even remember that their parents died a long time ago? She sniffed and rubbed her face. She shouldn't try pressuring him into remembering anything, and she knew that and she told him to worry about that another time.
She needed to help him recover, first and foremost. But walking out like that probably wasn't going to help the situation; he was likely as stressed as she was about it all. It couldn't be easy for him. How was one meant to react if a seemingly random person identified themself as a sibling, yet one was completely incapable of recognising said sibling? He only recognised the sound of her voice because she had talked to him throughout his entire stay in hospital. Besides that, she was as strange to him as every other visitor in that building.
She turned on her heels and walked back into that room, and was met with Chris' bemused expression. She placed herself back down into the recliner and mumbled an apology. Neither sibling spoke up for about twenty minutes, but finally it was Chris who struck up a new conversation.
"You look nothing like me."
Claire flicked her eyes at him, her sour demeanour unchanging.
"No, I don't. We don't look too alike."
"You're very pretty, Claire."
Claire blushed but flinched. It wasn't the first time he had called her pretty; it was one of his most used compliments to her, it had been in circulation since she was in her teens. The fact that he couldn't remember her only made her nervous. She considered telling him that it wasn't the first time he had said it, but he wouldn't know it. Best not to upset him.
"Thank you." She tried to smile at him, but she didn't want to offer him a pretence.
"Do you look more like our mother or father?"
"Like Mom. You look like Dad, but with more muscle."
"When will they visit? I don't know if I remember them, either."
Claire felt a sharp ache in her chest. Fuck. He didn't remember. Oh God it hurt her. It wasn't his fault but it hurt. She pulled her arms to her core. Would it be right of her to tell him the truth?
"When will they visit?"
Tell him?
"They…we don't have parents anymore. We haven't for a long time."
Chris went silent. Fuck it, he was going to have to know eventually.
"It was a car crash, Chris. They were killed in a car crash when we were a lot younger."
"Who looked after us?" Chris asked. Claire sat in silence as she drew out the memory of Chris breaking the devastating news to her all those years ago.
"You did. You raised me, you took care of us." whispered Claire finally. Chris looked down at his thumbs and pressed them together.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"I just don't remember any of that."
"I already told you, we'll work on your memories some other time. I didn't want to tell you that right now, but, ugh, even now it still cuts like a knife, their deaths, I mean. Please, just rest. I know you don't remember me, but just know that I am your sister, I love you and I care very much about you. I'm fucking scared of all of this."
"You said you're my sister. Did I love and care about you too?"
"...Yes."
"I'm sorry." Chris mumbled into his chest, and Claire groaned.
"Oh my God, Chris, stop apologising."
"Why are you scared? What are you scared of?" Chris looked at her with subtle puzzlement. Claire thought. What WAS she scared of?
"Being alone." Chris nodded at her response, and sucked in more oxygen from his mask.
"You don't want me to apologise, so I won't."
They both sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but was in fact only half an hour. Claire struggled to find the courage to look her brother in the eye, meanwhile he followed her around the room with his own eyes as she paced anxiously, occasionally taking big gulps from his oxygen mask. Claire knew this look too. He was trying to assess her, it wasn't a new practice of his.
"Claire. If it's any consolation, I do feel like I know you. I feel that somewhere in my head I know who you are. But I'm sorry, I just don't recognise you." Chris gestured his hand to her and flexed his fingers. Claire hesitantly walked over and placed her hand into his palm, and he closed his hand on her own.
"But I can acknowledge that you're my sister." he smiled through the mask at her.
"How?"
"The way you talk to me. The way you've spoken to me while I was in a coma. Your general behaviour and mannerisms. It all seems very sister-like. Certainly doesn't seem like a lovers thing anyway. Shame, really."
"Why is it a shame?" Claire raised an eyebrow at her brother, trying to discern what he was trying to get at.
"Because you're probably my type of woman." he laughed. Claire pulled a face of disgust before rolling his eyes at him.
"There's got to be something seriously wrong with people if they think we're a good match, Chris. Seriously, what kind of strange, collective group of people would even enjoy seeing that?"
"I'll refrain from trying to hit on you, then." Chris shrugged as best as his shoulders would allow.
"Yeah, please do." Claire sighed, sitting down on the recliner and scooping up her soda can, "Still a better love story than Twilight, though."
"We'd be a match made in heaven, really."
"Chris, please," Claire set the can back down before she even took a sip, and glared at him, "Just because you don't remember me doesn't mean I don't remember you. And I don't need you making remarks about trying to flirt with me. You're my brother. It's never gonna happen. Don't even joke about it, please. It's fucking awkward as hell for me."
Chris grinned to himself and stared at the ceiling. After a few seconds he rolled his head to the side and smirked at Claire.
"I totally would, by the way." Claire's eyes widened and she was met with a wink from Chris.
Claire's raging voice was heard from down the corridor as she scolded her brother for his immoral philandering.
So I thought I'd take a poke at myself towards the end of the chapter for writing Incestfield XD other Incestfield writers, don't get triggered! As we say in England; "It's just banter, innit?!"
I'll tell you something though, it felt a bit refreshing, writing Claire as the one to reject Chris' advances XD also felt kinda weird, but, hey ho.
I'm going to aim to write one chapter of this and one of Let Me Live every month from now on. I've spent far too long procrastinating; I literally could've completed LML by now and be on to other fanfics I have in mind but nooooooooo, I'm easily distracted.