Twenty-eight days later
Have you ever done something horrible —evil even— believing you were doing the right thing? Oh, don't bother answering...
Thank you for listening, by the way. I'm honestly surprised you're still here after what I just told you. I guess it's hard to find out that I'm capable of such evil. Trust me, I still can't explain what got into me that night. It was hard for me, too; to know that side of myself, and a part of me hoped Chris would take action.
I dreamt of him every night, of his reaction, of his rejection, of his hatred.
One night he would take a rope and hang me; another night he'd stone me to death; but most times he'd just shoot me, always one shot and always to the heart, while our parents and Jill Valentine were watching, all three of them with that smirk of satisfaction and peace on their faces. I don't blame them. It would have been a just punishment; one I would have accepted gladly.
But Chris didn't hurt me. Instead, he decided to castigate me with the worst of punishments: his silence.
For twenty-eight days and twenty-eight nights.
"No!"
Her head felt dizzy from how fast she had sat upright, just being pulled from the deepest of nightmares by her own cry of agony. One hand rose automatically to her throat, where the sensation of Chris' strong grip still lingered on her sweaty skin. It was rare that he tried to strangle her with his bare hands, usually choosing something far less personal to end her life, but no matter if he shot or choked her, her reaction was always the same. She let him do it, wordlessly, because death was easier to bear with than the guilt she was carrying.
Claire dropped back into the moist sheets, turning to her side. After combing her sweaty hair from her face, she reached for the phone on the nightstand to check if there was any message from Chris among the notifications, but she was once more greeted by the disappointing emptiness of the screen.
Fine, it wasn't really empty. Since she had become the head of operations, her phone was constantly ringing, buzzing and beeping, heavy with news and notifications from her department, from Neil, from overseas. She was grateful for the distraction, as work helped her keep her mind away from Chris, but she could be happy if one out of thirty texts she received every day were actually for her and not for the position she occupied. Sherry had texted her, all excited and mad and proud because her friend had been promoted a month prior and hadn't told her about it. Claire blinked warmly at the text on the screen, reading the sadness between the blonde's lines, and she felt even more miserable than before. When had she become so cruel? A woman who didn't care about others' feelings, wishes and desires? She hadn't just deceived and abused her own brother; she had also abandoned the little girl whom she'd sworn to protect, a girl who had no family anymore, and whose only contact to the outside was the selfish, wicked bitch who had once saved her from Raccoon City.
Claire swallowed. She missed Sherry. She missed Leon. She definitely missed Chris. But above all this, she missed herself, the woman she used to be, and all the things she had been fighting for in a long-forgotten past. Maybe it was time to connect with that version of herself again, Claire thought as she scrolled through the messages and quickly typed an apology for her friend into the device. She would visit Sherry, tell her about her new job and spend some time with the girl. The fact that it would make the blonde happy was only half of the reason why, though, because she selfishly believed that a talk with the girl would help her forget the sinful load in her own existence for a while and make Claire feel better about herself. After telling Sherry she'd come see her the upcoming weekend no matter what, she put the phone away and turned around, ready to face her restless sleep again, and hoping that, this time, the girl would hold her hand while Chris murdered her.
It was the first time in a month that Lindsay didn't greet her with a nervous sigh the moment she entered the office. Every department in Terra Save was still suffering from the corporate catastrophe their previous director had caused, and they all had been working extremely hard to restore the NGO's reputation, restructuring their world-wide organization and increasing communication with the masses. Neil had been doing an extraordinary job, making regular public appearances and underlining Terra Save's new policy of transparency and honesty every time he had the chance to, perfectly supported by the PR department. The horrible doings of Timothy Marshall had nearly killed all of the meaningful achievements the teams had been working for throughout the years, but the remarkable unity and partnership between all employees once the truth had come out had soon shown results and Terra Save had been applauded and congratulated by all other counter-bioterror organizations for the magnificent handling of the disaster. Together, they had proven that a crisis, when managed correctly, could turn into an immense chance for the implicated parties to show skill, capability,, knowledge and heart, and what could have been the end of Terra Save had made them grow stronger and show that the good would always win over the evil.
It had left Claire wondering if the crisis between Chris and her could turn into another chance too. That thought, though, was always discarded quickly.
She had lost Chris forever.
"Morning Claire!"
Now, the situation seemed to have relaxed a bit, and Lindsay Adams welcomed her with a bright smile, improper for a Monday morning. Claire pushed her sunglasses back on to hide the dark rings the over three weeks of sleepless nights had put under her eyes.
"Morning, Lindsay!" She replied with a smile so wide she feared it could look unnatural. "How was your weekend?"
The two women walked across the entry hall and towards Claire's office, where the redhead pulled out her set of keys and granted herself and her friend access.
"Not so bad," Lindsay cheered as she quickly pushed the door shut behind them. "My new mattress arrived on Saturday and Dean and I decided to test its… resistance."
Claire couldn't hold back an amused chuckle, an automatic reaction to her friend's open nature and her indiscretion about anything that as much as hinted at sex. She was sure the blonde would enjoy hearing about her fucked up and killed incestuous relationship with her brother.
Lindsay had the habit of sitting on tables and counters rather than on chairs, and Claire watched her friend take a seat on her wooden desk while she herself sank into the chair behind it. The blonde raked her fingers through her mane and smirked widely, ready to share her test results with the redhead.
"Does that mean that it passed the test?" Claire laughed.
A suggestive jump of two eyebrows was the only reaction she was given and it made her chuckle again.
"Claire!"
The rather intimate conversation was too soon interrupted and the two women turned instantly to the only being on the planet who always entered Claire's office without previously asking for permission— mostly because he still considered it his. As timely as a plane crash and just as delicate, Neil Fisher stormed into the room after loudly slamming his knuckles into the office door to announce his arrival.
"Neil!" Claire greeted the man in blue. "Good morning!"
Lindsay hopped off the desk and into a pose that looked almost like a curtsy before dashing out of the room, but not before winking at the redhead and giving her signs meaning she'd continue her story later as soon as she was out of Neil's sight. The man had his gaze tightly set on the redhead at the desk, waiting patiently for the door to fall shut.
"Is everything okay?" Claire asked, drawing an irritated smile with her mouth. The man nodded.
"I need you in Washington this weekend!"
Her eyebrows jumped up at the disclosure and the fact that, for once, Neil's timing was actually perfect. Hadn't she wanted to fly to DC anyway?
"Can you read my mind?" she exclaimed mindlessly, without further questioning the reasons behind the perfection.
The man nodded and dropped into the chair in front of her desk with a chuckle.
"Of course you already knew about the conference," he said and Claire felt her heart drop into her bowels.
The conference.
The annual Counter-Bioterror Conference held by the B.S.A.A.
"No," she cried, so lowly she even doubted it had been her. Neil grimaced astonishedly.
"I assume you were going this year, too." He shrugged a shoulder. "Now Terra Save will pay for your stay. I need the heads of all departments with me this weekend."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The Counter-Bioterror Conference was basically an invention of B.S.A.A. Director Johnson to celebrate himself and praise his own efforts as gallons of champagne were given out, but even though the event was exaggeratedly expensive, it was still a good chance to exchange insights and experiences. Nothing official, of course. The different organizations didn't trust each other enough to actually hand over real names, projects and data, but everyone went home drawing their own fruitful conclusions. Claire had attended the past two editions with Chris.
"I didn't think you we're going to attend the festival of waste this year." Not even she herself found the laugh she forced believable. "Anything urgent to discuss?"
Neil blew out an exasperated breath.
"I just need to make myself visible at such events before anyone says that the new head of Terra Save doesn't care. Also, it's a good networking event. One chat with a tipsy B.S.A.A. commander last year gave me the chance to foresee the budget increase for 2008." He laughed. "It's worth a try."
Claire nodded, unhappy about Neil's choice to send her to the multitudinary event, where every important rank in counter-bioterror would be present. The certainty that she would run into known faces was unignorable.
Chris would be there.
As co-founder of the B.S.A.A., Chris was supposed to attend every single Counter-Bioterror event that was held in this hemisphere, so he couldn't just skip the one his own group organized.
They would meet again.
"Do I really have to come?" she asked fearfully before thinking, with one hand rising to her temple to hint at a bothering headache. "I have a lot of stuff to take care of and…"
Neil responded with a surprised glance.
"Don't leave me hanging, Claire," he growled, artlessly ignoring her silent gesture of complaint.
Her lip twitched into a vexed smirk. There was no way she could get out of the situation, apparently, and lying or making up an aunt she could suddenly kill seemed exaggerated.
It wasn't a big deal. The event buildings they usually chose for the conference were as big as football fields and if they kept the rules clear, she and Chris didn't even have to meet.
She would just have to warn him.
"Alright," she whispered at Neil's petition, her eyes already hastily jumping to her handbag, where her phone was waiting for her to grab it. "When are we leaving?"
"Friday morning, coming back Saturday," he said, now visibly more content. "Can you book flights and rooms? It'll be you, me, Jefferson, Kirk, Rodriguez and Foley."
Claire nodded, happy that they were leaving in the morning. If they departed early enough she would have time to pay Sherry a visit before the conference, she considered, although most of her thoughts were only with Chris.
When Neil had left her office again, she left the first task of the day undone and dashed to her handbag, grabbing her phone to dial the number she had seen herself forced to avoid in a month. What would he say? How would their first conversation after that night be? Would he be mad? Yell at her? There was, sadly, only one way to find it out; facing her fear of confrontation, which was also her most intimate desire. Her heart hammered so loudly that she could barely hear the beeping sound of the keys when she hit speed dial, and when she pressed the phone to her ear, she felt so dizzy she believed she'd faint. But before she could give Chris the chance to react, or to ignore her, Claire ended the call, completely not ready to hear his rejection.
She would text him like the coward she was.
The hall was ostentatiously decorated for a bioterrorism convention like theirs — not that she had expected any less from B.S.A.A. Director Johnson with his strange and insatiable craving for attention. The backlit frames on the walls were showing the most significant press photos of terror attacks and outbreaks of the previous twelve months, as though the event itself hadn't been grotesque enough.
"I really wonder what's wrong with that guy," Neil complained and grabbed a bottle of sparkling water from the side table. "This gets worse every year."
Claire nodded absentmindedly, considering which kind of non-alcoholic beverage she would choose to spend the night with.
"You can be glad that there's no picture of the basement," she whispered and smirked maliciously at her boss, who rolled his eyes slowly before lifting the bottle. The basement was the euphemism everyone at Terra Save used to refer to Timothy Marshall's arrest and the subsequent organizational changes the NGO had gone under. Now, everything was going well for their teams, and the rise to higher floors was more than just a nice dream. Under Neil's leadership, the different departments had been able to set realistic goals and work proactively towards a bright future. As for Operations, Claire had already chosen some locations for their first survivor camp and, if everything went well, she would be flying to Colombia the following month to check one of said locations and discuss their intervention with the government.
"And here we have the Terra Save folks!"
She had just filled a glass with orange juice when a loud, beary voice called out for their team. Turning quickly, she found B.S.A.A. Director Johnson himself approaching Neil and stretching his hand out in a welcoming gesture.
"Mister Johnson!" Neil greeted, pulling out his free hand from his pocket as he accepted to shake the offered hand. "An impressive event, as usual."
The older man chuckled, lowering his head in an almost humble way. He was dressed in a striped suit, the white shirt below buttoned up to the top, where a small, silver bowtie bedecked the collar. His short, black hair was combed back into a festive style with tons of hair gel.
"Thank you. It's good to see you here," he mentioned and smiled proudly. "This way I can congratulate you and your team on the recent promotions."
Claire couldn't hold back a laugh.
"The trigger of it all isn't a reason to congratulate," she howled, swinging her glass around as the director turned to her. "But we appreciate the recognition."
The man looked displeased, while Neil smirked with playful malice, as though Claire was the aggressive dog he'd just sent after an intruder. Johnson cleared his throat and nodded.
"Of course, I understand," he said apologetically and took a step towards the redhead, reaching for her free hand to shake it, showing her the needed respect. She let him, thanking him for the gesture with an awkward smile. "Miss Redfield, it's always a pleasure."
"Let me thank you for the invitation," she commented, turning her gaze to Neil. "In the name of the whole team, if Mister Fisher allows."
"I am actually surprised to see you," Johnson said, tilting his head. "Your brother mentioned you wouldn't be able to attend."
Those words sent a shiver through her whole body, so intense that she nearly dropped her drink and she believed she was running out of air. Chris had told him she wouldn't come?
"He must have misunderstood," she murmured through shaking lips. "I couldn't let the chance to come as a representative of the Terra Save Operations team pass."
Neil glanced at her, eyes narrowed into suspecting slits. He seemed to sense her unease, quickly drawing Johnson's attention back to his own territory when he turned around to introduce the rest of the attending Terra Save crew.
"Mister Johnson," he exclaimed, spreading his arm towards Audrey and Gina. "You surely remember Miss Jefferson from the PR department. And the other lady is Gina Foley. She is our new head of Human Resources."
Claire was happy that the B.S.A.A. Director saw himself quickly engaged in a vivid conversation with the PR Manager and her natural talent to argue about anything related to event management. While Audrey was busy sandwiching him in both praises and criticism for the look and feel of the convention, Neil approached the redhead.
"You okay? You look pale."
She nodded eagerly, quickly shrugging the subject off.
"I'm okay," she claimed futilely. "Just tired from the travel."
A smirk from the Terra Save leader revealed his understanding. With a hand on her shoulder he tilted his head to a row of chairs.
"Why don't you sit down a bit?" he suggested, his thumb flicking encouragingly over the skin her shirt left exposed on her shoulder. "They'll certainly start with the boring presentations soon anyway."
He winked, giving her shoulder a soft push, at which the redhead laughed.
"Thanks," she said, voice filled with gratitude. "But I think I'll just go and refresh myself."
Neil nodded and let her walk away, and Claire slowly made her way through the animated crowd, catching pieces of boast of the most varied nature here and there. This event was indeed a parade of exultation between the different Counter-Bioterror organizations, and it surprised her that she hadn't recognized it as such in the past.
Admittedly, in the past she had been with Chris, and Chris was all that had mattered to her.
The restrooms were located on the second floor, which was nothing more than a large interior balcony from where one could easily overlook the main hall. Claire ran her hand over the wooden railing when she climbed up the stairs. Her head was spinning and though the temperature seemed to rise with every step she took, she was shaking heavily, caught off guard by the fact that Chris had denied her attendance. But why? He hadn't answered her text and she hadn't expected him to, but there was no reason for him to believe she wouldn't be there. Hadn't he received her message in the first place? Regret crawled up her body as she thought that maybe, just maybe, she should have actually tried to call him, so there would be no room for doubt.
When she reached the upper floor, Claire turned around to let her look fly over the crowd below. All those Officers and Captains and Secretaries building small groups of five to ten people to share their stories about how the misery of others had made them climb up the ladder of success. What a pitiful gathering. She recognized many well-known faces among the people, of several B.S.A.A. officers, politicians and advisors she had met in the past, but no sign of Chris. She turned away, her high heels tapping loudly over the tiled floor when she accelerated her pace and moved towards the restrooms, when she caught sight of another group of men standing on the very same floor. A couple of younger B.S.A.A. soldiers, the Captain of the North-American Alpha team, a young woman in brown hair, thick glasses and a red dress, and Chris.
Chris.
She gasped, stopping abruptly when she found her brother standing next to the other four people who were discussing something with all their might. He looked so good in the white shirt with the undone upper buttons. No tie around his collar. The hair was shorter than the last time, but it still kept the youthful appearance of a man who cared more about effectiveness and comfort than about any impressions he could cause. Claire found herself staring dumbfoundedly at the picture of him, drowning in her own yearning. If only she could approach him and tell him everything she needed to get off her chest. Chris' eyes were jumping from one face of the group to the next depending on who had the word, but he himself wasn't taking part in the conversation. Claire realized that his lips were constantly glued to the bottle of water in his right hand and that he actually looked like he would rather be elsewhere — anywhere.
She didn't know for how long she had been standing there alone, watching him from her current spot, when Chris suddenly turned his face up and saw her. He saw her. He saw her and he didn't react. He just stood there and watched and she stood there and longed for him, needed him, wanted him. Claire shook her head, realizing a tear was rolling down her cheek, sent out by a flush of emotion she wasn't prepared for. When she looked up from her fingers after wiping it away, she found Chris sitting his bottle onto a side table, mouthing something like I'll be right back to the group and walking across the area towards her.
She was going to faint. She knew. Right there, she'd collapse on the upper floor of the convention hall and wake up hours later. That was, if she wasn't going to die from a heart attack before, because the loud hammering in her ears was definitely not the music coming from the speakers. Chris was coming closer, his pace lying somewhere between rampant and fearful, and the meeting she had wished for was imminent now. Claire felt her knees weaken as she tried to organize her chaotic thoughts, choosing what would be the best way to greet him after four weeks of silence.
She would definitely pass out before making that choice.
"Chris," she greeted shyly when she had him in her reach, but her brother didn't respond. Before she could fathom what was happening, he grabbed her elbow and turned her around, walking her across the room towards a door with a sign that indicated they weren't allowed to enter. She yelped, feeling punished and offended by the brusque touch on her arm, but followed him without a complaint. He was hurting her, and she considered asking him for more delicacy, even knowing that she didn't deserve any.
Chris pushed her into the dark supply room, standing guard to check if anyone had seen them enter before eventually shutting the door. Claire stumbled backwards against a metal shelf when he turned the lights on. Her chest rose and descended under her agitated breathing, and hadn't she held on to the metal structure, she would have lost balance. Chris turned to face her, his damning look pouring all over her.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he grunted, finally releasing all the fury from its ties. Claire was close to tears.
"I'm working," she yelped, carefully rubbing her elbow to soothe the remaining pain of her brother's grip on it. "I'm here with Terra Save."
Something like a shy understanding flooded his face, telling her he hadn't considered the possibility that she would need to be there because it was her job to be there. Chris turned his head away, eyes filled with anger and frustration. He had always known what to do, had been trained to be prepared for everything, either to follow rules or to break them. Even the death of a partner like Jill Valentine had its set procedures and he had just willfully ignored them all. But now? Now he didn't know what steps to follow, how to handle the situation because it hadn't been in the books, and if there were no set rules, there were also no rules for him to break.
"I told you I would be coming. Didn't you get my message?" she asked, hopelessly wishing to make eye contact again. Chris kept quiet, his gaze avoiding hers, and his lack of response seemed to draw the curtain to reveal a painful truth. "Did you… Did you change your number?"
Chris took a step back, his look still left abandoned on the ground. He fidgeted, in shame and inconsistency, and Claire knew just how far he had gone to avoid her. Fighting back the tears, she watched him, realizing that up close he didn't look as good as she'd believed before. He looked worn out, tired, eyes bloodshot and face covered in several shades of dark. One look at him was enough to know he hadn't slept much more than herself in the past weeks, and it broke her to see what her selfish act of love had done to him. The disappointment grew heavy and lethal inside of her.
She had ruined them both.
"Chris," she cried out. "I'm so sorry."
Her hands began to wipe away the flowing tears with care, trying not to let them ruin her makeup. What impression would a Head of Operations with mascara marks on her cheeks cause? She didn't want to owe anyone an explanation that night — anyone but Chris, perhaps.
"I don't know what I was thinking that night. I never meant to hurt you. I…" She swallowed. "If I could go back in time and make it all undone…"
Triggered by her words and whimper, Chris spun around.
"But you can't make it undone Claire!" he howled into her face, so brutally that it scared her and she even stopped crying because of the shock. "You can't. And stop acting like I didn't have a fucking choice!"
Twenty-eight days and nights. Twenty-eight days and nights that felt like one thousand. Twenty-eight days and twenty-eight nights had gone by so endlessly slow that it had felt like they could heal all pain in the world, but it had nothing but lit up the fire of hatred and guilt in Chris, and after all of her sins and mistakes, her big brother —so good-hearted and resolute— kept blaming it all on himself.
Which didn't mean that he didn't punish her for it.
"All we can do is to make sure no one will ever find out about this," he hissed and began to stomp through the room, anxiously raking his fingers through his hair as though he wanted to rip it out.
Claire was still leaned against the shelf, fingers curling around the metal rods for support. Her brother was so angry and confused. She shook her head, clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.
"Nobody will know, Chris," she mumbled quietly. "Nobody will even think this is possible."
Because every hint of forbidden feelings could have found an explanation in the close siblingship shaped by tragic occurrences. It might even explain why brother and sister locked themselves away in a supply closet at a party.
"Neither did I."
His voice, loaded with despise, startled her enough to make the tears flow again. She bit her lip, holding back the sobs that threatened to escape.
And just like that, the door opened.
"Hey you," a young man stumbled into the room, dressed like a penguin and wearing a shiny name sign that identified him as Kevin. "You can't be in here."
Claire couldn't stand the pressure any longer. Feeling the rush of blood energizing her limbs, she pushed herself away from the shelf and dashed to the door, leaving Chris and Kevin standing in the tiny room.
Out. She needed to get out of there. Far away from Chris and his judgement, away from all the people who used the world's suffering to celebrate parties and get drunk, away from the memories of B.O.W.s and attacks and Wesker.
Away from it all.
Her need for fresh air pushed her so quickly down the stairs and through the attendees that she had barely time to wipe off the traitorous tears before diving into the crowd, just wanting to free herself from any obligations and boundaries for the rest of the night. She sprinted so fast that she didn't even see the face of the man she nearly ran over before he got the chance to grab her arm.
"Hey, Claire!"
Shit.
When she turned, though, half of her worries dissipated. She was staring into the face of a friend, the two comprehensive eyes that brightened up even the darkest of days.
"Leon!?"
Leon was there. Against all predictions, Leon had come, breaking his own rules not to attend the ridiculous horror show of bioterror. She glared at him in disbelief and her lips instantly drew a smile.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, still wondering if he wasn't a product of her damaged imagination.
The blonde laughed darkly.
"I was... " a roll of eyes underlined his disapproval. "Kindly suggested to attend. Had no reason to stay away this year. I kinda live around the corner."
He had never wanted to come, talking himself out of the liability every single time. It was truly a wink of fate that Leon was there now that she felt like everybody on the planet had turned against her.
"I see," she replied with a thankful sigh.
"What about you?" the agent asked curiously. "I talked to Chris earlier and…"
She grunted, interrupting his story.
"And he told you I wasn't coming. I know." Her look drifted across the hall and back up to the upper floor, where her brother was leaned onto the bannister, watching in judgement as though he needed to make sure she was leaving his territory. She gasped. "He doesn't listen…"
Leon didn't respond. He kept quiet until she turned back to him, finding that he, too, was staring at Chris on the floor above. His golden locks shook with the tilt of his head.
"What has he done this time?"
He squeezed her arm gently, in a way that could only mean I am here, and she appreciated it immensely, even though he wasn't entirely right in his assumption.
"It's not…" she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm the one who has done things."
His eyebrows rose, the perplexity lying visibly on his features.
"What can you have possibly done, Claire?" He laughed and laid his arm around her shoulders, turning her away from the crowd. "I think you just need food and a drink. Come, I know a place where we'll get the best pizza you've ever tasted."
Claire chuckled at his attempt to use her as an excuse to leave the boring party, but kept standing still when the agent tried to pull her after him to the exit. His head bopped back when he felt the resistance.
"We can't just leave," Claire mentioned when he turned his impatient glance back at her. "The presentations are going to start soon and Neil is probably already looking for me."
Her friend turned back to her with a mighty shrug of his shoulders before he pointed at a nearby column and the people gathered around it.
"Nobody's gonna miss us, Claire. Your boss is busy making himself noticed, and about the presentations, Hunnigan can get them all. I'll tell her to send you a copy."
Leon and his resources, the hacker-talent of his field support agent among them, always left her astonished. Smacking audibly, she rolled her eyes at his comments, but a glance at Neil and how engaged he was in a conversation with four other people made her reconsider.
"Also," Leon added, "I just said pizza and you didn't make your food face. Are you really Claire?"
She gasped in feigned offence. The fact that she had something like a food face was new to her.
"New York-Style?" She asked with a pout of feigned disinterest as Leon stepped back with slack moves, inviting her to follow him.
"Yup!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Jumbo slices."
With a chuckle and another roll of her eyes, she allowed Leon and the idea of pizza to convince her. Once the agent had looped his arm back around her, he pushed her through the open door to the outside.
With her last glance into the hall, she saw Chris still standing on the upper floor, watching her as she ran away.
"I'm actually surprised how you've been able to walk around on these heels all night long."
It was Leon's only remarkable comment to her complaint about her hurting feet. At least he had walked her back to the hotel and up to her floor like a gentleman, making sure that she wouldn't fall and break her bones on her way from the elevator to her room. Claire laughed at the seriously impressed tone in his voice.
"It's the only damn shoes that combine with this fucking business style," she ouched as she leaned against the wall to remove her shoes, even though she was barely fifteen feet away from the door to her room. "I'm glad I don't have to wear a suit every day at my job."
Leon had pushed his hands into his pockets and was watching her intensely, she noticed when she had finally freed her feet from the heels.
"If it helps, you look very good in it. And you should also wear your hair down more often."
He was such a charmer. Claire laughed and kept walking towards the door, pulling out the keycard to unlock it.
The night had done a hundred and eighty degree turn once Leon had showed up and they'd left the party. As usual, he had rather easily taken control over the situation, with the help of street food and a drink at a bar, with talks about Sherry and their jobs, and with a nightly visit to a playground, where they'd swung all the tension off their bodies. No insinuations. No awkward comments. It was that simple. Leon was her best friend, and no matter how many benefits they had agreed upon, their friendship would always come first.
That was why Claire knew that Leon wouldn't make the first step that night.
"So, Miss Redfield," he said, spreading his arms and taking a bow when they reached her door. "I think I have successfully brought you to safety."
She laughed.
"Mission accomplished. Although I'm not a damsel in distress."
"Of course not, but everybody needs a little help sometimes."
They smiled at each other, heads lowered and with Leon's hands stuck back in his pockets. He was waiting for her to either end the night or to ask him in.
She had missed him. His presence always reaffirmed that Leon was bound to be part of her life forever and that she wouldn't change anything about their friendship. He deserved so much better than this, but Claire was grateful for every second she had him close.
That didn't mean, though, that she would agree to sleep with him that night. She wasn't ready to touch someone yet.
"Thank you, Leon," she said, giving him the brightest possible smirk. "You saved my night."
He nodded, making his strands of gold jump a little.
"You saved mine, too." Fingers raked through his hair. "Those events should be prohibited."
His words ripped another laugh from her lips as she sank against the door, and the man gestured to the elevator.
"I'll get going," he said. "Good night, Claire."
He lowered his head and kissed her, softly, on the corner of her mouth, before stepping away.
Claire watched him walk down the hallway and into the elevator, standing still until the doors closed. Leon should have been the very last person she'd see that night.
But the nights are long in D.C.
The hot shower had revitalized her whole body, so much that even her feet had stopped hurting, and with the sweet smell of floral shampoo hanging in the air, she stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around her body. The day had been long and a bit too eventful for her taste and, having been up for close to eighteen hours, she decided to drop into the bed and let the TV lull her to sleep. Claire was about to grab the remote and search the channels for something banal to watch, when a knock on the door startled her.
She paused and listened, wondering if she had started imagining things. Her stare set on the door, she waited for the silence to confirm her theory that she was going crazy.
She wasn't.
Another heavy knock followed, hard and persistent. Claire swallowed, quietly turning to her travel bag next to the bed, where her 9mm handgun was tucked between the clean clothes for the flight back home. The hotel was secured. The B.S.A.A. had made sure that no intruder would get unseen into the place where they were having their Annual Conference, instructing all personnel to keep eyes and ears open, and reinforcing the security with their very own men.
Maybe it was Neil, who would want to know why she had left the event before it had started.
Maybe it was Leon, who'd request an explanation for not asking him in.
Or maybe it was Gina, who needed an aspirin, or a tampon or...
The person on the other side knocked again and Claire resolutely grabbed her gun before slowly walking to the door. Why the fuck didn't these doors have peepholes to see who the was bothering in the middle of the night? Gun raised, she placed her hand onto the handle and turned.
It went all so fast. The gun dropped to the ground the second the door was pushed into her face and she tumbled backwards. Before she could understand that she was being assaulted, a strong hand was already curled around her throat and the familiar stare of bloodshot eyes impacted on her.
"Chr… Chris!" she tried to gasp as they suddenly stood in the middle of the cozy room, but her voice was cushioned by his other hand on her lips. How had he found her? What had he come for? The smell of whiskey and smokes hit her when her brother breathed into her face and it made her dizzy.
Chris was quick to kick the door shut, isolating them from the unwelcome stare of night owls and sleep wanderers and leaving them alone with each other, their thoughts and their trembling bodies. Yes, she was shaking like jelly, but so was he. It was the one thing that told her that he had come to end her life, just like her dreams had shown so often. So, after all, he would choose to strangle her. It surprised her, fairly, as it was one of the slowest methods he'd ever adopt in her dreams. The truth was, though, it was also the cleanest.
A tear escaped and ran down her right cheek and onto Chris' left hand, which was still covering her mouth. He made a warning grunt and removed his palm from her face, knowing that she wouldn't scream for help. He knew her too well to believe she would struggle and fight. No, he was aware that she would freely accept all of his punishment and, just like in her dreams, she would let him kill her, without offering resistance or complaints.
Her lower lip shook in fear and despair, her nostrils widened under the pressure of sorrow and a sob slipped off her mouth, but Chris kept his hand on her throat, so close to breaking her. His hair was messy, his eyelids slightly swollen from drunkenness, and there was a stain of something light yellow on the inside of his rolled up right sleeve. She blinked, twice, pushing another tear to descend and held his gaze bravely, challenging him to see the life vanish from her irises when he strangled her.
Chris grunted again, he chuckled, and he lowered his head, shaking it slowly in denial. When he turned his gaze back to her, something had changed in him. Claire sucked in a breath as his grip on her throat loosened and his hand went down. With the pace of a snail, he slid his palm over her clavicle and along her sternum, guiding it threateningly towards her cleavage, and Claire understood that, perhaps, he hadn't come to kill her. That didn't stop her from shaking, though. Not with Chris' eyes on her face, checking her every reaction.
Stop me, they said, challenging her to complain.
So she did.
"Chris," she whimpered, letting her head swing from one side to the other. "You don't want this."
Because he didn't. The alcohol and the hurt were in control over his actions, not pleasure or longing like in her case. Nevertheless, her brother didn't seem to want to stop. Instead, he laughed.
"Since when do you care what I want?"
Fuck.
His hand came to a stop right above the knot of the towel, the glare in his eyes sharpening as he slurred, "This what you were doing with Kennedy tonight?"
There was no time to respond before Chris hooked his finger into the knot and loosened it enough to make the towel drop to Claire's feet. She blinked, releasing an inaudible gasp as it left her standing naked in front of him, with her eyes locked on his and her nipples pointing at his chest. Another blink later, her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lips. She was still shaking, but not in fear anymore. Chris grinned again.
"Yeah," he grunted. "I'm sure he got you naked just as fast."
She couldn't identify the undertone in his voice. It was a reaction she hadn't yet witnessed in him, but she couldn't wait to find out what it meant. She didn't reply to his offensive words, though. He would have to tear the answers from her lips in a different way.
Chris made a move forward, causing her to stagger backwards to avoid crashing into him, and she plummeted to the edge of the bed instead. One elbow dropped to the mattress for support when Chris kicked her legs open, leaving her completely exposed to him. And he watched her, studying her from the perfect angle his six foot height provided.
She could have complained. She should have complained. Unlike her, Chris was too good and righteous to do something against her will and Claire knew he would have stopped at the first word of her, but far beyond the fact that she deserved to be disciplined like this, she found it too thrilling, exciting and arousing to let go. Chris descended, lowering his weight to his knees as he dropped onto the mattress between her thighs and his left arm looped around her leg, hooking it over his elbow and pushing it up as he leaned forward. Careful, though, not to let himself rub against her.
"Tell me, Claire," he said, gruffly, as his free hand rose to her jaw. "Tell me where he touched you."
She inhaled deeply, the air refreshing her aching lungs, sore from shivering and gasping. She couldn't stop wondering if she was dreaming or hallucinating, but she was too interested and curious to let the stimulating experience pass by without making use of it. Her hand reached for his and pulled it to her face, willing to let the game begin slowly, to find out how eager he could really get.
His thumb pressed through her parted lips and dove into her mouth, robbing her voice and all her responses. She sucked it, drowning it in her saliva, and Chris laughed darkly.
"You sucked him, didn't you?"
His thumb popped out, wet and sticky, and he ran the tip of it over her chin, skimming the silk of her skin with its pad and made her mewl.
"Yes," she heard herself lie when his hand descended to the swell of her breast, carefully circling his open palm over her nipple.
It was only half of a touch, but it made her cry out in lust. What had she drunk to see, hear and feel him so vividly on top of her? Eyes falling shut, she sent a moan into the night.
"So eager," he grunted with interest.
His hand closed around her breast and kneaded it as his mouth sank to the other side, teasing her with an itch of breath blown over her nipple. He seemed to enjoy playing with her, but so did she. Her free leg managed to push her hips up and her spot, already dripping with arousal, pressed against his abdomen, leaving yet another gross, humid stain on his white, white shirt as it brushed it. He howled out in cheer when he saw the mess she'd made.
"Oh! Claire!" Cold, malicious laughter filled the air. It was hard to judge his intentions behind that tone. "Look how wet you are."
She swallowed, watching motionlessly when his hand glided down her belly and right between her thighs, patting her mound on its way before lunging to her spot. Two fingers skimmed her folds and another grin blossomed on his face, his eyes shimmering with enthusiasm.
"You smell like he fingered you," he snickered. "Did he?"
Barely waiting for her to nod her head, he slid the two fingers into her, up to the knuckles, joined by the sound of intimate slopping. She wasn't just wet. She was drenched, submerging him completely in her pleasure. Her head dropped back defenselessly and her eyes closed in response to the first thrusts, her body quivering and curling on the silken sheets when Chris' thumb grazed her clit.
His name left her lips in a sound full of need and he pushed his fingers faster inside her. He was good at it. He knew where to touch her, scissoring his fingers against her sticky walls to impulse the sensation of fullness, and when she got so unbelievably wet that she barely felt the friction anymore, he just dug a third digit to join the others in their work on her. Strong. Fast. Unforgiving. At Chris' complete mercy, the pleasant tickle didn't take long to turn into an intense climax that spread into her limbs with a sharp rush and made her toes curl. Claire buckled, she quivered and cried out, her release splattering into his waiting palm.
Depthless gasps rushed over her lips when she relaxed, fingers raking through her wet mane as she stared at the ceiling. Had it really happened? Was it real? Those and other doubts made her understand how Chris had been questioning reality after their first time. She swallowed. He was still holding her in place, his tight grip on her right thigh, meaning that, far from being done with her, he was just giving her time to gather her thoughts, and Claire shuddered at the soft tickle that skimmed the perineum when his fingers abandoned her depth.
He climbed onto her, pressing her knees into her chest.
"You liked that, didn't you?" His gruff voice teased. "What else did he do to you, Claire?"
She didn't respond, still too shaken and sensitive and too curious about just how far he would dare push her, lying still when the brush of his fingertips went further down.
Down.
She sucked in a breath.
"Did he fuck you in the ass tonight as well?"
Why, wasn't he predictable? The smirk the orgasm had plastered onto her face was growing wider under the certainty that her little confession about Leon's preferences one month prior hadn't let him go, and a victorious laugh slipped off her lips. Chris didn't like it. It was obvious that her reaction caused a hidden frustration to surface and he let her know it through another snort.
"Answer."
She closed her eyes and breathed, slowly shifting under him. This wasn't just his way to disapprove and deauthorize Leon Kennedy to her, and she knew that telling the truth about the present night would inevitably lead him to stop.
And she most definitely didn't want him to stop.
"Yes," she lied again and granted him that win.
Chris smirked, almost playfully, and looked at her in challenging want as he spat into his palm. She held his gaze, as brave as a warrior, but her body tensed the moment he rubbed his wet hand between her buttcheeks and palpated her with one finger. It was trembling when he began to feel her up. The mix of her own fluid and his saliva aided the first finger into her with slippery agility. Claire pressed her eyes shut at the sensation, and she was grateful for the patience he showed until her muscle relaxed around him, waiting prudently until she was ready for the next stretch.
When the third finger pushed into her, her eyes opened again to meet the hungry gaze of her brother above her, and she knew he hadn't stopped watching, soaking up her response to the intrusion with professional curiosity. They shared that moment of intimacy, giving each other one last chance to run, and the world stopped. Neither of them ran. Neither made a move of hesitation. The glance didn't break either when Chris removed his fingers, unzipped himself, and let her feel how prepared he was for her.
She breathed in deeply when the tip of him pressed into her. All preparation seemed insufficient, and though Chris went slower and more prudently than his attitude had suggested at first, the sharp pain of penetration still stung uncomfortably. Goosebumps spread all over her body as Claire tried to focus on her breathing, on the pleasure that lay underneath the cover of ache and on begging her body to relax, but she couldn't help digging her nails into the skin on his toned shoulders in search of liberation and ease. He felt it, grunted to the sound of her scratches, slowed down, but kept pushing. Inch after inch, he took possession of her, and she gradually accepted his claiming of her inners until she felt comfortable around him.
The sheets were dripping with sweat and other fluids. Glued to her back, she felt the uncomfortable warmth of her own body on them, growing cold at the first touch of the air around. It didn't matter, though, as no other sensation would ever be able to keep her as captivated as Chris' weight, and his throbbing member inside of her. Claire tried to bend up to catch his lips but Chris shied back, leaving her alone in her longing, trembling and impaired, reminding her that, this time, he was the one in control.
She swallowed, closed her eyes in defeat, and Chris began to move. Back and forth, in and out, pushing his unbuttoned shirt deeper into the remaining wetness between her folds. And she cried out. The position was raw, the angle sharp and the friction too intense, but that could be easily overlooked through the ecstatic sensation of having Chris inside her again. The pain became a part of the pleasure. And, yes, he was good at that, too, which explained how easily he had kept Jill by his side.
'I love you', she thought, afraid to say it aloud and evoke the wrong memories in both of them, and so, she kept it a secret, quietly listening to the music of his own pleasure as he continued moving inside of her.
Reality dropped onto her chest with a loud clunk. Chris' eyeballs seemed to roll back into his head as he intensified the pace and the thrusts turned somewhat harder, rocking them both over the moist sheets like an obscenely pulsating mass, and before she could find her own orgasm build up again, the gold chain popped out of his shirt and the piano charm that had once belonged to Jill Valentine landed on her sternum, right between her swinging breasts.
It was like a warning from the afterlife and, if she considered it closely, an appropriate punishment for a sinner like her. No, Chris hadn't killed her like she has seen it in her dreams. No stabbing, no shooting, no strangling, but he had come to remind her that body and soul were only remotely united, and that she could take and fuck and ruin him as often as she wanted; it wouldn't change the fact that his heart would forever belong to someone else.
It was worse than death. It was torture and endless suffering, succumbing to a hurtful reality that left her stamped as superfluous, unimportant and unwanted. The carnal union between two bodies wasn't comparable to the love that grew between twin souls and the only reason why Chris had come to see her that night was to remind her that he would never love her like he loved Jill Valentine. Perhaps the brunette wasn't around anymore, but Claire had never stopped being the intruder between the two partners, the third wheel, the uninvited little sister.
All of a sudden, the pleasure was drained from her body and the repetitive in and out became an obscene act of resentment she just wanted to end, up to a point that she let out a sigh of relief when Chris' heavy breathing announced his climax and she felt the powerful throbbing of his dick with all her sensitive ends around it. His eyes had fallen closed, while hers were watering, but she accepted his release without letting more tears roll. A couple of hip thrusts later, his head dropped to her chest, and she took the chance to rake her fingers through his hair as he caught his breath again, tickling her skin with every exhalation. Once recovered from the heat of the moment, Chris shifted, raising his head to find her stare set on the golden penalty that dangled over her chest.
His eyes jumped from her face to the charm and back. Without a word, he collected the chain and tucked it back into his shirt, the expression on his face turning shy and apologetic. He slipped out of her, crawled off her quivering body and zipped himself up. Standing at the foot of the bed, he watched her, thousands of thoughts flashing up in his eyes, and Claire was grateful that he didn't think he owed her an explanation for what had just happened. For the first time, the silence he gave her was easier to stand than his words. He bent down to collect something from the floor, and Claire found the strength to sit upright when he handed her the towel.
"You… you dropped this."
It almost made her laugh. With a forced smile, she grabbed the piece and quickly covered herself as he kept standing there, fidgeting as shyly and uncomfortably as a boy on the first day of school. After another moment of silence, though, he turned around and exited the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts, alone with her guilt, alone with her pain.
Twenty-eight days and nights had it taken him to avenge himself and his pride.
And it was the worst of all punishments she could have imagined.