Dulce Et Decorum Est

Dulce et decorum est
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39031656.
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Categories: F/M, M/M
Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Chris Redfield/Jill Valentine, Nicholai
Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Leon S. Kennedy, Chris Redfield & Jill
Valentine, Nicholai Ginovaef & Leon Kennedy, Onesided Chris
Redfield/Albert Wesker (Chris was so in love), Carlos Oliveira/Jill
Valentine, Carlos Oliveira & Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev, TO
CLARIFY: THE MAIN PAIRS WILL BE CHRIS/LEON and
CARLOS/JILL, but there will be a lot of drama and angst in between
Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev, Chris Redfield,
Jill Valentine, Albert Wesker (Mentioned), Carlos Oliveira, Chief Irons
(is a filthy pig), Zombies (Resident Evil), Mr. X | Tyrant T-00, William
Birkin, Nemesis (Resident Evil), Licker (Resident Evil), Sherry Birkin
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Bad partner choices, Romances can and will end, PTSD,
Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Pre-Slash,
Anal Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Misunderstandings, Internalized
Homophobia, Homophobia, Cheating, Depression, Minor Character
Death, T-Virus (Resident Evil), G-Virus (Resident Evil), Infected
Characters, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nicholai
Redemption Arc, Childhood Trauma, brothers in arms, Deep bonds,
Confused Feelings and Relationships, Blood and Gore, Canon
Divergence
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-05-27 Updated: 2024-03-27 Words: 544,997 Chapters:
97/?
Dulce et decorum est
by LadySirana
Summary
It has only been a few weeks since Spencer Manor, and Chris is back in Raccoon City. He
doesn't know if he’s seeking justice or revenge, but he doesn’t care. Blood will flow and he’ll
be the one to spill it.
Jill is afraid Umbrella has something terrible in store for them, and she wants nothing more
than to get her remaining friends to safety.
Leon should be happy, he is the best cadet to graduate from the Police Academy, but he is
miserable. However, he still has hope, since he’s going to start his life anew. A hope that is a
fading flame.
Carlos is a ray of sunshine, he strives to be because no matter what life brings you, there’s
always a reason to smile and be kind to others. He just wants to bring joy, hiding his sadness.
Nicholai is the scum of the earth and he feels no shame. When the world wants nothing more
than to drown you in shit, whoring yourself up to the top is the most suitable solution.
Anything has a price tag until your conscience knocks on your door like an unwelcome,
rotten guest.
In a Raccoon City doomed to destruction, they’ll have to find a way to survive. Will they do
it together or will they stab each other in the back?
Notes
Hello everyone and thank you for opening my story!
I like to be transparent, so there are a few things I want to make clear at the outset. This is a
story I am working hard on, it will be full of plot, the relationships between the characters
will be slow to develop, and the romances that are established will not necessarily last until
the end. My intention is to create a story in which the bonds are complex, the feelings
confused, and I will also go into heavy themes, such as internalized homophobia, recovery
from rape, and many other traumatic events that the characters will be subjected to
throughout the story.
If such topics make you uncomfortable, I tell you from the outset that they will be there,
because I do not want to trigger negative feelings in any of you.
Because it will be a rather long story it is possible that I will add tags, along the way. For
example: Wesker in this first part will only be mentioned, but later on he will appear and, at
that point, I will update the character tag.
If you are still here and this preamble has not discouraged you, I wish you a good read and
please do not be shy to comment, should you wish to do so. This is the first story I have
written in a long time and I need some encouragement.
Love you all,

Lady S.
Chapter 1
September 24th, 1998 - Raccoon City
That hallway never seemed to end. He could smell the stench of the carpet soaked with
congealed blood and it was umbearable.
His footsteps echoed in the silence of the mansion, covered only by the storm raging outside.
Each thunder made him jump with fright, making his hands slippery around the gun.
Finally, he reached the end of the corridor and stopped, trembling, in front of an inlaid
wooden door. The floral decorations were covered with rich gilding but the handle seemed on
the verge of falling apart. A bead of sweat ran down his nose as he brought his shaking
fingers close to it, but before he could grasp it, the door was smashed open by a hideous,
colossal creature with grayish skin and empty eyes.
He froze, terrified and unable to move a single muscle, not even to save his own life.
The monster grabbed him by the neck, lifting him effortlessly as if he were a rag doll, and a
moment later he pierced his chest with a noise that echoed in his ears.
Chris awoke with a muffled cry and immediately brought a hand to his chest. His heart was
beating wildly and he was struggling to breathe. Then he began to hyperventilate, his eyes
widened to peer into the dimness of a room he didn't recognize and that could conceal any
threat.
The motel room.
Slowly he began to remember and his heart slowed its beats. Exhausted he clasped his legs to
his chest and dropped his forehead to his knees.
The fucking motel room.
Once in control of himself, he glanced at the window. It was dark outside, which meant he
had slept for the entire day.
"Shit!" He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.
All things considered, no one would have blamed him for taking a few hours off, but for him
it was unforgivable. He hadn't come back to Racoon City on vacation, he had a mission: find
out what Umbrella's plans were and wipe the entire organization off the face of the Earth.
Every moment spent sleeping was a chance given to Umbrella to cover their tracks and that
was not acceptable.
He leaped out of bed and something cracked under his bare feet. He looked down at the
shards of the Diazepam bottle Rebecca had given him to calm his nerves and keep the
nightmares at bay. The pills were almost all there, scattered on the carpet. He had taken just a
couple, with the nice result of losing an entire day's work to sleep. He clenched his fists and
then kicked them away.
That shit was dangerous, it made him feel dizzy and slow when he needed to be alert and
ready to react.
He turned on the lamp. The room was a fucking mess. His backpack was overturned in a
corner and all his clothes were scattered on the floor amidst pizza boxes, empty beer cans,
and a couple of bottles of the good, old Jack. The gun was on the nightstand and the desk was
covered in papers and documents. Once suspended from the RPD, he could have stayed
home, but he feared his apartment was under surveillance, so it had seemed safer to get a
room in a hotel in the suburbs. Or maybe he was just being paranoid but better safe than
sorry.
With steady steps, he marched to the desk and dropped off the documents that were covering
the pc. He checked the emails but there was no sign from Jill. The only thing he knew was
that she was traveling abroad in Europe to wipe out another head of that fucking hydra called
Umbrella.
Chris knew Jill was tough, but he couldn't help but wonder if it wouldn't have been better if
he had gone to Europe instead. When the decision had been made, he thought that Jill would
have been safer abroad, since Umbrella wouldn't expect an attack there, not after such a short
time since the villa incident, but now he wasn't so certain anymore.
"Come on, write something!" He blurted out, looking at the screen with intensity as if he
could make a message appear by sheer force of will.
The phone in the room began to ring, jolting him away from the computer. He reached for the
cabinet next to the door and lifted the handset.
"Yes?" He answered.
The hotelier handed him the incoming call.
"It's Brad. Any news?"
"No," Chirs answered. "You?"
Brad, on the other end, hesitated. "Something's wrong. There's unrest all over town. Attacks,
assaults, victims being mauled. I think... I think something's got out."
Chris frowned, concerned, and kept silent for a moment. "Do you want me to come to the
station?"
Brad laughed. "So much effort to stay under the radar and now you want to come to the
station? Don't be absurd, Chris! I've got the situation under control and maybe I'm on to
something. I had to pull a few strings, but I'm pretty sure there's something strange in the
hospital area and I'm starting to think that if Umbrella has something to hide-
"There is no if, Brad. It's just where . I'll look into it. Time for a shower and I'm off to the
hospital. I'll bring my radio, don't be a stranger."
"Copy that. I'll keep digging at the station."
Chris hung up and crinkled his eyes, slowly moving to the bathroom. Once inside he faced
the mirror and, God, did he look like shit. His face was pale, he had dark circles under his
eyes and his chin and cheeks were covered in a short unkempt beard. The t-shirt he was
wearing was drenched in sweat and his pants were stained with beer. It hadn't been a good
week for him and now the voice of his conscience seemed to want to hold all his moments of
weakness against him from the mirror. He shouldn't have taken those pills, less than ever
with whiskey.
"Keep it together," he said to himself, looking into his own sad, dark blue eyes. Jill was
alone, in Europe, and he'd wasted twelve hours on alcohol and meds.
"Keep it fucking together..."
He undressed and marched into the shower, where he turned on the water. His muscles ached.
Not because he'd done any exertion in the past few days, but because he was always on edge.
He slept little and when he did his sleep was plagued by nightmares.
The warm water was able to give him some relief and he sighed, propping his arms against
the grimy tiles of that motel bathroom. He closed his eyes, letting the jet of water gently hit
the back of his neck, washing away the tension from his body. His mind wandered to a few
weeks earlier, when none of that horror had yet begun and no one had died, and he
immediately thought of Wesker, of the esteem he had felt for him, of the affection. He had
always admired him, damn, he would have gone to hell for him. The pain of that betrayal
didn't seem to want to leave him because he couldn't understand how such a righteous man,
so upright, could have been corrupted by Umbrella. Yet none of this mattered, Chris had
considered him… important and had mixed feelings about his death. On one hand, he thought
he deserved it, on the other, however, he couldn't help but feel bereaved and both of those
feelings infuriated him. It wasn't easy to accept the passing of someone who had been so
close to him and had taught him so much, going so far as to transform an undisciplined hot-
headed pilot into a soldier capable of surviving the worst situations, even those he himself
had devised. He hated Wesker with every fiber of his being but at the same time, in a hidden
corner of his mind, he knew he was grateful to him and somehow he missed him as well.
He shook his head abruptly, running away from the memory of what Albert Wesker had
represented to him, and proceeded to wash his body and hair, then he quickly stepped out of
the shower, ready to resume his investigation.
September 24th, 1998 - Elsewhere
Leon gasped when Michael came into his mouth without warning. He flinched and coughed
for a moment before lifting his blue eyes in a silent question.
Michael shrugged and mumbled an apology, lacing up his jeans, disinterested, maybe even
annoyed.
Leon sighed and stood up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "It's okay," he said,
smiling softly, then stepped forward to kiss him, but the other pushed him away.
"Is something wrong?" Leon inquired.
Michael fled his gaze and ran a hand through his short dark hair, uncomfortable.
"No... Yes," he stammered. "This shit must end. I asked Mary to marry me," he spitted out,
still looking at the floor.
"Wait, what?"
"And I want you to be my best man."
Leon took a step back and tightened his lips in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He
blurted. "Your... Why? So I can suck your cock in the bathroom before the ceremony? Or
maybe right after!"
"Oh, come on, don't bullshit me! This is serious!" Michael scolded him. "We had fun but now
it's time to grow up and be men!"
Leon stiffened and shook his head. "So what was it for you? A game? We've been going on
like this since we were in school! You can't..." He accused him.
"I'm not a faggot." Michael interrupted him. "It was fun, nothing more. Better than my own
hand in the absence of girls." He paused, annoyed. "What were you thinking? That I was
gonna be the love of your life? Are you really that twisted?"
Leon clenched his fists. and did not answer. He recalled how that story had begun, in a dingy
boys' locker room bathroom, many years before, and had to agree with Michael: nothing had
ever been real.
He should have thought twice before having a crush on the team quarterback at school, but at
sixteen everyone is an idiot and he had been no exception. If he thought about how many
times he'd sold out his dignity for a pair of dark eyes and some well-placed biceps... No, on
closer inspection, theirs had never been an equal relationship: Michael had always taken,
taken and taken, stomping on his feelings. He had endured all that shit because starting over
with someone else would have been too difficult, and, in the end, being used by him was still
better than being alone.
But now it was over, and it was over precisely because it wasn't over. He knew Michael well
enough, and he knew that he would have simply stopped fucking him for a while, maybe for
the duration of his honeymoon with that poor thing of his bride-to-be, and then he would
have come knocking on his door to crawl into his bed again.
He wished to hurt him and, given his police school training, he maybe would have known
exactly how to put up a proper fight, even if Mike was way bigger than him, but he kept his
cool. He wasn't an animal and, for that matter, physical violence wasn't the only weapon at
his disposal. Michael was a hot-headed asshole used to having everyone, him included, at his
feet and that was a vulnerability he could easily use to his advantage. He lifted his chin and
looked him straight in the eyes with a proud expression that well disguised the turbulent
emotions he was feeling. He smiled, even.
"Okay," he agreed, "I was going to leave anyway."
Michael, who had expected to be begged, winced, shocked. "What do you mean?" He asked.
Leon kept his composure. "That's why I wanted to see you today: I got the job in Raccoon
City. I start tomorrow. I'm packing up and leaving tonight. My best wishes for the wedding,"
he added, moving toward the garage shutter.
Michael grabbed him by the wrist. Hard. Almost painfully. "Wait a minute, you can't-
"Can't what?" Leon interrupted him, pushing his hand away. "I can't what ?" He repeated with
a resentful snarl.
"You're not the one to leave me, asshole!"
Leon smiled in anger. "Curious phrasing: leaving ," he repeated the word, almost caressing it
with his tongue. "So we were a thing now? Make up your mind, Mike, but be careful, you
might sound like a fag after all."
"You son of a bitch!" Shouted Michael, raising his fist. Leon was more than quick to dodge
the blow, which extinguished violently against the metal shutter. Michael squealed in pain
and collapsed to his knees.
"My hand! I broke my fucking hand!" he groaned, casting a desperate look at Leon, hoping
he would help him somehow.
The latter examined his injury from afar: Michael's hand was covered in blood and his middle
finger was bent in an unnatural angle.
"You still have the other one to call yourself an ambulance," he replied carelessly, pressing
the button to open the garage and stepping under the shutter before it had even fully lifted.
"Screw you! You'll always be a fucking pussy! Do you hear me, Leon?! A fucking pussy!"
Michael yelled after him, his voice full of anger and resentment. "And sooner or later
someone is gonna slaughter you in an alley like the freak you are!"
Leon paid no attention to him and proceeded at a brisk pace down the driveway, where he
crossed paths with Mary returning from shopping.
"I think Mike needs your help," he told her, climbing into his jeep.
"Oh my God, honey! What happened?" He heard her exclaim as he started the engine and,
despite how pissed off he was, he smiled, satisfied he had outsmarted the asshole. Good luck
to him in coming up with a good excuse on how he had broken his hand.
However, when the adrenaline rush had passed and he found himself parking in front of his
mother's old house, his mood changed and he felt completely lost. That had always been his
major issue: he performed perfectly under pressure - any kind of pressure - but when the
situation had settled down it was there that doubts began to haunt him. Had it really been the
right choice to punish Michael and end their relationship? He had feelings for him, he had
had them from the first moment he had seen him, but were they real feelings or just a sick
habit? More importantly, was he ready to live without that habit no matter how unhealthy it
was? He looked at the beautiful facade of his mother's house, at the garden she had always
tended that was now a nest of underbrush and all his loneliness collapsed on him.
He didn't want to be alone.
Even before his mother's death, Michael had always been a constant presence in his life, the
only real one. Sure, he could count dozens of acquaintances but none close enough to feel
comfortable with. His sexuality - well locked inside the closet like Michael's - was just the tip
of the iceberg. Not that he could come out, anyway, in a small town like that it would have
been the end of him. No, he couldn't feel comfortable with anyone because he was so damn
good at complying with whoever was in front of him and, as a result, he had no idea what he
was really like nor what he actually wanted.
He just didn't want to be alone.
He swallowed, feeling a lump grow in his throat, then covered his eyes with his hands,
sinking his fingertips into his soft, dark-blond hair. How could someone that successful be so
miserable at the same time? Graduated with flying colors from the police academy, assigned
to the city he'd insisted on going to... he should have been on seventh heaven, and yet, there
he was, on the verge of tears in his dead mother's driveway, and it wasn't just Michael's fault.
He knew it wasn't all his fault. Because, at the end of the day, Michael wasn't that important.
He surely wasn't the solution to his problems, just a comorbidity of his misery.
He sighed, looking up at the sky. It had gotten dark and he hadn't even realized it. He walked
into the house and then went straight to his room without looking around because the last
thing he wanted was to be assaulted by more ghosts from the past. He flung open the closet
and began throwing random clothes into his duffle bag. He didn't have much he cared to take
with him to Raccoon City, so he turned to the wall behind his desk where stood a massive
wooden board where he had pinned all the information he had found on the Arklay murders:
notes, accounts, newspaper articles, maps, and photographs. He unclipped everything and
carefully stored it in a folder that he stowed in his scanty luggage. He doubted that, as a
rookie, they would have put him on such a well-known case, but that wouldn't have stopped
him from continuing to investigate. There was something odd about that case: the culprit had
still to be found, and, yet, it had been a couple of months since the newspapers and
broadcasters had completely stopped talking about it as if the investigation and the murders
had vanished altogether. The only reasonable conclusion was that someone was trying to
cover it up, and so Leon had looked in that direction, searching for those, in Raccoon City,
who might have had enough power to carry out such a massive operation. His instincts told
him that it was the Umbrella Corporation, a pharmaceutical company of international
prominence that had a plant in Raccoon City, but he had no evidence that could link it to the
murders, nor a motive. He was going to dig into it once he got to the city while keeping a low
profile because it was clear that the cover-up could only have been possible due to the
complicity of someone within the Raccoon City Police Department. The last information he'd
been able to get on the investigation was about the involvement of RPD's special unit
S.T.A.R.S. - an acronym he found a bit lame, in all honesty. From that point on, the news had
stopped circulating, so if his theory about the cover-up was correct, the members of
S.T.A.R.S. had to be the ones who had perpetrated it.
Thinking about work managed to distract him from his self-pity just enough to find the
strength to enter his father's office. He didn't like stepping foot in there, it felt as out of place
as it did when he was a kid.
"Hi, dad," he whispered, nodding to the man in the police uniform who was smiling at him
from the photograph affixed next to the window. He only had a few memories of his old man,
since he had died when he was only nine, but at least they were good memories.
He looked toward the photo more bravely, not escaping that connection to the past.
"I bet you wouldn't be so proud of me," he said to the smiling man, "I'm not the son you
would have expected, but at least I'm trying to be a good guy." He shook his head, distressed.
"I'm sorry about mom, I couldn't… I wasn't enough. I'm gonna go now, I just wanted to...
Fuck, this is stupid!"
Abruptly he looked away and opened the middle drawer of the desk, pulling out a 9mm gun
with a black polymer frame: Matilda, his father's weapon but also the weapon that had failed
to save his life in the line of duty, leaving him orphaned and his mother heartbroken. He
gripped it, testing its weight in his palm, and then tried to aim, finding it perfect for his hand,
as if it had been designed specifically for him.
Somehow the realization unsettled him. With a shiver, he also retrieved his father's shoulder
holster from the drawer and put it on, then placed the gun in and secured it.
Finally, he walked out of the room, avoiding his father's photo, retrieved his duffel bag from
the hallway and his jacket from the entryway, then Leon left the house, ready to head to
Raccoon City where his life was going to begin anew, hopefully for the best.
Chapter 2
Chapter Notes
Hello again!
First I want to thank all the people who opened the first chapter of my story, those who
bookmarked it, and those who left kudos! I hope the story can continue to interest you,
especially now that the plot is starting to develop.
That said, I generally prefer to put notes at the end of the chapter, so, going forward, you
will only see me appear at the top if there are specific trigger warnings.
See you down below!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Chris honked his horn hard, unnerved by all the traffic. He had no recollection whatsoever of
the game at the Warren Stadium, otherwise, he would have gotten behind the wheel much
sooner, without wasting time in the shower. Besides, that situation put him on edge: if Brad
was right and there had indeed been Arklay-like attacks in the city, gathering dozens of
thousands of people inside a building could potentially turn out to be a massacre.
Being stuck in traffic gave him a chance to look out the window: everything seemed normal.
Nothing more than an ordinary Thursday night, where the game that would have probably
projected the Raccoon Sharks into the big leagues was about to be played. Suddenly he
remembered that Joseph had gone to great lengths to get the ticket for that game and now he
was six feet under. Never again would there be another tedious morning in the office, plagued
by Joseph's reports of some game Chris couldn't care less. He didn't think he would ever say
it, but he was going to miss those moments.
Like a boulder, the realization that his life would have never been the same again came
crashing down on him, taking his breath away. Sure, he could always leave, and start over
somewhere else, but his conscience would have never allowed him to do that because, unlike
Joseph, who was never going to see any game again, he was still alive and it was his job to
settle the score. Umbrella had to pay for what they had done to them and all the innocent
victims of their sick experiments and if he had to die to succeed in that task he was more than
ready to do it. He knew Jill was on the same page and he cursed himself once again for
having sent her to Europe alone. If anything had happened to her, he would have never
forgiven himself. There had even been some gossip, back at the station, about an alleged
affair between them but, in reality, there had never been any of that. Jill was just a dear friend
to him and, if anything, his only lasting bond aside from his sister. He'd never been good with
people: he spoke too little, was far too direct, sometimes to the point of rudeness, and he
simply didn't have the time nor the patience for all the daily crap people were obsessed with.
If there was a problem - any problem - the only solution was a straight line from point A to
point B and nothing else, no detours, no excuses: just A to B. As for women, he wasn't
looking for a partner. He had had a few girlfriends along the way, but they had never lasted.
Claire had told him he was the problem since he was too afraid to get involved and end up
screwed into needing someone else's care and affection, but she was wrong because he liked
being alone. However, in something his sister - who was way smarter than him and also knew
him too well - had nailed the problem: he wanted to be alone because in that way he had no
responsibility to anyone but her, who was family, the only one left. When their parents had
died, it hadn't been easy for him to grow the fuck up out of the blue, taking on his role as a
big brother and raising Claire in the best way he could, but he'd done it anyway and whatever
shot of caregiving he'd ever had in his belt was gone then, with her. And that was why Claire
was so stubborn about him not having an affair: she felt like she owed him his life back, the
one she thought he would have wanted before their parents' death, but she was wrong - again
- because he would have set aside everything for her all over again a thousand more times if
necessary, maybe avoiding some of the mistakes he had made along the way since he had
been far from perfect. He recalled an interminable argument they'd had about it, one time,
because Claire wanted at all costs to hear him say that, yes, he needed someone to love him
in order to carry on with his life and be happy. Of course, he hadn't complied, but the
argument had exhausted him so badly that, back at the office that night, Wesker, his captain,
had noticed there was something wrong with him.
Chris winced, not quite sure of how he had ended up in that memory lane, but, since he was
still stuck in traffic, he couldn't find the right concentration to refrain from those
recollections. Since it was one of those dead evenings when there was nothing to do but get
bored over paperwork, he had spoken to the captain about the problem and Wesker had been
able to enlighten him about aspects he wasn't considering at the time. The truth was that, back
then, Claire had managed to make him doubt, to make him feel wrong because he didn't need
to pursue what everyone aspired to. He just had to talk about it with someone who could give
him a disinterested perspective. His captain, at the time, looked like the perfect mentor to
refer to.
After listening to the summary of his and Claire's position, Albert had lifted his gaze from the
report he was filing and looked at him with dignified composure.
"You're looking at this from the wrong angle, Chris," he had told him in a calm, almost
fatherly tone. "The real question is: how much do I want my loved ones to be a liability to
me? In our line of work, we tend to make a lot of enemies. Some of them we throw in jail,
others six feet under, but a good number will leave these doors unpunished, or will be out of
jail in no time. So, before you ask yourself whether or not you'd like to pursue the American
dream and have your cottage with a beautiful wife and two brats, you should really consider
the possibility of finding them with their throats cut or caught in the crossfire or, even worse,
used as leverage to force you to do something you don't want to do. You're not just a cop,
Chris. You're S.T.A.R.S., a special division that will cope with all the worst this place has to
offer. You can't just naively leave the job in your desk drawer and get on with your life at the
end of your shift," he had paused, then he had shrugged, looking down at the report he was
filing. After a moment of silence, he had sighed, unnerved, like he usually did before
pointing out something obvious. "Besides, I'm afraid you have several other things to figure
out about yourself, before making any kind of decision on the matter," he had added,
cryptically, ending the conversation.
Chris clenched his fists so forcefully on the steering wheel that his knuckles whitened. In
retrospect, it was unbelievable how much that lazy, random dialogue had revealed about
Albert Wesker. If only he'd listened more carefully, maybe... No, Chris could never have
foreseen their captain's betrayal, for he had admired him and considered him an example to
follow, a… friend even. Yet, Wesker hadn't limited himself to words, no, he'd put that speech
about family and liability into practice, forcing Barry, Chris' closest friend since their Air
Force days, to betray the entire team.
Chris hadn't spoken to him since the mansion.
He understood why he'd done what he'd done, but he couldn't accept it. Consciously, he knew
that Wesker was the only culprit of the hellish nightmare they had experienced but Barry
betraying the team and pointing a gun at Jill without even trying to explain the situation to
them was something he couldn't forgive, not anytime soon. If he had only told them, they
would have backed him up to find a solution together, because neither he nor Jill would have
ever wanted to jeopardize his wife and his little girls' lives.
And then they had even found out that Wesker's had been just a bluff…
Jill had told him that Barry had run off to Canada with his family, and, although Chris had
kept it to himself without telling her, he disapproved of that choice as well. The Umbrella
Corporation was still on the loose, free to carry out the cruelest experiments the human mind
could devise, one could not simply turn their back on something so horrible and walk away
as if nothing had happened. It was monstrous and disgusting. Before leaving for Europe Jill
had begged him to call Barry to make things right, she had sworn that he was mortified and
concerned about him, but from Chris' perspective, Barry could shove all that tardive concern
up his ass and begone.
He finally came within sight of the hospital and allowed himself to stop brooding about the
past. He pulled over, parking on the side of the road, and put on the Raccoon Sharks' cap he'd
bought at the shop near the motel. He'd done it instinctively, to have something that would
make him more anonymous - as anonymous as someone his size could be - and the fact that
the whole town was partying in anticipation of the game was a lucky coincidence indeed.
The radio began to crackle in the passenger seat. "Come in," Brad said.
"I'm here," he promptly answered. "Brad, do you copy?" He insisted.
For a few more moments there was only the croaking sound of static, then Brad finally
replied. "Sorry, I had to get away from the party preparations. I was just checking on you."
"Preparations? For the game? Are you all gone nuts in there? Do you really have nothing
more worth doing?" Chris inquired with a snort, unnerved by that collective madness over a
bunch of assholes throwing a ball around.
"Cool it, it's not for the Sharks. Someone new is coming. Leon... Something. The boys are
preparing a welcoming party for him with festoons and everything. George even came up
with a silly game with padlocks to give him… I don't know, I guess something for his gun.
This is cringing at me, I'll never understand this town's love for jigsaw puzzles. Do you want
to give the guy a goddamn gift? Just give it to him already, without making the poor fucker
shit his brains out!"
"Cut to the quick: who is this guy?" Chris asked, immediately suspicious.
Brad chuckled. "I'm sensing a little paranoia here. Don't worry, he's just some rookie Irons
wanted for his collection. Another geeky-top of his class-kiddo. I mean he seriously looks
like a doll. I highly doubt he could grow a beard. Classic Irons' type. You know, sometimes
I'm afraid he selects his staff based on how much he'd like to stuff 'em and put 'em on display
in his office. Jeez, that room creeps me out," he joked.
"It wouldn't be the weirdest thing, considering..." Chirs replied. "Have you met him yet?"
"No, he should be here tomorrow. I just saw his file. We are hanging the streamers now just
in case of riots after the game, especially if the Sharks don't win. Marvin was afraid we
wouldn't have time afterward."
"Hmm. Send me a copy."
"Are you serious? He's a kid!" Brad objected, incredulous.
"Yeah, I got it, just send me the damn file anyway."
"Okay, okay! You truly are a ray of sunshine, has anyone ever told you that?
"All the time," Chirs snorted, sarcastically. "I'm at the hospital. Directions? Where should I
start?"
"Brad, did you die in that shitter?! We need your ass back in there!" Someone shouted at the
police station, presumably from outside the bathroom. Sounded like Marvin.
"Try the morgue," Brad replied, hurriedly and in a whisper. "I haven't found much, but there
are a couple of reports that have gone into oblivion involving missing bodies at the hospital
morgue," he said.
"Please tell me you're not putting me on the trail of some necrophiliac freak... I really don't
have time for this crap."
Brad inhaled, annoyed. "Listen, jerk, you asked me to look into weirdness: this is weirdness.
Dig into it and don't be a dick. If you're not cool with how I work, fine! You go to the
archives and look for whatever the fuck you think is pertinent. Brad out."
The last thing Chris heard before the line went dead was the sound of water being flushed.
He shrugged his shoulders and opened the car door.
"Morgue it is..." He sighed, hoping the bodies would stay put that time.
It had been a complete waste of time. Not only had he found nothing at the hospital, but at
one point he'd had to leave in a big hurry because the emergency room had begun to fill up
with fans from Warren Stadium.
He wasn't quite sure what had happened there, so, once in the car, he turned on the radio.
... to the game at Warren Stadium: according to witnesses, several men, who have not yet
been identified, invaded the field at halftime and then began attacking players and spectators
in the lower stands, starting a spiral of uncontrolled chaos that soon spread throughout the
stadium. Sharon Connelly, the announcer for Raccoon Central Radio, was saying. The
situation is now under control, the game was stopped and the injured were transported to the
city hospital. We still don't know about their conditions and we await updates. What should
have been a night of celebration, here in Raccoon City, has turned into a spiral of violence
and horror. And now let's connect with Adam Lockdale, sports reviewer and analyst on
stadium violence. Good Evening, Mr. Lock...
Chris switched off the radio, he couldn't care less about anything a sports guru had to say.
Although there was nothing to suggest a virus outbreak, he did not like that situation. It was
not uncommon to have riots in stadiums, but by then he had entered into a vicious circle that
led him to suspect anyone and anything. At least the street was clear, even if sirens could be
heard in the distance.
He sighed and, at the intersection, turned to the outskirts to get back to the motel. He would
have preferred to head to the stadium himself, but, with all the cops gathered there, someone
would have recognized him and questioned him, since his lack of interest in football was
known to all. Formally, as far as his colleagues were concerned, he had been on vacation
abroad for the last couple of weeks, waiting for his transfer date, so the last thing he wanted
was to be caught snooping into the department's business.
He parked his car in front of the motel, next to an old, green jeep, and went up the stairs, lost
in his thoughts. He had just stepped into the passageway when someone abruptly exited the
room next to his and bumped into him.
Chris turned, alarmed, and cast a glance at the guy to examine the situation: slim, blond, big
blue eyes, around eighteen or so. Harmless. He couldn't help but look at him for another
second, and he found himself thinking that he was somehow graceful with that shy smile and
those deep eyes. He felt uneasy and got distracted by that odd sensation, to the point he didn't
notice the sudden surprise that had arisen, just for an instant, on the stranger's face.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Said the boy, politely, with that mesmerizing smile still on his full lips.
"I'm just dead tired and I wasn't looking where I was going."
"That's okay," he replied, continuing on his way and he had taken just a couple of steps when
he got addressed again.
"Sorry, man, my radio went dead halfway through. How did the game end? Did the Sharks
win?"
Chris turned to look at him in confusion, then recalled that stupid hat on his head.
"Oh, they interrupted it. Some guys invaded the field and it got messy," he replied
dismissively.
The stranger frowned and his gaze became intense, almost inquisitive, in those blue eyes.
"Oh really? Fuck, that sucks! Corey Hammer is a great quarterback, he would have smashed
it if they had let him play to the end!"
Chris sighed, striving to fake some interest. "Yeah, I know, it was total shit. Sorry, I'm in a bit
of a rush. See ya," he cut it short and finally reached the door to his room and entered.
Leon stood in front of the staircase for a few moments, his eyes focused on the door Chris
Redfield had disappeared through. He remembered him well enough from the intel he had
collected for the investigation - in fact, he remembered him because, as trivial as it sounded,
he was his type of guy, but, jokes aside, he was very meticulous in his work and could rely on
a pretty accurate photographic memory. He had to admit it, though, in the flesh Chris
Redfield was really something, with those broad shoulders and his sad face. He also had dark
blue eyes, Leon had thought they were brown when he had examined his file, but blue was
even better, they added a kinder touch to his hard features. He also had a very nice ass, for the
matter, and... Leon smiled, shaking his head, then restrained his fantasies before they could
become too inconvenient. He focused back on the matter at hand: what was the big, bad, and
definitely hot bull from S.T.A.R.S. doing there? Surely he hadn't come to watch the game
with someone - Corey Hammer didn't exist and he definitely didn't play with the Raccoon
Sharks, so good ol' Redfield knew shit about football and that was kinda sloppy for a
professional like him. If he was somehow undercover he should have done his homework,
and yet... Testing him that way had been a gamble, but Redfield's lost look when he'd asked
him how the game had ended had given him enough confidence to try and succeed in that
old-fashioned trick. Hell, he'd never thought Michael's crazy obsession with football would
ever come in handy in his life, but it wasn't the time to self-congratulate and pat himself on
the back for his cleverness, the question remained: why was Chris Redfield there, in his very
own motel? It could have been purely coincidental, but what if it wasn't? In order to get data
on the Arklay Forest murders and about the RPD's personnel he had asked a few favors out of
his father's former colleagues who had been more than happy to bend procedure and help him
with what they thought was the equivalent of an overzealous kid's high school research, but
someone might have noticed his nosiness in the matter, reported it to the RPD and,
consequently, to S.T.A.R.S.
No, he was placing far excessive importance on himself. He was just a newbie out of police
school, and S.T.A.R.S.' members, if guilty, certainly didn't consider him a threat enough to
look into his little and inconclusive investigation. More likely, Redfield was there for a far
more trivial reason, perhaps a clandestine relationship with a married woman or, why not,
another man. The idea tickled his fancy again, but the smile died on his lips when Michael's
voice echoed from the recesses of his memory: You'd like that, wouldn't you, you slut?
He narrowed his eyes, caught by memories he wasn't proud of but didn't entirely regret, given
the circumstances. In truth, he had not always been respectful of their relationship, if it could
be called such, and had cheated on him on several occasions. The first time had been about
six months after his admission to the police academy. Michael had promised to visit him on
his days of leave, but in the end, he hadn't shown up and hadn't even bothered to notify him.
He had waited for him for two hours at the airport, feeling more miserable by the minute, and
in the end, he had simply given up and walked off with the intention of returning to the dorm.
Along the way, he had found a club and, without any real intention, had gone inside to pass
the time, or perhaps just to observe the lives of others from outside, when his own seemed
crystallized in a bubble of abjection. There he had ordered the usual coke and had sat down at
the counter. He hadn't immediately noticed the man who had been staring at him since he had
entered; to tell the truth, he had spent ten minutes with his eyes fixed on the can in his hands
without even looking around, too focused on wondering what he had done wrong with
Michael, since he wasn't even worthy of a phone call. At some point, that man had sat down
next to him and offered to buy him a proper drink, which Leon had politely declined. Not
drinking wasn't just a matter of age for him, but a conscious stance. He didn’t want to end
like his mother, yet he was still intrigued by the stranger. He was a mature man in his early
forty, good-looking and with a cultured and intelligent air. They had talked for a while, telling
each other the usual trivial things that normally characterize conversations between strangers,
but Leon had immediately noticed the guy's interest in him. He had a strange light in his eyes,
a light he wasn't used to but which, at the moment, made him feel desired. It was just lust,
there was no deep feeling in it, but it was still more than Michael had ever given him since
they had started sleeping together. In fact, Michael had always been so horrified by his
inclination towards him that he had never shown any interest in an overt way. Simply, when
he felt like fucking he would fuck him, as quickly as he could, like he was a bitter medicine
he couldn't live without but hated deep down. Of course, that night, he had followed the guy
to a motel room and they had fucked. In the thrill of the act Leon had even managed to feel
good, because for the first time in his life he had found himself in bed with someone who
cared about his needs, as obvious as that should have been. Michael had never given a shit,
and far too many times he had found himself having to do it on his own if he wanted to come,
while he dressed to leave.
The world had collapsed on him the next morning when he had awakened alone in that dump
and had to come to terms with his conscience. At the time, he was still so dependent on
Michael's attention that the idea of cheating on him had made him feel terrified and mortally
guilty. Two years had passed since then and it seemed like an eternity. From that moment on,
things had gotten progressively worse, especially since Michael had begun to suspect that he
was drifting away from him. At that point he had become mean, cruel, at times.
You'd like that, wouldn't you, you slut? He'd told him, one afternoon, when he'd caught him
looking at a guy in a similar way he'd looked at Redfield just moments before.
He shook his head, forcing himself to stop thinking about the past and his ex-boyfriend. They
had broken up, and it felt real, so he had to try to get his new life together and stop whining.
He went down the stairs, intending to buy something to eat at the convenience store across
the street, but he stopped in a blind spot under the balcony to keep an eye on the situation.
Just to be on the safe side.
Meanwhile Chris, in his room, had turned on the computer. Still no sign from Jill, but Brad
had sent him an email. He opened it.
I shouldn't have snapped like that. It said, I know it's hard, Chirs, especially for you who's
been in that fucking place. I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's it. Sorry. I mean it. Here's the
file of our brand new Barbie's Ken - Cop Edition.
Brad
Chris instantly downloaded and opened it, somewhat intrigued, and frowned in disbelief
when he realized that the guy he was looking at in the picture was the same one he had
stumbled across just a couple of minutes earlier.
It couldn't be a coincidence.
His last encounter with Irons had been far from peaceful. He had tried for weeks to convince
him to act, to take a stand against Umbrella Corporation but the police chief had revealed
himself to be an unshakable rubber wall. So, at some point of the argument, Chris had blown
out and had started yelling, for the whole station to hear, everything he had thought since the
moment he had met him, in other words, that he was a colluding scumbag and a filthy swine.
Following the incident at the mansion it had become clear to every surviving member of
S.T.A.R.S. where Irons had always collected the money to buy the valuable, yet questionable,
artworks he had filled his office with. Before requesting a transfer and leaving the station,
Chris had done one last thing: report Irons to Internal Affairs so they could start an
investigation on him. He hoped they'd nail the sonofabitch, but so far he'd had no word from
them, yet. All he was sure of was that Leon Scott Kennedy, the new agent Irons had
specifically requested, was staying in the room next to his in a shithole motel no one in their
right mind would have ever stepped in.
No. It was not a fucking coincidence.
Chris rushed out of the room and, once in the hallway, looked around to make sure Kennedy
wasn't in sight, then approached his door, pulled the lock pick Jill had left him from his
pocket, and opened it. The inside was dark, but he preferred to keep the light off to avoid
drawing attention from the outside. He merely turned on his flashlight and kept it pointed
downward so that it wouldn't be visible through the windows. The room sucked just as much
as his own did, peeling wallpaper and rotting carpet included, but it was tidier. Leon Kennedy
was traveling light, with only one duffel bag as luggage, laid on the edge of the bed. He
examined it: it was a blue and white old sports gym bag, from some high school team, the
track team to be precise, judging by the faded logo on the side. Irrelevant information to him.
He slid open the zipper and found some roughly folded clothes and then a folder that
immediately caught his attention. It was full of papers and all of them were about the Arklay
murders, but what made his blood run cold in his veins was finding his and his colleagues'
service records with intel and photos. That kind of information was not in the public domain;
it could only be accessed by members of law enforcement. Leon Kennedy was only a rookie
and hadn't even formally entered the service, so there was only one way he could have gotten
his hands on it: Irons, or someone in his office, had sent it to him, probably with orders to
keep him in check and report his every move.
He resisted the urge to throw the damn folder away and carefully put it back so it wouldn't be
obvious it had been tampered with and then he assured the hallway was clear before going
out and closing the door with the lock pick. What he had to do, at that point, was clear: catch
the kid whatever it took and force him to talk, by hook or by crook. He was about to head for
his room to get ready for an ambush when he noticed the empty parking space next to his car.
It was almost midnight, the green Jeep was gone and, with it, so was Leon Kennedy. He knew
he wasn't coming back, he could feel it because the brat was sharp. After all, Umbrella picked
only the finest for its ranks.
"Fuck!" He shouted, kicking the balustrade.
Leon's heart was beating wildly when he finally managed to find the concentration to slow
down. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by a squad car for speeding.
"What the hell did I get myself into?" He thought, glancing, nervously, in the rearview mirror
to make sure no one was following him.
How was it possible that his life always ended up in shit? He couldn't take it anymore.
Exhausted, he turned into a side driveway in the middle of the fields and pulled over, turning
off both the engine and the car lights. He collapsed onto the steering wheel, with a knot of
nausea in his stomach and heavy breathing.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell!" He gritted through his teeth.
He ran his hands over his sweat-dampened face, struggling to regain control. What was he
supposed to do? All his life his winning strategy had been running away from situations he
couldn't win because it was the smartest thing to do. That was just one of those situations,
except he had nowhere to run. They had accepted his application to the RPD and, the
following day, he was supposed to report to work. Not doing so would have meant ending his
career before it had even begun. He was in a cage. He recalled a quote Mike had said to him,
back in their school days, when he'd found him hiding in the gymnastics equipment room to
avoid Connor Heights, their school's leading bully: Sooner or later you're gonna find
yourself with your ass on the ground and nowhere to go, you better toughen up, man or some
asshole is gonna go down on you like a shark.
It had been the first time they'd ever spoken to each other, at fourteen, two years before...
whatever their relationship had been, began. Leon had always been an easy target at school,
after all, he was the weird, puny, fatherless kid with the alcoholic mother, how could it have
been any other way? Michael had always been his silent shield. It had taken him a while to
realize that he had come to his defense, then they had become best friends and… whatever. It
wasn't true that Mike had never done anything for him, he had thought it out of anger and
now he was in trouble again, and alone, without him.
Christ, he should have stayed home!
He abandoned the back of his head on the headrest of the seat and closed his eyes.
Michael was right, he'd always been a fucking pussy.

He wondered what his father would have done, in that situation, and that began to calm him
enough to quell his panic and make him capable of reasoning.
He needed to analyze the situation and keep his shit together. It was now clear that he had hit
the jackpot with his investigation on the Arklay murders. Someone had probably already
started keeping track of his movements before he left for Raccoon City and, once he had
reached the town, had warned Chris Redfield about the motel where he was staying. Finding
him there could not have been a coincidence because, otherwise, Redfield would have had no
reason to sneak into his room looking for evidence. He must have found the folder, Leon was
sure of that, but it didn't matter, he had memorized the data he needed and among that
paperwork, there was nothing which could really hang the members of S.T.A.R.S. anyway, so
nothing had been lost.
However, if they were watching him, in all likelihood, they also knew his car's license plate,
model, and color, and those were vulnerabilities. It was the middle of the night and he
wouldn't have found any car rental places open at that hour, but ditching the Jeep was the first
thing to do in the morning.
Why wait until the morning, though?
Given the turmoil at the stadium, most of the police force had probably been stationed in that
part of town, while he was on the edge of the suburbs, almost at the junction for the Arklay
Mountains. No, he was not going to wait. If he wanted answers, if he wanted evidence, he
had to personally go to the site and find the crime scene. Another rush of panic jolted his
heart. What if he'd found Redfield there waiting for him? Sure, he had basic police officer
training, but that guy had been in the Air Force, was way more experienced, and had, at a
guess, eighty, maybe even ninety pounds of extra muscle. In a hand-to-hand fight, he
wouldn't have stood a chance, maybe he could outrun him to get away, but that was too much
of a risk to take for granted; from a distance, on the other hand, it would have all depended on
who was the better marksman - and Leon knew he was good - but shooting him on sight? No,
he didn't think he could do that. He didn't have enough information to go so far as to take a
man's life, nor would he want to.
His heart re-accelerated its beats. Most likely Redfield didn't want to kill him either. He
probably had the priority of capturing him for questioning, and then, only then, he would
have decided what to do with him.
"Goddamnit…" He sighed.
He was ashamed of the fear he was feeling, but there was nothing he could do to hold it back.
Of course, during training he had been prepared to handle dangerous criminals and risky
situations, and, indeed, he was well aware of the existence of corrupted cops, but being
hunted down by a special elite officer was not what he had fantasized about for his first day
in Raccoon City.
Fear is what keeps us alive. His father had once told him. When you're afraid, when you're
really afraid, Leon, follow your instincts and run. Don't look back, just run. It was a piece of
advice he had often followed, but, to quote Michael, it was time to man the fuck up and run,
yes, but toward the pile of shit, not away from it, because that was what a good cop was
supposed to do and he knew his father would have done the same.
Animated by a newfound determination, he turned the key in the ignition and pressed the
accelerator, taking the road that would lead him deep into the woods. He left the car in front
of the closed diner next to the forest access path and was about to set off when he saw a
payphone.
He sighed, uncertain, and then, he finally reached the booth but stared at the phone for a long
moment before inserting some coins and dialing Michael's office number. He could have
called him at home, but he didn't want to speak directly to him. After a few unsuccessful
rings, the answering machine came on, and hearing his recorded voice gave him a shiver of
longing.
He cleared his throat before beginning to speak.
"Hi Mike, it's me... Look, I don't..." He hesitated. "I'm not calling to set things right. It's
just… Fuck, I don’t even know how to put it. I think I'm in trouble, and you're the only…
Nothing. Just, if you ever hear that something has happened to me, an accident or whatever,
go to Douglas, my dad's best friend, and tell him to look into the intel I asked him about the
RPD and those murders. He'll know what I'm talking about. There's something rotten in this
town and I have every intention of finding out what but it might end badly. Can you do that
for me, please?" His voice trembled a little. "I know I haven't been the easiest guy to deal
with, and I'm sorry. Our... friendship had been over for a long time, we just pulled through
because it was easier than ending it all, I guess, but everything is clear now. I'm not holding it
against you and, heartily, I wish you well," he stopped again, unsure of how to end that call.
"Goodbye, Mike," he cut it short, hanging up the handset with far too much energy.
He retrieved the flashlight from the glove compartment and turned it on, then walked down
the trail. He glanced fearfully at the absolute darkness that awaited him in the undergrowth,
but he didn't let it frighten him, it was just wood, there was nothing to fear. Wild animals, in
general, tended to keep away from humans and anyone who wanted to follow him would
have had a difficult time spotting him in that pitch black.
Chapter End Notes
Hello again!
A few words about Chris's appearance. I absolutely adored the Chris from Resident Evil
VIllage, so the one in this story is the young version of him: well-placed, hangdog-
faced, and blue-eyed.
Thanks again for being here, and please, should you feel like letting me know anything,
feel free to comment ^^!
Happy Pride Month!
Kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Brad slammed the front door open with such force it crashed against the wall.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" He shouted. "You woke up the whole neighborhood!"
Chris shoved him in badly and closed the door behind them with a kick. "I wouldn't have
come at all if you'd answered the goddamn radio or the phone!"
Brad shook his head, shocked, pissed off, and, despite everything, concerned. "Unbelievable,
un-fucking-believable! It's four in the morning, Chris, I've been working my ass off all day, I
just got in two hours ago! I was fucking asleep because I'm exhausted!" He took a deep
breath, forcing himself to calm down. "What do you want?" He asked in a sigh.
"Leon Kennedy..." Chris began to explain.
"Oh, no! No, no, no!" Brad cut him off immediately. "Fuck you and fuck him, I won't even let
you start on the motherfucking rookie! I'm on seven o'clock tomorrow, go sleep, go sweep the
city, go drown yourself drunk, go wherever the fuck you want but don't give me any more
shit, please! I can't take it right now. I just can't," he tried to push him towards the doorway
but the other didn't move, so Brad looked him straight in the face. "Listen, I don't even want
to fight, or argue or… whatever. I'm telling you straight up: you need to get some fucking
treatment, Chris! You're right, you're absolutely right about Irons and Umbrella and all the
shit you saw in Arklay, but you're a rabid dog, for Christ's sake! You're out of control and,
honestly, I don't know how to help you anymore! You'll either end up getting yourself killed
or killing someone who has nothing to do with this pile of shit. Look at yourself: you're
freaking out over a kid who will hardly know how to hold a gun!"
Chris straightened his back, his face stern, his lips tight and his eyes filled with
disappointment and sadness. "Are you done?" He asked him without raising his voice.
Brad ran his hands through his hair, visually tired and regretful. He nodded, murmuring an
apology. "But I'm not taking back anything. I meant every word: you need a shrink, a good
one," he added.
Chris didn't even flinch. He slipped the clipboard he had retrieved from Kennedy's room,
before leaving the motel, from behind his belt and threw it at him. Brad, unprepared, couldn't
grab it and the papers scattered all over the hallway.
"Your so-called kid was in the room next to mine, and in his duffel bag I’ve found a nice
collection of information about the Arklay murders, the investigation, and also all of our
personal files. The perfect recap for the new, unsuspected spy in town right off Irons' office,"
Chris explained to him, with cold rage in his quiet tone. "As you can see, I'm perfectly lucid,
Brad. What I need is a fucking beer and then we deal with this asshole."
He moved toward the living room but Brad grabbed him by the arm, stopping him halfway.
"No, wait a second!"
Chris broke free from his grasp with a harsh tug. "What are you hiding from me?" He
questioned, towering over him.
Brad gasped. "Listen..."
"Me," said a female voice behind him, "he's hiding me."
Chris turned his head, astonished. "Jill?" He approached her quickly. "Oh god, are you
okay?" He asked her, concerned and gentle, and then checked her thoroughly to make sure
she wasn't hurt. "What are you doing here? What's going on? Why didn't you call me?"
Jill laughed, amused. "Are you going to ask me questions all the way till morning or can I
start answering?" She teased him gently, patting on his chest.
"Come here, you bitch!"
She laughed and lifted her arms to hold him in a strong embrace. "I missed you too, jerk," she
whispered in his ear. Chris wrapped an arm around her back and squeezed her tightly, then
grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and pulled her head back to look into her eyes. "Purring
won't save you. Start talking."
"If you want to screw each other, the guest room is the first one on the right. I'm going back
to bed," puffed Brad, annoyed, walking past them.
Jill pulled away from Chris and rolled her eyes. "Stop right there. We were just saying hi..."
She whined, annoyed. "I found some information in France and decided to head back early
because I think you're in danger. I swear, Chris, I would have been to you first thing in the
morning. I didn't write to you because I was afraid our communications weren't secure and I
didn't want to expose you by having you come to the airport - which you would have done
because you're a moron. I didn't know which motel you were in, so I crashed here at Brad's
since going home would have been risky. Simple as that," she explained, reaching the couch
in the living room and sitting on it. She took a Bud from the coffee table and handed it to
him. "Here's your beer. Tell us all about that rookie."
"And please," Brad stepped in, "don't let him be tied up in your trunk."
Chris cast him a sidelong glare. "Who do you think I've become, huh?" He stormed at him.
"So where is he?"
He took a long swig of beer and sat down on the armrest of the couch. "I don't know. He saw
me break into his room and he ran."
"Fooled by a rookie, I'm impressed," Jill joked.
"Fuck you," Chris blurted out.
"Someone's touchy..." She commented, uncorking another beer for herself. "So he's gone for
now," she stated.
"Yes, but if his information is correct," Chris continued, hinting at Brad, "Kennedy is due to
take duty in the morning."
"I'll wait for him at the station. I'll talk to him and see what I can come up with," Brad
assured him, but Chris shook his head.
"I don't want him to set foot there," he objected. "We'll catch him before that."
"Catch him?!" Brad exclaimed, turning to Jill. "That's exactly what I was talking about! Do
you realize this is kidnapping or have you forgotten every procedure?"
Chris laughed in annoyance. "You've got to be shitting me..." He growled, facepalming. "Do
you really think such an operation can be done by the fucking book? In an entire police
station controlled by Umbrella?!"
"Oh, no, Chris, because you've already fucked it up big time!" Brad howled, walking up to
him. "If you believed that kid was stalking you, since you are suspended, you should have
had him arrested. At the station I'd have asked for a warrant, whereby we would have found
his folder with confidential information, and he would have been ours! Instead, now, those
fucking papers are scattered all over my goddamn hallway with your fingerprints on 'em, you
shithead! Fuck!"
Chris clenched his fists and stood up. "Don't you dare tell me how to handle this! You, who
saw fit to get the fuck out and save your ass when you saw those dogs devour Joseph, you
fucking coward!"
That struck a nerve. Brad pulled back and his eyes grew teary.
"Joe was my best friend, you son of a bitch," he said in a broken voice, "do you think I don't
regret that at every breath I take? That I don't see his face again and again and fucking again
when I close my eyes? You know shit of how I feel! You, who went off on your crusade,
spear in hand on your white horse, ready to crush anyone you don't like and convinced you
are the sole holder of truth and justice! You are not better than me. You're not." He sniffled
and wiped his eyes. "Remember this when you've hurt innocent people and you won't be able
to undo it, Chris," he concluded, leaving the living room and slamming the bedroom door
behind him.
Chris didn't dare to look back at Jill because he could perfectly imagine her disapproving
expression.
"Go ahead, shoot to kill," he prodded her.

She inhaled deeply. "I'm not saying anything. You know damn well you've been running your
mouth like an asshole. I won't be the one to absolve you with a reprimand, but you better
apologize to him when he's calmed down."
Chris sat down heavily next to her and rubbed his temples with one hand.
"How long has it been since you slept?" Jill questioned him, harshly.
He abandoned the back of his head on the backrest and sighed. "Don't start, mother hen..."
"If anyone's the mother hen, around here, it's you. Answer."
Chris glanced at Brad's ugly glass chandelier and frowned. "Actually, I woke up around eight
tonight. I think I slept about ten hours straight. I basically passed out."
"Were you drunk?"
Chris barely turned his head toward her. "I plead the 5th," he teased her, but Jill glared at him,
nipping his smile in the bud. "Yeah, I'd had too much to drink and, well, taking the pills
Rebecca gave me wasn't a great idea either," he admitted.
"Do you realize you could have killed yourself? I can't believe what an asshole you can be!"
She got pissed off, then stood up in disbelief and began pacing back and forth in front of the
small table. "I never should have left you here alone," she paused, aiming her eyes at him like
a feline on the prowl. "Did you call Barry?"
Chris rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "Give me a break. No, I didn't call him."
"He's worried sick about you, the least you can do-
"I don't give a shit." Chris mumbled in response, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and
lighting one.
A heavy silence fell between them for a few moments.
"Brad doesn't want you smoking inside," she pointed out.
"Fuck him too," he retorted, snorting a cloud of smoke. "Let me get this straight, you came
back to bust my balls or to make yourself useful? You said you think we're in danger and
you're onto something. What?"
Jill crossed her arms over her chest, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. "We're all on edge,
we need to calm down," she said, seriously. "I don't want to jump at your throat. You don't
need it and I don't need it, but you're not making my life easy, know that."
"Noted," said Chris, sarcastically, shaking the ashes on a hideous floral ornament that looked
like enough of an ashtray to him and then putting the cigarette back between his lips.
"Can you stop acting like a five-year-old?" Jill scolded him, exasperated.
Chris, tilted his head, making a great effort to keep himself calm in turn. "When you stop
talking crap and we can get back to the serious stuff."
"'Are you joking? Your safety isn't serious? Wait a minute..." She froze and bit her lower lip,
thoughtful, then gave him a look of enlightenment. "You just want a fight, don't you? You
don't even care who you fight, anyone is good as long as you don't give yourself time to stop
and think!"
Chris pulled his back off the backrest and reclined forward a little, propping his elbows on his
knees and his chin on his clenched fists. "Enough, stop it," he admonished her.
She laughed without joy. "Or what?"
They exchanged a look and Chris's expression turned menacing. "Just stop it, Jill," he
repeated.
She wasn't intimidated at all. "Fine. Do you want a fight? I'll give you one. Then maybe we
can talk like normal people." Suddenly she kicked away the coffee table that separated them
and stood in front of him. "Bring it on, now!" She taunted him, giving him a shove that barely
managed to budge him. "Come on!" She shouted, pushing him again.
Chris suddenly stood up, looking down at her in a scowl, but kept his arms firmly along his
sides. Despite this, a spark of fear shone in Jill's eyes, and it hurt him far more than a punch.
"Do you really think I would harm you?" He asked her, but the question was rhetorical; her
body language had already answered him. He bowed his head with a grimace of pain, feeling
betrayed. "I may be out of it, traumatized and furious, but I would have never, never ,
doubted you under any circumstances." He walked past her without even accidentally
touching her shoulder and continued down the hallway.
"Chris! Please, wait!" She called out to him, apologetic, but the only response she got was the
slamming of the front door.
Jill put her hands in front of her mouth and then pulled her hair back, astonished.
"Let him go, it's for the best," Brad said, startling her.
She turned around to find him standing in the doorway of the bedroom with a pale, exhausted
face and his gun in hand because he had been ready to step in at any moment if things got
bad.
She sighed and went back to sit on the couch. "I screwed up," she admitted, "I was just..."
"I know what you were trying to do and it was stupid!" Brad interrupted her. "No, don't deny
it. Trying to trigger a guy who weighs twice as much as you do to see how he reacts can only
be called stupid."
"He's not just some guy he's-
"And he doesn't deserve you," he interrupted her again.

"I was going to say best friend," Jill corrected him, zapping him with a look.
"Yeah, whatever," Brad minimized, shrugging his shoulders. "What if he'd attacked you?"
"He didn't."
"What would you have done, huh?"
"I said he didn't!"
"Cut the crap! A guy like Chris can walk right over you and not even notice. You deliberately
put yourself in danger because you're in the same condition as him!" He rebuked her, raising
his voice.
Jill remained silent for a long time, her head bowed and her gaze focused on the toe of her
shoes.
"I need to find him." She got back up and Brad looked at her with a defeated air. "I'll go with
you."
"No. I know how to reason with him but I have to do it alone. You pack your bags. When we
get back, we'll all leave town together."
"Jill..."
"I got this."
Brad smiled sadly. "Just be careful, please. I know Chris isn't all bad, but I've never seen him
like this. He's unpredictable and could get dangerous."
"It's okay." Jill patted him on the shoulder and moved toward the hallway.
"Do you already have a plan on where we're going?" He asked, following her, and when Jill
stopped in the doorway he couldn't help but stare at her. She was truly beautiful, but she
would never even glance at someone like him, not the way he would have wanted her to.
"Barry's," she replied with a smile. "See you later."
Jill had been walking for about twenty minutes when she finally spotted Chris, sitting on a
bench on the riverbank. She knew he hadn't gone very far. He just needed silence to cool
down. She looked at him, all curled up on himself, distressed and alone, and her heart
clenched. Brad was wrong: Chris was a good guy. A good guy who had been through too
much in his life. He deserved more than anyone to be happy, but, instead, life seemed to be
working hard to make him more and more miserable. It was so unfair... She would have done
anything to erase what had happened at the mansion from his memory, but it was impossible.
She sat down next to him without saying anything and Chris dropped his head on her
shoulder with a sigh.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Jill smiled understandingly and rotated her arm behind his neck so she could stroke his head.
"I know."
Chris chuckled. "A 'me too' wouldn't have hurt, you ass- Ouch!" He protested when he felt
her pulling his hair. He flinched back, looking at her outraged like a betrayed kid. "What
for?!" He whined, massaging the back of his head.
"You just deserved it," Jill teased him with a smirk, then she cast a glance across the
riverbank, where, in the distance, the Clock Tower glowed in the night like a silent, haunting
sentinel.
"If this were a normal night, how would you have spent it?" She asked him, swaying her legs
under the bench like a child on a swing.
Chris shook his head. "We don't have time for-
"Shhh! Everything sucks enough as it is. Let's pretend, for a moment. Indulge me, please."
He remained silent for a while. "I don't know. I would have gone to the movies. I miss going
to the movies. I used to hang out there with my parents and Claire a lot when we were kids. I
would have ordered some peanut butter maxi popcorn and a coke and enjoyed the theater by
myself because everyone would have been at the fucking game. Then I would have gone to
bed early and taken a day off to hit the mountains in the morning," he paused, wistful.
"There's a place, just below Green Peak, that's beautiful at this time of the year. There are
trees whose branches turn red and orange. Golden in the sunset. They look like something out
of a fairy tale. I think I would have bathed under the waterfall," he chuckled, "and I would
have deeply regretted it, because I would have frozen my ass off like an asshole, up there.
Then I would have..." His voice choked in his throat and his eyes grew shiny. "Fuck..." He
gasped.
Jill held him tightly to her, allowing him to hide his face against her shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispered, almost motherly.
He winced, shaken by a sob he couldn't hold back.
"And it's okay to cry," Jill added, but he pulled back from her anyway and rubbed his eyes
brutally, sniffing hard.
"No. It's pointless, it doesn't solve anything," he snapped.
"Look at me. Chris, I said look at me."
He complied because while he would have been ashamed to be seen in that condition by
anyone else, Jill was an exception. She was his best friend, she knew him better than anyone,
and pretending to be unbreakable wasn't going to fool her, nor it would have fooled Claire,
but, luckily, she was very far from there. He missed her terribly. She must have been worried
sick and very pissed since she hadn't heard from him in over a month, but telling her what
had happened would only have put her in danger. Jill, at that moment, was the closest thing
to his sister. In fact, they were a lot alike: two incredibly smart and strong women, stronger
than he would have ever been. Always listen to women, Chris. His father had advised him in
what seemed, by then, another life, lost forever. Mind this: men can build but women always
preserve. Wisdom is on their side and may God have mercy on the poor bastard who won't
listen to them!
"Go on," he murmured.
She caressed his face and looked him straight in the eyes. "Now we do as I say: we go back
to Brad's house, jump in the car together and get the hell out of here. No, wait, don't make
that face. It doesn't mean forgetting about Umbrella, but we can't go on like this. We need to
fly low for a while, give ourselves time to process what happened - time to heal - and then
we'll strike back. In Europe, I found out that they had been working on a new monster, the
Project-N. I don't know what it looks like, nor what it's capable of, but I know it can track us,
and here, in Raccoon City, we are sitting ducks. That's why I came back, to keep us all safe. I
beg you, Chris, listen to me for once, please," she pleaded, heartfelt and on the verge of tears
herself.
Chris stood up and went to take refuge against the balustrade, leaning forward with his arms
and looking, lost, at the glimmering reflections of the city lights on the river water.
"Richard, Joseph, Henry, Kenneth, Enrico-
"Huh?" Jill interrupted him.
"I'm naming them. All the ones we'll let down if we run now."
"Chris."
"What?"
"That's the name I'll add if we stay." She replied. " Do you really want to include mine too?"
That seemed to affect him, so he nodded, defeated. "Okay..."
She smiled, grateful. "Thank you. I knew you'd understand."
Together they walked back towards Brad's house and, somewhere along the way, Chris took
off his sweatshirt and slung it over her shoulders, seeing her cold.
"You didn't tell me what you would have done if this was just another night," he pointed it
out to her.
She snuggled into his big, warm hoodie and shrugged. "I probably would have stayed home
and read a book, but I would have blown an entire paycheck on shopping in the morning."
Chris chuckled. "And I thought I was the boring one!"

"You're the boring one."
He looked at her, amused. "I know it's none of my business, but you've noticed that Brad
would kill to have a date, right?"
"So would Rita with you, for that matter."
Chris gave her an absolutely confused look. "Who?"
"Oh, come on! Rita, the cute little blonde from Marvin's team. The one who brings you
coffee every now and then, and by 'every now and then' I mean at least once a week."
"Oh, Phillips! Nah, she's just being nice!"
Jill laughed. "Nice! Are you for real? She practically moans when she talks to you! What
does a woman have to do to let you know she wants to get banged? Bring you coffee in
lingerie and spread her thighs on your desk beggin to be savagely fucked all over the office?"
"Well, hello princess! May I escort you to your carriage?" He protested.
"You started it. And yes, I noticed Brad's crush and no, I am not interested."
"Lucky him, you're gross!"
"Uh-huh, my apologies, you prude! By the way, you should work on your approach with the
ladies. You're embarrassing!"
"I didn't even realize she had a crush on me!"
"Precisely!"
Chris huffed, uncomfortable and, for some unknown reason, Leon Kennedy's smile surfaced
in his memories, bright as a ray of sunshine. He almost could see the curve of his lips and
that strange glimpse in his blue eyes. There had been something odd in the way Kennedy had
approached him, but he couldn't clearly define what. "I don't care anyway," he blurted out,
dismissing the thought.
"About Rita?"
Chris hesitated since he had almost forgotten about the matter, distracted by the rookie-spy.
"In general. I'm not looking for a woman," he replied.
Jill glanced at him, incredulous. "It's not like you necessarily have to get married, for Christ's
sake! There are reasonable middle grounds, including one-night stands, you know?"
"You sound just like Claire..." He grumbled. "It's not my fault I couldn't care less. I'm fine the
way I am. Why does this have to be such a big deal? Leave me alone as I want to be! Why do
you care?"
"I don't, it would be fun to see you in love, though, with your head in the clouds, butterflies in
your stomach..." Jill teased him. "I bet you'd be a real softie!"
He rolled his eyes, fed up. "Oh, please give it a rest!"
Jill became serious, almost intense.
"Crap aside, whoever the chosen one will be, she'll be the luckiest girl in the world. You'd
give her the moon, of that I have no doubt."
Chris stopped beside his car, parked in front of Brad's driveway, and lit a cigarette. "Go get
him and stop hassling me before I start thinking you're hitting on me."
She froze for a second, then she wrinkled her nose and laughed. "Ew, hell no!"
"Come on, walk," he prodded her, mimicking the gesture with the fingers of his left hand.
"One, two, three, march."
"Aren't you coming?"
"It doesn't take two people, besides, Brad doesn't like me smoking in the house. You said so,"
he answered her, sitting down on the hood.
Jill nodded. "We'll be back in a minute."
Chris watched her walk away and his eyes darkened. It had been nice, for a while, to pretend
everything was back to normal, to poke and be poked by Jill, but it had been just an act,
nothing more. He tossed the butt to the ground and watched the red sparks glow and go out
on the asphalt, then got into his car, started it up, and drove off.
"I'm so sorry, Jill," he whispered, seeing her desperately running after him in the rearview
mirror. He sped up, abandoning her behind, certain that Brad would have convinced her to
go. Even without him. "I just can't."
Chapter End Notes
Hello everyone!!!
I am so very grateful to everyone who opened, subscribed, bookmarked, and left kudos
to my story, you are treasures! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Now, let's chat a bit. As you may have noticed, characters are appearing a little at a time,
because their entry follows the chronological rhythm of the story. In this chapter it was
Jill's turn and, in the next one, Nicholai will also arrive (gosh, I love him, really - yes, I
have favorites - ), the last in order of appearance will be Carlos (bless his heart). As for
how events will turn out, compared to the games, some things will remain similar, some
will be rewritten, and some will happen under different circumstances than those we
know. The big events, however, will remain the same, for example, Raccoon City will
explode, there is no doubt about that XD!
I hope you enjoyed this slightly lighter chapter, but I needed to leave room for the
relationship between Chris and Jill, because it will be very important, in the course of
the story. I'm also gradually building up Chris, partly taking inspiration from his
behavior in Resident Evil 6, but, at the same time, giving him the frailties and
insecurities of his twenty-five years of age. He's young, he's broken, he's dumb, he's a
mess, and although he's endearing to me, in Jill's place I would have kicked his ass.
Don't worry, shit will hit the fan in a few chapters and we'll be back in that blood
madness we all love.
Kisses and thanks again!
Lady S.
Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
September 25th, 1998 - near the County's borders
The road scrolled ahead of Nicholai's bored gaze. He had been behind the wheel since
morning and, although he was accustomed to much more hard work than driving around, he
felt on the verge of falling asleep. He yawned and then sneered at the thought of how many
filthy bastards among his fellow U.B.C.S.' would have laughed if he had crashed against a
tree, ridding the world of his existence. Hell, someone would have even thrown a party! The
thought of their joy didn't shake him; on the contrary, he would have been deeply offended if
they hadn't had the craziest and most shameless feast, with plenty of alcohol, coke, and
whores for finally getting him off their asses. He did not doubt that it would have been
fucking magnificent, the most authentic representation of delight born from hatred,
resentment, envy, and chaos. Yes, he was well aware that, except for the new recruits - who
didn't know him well, yet -, anyone would have been shot straight to cloud nine if they had
received the news of the 'Silver Wolf' premature departure. Then, they would have probably
pissed on his grave, and, all things considered, even that would have been legitimate. He
wasn't the type to hold a grudge over something like that, not least because it would have
been phony. He was a son of a bitch and he wasn't ashamed of it.
It was also time to hurry the fuck up, though. From the reports he was hearing on the radio,
things were looking pretty nasty in Raccoon and, as the expert in shit storms that he was, he
could say with some confidence that his platoon was going to be dispatched downtown in the
next 12 to 16 hours. Sergei, however, had specifically asked him to make one last inspection
of what was left of the Spencer Mansion, and, although he considered it a pointless waste of
time, he had every intention of oblige, given the generous bonus he'd been offered for making
that jaunt. Up there, in all likelihood, only rubble remained. Several teams had been sent in
the area to clean off every possible clue of Umbrella's involvement in the so-called incident,
and he did not doubt their thorough job.
He barely noticed that the news on the radio was over, because, in truth, he wasn't really
listening to what was clearly nothing more than a red herring. The incident at the stadium
was a convenient way to keep the public away from far more pressing problems, such as an
entire wing of the hospital allocated to patients suffering from a mysterious form of
cannibalism, or the growing number of assaults all around the city and its outskirts. He
wouldn't have been surprised if, within hours, a martial regime would have been put in place
to contain the threat. The only thing he didn't know was how the fucking virus got out, but he
didn't particularly care, since it wasn't his job to investigate. It just seemed unlikely to him
that such a large number of cases were due to the scattered experiments still on the loose in
the woods.
He yawned one more time, but his blood froze in his veins when the radio played a song he
knew very well. He recognized it from the first notes and was suddenly thrown back into the
memory of an event he hadn't thought about in almost twenty years when he had heard it for
the first and last time. His body stiffened in reaction, going into battle gear, and he could
almost smell the stench of that crumbling staircase that reeked of rot and piss. He felt, again,
the shards of plaster crumbling under his boots, and the weight of the AK in his hands.
Fucking heavy.
There was a black door with peeling paint in front of him. Music came from the other side,
loud, almost deafening, played by an old turntable whose tip scratched, sinister on the vinyl.
He remembered everything, down to the smallest details. Even the rust stains on the
doorknob and the distant cry of an infant that came, probably, from the corridor of one of the
upper floors beyond the inner courtyard. At the top of the stairs, near the balustrade, was a
scrawny old woman with a grayish, wrinkled face. She was dressed entirely in black with a
ragged veil that covered almost all of her grimy silver hair, and she had one blind eye which
was completely white. She sat in a wicker chair and rocked slightly back and forth while
humming and weaving a basket with her long, gnarled fingers. Nicholai wasn't even sure
whether he had really seen her that day, or if it had just been a reminiscence of childhood
fear. Fake or real, she had looked him straight in the eye and given him an eerie, toothless
smile followed by a short, shrill laugh.
And then another memory, even older, almost ancient, emerged.
Run, Kolja, before Baba Jaga eats you! Ah! Ah! Ah!
Terror, cold, hate, hunger, and then the black door again. He knew what lay beyond, but he
didn't want to think about it. Not at that moment, nor for the rest of his life.
The siren of a police car ripped him out of his mind in an almost brutal way, leaving him
dismayed for a moment. He looked into the rearview mirror and clearly saw the red and blue
light of the flashing beacon. It was only at that point he realized the insane speed at which he
was running and lifted his foot off the accelerator, slowing down until he pulled over to the
side of the road.
He saw the policeman get out of the car and so he rolled down his window, keeping his hands
in full view on the steering wheel. The cop was alone, with no partner on the other seat.
"Do you have any idea how fast you were going! Are you drunk or just insane?" The officer
accused him, shining the flashlight in his face. "License and registration, now."
Nicholai studied him for a moment, tilting his head, in disbelief. Denoting how harmless and
incompetent members of American law enforcement were would have never ceased to awe
him. That one was a middle-aged man and not an officer from the R.P.D., but probably from
a station in the neighboring county. Typical poor sod who had never fired a shot in his life
and had had way too many donuts, instead. Where he was from, such a wreck wouldn't have
made it to the entrance of the recruitment center, less than ever he'd have become an officer,
not even in the farther, most forgotten, meaningless shithole of Siberia.
"One moment, please," he replied, even cracking a polite smile. He reached out to open the
glove compartment and grabbed his gun, moving swiftly and precisely, like the perfect
assassin he was. The bullet pierced the poor man's skull before he could even get his hand to
the holster, and as the echo of the shot spread through the night, the policeman collapsed on
the ground, lifeless and with a dumb expression on his face, the same he had had when he
was still breathing, after all.
Nicholai huffed, annoyed, and started the engine, resuming his journey as if nothing had
happened.
He was back in control but turned off the fucking radio. He respected music for its
unparalleled power to touch men's consciences - even his own - but he wouldn't allow it to
destabilize him any further. It had only been a moment, nothing more. Those memories were
still firmly locked in a corner of his brain he would have never touched again. Besides, the
trail to Spencer Mansion was now close, so it was time to cut the crap and get to work.
WELCOME TO FUCKING RACCOON CITY, said the sign, and Nicholai found that fucking
written in red spray particulary fitting. He didn't like that place, although, for that matter, he
disliked all the American places he had put his feet in. They were inconsistent. Everything
was too new and somehow artificial. In his eyes the USA was nothing more than a country
with no roots built right out of hypocrisy and misled cultural appropriation. A fucking theme
park which tried and failed in legitimizing itself.
He turned for the diner and noticed another car in the deserted parking lot. A green Jeep, with
a license plate of a place he didn't even know existed. He shrugged. It was probably a couple
who had picked the worst possible place to get laid and the wrongest night. He parked next to
it and then got out, holding the gun along his thigh as he peered into the driver's window: the
Jeep was empty and locked, he established, after trying to open the door. He checked around
to make sure he was alone, then opened the trunk of his car and looked inside, unsure of what
to take with him. It was true that there were still free experiments in the woods, but he had no
clear intel on how many there were and of what nature. They could have been zombies, dogs,
or something else out of the Umbrella's glorious freak show. He wasn't sure. Was it more
prudent to carry heavy artillery and be slowed in his movements, or to bring just the gun and
risk being unprepared for what he might encounter? It wasn't an easy call. Ninety-nine
percent of a good operation was about preparation, and he didn't like going in blind, but
bothering Sergei with such bullshit wasn't a good idea either. He decided on a compromise
solution: his S&W 629s revolver, a precision composite double-barrel shotgun-rifle, designed
by Kendo, and a 9.8-inch combat knife. He considered carrying a couple of grenades as well
but ultimately decreed that they would have been of little use in the open field. Zombies were
slow but dogs were not and could easily have moved out of the blast radius. He took off any
clothing that might lead him back to the U.B.C.S. and the Umbrella and put on a black
hoodie under a neutral camouflage vest that would have made him pass for a simple hunter
out for a morning trip. Of the countless skills required by his line of work, blending in and
being invisible among common people was the only one he always came up short on. This
was because, first and foremost, he was a soldier, not a spy, and secondly because he was
easily recognizable, with that premature silver hair. Not to mention his very Russian accent!
He just hoped that, except for the Jeep's owner, the woods weren't particularly crowded by
sentient humans that morning, because if he could easily get away with murdering a cop, it
would have been harder if he'd left a whole trail of bodies behind him. The law didn't trouble
him at all, Umbrella did, though, since he was playing a particularly dangerous game.
Formally, he was nothing more than a U.B.C.S. sergeant, but in fact, he was a Monitor, in
charge of collecting battle data and, consequently, he had a much higher level of clearance on
Umbrella's experiments than his comrades. The Corporation, however, required discretion on
his part so he had to be careful, in order not to become a target. He indulged himself in
thinking of whom Umbrella would have sent after him if he’d fucked up too much and the
answer could only be one: Hunk. He smiled, picturing it, and, damn, that would have been
one hell of a fight! He chuckled. It was so childish to get carried away with something as
foolish as competition, but he was tired of all the persistent hallway gossip about who was
the deadliest between him and Hunk in the Umbrella's ranks, and somehow not holding the
record bothered him. Actually, he'd never even met the boy wonder in the flesh but he knew
it would have happened sooner or later and, at that point, he'd have to break him and shut
them all the fuck up.
"Another time..." He whispered, closing the trunk. He had other stuff to do, first, like making
himself rich.
September 25th, 1998 - Arklay Mountains
Leon kept walking in the dark and had no idea where he was or how long it had been since he
had entered the woods. What had seemed like a good idea, at first, was backfiring on him in
the worst possible way. He had overestimated his ability to find his way around and had
ended up getting lost. He was cold and hungry since he had skipped dinner, but most of all he
was scared. He knew, of course, that fearing the dark was an irrational feeling, but he hadn't
anticipated how much being in that complete blackness would have done to his psyche. All
his negative thoughts, all his doubts, all his smallest paranoia seemed to be amplified by it
and by the maddening silence that surrounded him. He was constantly on edge, jolting at the
slightest noise. The sky was overcast, not even the moon could brighten his path, so he lived
with the constant terror that the flashlight's battery might fail him at any moment. He had
even pulled out his gun, because holding it made him feel calmer, but his wrist was beginning
to ache from the effort.
He tripped over a root and ended up lying on the ground.
"Fuck!" He shrieked, hitting the dirt with a punch.
What the fuck had he been thinking? He just wanted to go home and crawl into bed where he
would have been safe.
No, he was panicking, he needed to stop for a moment and breathe. He stretched out on his
back and inhaled deeply, and finally, among the branches of the trees, he caught a glimpse of
the stars, there, where the clouds had opened a little. His father had been an astronomy buff
and had tried to teach him about the constellations when he had taken him camping, with
little success. He should have listened to him more.
He sighed and had almost decided to get back on the road when he heard rustling in the
underbrush. Quickly, he retrieved his flashlight and gun, which had fallen a short distance
away, and pointed them in the direction of the noise. Out of the bushes came a young deer,
with only a hint of horns on its head. Leon stared dumbfounded at it - it was beautiful - and
only after a moment did he realize that it looked terrified but too exhausted to run away.
"Hey..." He said to him, smiling,"it's okay, don't be afraid."
The deer snorted, limping back, its eyes barred and its chest shaken by violent gasps.
"It's okay," he repeated, moving forward slowly. "I won't hurt you."
Suddenly the animal scrambled to the ground with a shrill cry.
"Oh, God..." Sighed Leon, rushing to it.
Illuminating it better he noticed that it had a deep wound in its hind leg, a bite, by the looks
of it, probably from a wolf or a wild dog and it was recent because blood was still gushing
out profusely. He took off his jacket and knelt beside it.
"Shh, easy," he murmured, "I'll take care of you."
Gently he petted its muzzle, distressed, trying to calm it down. He really wanted to try to help
it. Taking it out of the woods wasn't an option, though. It was too heavy for him to carry, and
besides, he had no idea how to get out of there, to begin with. He left his jacket on the
ground, unbuttoned his shirt, and slipped it off, being left with only his t-shirt on. He tore it,
trying to create some makeshift bandages.
"This will hurt a little, but at least it will stop the bleeding," he explained, as if it were
another human being, giving it a few more strokes on the shaggy coat. "You'll be fine, I
promise."
With a decisive move, he began to wrap its wound with the flaps of his shirt. "I know, I
know..." He whispered, hearing it bellow in pain and shake its hooves on the ground. He
struggled to hold it still but eventually managed to close the bandage. "We're done!" He
rejoiced, moving away from it and putting his jacket back on, before sitting with his back
against a tree to catch his breath. His hands were covered in blood, but he didn't care. He was
just happy to have made himself useful in some way, and he hoped with all his heart that it
would be enough to save its life.
The deer lay there for a few minutes, then slowly got to its feet and looked up at him, before
sprinting away.
"You're welcome," Leon smiled. "You're welcome…"
Then he froze.
You're so fake! Michael had told him, once, during one of their countless fights. You don't
help others out of kindness, you do it because it makes you feel good and because you hope,
that way, they will love you in return. You're not noble, you're just a manipulative prick and a
fucking leech! You'll do anything for the affection of the first asshole who walks by you!
He closed his eyes and clutched his knees to his chest.
"Not now," he begged his mind. The last thing he needed was a journey through the saddest
moments of his life, but once that train had started, it was hard to stop it. Was it so despicable
to wish for someone to love him? The last person who had loved him had been his father; his
mother, following his death, had barely looked at him and now she was gone too, anyway.
Was he that unworthy? Well, considering his situation, he probably was. Who else would
have found themselves lost in the woods with no one caring about them?
"Enough!" He forced himself to get up and noticed that the sky was slowly lightening. It was
a foggy dawn, and thunder could be heard in the distance, from the peaks, but at least he
could clearly see where he was going and, with the light, the bad thoughts would also be
gone, or, at least, he hoped so. Suddenly a loud howl broke the silence of the forest, startling
him. How could he have been so stupid? That wounded deer couldn't have made it very far
before reaching him, which meant that whatever had attacked it was close. It had seemed to
him that the yowl was coming from his right, so he hurried to the left at a brisk pace and,
after about ten minutes, he heard the sound of running water. He moved in that direction until
he found himself in a large clearing on the riverbank. It was a beautiful place, with an
impressive waterfall, but the fronds of the trees were red and eerie, or maybe it was just his
mood that made them look that way. He walked over to the water, where he washed his hands
of the deer's blood and had a chill because it was freezing cold.
He was glad he had found the water, though. Clearly, he wasn't much of a survivalist, but he
knew that if he'd followed the course of the river, sooner or later he would have found
someone and gotten out of those fucking woods. He had given up hope of finding evidence
for his investigation hours before, he just wanted to get back to civilization, possibly in time
to show up for work. After all, even if Redfield was looking for him, he wouldn't have been
able to do anything to him at the police station. They couldn't all be corrupt there.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and resumed walking downstream. He was exhausted, but he
couldn't stop, and he had walked almost another mile when he saw something on the shore
that scared him to death. There were carcasses all over the place, carcasses torn to pieces.
What the fuck? He thought, drawing his gun from its holster.
Cautiously he approached the carnage and held back a gag reflex because the stench was
nauseating. The decomposed limbs of what were probably dogs were scattered all around and
there were guts everywhere, covered by flies and worms.
"Jesus Christ!" He groaned, plugging his nose with his hand as he got to one of the more
intact bodies that, nonetheless, had been split open by a ferocious paw strike.
Based on the advanced state of decomposition, those poor dogs had to have been there for at
least a couple of days, but Leon had no intention of standing there and waiting for whatever
had killed them to come back. He was about to return on the trail when he heard a loud growl
behind him. He turned and spotted the biggest and most terrifying dog he had ever seen in his
life. It was about ten feet away from him, its black fur standing upright and its fangs exposed
from which whitish drool dripped, but there was something very wrong with it. It must have
been sick, perhaps with rabies, because it almost looked as if chunks of flesh had fallen off its
massive body and its eyes were white and lifeless. His instinct took over and he didn't stop to
think about the various possibilities at his disposal, he pointed the gun and fired as soon as
the dog started to run against him. He hit it in the chest, but the bullet did not seem to hurt or
slow it down, despite having struck the mark. Leon fired again and, this time, the shot
impacted against one of the dog's front legs, shattering the bone cleanly and the beast rolled
to the ground with a snarl. He didn't stop to check if it was dead or not and ran off, terrified,
hearing more barks approach.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears,
as usual, I would like to thank everyone who is reading this story, those who left kudos,
subscriptions, and bookmarks, you are wonderful!
Special thanks to those who commented, don't be shy, I love to chat!
Two words about Nicholai: I don't know why I fell for him, I really don't. In the games,
he is undoubtedly a jerk, but I loved him from the first moment he appeared. One
specific: I'm not Russian, but because "I don't like, I obsess" I did and am doing a lot of
research to build up his background (but really I research everything to the point of
insanity), and I really hope I won't screw anything up, along the way. Last specifics
about him: according to the various Wikis he is supposed to be born in 1960 in the old
games and '63 in the Remake. Personally, I prefer to keep the date of the original games,
because, even in the Remake he looks closer to fortyish than thirty-five. As for his
surname, it will be Zinoviev because Ginovaef is simply awful, as well as not Russian at
all (the reason behind Ginovaef is due, according to my research, to a mistransliteration
from the Japanese kanji forming his surname when they should have transliterated it
from Cyrillic, Зиновьев, resulting in, exactly, Zinoviev. Yeah, I obsess).
As for Leon, you've probably noticed that I'm making him more afraid and uncertain
than he appears in the games. This is because, as much as I love the games and their
action-horror setup, I prefer to include more realistic reactions in the things I write.
Okay, I have bored you all too much, thank you very much again!
Kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
"As I suspected, there's nothing here. No organic samples nor-
Nicholai was on the sat phone when he heard two shots in quick succession coming from the
clearing below what was left of Spencer Manor.
"A moment, please." He said to his superior. "I'm not alone." He answered his question.
He moved toward the edge of the rise and, from a distance, spotted a young man being
chased by four Cerberuses. Was he the owner of the green Jeep?
"It's a kid. No, I've never seen him before. He's definitely got some training, but I don't think
he's a soldier. Wonderful Monitor material though," he commented, watching him putting
down one of the dogs with remarkable coldness. "Understood. Do you want me to get rid of
him?" He asked, raising the sights of his rifle and aiming at the boy. "My call? Very well," he
mumbled, lowering his weapon. "Of course. I'll be in touch."
He pulled the earpiece out of his ear and lifted his hood before stepping off the high ground
to get a closer look at the scene. He didn't need any more data on the Cerberuses, but that guy
was doing incredibly well, all things considered. Perhaps he'd been far too generous with his
assessment of those B.O.W.s since they weren't all that lethal if even a kid could get the
better of them.
There was only one dog left and it was jumping at him. Was it game over?
Leon felt the dog's fangs clamp down on his left sleeve, miraculously missing his wrist.
Quickly he unzipped it, slipping it off, and the beast fell past him, off-balance, right in front
of the entrance to a large hole in the ground. He had just aimed to shoot it in the head - as he
had understood, by then, that it was the only vulnerable point of those monsters - when a loud
roar paralyzed him on the spot. A second later, something big and deadly ran out of its hiding
place in the ground and bit the dog in the throat, knocking its head clean off like it was
nothing. Leon felt his heart explode in his chest with fear when that thing turned its attention
to him and roared at his face while raising on its rear legs. It was massive and seemed to be
suffering from the same disease as the dogs. Its muzzle was half-scarred, the mangled neck
was leaking chunks of rotten flesh and a few broken ribs were sticking out of its brown fur. It
stunk awfully and the fact that he could smell its stench was not a good sign. He was far too
close. He panicked and didn't even try to shoot, rather, the gun slipped from his trembling
hands and fell to the ground. Like lightning, he rushed away, but that horror was just a step
away from him and it was faster.
Nicholai smiled, intrigued. So the T can infect bears, uh? Interesting. He thought, then he
shook his head, displeased. "Not the tree, you idiot…" He commented, seeing the boy hoist
himself up onto the lower branches and then climb up as if he had the devil on his tail, which
wasn't that far from the truth, actually. He lifted his shotgun rifle and aimed. He didn't do it
out of a good heart, but because he was curious to see how tough a zombie bear could be and
collect that data, so he pulled the trigger of the sniper barrel, hitting the beast right in the back
of the head, while it was trying to grab the poor bastard on the tree with its claws. The shot
startled Leon who lost his grip and plummeted down with a cry, landing badly on his back.
The bear, however - which was still very much alive - did not even bother to glance at him,
instead, it turned to look at Nicholai. The Russian mercenary sneered. “So you still know
how to recognize a threat, even if you're dead. Good! They shouldn't have wasted time
turning fucking dogs..." He remarked as the animal began to charge in his direction.
He stood his ground, and his heart didn't miss a beat, not even a single one. He waited
patiently until the bear was at the right distance to shoot it with the shotgun - and even that
didn't bring it down -, then he pulled out his revolver and fired three shots at its right paw and
three more at its head. The bear collapsed in front of him, but it wasn't dead yet, just stunned,
and he was empty. He didn't flinch. Reloading was not an option, it would have taken too
long, so he slipped the knife from his belt, grabbed it with two hands, and then brought it
down hard on the bear's head. He felt the damaged skull crack and the tip pierce the brain, so
he twisted the blade while pushing it down through its palate. The torque snapped it along
with the bone, leaving only the handle in his hand, but it was done: the beast winced in one
last spasm and then stopped moving. On second thought, those fucking grenades would have
come in handy, he shouldn't have left them in the trunk.
"Fuck it," he huffed, tossing the handle away. He liked that bloody knife.
He looked toward the boy, who still laid long sprawled under the tree from which he had
fallen like a ton of bricks. Fainted? Dead? He didn't really care, not least because, in all
likelihood, the last dog had bitten him, so he was as good as gone anyway, and yet there was
something that made him want to get closer and check on him. He reloaded the gun, placing
the bullets into the drum one by one, and then did the same with the rifle, advancing slowly.
Still no movement, so he reached beside him and looked at him attentively. He was young,
somewhere between eighteen and twenty, and had a thin build, definitely not soldierly.
Clearly, he'd had a rough night, judging by how dirty and sweaty his clothes were, but he
didn't have a single scratch on him, and he'd been wrong: he hadn't even been bitten.
"Who the fuck are you?" He asked softly, scanning his face while tilting his head like a
playful wolf. He poked him a little with the toe of his boot to see if he was on the verge of
waking up, but the boy wasn't going to open his eyes any time soon, so he rummaged through
his jeans pockets until he found his wallet and his ID card.
"Lion?" He giggled. "More like a kitten!" A quite cunning one, though, he had to give him
that.
There was also a folded paper in the wallet and he read it, before putting it all back into his
pockets.
A rookie cop, huh? He thought, surprised, maybe he might have to reconsider his opinion of
American law enforcement, after all, that kid had potential. It was such a pity… He pointed
the gun at his face and pulled back the hammer with a click that resounded in the silence of
the underbrush and he was about to pull the trigger when another flash ripped through his
mind: a pale resemblance, messy blond hair, blue eyes full of despair, full of terror, full of
hope when there was none.
He snorted, disturbed, nonetheless letting his armed hand slowly fall back along his side.
"It's your lucky day," he hissed.
He moved a few steps to walk away and leave him there when he stumbled upon his gun. He
picked it up, it was a twelve-shot German model and there was still a bullet in the magazine.
He started counting: the first two shots he heard and then three more for each dog the cub had
shot, a very good placement indeed, his only crime was having named the gun after a woman
like a poor idiot. In the distance, he heard some more howling, so he closed his eyes,
conflicted.
"Goddamn it!" He cursed, glaring back at him.
He tucked Matilda into his belt and returned to him.
"You better don't wake the fuck up," he admonished him, then, almost effortlessly, loaded
him onto his back and began the descent to the path. He didn't want to ponder too much about
what the fuck he was doing, but he had to admit it was unusual for him. Killing someone was
simple, and didn't require much thought: one moment they were still alive, the next they
weren't. Saving someone, on the other hand, came with consequences and a bond. A lesson
he had learned long before. He didn't want either, but he felt, in his gut, he shouldn't leave
that asshole to the dogs. His mother, who, before becoming a whore in Moscow, had grown
up in some remote village of which he had forgotten the name, had told him that demons
lived in the woods. They were cruel and enjoyed making wayfarers lost, leading them to
premature death or perdition so that they would wander forever, without being able to access
the Kingdom of Heaven. He cast a glance at the boy's face, resting on his shoulder and half-
hidden by his blond bangs, he didn't look like a demon at all, he certainly couldn't lead him
anywhere, and, as for Heaven, he had lost any chance of accessing it long ago, assuming it
existed - and he was sure it didn't, and neither did God.
So why was he doing it? Because of a faint resemblance?
He shut down his mind, preventing further thought on the matter, and increased his pace,
ignoring the unpleasant feeling of being watched and judged. It was nothing more than
paranoia, and, over time, he had learned to part it from instinct. Anyone who had experienced
even half of what he had gone through had to master distinguishing what was a danger and
what was just a trick of the mind, or they would have been as good as dead.
That noise, though, was real. He stopped and strained his ears. It wasn't just a noise, it was a
whine from some animal and it was close. He peered through the trees until he spotted a deer
laying in the dry leaves. It was moaning, but it was weak and almost motionless. He
approached it to look closer and noticed it was infected, he could tell by the way its dark eyes
were fading to white. The bizarre thing, though, was that someone had bandaged its wound
with what looked like a blue shirt.
"A real bleeding heart, ain't you, huh?" He commented, sarcastically, casting another glance
at Leon, still passed out on his back.
The deer snorted, terrified and in agony, kicking up the dust in front of its legs in a desperate
attempt to hang on for dear life.
"Let's finish this mercy job of yours, shall we?" Nicholai sighed, grabbing Matilda from
behind his back while holding Leon tightly with his other arm to keep him in balance, then
aimed at the animal's head and fired its last bullet.
The deer stopped moving and a pool of blood darkened the dirt beneath it, but the man had
already moved away, no longer interested.
Leon awoke with a distressed groan. His back hurt like hell and his head throbbed. He
opened his eyes slowly, confused and dazed, and winced.
"What the-
He was in his car! How was that even possible? He turned to look out the window and
immediately regretted it when a sharp twinge ripped through his back. He gasped, tightening
his fingers on the steering wheel to withstand the pain. It was bad, even though he didn't feel
like anything was broken. The last thing he remembered was that guy; he'd barely seen him
before he'd blacked out, taking down that rabid bear without flinching. He closed his eyes
and tried to focus on bringing the details back to mind. He was a big bloke, wearing... a green
vest and a dark hoodie. He hadn't seen his face, the hood was up and he was quite distant, but
he remembered he had a rifle, maybe a double-barrel shotgun. Could he have been Redfield?
The description was consistent, but if Leon could imagine that he might have preceded him
into the woods, he just didn't understand why he had brought him back down and put him in
the car without questioning him or taking him to the hospital. Either call would have been
commonplace, depending on whether he prioritized being a corrupt agent or a decent human
being, but instead, he'd just left him there, after going to all the trouble to get him to safety. It
just didn't make any sense but, maybe, getting lost in the woods hadn't just been a risky,
pointless waste of time because some pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place:
even before he had set foot in Raccoon City he had determined, correctly, that the S.T.A.R.S.
units were behind the cover-up of the Arklay murders, and he had speculated that Umbrella
Corporation might have been the instigator, simply because it was the only economic and
political giant in the city capable of ordering such an operation. That morning he had
ascertained that there were some sick animals in the woods. He was not a veterinarian and
had no idea what symptoms rabies had, but he had never seen anything like it before, nor had
he ever heard about it. Newspaper articles had reported that the victims had been devoured
and dismembered in horrific ways, to the point of suggesting the work of a cult and it couldn't
be a coincidence. For a split second the thought that he might have met the same end made
him skip a beat, but he dismissed it, it wasn't the right time. He needed to stay focused. Was it
possible that the Umbrella was conducting experiments on viruses and bacteria, with or
without an authorization? It was reasonable to assume so. And was it possible that something
had escaped from a lab and infected local wildlife and pets? Of course, and the need to cover
up such an incident was one hell of a motive. He still had no evidence to prove his theory, but
he was beginning to see the full picture, even though he had risked being mauled and nearly
broke his back for it.
His mind went back to Redfield: why had he saved him? Could he be corrupt and have a
conscience at the same time? Nothing was ever one or the other, maybe he had been forced to
cover up those murders and, if that was the case, he could have been a valuable witness. He
had to take the risk and talk to him. It was the only solution.
He cast a glance at the car's clock; it was twenty past seven in the morning. He had spotted
the dogs shortly after dawn, which meant he had been out for about half an hour.
"What do I do now?" He whined in a half-hearted voice. He was a mess, he smelled like

sweat, his clothes were covered in dirt, and he wasn't even sure he could stand up straight
without crying in pain. How could he even think of showing up at the police station like that?
Suddenly he heard a knock on the window and almost had a stroke. He slowly turned to
glance, it was a woman in her late sixties with an impeccable hairdo and a kind face.
He lowered the window.
"Are you all right, lad?" She asked him, concerned.
Leon got a better look at her: she had a pink uniform on and a name tag with Polly on it. She
was probably the owner of the diner or a waitress. He would have loved to lie because he
intended to go to work, but he could only gasp, suffering. He wasn't even entirely sure
whether the real problem was pain or panic.
"Oh dear, you are in distress!" She exclaimed, opening the door. "Do you want me to call an
ambulance?"
Leon covered his face with his hands and shook his head. "N-no. I just need a moment," he
whimpered.
"At least come inside. Come on, I'll give you a hand!"
Leon obeyed and, slowly, got out of the car. He could move, and that was good news. It hurt,
sure, but less than he would have expected. Nevertheless, he moved limply, as if his muscles
were all tied up.
"Lean on me," Mrs. Polly offered, lifting his arm and resting it on her bony shoulders.
Together they reached the door of the diner.
"Arthur, come here immediately!" She shouted, peremptorily.
"Give me breath, you damned woman! I'm just finishing stacking the inventory!" Rebutted a
brusque voice from a room behind the counter.
"Bloody hell, Arthur! Can you-
Polly fell silent as she saw that strange customer rise from the counter. He had come in a little
earlier, in short sleeves, despite it being rather chilly at that time of the morning, and had
asked for scrambled eggs and black tea for breakfast. When she had told him that they didn't
keep hot tea, since no one ever ordered it there, he had opted for vodka. Fine, some
lumberjack might have a beer, but who the heck drank vodka at 6:30 in the morning?
"Please, ma'am, allow me," he told her gently but without smiling, approaching them.
Polly peered at him indecisively. That brute was remarkably polite, but she didn't like his
accent; he was definitely a communist and therefore a dangerous man. She didn't believe in
all that nonsense about the end of the Cold War. The government had let their guard down
and here they were, those red devils right in their backyard! He was shady, not like that poor
thing she was helping, who looked like a little angel.
Leon decided for her and turned a grateful look at the silver-haired stranger.
"Thank you..." He whispered, leaning onto him and winced in pain and surprise when he felt
his arm tighten firmly on his hip to support him.
"Where do I take him?" He heard him ask. He smelled clean and cologne, but his breath
reeked of alcohol - just like his mother's - he couldn't help but notice, he restrained himself
from any consideration on the matter, though. He was no one to judge other people's habits.
"Follow me," Mrs. Polly replied, in a dry, almost annoyed tone of voice, preceding them to a
room on the right, at the end of the diner hall. She opened the locked door and turned on the
light in the small windowless room with a cot on the opposite side.
"Sometimes my husband sleeps here when he gets too drunk to drive," she explained but
waited for the Russian to make him sit down before speaking further. "Are you sure you don't
want us to take you to the hospital?" She asked Leon, ignoring the other man completely.
"No, thank you. I just need a moment to recover. You're all being far too kind."
"What's your name?" The stranger asked him, crossing his arms over his chest.
Leon looked up at him. "Leon Kennedy. I'm a cop," he paused, "well, almost a cop," he
corrected himself, "I have to report for duty for the first time this morning."
"Nicholai," the other introduced himself.
"Nice to meet you." Leon nodded, straining to hint at a polite smile. Nicholai and no
surname, huh? He noticed.
"You look like you had a rough night. What happened?" The Russian didn't know why he had
stayed. He'd told himself he was hungry and that there was no harm in stopping for breakfast
since the owners of the diner had arrived shortly after he'd put that brat in the car, but
interacting with him? That was a fucked up idea, even by his standards. He was just curious.
Who was that kid? How had gotten himself into a mess so far out of his league? And why
was he so eager to get himself killed? It was a puzzle and he liked puzzles. There was no
other reason. No fucking, other reason . He remarked. After all, it sometimes happened that
even the most ruthless of predators spared the life of the cub of one of their prey for no
apparent reason. It was rare, but it did happen, nonetheless, he had no intention of nurturing
his young fawn.
Chapter End Notes
Hello dear ones,

it's been a long and pretty shitty day, so forgive me for being brief, but I really wanted to
update on time. As always, I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who has left kudos,
subscriptions, bookmarks, and most importantly, comments (yes, I'm going to repeat this
with every chapter, because no one is forcing you to do any of these things, so you are
precious to me and you deserve a thank you. Period). You guys are so sweet!
That said, there is a lot behind Nicholai's characterization, in fact I have been working a
lot on all the characterizations, but while in some cases they will be quick to reveal
themselves, in Nicholai's it will take a while for us to get to the bottom of why he makes
his choices, but I promise there will be answers, sooner or later.
Dammit! I wasn't so brief in the end, but the truth is that I enjoy making readers part of
some of my thought processes for this story, I just hope I don't bore you.
See you soon and kisses!
Lady S.
Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
"I was attacked in the woods," Leon muttered. "Some wild dogs and a bear. They seemed
sick. Someone brought me here, though."
"Oh, dear!" Mrs. Polly exclaimed, distraught. "I knew they were ruining everything! For
weeks we have seen nothing but rascals of all sorts going back and forth from here to
Spencer Manor. A gas leak, they said! The hell it was! Arthur was here when it blew out and
he said the glass nearly shattered and we're a mile and a half away! A mile and a half!"
"Did he say that before or after he stuck to the bottle?" Nicholai commented, witty and
sarcastic. An explosion like the one of the Spencer's Manor was little more than a controlled
demolition, it could never have done such damage, at the most that idiot had heard the rumble
and that was it.
The owner gave him an outraged look. "Oh, I guess someone like you has experience in
explosions and all sorts of mischief!" She accused him, not at all veiledly.
Leon became attentive. Why was she so hostile? Was there a reason? He studied him:
Nicholai had a more than fit physique and a typical military cut and posture, plus his hair was
completely gray, almost white, but he looked too young to have it that way. Genetics,
perhaps, or, more likely, stress which was consistent with the experiences of a soldier or a
merch. More than a red flag, in short, but, at the same time, he was also non-threatening and
quite charming, or maybe it was just his deep voice and accent doing the trick. He wasn't that
good-looking but, yes, he was definitely appealing, somehow. And this doesn't matter. He
brought himself back to order. He had more than enough troubles as it was, without letting
his imagination run wild where it clearly didn't belong. However, he didn't see anything
particularly troubling. He didn't doubt the Russian could become a dangerous bloke when he
wanted to, but not at that moment. His body language was entirely relaxed, and his
expression almost playful. There was no reason to fear him, but he could see several
indicating it was best not to piss him off.
Nicholai raised his eyebrows.
"I beg your pardon?" He asked the lady.
"You know very well what I'm referring to, you commie scum. How dare you call my
husband a drunkard?"
Oh fuck! Leon thought, disappointed and apologetic. Even the sweetest and kindest looking
people hid monstrous traits, he knew that well, but every time it disgusted him deeply. He
wondered what that nice lady would have thought of him if she had known his sexual
orientation.
"I didn't, you did, ma'am," Nicholai pointed out, then turned his gaze on Leon who looked
deeply ashamed of the situation. His puppy-eyes seemed to say: I'm sorry. We're not all like
that , and it struck him. It wasn't the first time he'd been attacked just because of his accent,
and, as the years passed since the fall of the Soviet Union, it had become increasingly rare,
but it was the first time anyone had shown empathy towards him because of it. What was he
surprised about? After all, that fool had torn his shirt to shreds to treat a dying deer! He held
back a sneer: if the two of them had known even half of what he had done, where he was
from would have been the least of their worries.
"There is no reason to-
Leon's attempt at mediation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Polly's husband.
"Is there a problem here?" He asked, stepping over the threshold with a shotgun in his hands.
Nicholai raised his palms and laughed, shaking his head. "I'm leaving - I'm leaving. After all,
there are no children on the menu!" He joked, even though he could have disarmed that old
man in the blink of an eye, then shove the barrel in his mouth, pull the trigger, and scatter his
brains all over the place just for fun.
"You'd better!" Snarled Arthur. "And don't bother paying, just don't let me see your red ass
here again or..." He pulled back the safety with a very telling click.
Nicholai cast one last glance at Leon. "If I were you, I'd get out of this town," he advised him,
instinctively, "it's no place for the likes of you and a storm is coming."
And it was true. Even in its best days, Raccoon City was not for the pure of heart, it was a
latrine for sewer rats and jackals, like himself, after all.
"Wait!" Leon called back to him. "Did you see anyone come out of the woods? I'm looking
for a man about your size, short brown hair, blue eyes. Name's Redfield. He should be about
twenty-five years old. He was wearing a dark hoodie and a green military vest. He was
armed."
Nicholai held back an appraisal smile. Darn it, he was impressed! The little shit had seen him
before he blacked out, and he remembered some details incredibly well, for someone who
had stared death in the face twice. It was like riding a roller coaster, that guy: one moment he
made him think he was nothing more than a poor idiot, the next he amazed him with a
quickness of thought far beyond the skills he should have had, given his basic police training
and his young age. Sure, he hadn't recognized him, probably because he already had that…
Redfield - the name ringed a bell in his memory, who was Redfield? Oh, right, S.T.A.R.S. - in
mind who was deflecting him from the obviousness before his eyes, but it was an
understandable flaw under the circumstances. With enough time, he had no doubt Leon
would have come around. He was a natural indeed, but that brain of his would have been his
doom, one day. As he'd said as soon as he'd seen him: wonderful Monitor material. He really
would have loved to lock him in a maze to see how he would have danced. If his instincts
weren't wrong - and they rarely were, since he was a pretty good killers' talent scout - that
rookie cop would have given a lot of B.O.W.s a hard time and he might even have landed on
his feet - like the cunning cat he was - and gotten a job offer from Umbrella, but he was
getting ahead of himself. The kid was also too kind-hearted for their line of work, he wouldn't
have lasted a day without getting himself shot for insubordination. His conscience would
have never allowed him to do any of Umbrella's tasks, not even the lighter ones, but why was
he after S.T.A.R.S.? He frowned. The real question was: why was he thinking all that
gibberish nonsense? The truth was he'd never see that kid again and it was for the best, so he
shook his head and flashed a smile of perfectly fake honesty. "I'm sorry, I didn't see anyone.
Beside this charming lady, of course." He gave him a parting nod and left the room.
"Make sure he's really leaving," Polly ordered in an alarmed voice, and her husband moved to
the threshold to look toward the hall. At that point, she returned her focus to Leon.
"You were saying, dear?" She asked him, thoughtfully.
He sighed. "Last night I started a survey in the woods for an investigation..."
"All by yourself?!" She interrupted him. "Oh my, you're just a child! Who is the superior who
sent you there? I have every intention of signing a complaint! These woods are dangerous,
especially at night!"
"I'm a graduated officer, ma'am..." Leon tried to explain but gave up when he heard her
husband snort in annoyance.
"We've reported those bloody dogs a thousand times and the best they could do was send a
kid!" He blurted.
Mrs. Polly zapped him with a glare. "It's not like it's this poor thing's fault, Arthur!" She
scolded him. "Go to the storeroom and get me the herbal ointment, make yourself useful
instead of standing there like a mama's boy!"
"What?" Leon asked, confused and a little alarmed.
Arthur walked out of the room, muttering that he was supposed to be working and not
babysitting a useless cop.
Polly smiled, awkwardly. "Don't mind him. He's a grouch, but he's got a heart of gold."
Leon struggled to sit up. "Look, I appreciate your kindness, but I have to-
"Nonsense! You need to rest and, believe me, the ointment will have you back on your feet in
no time. It's made from two types of herbs from this area and is a natural anti-inflammatory.
It works wonders for my husband's hernia!"
Leon hesitated, then decided to give her a chance. It couldn't get any worse, after all.
"Good boy," she smiled, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. "You remind me a little of my
young brother George. He wore his hair long, too, you know? I still remember the arguments
with our mother because he didn't want to cut them. He finally did, for military service. He
died in Korea, he was so young, my mother never really recovered..."
He had been hasty in judging her and unfair, she had experienced trauma. A trauma that
didn't justify her racism but gave a sense to her hatred. As for his mother, she had never cared
about his hair or for anything else. They had lived in the same house like two ghosts until
cirrhosis killed her and that was that.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am," he whispered.
"Oh, it's been a long time, but thank you," she dismissed it. "Here's your ointment!" She then
exclaimed, taking the glass jar from the hands of her husband.
"I'm going back to work," he snorted.
"Yeah, yeah... While you're at it, make something for this lad." She turned back to Leon. "Do
you like pancakes?"
He blushed. He was starving, but he felt like he was taking too much advantage of their
goodwill. "Mrs. Polly-
"I insist," she shushed him.
Leon smiled, grateful and shy. "Pancakes are fine. Thank you very much."
"And eggs and sausages, too," she added, raising her voice to be heard by her husband who
had already left the room. "Now, dear, I need you to take off your t-shirt."
He obeyed and the maneuver cost him a few restrained cusses. He gasped when he felt the
woman's hands on his skin.
"It's cold," he justified himself.
"It has to be." Mrs. Polly explained to him. "These herbs have an ancient history. They say
the first people to use them were the Natives, however, it is difficult to grow them in a
greenhouse. That's why the Umbrella never really used them for any of their medicines. How
did you get hurt?"
Leon groaned, feeling the pressure of her fingers on his aching back. "I fell off a tree. I had
climbed it to keep from getting bitten. When I tried to climb down I slipped," he lied for
simplicity's sake. He didn't feel like telling her the whole story also because it could have put
her in danger.
"What can you tell me about Umbrella?" He inquired.
"Oh, they were the fortune of this county! When I was young, Raccoon City was just a small
provincial town, it has flourished since their arrival. So many jobs!"
"I see," Leon mumbled. "And do you know anything about the murders of the past few
months?"
She stood up and opened a first aid kit, retrieving some clean bandages. "A real tragedy,
those damn wild dogs! And the mayor doesn't give a damn! They were such good people,
Elliot came to eat every day, he was a lumberjack. An honest working man... His wife Dana
and the girls were just the sweetest." She sighed. "A real tragedy," she repeated, beginning to
squeeze his back into a tight bandage.
"Ow!" He cried out.
"Chin up, we're almost done, lad," she giggled.
Leon gritted his teeth and grunted. He really hoped that Polly, in her kindness, wasn't doing
more harm than good, and he sighed with relief when she finally stopped handling him.
"All done!" She rejoiced. "You'll see, in a few hours you'll be as good as new."
She moved toward the door. "Arthur, so, this breakfast?" She shouted.
"It's fucking coming!" He retorted, exhausted.
"Watch your language, you rude man!"
A smile escaped Leon. They were so cute. It was clear they loved each other, theirs was just
an act given by habit. He wondered if he'd ever find someone who could love him like that, in
a real and authentic way, with fights and then rapprochement, big bitching about who was
supposed to take out the trash or cook the dinner, or whatever... One that would call him an
'asshole' in the deepest, most affectionate way - because he was well aware that he was one -
and forgive him all his silences and stupid drama. One he could have apologized to after one
of his mindless tantrums. One to cherish and protect. One with whom he would feel safe
because no matter how fierce the fight might be, he would continue to love him as he loved
him. One to order and be ordered around like a damn delivery boy and with whom he'd
grown old and grumpy with. A normal relationship, in short, not a fucking rom-com or a
fairy tale. He wasn't dreaming of Prince Charming, he just wanted a man who could be called
one. One who would have had the guts not to be ashamed of what was between them, one
who would not have used him just to empty himself and then leave him alone until the next
time. One different from Michael or the other, meaningless guys he had fucked along the
way.
He chuckled, distressed and frustrated. He wanted someone who didn't exist. Not in their
world, nor in their time. He had better hopes with Prince Charming, or a fucking unicorn, for
that matter.
The arrival of breakfast tore him away from the contemplation of his miserable sentimental
life and his stomach did not fail to remind him how famished he was. He waited for poor old
Arthur to set the tray down next to him on the bed before thanking them both profusely and
beginning to eat.
"You really were hungry!"

Leon nodded, swallowing down a large mouthful of eggs. "Excuse me," he mumbled,
embarrassed, "I didn't eat last night."
"I'll have more made for you if you want," Mrs. Polly offered.
He shook his head decisively. "It's more than enough, I mean it, but thank you."
She smiled. "Your mother raised you just right! You're really lovely and well-behaved," she
complimented him. "I wonder how many girls are after you!"
Leon preferred not to comment on the matter and guzzled his cup of coffee, thirsty. Polly,
meanwhile, retrieved the empty tray and left the room. He heard her warmly greet someone,
probably a customer, and guessed that was going to be a long chitchat, but he was relieved to
be alone again. It was tiresome to interact and he was beyond exhausted. Without much
thought, he stretched out on the cot and laid his head on the pillow. Five minutes. He would
only close his eyes for five minutes and then straight to the police station to take duty.
Jill came out of the shower tremendously pissed. She had spent two hours sitting in front of
Brad's house hoping that her big, asshole best friend would come back and apologize for
being such an unspeakable dickhead. Brad, on the other hand, had left a post-it note on the
front door telling her that there had been an emergency at the station and he had to go. He'd
also added not to wait for him and to hurry up and leave town with Chris, which she would
have gladly done if only the son of a bitch hadn't disappeared into thin air. In the end, all she
could do was walk back to her house, eat a whole tub of ice cream, and then take a shower to
try to blow off some steam.
She wrapped the towel around her breasts, then wiped the tarnished mirror with her palm and
looked straight into her own eyes.
Good job you did, you dork! She thought. It wasn't hard. All you had to do was take them
away.
She sighed, bowing her head. Blaming herself wouldn't do any good. The first thing she
needed to do was to find Chris because that was the thing that would have taken her the
longest. She knew where Brad was and...
Who was she trying to fool?
Brad was nice to her, yeah, he was okay and she had nothing against him, but the real reason
she was back was just Chris. She dropped herself sitting on the closed toilet and picked up his
hoodie from the floor, where she had thrown it. She brought it to her face, pressing it against
her nose, and breathed in. It smelled like cigarettes, his awful cheap deodorant, and... of him.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. She felt so pathetic, like a fucking twelve-year-old
with a crush on her best friend. She didn't even know how it started. Maybe it has been all
those rumors at the station about them screwing since God knows how long. After all, when
one was told something to the point of exhaustion the asshole might begin to believe there
was some truth in it, and that was exactly what had happened to her. On an ordinary day, she
had begun to look at Chris with different eyes, to fantasize about him, about them, together,
in bed but not only. It wasn't just about sex. Chris was far from perfect: he was stubborn and
sulky but he was also incredibly sweet and caring. Hell, he didn't have the slightest idea of
how precious he was. He was funny, he made her laugh all the time, and he was damn good
at making her feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
Albeit only as a friend or a sister.
She had seen him with Claire and the way he acted was the same with both of them: a
protective mama bear and a pain in the ass all at the same time.
On second thought, she remembered the moment she had definitely fallen for him. It was a
Sunday morning in the summer, she knew Chris had been fighting with Claire even if she
didn't know what for. Wesker had told her - of all people! - and, without going into details,
had requested her to drop by and check on him. The quarrel hadn't surprised her as much as
their cold-blooded Captain's interest in the matter, but she'd decided to take his advice
anyway.
Fighting wasn't unusual for the Redfield siblings, they were like two goats headbutting each
other, sometimes, since they both had pretty shitty tempers, and, like every time, Chris would
have been the only one of the two to suffer the blow. Claire, who was still a teenager at the
time, had a much tougher hide when it came to feelings and was a real master at making her
brother feel like shit.
Jill had walked to his apartment and noticed that the window in his living room, which
overlooked the fire escape, was open, so she had decided to go up from there to prank him,
maybe spooking him a little from around the corner or something. Just like that, to cheer him
up. From the first flight of stairs, she had heard the sound of the guitar and even in that, there
was nothing strange. Chris loved to play and was good at it too, to the point that even Irons
had turned a blind eye to his carrying the guitar into the office - and Chris, out of spite, had
started carrying the electric one, just for the sake of pissing him off.
What she hadn't expected was to hear him sing. It was a song by Queen, a band he and Claire
were obsessed with; they even had two identical leather jackets made with the words 'Made
in Heaven' on them. She had never heard it before, though, since Queen weren't her thing. It
was about maternal love and the desperate need to feel protected more than loved by a
woman. Her heart had broken right there and then, because, by how he was singing it, he felt
those words deeply, they meant something to him and it was, indeed, heartbreaking. She had
felt out of place and really inappropriate because she was more than aware that was a
moment Chris would have never wanted to share with anyone. It was too personal. Too
intimate. She'd been about to get back on the street and rang the damn doorbell when he'd
suddenly looked up and saw her. She had petrified on the spot, feeling terribly sorry, and he
had stopped playing. They had stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, then Chris
had looked down, left his guitar on the couch, lit a cigarette, and then invited her in,
pretending nothing had happened. At first, they'd talked about crap: the weather, work,
shopping, and other nonsense. Only after a while had Jill found the courage to ask him why
he didn't sing more often because he wasn't bad at all. He had clammed up, deeply
embarrassed and shy. Jill had never seen him like that. Usually, Chris was the one who took
every decision head-on, confident and perfectly in control - all key traits for their work - but
when it came to more mundane, more everyday things, he'd freeze, as if he wasn't capable of
dealing with them or processing them, even. Yes, it had been on that day she had discovered
how tenderly awkward he was and it had unleashed her feelings for him. Anyhow, that
question about singing, along with the fight with Claire had put him in a rare state of
vulnerable outflow availability, so between beers and cigarettes, he had opened up to her. He
had told her about how hard it had been for him after their parents' death, how many times he
had run away from the foster homes he had been assigned to just to get to Claire because they
didn't want to be apart from each other.
It had been the longest two years of his life and the most painful; he was only fourteen when
it all began and Claire was eight. He hadn't given her many details, but one could see in his
face how hard it had been. Eventually, they had found a foster family that would keep them
both but Chris, by then, had long stopped being a kid and was already thinking like a man
with responsibilities on his shoulders and those responsibilities were in the form of his little
sister. Although they were in a place he considered safe, or maybe because of that, once he
had turned seventeen he had left to join the army and this, there and then, had created a
fracture between him and Claire, because she had perceived that choice as an abandonment
when it was the exact opposite. The only reason Chris had enlisted was so he could provide
for her needs. He wanted Claire to pursue her dreams. He wanted to ensure she could attend a
good university. He wanted her to be free to choose her path because he had to abandon his
own long before, but to make that possible he needed money and their parents had left very
little of it behind. Joining the military had been the only choice. He wanted all that because,
as he had told her, Claire was not like him. She was smart, she was brilliant, she deserved a
real future, and he would have done everything in his power to secure it for her, even if it
meant hurting her and making her feel abandoned.
That talk had annoyed Jill. She didn't like hearing him belittle himself like that, because Chris
was far from stupid; in fact, he was the most capable and determined guy she had ever met.
Hell, he was the best at everything he set his mind to! Even Wesker, who had a habit of
looking down on everyone, had always had some kind of a soft spot for him. Jill would never
have dared to say he was fond of Chris, but he was certainly the one in whom he saw the
most potential and acted accordingly. With her and the others, the Captain had often been
disinterested, almost annoyed by their presence, with Chris, on the other hand, he had always
been firm, vigilant, hard, sure, but also ready to compliment him when he saw him
completing a task beyond his expectations. And, in the end, Chris was the only one who
made it through all the horrors of the mansion unscathed, without being injured, killed, or
captured, and he was also the only one to whom Wesker had revealed his plan before trying
to kill him and ending up being torn apart by the Tyrant. In a twisted way, Jill knew that
confession had been the Captain's final acknowledgment of Chris' abilities. His way of
saying: You made me proud one last time. I'm impressed. And, maybe, even that he was sorry.
No! She thought, angrily. Wesker hadn't been sorry; he probably wasn't even capable of being
so. There had never been any humanity in him, just the cold blood of a reptile and a traitor.
She sighed. She knew that, sooner or later, they would have to talk about Wesker too, because
she could only imagine how hurt Chris was. She knew her friend had taken him as a mentor,
as a... She didn't quite know how to define what Wesker had been for him. Quite simply,
Chris had always idolized him. At times she had even felt uneasy around them because,
whenever the Captain paid him a compliment, Chris' eyes sparkled with delight and joy like
he was in... That thought made her smile in discouragement and shame. She shook her head.
What levels her jealousy had reached! It was simply absurd! Chris was just clumsy with
women and a big ball of complexes in search of a reassuring father figure, plain and simple,
he surely wasn't into… into men, for Christ's sake! What silly nonsense!
She stood up and left the bathroom, she had wasted enough time. She needed to find Chris
and leave that fucking place.
Chapter End Notes
Hi, precious,
as usual, a huge thank you to everyone who left kudos, subscriptions and bookmarks. I
hope you are enjoying the story even though, I admit, it's a bit slow to get going. The
point is that I really need quite a lot of space to be able to baste the characterizations of
the characters so that I can then develop their interactions, bonds, mutual suspicions etc.
The Queen's song mentioned is Mother Love, the fourth track on Queen's Made in
Heaven album. I gave it a lot of thought before choosing which song to have Chris sing.
The choice of one from Made in Heaven is coincidental, not referring to his leather
jacket. It was simply the most appropriate, as it is also my intention to explore Chris'
past, his relationship with his late parents, and how he experienced having to suddenly
grow up to take care of his little sister. Fortuitously, I myself am a huge Queen fan since
I was a teenager, so I'm very familiar with their discography. For a lot of people, music
is really an important part of their lives and I think that's the case with the Redfield
siblings, or at least that's the way I interpret them.
One more thing, since I am trying to write this story a little bit more realistically, I don't
think there will be much use of medicinal herbs in the future, however, at the same time,
I was sorry not to mention them and this chapter was a good opportunity to do so.
Thanks again and lots of kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 7
Chapter Notes
Chris had been sitting in the car for quite some time with absolutely no clear idea what to do.
He knew it was going to take a while for Jill to surrender and leave town with Brad, so he
was stalling, but he didn't like it. Just as he didn't like the idea of being idle for too long. By
then it was almost ten o'clock in the morning, too late to lurk in front of the police station in
hopes of intercepting Leon Kennedy, but also too early to try to sneak into the hospital to
continue the survey he'd started the night before.
He was wasting valuable time, again.
He ran a hand over his bristly chin and took the opportunity to look at himself in the rearview
mirror and that kicked him back to the past.
An officer must always look his best. Wesker's voice echoed in his mind like the hurtful
whisper of a ghost. That harsh reprimand was the very first thing he had told him on his very
first day in the S.T.A.R.S. division. I don't want to see you in here with that ragged face
again. The beard needs to be trimmed or kept the right length so it can be groomed and tidy.
Have I made myself clear, Redfield?
"Understood..." He had replied, trailing his voice sardonically and irreverently.
The Captain had lifted his chin and bent his lips in a sneer. "I was warned of your proneness
to insubordination-
"I don't think I need lessons in decorum from someone who wears sunglasses indoors," Chris
had promptly interrupted him and Wesker had even laughed briefly, adding a 'sir' after his
sentence, then he had walked over to the window and cast a glance outside. "Well, I guess a
big bloke like you isn't afraid of a little bad weather."
"Huh?"
"Oh, just a little friendly inter-departmental cooperation, nothing to worry about."
Following that laconic reply, the Captain had arranged for him to be assigned to traffic
control, strictly outdoors, in the coldest and snowiest December in the past fifty years, and
had left him in those duties for nearly a month.
On Christmas Eve he had pulled up beside him in his car, while he was patrolling a very
trafficked crossroads.
"I notice that the unkempt beard is still there, Redfield," he had pointed out to him, skipping
any greetings or pleasantries. Chris, who had been standing there in the middle of the
intersection all day and was, by then, frozen to the bone, had smirked and replied, chattering
his teeth: "It keeps my chin warm."
Wesker had smiled, more sincerely and with a hint of exhausted amusement. "You don't want
to stay at this crossroads for another month just out of spite, do you?"
"You're getting in the way of traffic," Chris had retorted, "if you don't clear out I'll have to
write you a ticket… sir. "
"My-my, in twenty-two days in the snow you even learned to say sir when needed. What a
prodigy! I wonder what goals you'd be able to achieve if I'd leave you here until summer…"
They had looked at each other for a long moment then the captain had lent over the passenger
door and unlocked it. "Hop up."
Chris had blinked, genuinely confused, asking himself if that was some kind of twisted trick
to force him to abandon his post, but he had obeyed nonetheless. Once in the car, he had
rushed to lean his hands towards the heating vents.
“You know, I admire someone able to stay firm in his position, regardless of the
consequences," the Captain had said, driving away from the intersection.
“Why can I sense a but coming?” Chris had asked.
“Because, despite your efforts to look like an idiot, you aren't, Redfield. Don’t get me wrong,
you’re not smart either.”
Chris had laughed nervously. “I bet motivational speeches are really your thing, sir!” He had
mocked him, tense.
“I’m not here to motivate you, nor to kiss your ass or mother you. If you need cuddles, find
yourself a girlfriend. I’m evaluating you.”
“Fair. What’s this but about, then?”
“Oh, it’s quite simple: firmness is useless if it becomes stubbornness. One has to choose
what’s worth fighting for. Dedicate himself to it with passion, sweat, blood, and sacrifice. It
must have a meaning. You just fight for the like of it, and that’s childish. I don’t need brats in
my unit, not even one who can hit a mark from two hundred feet or fly a helicopter in the
perfect storm. Barry speaks highly of you and-
“Let’s get to the point, sir. You just want to know if I can follow an order and the answer is: it
depends. I won’t let anybody die on my watch if I can make a difference.”
“That’s noble and naive. You need money, don’t you? I doubt the Air Force will take you
back after what you did, but the real question is why should I keep you?”
“I saved a man!” Chris had retorted, pissed.
“You disobeyed an order. You were supposed to retreat.”

“There haven’t been any consequences!”
“You’ve been lucky. Lucky enough to be discharged honorably.”
“I’ve been efficient!” Chris had shouted, correcting him. “In battle, there’s no such thing as
luck, sir. I knew I was able to do it, so I did it.”
Wesker had taken his eyes away from the road ahead and glanced at him from behind his
sunglasses, attentively. “You look rather full of yourself, Redfield.”
Chris had shaken his head. “Just aware.” Then he had paused and clenched his fists. “Look,
I’m not here to beg you. I work hard, I don’t whine and I always give my best in every task,
be it in action or watching over traffic. The only thing I can’t do, sir, is to grant respect
blindly. It must be earned.”
“On both parts," the Captain had intruded.
“Indeed. So, this is what I can give you, plain and simple. If that’s not enough for your
S.T.A.R.S. there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I see. Let’s speak hypothetically: what if you’re the one giving an order to an insubordinate
flunky and he’s putting himself and the mission at risk, what do you do?”
“Do I know the guy?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course. If I think he can get the job done, I'd let him.”
Wesker had nodded, unimpressed. “What if you’re wrong and he dies? What if you're wrong
and everybody dies?"
Chris had fallen silent. unable to find a proper answer.
“Have you ever lost someone, Redfield?”
“My parents," he had replied, bluntly.
“It’s not the same.”
“I was in the car.”
Wesker had winced, surprised but without sympathy. “I see," he had repeated before pulling
over in front of the police station underground garage. “I want you in the office tomorrow
morning at 600. On-time.”
The young recruit had nodded without a blink. “Just a moment, please," he had asked him,
then he had taken out his block and pen. “Your ticket, sir , Merry Christmas.”
Wesker had laughed a proper, warm, sincere laugh, accepting it. "Shave that bloody beard,
Chris ," he had blurted out, amused by his nerve, while driving off.
Those were the things Chris remembered the most. His way of saying Chris , often indulging
too long on the i, especially when he was pissed at him, and the sound of his laughter - his
sincere laughter - which was rare, but it indeed happened, from time to time, and usually
because of him, since he had always been rather good at bringing out his human side, or, at
least, so he had always thought, since the manor.
Damn...
He didn't want to think about him. Why was he thinking about him?
He was tired and, in that particular moment, his hatred was running low. Nostalgia was the
preeminent emotion he was feeling. Albert Wesker had meant so much to him and now he
was forever gone, along with any possible explanation behind his actions, but he didn't really
care about answers either, right there and then. The only thing Chris could think about was
that another person he cherished had died in front of his eyes, and he hadn't been able to do
anything to save him.
He shut his eyes and the picture of his Captain impaled by the very monster he had unleashed
flashed out from his memory like a burning poison. He tried to push that image away to keep
himself in balance but he failed.
It's ok. Jill's voice echoed in his ears. And it's ok to cry.
And he collapsed, unable to do anything to restrain himself. He hid his face in his hands, and
a bitter sob shook him from head to foot, followed by sour tears of longing and shame. He
was aware of being an incoherent hypocrite and he blamed himself for it. He, who could not
forgive Barry, although he had all the extenuating circumstances, stood there, broken, for a
man who deserved nothing, not even to be remembered.
But he missed him.
He missed his crooked looks, his snide comments, the way he scolded him when he made
mistakes and how he rewarded him when he deserved it. He missed seeing him every
morning, sitting at his desk with a cup of black coffee in his hands, his sunglasses on, and his
bitchy resting face, but mostly he missed their long talks, just the two of them, alone in the
office, running overtime because the conversation was simply too compelling to care. Since
his parents had died no one had ever been in charge of nurturing him or, more simply, having
time for him, and Albert Wesker had proven himself damn good at taking on that role. He'd
been… perfect.
Chris had first realized how much he missed him in the helicopter when he had looked at the
smoke from the explosion at the Spencer mansion and he hadn't thought about all the horrors
they had endured, at their lost comrades, or at the joy of being alive... No, the only thing he
had been able to focus on was that he would have never seen his Captain again and, if at that
moment the pain of betrayal had outclassed the loss, now, almost two months later, it was no
longer enough to keep the memory of him at bay. As much as he could hate him - and he did,
deeply -, that hatred just couldn't spare him from the pain he felt at the idea that he had lost
him forever. The weaker part of him only wished with all his might that something about
their relationship had been as authentic and deep as he had always believed it to be.
He lifted his head and wiped his eyes, distressed. And yet, had there ever been anything
sincere between them? Before the incident at the mansion, Chris had always thought that the
esteem and affection he felt for Albert were mutual. It was clear that, among all the members
of S.T.A.R.S., he had always been his favorite, but Chris was now sure that it had been just a
delusion, a castle in the air he had created because it made him feel good to believe the man
he thought was perfect appreciated him for what he was to the point of making him his pupil.
Instead, he had been nothing more than another guinea pig, a lab rat to be sent to slaughter.
He glanced at the mirror and looked at his reddened eyes and pained expression. He felt
disgusted. How had he let that bastard make him feel so miserable? Why had he given him
such power? More tears came to the edge of his eyes and he sniffled violently, feeling stupid
and weak. Jill was right: he'd avoided having too much time to think precisely because he'd
feared he'd find himself in that situation and he didn't know how to handle all those
conflicting feelings. He felt like that fourteen-year-old orphan again, left alone, miraculously
unharmed, in the little room of a police station, with the gripping anguish of not knowing
what had happened to his parents only to be told they were dead by a social worker after
eleven, endless hours.
He had sworn to himself that he would have never let himself feel that way again, because he
didn't want to and because he couldn't allow it with his sister to care for, and yet there he was,
crying his heart out for Albert Wesker.
"Claire..." He sighed.
He missed her so much, but he was sure he had made the right decision in telling her nothing
and disappearing from the face of the earth. There would be time, eventually, to convince her
to forgive him, once everyone would be safe, once Umbrella had been burned to the ground.
He just hoped that Jill, too, would take the hint and leave Raccoon City.
He looked beyond the glass and it was clear to him how he had ended up feeling so
miserable, for he had brought it on himself. Albert Wesker's house was just across the street,
close and yet so far away. It was a unpretentious townhouse with an anonymous facade, an
equally anonymous driveway, and nothing that was particularly eye-catching. Chris had also
been there before, on more than one occasion, but this time was different because he knew
that when he would knock on the door, his captain wouldn't open it with that bored look on
his face for being disturbed outside his office hours.
His hands trembled on the steering wheel and he sniffed hard, trying to hold the tears back. It
was just ridiculous! Wesker's house should have been the first place to inspect, but he had
always avoided it, too afraid… of what, exactly? What scared him about that house? The
prospect of finding more evidence of his captain's culpability? No, what he had done at the
mansion was more than enough for him. Sure, everything had been lost with the mansion
explosion, but there was nothing useful in proving to the world how corrupt a dead man had
been. No, it was something more subtle, more personal, intimate, even. As sure as he was by
now that the role of the wise captain had been nothing more than an act for Wesker, his was
still a suspicion. A suspicion supported by many elements, of course, but what Chris, in his
heart, did not want was the proven proof of that. He could almost hear him, Albert, laughing
at him. Laughing at his cowardice. At his whiny, whiny brat attitude.
"Fuck you!" He growled, throwing the door wide open with force and slamming it behind
him with equal impetus.
He crossed the street with his head down like a charging bull, not allowing his mind to think
about anything, and then kicked the door down. It wasn't reinforced; Wesker had never feared
anyone, after all.
Yet despite his determined intentions, he got goose bumps as he crossed the threshold and a
cold shiver ran down his spine.
The interior was silent and nothing seemed to have been touched in the past weeks. On the
hallway cabinet, the answering machine sensor flashed red, bleakly illuminating the dusty
surface, but beyond that, everything was as aseptic and anonymous as he remembered it. In
retrospect, it was now clear to him why Wesker's house, no matter how neat and well-kept,
had always looked to him like something out of a furniture magazine. There was nothing
authentic in there, or about him. He continued on, ignoring, for the moment, the answering
machine and reached the living room. On the arm of the sofa was a dirty whiskey glass. The
liquid had long-ago evaporated, but it still appeared very strange to Chris. Wesker was not
much of a drinker and certainly would not have been drinking before a mission, and it was
more than obvious that he knew he had to lure them to that mansion to be slaughtered. So
why the drink? A qualm of conscience? Chris would have loved to hope so, but he felt in his
gut that wasn't the answer. On the couch seat was a book.
"Thus Spoke Zarathustra," Chris read the title aloud, and in turning it to look at the back,
something fell from the pages, tipping over onto the pillow and then ending up on the floor. It
was a polaroid photograph, from many years earlier, in which a younger Wesker, whitout
sunglasses, was smiling, happy, with another guy. Both were wearing white lab Umbrella
coats, and it was obvious from the awkward position that the stranger was the one who had
taken the picture. He was smaller than Wesker, also blond but with a emaciated, tired face
despite his contentment and pretty features. He stood unbalanced and abandoned with his
back against his friend, arms raised to lift the camera and Albert holding him tightly, perhaps
keeping him from falling, with one arm wrapped around his chest
They were really young, almost teenagers.
1978, France , said a half-faded writing on the white frame. It wasn't Wesker's handwriting,
so it had to be the other boy's. But who was he? He looked somewhat familiar to Chris, but
he couldn't identify him. He had viewed hundreds of Umbrella employees in the files he had
collected, and it had been twenty years since that picture had been taken. He had no idea, but
something about it bothered him. Something he couldn't identify, but it had to do with the
way Wesker smiled. He had never seen him so happy in the years he had worked alongside
him, and there was something morbid about the way he held that nameless young man close.
It was a possessive hug and even though he was being playful there was an intimidating light
in Wesker's eyes, made red by the flash, as if he wanted to say: he is mine, beware!
A wave of anger shook him from head to toe, and his heart beat faster with fury. He hated
Wesker, and even though he didn't know him, he hated the arrogant little shit, too. He
clenched the photo in his fist, crumpling it and threw the book to the floor, no longer
interested.
Back in the hallway, he played the answering machine; there was only one message.
Pick up! Pick up! Pick up! Al, please! Cried out an alarmed man, but his voice was also
uncertain, as if he had drunk too much. Damn it, Al, pick up! I know you're still at home,
please, I beg you.... There was a long pause, filled with heavy breathing of pure anxiety. You
don't have to do this, not like this. There are other options. I-I... I know you trust me but I'm
not sure! I am not sure! What if my projections are wrong? What if..? What if you die? Don't
go there, send over your team if you must, but don't go there! After what happened
yesterday... I can't, Al! Please! Another pause, this time interrupted only by frightened
choked sobs, and then a deep breath. Do you remember? At first we hated each other and,
God, how I wanted to smack your asshole face! Y-you... It was you who took the first move,
telling me that only together were we going to achieve results! That alone we were doomed!
Doomed, that's exactly what you said, doomed! And I trusted you! Now you must trust me.... I
have a bad feeling about this, and I'm so fucking scared, Al! I know it sounds stupid, I know it
sounds irrational, but please, for once, just this one goddamn time! The stranger caught his
breath once more, interrupting his delirious speech and when he spoke again, he did so in a
whisper. I know I've made mistakes and I know things will never be the same again, but you
can't punish me like this, Al, it's not fair! You've forced my hand, and I'm not sure it's going to
work, and if it doesn't... I can't lose you, I implore you-
A second voice emerged in the background, a little girl's voice. Why are you crying, daddy?
The man gulped and cleared his throat. N-no, honey, I'm not crying. It's okay, go play in your
room, I'll be right there, cross my heart.
Are you sad? Is it my fault? Where's mommy? Insisted the little girl, in a sweet, apologetic
voice, and at that point, the man ended the call.
Chris looked again at the photograph, his chest shaken with blind rage, and he focused on the
face of that obscure kid, to imprint it well in his mind. The asshole was alive and knew many,
many things, he had to find him and rip everything he wanted to know out of his mouth,
slowly, painfully, and then shoot him between those fucking blue eyes.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears,
forgive me, I am slightly late, but it has been a busy few days, I had to accompany my
mother for visits and time got a bit out of hand.
As usual, thank you to all readers, subscribers, and those who left kudos and bookmarks
<3!
About this chapter: Chris is obviously jealous as hell, but he is also dumb and doesn't
realize it at all. I wish him luck in his search for Birkin, though! Go champ, make us
proud XD!
Actually, the part at Wesker's house wasn't planned, it's an addition I wrote in the last
few hours, this is because I've always been very invested in Wesker and Birkin's
relationship. As I think you know, it appears that it was Birkin who gave the Progenitor
virus to Wesker just before the mission to Spencer Manor, so why not include some last-
minute doubt and second-guessing about a choice that could lead to his best friend's
death? After all, angst is the new sexy.
And now the question of questions: were they lovers at some point? As this is unplanned
content, I have to think about it a bit, but I am open to suggestions. What would you
prefer? A deep friendship or something more?
With that said, I salute you, thanks again,
Kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 8
Chapter Notes
Nicholai opened his eyes with a snort, awoken by the hubbub of his fellow soldiers clucking
like vociferous chickens in the recreation room just outside the dormitory.
He gritted a curse in Russian through his teeth, pushing off the sheet and leaping off the bed.
He quickly laced up his shoes and then headed briskly out of the room.
"What the fuck is going on here?!" he shouted, annoyed, towards the detestable group of
imbeciles gathered around the table.
Some of them clammed up, others giggled, but only Murphy Seeker had the balls, or the
stupidity, to advance toward him.
"Oooh, did we wake the big bad wolf? How sorry I am!" He exclaimed, snarkily. "After all,
you're always so thoughtful of other people's needs, always so...caring! What a bunch of
assholes we are, aren't we, guys?" And at this even the more hesitant ones let slip a few snide
remarks, reassured by the strength of the group.
Nicholai tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "If you had something to tell me, Seeker,
you didn't need to bring all the bridesmaids to the party. No matter. I can wipe the floor with
all your asses. One at a time or all at once, I don't care. Just make it quick," he said, stretching
his neck and cracking his knuckles.
"I just want to get you out of the habit of using others as shields to make you look good in the
eyes of Command," Murphy retorted, stopping just short of him and looking him straight in
the eye.
Nicholai puffed, annoyed. "Not others : just you, deadweight," he hissed, not at all
frightened.
Carlos Oliveira came out of the bathroom at that exact moment and was immediately alerted,
upon seeing his fellow soldiers arranged in a circle around Nicholai and Murphy who looked
like they were about to start a fight.
"Okay, okay, ladies! Let's try to calm our tits down," he interjected, stepping through the
others and placing an arm between the two. He cast a glance at Nicholai, whispering, "it's not
worth it, and you know that."
The Russian stiffened, then closed his eyes and nodded, stepping away and walking back
toward the dorm room.
"Go, go, you fucking pussy!" Shouted Murphy, and Carlos glared at him.
"Give it a rest, you've had it easy enough. You ran your mouth and he didn't blow your face
off, so don't push your luck, intiende ?" he admonished him.
"What fucking side are you on, Carlos, huh? He's an asshole! I know it, you know it, the
whole fucking base knows it, and it's time to teach him a goddamn lesson!"
Before Carlos could stop him, Murphy sprinted towards Nicholai who, with his back to them,
was standing on the threshold of the dormitory. He merely rotated a little to dodge his attack
and push him off balance, then he used the strength of his blow against him, smashing his
face hard over the door frame. Murphy gasped, breathless from the violent backlash, and a
hiccough escaped his lips as he found the Russian's arm clamped on his windpipe from
behind. He struck him with his elbow, trying to free himself, but Nicholai took the blow
without a flinch. Then, as if nothing had happened, he simply released him and threw him at
Carlos' feet.
"Next time you want to sneak up on me, try shooting from a roof, dickhead," he concluded,
reentering the room.
"You had it coming," commented Carlos, glancing at Murphy's bleeding face and then
following the Russian into the dorm.
"What?" asked Nicholai, annoyed, "I barely touched him."
"I know, I know. I just wanted to ask why you hate him so much, he's a good guy. He gets a
little carried away, ok, but-
Nicholai grimaced, interrupting him, "Why do you give a shit?"
Carlos sat down on one of the beds and watched him light a cigarette. "I don't know, it just
seems weird to me how you hate everyone."
Nicholai inspired a deep puff of smoke, enjoying it, since who knows when he might get a
chance to smoke another one in peace, given the chaos that was about to break out in that
shitty town.
"Says the guy who loves everybody," he countered. "Besides, I don't hate any of them. Hate
is an all too noble sentiment. It shouldn't be wasted on priks. I just…" He froze, for a
moment, stuck, then he proceeded with an incomprehensible mixture of the two languages,
struggling to find the right word in both. “Fuck English!" He snorted, frustrated, " Я
презираю их !"
Carlos laughed, amused. "I’ll trust you on that. You don't seem to ia-presz -whatever me,
though, right, camarada ?"
Nicholai shrugged. "There are things I do dislike about you. Your inclination to be everyone's
friend, for example. Even mine. I'm not someone to befriend. Given your background, you
should know better."
Carlos lifted his gaze and a shadow of seriousness clouded his otherwise joyful dark eyes.
"Given my background, I know perfectly well how to recognize myself in a mirror," he

replied, hinting at him with a nod. "Our lives may not have been the same, but I can
recognize the scars of those who have had nothing but shit since they were born. Besides,
you're the reason I'm still alive and kickin'. The least I could do is repay you with my
charming company." He smiled, uneasy. "Bullshit aside, I've been trying to talk to you for a
while. Fuck, I worked my ass off to get Mikhail to add you to the platoon. Now that I have
you in my reach, you're not slipping away."
Nicholai frowned, shaking his head. "You're deluding yourself by seeing things that aren't
there. Umbrella is the reason you still live. They wanted to recruit you, I rescued you. End of
story."
"Oh, come on! What's wrong with being nice to each other and having a little chat, huh? I
waited two fucking years for this and I want us to be friends. It won't kill us!"
It actually might , Nicholai thought, but he kept it to himself. "You're not going to leave me
be, aren't you?"
"Nope."
"Why? There's an entire squad of assholes that would be more than happy to fool around with
you right through that door," Nicholai blurted out, pointing at the exit of the room, "why
me?"
Carlos looked him right in the eyes. "Because I think you need it," he replied.
The Russian laughed coldly. "Oh niet , I don't," he replied, taking off his t-shirt to change into
a clean one, but he stopped when Carlos persisted in his nonsense.
"Then maybe I need it. You can blather all you want about following orders and blah, blah,
blah, but I was there, too. I saw the look on your face."
"You saw nothing."
"You were sorry," Carlos stated, tremendously serious. "You were sorry you didn't get there
in time to save my comrades from the firing squad. That's why you killed all those fuckers,
instead of bribing them with Umbrella money, and it's also the reason why you keep everyone
at distance. I mean… I just wanted to thank you, ok? Now go on, deny it, or say you only did
it to keep the money to yourself, I don't care. I know what I saw and I know you wanted to
avoid this entire conversation precisely because it hurts you."
Nicholai squinted his pale eyes and tilted his head a little. He was quite taken aback by how
much Carlos had picked up on what had happened in Colombia a couple of years before.
How right he actually was. He had indeed avoided him since, even if, to be true, he had
inquired from Mikhail about his training several times, over the years. Because Carlos was
undoubtedly gifted and a part of him wanted to see him succeed. He inhaled another puff of
smoke, avoiding eye contact.
"You're welcome," he conceded, "but I'm not going to talk about it."
Carlos smiled softly and nodded, "It's ok."
"Are we done?"
"Well, no, let's be friends. That's the whole point."
Nicholai rolled his eyes. "Fuck off," he mumbled.
"Hey, that's not a no," Carlos implied, his eyes lit up like a child's.
"I'm pretty sure it's not a yes either. Maybe what I mean is gettin' lost in translation. What's
fuck off in Spanish?"
At that Carlos just laughed.
Nicholai kept quiet for a moment, then he frowned. "Actually, there's something I'm curious
about," he said, "do you even see where you're shooting, with that bush of hair on your head,
or do you just do it randomly?"
Carlos smiled, amused, and not at all offended.
"You'll need to work way harder to get under my skin. And, at least I don't have a rose
tattooed on my chest! Does it have something to do with a woman? I like the spider on the
shoulder, though. It's really badass."
Nicholai didn't comment on the matter and continued to smoke in silence, keeping his eyes
pointed out the window. It had grown dark. How long until the end of the world? He
wondered.
"Earth to Nicholai! Earth to Nicholai!"
The Russian snorted, turning his attention back to Carlos with a sharp movement of his neck.
"Are all Latinos this nosy or is that your prerogative?" He complained.
"Oh come on, I'm just trying to get to know you better. Look at the bright side: if the others
see you with me maybe they'll even stop busting your balls. They love me," Carlos objected.
Nicholai stared at him, still with that enigmatic, stoic face. "As I care," he huffed. "The rose
means I was in prison when I turned eighteen. A birthday present from my cellmate. The
spider explains why. It's the symbol of thieves. If it's climbing the web it means the thief is in
business, if it's coming down he's stopped stealing."
"So you still are one?"
Nicholai put off his cigarette then he took a wallet out of his pocket and threw it at him.
"What do you think?" He asked.
"Is this… Murphy's?! How? When did you take it? I was watching you!"
Nicholai didn't bother to reply and turned to grab a clean t-shirt from his backpack.
"Holy shit!" Carlos exclaimed at the sight of a huge burn scar that covered all the skin
between the Russian's shoulder blades.
Nicholai froze for a moment then shrugged. "I'm not talking about that either," he concluded,
covering it with the t-shirt, then he walked towards the door but after a moment of
uncertainty, he spoke again, "I'm gonna grab dinner and not in this shitty canteen. If you
wanna come, get a move on."
"Yes!!!" Carlos laughed, joyfully and joined him in a blink. "See? It wasn't that hard. You can
be a decent human being when you want to."
"I'm already regretting it."
"Amallrrrredyrrregrrrettinit! How do you even make that sound? It's fucking insane!" Carlos
mocked him, trying to mimic his accent and giggling at his own pathetic attempt.
Nicholai chuckled, letting him pass first through the door, and then he glanced at him,
amused. Carlos wasn't wrong: he kinda liked him. No, actually, he respected him. That didn't
mean he wouldn't have thrown him to the wolves to save his own ass, but indeed he was the
best one among that bunch of assholes and he was good company too.
September 25th, 1998 - Raccoon City Outskirts
Leon opened his eyes with a relaxed sigh, stretching even a little. Only after a few moments
of confused bewilderment did he remember where he was.
"Holy shit!" He imprecated, leaping to his feet as if he had received an electric shock. How
long had he slept? What time was it? It was only once he had run to the door that he realized
his back no longer hurt. He felt good as if he hadn't fallen at all.
"What the hell?" He whispered, shocked, then forced himself to stop thinking about that crap
and leave. He was late, he didn't know by how much, but he already knew he was going to
get his ass kicked at the station, or worse, maybe they'd just fire him on the spot.
He flung open the door and blood froze in his veins when he saw that outside, beyond the
glass windows, the sky had turned dark.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He groaned, putting his hands in his hair. There was no limit to how bad
that fucking day could get for him! He rubbed his eyes, trying to take stock of the situation
and find a way out of that huge mess, without succeeding. Why hadn't Mrs. Polly woke him
up?
There was something odd. Although the sunset was long gone, the interior lights were off and
the only light came from the streetlamp in the parking lot outside. Had they forgotten about
him and left him there? No, they weren't that scatterbrained. He turned around and noticed
that, behind the counter, the door leading to the kitchen was barely ajar and a glimmer of
light shone on the linoleum floor.
Definitely odd.
Without a second thought, he stepped over the counter panel and immediately tripped over
something. He looked down at his feet and saw the diner owner's shotgun. He lifted it,
weighing it in his hands, and then opened it. There was only one round in the chamber.
Slowly he walked over to the door, taking care not to make any noise, and opened it by just
pushing it with his left hand. The first thing he noticed was a long streak of blood on the floor
disappearing beyond a work table and then a chewing sound that made his skin crawl.
Every nerve in his body begged him to run away because there was something horrible
beyond that table. Something he didn't want to see, but he couldn't leave, not after those
people had been so nice to him. He took a deep breath and moved to the side just enough to
peer over the obstacle.
Oh my god! He thought, horrified.
Mrs. Polly was lying on the ground in a pool of blood and body fluids, her arms and legs
abandoned in disarray, her pink uniform filthy and torn. Leon couldn't see her face and he
didn't want to. Her husband was bent over her with his face sunk on her belly from which he
was tearing shreds of flesh with his teeth.
For a long moment, Leon could do nothing but remain motionless, his breathing cut off by
the gruesome scene before his eyes. His stomach twisted in a grip of nausea and he did his
best not to throw up. He lifted the barrel of the shotgun slightly.
"Put your hands where I can see them!" He ordered, but any effort to sound authoritative was
futile. His voice was shaking and so were his clenched hands on the weapon.
The owner's head snapped upward a little in an unnatural, almost mechanical motion, and
then turned slowly toward him. His eyes were veiled in white, and his blood-covered face
seemed completely transfigured, just like the snouts of the animals Leon had encountered in
the forest. There was no longer any trace of the gruff but kind-hearted man he had met a few
hours earlier.
"Hands up, sir!" He repeated and it sounded almost like a plea.
Staggering, the man stood, his mouth gaping with jaws smashing ravenously. A guttural
wheeze came from his mouth. A wheeze that no longer had anything human left in it. He
lifted his arms, opening and closing his fingers in the gap between them, and moved toward
Leon, dragging his feet across the linoleum made slippery by poor Polly's blood. He
advanced slowly but surely, keeping those dead eyes fixed on his young prey.
"Arthur, please..." Leon whined, backing away a little.

At that point the old owner made a sudden rush forward, growling, famished, and Leon by
reflex pulled the trigger. The buckshot hit the old man in the chest, leaving a wide hole at the
heart level and he fell to the ground with a thud. Leon jumped back in shock and slid, finding
himself semi-sprawled on the floor. His clothes, his face, and even his hair were covered in
the blood of the man he had just shot at point-blank range. He wanted to look away from that
horrific scene more than anything else, but he couldn't. He was terrified. He felt like his heart
was going to explode out of his chest, he was hyperventilating and couldn't formulate any
coherent thoughts. He wanted to scream, but his voice was choked in his throat. His eyes
clouded with tears of panic. He prayed that everything he had experienced in those last two
days was nothing more than a terrible nightmare and then the old owner moved . At first, he
thought he had only imagined it because it was not possible since he had blown off half his
chest with that shot! But then he clearly saw him crawling on all fours and it wasn't a
hallucination. It was fucking real . He didn't stop to further look at him, Leon scrambled back
to his feet and hurled himself out the door and then, with a leap, jumped over the counter and
bolted out the exit door, collapsing onto the patio of the diner. The hard impact with the
wooden beams jolted him out of his shock, making him aware of his surroundings: growls
and howls were coming from the thick woods beyond the parking lot but he didn't dare to
investigate and jumped into his car, placing the shotgun on the passenger seat.
"My gun! Where's my fucking gun?!" He panicked, searching it all over the cockpit.
"FUCK!" He screamed, punching the steering wheel.
Something crashed violently onto the hood and when he looked up he saw one of those
fucking dogs growling at him just on the other side of the windshield glass. He slid the key
into the ignition and, squealing, drove off in reverse, causing it to slump to the road. He ran
over something in his turn to get onto the highway and when he looked in the side mirror he
saw another dog, its body half mangled by his rear wheel, trying to get back up on its feet,
alive and rabid. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped off, heading for town.
Nicholai and Carlos were sitting at a table in a diner behind the police station, chatting about
this and that and eating.
"Yeah, come to papi ," Carlos mumbled, half-voiced when a girl of his liking walked past
them and headed for the bathroom.
Nicholai raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Has that attitude ever worked?" He asked, incredulous
and a tad derisive.
Carlos shrugged. "Honestly? Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, but I don't make a big
deal out of it. I can have as many girls as I want. I'm irresistible, I just have to adjust my
tactics and try further."
Nicholai grimaced and took a sip of beer to keep from laughing in his face.
"What, you don't believe me?" Carlos exclaimed, almost offended. "Okay, smartass, one
hundred bucks I can get her number in ten minutes," he challenged him, nodding at the
bathroom door.
The other tilted his head, curling his lips, then sneered. "One thousand and I'll give you five.
Deal?"
"Watch and learn!" Carlos laughed, rising to his feet and leaving the table.
"Good luck," Nicholai mocked him, starting the timer on his wristwatch.
He watched Carlos poach the poor girl right outside the bathroom. With the background
music from the radio and the hubbub of the other customers, he couldn't quite hear what the
absolute jerk was saying, but the lady didn't seem particularly impressed.
Easiest money of my career , he thought, casting a glance at his watch. Two minutes,
Casanova...
And then, out of nowhere, he saw her burst out laughing and not in a spiteful way. She was
amused at some joke Carlos had said. He wasn't too surprised by it, after all being funny was
his real gift. Ultimately, that was exactly why Nicholai tolerated him.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered with a smirk as the girl opened her purse to pull out a small
address book and a pen with just a minute left on the clock. Carlos gave him a brief look of
triumph and Nicholai raised the bottle a little in a hint of toast. Nothing too blatant, he didn't
want her to notice. A bet only made sense if it was carried through to the end. No tricks. He
had lost, he could live with that.
The girl had just put her pen down on the paper she had torn off, when, outside the diner, a
car drove over at an excessive speed to finish its race against the street fire extinguisher,
which exploded in a violent gush of water.
Nicholai blinked and sighed. He knew that car and he also knew the guy who opened the
door and then sprinted away at full speed: Leon Kennedy, definitely up to no good, but he
liked his style. He certainly wasn't shy with his entrances and he was one hell of a runner too.
His watch began beeping to inform him that time was up. He cast a glance at Carlos and his
graceful conquest, the slip of paper still in her hand, blank, as she looked, shaken, out the
window at the half-battered hood of the green Jeep.
The kitten had also saved him one grand, how nice of him. The least he could do to repay
him was to check whatever the fuck was his problem now.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears,
the usual customary thanks to those who are continuing to read my story, leave kudos,
subscriptions, comments, and bookmarks. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Yeeey, finally Carlos! In a story where everyone is a pissed-off sourpuss, we needed a
ray of sunshine. When I played 3 Remake, my first thought about him was, "okay, this
guy is a jerk," but as the game goes on, it is literally impossible not to love him because
he is just too cute and funny. If Leon is a cat who, depending on his mood, can be
adorable or pestiferous, Carlos is a wagging puppy dog, ready to give love to everyone. I
generally tend to ship almost exclusively slash, but I have to admit that he and Jill are
too cute together, although, in this story, like pretty much all couples, it will take them
forever before they get to that point.
Apart from that, finally some zombies! Even if I feel a little sorry for the old couple in
the diner but it's a Resident Evil story, and someone has to die.
One important thing: I speak neither Russian nor Spanish, although I am learning a little
bit of Russian in my spare time (I can read Cyrillic and say a few short sentences,
nothing really articulate, yet) and Spanish is quite close, as a language, to my mother
tongue (which is Italian, greetings from Tuscany, you all ^^). When I have to insert
sentences or words in Russian or Spanish I do a thousand checks with translators and
especially with Reverso, but if I ever write incorrect things, please forgive me, it is not
my intention to insult your language and any eventual correction will be absolutely
welcome.
With that said, I bid you farewell and see you in the next chapter!
Kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 9
Chapter Notes
Nicholai stood up. "You pay for dinner, I want the rest in cash," he said to his colleague, with
a grin of satisfaction. "I have to go."
Carlos scowled, "Go? Where? We have to get back in ten! Besides, it's not fair!" He
protested. "Nicholai! Oh, fuck you!"
The Russian paid no mind to his protests and hurried out of the diner. The kid was fast,
definitely faster than he was, but he didn't know the place and was certainly making his way
around the building to get to the police station. He cut through the alleyway behind the diner
and only needed to reach out an arm to grab Leon and drag him toward him, but if he had
expected to receive no resistance, he was surprised by the readiness with which the boy broke
free from his grasp and tried to strike him. A blow more than easy to block, but that also
indicated an incredible readiness to employ what little and pathetic training the kid had been
given at the police academy. He deflected his second punch, unbalancing him, and then drove
him - rather than slamming him - against the alley wall, so he wouldn't hurt himself too much
on the impact. He held him firmly by pressing his palm on his chest and only then did he look
at his face. The little thing was terrified out of his wits and covered in blood. His eyes were
wide open, his nostrils flared like those of a hunted prey on the run. He could feel his lungs
inflate and deflate under his hand in a gasping breath and his whole body was shaking hard.
A full-blown panic attack, but still, somehow, he was able to function and that genuinely
impressed Nicholai.
Leon looked back at him in remand and blinked, recognizing him. It was the Russian guy he
had met that morning, the one who, despite his threatening appearance, had been friendly
towards him, almost caring. What was his name? He couldn't recall. He wobbled, relieved,
but in truth, Nicholai's presence did him more harm than good. As long as he had been alone
he had been able to maintain a glimmer of control, but now that he had someone whom he
could put his trust in, all the terror and guilt he had accumulated since escaping from the
diner came crashing down on him. Not willingly, of course. He wouldn't have wanted to give
in to panic, also because, as fascinating as the guy looked, he was still a stranger, but he just
had a desperate, physiological need for someone he could rely on, at that moment. At least
that guy was there, unlike Michael and everyone else. His trembling grew stronger and his
breathing more uncertain. Distressed by the terrible experience he had just gone through, he
suddenly realized that he was absolutely alone in the world. He could have died in those
woods, or been killed in the diner and no one would have shed a tear for him or given a shit.
What had he done wrong to deserve that? Why did everything always have to go wrong for
him? Why, in the end, did everyone seem to despise him or consider him irrelevant? It hurt so
damn much...
He gasped and gulped, struggling to speak, to breathe even. He tried to say something, but
the words clammed up onto his throat, choked by his erratic breathing. He panicked, even
more, when he noticed the man was talking to him but he couldn't seem able to catch his
words, his head was trapped in a bubble of anxiety and despair. Was he about to be arrested?
No, after all, the owner of the diner wasn't dead...but what if he was? What if he had only
imagined seeing him get back up? Was he going crazy? Had he really killed a man? Was his
mind making up all sorts of insanity to spare him from that terrible truth? His breathing was
so rapid now that he was almost suffocating. He felt himself passing out, and then a sudden
slap hit his right cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his face turn.
"Snap out of it, boy," Nicholai ordered with a firm tone. Firm, yes, but measured. Not a
shout. Not aggressive or threatening. Just on point.
Leon kept his face down and took in a deep breath, a real one, which filled his lungs with air
and cleared his mind a bit. Shyly he cast a glance at the Russian then suddenly reached
forward and embraced him, clinging to him tightly. Nicholai froze on the spot, destabilized
and almost shocked, his back arched forward by the force with which the boy was hugging
him as if his life depended on it. He hadn't expected this, and, in all honesty, he couldn't even
figure why Leon had felt the need to do such a thing. People often wanted to fight him, he
was used to it, the bravest ones had even dared to try, sometimes, but he didn't normally
inspire affection or protection. At first, he'd even thought Leon had been infected and wanted
to bite him - that, he might have even understood - but no, out of panic he was seriously
hugging him and his neck, tightly clenched by his arms, was also beginning to ache a bit. He
remained motionless, unable to decide what to do with his own arms, suspended in midair:
should he push him away? Hug him back? Out of question! What the fuck was he supposed
to do? He could feel the boy's forehead pressed against his shoulder and his breath on his
collarbone slowly becoming more relaxed, more natural. So, despite how uncomfortable he
felt, Nicholai decided to endure and, moment by moment, Leon grew calmer and calmer.
Even his painful hug eased, becoming just needy, but he took his damn time before letting the
bewildered Nicholai go completely.
Then the rookie stepped back, keeping his gaze down.
"I killed a man," he whispered, feeble as a cub. "Or… at least, I think so. I-I don't know!" A
sob shook him and, ashamed, he lowered his chin, even more, letting his hair cover his
weeping eyes.
Nicholai wondered what the big deal was, but as much as empathy wasn't his strong suit, he
wasn't an idiot and could imagine how the boy felt. He'd probably never killed anyone and,
given the circumstances, just as likely that was still the case.
"Are you hurt?" He asked him, alluding to the blood that, by now, covered them both.
Leon shook his head and sniffed hard.
"Good," Nicholai retorted, nonetheless feeling some inexplicable relief. "What happened to
you?"
It was pretty obvious. The dogs in the forest had probably reached the diner, infected
someone, and the boy had had to choose between dying or striking back. Obviously, he'd
made the right choice. Or maybe he'd found Redfield and killed him? No, as much as he
didn't have a high opinion of S.T.A.R.S. survivors, even the most inept of them wouldn't be
taken aback by a kid playing cop, besides, Leon didn't have it in him. His first guess was the
most plausible.
Leon rubbed his face with the back of his sleeve, wiping his eyes; only then did he notice the
Umbrella Corporation logo embroidered on the Russian's vest and his heart jolted in fear.
Nicholai , that was his name. He remembered now and that white and red logo gave him the
distraction he needed to fully come back to his senses.
He lifted his gaze, his blue eyes alight with a strange, battling spark. "You're not distressed,"
he stated.
"Huh?" Muttered the Russian, tilting his head, intrigued. The boy was in control again and
Nicholai was totally up to be surprised once again. It was so rare to find someone he couldn't
read at first glance.
"Anyone would be distressed upon seeing someone covered in blood. You're not," Leon
reasoned aloud, but not by mistake. He was looking for a reaction.
Nicholai chuckled. Apparently, the clingy child was gone and the cunning kitten was back.
He definitely preferred the latter. He had some real balls, or maybe it was just plain stupidity.
Which one, he couldn't tell for certain. He was puzzled. "I'm not an ordinary man," he
answered him, velvety and sincerely.
"What's in that forest? And what does Umbrella have to do with the murders in the Arklay
Mountains?"
A very specific question. Nicholai was growing more curious by the minute, nonetheless, he
shook his head. "I told you to get out of this place. Things are about to get… messy, let's say.
That's the right word, maybe a little reductive, but you got the point."
Leon winced, confused and alarmed. Was he threatening him? Somehow, he didn't think so.
The Russian was still behaving cheerfully and charmingly like he didn’t have a care in the
world. He looked like a predator who was more intrigued by playing with his prey than eager
to devour it, and Leon found it thrilling. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins again and
the panic, at least for a while, was gone. He was aware he didn't have a single drop of control
over the situation and that it could escalate at any second, but he knew the Russian wasn't
going to hurt him. He felt it. Not as long as he would show himself interesting in his eyes.
Over time, Leon had learned to recognize when a man felt curiosity towards him, and
although there was nothing sexual about Nicholai's attitude, he was sure he had won him
over. One more little push and maybe he might even get some real answers about whatever
the fuck was going on in that place.
Nicholai snorted a laugh and took a step back, then lit a cigarette with all the calmness in the
world. The kitten was making eyes at him but still had his tail all fluffed up, how sweet!
"Did Redfield ask you to keep watch on me after he brought me out of the woods?" Leon
asked.
Nicholai inhaled a puff, letting the smoke flow gently out of his nostrils. That guy Redfield
was really a fixation for the wannabe cop but why? If he was going after Umbrella, why was
he going after S.T.AR.S., too? It didn't make the slightest sense. He shook his head. He had to
stop getting curious over that crap; that kid was a distraction. A dangerous one, but he
decreed there was no harm in staying a little longer.
"Apologies, I don't know Redfield."
"Yeah, and I'm a total idiot!" Rebutted the rookie dryly.
Nicholai barely raised his eyebrows and shook the ash off his cigarette. "That's a distinct
possibility," he pointed out, then paused, thoughtful.
Leon stood his ground. "Stop patronizing me!" He almost shouted, nervous, "two people are
dead! What the fuck is going on? Is this a virus? A parasite? And how is it infecting bears,
dogs, and humans all the same? They look like... Fuck!" He didn't dare to say the word,
because it seemed ridiculous to him to even think such bullshit.
"Zombies?" Nicholai voiced it for him, with that weird grin on his face.
"Rabid," Leon stated, not allowing him to make him feel stupid.
"You're rational. I like that," the Russian complimented him, "but zombies was the correct
answer," he continued, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. "Of course, you're free not to
believe me."
"Don't take me for a fool, asshole, I deserve better!" Protested Leon, clenching his fists.
Nicholai scowled, irritated by his rudeness. "You deserve nothing. Me not killing you is
already a kindness you should be grateful for." he blurted in response, tossing the cigarette on
the ground, but the rest of his argument was cut off by the vehemence of his young
interlocutor.
"If you wanted to murder me, you would have done it already. So tell me something that
might actually be useful to me," Leon insisted, stubborn. "If you and Redfield want to back
out of... whatever happened in the Arklay Mountains, it's possible. You just need to get me
some evidence to-
Nicholai abruptly grabbed him by the neck with his left hand, unsure if he wanted to kill him
or scare him away. That brief conversation had led him to wonder what the fuck he was doing
there in the first place. Why was he wasting his time with that imbecile? He'd found out about
Umbrella all by himself and he was a kinda decent survivalist, so what? He wasn't the first,
and he wouldn't be the last. He was just going to be the next dead in a pit or a lab. There was
nothing special about that kid. It had been a mistake to take him out of the forest, a mistake
he would fix right away. He tightened his grip on his windpipe, pressing his nape against the
brick wall of the alley, but there was no reaction from Leon, though. None whatsoever. He
did not attempt to scream, or to free himself; in fact, he even lifted his chin a little, as if he
wanted to leave more room for his hand to strangle him. Nicholai flinched, astonished, and
without realizing it, let go a little. Why wasn't he resisting? Did he want to die? He looked
down at him, expecting to see him paralyzed with fear but, no, the little shit was looking at
him almost defiantly.
Leon smiled, forcing himself to remain calm. "You know?" He whispered, languidly, half-
choked, "I like it rough, but you might as well have offered me a nice dinner or, at least, a
coffee before slamming me to the wall like this, handsome."
Nicholai jolted, taken completely aback by that sudden nonsense. "What?!" He exclaimed,
widening his green, pale eyes while looking at him, his hand now fully loose on his neck
since his brain was completely devoted to translating and rectifying the sentence to give it a
different sense than the one he had, correctly, understood but couldn't believe as right.
That was the moment Leon was looking for, a fraction of utter bewilderment and, therefore,
distraction. Quickly and ruthlessly he kneed him between his rounded thighs and when
Nicholai crumpled in on himself with a stifled grunt, he took the opportunity to throw a
punch in his face and run away, fast as the wind.
After a moment of silence, instead of his following footsteps, Leon heard him laugh loudly
but didn't stop to look. He knew he'd been lucky, and the only reason he'd managed to get
himself out of that situation with such a simple trick was due to the fact Nicholai didn't want
to kill him, or even to hurt him, to begin with. He ignored his motives, but he had no
intention of pushing his luck by stopping to ask him, especially after he had smashed his
balls, so he stormed across the main road and right inside the gate of the R.P.D.
When Carlos reached the alley, Nicholai was still sitting on the ground, giggling.
"There you are! Come on, we're fucking late!" Carlos urged him, then he glanced at him
better. "The hell? Is that blood?!"
Nicholai laughed harder, but he brought himself back to his feet with tears of amusement in
his eyes.
"Don't worry, I just fought with a кот ," he explained.
"You mean a cat? Hell, it fucking won, apparently," Carlos joked, but he was also kinda
worried. What the fuck was Nicholai doing there? In truth, though, since he had found him
with his ass on the ground, a bruise on his left cheek and now he was even limping a bit, he
wasn't too keen to meet the guy who had put him there. It was better to mind his own, damn
business, for once.
"He won indeed," he just heard him comment with a satisfied smirk.
"I must say it, I've never seen someone so happy to have been kicked in the ass, you crazy
sonofabitch," Carlos stated, rolling his eyes. "Let's get a move on, now, or Mikhail's gonna
rip up both of our asses."
They walked back to the base at a fast pace.
"Did you get the lady's number?" Nicholai asked, at some point.
Carlos glared at him. " ¡Jodete, imbécil! "
"Broken in your wallet and your pride. How unlucky…" Nicholai purred. "Don't worry. Night
is still long, it can always get better. Or worse. Who knows?” He laughed, joyfully, preceding
him through the gates.
When they opened the doors of the barracks they found Mikhail waiting for them in the
center of the hallway with his arms crossed and looking very tense and pissed off. Carlos
slowed his pace, somewhat fearful of the rant that would follow.
Nicholai chuckled again, looking at his compatriot.
"My deepest apologies, tovarish captain," he sneered at him, mocking the soviet military
salute, "don't punish him, it was all my fault."
"Are you drunk, Nicholai?" Mikhail retorted, not at all amused by his disrespectful attitude,
but what could he expect from a disgusting, dissident jailbird like he was? He really didn’t
know why Sergei was so fond of him to the point of considering that filthy son of a whore a
friend. He was just an unreliable, greedy, violent anarchist. The animal was covered in blood
even at that very moment, for fuck's sake! His proper place would have been a pit, with a
hole between his eyes, and without a headstone to preserve his name.
"No, just in a good mood, try not to spoil it for me,” Nicholai replied, smug.
The captain let slip a snort of contemptuous scorn. "A stray bastard is still a bastard, no
matter how much you groom his fur, am I wrong, Zinoviev?"
Carlos saw Nicholai's back tense up a little, so he decided to step forward.
"Hey, hey, let's not fight, now! We’re sorry, captain, really," he intervened, gently pushing his
friend back, "it won't happen again, right, Nick?” He glanced at him eloquently, hoping for a
little cooperation, but Nicholai snorted, shaking his head with an insufferable provocative
smile on his lips.
Mikhail seemed willing to shrug it off and be the bigger man, though. He looked at the both
of them. "The doctor is waiting to give you your shot in that room, you two are the last. The
company says this is a routine medical procedure, so no whining, get the bloody medicine
and be off."
"Okay, cool!" Carlos smiled, and was about to move when Nicholai grabbed him by the wrist
and then stood between him and the captain, towering over him. His playful attitude was
definitely gone. Why does he always have to put up a fight? Why can't he just talk it out?
Carlos wondered. It was pretty clear that he and Mikhail didn’t get along for some reason he
ignored - and that also explained why the captain had been so reluctant in front of his several
pleas to add Nicholai to the platoon - but, come on, they didn’t have to throw hands over
something as stupid as a ten minutes delay. He looked again at his friend to find him in full
battle gear, his muscles were tense, his eyes fixed like the one of a wild predator ready to
fight, but there was also something else. Nicholai had put himself between him and the
captain in what looked like a protective stance to shield him from… what? Carlos had no
idea, maybe nothing and he was just delusional. He was about to try to de-escalate the
situation again, when Nicholai spoke, in Russian, and with a tone of voice that clearly wasn’t
apologetic, but, rather, the opposite.
"Забудь об этом! Я не собираюсь вводить это дерьмо в свое тело, и он тоже." He hissed,
menacingly. "Не колеблясь, сразись со мной, если посмеешь. Давайте посмотрим, как
сильно может укусить такая ублюдочная собака, как я, верно, Мишенька? "
Carlos, uncomfortable, really did not know what to do, at that point, because he had lost
every possible chance to catch what the fuck was going on.
"Um..." He vocalized, "I can't fix it if I don't understand a word," he pointed out to them,
smiling awkwardly, "come on, guys, we're all pals here!"
Neither of them listened to him, and he felt as transparent as a ghost. He didn’t like it, but he
liked even less to be unable to prevent the worst. He moved to step between them, but
Nicholai raised his arm, pushing him back with his elbow, perfectly aware not only of his
existence but also of his intentions, and that was a clear stay the fuck back, I got this!
Mikhail frowned, disgusted and not frightened at all. " Сергею следовало оставить тебя в
той замерзшей канализации, где он тебя нашел, маленькая сучка !" He retorted, cruelly,
hitting him right where he knew it hurt the most, his long-lost honor if he ever had one. Yes,
he knew about his dirty, little past and he even sneered, intending to belittle him in every way
he could to put him back into his right place, the bottom. At the same time, he held himself
ready to react in case that asshole jumped at his throat like the beast he was.
Nicholai winced, taken aback but also triggered, and, for a moment, Carlos too feared that he
was going to kill the captain, there in the middle of the hallway, no fucks given. He had such
a frightening murderous light in his eyes, but then he burst out laughing. A laugh full of
anger and resentment and pure hatred. A laugh that concealed a howl of pain, in all
likelihood. Carlos became even more alert and distressed, but, contrary to what he had
anticipated, Nicholai did not attack. But hell if there was a promise of death in the last look
he gave Mikhail before the latter stepped away, perhaps aware that he had gotten too carried
away.
"I'll be waiting in the lobby to give you your orders, Carlos. Do whatever the fuck you want
about the drug, but make it quick," the captain ordered him, before going out the first door on
the left, the one opposite to the infirmary.
The young operative watched him go and sighed in relief, then turned to Nicholai who stood,
sullenly, a few steps away from him. He really looked furious but also… hurt?
"Hey…" He rushed in front of him, and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "What did he say
to you? Was it that bad?" He asked, worried.
"Forget it."
"You know they're just words, they doesn't mean any-

"Mind your own fuckin' business, Carlos!" He snapped, glaring at him. "Just don't get that
shot. You're welcome, friend , now fuck off," he snarled in a very bitter way, leaving him
there, alone, in the middle of the hallway. Nicholai didn't trust Umbrella because he knew
better. That injection could be a vaccine, or the T-Virus, or something else. Or maybe they
were going to infect only half of the group and then lock them somewhere to watch them kill
each other. He had seen first hand the company couldn't care less about losing a bunch of
their men. They considered it a necessary sacrifice for the sake of their experiments.
Collateral damage. Fine, but not with his ass, nor with that of the lucky idiot he had shared
dinner with. He just hoped he wouldn't bother him anymore with all that nonsense about
becoming friends. He didn't want to. He had already exposed himself more than he would
have liked for him. He was done.
"Wait a second, what do you mean?" Carlos groaned, confused as hell. He rushed out the
front door, not giving a damn about Mikhail's order, but when he got there the Russian was
gone.
He could do nothing but go back inside and look, indecisively, toward the infirmary. Nicholai
had only become truly hostile after Mikhail had ordered them to go get that damn injection.
He felt, in his heart, that if he had been alone, he would have simply shrugged his shoulders
and left, without making a fuss.
Had he reacted that way because he was there? But why? What did he want to protect him
from, if he was protecting him at all?
Umbrella was their employer, the company that allowed them to stay in the States through
their contracts, when, otherwise, they would have been unceremoniously thrown back into
the shithole from which they came. He was really grateful to them, why wasn't Nicholai?
They had good pay and, all in all, a good life. Yes, they had to train a lot, which was strange
for a pharmaceutical company's militia, but they lived a good life indeed. Certainly better
than the one he had had before, and he was pretty sure the same was true for his friend.
He only hoped that one day he would be able to stop fighting. He was tired and hated blood
and violence. He had been in the midst of that shit for... Practically as long as he could
remember. His early years had been normal, then a group of militiamen had attacked the
village where he lived with his family and took him away. He was five years old at the time.
They had, then, moved him to a training camp in the middle of the mountains, where they
had trained and indoctrinated him along with many other children like him. Personally, he
had never given a damn about the cause, but he had bonded with his young comrades deeply
and had stayed with them and for them, never trying to escape, until the end, when they had
all been captured and tortured to death, except for him. As for his real family, he had not seen
them since he had been kidnapped, but he could still hear the desperate cries of his mamà
begging those men to leave her chino , as she held his papà in her arms, wounded by gunfire
because he had tried to resist and protect him. He barely remembered their faces, but those
cries were burned deep inside of him and would be forever. Through Umbrella he had
managed to find out that his father had survived and that he and his mother now lived in
Santa Marta, where they had opened a small hotel by the ocean. They had had three more
children after him, two girls and a boy. When he had found out, he had thought of getting in
touch with them, somehow. He knew that his mamà had never stopped looking for him and
that, at least once a year, she went back to their old village to ask everyone if they had seen
him, hanging up flyers everywhere, hoping to be able, one day, to hold her long-lost child in
her arms again. Who knows how she had even managed to place ads online. It broke his
heart, but he could not contact them, even if he would have really, really wanted to. He had
no idea what his record was in Colombia, whether the army or the rebels were still looking
for him or not, and he could not endanger his family. It was enough, for him, to know that
they were fine and had a comfortable and happy life, but he always carried the slip of paper
where he had jotted down the number of their hotel into his pocket because it was the only
thing he had of them that he could hold on to.
Speaking of Colombia, he had seen a similar look in Nicholai's eyes before, just in Colombia,
when the Russian had found him weeping, starved, beaten to a pulp, and bound on his knees
amid the, by then, rotten corpses of his comrades, his best friends, his brothers, and sisters
and had stopped his execution just in time, because his torturers had grown tired of him and
they had understood he would have never revealed anything about the other rebels, no matter
what. Yes, Nicholai should have paid the Colombian army to free him like Umbrella had
instructed him to but, no, that look in his eyes had resulted in mass slaughter. One man alone
had managed to overpower an entire barracks, and as much as Carlos wasn't fond of violence,
it had made him feel good to see those motherfuckers end up the way they deserved. That
was also why he cared so much about having him as a friend, because not only had he saved
his life, but he had also avenged him and all the brothers he had lost in that hell; moreover, he
knew he was alone, probably because, like him, he had lost everyone along the way, and this,
from time to time, still haunted the Russian, as it haunted him, but, unlike him, Nicholai
seemed to have left behind all hope, letting himself live by going with the flow. Not under his
watch, he would have done all he could to help him, whether he wanted to or not.
Beyond that, however, he knew how deadly and ruthless Nicholai could become when he
gave in to his most feral instincts. He had seen it with his own two eyes. What he had done in
Colombia, how he had killed those men, was not the work of a person, but the fury of an
animal. A wounded animal, cornered in a terrible place inside his own mind that, over the
years, had turned him into the perfect killer. Part of Carlos even feared Nicholai for it, or
maybe what he really feared was the possibility of ending up just like that, deprived of joy, of
the will to live, of the pleasures and the beauty the world could give at every dawn and every
sunset. He didn't want to give in to hatred, it would have been easier than fighting it, perhaps,
and nobody would have blamed him for just surrendering, but what sense would life have, at
that point?
He considered once more whether to take that shot or not, then decided against it. If Nicholai
had stuck his neck out for him, he would not let him down, because the very fact that he had
exposed himself to prevent him from what he thought was a danger meant that he was still
able to care about something. It was a glimpse of hope and it worthed much more than
Umbrella's satisfaction.
Chapter End Notes

Hello, darlings,
a little early, this week! The usual thanks to those who read, left kudos, bookmarked,
subscribed, and commented, love you all!
I am sorry that this chapter is tremendously long, it was not meant to be. I usually try to
keep between 3000 and 3500 words per chapter, but, in this case, I decided to make a
"small" addition (roughly from when Carlos and Nicholai meet Mikhail onwards) and it
clearly got out of hand. Sorry!!!
Now, let's come to the dialogue between Mikhail and Nicholai. As I told you, I do not
speak Russian, but I had the sentences checked by a very kind native speaker, so I think
they are correct. I chose to leave them in Russian because I wanted to emphasize how
lost Carlos felt at that moment and didn't know what to do. However, what they say to
each other is not a secret for non-Russian speakers, so I put the translation here:
Nicholai: "Forget about it. I won't be injected with this shit, and neither will he. Feel free
to fight me if you dare. Let's see how hard a bastard dog like me can bite, shall we,
Mishen'ka?"
Мишенька/Mishen'ka is a diminutive of Mikhail, but according to my research,

diminutives are serious business for Russians. In this case, if it had been uttered by
Mikhail's mother or his girlfriend, or someone in his close sphere of affection, it would
have been okay. If, however, it is a stranger or someone who is hostile to him who calls
him that, it is perceived as an insult and a mockery. In short, Nicholai is not very polite,
here, as he had not been in mocking the military salute, which I think is pretty insulting
all over the world for a member of the military. Both of these things pissed Mikhail off
pretty bad.
Mikhail: "Sergei should have left you in that frozen sewer where he found you, you little
bitch!"
Sergei, of course, is General Sergei Vladimir. Why Mikhail used this very insult,
however, we will find out as the story goes on. That said, perhaps the more observant
among you will have already begun to glimpse a pattern, in Nicholai's behavior. Let me
know, if you feel like it.
I would have liked to chat about a few other things as well, like how much tenderness
Carlos gave me while writing about his past, (I really wanted to give him a hug, at some
point, poor baby), but I'm already going on too long.
Just one very last thing, because it's REALLY IMPORTANT: the next chapter will have
some really tough content. It will deal with sexual abuse, and most importantly will
focus largely on the POV of a really revolting and cruel character. Of course, I will put
the TRIGGER WARNINGS at the beginning of the next chapter, but it seemed fair to
anticipate it here as well.
Kisses and thanks again to everyone,
Lady S.
Chapter 10
Chapter Notes
*TRIGGER WARNING - NOTICE TO READERS*
As I anticipated in the last chapter's notes, this chapter will describe a rape, and the
rapist's thoughts will be described. There will be hints of necrophilic fantasies and
attempted murder. I went all-in with these themes and I want to make that clear before
any of you approach the reading. So if anyone does not feel up to tackling this chapter,
that is perfectly fine. I will put a summary of events in the endnotes with as little detail
as possible so that later chapters will still be understandable.
Thank you very much for your attention and consideration.
I will see you again below,
Lady S.
Just past the doors of the police station, Leon stopped to catch his breath, panting. He blinked
a couple of times and, for a moment, feared that he had entered the wrong building. The place
didn't look like a police station at all, it was more like a bank or a museum and it was also
deserted. There was no one at the counter, or anywhere else.
He advanced slowly as his breathing returned to normal.
"Is anyone there?" He exclaimed, casting an intimidated glance at the huge statue of the
blindfolded goddess that stood in the center of that immense hall.
He climbed the staircase on the left. "Hello?!"
A wooden door opened, startling him, and a black man in uniform gave him a tired, worried
look.
"Do you need help, sir?" He asked with some hesitation about the sir, given his young age,
"are you injured?" he then added, alarmed by the blood that covered him.
The boy sighed in relief, "N-no. No, I'm fine," he whispered in response, pale in the face,
"I'm Leon. Leon Kennedy, ready for duty, sir. I know I'm awfully late and unpresentable, but,
please, allow me to explain-
The policeman's dark eyes distressed further and Leon stopped talking.
"What are you doing here, boy?" he asked in a hurried hiss, grabbing him by the arm and
then pushing him back toward the staircase. "I made arrangements for you to be told not to
come!"
Leon scowled, increasingly confused. "Look," he interrupted himself to read his nametag,
"Lieutenant Branagh-sir, I left home last night. If anyone has tried to contact me-
"You need to leave!" Marvin insisted, urging him down the steps as he cast an anguished look
all around.
Leon sensed the reason for his fears and refused to move. "No! You must listen to me!," he
replied, frantically, "I've been to Arklay Forest and I've seen some terrible things! It's like a
disease that infects animals and people! And I-I did something terrible! Please, sir-
"A very interesting story," a voice interrupted him, coming from the balustrade above their
heads, "I knew you were a promising officer, Kennedy."
Leon lifted his gaze and saw the round face of a man in his sixties, with thick gray hair and a
mustache. He saw him smile at him and then turn to Branagh with an annoyed tone, "I'll take
care of it now, thanks, Marvin. Get up here, boy."
"Sir," attempted the lieutenant, "He's just a-
"I said that's all," the other remarked, sharp.
Marvin was about to voice his protest again when the phone at the counter started to ring.
"It's ok," Leon reassured him, "See you later, sir," he added, forcing himself to smile, even if
he was anything but cheerful.
He got up the stairs, feeling the panic grasp his stomach again, but he managed not to submit
to it. The round-faced man was waiting for him at the top, looking down at him feverishly
and that made Leon feel quite uneasy.
A drop of cold sweat trickled down his spine, a harbinger of a danger he could not yet
identify. There was something perverse about the way the man was tracking his every move
but, unlike Nicholai, Leon wasn't sure it wasn't a threat. Nevertheless, he didn't slow down
his pace and, in a few moments, reached him at the top of the stairs.
"Chief Brian Irons," the man introduced himself with a smile as wide as a shark's.
He's not distressed either , Leon mused. Actually, he seems to like seeing me in this state.
Another shudder shook him, but he put on a good face. "I'm sorry I'm late, sir," he whispered,
shyly, "But, please, just listen to-
"Nonsense. I'm sure you have a good reason. Things are falling apart in this damn town, so
I'm not surprised you've been having trouble, but it's ok, now. Come, Leon." In urging him
on, Irons placed a hand on his lower back, just an inch above his butt, and pushed him along,
keeping it there firmly. "I may call you Leon, yes?"
No, and keep your hands off of me! He would have liked to reply, but he merely nodded,
avoiding his gaze.
Irons burst out a malevolent, short laugh. "A shy little dove are you, huh?" He teased him,
tapping his fingers on his spine like a child greedy to rip the wrapper off his much desired
Christmas present. Leon's stomach twisted in a vise of disgust. In general, he didn't have any
particular issue with being touched, in fact, on some occasions, he was the first to seek and
treasure physical contact - as had happened just before with Nicholai when he had hugged
him. Although he had done so out of panic, in the desperate need to have something to
ground him away from his terrors, he also had felt, in his guts, that he could trust the Russian.
Now those same guts were screaming at him that hand just felt wrong. Finally, Irons moved
away to open another door for him and while entering the massive, beautiful library in front
of him, Leon managed to keep a safe distance to avoid any other unpleasant touch from that
creep.
"Do you like it?" The chief asked him, alluding to the library with a broad nod of his right
hand.
Leon looked around, genuinely amazed. "Yeah, but I don't get it. This station is... bizarre," he
commented, deciding to let go a little, heartened by the fact that Irons had finally taken his
eyes off of him. "It doesn't look like a real station. No offense."
"None taken, but I expected a meticulous weasel like you to have done his homework. This
building used to be an art museum before it became Raccoon City's police station."
Leon lowered his gaze, awkwardly, and a few details came back to him because he had,
indeed, read about it, but, given everything that had happened, city history was the last thing
on his mind. "I'm sorry, I'm...just a little shaken up, that's all. That was in '69, right?"
Irons nodded and gave him a sympathetic look, "Don't worry. Come on. Let's get you cleaned
up, and then you can tell me all about it."
Leon followed him up another staircase, through a room that looked like a warehouse, a
hallway, and then down more stairs until they arrived in front of another room. That place
was a maze.
"This is the locker room. I'll get you a clean uniform right away. I'll be right back, you take a
shower," the chief told him.
Leon nodded, but he didn't like the prospect of stripping naked with that man who could walk
in at any time. There was little he could do about it, anyway. Sharing a men's locker room
was commonplace. If it made him feel uncomfortable it was purely his problem, he couldn't
make a fuss over something like that, so he just nodded again with a whispered, "thank you,"
and walked over the threshold. He closed the door behind him, then he abandoned himself
with his shoulders against the wood, almost taken by dizziness, and shut his eyes, inhaling
deeply. He felt like he was on a roller coaster of horror, with the adrenaline that alternately
rose to keep him upright and then left him at the first moment of calmness, making him feel
weak and deprived of strength.
I told you to get out of this place. Things are about to get… messy , Nicholai's voice echoed
in his head. Yeah, sure, good advice, too bad he had nowhere to go. He could have run back
home, but those four walls meant nothing to him but bad memories. Either way, it was too
late. He shook his head, forcing himself not to think about anything, and pulled his shoulders
away from the door to peer over the corner. There was a row of showers on the left,
surrounded by porcelain tiled booths. He sighed, deeply uncomfortable, and began to undress
slowly, folding his dirty clothes and placing them on the edge of the sink in front of the
shower he had chosen - the last one at the end, which was also the farthest from the door.
That way, he would immediately notice if someone came in and have a way to react if
needed.
He looked at himself in the mirror and gasped at the sight of his reflection. His hair was
encrusted with blood and dirt and his face was filthy as well. He laid his fingers on the
bandage Polly had so lovingly made for him and felt guilty for forgetting it. The image of the
mauled body of that kind, old lady, lying on the ground with her belly open and her guts
scattered as her husband devoured her, came back in front of his eyes and he jumped back,
looking away from the mirror. With trembling fingers, he unrolled the bandage off his back
and tossed it into the trash can under the sink. With an increasingly overwhelming sense of
nausea, he stepped into the shower cubicle, closed the curtain the best he could, because it
was fucking short on the sides, and turned on the water, heedless of the initially icy spray that
made his skin crawl. Dampened by the water, the herbal lotion on his skin melted away,
dripping down his back and legs, making visible the large bruise that entirely covered his left
shoulder blade. Leon didn't bother to check on it, after all, his back didn't hurt anymore, and
he was done looking at himself in the mirror, for now. When the spray became lukewarm, he
couldn't hold back a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind to savor that
brief moment of unwinding. He didn't want to pay heed to the reddish water that had pooled
at his feet waiting to be swallowed by the drain, nor to the iron stench that had risen with the
steam. He just wanted to pretend it was just a normal shower, his favorite part of his daily
routine, the only moment he felt truly at peace. He didn't want to have it ruined by the
memories of that nightmarish day. He needed to keep that refuge safe.
Meanwhile, Irons was on his way back, holding a clean uniform and a towel for the recruit. It
certainly wasn't his style to be so obliging, but Leon Kennedy was something he'd coveted
from the moment he'd laid eyes on his photo in the enlistment application. He was a doll so
perfect that he had almost struggled to contain his elation. The most ecstatic hard-on he'd had
in a long time, and simply from a picture, without even seeing him in the flesh. A rare
occurrence given his need to feel a body, smell it and empty it to really appreciate the
experience. Moreover, he was also a boy, when, generally speaking, he'd always preferred the
curvaceous aesthetic of the female forms. He was a unique gem, something that absolutely
had to become part of his collection, and made all the more valuable because he'd thought
he'd lost him when he'd learned that imbecile Branagh had given orders to delay his intake.
When he had seen him, from the top of the balustrade, his heart had begun to beat madly,
because the last thing he expected, on that shitty day, was to see his jewel enter through the
front door, despite all odds. Such a wonderful treasure! Covered in blood, mud, and sweat,
but breathtaking nonetheless. A prized raw material to create the most perfect piece of art that
ever existed. For the first time in his life, Chief Irons felt like Michelangelo picking his
marble block to carve out of the stone the masterpiece he’d pictured in his mind up to the
slightest detail, and it was the most thrilling emotion he had ever experienced.
He decided to return to the shower room via the S.T.A.R.S. corridor so he could watch the
boy undisturbed for a while. He had noticed his agitation and even realized he had startled
him - a beginner's mistake on his part, he had to admit - but Chief Irons hadn't been able to
keep his hands to himself on this one and blood was boiling in his veins like never before.
He was very cautious as he opened the door and smiled, satisfied, as he heard the water still
running in the shower. He held back the instinct to rush in and moved forward slowly,
foretasting the moment, listening to the hurried beat of his heart thud into his eardrums. He
leaned his back against the doorframe and closed his eyes, before opening them again to
contemplate his splendid doll from the gap left by the shower curtain. He started from the
bottom, examining his feet, delicate and with an elegant Greek shape. His legs were slender
and toned, barely covered by sparse, pale, soft hair made brilliant by the flow of water on his
naked body. They had no imperfections, like those of a young athlete in an ancient
gymnasium, and ended on the flawless, almost golden curve of his butt. Chief Irons was
salivating like a jackal before a carcass. If that marvelous ephebe, who seemed to have
emerged from stone by the skilled fingers of Phidias himself, looked so perfect to him when
alive, he could not even imagine how he might make him feel once the heat had left his flesh
and the white had tinged his rosy skin with the pallor of death. He felt his cock stretching the
tweed of his pants at that beautiful image and could hardly resist the urge to pull it out and
jerk off, then and there.
Patience. You can't kill him here , he forced himself to keep control.
He then lifted his eyes to his back and a rush of blind rage zapped him from head to toe,
extinguishing even his lust.
How had he dared, the little fucker?
That bruise would have taken weeks to completely disappear! He clenched his fists so hard
he dug his nails into his palms, furious, and had to restrain himself from getting into the
shower stall and strangling the wee bastard from behind. Instead, he cleared his throat and
felt a sadistic satisfaction in seeing the boy jolt in fear and turn to look at him with his big
blue eyes barred and his delicate hand outstretched to cover his crotch, the one part of his
body that Irons cared absolutely nothing about, poor, poor little bird. Such an easy prey he
was.
"I brought your clothes," he told him, not batting an eye.
Leon blushed, clearly uncomfortable. "I... T-thanks..." He mumbled, taking a step back
toward the corner of the cubicle to hide behind the curtain. He felt helpless and vulnerable,
and he could clearly sense how much Chief Irons was enjoying every single moment of his
distress. Again he had the instinct to run, but where could he go, buck naked? He sucked it up
and decided to accept the towel his superior was handing him and get out of the shower.
Where did he come in from? He wondered. He had been careful, he had chosen that shower
specifically so he wouldn't be caught off guard. There has to be another entrance. Christ, he
should have checked! Why hadn't he checked? It was the first thing to do when entering a
room! A lump grew in his throat as he tried to dry off as quickly as possible. He didn't want
to look in the direction of the police chief, because he knew he couldn't sustain his steady
gaze without freaking out. Quickly, he grabbed his underwear and slipped them on. They
weren't clean but at least they weren't stained with blood and they were still better than
nothing. Only then did he dare to look at Irons who was leaning limply against the
doorframe, as entertained as if he were in front of a good show. Leon took a timid step
forward and stretched out a hand to get his uniform and winced, feeling the nausea clench in
his stomach again, when the other man grabbed his wrist.
"What did you do to your back?" Chief Irons inquired.
Leon blinked, confused and upset, for there was no trace of concern in his superior's voice.
No. He sounded almost resentful. Quickly, he withdrew his hand, breaking off that
inappropriate physical contact.
"I fell off a tree," he replied, dryly. "I'll tell you all about it when I'm dressed, sir," he added,
taking the clean uniform from his arms.
Irons frowned, annoyed at his doll's sudden outburst of rebellion, but pretended not to bother.
That was one of the countless reasons he preferred bodies: they didn't talk back. "Very well,"
he commented. "Get a move on."
He didn't linger to watch him put on his uniform and he walked over to the door he'd entered.
Leon breathed a sigh of relief when he finally felt the fabric of the clothes on his skin. Come
to think of it, he really had no reason to fear Irons, he was just an old, fat creep. If he was
going to do anything inappropriate he could have easily defended himself. It would have cost
him his job, but he was, by now, beyond any possible ability to endure fucked up situations
without fighting back.
He laced up his Kevlar vest with the R.P.D. logo, slipped on his fingerless gloves, and
adjusted his elbow and knee pads.
He was finally ready, and although he was still very shaken by all that had happened, he felt
proud to wear that uniform for the first time. He just hoped it wouldn't be his last since he
was about to confess what had happened at the diner to the Chief. Was he's going to be
arrested? Please make him understand! He prayed to fate. He had shot, yes, but in self-
defense. He never wanted to hurt Arthur. He didn't want to hurt anyone! He wanted to
continue being a cop to help people because he wanted so damn much to help people. He had
never really wished for anything else, and he had worked so hard to get there… Anguish was
consuming him... He left the locker room to look at the Chief distressingly.
Irons instructed him to follow him to his office and led the way through the labyrinthine
police station until they reached the other wing, after having crossed the lobby again. They
even met a few officers along the way, which made Leon feel safer, at least.
They stopped in front of a door with a large, red heart carved into the wood. Odd, and quite
creepy.
"Welcome to my humble office, Leon," with a nod, the Chief invited him in first and the
rookie obeyed again.
Once inside, however, he paused in place, horrified by what he was seeing. That room was
opulent and well-appointed, but also chock full of stuffed animals, some more common,
others exotic. If Leon thought he couldn't be more disgusted by Irons, he was sorely
mistaken. Distracted by that triumph of bad taste and creepiness, he paid no attention to the
Chief's movements until he felt the sharp pain of a sting in his neck. He turned abruptly and
could only catch a glimpse of the grin of triumph on the old man's face before he was seized
by a violent head rush. He would have collapsed on the floor if Irons had not promptly
supported him.
"Let's try not to ruin that beautiful skin of yours any further," Leon heard him murmur as if in
a distant echo.
With an inhuman effort, he tried to pull away from him, only to end up being grabbed more
firmly by the waist. In horror, he felt that pig's cock pressing against his bottom, hard and
turgid.
"No, please, n-no," he cried, brokenly, as the room swirled before his eyes.
For a moment everything went black, but he came back to consciousness when he felt
himself being slammed onto the desk.
"Please, l-let me go!" He begged.
Irons grabbed him by the hair from behind the back of his head and lay on top of him,
crushing him with his weight. "Shut up, you stupid bitch!" He growled in his ear, "I wouldn't
have harmed a hair on your head if you hadn't been such an asshole! No, I'd killed you
quietly and quickly! How dared you?! You ruined everything!"
He let go of his hair and lifted enough to start fumbling with the rookie's belt and lowering
his pants and underwear, leaving his ass exposed. Leon tried to crawl away, to get as far away
as he could, and although he had managed to shift to the edge of the desk, the monster's firm
arms brought him back to the center.
"You're not going anywhere, little bird," he heard him grunt, amused, as he forced him to
spread his legs apart, kicking his feet aside.
"Good God, what a sight! Definitely your best angle, my precious boy," he went on, cupping
his buttocks with both hands and groping them so voraciously that he left the red marks of his
fingers on his pale skin.
Leon sobbed, and his breath choked with panic, for despite his daze, he was feeling
everything and he knew what was about to happen. Only he could not move, could not
defend himself, could do nothing but subdue and he hated himself for it. How the fuck had he
gotten into that situation? Why hadn't he avoided it? The warning signs had all been there
since the moment he had entered that fucking station! How could he have been so stupid? He
felt sick. He felt like throwing up. He couldn't even think straight. He just kept repeating
obsessively, "Please, please, no! Please don't!" And he didn't even know if he was actually
saying it or if it was just a loop in his head.
He heard Irons unbuckle his belt and then open his pants, and the sound of the zipper
resounded in his ears.
"Please!" He cried, then burst into tears, uncontrollable tears.
The chief laughed, delighted, almost purring at the sight of that handsome, trembling body,
shaken by sobs of fear and shame. Such an easy prey, indeed. So young, so beautiful, so
innocent. His to possess. His to break. His to kill. His to transform.
He clenched his fully hard cock in his hand and rubbed the tip over his opening, sliding it
slowly between his cheeks, not pressing down to penetrate him, not yet. He wanted to make
that fear and shame grow. It was the right punishment for that bloody, horrible bruise he had
ruined himself with.
"I bet no one ever wanted to fuck you as much as I do," he felt compelled to let him know,
bending over him as he rubbed against him like a humping dog, his cock already leaking pre-
cum onto the back of his leg, "and no one ever will again. You are mine, mine forever."
Leon went into hyperventilation and tried again to move away but, fuck, he couldn't! His
arms and legs felt as heavy as boulders. Why couldn't he just pass out? That was all he hoped
for at that point.
Then he felt it, the head of that monster's cock violating him with just a little spit to ease his
entry. Leon's last, desperate no lingered in a long, unintelligible moan of pain and
helplessness as he felt him plunge deeper and deeper inside of him, wrenching him open,
dirtying him, raping him, claiming him as his own.
And at that point, his mind went blank. He was still conscious, but he stopped even putting
up that feeble, useless resistance that he had been trying to assert up to that moment. His
body became completely still, his limbs limp, his face abandoned with his cheek on the desk
and his eyes fixed in the void, glazed just like those of a doll. Only his breathing remained
broken and rapid, but otherwise, he was completely silent.
"There you go, my precious boy… Oh, God, you're so good, so perfect," Irons moaned,
slamming his flabby belly against his ass vehemently with deep, depraved, merciless thrusts.
"And you'd be even better if you were cold!"
Overcome with pleasure, he lost all control of his impulses and suddenly reached out a hand
to plug his nose and mouth, preventing him from breathing. Leon's uncontrolled spasms, his
choked sobs and his ass clamping down on his cock sent him straight to cloud nine, because,
God, if there was anything better than fucking a corpse, it was fucking the last spark of life
out of someone!
He had almost reached his climax when, behind him, he heard the office door open.
"What?! What the fuck is going on here?! Step away from him, now !"
Chapter End Notes

Okay, hello again, my dears,
first the usual thanks to everyone who read, subscribed, left bookmarks, and commented
on my story, you guys are great!
Now, the summary: Leon arrives at the police station, where he meets Marvin and tries
to confess to him what happened at the diner. Before he can do so, he is intercepted and
taken away by Irons. Once in his office, Irons stuns him by injecting him with a drug
that keeps him conscious but prevents him from moving and then abuses him. At the end
of the chapter, someone enters Irons' office and interrupts what is happening.
Now a few personal thoughts; I am someone who generally likes villains and can always
find some interesting, profound, and relatable traits in each of them. Wesker is one of
the characters I appreciate the most in the whole saga, for example, and I pity Birkin the
most because his story is among the most tragic.
Irons is not. He is an exception. Irons makes my skin crawl, he's disgusting, he's a sick
fuck. Period. No justification, no mercy. Not just in this story of mine, just in general. I
just took him to the extremes of what he already is in the games. In the original Resident
Evil 2, there is even a document stating he is a rapist and he always got away with it. So
let's just go on the premise that, here, in due time, he will get exactly what he fucking
deserves. This much I can guarantee you.
That said, I thank you again for being here with me,
many kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 11
Chapter Notes
When Marvin had told him that the recruit had arrived and was with Irons, Brad never
imagined he would be confronted with such a scene. He knew the Chief was a son of a bitch
and had always been afraid of him, but what he was seeing was beyond his wildest fears. He
saw him jerk away from the boy, who slumped to the floor without a whimper, and then grab
the gun from the desk drawer. Without hesitation, Brad also drew his own and took cover
behind the door, just in time to avoid three shots in rapid succession that hit the doorframe in
an explosion of wood splinters. He hesitated, frightened and unsure of what to do. He
couldn't shoot back blindly, because the risk of hitting the boy was too great.
"Captain Irons," he said in a firm but calm tone, wishing not to escalate the situation, "put the
gun away and let's talk about this. It doesn't have to go down in-
His attempt at negotiation was abruptly interrupted by two more shots that flew past the open
door and pierced the wall over the stairs.
"You sick son of a bitch!" Brad gritted through his teeth, tightening his grip on his Lightning
Hawk even more. "Redfield's coming and you're not gonna get away with it," he admonished
him, "but if you give up now, without resistance, maybe I'll tell him not to kill you on the
spot!"
It was a half-truth. He had talked to Chris to let him know that the rookie had finally arrived,
but for the most part, they had argued about why neither of them had left town with Jill. In
the end, Chris had told him he'd meet him at the station, but he certainly wasn't ready to be
confronted with that madness either, though Brad had no doubts about Chris' ability to
improvise. He was also certain he was going to kill Irons with his bare hands, and fuck ethics
and procedures, he was ready to let him do it. He didn't even know if that poor kid was still
alive, in there.
Everything was silent and had been for a while. Moments that had seemed like a fucking
eternity to Brad. Slowly and circumspectly he leaned just beyond the door to look inside.
"Shit!" He shouted, seeing the open passageway behind the desk.
He ran forward, gun in hand, and sprinted into the hallway and then onto the terrace, in time
to see the elevator doors close. He kicked them, violently. "This isn't over, you piece of shit!
You hear me! I'll kill you if I have to hunt you down to hell!"
He paused for a moment, his eyes aimed at the elevator and his chest shook with deep breaths
of anger. He hated Irons, he hated those Umbrella pigs and as much as he tried to remain
calm and rational he was beginning to understand Chris' vengeful point of view. He hurried to
retrace his steps and swallowed the lump in his throat when he saw Leon Kennedy still lying
on the floor beside the desk, motionless. He approached him and his stomach clenched at the
sight of his brand new blue uniform pulled down to his knees along with his underwear. He
knelt beside him to check his condition.
"Oh, thank God!" He sighed, noticing he was still breathing. He was only unconscious.
He'd saved his life.
He'd gotten there in time.
After Joseph's death, he had vowed to his memory he would never leave anyone to die again,
and he was more than determined to keep that promise.
With some reluctance, he verified that the kid wasn't seriously injured, - there were some
bruises, but nothing major - before pulling his pants back on and settling him on his side, in a
safe position. He reached for the phone on the desk and tried to call the hospital for an
ambulance since he didn't know what drug Irons had used on him, but, predictably, the call
didn't go through. Everything was going to shit in that fucking city, and it was doing it at
lightning speed. On his way to Irons' office, he has heard Marvin and his colleagues discuss
the possibility of making the station a safe refuge for the citizens, and Brad truly hoped they
didn't have to come to that. The situation could still be contained, right?
Like hell… It was already out of control.
He sighed, looking at Leon. He was so young and, at that moment, he almost looked like a
child. A child that had just been violated in the most horrible way.
"I'm sorry, kid…" He whispered.
Damn, if he hadn't wasted so much time arguing with that asshole, maybe he could have
avoided all that suffering for the poor boy. He was well aware that, in his line of work, it
wasn't always possible to save everybody or prevent the worst, but he couldn't get out of his
mind that Leon Kennedy didn't deserve any of what had happened to him. First Chris had
broken into his hotel room in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of him, then
Irons had... Inside the police station, of all places!
He clenched his fists hard enough to hurt himself, and it was with a look of resentment that
he acknowledged Chris when he appeared in the office doorway, because, in a way, it was all
his fault. Probably, nothing would have happened if Leon Kennedy had taken up his duties
early in the morning, along with all the other agents, instead of in a half-empty station, with
all his colleagues busy handling emergencies in the city and that freak ready to take
advantage of the situation.
Chris frowned, passing through the door.
"What happened here?" He asked, confused, examining the shattered doorframe.
Brad puffed, nervous, and pissed off. "Irons got away."
Chris blinked in a silent question and crossed his arms, displeased, when his colleague didn't
answer right away, only then did he notice Leon on the floor and he moved to reach him,
determined and unsympathetic.
"Stop where you are!" Brad shouted at him, and when he didn't comply he drew out his gun
and pointed it at him. "I mean it, one more step and I'll put you down," he hissed, but his
hand was shaking.
Chris snorted and complied. "What the fuck happened?" He asked again, showing a hint of
impatience and annoyance.
Brad raised his head towards the ceiling and swallowed a sigh, pressing the handle of the gun
on his forehead. He sniffed, hard, struggling to contain the urge to scream.
"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, Chris! When you act like this you’re just like him! Like
Wesker!” He silenced him harshly when he saw him open his mouth to insist. Then he wiped
his eyes with the back of his forearm. "I saved him from that fucking freak! I… I tried to call
an ambulance but the lines are jammed and, fuck!" He shouted, kicking the desk.
Chris tried again to move a step towards the rookie, at least to check on his status. "Is he-
"I told you to stay the fuck away from him!" Brad ordered, pushing him back hard.
"What the fuck is your problem?!" Chris fought back. "Keep your shit together and tell me
what happened!"
"No! Now you fucking listen to me! This kid has nothing to do with Umbrella, you have to
leave him be, do you understand?"
Chris shook his head. "I'll be the judge of that," he stated, adamantly. "Is he hurt?" He asked
right after. "Brad, for fuck's sake, speak!"
Brad was about to answer when Leon gasped and then his eyes went wide. Panicked, he sat
up and crawled back until his back hit the furniture along the wall. He could move again and
that was the only good news of that entire situation.
"Hey," Brad advanced toward him slowly and keeping his voice low, "it's okay, he's gone.
You're safe now."
But Leon didn't feel safe. His eyes darted from Brad to Redfield as his mind desperately
searched for a way to escape.
"Leon, are you listening to me? It's okay, I assure you," Brad insisted, then turned to his
colleague, "Chris, get the fuck outta here, will you?!" He barked at him.
On the desk, a step away from him, was an old typewriter that he could use as a weapon,
Leon noticed, and then he let his instincts take over. He leaped to his feet and pushed Brad
away, then grabbed the typewriter and threw it at Redfield. He didn't check to see if it had
actually hit him, he didn't care, the goal was just to distract him and he got it. He sprinted out
the door and then rushed to the right, almost crashing against the wall.
"Stop right now!" He heard Redfield's voice and his heavy footsteps approaching.
He proceeded at breakneck speed down two hallways until he found himself back in the
lobby, then he dashed down the stairs and out the front door. His lungs were burning like hell
and his heart seemed to want to burst out of his chest, but he had no intention of stopping;
nevertheless, he did so anyway, when, trying to cross the street, a car almost drove him over.
"Freeze!" Redfield ordered him, panting, "or, I swear to God, I'll shoot you where you are!"
Leon slowly moved to face him and glanced at the gun pointed at him. "The hell do you
want?!" He shouted.
"On your knees."
"Fuck you!"
"NOW!"
Leon sniffed hard, feeling beaten, furious, and profoundly betrayed by everyone and
everything.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked with a broken voice, then his rage won over again.
"How dare you?! After… A-after… Just leave me the fuck alone!"
Chris frowned, confused. "I just want to talk."
Leon clenched his fists. "Talk? Are you fucking kiddin' me?! Why did you break into my
room if you just wanted to talk?! Why-
"I'm doing the questions, here!" Chris shouted back.
"So am I under arrest? For what?! I know my fucking rights!"
"Get on your knees!"
"No!"
Leon raised his chin, forcing himself to show a determined attitude when, in truth, the only
thing he wanted to do was crawl into a corner and be alone. His mind wasn't working
properly, he was well aware of that, but he had to remain in control because things could still
go worse and he had no intention to be dragged again into that fuckin police station, not by
Redfield, nor by anyone else.
"You want to shoot me, go ahead, but at least tell me why," he hissed, resentful.
"Chris, what the fuck? Put the gun down!" Brad intruded, running out of the R.P.D.
"This is a mistake," the other replied, lowering his weapon.
"No, it's not, you fucking lunatic," Brad gritted through his teeth, then he sympathetically
looked at the poor boy, "I know how it seems, but we're not the bad guys, here," he tried to
explain, "we're not on Irons' side and we won't let him come near you ever again."
Chris glanced briefly at him, more confused by the minute. For fuck's sake, what the hell had
happened with Irons? Then he looked back at Leon, whose lips were trembling slightly as if
he was doing his best not to burst into tears.
"What has he done?" He voiced his question out loud for the umpteenth time.
None of them answered, but it was clear that, whatever it was, it has profoundly upset both of
them, so he decided to play nice, and he tucked the gun back in his belt, raising his hands in a
non-threatening way. Brad, at his side, sighed in relief.
"Now let's talk, ok?" He asked, more politely.
Leon glanced away and crossed his arms, defensively, almost hugging himself, and that made
him look so small in that brand new police uniform.
"I just want to leave…" He whispered in a shaken voice.
It was at that moment that Leon noticed a movement on the roof of a store across the street
and lifted his eyes, meeting Nicholai's gaze. The U.B.C.S. operative had a puzzled look on
his face as if he was trying to understand what was going on between them and consider
whether or not to intervene. He seemed almost displeased to see him there, but why?
Please, please help me! Leon thought and something in his expression must have hinted at
his silent plea because Redfield also turned to look towards the roof, but, by then, the Russian
was already gone.
Leon shut his eyes and gulped, clenching his fingers on the fabric of the short sleeves of his
blue shirt.
"What were you looking at?" Chris questioned him.
The rookie glared at him. "Your mother, asshole!"
Brad sighed again. "Stop antagonizing each other, please," he urged them, "it won't bring any
good for any of us. I think there's been a misunderstanding here, and-
His voice was covered by a loud stomp as something massive landed a few feet away from
them.
Leon jolted in fear when he saw that gigantic man, entirely covered in black leather, slowly
rise from the cracked asphalt where he had fallen. Only, he wasn't a man. He was something
else. Something scarier.
For a moment it was as if everything had crystallized; Chris, standing still on the spot, looked
at that monster with wide eyes.
"STAAAAAARS!" Vocalized the creature, turning its leather-wrapped head toward their
direction.
Chris froze and, in an instant, the image of Wesker being pierced by the Tyrant's claws came
back before his eyes, along with the dull, surprised groan that had come from his throat and
the way his blood had been splattered all around
"FUCKING MOVE!" Brad's voice brought him back to reality, but even more effective was
being pushed away and ending up with his ass on the ground. When he lifted his gaze again,
the scene before him was horrifying. A few feet away, the monster had grabbed Brad and
lifted him off the ground. He had a hand on his face and his colleague was screaming at the
top of his lungs, trying to free himself by clawing at that thing's gloved hand. Then, a dull,
slimy noise suffocated his voice, and next, with a sharp crack, a tentacle passed Brad's head
from side to side and he stopped moving. Nemesis threw him to the ground like a broken doll
and looked at him for a moment longer as if to make sure he was really dead, then he slowly
turned his head in Chris’ direction and moved a step toward him.
The S.T.A.R.S. officer crawled back behind a parked car, his eyes wide with horror; he had
even stopped breathing in shock.
"N-no," he groaned.
Nicholai, still on the roof across the street, approached the edge, casting a nervous glance at
Leon.
"You better get your ass out of there, kitten," he muttered, but he winced, shocked when he
saw him jerk toward the body of the late Brad Wickers and retrieve his gun.
"Oh, NONONO, how stupid can you be!"
Leon grabbed the weapon and, after aiming toward that monster fired without hesitation. He
had not really reasoned out his choice; he had acted out of pure instinct. After seeing what
had happened to Agent Vickers, he could never put another human being through the same
fate, even if he did not trust Redfield.
That thing did not react in any way, even after being shot in the back three more times. It
simply kept moving forward, slow and relentless, toward the car behind which Chris had
taken refuge.
"STAAARS!" The monster growled again, and that caught Leon's attention.
Again out of sheer instinct or, rather, following his intuition, he leaned over Vickers' body
again, ignoring his smashed face, and, as quickly as possible removed his S.T.A.R.S. yellow
vest from him and put it on, then he unloaded the rest of the magazine on the creature.
"Com'on! Over here, you fuck! S.T.A.R.S!!!" He shouted towards it, tossing the empty gun
on the ground, and, finally, the B.O.W. turned his leather-covered head in his direction and
analyzed him.
Nicholai was in complete disbelief. That kid was an absolute idiot and probably also an
incredible genius if he was really doing what he thought he was doing. With growing anxiety
- an unfamiliar feeling for him that seemed to have emerged suddenly after years of complete
absence - he watched Nemesis scan the boy for a moment that seemed to last an eternity as if
he were considering whether Leon was a target or not, then he roared and moved toward the
rookie, having decreed, through rather basic and mechanical reasoning, that he might’ve been
a S.T.A.R.S. agent, although he did not have him in his database.
Fuck, it worked! Leon thought as he saw the monster advancing toward him with great
strides. His plan had never really been complex, he wanted to get that creature away from
Redfield so he could be safe, and luring him away seemed easy enough. After all, that thing
couldn't be faster than him, right? Whatever the fuck he was, he seemed rather slow.
In any case, he had no intention to spare himself, and in a few strides Leon picked up speed
only to realize that his calculations were wrong, for the heavy footsteps of that monster were
getting closer and speedier. He cast a glance over his shoulder and his heart jumped in his
throat, that thing was just a few feet away from him and he barely managed to duck to avoid
being grabbed by one of its tentacles. Trying to make the best of his momentum and agility as
much as possible, Leon turned abruptly into an alley, continued down the parallel street, and
then threw himself under a parked school bus, hoping it was a enough hiding place.
Chris was still motionless behind the car, completely dazed. All the faces of the friends he
had not been able to save at the mansion flowed insistently before his eyes, tormenting him
like demons and he felt like his head was going to explode. He could not accept that he was
in that damn nightmare again. It wasn't fair! He didn't deserve it. He just didn't and he
couldn't bear it! Of course, he had known from the beginning that going after Umbrella
would have been dangerous, but he had also thought that the threats he and the others would
have to face would be on a human scale. Instead, those crazy bastards had unleashed a
fucking Tyrant in the middle of the city, and Brad... Oh, God, Brad! In shock, he clutched his
knees to his chest and closed his eyes. It was all his fault, he should have listened to Jill, she
had tried to warn him! No, she had fucking told him that that monster was going to track
them and he had fucked it all up!
I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry! He thought, giving up and despairing.
Oh, this is just pathetic! Captain Wesker's voice came knocking again at the doors of his
memory with a harsh rebuke and Chris covered his face in shame. remembering that one time
he had almost made his captain fired because, unsurprisingly, he had broken procedure,
screwed up a massive operation, and Wesker had had to cover his sorry ass by taking the
blame. Heartbroken and guilty he had rushed to his place to beg for his forgiveness, but even
receiving a harsh punishment would have been fine with him, because disappointing his
captain was the last thing he ever wanted to do, at the time, and it weighed on his chest like a
boulder. Wesker had not even let him in and had listened very briefly to his desperate
apologies, before giving him the iciest and most mortifying of looks.
I'm not interested in this nonsense. He had replied, without even raising his tone of voice, but
his cold fury and disappointment were more than evident on his stern face. He was fuming.
Guilt, sorrow, excuses, all meaningless blather. Yes, you messed up - again -, but it's not by
blubbering like a brat at my doorstep that you'll solve it. I trained you better than this. So, to
use your colourful vocabulary: go back to work and…
"Un-fuck this mess, Chris ," he repeated it aloud, lifting his gaze and clenching his fists.
He leaped to his feet, only partially aware of what Leon Kennedy had done, and he looked
around. There was a military Umbrella briefcase dropped not far from where the Tyrant had
fallen. Confused, he opened it to find a rocket launcher inside.
"What..?" He whimpered, incredulous.
Lying on the ground, right between the rear wheels of the bus, Leon pressed both hands over
his mouth to stifle the sound of his labored breathing. He was shaking from head to toe,
completely terrified and unable to cope with all the shit that had happened to him in the past
twenty-four hours.
Please go away! Please just go away! Please! He kept repeating in his head as the monster's
footsteps grew closer.
Then he heard the croaking sound of metal being bent and, a second later, the bus was lifted
effortlessly and tipped to one side, leaving him exposed. Leon barely managed to turn onto
his back before Nemesis twisted a tentacle around his right ankle and started to drag him
toward him.
Nicholai looked away, his fists clenched in frustration. That kid had sealed his fate and there
was nothing he could do for him at that point. No, there was nothing he wanted to do, but
then he heard him scream. A cry that pierced his ears, high-pitched, shrill, deafening, and
made of sheer terror.
"Fuck!"
In an instant, he was already kneeling in front of the parapet and had his sniper rifle drawn. It
took him a split second to take aim and fire. The bullet ripped cleanly through Nemesis'
tentacle and tore it apart just a second before the monster could lift the kid off the ground. He
fired once more, this time to the chest where, in theory, he knew to be the point of
vulnerability of that B.O.W., but he was very careful not to damage his limiter. Nemesis
jerked back and growled in pain or perhaps anger, but he did not fall. Nicholai was not
surprised, and in any case, killing him was not exactly his plan - whatever the fuck it was.
Nevertheless, he fired again, hoping the kitten would catch the, far from subtle, hint, stop
being a goddamn deer in the headlights and run the fuck away from that B.O.W. He fired a
third time, then noticed Chris Redfield running off from around the corner and carrying
heavy artillery. He ducked his head, hoping he had not been seen and then heard the
explosion of the rocket against the Nemesis. He sighed. The kitten was still alive, but that
was the last time he saved his damn ass, he swore to himself. The last fucking time. And
anyway, he had only done it because the idiot had provided him with some very relevant data:
Project-N could be tricked by a stupid jacket, for fuck's sake! It was ridiculous and
unacceptable! Who the fuck were the luminaries who had worked on that B.O.W.? And good
thing it was the offspring of the joint efforts of both the European and American divisions,
otherwise, it would probably have killed everyone on sight!
Intelligent biological weapon my ass!
Nicholai was furious and the thing that pissed him off the most was not understanding why
he was so livid. Maybe it was because of Mikhail, or perhaps it was the situation itself. After
all, that was not the first time Umbrella had shown itself to be a concentration of amateur
idiots, but since the incident at the villa, the situation seemed to have gotten even worse. It
was pure nonsense! If they wanted S.T.A.R.S. agents dead, why not put him or Hunk in
charge of the job instead of rolling the dice and hoping that their improvised, untested
experiment might actually kill them by sheer luck? He was speechless. He barely leaned over
to peer over the parapet. Leon was still sitting on the ground, roughly as he had left him, and
he kept his eyes fixed on Nemesis who, half slumped, was just a shapeless mass of dark
smoke and fire. Redfield had moved closer and was shifting his gaze alternately from Leon to
the monster, tense but in control.
Nicholai decreed that the situation was sufficiently settled and that the poor idiot might as
well manage on his own for a change, so he retrieved his rifle and walked away. He had more
work to do, paid work.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears ^^!

as always, endless thanks to those who took the trouble to read my story, subscribed,
bookmarked, left kudos and comments! A thousand little hearts to you!
Nemesis has finally arrived! Aren't you happy? Did you expect him so soon?
I have to make a confession, Nem is incredibly cute to me, because he tries so hard, poor
guy, but he is just so dumb. I feel so sorry for him, but, while playing RE3R he didn't
put the same tension on me as Mr. X did in 2R (who, in my last few runs, by the way,
evolved himself and instead of chasing me around the station started lurking behind
doors like a filthy rat. Leon opens and BAM, punch in the face with permanent memory
loss). So forgive me if, in these early appearances of his, I don't take Nem too seriously,
but, fear not, he will get not only mad but progressively more dangerous.
As for Brad's death, although I liked the rewrite in RE3R, I preferred the gory scene of
the original, partly because, let's face it, I definitely dislike Brad. So RIP, Brad, teach the
angels how to leave your friends in a forest infested with zombie dogs.
Back to Nem, and Leon's "brilliant" idea to lure him away from Chris. Actually, it is
never fully explained how Nemesis and the Tyrants work, so I drew my own
conclusions. Assuming that wi-fi did not yet exist back in '98 (trust me, I was there), and
doubting that Umbrella uses radio waves to command them directly, partly because they
would have to observe them closely to be able to address them at all times, I think both
Nemesis and the Tyrants have some sort of pre-programming. Nem, however, has a
greater ability to reason, can use weapons, and assess his surroundings, so it seemed
possible to me that he could make the decision to go after Leon when faced with the
doubt that he might be a S.T.A.R.S. agent. However, there will also be within the story
some analysis of how Nemesis operates, after all, that would be Nicholai's job when he's
not rescuing his "kitten," as he calls Leon. Poor man, I live for the comments he does
observing the others from afar XD.
One last thought for Chris, he's so precious to me, because he's hurting so badly that
sometimes his brain disconnects and loops him through the horrors of Villa Spencer and,
most of all, through the end that Wesker met. At the same time, however, it is as if Chris
has a little Wesker on his shoulder who gives him the push he needs to keep on going. In
other words, his captain is always in his thoughts. Even when he doesn't want him to,
even when he hates him, it is Wesker that his brain thinks of in his time of need. I find it
so sweet and so tragic at the same time. Poor, precious brokenhearted boy.
With that said, I salute you and thank you all again!
Many kisses,
Lady S.
Chapter 12
Chapter Notes
Chris cast a suspicious glance at the rooftops surrounding them before deciding to join Leon.
He knew there was a sniper, up there, somewhere. He had heard him shoot, but not long
enough to track his position.
"Are you okay?" He asked Leon.
The rookie gave him a look somewhere between incredulous and pissed off. "Really? No!" he
exclaimed. "Any more stupid questions?" He rose to his feet and staggered, his legs made
uncertain by shock and adrenaline. Instinctively, Chris leaped forward to support him, but
Leon slipped out of his grasp.
"Don't touch me," he hissed, pushing him away, then moving a few uncertain steps toward
Nemesis. "What the fuck is that?" He asked, leaning a little toward him.
Chris winced; he was far, far too close. Without thinking about it, he reached out an arm and
grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him back without any particular effort. Leon
reacted by wriggling free and slapping his arm away.
"I told you to keep your fucking hands to yourself," he protested, massaging his windpipe,
annoyed and frightened, then turned back to look at Nemesis. "Is he dead?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Yes, he should be," Chris replied, uncertainly, "but we'd better get the
hell out of here."
"We? There is no we, asshole, I'm not going with you!" Leon protested.
Chris sighed, if that had been a different circumstance, if he had not lost most of his friends at
Spencer Manor, lured there by their captain, if he had not just watched Brad die horribly at
the hands of a monster, perhaps he would have even gone out of his way to show a bit of
patience and understanding, but he was fed up with it and had no intention of heeding the
whims of a teenager cop. A very suspicious one, for that matter. He did not even answer him,
and in a moment he was on him. He unceremoniously slammed him with his chest against the
overturned bus, deaf to his squeals, and twisted his arms behind his back, holding them in
place with his right hand as he unhooked the handcuffs from the recruit's brand-new belt with
his left. He had just locked them on his wrists when Leon suddenly lunged backward, hitting
him on the nose with the back of the head. He felt the cartilage creak and the pain shot
through him from head to toe like an electric shock, causing him to let go of his grip on the
closed handcuffs. Leon ran away, shrugging him off him, and slipped into the first alley he
could find. Running wasn't easy with his arms pinned behind his back, but he didn't care, he
just wanted to find a way to get to safety, have a moment to think, and catch his breath,
before deciding what the fuck to do from then on.
"Shit!" He shouted, in despair, when he realized that the alley he had stepped into was a dead
end and it was too late to turn back because he could already hear Redfield's footsteps
approaching. Panicked, he huddled behind a metal bin, well aware that it would not be
enough. Suddenly, rain began to pour down, icy and violent. Chris, now well beyond the
entrance to the alley, advanced slowly, keeping himself ready to react. He knew his suspect
was trapped, but that was no reason to let his guard down, especially since he was out of
sight. Although Chris was well aware that he could force Leon Kennedy into submission
blindfolded, the rookie had nearly succeeded in breaking his nose; he should not
underestimate him. With circumspection he passed the bin, reaching the end of the alley, and
looked to his right. The kid was curled up on the ground, his shoulders pressed against the
wall, and his gaze was wide and distressed. He was clearly cornered, but he still had that
insufferable, restive don't dare to touch me, asshole! look in his big blue eyes. The rain was
soaking his uniform and his beautiful ashen blond hair, but Chris did not let it distract him
and bent down to grab him. Leon's reaction was immediate and physical; he closed his eyes
tightly and lifted his shoulders, buckling his head as he pressed himself even harder against
the wall, twisting his locked arms, preparing to be hit and, at the same time, fearful of the
pain that would have followed.
And Chris froze.
Because it was the same reaction Jill had had in Brad's living room.
But he was not a violent man.
Why did everyone seem to believe otherwise? His strength was a tool, a tool to be used under
the right circumstances and against people who deserved it, certainly not against Jill. Yes, he
had occasionally fantasized about torturing some Umbrella employee and, for some of those
suspects, like Irons or Wesker’s unknown pal, he was willing and ready to cross that line, but
not at that moment. Not with a kid. Not until he had some evidence to support his suspicions.
Yet even the rookie seemed to be assuming he was going to beat the crap out of him. Why?
Was that really the image he was giving? Was that really what he was becoming?
Wesker had always reproached him for being far too vulnerable in the face of doubt, and he
had often told him how there was no middle ground for him: either he charged headlong,
without connecting his brain and, therefore, without concern for the sensibility or
consequences of his actions; or else, if he stopped to think, he was paralyzed by the
responsibilities and the possible scenarios that could branch off from his decisions. Both
conditions were wrong for his captain, of course, and, although Chris detested the influence
the man still had over him, he did not feel he could fault him on that account, because it was
all true. What path should he choose with that kid? Reasoning or violence?
Since the beating he had anticipated was not coming, Leon took enough courage to reopen
his eyes and point them at Chris's, finding something different there from what he had seen
until just before. He looked sad, lonely, and hesitant. Leon swallowed, fighting back the
instinct to start begging.
"I won't hit you," Chris told him, "but don't try to run again."
With a firm but gentle gesture, he grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet,
and although he felt it was dangerous and inappropriate, he lingered for a moment to look at
him, now that he had him so close to his chest. Leon was several inches shorter than him and
decidedly more minute, his gaze was distant as if he were utterly drained of all pugnacity, and
his full lips were again bent in a miserable pout as if he were on the verge of tears. For some
inexplicable reason, he thought back to how Leon had smiled at him, outside the motel room,
and, for a split second, everything seemed to disappear - the Umbrella, his suspicions, the
monsters, the dead, even Wesker - and Chris thought he would have liked to see him smile
again. It was Leon himself who burst that senseless bubble and brought him back to reality.
"Just don't hurt me, please, I had enough..." He heard him whisper in a thread of voice.
Chris rotated and placed a hand in the middle of his back to urge him to move, but Leon
stiffened even more and leaped forward, breaking contact and giving him a hostile, frightened
look.
"Okay, okay, no touching," Chris finally got the hint but not the explanation. He decided he
didn't care and continued at his side for a few minutes, in complete silence, until Leon
stopped again, planting his feet on the ground like a mule refusing to move forward.
"I'm not going back in there!" He hissed, alluding to the gates of the RPD.
"I don't recall asking your opinion," Chris retorted, pushing him with enough force to
overcome his resistance but not enough to knock him to the ground. "And if it's Irons you're
scared of, don't worry, he's more scared of me than you are of him."
Leon moved away once more, his breathing labored with anger and anguish. He knew that,
perhaps, Redfield would have listened to him if he’d told him what Irons had done to him,
but he didn't want to. He couldn't because, in truth, he didn't even want to think about it, and
saying it out loud was like making it even more real and it was the last thing he wanted, or
needed. It would break him, making him unable to react to whatever else was going to
happen. Moreover, he was ashamed. No, he could not tell him, and although it was horrible to
even think something like it, part of him was relieved that Brad Vickers, the only witness,
could no longer tell anyone either. The very thought disturbed him so much that he paused
one more time, refusing to go through the gates.
"Swear it," he said, clenching his bound fists, "swear you won't let him near me again."
Chris arched an eyebrow, confused. How old was this guy? Were they in first grade? Besides,
why in the world did he keep acting like following him was a favor and not a goddamn
arrest? And why was he giving him heed without dragging him into the station, as he would
have done with any other jerk who resisted arrest?
"Whatever you say," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Now move or I'll make you move,"
he added sternly because another suspicion had surfaced in his mind: what if the rookie was
just trying to stall, waiting for someone or something to intervene? Why didn't the sniper
shoot him while he was handcuffing him? A lot of questions and no fucking answer.
“Walk," he ordered him again, and Leon, despite himself and far from reassured, obeyed.
No one was in the hall at that moment, but Chris was almost glad of that. He did not want to
give explanations. Quickly he climbed the stairs and turned to check that the rookie was not
trying any tricks. No, he was following him, meek as a lamb, but when they reached the
library, his attitude changed again.
"What now?" He asked him, annoyed.
Leon merely hid his face behind his bangs and did not answer, then followed him to a room
he had already entered with Irons on the way back from the locker rooms, where there was a
statue of a horse. It was beautiful, but he barely glanced at it, given his state of mind. After
another corridor, not too long, they found themselves in front of the S.T.A.R.S. office, and
this caught Leon's attention. He hadn’t noticed it was right there, before. Perhaps he might be
able to find some clues in there. After all, getting back to work on the investigation was as
good a distraction as any.
"Get in," Chris intimated to him, but he did not move.
"You first," he retorted, he would not make the same mistake, not again.
Redfield huffed, but acquiesced him, crossing the threshold and stopping there.
"Now, if your lordship wishes to obey..." He taunted him, exasperated.
"You are such an asshole," Leon growled in a low voice, walking past him and hitting him
with his shoulder, "What a mess," he commented, looking around.
A sad, nostalgic remembrance filled Chris’ mind. "Yeah, none of us have ever been
particularly tidy." Having a neat workplace was a battle that even Wesker had lost, despite
how many times he had punished them for it. ' And even today it looks like a grenade went off
in here, how disappointing' was a recurring comment of his, and as time went on, they had
even gone to great lengths to make as much of a mess as possible to piss him off. It had
become their favorite game to fill the downtime between cases. And that time he and Barry
had even moved his desk into the laundry room? Christ, how furious he had been and how
much they had laughed. They had paid dearly for it, but it had been worth it. Absolutely.
Too bad now there really was a reason for all that mess. When they had heard that the
BRAVO team's helicopter had crashed, they had had to leave everything as it was and rush to
their rescue, and then most of them had died there, including Wesker.
"Sit down," he ordered to Leon, pointing to the chair at his desk, then headed toward the
armory.
"Fuck!" He exclaimed, it was closed and he didn't have his flash drive; he turned back to
Leon, who had obviously not obeyed him and was strolling across the room, looking at
everything.
"I told you to sit the fuck down!" He repeated almost shouting, making him jerk with fright.
"My wrists hurt and sitting makes it worse," Leon protested.

"Oh, you poor thing! Now!" Chris barked again, and to that umpteenth order, the rookie
finally obeyed.
"Happy, now, you poor excuse of a cop?"
Chris ignored the insult and proceeded. "I'm going to look in your pockets, don't freak out. If
you hit me, you will be sorry."
Leon nodded and remained still as the other inspected Brad's jacket. "Your nose is still
bleeding," he pointed out, though. Redfield was so close to him that he could smell his
perfume and the stale odor of cigarettes on his clothes, and if, until a few hours before, he
would have fantasized about a scenario involving him being handcuffed in his company, now
the very thought of it put confusion and fear into his mind.
Chris shrugged his shoulders. "It will stop, eventually. You didn't break it."
"There are medkits there, if you would release me I could-
"Nice try," Chris interrupted him, stepping back. He sighed, dejected; he had found only the
locker card, not the flash drive. He crinkled his eyes, searching for a solution. "I'll be right
back," he informed him, before leaving the office and locking the door behind him.
Leon waited a few moments before leaping to his feet and inspecting all the desks until he
found what he was looking for: a paperclip. He had to practically sit on the desk to be able to
get it, but, eventually, he did.
Okay, okay, relax, you can do it! He thought, to encourage himself, and it was true, he had
realized one afternoon, during his training, that knowing how to open handcuffs could be
useful, just in case, and so he had learned. Only he had never done it with his hands behind
his back and his fingers numb. It was definitely more difficult and it took him what seemed
like an eternity before he felt the click and the handcuff slide.
"Yes!" He rejoiced, releasing his left wrist.
He wasted no time in opening the other one and ran to the door, but his joy was short-lived,
for it was solid wood and he could not have broken through. "Fuck..." He muttered, striking
the surface with his palm.
He forced himself to think, partly because he felt he was, once again, one step away from a
panic attack. So he set out to search deeper into the room in the hope of finding a weapon.
The electric guitar caught his attention and he lifted it off the floor, weighing it down. Yes, if
he hid in the corner behind the door, he certainly could hit Redfield with it and then run away.
He was about to get into position when he noticed the fax machine on the desk beside it;
there was a document there. He left the guitar on the desk and grabbed it, unable to contain
his curiosity.
It was a communication from the Federal Department of Internal Investigations and was
directed to Redfield, who, it appeared, had personally opened a report against Irons. It spoke
of the alleged production by the Umbrella Corporation of a virus named G, of which the feds
had found no trace of existence.
"Let's take a walk in those fucking woods, I'll give you all the evidence you want!" Leon
commented, incredulously.
So he had been right-it was a virus.
He continued reading.
The document went on to discuss Irons and how the feds suspected he had been taking bribes
from Umbrella for at least five years to cover up incidents like the mansion-lab case and
other unfortunate events in which the company was implicated. What, however, made Leon's
blood boil in his veins was reading, in the last lines, about how the Police Chief had been
accused of rape twice when he was still a student and how he had been cleared both times
because of mere circumstantial evidence and thanks to his more than a distinguished
academic career.
"Fucking pig!" He growled. Not only had he not been the bastard's only victim, but he had
always gotten away with it since he was a student. That man was a predator. Who knows how
many others there had been since then and how many more would he rape in the future? As if
that were not enough, he realized that he had not understood anything at all up to that point. It
was now clear that Redfield had not covered up the murders in Arklay Forest; Irons had done
it.
Always and only Irons.
In anger he clenched his fist, crumpling the document, and then put it in his pocket.
There could still be more in that office, so he went to the one room he had not yet entered.
Captain Albert Wesker , said the name on the glass. It was a small room with an imposing
wooden desk that looked old and expensive, with nice paintings on the walls and various
certificates of Merit. There was also a picture, resting on a shelf behind the desk, Leon lifted
it up to look at it better. It depicted the two S.T.A.R.S. teams, immortalized in front of a
helicopter. They all looked happy and confident. Were they also victims? But more
importantly, was Redfield a victim too? Of course, he was. How had he misunderstood
everything so blatantly? Now it was even clear to him why the S.T.A.R.S. agent was so
hostile to him; he had probably thought he was spying on him at the motel, but he was still a
good man, wasn't he? Why else would he have led him safely out of the forest? But since he
wanted to interrogate him, why not do it there, out of the woods? Something was odd about
that situation, too.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not even hear the door open.
"Get the fuck out of there NOW!" But Chris's order was not a real warning, because, in a
second, he grabbed him and then threw him out of the office with such strength that Leon
ended up crashing into the opposite wall, and from there he collapsed to the floor, stunned.
Chris closed the door to Wesker's room forcefully, rattling the sheetrock wall. How had he
dared to sneak in there? Into his office! Just seeing him where he stood had made him lose
his mind in less than a split second. Moreover, in Irons' office, he had found not only his
badge, his service gun, and his flash drive, but also some interesting letters from a scientist
named William Birkin ordering the Chief to keep the surviving S..T.A.R.S. members away
from their operations, to monitor them, and kill them if necessary. He grabbed Leon by the
neck and pulled him to his feet forcefully, holding him with his back to the wall, almost
lifting him from the ground. He was done playing nice with the little princess. It had been a
mistake from the first moment, but enough was enough, he was fed up with being fucked up
by his pretty face and his innocent puppy eyes. The rookie believed he was a monster? Fine,
he was going to show him the monster!
"What were you looking for, huh? A way to contact those Umbrella assholes?!" He shouted
in his face. "Who the fuck sent you! Birkin? Irons? Both of them?! Are you so scared of him
because you let me uncover you out like the incompetent, little jerk you are?! Now you will
tell me everything! EVERY-FUCKING-THING!"
Leon, almost airless, gasped a confused and frightened groan and he tried his best to nod,
frantically. Chris tightened his grip even more and came face to face with him, while with his
other hand he pressed the gun on his pretty lips, hard.
"And you better not bullshit me, because, no, I'm not gonna hurt you, pussy, I'll fucking kill
you," he hissed, before throwing him to the floor.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears,
this week I have updated a day early because I will be a bit messy tomorrow doing long
and tedious things, so I preferred to post tonight so that I could reread the chapter
properly. Starting next week, however, I will return on Thursdays. I like that as an
update day. I don't know why XD. As usual, a thousand thanks to everyone who read,
and left kudos, comments, subscriptions, and bookmarks, you are the fuel of this story!
We have even passed 1000 hits, so let's celebrate!
Chris is a jerk. There are times when it is almost exhausting to write him because he has
all the justifications in this world, and he is also lucid in his paranoid delusion, but he is
also so wrong about so many things... He is unstable, he lets his fears and suspicions
lead him, so one moment he is calm and realizes that his behavior is not correct, the next
he pulls the plug and goes back to reacting from the gut, with very bad results.
Leon, on the other hand, has an enviable inner strength; he is traumatized and scared to
death, but he still stands his ground. He can even recognize that he was wrong and is so
full of good intentions, poor baby.
They are quite a dysfunctional duo, although they have mutual curiosity for each other
and even a hint of physical attraction. We'll see if they can somehow manage to work
together, or at least stop beating each other up XD.
Thank you all very much, as usual, and I hope you enjoyed this early update.
A hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 13
Chapter Notes
Leon coughed and crawled back, massaging his neck.
"I-I'm sorry, okay? I got it all wrong," he gasped in a husky voice, "and you're right I'm a
jerk, a damn jerk, but not for the reason you think. I don't want to hurt you, and I wasn't
spying. I-I was just scared, that's why I ran."
Chris frowned because that was not what he expected to hear. He advanced, intending to
handcuff him again, but Leon was more than quick to leap away and take refuge in the
opposite corner of the room. The little fucker was damn fast and elusive, but he was also
trapped, so it was no big deal that he had his hands free.
"It's not necessary, really," he heard him exclaim in that little voice of his that was not yet
fully mature.
Chris sat down on Jill's desk and lit a cigarette, restraining his instinct to give in to his most
animalistic urge and beat the shit out of him in order to get some answers, but Leon told him
everything anyway. That he worked neither for Umbrella nor for Irons, that he had literally
just arrived in Raccoon City the night before and had asked his late father's colleagues to give
him the file on the murders at Arklay Mountains and on the S.T.A.R.S. division because he
desperately wanted to end up there and work his way up to detective as fast as possible.
"And then when I went into the woods I saw-
"Wait, you went into the woods?" Chris interrupted him.
Leon winced. He should have known. He was there! Was he pretending? No, probably not.
Apologies, I don't know Redfield. Nicholai hadn't lied to him so he had to be the one that had
got him to safety and he had even helped him just before, shooting that monster from the
roof. Why? What did he want from him? Why was he protecting him? He was just a stranger.
Too many questions, his brain was bursting. He decided not to mention him to Redfield and
leave that mystery for a later time.
"Yes, after I left the motel. I was afraid that you were bribed by Umbrella, that your whole
team was, and that you broke into my room because I had been snooping in-
"Excuse me?!" Chris blurted out, offended, putting out his cigarette and standing up.
Leon stepped back, slightly raising his hands in surrender. "I told you: I'm a jerk! Besides,
how could I know? You broke into my room! Have you seen yourself? What else was I
supposed to do?" He then proceeded to explain about his encounter with the dogs and how he
had narrowly escaped a bear before he stopped talking.
Chris huffed, shaking his head, Leon's explanation was, indeed, too dumb to sound untrue,
but there was still a lot that didn't add up. Against the Tyrant, the rookie had shown himself
more than ready to act, as if he knew how to behave in the face of that monster, at least
partially. Moreover, someone had helped him, the sniper, and he clearly remembered seeing
him looking toward the rooftops just before that Tyrant attacked them. What if it had all been
a trick? Putting that cute, innocent-looking thing beside him for… what reason, exactly?
What could the motive possibly be? Even finding that briefcase with the rocket launcher
inside had been decidedly odd. Wesker had lured him and his colleagues to the Spencer
Mansion because he needed combat data on the creatures inside, including the Tyrant. What
if Umbrella was doing exactly the same thing and Leon Kennedy was nothing more than
another lure, ready to lead him into horrible traps and stab him in the back once he got what
he wanted? Another Wesker, in essence, just younger and cute and vulnerable, the perfect bait
to appeal to his sense of duty and protection. A snake disguised as a puppy, ready to make
him dance as he pleases in Umbrella’s sick playground while his sniper pal was in charge of
collecting data. He still felt that ruthless desire to break his neck and get rid of him, but he
held it back, not even letting it show in his expression, but he looked at him and Leon
avoided his gaze.
"After I escaped from the woods, the owners of the diner gave me shelter. I-I fell asleep and
when I woke up it was already evening. Everything was dark and in the kitchen," he inhaled
deeply, unsettled, "I found Arthur leaning over Polly he-he was eating her! I had to shoot
him, I had to! And then, just now, that monster! What the fuck is going on in this town? It's a
virus, at least I understood that but how the fuck did it happen? How long has it been going
on? And why hasn't the government intervened yet? What the fuck are they waiting for?!"
He deserves a fucking Oscar! Chris thought, disturbed by how good Leon was at playing the
poor traumatized little angel. Christ, if he hadn't caught him at the motel he would have fallen
for it so fucking hard because that kid was not so different from Rebecca. Both were very
young, bright, but head over heels, both scared and needy. Yes, he would have fooled him big
time. At one point Chris even stopped listening to him and sat back down on Jill's desk to
focus on what to do. He could try to get him to talk the hard way, but he was pretty sure
Kennedy would die on the hill of lies he had built. No, pressing him was not the smartest
strategy, so why not make him think he believed all his bullshit and then screw him at the last
moment? After all, if he really wanted to destroy Umbrella, he had to play smart, too, even
though it wasn’t his strongest skill. And then he would have also thrown his fucking sniper
pal off of his nesting roof. He winced as he realized that Kennedy had approached him. He
had not heard him move, so the little fucker was light on his feet and he was far too
distracted. He lifted his gaze to look at him; he was holding an open med kit.
"Can I take a look at your nose, now?" He heard him ask. "I'm sorry. Truly."
Oh, for fuck's sake! Chris thought and rolled his eyes.
"I'll be quick," Leon assured him. And he was really sorry. Of course, Redfield had not
behaved well toward him, but he could only imagine his state of mind. He knew that many of
the S.T.A.R.S. members were considered missing, which probably meant dead, that Chris had
had to fight alone for weeks in search of justice and he had gained nothing because of Irons
and Umbrella. Moreover, he had noticed, at one point in his story, that Redfield had sort of
shut down, perhaps because it had triggered some bad memories in him. Also, another
colleague of his had just died, so it made sense that he trusted no one, and so Leon was more
than willing to be the first to extend an olive branch and start over. Slowly he lifted a
disinfectant-soaked gauze and laid it, light as a feather, just above his upper lip, gently wiping
away the now-dried blood from his mouth and chin, then checked his nose, which was indeed
not broken and had also stopped bleeding on its own. It didn't look like anything serious, it
was just a little swollen.
Throughout the procedure, Chris did not for a moment stop looking at his face with eyes full
of distrust and suspicion. It reminded Leon of the deer he had treated in the forest. Yes, he
had always had a fondness for broken things, or maybe Mike was right and he was simply
starved for affection. At that moment, however, he just wanted Chris to trust him enough to
stop tossing him around like a dirty rug. He meant him no harm; on the contrary, he
genuinely wanted to help him. Or maybe he just wanted it because, selfishly, worrying about
someone else's mess would delay the time when he would have to deal with what had just
happened to him. Yeah, that was probably the case because, at the end of the day, he was not
a good guy, he was a leech, a slut and Redfield was way too handsome to be ignored.
He stepped back and threw the soiled gauze into the nearest trash can before sitting down on
the desk nearby.
"What now?" He asked, fiddling, distractedly, with the handcuffs still hanging from his right
wrist, "Am I still under arrest?"
Chris shook his head.
"Too bad, these look good on me," he ventured a joke, alluding to the shackles.
Chris let an amused half snort escape through his nose and his lips curved into a pale smirk.
That entire situation was surreal. A strange, almost awkward silence fell between them before
Leon spoke again.
"Look, I know this can't be easy for you, but I'd really like to know what's going on. I want to
help."
Chris gave him an incredulous look because it was so easy to believe that Leon was actually
just a green, good-hearted rookie. Yes, he had strong Rebecca vibes but also something of
Jill, as the ability to pick locks, and that insufferable bitchy attitude, apparently.
"And how, exactly? By running in the opposite direction?" He decided to play along and
poke him a little. After all, he too had to play a part and pretend he actually trusted him, so he
had to at least try to convince him that following him was a shitty idea, as any conscientious
senior would have done.
Leon sulked, offended. "I'm not a pussy!" He blurted out.
Game, set, match ! Chris observed, amused because that prickly reaction was certainly
genuine. The asshole had some self-esteem issues, poor thing. Good to know, another
vulnerability.
"I'm not!" Insisted the rookie.
Chris chuckled ruthlessly, and stood up, turning serious very quickly. "On July 24th the
BRAVO team had been sent to survey the Arklay Mountains, but their helicopter crashed
soon after..."
He told him what had happened at the mansion, without going into too much detail.
Especially he didn’t talk about Barry, Jill, or Rebecca, because he did not want to put them in
the crosshairs and he didn’t mention Wesker's betrayal either. He had purposely kept himself
vague, not even saying that the virus was called T. That way, perhaps Kennedy would expose
himself, sooner or later, and show that he knew details that he had never revealed to him. At
that point, there would be no more doubt.
Leon listened eagerly, never interrupting him.
"The thing we faced earlier was probably a Tyrant too. Nothing a rocket launcher couldn't
dismember," he concluded.
"Good to know," Leon minimized, touched by that terrible story, "Are you okay?" He
hastened to ask.
Chris bowed his head, then shot him a petty look. "No. Any more stupid questions?" He
quoted him.
Leon blushed and then let out an embarrassed laugh. "No, no, I'm done," he replied, "And
that was rude. I mean, I was rude, but then you slammed me against that wall twice, after I
tried to break your nose and I also threw a typewriter at you as soon as I saw you-
"Missing the mark. Both times." Even if by a whisker, Chris had to acknowledge it, but he
would never do it out loud.
"Oh, give me a break! What I'm trying to say is that we're even. Peace?" Leon advanced,
extending his right hand, and there it was, that coy little smile, the same one he had flashed at
the motel. Chris felt as if he had been slapped in the face and kicked in the guts, but he
ignored that funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was probably just hungry. He couldn't
even remember the last time he had eaten anything.
"Truce," he replied, but instead of shaking his hand, he grabbed his wrist, not forcefully, but
rather firmly. "Do you want me to take this bracelet off or do you want to keep it as a
souvenir, princess?" He teased, running his thumb over the edge of the cuff and lightly
brushing the skin of his wrist with the fingertip. Even the no-touch rule seemed to have
lapsed, and Leon was much more relaxed in his presence, now. He had not even flinched. His
plan was working.
Leon hesitated, confused, but did not try to back away because... Was Redfield flirting, just
like that, out of the blue, or was he imagining things? He was aware that his mind was fucked
up, at that moment, and so was his ability to reason, but the way he was holding his wrist,
almost as if he had a need to touch him, had dangerously seemed like a shy approach. The
thing, however, that troubled Leon most was that a side of him would have wanted it to be.
Nausea clutched his stomach suddenly. How could he even think of something like that, after
what had just happened to him? What the fuck was wrong with him? A wave of shame and
inadequacy shook him from head to toe.
It was disgusting. He was disgusting.
He pulled his arm back and even made an effort to do it slowly, so as not to be conspicuous.
He didn't want Redfield to notice. He didn't want anyone to know.
"No, Prince Charming, I think I can manage. It's embarrassing enough to have been
handcuffed in my own, bloody handcuffs," he joked to mask any possible discomfort
Redfield might have sensed from him. Yeah, like that. He had to pretend, and if he pretended
all the way, he might have even been able to fool himself and everything would have been
fine. He felt reassured to hear Redfield's mocking laughter and his heart stopped beating so
madly and anguishedly.
"Well, that's certainly a first!" Chris commented, ruthlessly, before moving to the computer
and plugging the S.T.A.R.S. flash drive in; an instant later, the armory door clicked open.
"So what do we do?" Leon asked again, without following him inside but getting finally rid
of the shackles.
"You said it, there is no we. Now I'm taking you to Marvin and he will decide what to do with
you. After all, he is your direct superior. You were supposed to be assigned to his team,"
Chris replied and it was a lie. He had no intention of letting Kennedy out of his sight for even
a second.
"But I want to help," the rookie objected, "I want to help you . You know what's going on,
they don't. Now I do too, and maybe we can make a difference."
Chris opened his locker wide, irritated. "They know it too. We... I told them everything as
soon as I got back from the fucking mansion. They didn't believe a word. Called me crazy.
The nicer ones talked about trauma. Fuck 'em all," he growled, resentful.
Leon approached the armory but stopped in the doorway when he noticed that Redfield had
stripped down and was in his underwear, fiddling with his gear. He cursed his timing. Under
other circumstances, talking to him half-naked would just have been distracting; now it was
also disturbing.
"It's not their fault," he said, nonetheless, focusing his gaze on the weapons rack, "it's not
easy to believe without having seen for yourself."
"Maybe," Chris conceded, putting on his uniform pants and pulling his green t-shirt out of his
locker.
“Is there a cure? Can infected people turn back to normal?”
“They’re dead. There’s no turning back from that. And I don’t think there’s a cure for the
early symptoms either. Otherwise, they would have used it at the Mansion.”
“How does it spread?”
“Since I’m fine two months after being there, I suppose the only way of infection is by bites
or cross-contamination with infected body fluids.”
“At least it’s not airborne…” Sighed the rookie, turning towards him. And he could not help
but look at him, and the sight dried his mouth for a moment. Redfield was fit, a fucking
Greek god. He focused on his sculpted chest, covered with soft dark hair that thinned gently,
emphasizing his abs, until it disappeared below the edge of his black boxers, still clearly
visible from his unfastened gray pants. In spite of everything he could not stop his mind from
running wild and imagining what it would be like to kiss that skin, to caress it, to bite it,
even, and suddenly his fantasies were kicked away by the horrible sensation of being
slammed down on a desk without being able to defend himself. The fear, the helplessness, the
guilt, the sound of his own voice screaming into his head-
He shut down his mind.
He stopped thinking. He couldn't allow himself to, not now. He felt genuine relief when Chris
slipped his t-shirt on and then covered that too, with his military vest, heavier than the one he
had and with many more pockets, but he really didn't feel any better. Quite the contrary.
I am absolutely disgusting , he once again condemned himself.
"What now?" Chris asked him, confused because Leon was as pale as a ghost and his eyes
looked completely hollow as if he were intent on fighting some demon in his mind. He had
seen that expression in many fellow soldiers during his years in the Air Force. Shit, he had
seen that expression in the mirror far too many times recently, and it was never a good sign.
Or maybe it could have been something else. Something worse.
He fastened his pants and moved closer to get a better look at him. "Were you bitten in the
woods or at the diner?" He asked him, examining the portions of skin he could see: his arms,
his face, and neck.
"Wha- no, no, I'm fine. It's just... it's a lot to process. That's all. Sorry, I'll be my sassy self
again in no time." Leon stammered, before leaving the armory and taking refuge among the
desks. He meant it, from then on he would put on the perfect mask and not take it off until the
end of that mess.
Chris frowned; there was something decidedly wrong with Kennedy. One moment he was
this uncontainable, lively kid, ready to challenge him and make his life difficult with his witty
retorts, the next he was off, head elsewhere, almost catatonic. Maybe something had
happened to him beyond what he had already told him. Maybe he was not working for
Umbrella of his own free will. After all, he seemed to be scared shitless of Irons. He snorted
because part of him was already opening himself up to the possibility of allowing him to
redeem himself if, at some point, Leon decided to confess all he knew and ask for his help;
but rationally he also knew that not only could he not trust him, but it was not fair for
Kennedy to get off so lightly.
He had just closed his locker when he heard a thud, followed by the faint resonance of guitar
strings.
He is so dead! He thought, hurrying back to the next room. "Give me that, now!" He blurted
out, snatching the instrument from his arms and checking it lovingly.
"I was just trying to put it back where I picked it to get the desk clear and it slipped!"
"Why did you take it to begin with?!”
Leon blushed. "Well… Fuck, I don’t know how to put it. Let’s say I was thinking of using it
to hit you. But… before! Not now, I swear!” He rushed to explain
"My guitar?!" Chris exclaimed, outraged, holding it protectively.
"I didn't know it was yours!"
Chris zapped him with his gaze. "Don't ever touch her again," he admonished him, putting it
back very gently.
Leon smirked, incredulously, "Her? Really? Do you call it ‘baby’ and hug it in your sleep?"
"Fuck you," Chris retorted.
Leon chuckled. "Well, we went from violence to insults, I consider that progress," he teased
him. "Let's get back to work."
"Like I said-
"No-no, I can help you, and I'll prove it. Do you have my clipboard by any chance? You
know, the one you stole by illegally breaking into my room? That clipboard! Come on, I
know you took it."
Chris rolled his eyes, how petulant he was!
"No. I don't have it with me."
Leon grimaced sarcastically. "Figures," he commented, then closed his eyes for a second,
trying to concentrate and gather his thoughts. "You said a name earlier when you were
slamming me up against the wall in another totally illegal procedure - yeah, for the record,
I'm going to keep throwing that back at your grumpy face for a while, I'm a prickly guy-
"I can still kick your ass if you like since you seem to be asking for it so passionately." Chris
interrupted him, but he was clearly joking. "Are you always this obnoxious?" He inquired
"Ouch, you just hurt my feelings, shame on you!" Leon answered him in a mock sulk, then
shrugged, "but it's still better than my bones, all things considered," he conceded. "The name
was Birkin, right?"
Chris watched him go and sit at the computer without even waiting for an answer, and could
do nothing but watch him type on the keyboard in disbelief. How dare that bugger to move
around the office as if he owned the place? What a nerve!
"In addition to your service records, I had also done some research on the Umbrella
Corporation, because, well, there's only them in this town, and… Come on, move it, you slug
-- that's it! Doctor William Birkin."
He rotated with the chair enough for Redfield to see the screen but closed the window before
he could actually read anything.
"What the fuck?!" Protested Chris.
Leon sneered, tilting his head a little, looking smug. "I remember what it said and where we
might find this Birkin's office, so... either you can take me with you or you can always search
for it again on your own. It’s not that hard."
Chris let loose a low snarl of utter impatience and glared at him. "This is not a game."
Leon turned serious again. "I'm well aware of that, soooo I'm going to need a gun."
Chris slammed the pistol he had retrieved from Irons' office onto the pc desk and stormed
back toward the armory, where he took an assault rifle for himself and as many magazines as
he could carry.
"I totally knew you weren't the computer type! Do you know how to send an email, at least?"
Leon mocked him, taking the weapon and standing up to holster it.
"Zip it, nerd!" Barked Chris from the armory, where he was writing a note for Jill, in case she
came through the station. And of course, he knew how to use a bloody computer, damn him!
Ok, he wasn’t good at it like Jill or ‘Becca, but he could manage!
"Boo-hoo, cry me a river, caveman!" Leon laughed from the other room.
Swear to God, I’m gonna strangle him!
"Just so you know," Chris stated, retrieving his flash drive, and stopping a step away from
him to glare down at him with a scowl, "I've never regretted not shooting someone so much,
Kennedy,"
Leon looked at him coquettishly and tapped on his chest a couple of times, leaving his hand
on his collarbone. "Uh-uh," he shook his head, "I'm not falling for that. You were scarier
before, big boy, or should I call you sir, now?” He whispered with that damn smirk of his,
and Chris knew he'd lost that skirmish because for one long ass moment his brain betrayed
him, disconnecting completely as he remained in contemplation of the smartass’ big blue
eyes. The idea that he was very pretty flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning and
unsettled him more than he wanted. Yes, Leon Kennedy looked like something out of a
bloody boy-band, so what? He was also an insufferable dick and a spy for Umbrella, yet
Chris felt that the more time passed, the more he was in danger of Leon wrapping him around
his finger, just because he was so fucking charming and brilliant and… In truth, he kinda
liked the way he stood up to him.
Oh, for fuck's sake, what the hell is wrong with you? Get your shit together! He rebuked
himself. It was obvious that Umbrella had sent him someone he could get along with, who
knows how many reports Wesker had written on all of them! They knew he liked to be
challenged and, surely, Kennedy knew it too and acted accordingly. He pushed his hand away
abruptly and moved toward the door. "Let's get a move on," he blurted out, leaving the room.
Leon stood still for a moment, confused and perhaps even a little hurt. Had he gone too far?
He was just fooling around a bit, but, clearly, it had made Redfield uncomfortable. In his
desperate need not to think about what had happened, he was acting over the top. Way too out
of line. And throwing himself at a plain asshole, most likely straight and just as messed up, in
the midst of the outbreak of a virus that turned people into rabid monsters was really a shitty
idea from any point of view.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears ^^!

As of consuetude, my heartfelt thanks to all those who are continuing to read this story,
those who started it recently, and those who left Kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and
wonderful comments. At the risk of sounding boring, I really want to thank you every
time. This is because for years I have been in a very dark place, emotionally, and this is
the first story I have been able to write and carry on. To see that it is so appreciated by
so many people really warms my heart. I have missed this so much. So really, thank
you!
Coming to the content of the chapter, it wasn't exactly my intention for Leon and Chris
to start flirting so early on, but they were irrepressible. The further I got with their
dialogue, the more they poked at each other, these naughty boys, and, in the end, I
surrendered to go with the flow. Undoubtedly there is remarkable chemistry between the
two of them, although they met in the worst-case scenario of all.
As I promised, in this chapter we also got to understand a little better what Chris's
reasoning is. There is rationality in his paranoia that, yes, will have repercussions,
sooner or later, because he will screw up. A lot. He's not done pissing us all off yet.
Leon breaks my heart, he's really making a huge effort to pretend that nothing has
happened to him because he's awfully terrified of falling apart. Of course, all the
negative thoughts he addresses to himself are wrong. He is not disgusting, he is just hurt,
and, unfortunately, it is very common for victims of such abuse to feel guilty and
stained. It will not happen soon, but he will get the help he needs, in the future. I assure
you.
In the next two chapters, we'll move on to the other characters, Carlos (bless him, the
only sane one of the bunch), Jill, and Nicholai, for a while, and we'll also see how
Raccoon City is slowly turning into that hell we all know.
Many thanks again!
A hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 14
Chapter Notes
Jill crinkled her eyes, exhausted, and looked despondently at the row of cars in front of hers.
What the fuck was going on in that goddamn town? She honked her horn for a long time,
well aware that it wouldn't do any good except to blow off some steam, but she quickly
regretted it when everyone else started doing it too, in a ripple effect that filled the street with
a deafening noise.
"Oh, fuck me!" She whined. Chris, when I find you I'm gonna beat you so hard it will take
you a week to get back on your feet, you bloody jerk! She thought, barely pressing the
accelerator to make that couple of feet before the column stopped again.
With agonizing slowness, she managed to reach the intersection and immediately gasped at
the sight of a pair of black military trucks with the Umbrella logo on their hoods parked on
the sidewalk. One of their soldiers was trying, with little success, to get traffic flowing
toward the correct detour, while the rest of his fellow soldiers were busy erecting what looked
like improvised fortifications consisting of concrete barriers and fences. She braked the car
beside the poor man in charge of looking after traffic and rolled down the passenger window
to speak to him.
"What the fuck is going on here?"
The guy, a well-built Latino with bushy black hair and olive skin, looked at her with
helplessness in his eyes.
"Please, sweetheart, just proceed," he told her in a pleading voice, because, evidently, that
was the hundredth complaint he had received and he no longer knew how to extricate himself
from that giant, pissed-off mass of drivers. There was genuine desperation in his dark hazel
eyes and it was quite clear that he would rather have been anywhere but there.
Jill, however, did not take pity on him and she waved her badge in his face because, unlike
Chris, she had not gotten herself suspended. Formally, she was on vacation but, officially, she
was still a member of the Raccoon City Police Department and had every intention of
standing up for herself. She knew it wasn't the smartest choice to go busting the balls of an
Umbrella militiaman, but the fact that they were building barricades in the center of the city
was too serious not to investigate.
"I don't like to repeat myself," she hissed, authoritatively, giving him a glare, "what the fuck
is going on here?"
" ¡Oh, maldito infierno! " Groaned Carlos, raising his hands over his ears when the people in
line behind Jill began honking again. He regretted pissing Mikhail off. He regretted it so
damn much. Not only had he assigned him that terrible job, but he had not even allowed him
to join the others, so there he was, directing traffic in a city he was not familiar with,
alongside a team where he knew no one. Another half hour like that and his brains would
have leaked down his ears.
Note for future use: Russians are masters at holding grudges. He thought, mentally jotting it
down, although he was pretty sure he would hardly be able to forget it. He looked again at the
sulky girl in the car, who still held her R.P.D. badge in plain view, clutched in her delicate
little hand. She was pretty, very pretty, and, for a moment, Carlos wanted nothing more than
to jump into the passenger seat and run away with her.
"Who authorized this traffic detour and why are you taking care of it and not traffic control?
What are those barriers for?" Jill insisted, mercilessly.
"Huh?! Say it again, please! I can't hear myself think out here!" And as he spoke, the drivers
began to honk even louder and in unison. "What the fuck, did they synchronize?!" He
shouted, casting a look of panic mixed with annoyance and admiration at the long column of
cars.
Jill huffed, impatiently, and, with a daring maneuver, accelerated, parking her car sideways
on the sidewalk, and thus clearing the lane. She flung open the door and marched in the
direction of the Umbrella soldier who had turned back toward traffic again.
"About time, asshole!" Berated the rude driver of a large red pickup truck, throwing a half-
full can of beer at him and hitting him in the chest, before screeching away at high speed.
Carlos, mortified, first rubbed his chest, hurt, then even bent down to pick up the can from
the ground. "Good evening to you too, sir..." he sighed, dejectedly, looking around for a trash
bin. Not finding it, he relented to empty the can and put it in one of the pockets of his vest.
He would throw it away later. He huffed, and really tried to get back between the passing cars
to regulate that mess, but had to let it go. It was beyond his control, anyway. Those people
were just too mad, and he didn't have the right uniform to make himself heard. Fortunately,
his colleagues had pulled up the barricades almost completely and he trusted that no dickhead
would try to get through concrete barriers.
He jerked, caught off guard when he felt grabbed by the arm.
"Hey, are you deaf or stupid?" Jill exclaimed, forcing him to turn around almost forcefully.
Carlos looked at her.
"Right now? A little of both, I'm afraid," he tried to joke, but realized, just by looking at her,
that his daily dose of insults was probably not over yet. "Look, if I made you late, I'm sorry,
okay? What if I made it up to you by buying you a drink?" He apologized.
Jill crossed her arms over her breast, annoyed. "I want to know who gave you the go-ahead to
alter the city road system," she insisted, unimpressed, "why you are doing it instead of my
colleagues? And I want to know now."
Carlos gave her a lost look and cast a glance at his colleagues who were intent on their work
and were paying them no attention. "All I know is that there's a gas leak just up ahead and
since it involves one of the company's warehouses, they sent us to-
"A gas leak, really?" She inquired, incredulous.
Carlos shrugged. "Hey, that's what they told me," he blurted out apologetic, "and as for
permits, I haven't the foggiest idea, sorry, but maybe we can try to ask..." He looked back at
the other soldiers, "Hey, guys!" No one listened to him. "Excuse me! Does anyone know who
gave us permission for this?" He asked, raising his voice to be heard, but, again, no one
answered him and they all continued to load their tools back into the trucks as if he did not
exist. Fuckin hell, he was beginning to understand why Nicholai despised them all! What did
it cost them to show some manners?"
"Wow, you really are the popular one!" Jill mocked him.
Carlos put on a pout. "Well, I usually am, it's just that... They're not from my group. I mean, I
got in the middle of a quarrel between two Russians and one of them put me here as
punishment."
"And about that, I don't give a shit," she retorted.
Carlos looked at her, hurt.
"Why do you have to be so mean? What did I do to you?" He asked, whining.
Jill huffed, "Don't get me started," then turned back toward the car. It was clear that the jerk
didn't know anything. He was probably below the bottom of the command hierarchy. There
was no point in lingering there any longer. The road was relatively clear, so she could get to
the police station and ask Brad to help her find Chris because she had exhausted all the
fucking options. She had just opened the door when there was a loud screeching of brakes
and then the smashing of several cars, just in the direction of the station. She rolled her eyes,
cursing her fucking bad luck. Okay, walking it is! She surrendered. Out of the corner of her
eye, she saw that Umbrella asshole sprinting toward the crash, so she decided to follow him.
"Holy shit!" Groaned Carlos, when he reached the scene and saw the mess at that
intersection. The guy who had thrown the beer at him had turned at an excessive speed,
probably lost control of his vehicle, and skidded until he crashed into a parked car, but that
madness had not ended there, because other cars had crashed into the pickup truck from both
sides of the intersection, creating a tangle of sheet metal and destruction that blocked the
entire roadway.
Without even thinking about it, he immediately began to pull people out of the cars, helping
them to the sidewalk, but he was startled by the behavior of some of them, for although many
had cuts and wounds, they seemed as if stunned and unresponsive. Others, however, were
crying and screaming, in shock; one man, furious, was even looking for the one responsible
for that mess, probably to lay hands on them. Those were normal reactions, Carlos noted, but
those of the others... He had just pulled out a woman who had not said, nor done anything at
all. She had only looked at him with glazed eyes, but she did not seem to have hit her head in
the crash. It was all so strange.
"Help! Somebody help me! I'm stuck! Please!"
The voice came from the pickup, almost unreachable in the midst of that pile of wrecked
cars. Carlos, then, hoisted himself onto the roof of the nearest one and sprinted to the rescue,
jumping from car to car until he reached the pickup's trunk. The first thing he noticed was the
heavy smell of gasoline. The tank must have been damaged, but then his gaze fell on the
crumpled hood and air flew out of his chest as if he had been kicked. Embedded in the torn
metal was the torso, severed in half, of a little girl who must have been about fourteen, or
fifteen years old. Her red hair was styled in an elaborate braid with tiny glittered butterfly
hair clips, and her little violet jacket, now torn and drenched in blood, was somehow elegant.
Was she out with her family for a special occasion? Or maybe for her real first date with a
young boy like her? Carlos was heartbroken. It was not the first body he had seen, nor was it
the first body of someone so young, but there they were not in the jungle, intent on fighting a
senseless civil war, they were in the middle of a wealthy town in the United States, and
absurdly, that wrongful death affected him much more because it felt so out of place.
"Hey! Get me out! FUCK! GET ME OUT!" Shouted the guy inside the pickup, and he
recoiled. Quickly, he climbed over the passenger compartment and positioned himself on
what was left of the hood, taking care not to step on the girl's body. The man, a burly big
bloke in his fifties with a thick dark beard and bald head, was freaking out, inside the car,
clearly in shock. His chin was bleeding, probably from slamming it against the steering wheel
on impact, but, otherwise, he seemed fine.
"Okay, okay, I'm here!" Carlos told him in a reassuring tone, "I'm going to pull you out, but
you have to listen to me and do everything I say, okay?"
The guy looked at him with fright-filled eyes and nodded, perhaps even feeling an edge of
shame, given his treatment of the poor guy only a few minutes earlier.
"Now I'm going to hand you my knife so you can cut the belt," Carlos continued, "then you
have to hoist yourself onto the seat. There's not enough room to open the doors, so we'll have
to get you out through the windshield. Don't worry, I've got you. I won't leave you."
Jill, from the sidewalk, was watching the scene, in spite of herself being impressed by the
speed and good heart with which that guy was trying to help everyone, even the asshole who
had thrown trash at him. It was not exactly what she would have expected from an Umbrella
soldier. Her blood froze in her veins, however, when she caught a glimpse of the dead little
girl's arm on the hood jerking in weak convulsions. She leaned further, also climbing onto the
roof of a car to get a better look, alarmed by a terrible sense of foreboding. "Oh, no, no, no,"
she groaned as she saw her eyes go wide, inhumanly veiled in white just as the Umbrella
operative was lifting the driver out of the shattered windshield.
"Watch out!" She shouted, pulling her gun from Chris's sweatshirt, which she had put back on
after the shower, but she had no clear line of fire and was too far away to shoot without
hitting either man.
Fuck, Chris, why the hell are you never - never! - around when I need you?! She thought,
helplessly. He would have nailed that shot, goddamnit!
Carlos gave her a confused look, then the inevitable happened. The dead little girl surged
forward and, with her small, resolute arms, gripped the driver's leg, sinking her teeth into his
calf. The poor man screamed and, in struggling, struck Carlos, who ended up crashing
backward onto the hood of the car beside them. In pain, he sat up, and what he saw paralyzed
him with horror. The owner of the pickup had fallen back into the passenger compartment,
and that little girl he had given up for dead was on top of him and she was chomping into
him, ripping chunks of flesh from his thick chest. Only she couldn't be alive. She just
couldn't. Her body was cut in half, her guts were hanging from her mangled abdomen all the
way down to where the hood had crashed, and her broken spine was sticking out from her
back. She was dead but she was moving! He felt goosebumps tense the hairs on his bare arms
as he heard the poor man's screams turn into gurgling gasps as he was unable to look away
from that gruesome scene.
"Get away from there! Now!" He heard the police chick shout.
And he didn't let her fucking repeat it! He leaped to his feet and started running over the cars
to get back to the sidewalk. In doing so, he hit a light pole, already half knocked down by the
tangle of cars, and it crashed into the road with a spray of sparks that ignited the fuel on the
asphalt. Carlos cast a glance behind him, where the crashed cars were catching fire one after
the other.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!!" He shouted, running faster and as soon as he reached the pretty lady
cop, he threw himself on her, knocking her to the ground just beyond the open entrance of the
liquor store over the sidewalk and protecting her with his own body just an instant before one
of the cars behind them exploded.
The store window shattered, covering them with glass, and they lay on the ground for almost
half a minute, stunned and deafened. Then Jill felt the man's hand stroke her hair away from
her face. She opened her eyes again, meeting his worried ones.
"Holy shit, are you okay?" He asked her, panting, staying on top of her.
Jill pushed him away, getting him off her roughly, and stood up.
"Oh my God," she sighed, covering her mouth with her hands. The street had turned into a
burning hell. The heat of the flames and a cloud of acrid black smoke filled the air, making it
barely breathable. There were screams from every direction and panic was spreading. They
had barely saved themselves because if that guy had not thrown her into the store she surely
would have been in the middle of the fire. Dead.
"Hey! We can't stay here!" Carlos told her, grabbing her by the arm.
She flinched, alarmed and wary, and pushed his hand away.
"Okay," he conceded, "personal space, I get it, but we're in the wrong place anyway," he
pointed out, alluding to the fire that had taken root on the wooden shelves of the storefront. A
bottle of liquor exploded, proving his point, and he instinctively pulled her toward him. "Can
we go now?" He insisted with some urgency.
Jill frowned, spotting something moving in the flames, half-hidden by smoke.
"Wait a second," she said, approaching the entrance, "'what the fuck is that?"
A gust of wind shifted the column of smoke, showing a giant monster advancing through the
fire, pushing cars out of its path like they were nothing. The black leather raincoat that
covered his body was withstanding the heat, but the hood had ignited and burned away
enough to show a hideous, monstrous, misshapen face with no nose and two rows of teeth in
full view.
"What the...?" Carlos echoed her, increasingly confused and alarmed.
That time it was Jill who grabbed him firmly, and he could feel her nails sticking into his
forearm.
"Go! Go! Go!" She shouted, dragging him behind the counter and then into the backroom.
"Shit, there's no door!" She panted.
"Up there, the vasistas!" Carlos pointed out to her, before taking the broom and smashing the
glass, cleaning it off the shards, "I'll pull you up, you go!"
Jill gave him a dazed look with a mute question in it.
Carlos smiled, "I'll be great, the world has to try a lot harder to take me down, and I certainly
can't fit through there. Come on, everything's gonna be fine," it was, of course, a load of crap,
because he had been shitting himself from the moment he saw that little girl cut in half hoist
herself up on the hood and attack that poor guy in the pickup, but he didn't want the missy to
notice. "Come on, ladies first," he prodded her, lowering himself against the wall and
positioning his arms so as to give her leverage.
Jill gave him yet another look, softer than all the previous ones. "Thank you," she whispered,
before accepting his selfless offer. She rested her foot on his crossed hands and he pushed her
up almost effortlessly, allowing her to reach that small window and pass through, just as the
Nemesis burst through the entrance to the liquor store. Carlos, who, in order to direct traffic,
had left his equipment in the truck, frantically scurried to the shelves in search of something
to use as a weapon, but it was quite useless. When that monster crossed the threshold of the
backroom, he did not even dignify him with a glance. With a fist he razed the wall dividing
the room from the alley and left.
Wait a minute... Is he after her? He wondered, confused. ¡Qué demonios, idiota! He scolded
himself, that was not the time for questions, he had to help her.
Nicholai, who had been following the Nemesis' movements since he had seen him get back
on his feet, was lurking on yet another rooftop collecting data. The moment he had seen Jill
running out of that alley he had immediately thought she was a goner. Yes, she had a gun, but
that would never be enough.
He watched her gracefully zigzagging between stopped cars in hopes of outspeeding Project-
N and thought that he had seen that scene before, about an hour earlier, and it had not gone
well at all. In fact, the monster was less than a couple of dozen feet away from her and was
catching up very quickly.
Oh, for fuck's sake! What the hell is he doing there? He thought when he saw Carlos running
out of the alley, armed only with his noble intentions. Why did they all have to be goddamn
heroes? Couldn't they simply let the S.T.A.R.S. being slaughtered and get on with their
fucking lives while they still had one? Wasn't a nine-foot-plus, potentially indestructible
monster created to kill enough of a deterrent for those two moronic kids? And especially
Carlos! Did that jackass really have no other skirts to run after than the most dangerous one
in the whole fucking city? That dickhead! He was, again, speechless, and Umbrella wasn't
paying him enough to put up with all that shit, that much was certain. Nonetheless, he had
already reached for his sniper rifle, unconsciously resigned to his, entirely unwilling, role as a
freaking babysitter for gifted but suicidal children. He was about to take aim when he noticed
that the situation was quite different from the one he had witnessed before. Miss Valentine
was certainly smarter than his kitten, and she didn't seem to have any intention of stopping to
look for a useless hiding place, instead, she was exploiting her petite size to slow the Nemesis
down, forcing him through bottlenecks. And Carlos, unlike Redfield who had curled up
behind a car doing who the fuck knows what for whole minutes, had already come up with a
strategy. So Nicholai decided to hold back that damn protective instinct and stay and watch,
which, by the way, was his motherfucking job and he needed to start keeping that in mind, for
fuck's sake. He observed Carlos get into a large delivery truck left in the middle of the road
by its driver, a heavy, quite sturdy vehicle, too, although it was obviously not armored. He
had started it up and then proceeded at full speed toward the Nemesis, wiping out vehicles
stopped in its path. Lastly, he struck a car, dragging it along with him, before running over
the B.O.W. and crashing into a store window.
Unorthodox, but effective. Nicholai acknowledged with a delighted grimace. So far the
Project-N had only gotten his ugly ass kicked, not exactly a fantastic specimen. He made a
mental note not to be so extreme in his report because Sergei did not like bad news and he did
not wish to piss him off. No, he was going to write some bullshit to point out the weaknesses
of the damn thing in an extremely succinct and analytical way, leaving to the scientists how
to improve him. He was about to leave when suddenly the truck was slammed several feet
back. Nemesis, clinging to the car that separated him from the truck, had apparently decided
to smarten up and was trying to disengage himself from the sheet metal to get out of the store
by pushing back both vehicles.
"Oh no, asshole, no fucking way! Down!" Carlos grunted, stomping his foot on the
accelerator. The monster lost his grip and ended up overwhelmed and crushed on a wall that
shattered against his back, collapsing the entire upper floor on him and the truck.
A cloud of dust and rubble rose into the air, mixing with the smoke from the fire and making
visibility down on the street particularly poor. Nicholai could no longer see anything of what
was below him. He slung his rifle and his duffle bag over his shoulder and sprinted down the
fire escape driven again by that bizarre feeling of anguish. Carlos was still alive, wasn't he?
Or had he been crushed by the debris as well?
He had almost reached the back of the truck when someone crashed into him from the right.
Without even looking he grabbed that head by the hair to keep it well away from himself, but
quickly let go when he heard that feminine scream and, almost simultaneously, received a
swift kick on the leg. He jerked to the side, finally deciding to look at his attacker, only to
find himself under the gaze of a very pissed-off Jill Valentine, who, however, had stopped the
starting fight in turn.
Oh, great! Nicholai thought. Not only had he let himself be seen by the very person he was
supposed to be monitoring from a distance, but they were even within walking distance from
the B.O.W. she was supposed to be facing. However, that was not a priority. They were not
safe, so he drew his gun.
"Duck," he instructed her and was surprised to see her comply.
Smart girl.
Quickly he aimed and fired, hitting straight in the forehead a zombie who was awkwardly
proceeding in their direction, or, rather, someone who looked like a zombie. From that
distance and with all that smoke he was more like an indistinct silhouette. Nicholai had only
heard it grunt and, for him, that was enough of an indicator to shoot. He glimpsed him fell
with a thud and was about to make sure he didn't get back up when Miss Valentine shoved
him to the side with a hasty, "watch it!" And she raised her gun as well.
He hastened his gaze in the direction she was pointing and, at the last instant, shoved her
hand with a flick of his arm, causing her shot to go upward and miss the target.
"Fuck! Fuck! Don't shoot! It's me! Fuck!" Shouted Carlos, a second later, appearing from the
smoke with his hands above his head, startled.
"Oh, shit!" She groaned, then looked toward Nicholai. "How did you know?"
He rolled his eyes. Because he wasn't a fucking amateur for a start, but he refrained from
blurting it out in her face and hurried to catch up with Carlos.
"Oh, hi!" The kid greeted him with one of his big smiles. "I guess you missed the good part
of the party," he joked but tried to back off when Nicholai came decidedly too close to him
with that stern, menacing look on his face.
"Woah! personal space, man!" He exclaimed, “You don’t wanna hit me, right?”
"Shut the fuck up," he heard him growl so Carlos decided that, perhaps, it was best not to
cross him.
Unceremoniously, the Russian grabbed a tuft of his hair and yanked it back to examine the
wound on his forehead, from which he was bleeding profusely. Jill joined them, or at least
tried to because the passage between the cars was very narrow.
"Is he all right? Did I get him?" She asked, nervous, continuing to keep an eye on their
surroundings, but, at the same time, trying to peek over Nicholai's shoulder.
"I'm fine, I'm fine! I get that you love me, but no need to panic, guys! Ouch, asshole," Carlos
protested, shoving Nicholai away, "leave my hair alone, already! It's nothing, I swear! I just
took a bump on the steering wheel. No big deal!"
"It certainly hasn't made you any dumber, since you already achieved that top score the day
you were born," the Russian commented, crossing his arms at his chest. Then he snorted,
"you need stitches. I can take care of it, but not here."
"Okay, okay, fine! You could have asked nicely, though," Carlos whined, but it was a fake
complaint because he was actually happy. Nicholai was just worried, and that was his rough
way of showing it. Had he not been a deeply resentful Russian over six feet tall and with
more than 220 pounds of steel muscles, all perfectly oiled to keep him the perfect, super-
trained war machine that he was, he would have even found him tender.
"And you could have cut your hair," Nicholai retorted, turning to look at Miss Valentine and
then slipping away behind her, letting her reach the damn fool.
What a mess! He cursed himself, because now he had to look for a way to dispose of her
without upsetting the idiot and, at the same time, to pass off her death as if Nemesis had
killed her, so as to preserve the report for Sergei and a modicum of professionalism.
A doubt seized him.
Was he really sure that no one had been assigned to watch him?
Sergei trusted him because he believed him to be the best Monitor, the most ruthless, the
most precise in his reports, and the only one capable of surviving should the shit really hit the
fan. And all of it was true - current fucked up situation aside - but were things really that
way?
He knew Sergei very well and, in his heart, hated him. Not despise genuine hate. The man
was pure evil, a sadist, a nostalgic who wanted nothing more than to see the Soviet Union
rise from the ashes under his iron fist. Of course, Nicholai had always been damn good at
making him think they were on the same page about everything, but they really weren't on
fucking anything. He went along with it only because he owed Sergei, and his wasn't a debt
of friendship, but rather the one you owe the Devil. A kind of debt that couldn't be repaid
with time or money, but only with one's whole life of service, and just because neither of
them believed in the existence of a soul, otherwise Sergei would have demanded that too,
assuming he could find it. Doing the math, it had been seventeen years since he had become
his butcher. Holy hell, what an eternity - he was only twenty-one at the time, like Carlos
and… Leon, come to think of it.
Funny coincidences.
He glanced at Carlos and Miss Valentine exchanging introductions and then to the rooftops
around him, unable to distinguish whether the anguish he felt was a trick of his mind or a real
foreboding.
How did Mikhail know? He wondered because it was relevant. How could he? And
immediately imagined the Captain and Sergei drinking and eating like pigs along with their
fellow comrades, from both inside and outside the Umbrella, engaged in one of those
ridiculous dinners, which were nothing more than pale imitations of the long-gone parties of
high ranks of the Red Army. He had attended just one time, several years prior, only to never
do so again. The old shiny uniforms, the medals, the pats on the back, the nostalgia for a
regime he had never believed in because it had never given him shit - no, that stuff was not
for him, and neither were the high-class whores or the cocaine. He would never pay a woman
to force her to fuck him, under no circumstance, and as for the dope, he was too busy to let
himself be entertained by it at the moment. In any case, he didn't belong in that world. All
those pompous commanding officers knew very well he was just scum and treated him
accordingly. He had been in the army too, of course, but as frontline cannon fodder. He had
never moved up and, should he absurdly have wanted to, they would never have allowed
someone like him to reach the top of the food chain. At the time, however, he didn't give a
shit, because he was just yearning for a pyrotechnic, very painful way to die, deluding
himself that it would be enough to cleanse his conscience and make amends for the one thing
he considered himself unforgivable for. Now he continued to not give a shit. Period. No deep
reasons behind it, and no illusions about having a conscience or a chance at redemption. Past
could not be changed, he could only try his best not to think about it. Life had shown him that
he had far too tough a hide to just croak, and in time he had accepted it, just as he had
accepted a thousand other compromises and humiliations just to stay alive. For these very
reasons, he didn't bother him the slightest not being captain or more, not even after all those
years of perfect service as a fighting hound.
A fighting hound…
Yes, that's what he was and, at the end of the day, he was fine with it, so what was off? What
had changed? Again he pictured a half-drunk Sergei telling all those assholes about his past
as if it was some silly topic to cheer up their evening, and fury became rampant within him.
His story was his own, not something funny, nor an entertaining, gory little tale with which
Sergei could brag about how he had tamed a rabid wolf into submission to the point of
making him the perfect, loyal lapdog. Not least because that was not how things had gone
back then, at all. He had agreed to work for Sergei only because he had offered him the only
thing that mattered to him and which was, at the time, far beyond his reach: his revenge. He
could almost see the General, with that sadistic sneer of his, fiddling with his knife as he told
the tragic story of that unfortunate little boy who, by now, had nothing to do with the adult
Nicholai anymore, and then laughing along with all his guests just because someone's tragedy
is always someone else's fun. Yeah, there was no other way Mikhail could have found out
about all of it than through Sergei's mouth and that troubled him because it was fucking
unfair and uncalled for. In those seventeen years, he had never let him down, had never
declined a mission, no matter how deranged and life-threatening it was. He had always
brought results, often far exceeding Sergei's expectations. Even at that very moment there he
was, in the middle of a city that was going to shit monitoring yet another fucking monster for
him!
Fuck him, fuck it all!

He wasn't his lapdog and, more importantly, he wasn't willing to accept being humiliated for
yet the umpteenth goddamn time, and definitely not for that . Of course, Sergei had not sent
anyone to spy on him, he considered him his subhuman slave. Fine, he could pretend to be
that too, but from then on he would do whatever the fuck he wanted and, at the same time, he
was going to squeeze him and his precious Umbrella of all the money he can get. And as for
Mikhail, he was a fucking dead man walking, and he was going to suffer all the way up until
his last breath. Not for the insult itself, no, that he could have shrugged off, but for making
him think back.
Carlos joined him.
"I know you probably don't give a shit, but could you try to be a decent human being again?
You know, with her. Please do it for me. She's-
"I know who she is," he silenced him and sneered at the sight of Jill wincing, "don't worry,
Miss Valentine. You're not in my paycheck. Not properly."
Jill sustained his gaze and then walked toward him, feigning indifference because, unlike
Carlos, that guy definitely knew something, if not everything. "I wasn't afraid of you
anyway," she retorted sharply. "So that was Project-N."
Nicholai did not reply to her but smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.
"What is Project-N?" Carlos asked, "And what the fuck is going on while we're at it?"
Nicholai began to walk away for two reasons: he didn't want to expose himself any further,
and standing there waiting for Nemesis to break free from the wreckage was a really bad
idea. Jill trotted alongside him, determined to get answers, and forced him to slow down,
stepping in front of him.
"So what happened," she insisted, pressing a hand on his chest to stop him completely,
"Umbrella decided to release the T all over the city and a fucking experimental Tyrant just to
kill me?!" She went on, omitting Chris and Brad from the picture, even though it was
probably futile. "I mean, I knew you're all ruthless psychopathic freaks way out of your
minds, but this exceeds any possible level of fucked up! You've got to tell me something! We
have to help these people!"
Carlos passed his gaze from one to the other, alarmed. Why did he never understand anything
that was going on around him? For fuck's sake, he wasn't that dumb!
Nicholai exhaled profoundly because the lady had a point there. "I don't know," he conceded
to her. He was so fed up with everything. "Do you think it's all idiotic? Get in line. Assuming
the higher-ups know the reason behind this mess, they haven't told me. It might surprise you,
but the information is well compartmentalized, so whatever the fuck is going on, each of us
will have to deal with it according to our role in the game."
"Game?! How fucking dare you! People are dying, get your head out of your ass and look
around!" She shouted at him, outraged, pointing at the destruction that surrounded them.
Nicholai shook his head and leaned a little toward her. "Let me tell you another secret, Miss
Valentine," he murmured, "people are dying constantly, everywhere, all the time, in the most
assorted and horrifying of manners. Why should I care about those here? What makes them
so special, huh?"
“You’re sick and revolting,” she hissed in hatred, raising the gun and pointing it right at him.
“Now you will tell me everything you know!”
“Hey, no! Come on, guys! No one is shooting to no one, please! Why can’t anybody talk it
out in this fucking place?!” Carlos tried to step between them, but the Russian blocked him as
he had done during his fight with Mikhail.
And then he laughed, amused. “Go ahead, Miss Valentine,” he prodded her. “No?” He
questioned, after some seconds, tilting his head playfully. “That’s what I thought.” He moved
forward, making her step aside with a gentle nudge and then walking away.
"Fuck!" Jill cursed, putting the gun back in her sweatshirt pocket.
Carlos walked in front of her raising a hand to shake a strand of hair from her face. "Hey,
pretty girl, don't be like that. We can reason with him."
She glowered at him and he sighed, lowering his hand down his side.
"All right, all right! If you want answers, know that you're stroking him the wrong way. The
more hostile you show yourself, the more defensive he gets. And if you cross that line and
piss him off, well… you don't really wanna see that. Shit, I surely don't! What I mean is: try
to be nice-
"Are you shitting me?" She snapped, furious, then laughed, unnerved, pulling her hair back.
"Jesus Christ! How fucking obvious it is that you haven’t the slightest idea of what's going
on! You are so useless!" She exclaimed, walking away in the same direction as Nicholai.
Carlos took the insult like a champ and flanked her. "So tell me, maybe I can help, if only
with him."
Jill's face grew gloomy. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."
"Try me, dammit!" He blurted out, a little annoyed. "I just saw a little girl sawed in two kill a
full-grown man, and that abomination come after you! It's not a matter of believing you or
not, for God's sake, I'm not stupid!"
She snorted and sank her clenched fists into the pockets of her sweatshirt, then looked at him,
continuing to walk forward at a fast pace. "Okay, fine," she huffed, "see that nice logo on
your vest? The Umbrella Corporation is responsible for all this shit."
Carlos frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean those motherfuckers are experimenting on people! Goddamn it, how the fuck have
we not figured that out in all these years? That's why the disappearance rate was so high in
this shithole!" She imposed on herself to get a grip. "They're not just a pharmaceutical
company, they've been trying to synthesize viruses for military purposes for years, maybe
decades. What you see is the result, and your friend over there knows all about it," she
concluded, without turning her face to look at Carlos, because she was so tired of not being
believed, and she did not want to face yet another reaction of disbelief. No, she didn't want to
see that compassionate poor girl, she's lost her mind look anymore. It was that reaction from
all their colleagues at the station that had driven Chris insane because feeling doubted and
pitied after all they had been through at Spencer Manor was even worse than the ordeal itself.
They had felt so helpless, so abandoned, so betrayed, and Chris had snapped. She and Brad
had practically had to physically stop him from beating the shit out of Irons, and not because
Irons didn't deserve that and far worse, but because they didn't want him to ruin his life any
further. Irons was waiting for nothing more than to throw him in jail because he hated Chris.
He always had. Probably because he was Wesker's favorite and there had always been a lot of
friction between the two. Yeah, Irons simply couldn't stand that Wesker could do whatever
the fuck he wanted without having to consult him or seek his approval because, formally,
S.T.A.R.S. was a unit wanted by the mayor and the city cabinet. Fuck, that said a lot about
how much Umbrella controlled the entire place: the police station, city hall, fuck, they
probably owned everything else too... It made her stomach twist.
Carlos, always at her side, was silent, lost in his own thoughts. Part of him didn't want to
believe her, because Umbrella had given him a new life, a job, a place to sleep, friends to
distract himself with, and more-but there were too many things that didn't add up. Their
insane rate of training, which had seemed strange to him from the first moment; the
evasiveness with which the platoon leaders presented mission briefings as if they always
knew more but didn't want to share it with the troopers; the fact that, despite his being an
expert marksman and a more than competent helicopter pilot, he had never been deployed on
any relevant operation other than some boring scouting without ever touching the ground.
The official justification was that theirs was still a green platoon, which still needed to settle
down before becoming really effective, but, heck, all of them were already veterans, so what
more was needed? And then there was Nicholai, who was on a whole different level, along
with another guy, named Hunk, whom everyone had dubbed Grim Reaper. No one in his
platoon had ever seen either of them in action, and, had he not witnessed Nicholai operating
in Colombia with his very own eyes, he would have thought it was the usual barracks bullshit
and urban legends about some guys everyone idolized, or feared, for no real reason.
But why the fuck did a pharmaceutical company need people like that?
Carlos left Jill behind and increased his pace until he reached Nicholai, who had stopped to
examine the barricades their colleagues had erected. He had a displeased look on his face
because he already knew they would be of little use.
"Hey," he caught his attention.
The Russian glanced at him. "Done flirting, already?"
"Is that true?" Carlos, who no longer had any desire to play, questioned him, looking him
straight in the eye.
Nicholai sneered. "So you can be serious," he commented.

"Cut the crap!" Thundered the other, shoving him.
The Russian tensed and stiffened his jaw, narrowing his eyes. "Don't touch me. First and only
warning," he admonished him, without raising his voice.
"Or what? You'll tell Mikhail you were wrong and make me shoot that shit into my veins? If
what she says is just bullshit, why did you get so geared up earlier, huh?"
Nicholai did not move nor respond, but Carlos was quite aware that he was walking on very
thin ice. That chat could go incredibly wrong for his sorry ass. "You were asking why should
you care about these people, he kept going. “Maybe because you did for me? I'm not special,
I'm just an ordinary asshole and we really only talked tonight for the first time. So, okay,
you're right, we're not friends, yet, but you stuck your neck out for me in spite of that. Let me
turn the question around: why not for them? I just saw a little girl, a china, for fuck's sake,
turned into a monster by that shit! She was cut in two and she killed a man!" He caught his
breath, upset. "She had little butterflies in her hair, she was the cutest, wasn't she special
enough for you?"
"You can't save everyone," Nicholai pointed out to him.
"I fucking know that! But at least one can save a few! And you’re more than that," Carlos
objected, pleadingly. "Come on, man, you are extraordinary. We’re just a bunch of assholes,
but you! I mean, you’re great, you’re the best, you’re practically a living legend! Everyone in
Umbrella knows how capable you are, and I saw you fight, you can make a-
"This conversation is over," concluded the Russian, because all that nonsense was starting to
get on his nerves. He moved away. Carlos lived in the fucking unicorn world, where
everyone was good, and the sky was full of rainbows and bullshit.
He felt himself being grabbed, so he turned and gave him a violent shove. A rare, very rare,
second warning. Usually, he didn't give any at all, but, with Carlos, he had even gone as far
as the second, and he still felt uncomfortable in front of his hurt eyes.
He grunted, annoyed. "Don't look at me like that," he hissed, "I am not responsible for the
fairy image you have made of me in these two years. I'm not a knight in shining fucking
armor, I’m not extraordinary or a legend. I’m flesh and blood and, contrary to you, I'm not
even a good person. Hell, for most people, the Umbrella you were blabbering about, I’m not
even a man but an animal, and they’re still closer to the truth than you are, get it through your
thick skull."
"But-
"There is no but," he stopped him immediately and then laughed briefly, but it was one of his
strange laughs that came from no joy at all, before his eyes lit with a dangerous light, not as
dangerous as the fixed glare he had given to Mikhail, but close enough to make Carlos’ skin
crawl. "Do you really want to know why I'm here now? Because I get paid to watch her die,
and I will fulfill the request before the end of this nonsense," he admitted, certain that Miss
Valentine would get it anyway, and rather quickly, she had a good brain inside her pretty
head. "My job is the exact opposite of all the crap you've built up in your head. And do you
know why I'm so good at it? Precisely because I don't give a shit about her, you, or this whole
fucking town. Don't mistake my annoyance for concern for your lot. It isn't. All of you are
already dead to me. Everyone is already dead to me. Adults, elders, children, I don’t care!
You are just temporary inconveniences, background noise!” He shouted at his face, making
him back off, startled, then took a deep breath, imposing calm on himself. He was allowing
Carlos to get too much under his skin, and he didn't want to. Sure, he could beat him to shut
him up, but he didn't want to hurt him, because really hurting him would have meant
dooming him, that night. Yet maybe he was fucked anyway, he realized, casting a glance at
Jill who was watching them from a little distance, listening to everything they were saying to
each other. "If I were you I'd stay away from her," he felt the urge to warn him.
"And that's not caring?" Carlos objected, angry, pushing his luck a little further. "Fucking
hell, first with Mikhail, then searching for me in the debris, and now telling me to avoid what
you know is a danger! Isn't that caring, Nicholai? How many more warnings are you going to
give me before you just admit it? I feel pretty good for being already dead!"
The Russian shook his head, fed up, and stepped back, raising his arms in an almost mockery
way. "You know what? You want to think you’re special? Good. You’re free to believe all the
delusions you want, I'm not responsible for those either, but don't cry when you’ll crash face-
first into harsh reality. Now leave me be, or you'll only hasten it."
But Carlos had never been good at admonitions, least of all when he wanted to prove a point.
"Hey, we aren't don-
His sentence was cut in half by a groan of surprise when Nicholai grabbed his wrist before he
could even graze his shoulder to keep him from leaving. In a split second he found himself
unbalanced forward and then, a swift kick, more accurate than violent, mowed down his legs,
knocking the ground off his feet. He tumbled backward, but before he could crash brutally
onto the street, Nicholai caught him by the vest, braking his fall and almost accompanying
him to the ground.
"Third is my very last," the Russian threatened, letting him go and resuming walking, and he
was really done with warnings, now.
"Good thing you could handle him. It went really well," commented Jill, sarcastically,
reaching Carlos and watching Nicholai moving away.
"Actually it did."
"Are you serious?" She snorted, incredulous. "Does he have to kill you to make you stop
acting like a child in front of his favorite imaginary hero? You are so deluded!"
"You don't know him as I do."
"Says the naive bride with the abusive husband." Christ, it was so annoying! Carlos reminded
him of Chris, always ready to justify any of Wesker's nastiness at any cost. Before the
mansion, of course.
He gave her a resentful look, the first ever since they had met. "Give it a rest, will you?
Nicholai doesn’t listen to you if he doesn't want to. He kicks your ass and leaves you drooling
on the floor. I provoked him, I crossed that line big time, and he only gave me little more than
a slap on the wrist for being nasty."
Jill shrugged. "Whatever pleases you, I don't care anyway," and she trailed off as well.
"Yeah, apparently I'm the only one of the bunch who does give a fucking shit," he
commented, saddened and disappointed, "lucky me!" He whined, but he was also resolute.
He could care enough for all of them.
Chapter End Notes
Hello everyone, my dears!

Let's start with the usual thanks to all the wonderful readers who left kudos,
subscriptions, bookmarks, and comments! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
I hope I'm not writing nonsense, because it's really late here, more or less four o'clock in
the morning, but tomorrow will be a busy day, so this seemed like a good time slot to
update XD!
This chapter is tremendously long because, originally, it was supposed to be two

chapters, however, upon re-reading it, I realized that there would be no specific point
where to break it up, so I decided to post it in full, as it was, but I will generally try to
make them shorter.
A couple of specifics: based on the way they handled Carlos in RE3R I felt that he knew
little or nothing about what Umbrella was doing and so did other mercenaries whose
diaries we find in-game. So I imagined that there are different ranks within Umbrella,
where each militia corps, depending on rank and seniority, has a higher level of intel.
Smile, Carlos, you just found out who you were working for!
I know I'm being awfully vague about Nicholai's past, but it's really something I'll reveal
slowly as the story progresses.
Jill, Carlos, and Nicholai are a strange trio, but, paradoxically, they work much better
than Leon and Chris, trivially because they are much more rational, apart from Carlos
being a Nicholai fan-boy, but whatever XD. In any case, Nicholai will not always be
there to hold the hand of the various cubs lost in Raccoon City, but when he is there, of
course, he is a considerable asset in terms of power and strategy. At the end of the day,
he is Hunk's rival, and if we think about all the things he manages to do in the games
while Raccoon City falls apart without suffering a single scratch, he is really on another
level and we will see him in action sooner or later
With that said, I hope you enjoyed this long chapter and I give you big hugs!
Lady S.
Chapter 15
Chapter Notes
"So where are we headed?" Chris asked once they were outside the station again. It had
stopped raining.
"Hmm," Leon hesitated, "I don't know exactly."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
"No. No. Wait, don't get so pissed off right away, Jeez! What a pain in the ass!" Leon scolded
him. "Knowing nothing about the city, I asked on Usenet if anyone had information about
Umbrella, and you have no idea how much stuff came up. I admit, some of it I didn't even
read because it was about zombies, and mad scientist experiments, it sounded like the plot of
second-rate sci-fi novelettes. I thought it was a load of crap. I was wrong, clearly, but how
could I have imagined that? Then, this guy, B.B.1972, sent me an article just about this
William Birkin. At the bottom of it, there was a photo of him in his house. He doesn't have
his office at headquarters because he is very private and doesn't like to be disturbed. At one
point the reporter even wrote that it had been an absolute miracle to get to talk to him directly
and not to his wife. So, you know, he's this kind of elusive misanthropic guy. She had been
trying to interview him for three years."
"Why?"
"It was a scientific magazine, with pretty technical language, and, not knowing shit about
bioengineering, I didn't understand much of it, but apparently William Birkin is like a genius
or something. He got a Ph.D. when he was thirteen years old. Can you believe it? Thirteen,
for Christ's sake, I feel like a jerk! I spit blood to stop having a solid F in Math and this guy
got a-
"Don't digress," Chris interrupted him, annoyed by his top-of-the-class geeky enthusiasm. So
Leon liked this Birkin. He admired him. That's why he worked for him. Yes, it made sense.
The rookie rolled his eyes. "I bet you're the funny one in your group of friends!" He
mumbled.
Chris gave him a hostile look. "My friends are dead," he retorted, blunt and hurt.
Leon gasped and blinked uncomfortably, looking away. "Right. Look, I-I didn't… I'm sorry,
that came out wrong. I'm an asshole."
"No kidding," Chris growled in a deep voice, turning his gaze to Brad's body lying on the
asphalt a few feet away from them.
"Shouldn't we call someone to-

"There's no time," Chris cut it short. "Hey, where are you going?"
Leon did not answer and walked over to Brad's body. He was the man who had saved him,
the one who had kept Irons from killing him. He had hardly thought about him, and it made
him feel terribly guilty. Hell, he had even felt relieved that he was dead because that way the
secret of what Irons had done to him would be safe!
How fucking repulsive he was! If only he had run away at the first signs of danger, maybe
Brad Vickers would not have been there and he would not have died. It was all his fucking
fault! All of it!
His eyes grew teary and he swallowed, holding back a sob, taking off his yellow jacket.
"Thank you," he whispered softly, laying it on his mangled face. "You can’t imagine how
sorry I am..."
Chris watched him without approaching and sniffed in a deep breath, struck by Leon's
gesture. Fuck! He had frozen when he had seen that Tyrant and Brad... Brad, who couldn't
stand him, had sacrificed himself for him. The same Brad who had abandoned them in the
woods, two months earlier, because he had been scared. If Chris had been a different man, if
he had been able to surrender himself totally to resentment, he would have thought there was
justice in this world. But he was not that man, and he felt like crying because it was not fair
that Brad had died just like that, in the blink of an eye, because he had been so frightened that
he could no longer move to help him.
He had proved himself so useless, in that situation, so not up to it, and he couldn't help but
think how unforgiving his Captain would have been, in the face of that terrible, tragic,
irredeemable mistake of his. Albert would have thrown him out of the unit and made sure he
could never again be hired anywhere in their field of work. He would have destroyed him.
And he would have been right.
Except… No. He was wrong, that was what he would have done in his place. Wesker
wouldn't have kicked him out right away, because the mission was far from over. He would
have demanded him to finish the job, and only then would he have unleashed all hell on him.
As he had tried to do at the mansion.
Finish the job.
Destroy Umbrella.
Yes, that was what Chris intended to do.
And then he was going to stick the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger, because, in that
moment, the mere prospect of finding the strength to pretend he could have a normal life after
he had so severely failed to protect his friends, was something he could not face, nor did he
want to.
Was Jill alive? He had assumed so, but… What if that monster had found her before them?
She was his best friend, he loved her dearly, and he had left her alone! What the fuck had he
been thinking?! He couldn't bear the anguish that he might have lost her, too. Because of him.
Because he had not listened to her! Because he had fucked-up one more time!
What if you are wrong and everybody dies? A sardonic Wesker echoed in his mind. And
suddenly that was all he could think about. He could even picture Jill’s lifeless body, mangled
in an alley, killed while she was sweeping the city to find him. He brought his hands to his
temples, exhausted. He felt his head explode and his chest ached from the effort he was
making not to let himself break down in tears.
"Hey," Leon's voice anticipated his light touch on his shoulder. "I really didn't mean to upset
you this much," Chris heard him murmur, apologetic. And he sounded so sincere, but he
wasn't! He knew he wasn't! Because except for Jill, who might be gone, and his sister, he
could no longer trust anyone. That ability, that desire to see the good in others had been
ripped away from him, and it hurt like hell.
"Look at me," Leon prodded him. "Come on, look at me," and he smiled, softly, when
Redfield laid those anguished eyes on him. "We'll bring them to justice, I swear, but you have
to stay with me, okay? You have to be here and now, not inside your head, because alone I'm
useless," he tried to encourage him. "I don't even know where the fuck I'm supposed to go,"
he tried to joke. "Let's be honest, I need you a lot more than you need my sorry ass, that's for
sure. "
Chris looked into his eyes and had the weird sensation of slowly sinking into those cerulean
irises as if they wanted to wrap him in an embrace that tasted of betrayal and death, but, at the
same time, they were also so poisonously sweet and inviting. God, Leon Kennedy seemed to
have been engineered exclusively to deal with him. He was smart, but also resolute and sassy.
At the same time, however, with a snap of his fingers, he could display himself as fragile as a
nightingale, or tender and nurturing. If he had been a woman, he probably would also have
been incredibly seductive, and Chris was a little surprised that he was not. If it had been in
Umbrella's place, he would have sent just such a woman, one who could bewitch him, or at
least try. The result was outstanding and disturbing anyway. How much had Leon had to
prepare for that assignment?
Fuck, he probably knew him better than he knew himself.
Like Wesker.
Maybe Leon wasn't even his real name. Perhaps everything was fake about him, like his
captain's anonymous townhouse.
Chris's expression hardened, becoming menacing again, and Leon took a step back, confused,
because, yes, he had been out of line in the office and with that horrendous joke, but now he
just couldn't understand what he had done so wrong to deserve such scorn. He was just trying
to help him, without being intrusive, but, evidently, Redfield simply could not stand him. He
had better get over it and stop trying so hard because it was so pathetic.
You live for the spotlight! You just can’t stand not being liked, don’t you? But let me tell you
something, besides your pretty face, there’s nothing else worthy of attention, Lee. You’re only
a desperate slut to toss away once used! I’m the only one who stands you, and I do it out of
pity. No one else would ever want you, no matter how hard you try! You should be grateful
for my effort! Fucking grateful, you disgusting, awful freak! Another of Mike’s greatest hits
to gaslight him, great! Just what he needed!
He straightened his back, pretending that nothing had happened.
"I was saying, At the bottom of this article was a picture of Birkin with a window behind
him. Beyond it was a sign for the city park. I don't know how to get there, but, if you take me,
I assure you I will find the place for you. One hundred percent."
Chris nodded, still grim in the face. "Let's take the car."
They walked in silence, and when Leon laid eyes on Chris's old clunker, he couldn't help but
think that his Jeep wasn't so terrible, after all. Too bad he had crashed it into a fire
extinguisher not far from there. Still, even though Chris’ car was at least fifteen years old, it
was very well maintained. One could tell that he cared, but the inside was a real mess and
hella filthy.
He sat down and watched him light a cigarette.
"May I have one?" He asked him, shyly, to break the ice, because that silence was making
him feel very uncomfortable.
Chris cast him a surprised look. " You smoke?"
"Kinda," he admitted, "I never picked up the habit but my ex did and, from time to time, I
would steal one. To calm my nerves."
"And that's code for pot," Chris insinuated.
The recruit blushed, for he had not expected this. "Oh, please! Are you still trying to set me
up? Really?"
"Definitely pot," the other poked him, straining to be more sociable than he wanted to be.
Leon feigned a contrite, shocked expression. "Yes, a few joints, too, Officer Redfield-sir, I
confess! Thank you for getting this horrible burden off my chest! I am a terrible-terrible thug
and a questionable human being! Please arrest me again and throw away the key, this time, so
that you can teach me how to behave! You who are such a model cop and an example of
virtue!" he exclaimed, crossing his wrists in front of him.
Chris chuckled, more sincerely than he would have liked, and handed him cigarettes and the
lighter. "Serve yourself, clown."
"Thanks, asshole," Leon mumbled, sullenly, and lit one, bringing it to his lips, as Chris
started the car. "A little weed wouldn't hurt, though," he admitted, puffing out a cloud of
smoke softly.
Chris sneered, shaking his head in disbelief. "You'd get along with my sister," he commented,
carelessly, and cursed himself soon after. He was such an idiot! Why the fuck had he
mentioned her?
"Is she as mean as you?" Leon asked, "because, in that case, I pass. You are enough for me."
It was too late to take it back, so Chris couldn’t stop talking about her, but he was going to do
it briefly. "She is much worse. She’s fucking terrifying,” and he was actually scared of seeing
her again after having been such an asshole. Fuckin’ hell, Claire was going to bite his head
right off and then kick his ass ‘till the end of days. And if Jill was alive and well, then the two
of them would take turns in beating the crap out of him. “Do you have siblings?" He changed
the subject.
Leon shook his head and took another drag of his cigarette. "Only child," he cut short. The
last thing he needed was to start talking about his family. He already had enough unhappy
thoughts in his head.
"So, that's why you're such a demanding, spoiled brat," Chris commented with a playful
smirk.
"Okay, now fucking stop it!" Leon snapped, unexpectedly. "I don't know why I get on your
nerves so much, I explained everything that happened, I apologized, and I'm fucking trying
my best to please you, so what the fuck do you want more? You think you behaved in an
exemplary way? Fucking hell, you break into my room, stole my stuff, handcuffed me
without reading me my rights, dragged me, shoved me, choked me, and it fucking hurted!
Shit, you practically put a gun in my mouth, threatening to kill me! I could arrest you for
even half of all this shit, but instead, I'm here to help you out, because, clearly, I am an idiot
who, despite everything, still thinks you need it! You don't know shit about me, so at least
keep your fucking unrequested considerations about my childhood to yourself, asshole!"
Chris shut up, caught off guard because his was only meant to be an innocent poke like the
others they had exchanged till that moment; he didn't mean to upset him like that.
"If I said something wrong, I'm-
"Don't bother," Leon interrupted him, turning his sullen face toward the window. "You know,
I had such high hopes for this job… New city, new life, maybe new friends, or, at least,
someone who gave a shit! I was so delusional, yeah, what a fool!” He scorned himself. “You
don't like me? Okay, that's fine. I'm so tired of making the effort. We don't have to be friends,
and we don't have to talk either, just fuck off," he concluded, throwing the butt out the
window and crossing his arms over his chest.
Chris shot him a surprised, apologetic look, diverting, for a moment, his attention from the
road and even felt guilty at the sight of that tantruming pout, before remembering that
Kennedy's was just a good show and he shouldn’t feel bad about hurting his feelings since
they were fake.
"Whatever," he retorted but had to brake sharply when a jerk at the intersection ran the stop
sign, risking crashing into them. "Holy shit, that was close," he mumbled, feeling his
adrenaline spike, "are you all-
The words stuck in his throat when he saw that the entire road from which the guy came was
on fire.
"Hey, no! Stay inside!" He ordered Leon, but the jerk, as usual, did whatever the fuck he
wanted and in a second was already out on the street.
"Damn him!" Grunted Chris, moving the car to the opposite curb to park it and get it off the
middle of the roadway.
Leon advanced toward the flames, dismayed, as dozens of people ran toward him screaming
in panic. Indecisively he passed his gaze quickly over each of them, distracted by too many
inputs. Everyone needed help, and he was just one. Suddenly the magnitude of the
catastrophe that was taking place began to take shape in his mind, making him feel
completely helpless. A house full of infected people, as in the case of the Spencer mansion,
and even a forest infested with rabid animals - he still rejected the word zombie - could be
containable, but an entire city? There were about a hundred thousand people in Raccoon City.
How many of them had been infected? How long had that nightmare been going on? Why
had no one intervened before? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris flanking him.
"What can we do?" He asked him with a startled thread of voice. "Please tell me what to do."
Chris looked toward where Leon was staring and his heart sank in his chest. A car exploded
and a store alarm began to ring wildly. There was noise, smoke, flames, and screams from
every direction.
"I don't know," he admitted, equally dejected and lost.
Leon turned his face to look at him. "B-but there must be something we can do," he
stammered, deeply distraught. "All these people..."
Chris barred his eyes, alarmed. "Let's go back to the car," he intimated.
"What?! No! Don't even think about-
"IN THE CAR, NOW!" He left him no time to counter and escalate it into yet another
argument. He forcefully grabbed him by the wrist and sprinted back, dragging him away with
him.
"What the fuck! Let go of me!" Leon protested, trying to plant his feet on the ground to
restrain him, but there was no match. Redfield was much stronger than he was, So he turned
back to try to figure out what had scared him so much and saw them, dozens and dozens of
infected, staggering toward them, slow but inexorable. Some of them were on fire with skin
peeling off their faces and limbs, but it didn't seem to slow them down.
"Oh my God!" He groaned, just before Chris practically threw him into the car and closed the
door behind him. A moment later, he saw him sit in the driver's seat and speed off.
Traumatized, Leon turned to look at the road through the rear window, and what he saw made
his stomach turn. The infected had attacked other people and were devouring them without
anyone doing anything to help them.
"Stop the car!" He shouted, raging and panicking at the same time, desperately trying to
reopen the locked door, even though the car was running. "Stop the fucking car! LET ME
OUT!" And then he started begging, with that young voice of his, "P-please, we have to-
"There's nothing we can do for them!" Thundered Chris, shutting him up abruptly. He was
frustrated too, what did he think? That he liked seeing people die like that? That it was not
wrenching his soul to turn his back on all those innocent victims? There were only two of
them, with two guns and an assault rifle! There wasn't a fucking thing they could do!
Leon remained silent, but he was trembling with anger and despair, and Chris felt so guilty
that he forgot about his suspicions, or at least put them aside, for a minute.
He sighed, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "You don't get on my nerves," he murmured.
"It's me who's not good with strangers, and, to be honest, neither with those I know. I have a
bad temper, even on my best days, and I haven't seen one in a while. You seem-
"Fuck you, who gives a crap!" Leon snapped again, "we just left dozens of people to die,
whether you like me or not is the least of the shit we should be worried about!"
Chris stiffened, annoyed because he was really trying hard to be tolerant. "There was nothing
that-
"Yeah, you already said that bullshit! We should have at least fucking tried! We could cover
their escape! How can you be so ruthless?!" Leon accused him.
Chris braked abruptly enough that the rookie crashed against the dashboard with a groan.
"You want to go?! Get the fuck out!" He barked at him, outraged. "Go and croak, if you care
so much! But keep one thing in mind if I die they win! Because there will be no fucking one
left to fight them and what is happening now will happen a thousand more times! I can no
longer afford to throw my life away senselessly!" He shouted in his face, and part of him
shuddered in denoting how much his speech sounded like something out of his captain's
mouth.
When you act like this you're just like him! Like Wesker! Was one of the last things Brad had
told him and, maybe, he was right, but what other choices did he have?
The trembling that shook Leon increased as he looked at him with those clear blue eyes full
of disdain, and then the rookie couldn’t hold himself back any longer, and a couple of tears
escaped his control to flow copiously down his cheeks.
And this infuriated Chris because it was a really low blow and yet another attempt to
manipulate him into thinking that he was just a good kid! Didn't that asshole have any dignity
at all? Wasn't there a point where he drew the line, even if only for decency?
Weeping like a fucking little girl, for God's sake!

"Holy shit, are you crying now, princess? Really?" He ridiculed him, stomping on feelings
that would have been more than understandable, had the other not been a spy.
Leon winced, hurt, and abruptly wiped away his tears, feeling ashamed and mortified. How
pathetic! Why the fuck he had started crying? It surely couldn't change anything! He was
such a fucking pussy!
What Redfield had said might have made sense, but Leon thought it was disgusting anyway,
and, at that point, if he really had to decide who to risk his skin for, he would rather do it for
the citizens, not for that asshole. He didn't even respond to him; he didn't deserve an answer.
He opened the door and then ran back as fast as he could.
Chris frowned, taken aback because he did not expect that reaction. For if Leon was a spy,
the last thing he should have done was to leave him. Unless he had some unknown reason for
wanting him on that street, only… No. William Birkin's house was a specific place, where
indeed Umbrella might have set traps, but that street was not. He had stopped there just so he
wouldn't get into a head-on collision with a car. A totally random thing. It could not have
been planned.
What if he was getting it all wrong? What if Leon Kennedy was not a spy but just a very
smart rookie in the wrong place at the worst time? Yet there was still what had happened at
the motel, the sniper on the roof, and all the other inconsistencies! They couldn't all be
coincidences!
Everything was so damn confusing!
He glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see Kennedy disappear past the corner of the
intersection, and he felt overwhelmed with anguish, because if he was wrong and Leon was
not, indeed, a spy, then not only had he taken a very young and unprepared rookie with him
on a clearly suicidal mission, but he had also let him go straight into the mouth of a horde by
himself.
He pressed the accelerator and turned the car around, impatiently retracing his steps and
narrowly missing a family with two children that were running off down the center of the
road among other people, right from the intersection where Kennedy had disappeared. He did
not have to advance much farther to spot him, about thirty feet away, on the side of the street,
gun in hand, directing civilians to run behind him, alternating a few shots in the direction of
the zombies to keep their attention on himself and not on the fleeing civil. Shots that mostly
went off at the heads. He had a really good aim, but he was allowing those monsters to get
too close to him and he was paying no attention to the alley behind him, from which anything
could come and catch him by surprise.
Green, he was so damn green!
How I fucking hate being right! Chris thought when he saw three zombies coming out of the
damn alley just a few steps away from the rookie. He stopped the car and retrieved the assault
rifle from the back seats, then got out, took aim, and fired, taking down the three zombies just
in time. The barrage, however, startled Leon, who turned to look behind him, making another
potentially lethal mistake. One of the zombies in front of him lunged forward, grabbing him
by the shoulders and pointing his ravenous mouth at his neck. The kid tried to push it back to
get it off him, but Chris knew he could not because he was so lightweight, the zombies were
stronger than they looked and felt no fatigue. He adjusted his fire, took a deep breath,
bringing his eye closer to the sights, and then held it, before pulling the trigger to take a
single shot. The bullet hissed through the air, and Leon felt it pass through a wisp of his
bangs before it lodged straight between the eyes of the infected who was attacking him. He
managed, finally, to get it off him and, startled, ran back to Redfield before other infected
could jump on him. Chris, on his part, secured cover for him with another burst and stopped
firing only when he was back in the car.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
A night update again, for me (when I'm not at work I become an owl), but it's already
Thursday, in a way. Again many many thanks to those who have read and are continuing
to read my story, left Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions <3!
So, some minor trivia: the internet user Leon interacted with on Usenet (which, as I
understand it, was a kind of large forum at the time -- I was around in 1998, but I was a
kid, so I didn't use the internet, yet, I started around 2001) is Ben Bertolucci, the
journalist we meet in RE2 (Original and Remake). Of course, he didn't do the interview
because Birkin would never waste his time with a guy like that personally, but it's part of
the material he collected for his investigation. I don't know if he and Leon will cross
paths along the way. I'm not saying that to avoid spoilers, I really don't know. I don't
care much for poor Ben, to be honest.
This is a bit of a transitional chapter, in which Leon, poor guy, tries hard to show all his
enthusiasm, and he would love to get some recognition for all the hard work he's done
on the investigation, and instead, he gets nothing but suspicion and pushback. He also
becomes particularly touchy when the subject of his family (his mother) comes up.
Chris is an asshole. Period. I always try to put in a good word for him because I
understand his situation, but, in this chapter, he got on my nerves as well. He really
should stop acting the way Wesker would want him to. It's certainly not the best path.
Also, he is so much in denial that it is cringe-worthy, but both you and I better get used
to that.
Big hugs to everyone and many thanks again!

Lady S.
Chapter 16
Chapter Notes
"Can we go now, or do you really want to die?" Chris asked him, closing his door and turning
the key in the ignition.
Leon did not immediately answer and checked the road. There no longer seemed to be
anyone uninfected to help.
"Okay, let's go," he agreed.
"That wasn't a real bloody question! Of course, we're going, you moron!" Chris blurted out,
maneuvering and driving away. He could not believe his nerve! "What the fuck were you
thinking?!" He continued, pissed off.
"Is that rhetoric, too? Because you damn well know the answer!” Leon hissed, causing a
heavy silence to fall between them. "Why did you come back?" He asked, after a few
moments.
"Apart from the fact that it was the right thing to do?" Chris huffed.
"You didn't seem to give a shit about the right thing up until five minutes ago," Leon
objected.
The other rolled his eyes. "How about a: Thank you, Chris, for taking that perfect shot and
saving my skinny, crazy ass ?" He snorted, glaring at him.
Leon chuckled, annoyed. "I could have handled it on my own," he replied. It was probably
bullshit, but he didn't want to give him a pass. "Totally."
"You're fucking insufferable."
"I'm learning from the best of the best. Thanks for being such a perfect role model, sir !"
"Anything for the new, entitled, spoiled little turd at the station! Your partner is gonna be a
very lucky man, poor sod! Jeez…"
"Did you just call me spoiled? Again!" Leon exclaimed, blushing with irritation.
Chris hesitated and looked at him for a long moment, then sneered. "You mean you're cool
with entitled little turd? The only issue is spoiled ? Fine. In this case, we have just reached a
compromise. I swear I won't call you spoiled again."
Leon blinked, taken aback by Redfield's sudden playful attitude. What the fuck was his
problem? One second he was treating him like shit, the next he was all poking and joking.
"Just fuck off, Chris ," he blurted out.
Chris sighed but he also smiled; he thought only Wesker had the uncanny ability to make his
first name sound like an insult, but apparently, Leon could manage that trick, too. He could
not resist the temptation to glance at him one more time. The kid was sullen again, but not
really sulking. There were different shades of gravity in his pouts, and that one was in a less
hostile and more possibilistic range of the scale. Chris knew he should not let his guard
down, since he still had no certainty, but instead of acting like he was guilty, maybe he should
really try to think he was innocent until proven guilty.
"I'm sorry about… Well, before. All the shoving, tossing you around, threatening to kill you
and stuff… It was uncalled for," he confessed to him, sincerely, "and I shouldn't have mocked
you for crying either. That really sucked. I mean, I'm not a bully, although I behaved like one.
It's just... I have trust issues. Always had, and now they're rampant, because people I knew,
friends, have fucked me up pretty badly, but it's not fair to take it out on you just because you
came out of nowhere." Still, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Leon's head make a small
upward movement, a signal that he was listening to him, for once. "It is very difficult for me
to think that help is disinterested, now, and… I don’t know, reach over for… people, I guess.
Shit, what I mean is…" He paused again, not knowing how to continue, feeling awkward.
Very awkward. More than usual. He was not good with words, especially in heart-to-heart
little chats, and the rookie, for some mysterious reason, made him particularly uncomfortable.
"Apology accepted," Leon sighed, appreciating the effort, "even if it sucked," he added,
ruthlessly, shooting him one of those wry looks of his.
And Chris lost his breath for a moment because Leon was so damn cute. A man should not
have been that cute. It was wrong. He felt that twist in the pit of his stomach again and
jumped in his seat when suddenly Leon grabbed and squeezed his right hand, which he kept
abandoned on his thigh as he drove slowly around the perimeter of the park.
"Stop! There! That's the window, I'm sure! One hundred percent!" He heard him exclaim,
thrilled, but did not immediately register the words, too confused by the rush that had shaken
him when Leon had touched him and whose effect he still felt slowly fading. Leon's
fingertips, not covered by the glove, felt icy against his skin. Was he cold? Or was he the one
who was hot? He did not reach an answer because Leon let go of his hand and turned to look
at him.
"Well? Are you going to pull over or not? It's totally there! I recognize the curtains!" He
insisted, pointing to a first-floor window just across the street.
"The... curtains?" Chris echoed him, confused, stopping the car on the side of the road.
Leon's cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink, uncomfortable. "Yes. They're silk and probably
cost more than I can make in a year."
"The curtains!"
"Did I break you? The fucking curtains, yeah!"
And Chris burst out laughing, not even sure if his was genuine fun or just hysteria. He liked
the curtains! They were around crazy psychopaths turning people into monsters, and the
asshole was thinking about the fucking silk curtains!
"Oh, screw you! I like nice things, but what can you understand? You probably live in the
woods among boars, given the interior of this shithole of a car!" Puffed Leon, causing
another uncontrolled fit of laughter. He crossed his arms, offended. However, he had to admit
that Chris was really cute when he laughed; he got adorable dimples around his mouth that
totally nullified his steely asshole allure.
"Hey, leave my car alone," Chris protested, continuing to giggle.
"No, you leave your car alone, you filthy disgrace! Look around, empty beer cans, cigarette
butts, ash, and shit everywhere, and what the fuck is this?" He exclaimed, bending down to
inspect under the seat, pulling out a dusty packet of hot chips and checking it. "It expired two
fucking years ago! Not two days, not two months, two years ! And stop laughing! It's not
funny, you are absolutely revolting!" He scolded him, throwing the package at him.
Chris caught it on the fly and then opened it, just to gross him out even more. It was so much
fun. "Umh! Still good," he said, after tasting one chip, "want some?" He offered, licking the
salt off his fingertips, and handing him the packet.
"I'm out, I'm so, so fucking out!" Leon gasped, with his pretty, little nose wrinkled in
outraged disgust, and then he indeed jumped out of the car as if it were on fire. Chris joined
him on the sidewalk.
"So aside from the much-desired curtains, what should we expect?" He asked him, undecided
whether to take the assault rifle with him.
Leon shook his head. "I don't know, it's his house. I don't think he has nine-foot monsters in
his closet. Or at least I hope he doesn’t."
"How are you doing on ammo?"
"I've still got three rounds left," Leon replied, deadpan.
"Fill 'em up." Chris pulled a box of nine-millimeter bullets out of his vest and placed it on the
trunk, "and keep the rest."
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me since we met, I'm touched," Leon prodded him,
filling the magazine.
"Yet you still can't say thank you, Chris . Maybe it's too hard for that dumb-blond tiny brain
of yours?"
The rookie moved in front of him and smiled, tilting his head a little, with that obnoxious
know-it-all attitude of his. "Nah, it's just because you don't deserve nice things," he retorted.
Redfield did not blink and sustained his gaze, lowering his voice. "And that's why a pain in
the ass like you got in my way," he whispered, even leaning a little toward him like a moth
drawn to the light.
And for the first time, Leon was the first one to look away because, holy fucking hell, Chris
was going to get something else up his ass or, even better, down his throat, if he had
continued to talk to him in that grimacing tease way. For a split second, he even considered
telling it to his face, because he still had that vibe that Chris was kind of hitting on him when
he wasn't too busy getting arbitrarily pissed off, but then he realized that it wasn't the place,
the time, or the circumstance. It was probably just a delusion of his, not to mention the rest of
it. With a great effort, he managed to keep his mind off Irons and immediately distracted
himself by pointing to the door of Birkin's apartment.
"Shall we go?" He asked, and did not even wait for a response, but crossed the street.
Chris frowned, confused because Leon's had been a very abrupt reaction as if he had wanted
to run away from the conversation. He had done the same thing as he was changing, back in
the office. He shrugged; he wasn't so sure he was a spy anymore, but that he was a weirdo
was beyond doubt.
"Some other lights are on, maybe we're lucky and he's home," Leon told him when he joined
him at the front door.
Chris stiffened, whether Birkin was home or not, luck had nothing to do with their situation.
In any case, he rang the doorbell resolutely.
They heard movement, inside, but no one came to answer.
"Open up, police!" Chris shouted, slamming his fist on the wood.
The door opened a little and a little girl peeked through the gap, shaken, but she seemed
reassured to see Leon in uniform.
"Did mommy send you?" She asked.
Before Chris could even think of an answer, Leon took the floor and smiled.
"Yes, honey. She called to ask us to stop by and see how you were doing. "
Christ, what a liar! Chris thought. He sucked at it, Jill was decent, but Leon was a pro and he
didn't like that at all. Another trait too similar to Wesker's.
The little girl threw open the door and flung herself forward, hugging the rookie tightly
around the waist. "I was so scared! Nanny never came!" She cried.
Leon cast him a questioning look as if he sought permission to proceed, and Chris nodded,
for there was little else he could do and, of the two, the one with the ablest to handle a child
was certainly not him. Leon then gave the little girl a gentle stroke on the head before placing
his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't worry, we're here now," he tried to reassure her tenderly, with the same softness that
Chris had already seen him use on him when he had almost broken down in front of Brad's
dead body, and once again Leon's ability to adjust his attitude according to circumstance
alarmed him. The child took a step back and he got a better look at her; she was fully dressed
in a lovely white blouse, a light blue plaid vest adorned with a large bright blue bow, and
dark blue shorts. The uniform of a private school, presumably. A pretty expensive one. Even
her blonde hair was carefully combed. She did not look neglected.
"Did you find my daddy?" She murmured, in anguish. "I'm so worried! It happens that he
works for days without coming home, but he always calls me to say good night! Always! He
never forgets!"
Leon sighed because what he was about to do sucked and was morally wrong, but he knew
perfectly well that they had to go into that house looking for clues, as he knew that Redfield
would ignore any procedure in order to do so. Let alone apply for a warrant! So before he
could decide that kicking in a little girl's door and scaring her to death was an acceptable
solution, he had better convince her to let them in the nice way, even if he hated the idea of
tricking her. He crouched down to look into her eyes and wiped away a tear that had dripped
down her cheek.
"Look, I'm new in town. I literally just got here, so I don’t know your parents really well, but,
if you tell me everything from the beginning, I promise I will do my very best to find your
dad. I'm Leon, and this is Chris," he said, pointing at him, "he's big and sulky. A little scary,
to be honest, but, deep down, he's nice, you don't have to fear him." In stating this he glanced
back at him with a menacing glare, and Chris winced, shocked. Leon's wasn't a mere
description, he was ordering him to behave, what a nerve! Then the rookie turned back to
look at the little girl with an angelic gaze as if he hadn't just shot him the most vicious death
stare he'd ever received from anyone other than his Captain or his sister.
"Will you let us in?"
And the trick was done: the kid nodded and moved to the side to let them pass. Leon,
however, took her by the hand before reaching the threshold.
"And you are?" He asked her, very gently.
"Sherry. Sherry Birkin," she replied, feebly, before leading them inside with a soft "it's very
nice to meet you."
God, he was good with kids! Fuck, Chris was starting to think he was good with everyone,
and that scared him. What if Leon had jumped to the rescue of those people just to convince
him of his good intentions? Would he really have been able to do that? He frowned, feeling a
twinge of migraine. Why couldn't he just trust him? Or, if not, get him off his back and be
gone? He was exhausted, mentally and physically, since he was awake for more than 24
hours straight, by then; he was hungry and fed up. He just wanted to have some clarity,
because the rookie was good company and part of him really wanted to be his friend because,
no matter how much he refused to accept it, he desperately needed to trust someone, to have
an authentic human contact after nearly two months spent investigating Umbrella by himself,
but, apparently, that was too much to ask. He could sense his sanity slowly crumbling away,
and it was a feeling as terrifying as watching an hourglass slowly empty. What would happen
the moment the last grain of sand fell? What would become of him? Was he really going to
shoot himself? Claire would have literally, and not ironically, killed him with her own hands
for even thinking that but what other solutions could there be? He was broken and that route
certainly wasn't going to fix him in any way.
"Hey, you okay?" Leon had turned to check on him because he had lingered too long on the
sidewalk, and he had a worried look in those soft blue eyes as if he really cared, and, true or
false, Chris felt grateful.
"Yeah, all good," he lied, reaching for him.
Nothing was good and nothing would ever be good again, but he had to keep going.
The interior of the house was opulent but tasteful, with shiny dark walnut parquet floors and
antique furniture. There was a beautiful carved wooden console just beyond the entrance,
topped by an art-nouveau lamp with brilliant colors on the inlaid glass. A marble staircase
went upstairs, where there was the study and, probably, the bedrooms, while on either side of
the hallway where they stood was access to other rooms. Chris felt as if he had been
catapulted back into a less tacky version of the Spencer Mansion and an unpleasant shiver
shook him from head to toe. He felt a sense of claustrophobia and had the instinct to run back
outside, but he fought it until he was capable of imposing an artificial composure on himself.
He followed Leon and the child into the first room on the right, A spacious kitchen, probably
larger than his entire apartment, with redwood cupboards and an island that would easily
accommodate an entire brigade of cooks. One of the stools was off to the side and there were
notebooks on the white marble surface and stationery items. Sherry was probably doing her
homework, despite the late hour and her anguish. Such a good kid. Chris took pity on her; she
did not deserve those monsters as parents. She saw Leon help her hoist herself onto the stool,
although she could just as well have gotten there on her own.
"So, Sherry, tell me all about your dad," the rookie prodded her, and Chris decided to let him
handle the situation, partly because he was doing a great job, but also because, honestly, he
didn't have the strength to sustain a conversation with the innocent little daughter of a man
who wanted him dead. He would not yell at her, because, contrary to what Leon thought, he
could restrain himself when needed, but he still did not want to interact, if he could avoid it.
Sherry clasped her hands on the edge of her shorts, nervous and sad. "I really don't know
much about it," she murmured, "he went to work Tuesday night, called me before I fell asleep
to wish me luck for my test, and then I never heard from him again. Mom said I shouldn't
worry, that he's just working and doesn't want to be bothered with my silliness but..." Her lips
trembled and her eyes filled with tears. "He is not like her! He would have called me, I know
it! Why didn't he call me anymore? Did I do something wrong? I didn't do it on purpose to
fail the science test, I felt sorry for the frog!" Desperate, she burst into tears, and Leon did not
think twice before pulling her into a tight hug.
Now, that was inappropriate, Chris noted, although it was too late to stop him. Keeping
professional was crucial, but, even more, it was important to keep detached so as not to be
dragged down by the grief of the victim's relatives or those of the suspects. Not even if they
were children. One of Wesker's first lessons during his training.
"Come on, stop crying, I bet you look super cute when you smile," Leon told her, "I'm sure
your dad didn't mind about the test and-
"No, but mom did, she grounded me, she didn't even listen to me! Maybe she's the one who
told him not to call me, that witch!" Sobbed the child.
And at this Leon became tenser, Chris clearly noticed and was reminded of how upset he had
been when he had called him spoiled. That, too, had not been nice of him, especially the
second time. Maybe, in the future, if they became friends, Leon would share something with
him about it. He would have liked to get to know him better, assuming he really was who he
said he was. He expected to hear him justify the child's mother as well, but about her Leon
said nothing. Had he, too, had trouble with his mother? Had he been neglected or worse?
Oh, for fuck's sake! He scolded himself. This was not the time to think about his colleague's
hypothetical sad story. Birkin was the priority.
"Where does your father work?" He asked, finally deciding to open his mouth.
Sherry turned to look at him and wiped her eyes, but gasped when she focused on the logo on
his green T-shirt.
"Are you a S.T.A.R.S.?" She questioned him, cowed.
That was indeed a strange reaction. "Yes," he answered, "did your father tell you about us?"
She paled, shaking her head, and stopped looking at him, as if she didn't want to have
anything to do with him anymore.
"Did he tell you not to trust us?" Chris insisted, resolute, like a bloodhound who had scented
the trail of his prey.
She became even more upset, and Leon stood between them. "I think you should go take a
walk," and, again, his was an order.
Chris did not like orders, least of all those of an ordinary blowhard.
"Don't tell me how to do my job," he admonished him.
"If you do it like a piece of shit, I tell you big time," he hissed at him under his breath, "she's
just a kid. I'll find out, you go."
"P-please don't fight!" Groaned Sherry, feeling the tension rising between the two cops. "Dad
never told me about S.T.A.R.S., b-b-but, your captain was uncle Al and I didn't like him very
much. He was scary and m-mean. Dad has nothing to do with it," she explained, distraught
and then looked Chris in the eyes, her small hands twisted with anxiety. "But you don't look
like uncle Al, you seem n-nice. I'm sorry, I'm just silly! Please forgive me!"
Chris, however, had already stopped listening to her.
Uncle Al!
She was the kid from the phone call, why hadn't he fucking noticed it right away? That meant
the little motherfucker in that '78 photo was her father! She even looked like him!
William Birkin!
Chapter End Notes
Hello again, my dears ^^!

As always, thank you to everyone who has read, is reading, and left kudos,
subscriptions, bookmarks, and comments <3!
Small service announcement: this week I started working again (spoiler: I am a teacher),
but we are still in a phase of meetings, gatherings, and class planning, the real work will
start next week. I don't know what my schedule will look like yet, so it is possible that
the weekly update day will change, but, for the time being, I will keep Thursday. In any
case, I will try to keep to one chapter a week, and if I change the day I will notify you in
the next notes ^^! Unfortunately, there will be no more updates in the middle of the
night, I will try to post early in the morning before I leave home.
Coming to us, Sherry has finally arrived as well. She is not quite a protagonist on par
with the others, but she is a relevant supporting character.
I'm undecided on one thing: this chapter, the 17th, and 18th were written in continuity
and, of course, are exclusively about Leon, Chris, and Sherry, but, the 19th chapter,
which is instead about Jill, Carlos, and Nicholai could be published instead of the 17th
(also before 18th, but given how the 17th ends I think you would come looking for me
to kill me if I moved on the other characters at the end of that one XD). So, the question
is this: would you prefer that I end the series of chapters on Leon, Chris, and Sherry and
then return to the other characters or would you prefer alternating? It really changes very
little for me, the 19th is pretty much done, only a few lines left. So, if you have a
preference let me know. Obviously, I will choose what the majority will say.
That said, Leon and Chris are, finally, starting to get along a little bit better, although
both the suspicions and frictions and the undeniable chemistry they feel are not exactly
helping to keep them smooth and quiet. They are two hotheads, and Leon's temper is
also slowly coming out more and more.
Sherry loved her father and her father adored her. This will become more evident in the
coming chapters. I am honest, I am firmly convinced that, in spite of everything,
William was a good father and this is a line I will hold firmly in his characterization,
although the character will not be without shadows, quite the contrary! Sooner or later I
will probably cry writing about Birkin. He was crazy, but he was very, very deep. Of
course, I speak of him in the past tense because I guess we are all aware that, by now on
Sept. 26, William has already injected himself with G, so he is no longer totally himself.
Thanks again to everyone for being here!

A big hug!
Lady S.
Chapter 17
Chapter Notes
Jill and Carlos were walking side by side in silence. He had tried to strike up a conversation,
but with little result. Damn, his forehead was burning like crazy. He lifted his gaze to
Nicholai, who was pacing about 30 feet away from them. They were along the riverbank and
the street was clear, there was no one outside. It was quite late, or perhaps it was because an
order to stay inside had been issued by the authorities. It was almost cold that night and there
was a lot of moisture in the air, which gave the city a haunting atmosphere.
"Hey, Nick!" He exclaimed aloud, trying to get his attention. "Oh, come on, don't be an
asshole, I know you hear me!"
"I'm starting to feel sorry for you," Jill commented, despite herself, amused, "He doesn't love
you as you do, get over it, find another one," she teased him.
Carlos shot her an intrigued look. "I'm not into men, I mean, there would be nothing wrong
with that, just not my flavor. I am glad you have a sense of humor, though. It could be better,
but we can work on it."
She rolled her eyes but huffed a smile.
"Besides, he cares about me," he insisted. "Nick!"
"Oh, of course, deeply!" She giggled, at yet another display of total indifference from the
other Umbrella soldier.
"You jerk, you said you'd patch me up!" Carlos whined.
And at this, finally, the Russian stopped and looked back, before moving to a bench and
waiting for them.
"See? I told you so!" Trilled Carlos, increasing his pace.
"Call me 'Nick' one more time and instead of stitches you'll need the hearse. Now sit down,"
Nicholai snarled, opening his duffel bag after setting it down on the bench.
"Oh, come on, Nicholai is too formal, we're pals, aren't we?"
"No. Sit."
"You're no fun," mumbled the boy, sullenly, dropping ungainly onto the bench and crossing
his arms over his chest.
The Russian ignored his tantrum and disinfected his hands with ethyl alcohol, before opening
a gauze and soaking it with disinfectant.
"Head back, and hair too, you bloody... pudel ."
"Me bloody what ?"
Nicholai frowned. "I really don't know how to translate that," and turned his face toward Jill,
as if seeking help. "A pudel !"
She shook her head, raising her eyebrows. She had no idea what the fuck he was talking
about, nor did she care.
"Sorry, I don't speak asshole," she hissed, hostile.
"Hey, that was rude!" Carlos scolded her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry I'm not in the mood to chat with someone who is paid to see me dead! After
all, that's not rude in the slightest!" She retorted, irritated, then mumbled a half-mouthed "
dickhead."
"Keep that head back," Nicholai huffed, much more coldly, then began to clean his wound
with quick precision.
Carlos did not let out a single whine, but he grimaced several times in pain. Nicholai did not
have a heavy hand, on the contrary, he was neat and competent, but the alcohol stung, damn
it, and that position was very uncomfortable.
"Don't be a baby, you've seen worse," the Russian sighed, unable to keep from softening, and
bending down a little to check that the wound was perfectly clean, "you don't want to make a
bad impression on the Missy, do you?" he teased him, keeping his tone of voice low to be
heard only by him, "who knows, maybe you might finally be able to get a phone number
tonight. Although I continue to be dubious about your actual chances of getting laid."
"You're such an asshole," Carlos retorted through gritted teeth as the other ran the gauze over
his wounds one last time.
"Yes, I am, and you still owe me one grand," sneered Nicholai, retrieving the suture material
from his first aid kit.
"That's debatable- ouch, for Christ's sake!" He imprecated when the other tugged back a tuft
of his hair to put his head back in the proper position, in a decidedly less gentle way.
"Not debatable. I won, you lost," Nicholai murmured, velvety, looking at him with those
intense green eyes of his, then made an amused smirk. "We can commute it to a haircut if you
prefer."
"Go fuck yourself!" Carlos growled.
The Russian chuckled. "Now hold still, moron," he intimated, before focusing, again, on the
job he was doing.
It was so strange for him to have interactions like that. If he tried to go back in his mind, he
could not remember the last time he had joked that lightly with someone. Genuinely joking.
Without being sarcastic or intending to hurt with his words to get some nuisance out of his
way. He was no longer used to it and, in fact, he was surprised that he was still able to pull it
off. Maybe Carlos was right, he was a bit special. Just a little bit. Part of him, although he
found him silly, naive, and potentially lethal, admired his good heart and cheery spirit. It was
contagious and it was warm. That was precisely why it didn't make him feel safe, because he
sensed he was letting himself go far more than would be wise, and not even consciously
doing so. He was just doing it and it was dangerous.
"Fuck!" Jill exclaimed, after a few moments, and her alarmed voice caught Nicholai's
attention.
"What is it?" He asked her, without taking his eyes off the stitching he was doing.
"That thing is back!" She replied, seeing Nemesis advancing rapidly toward them.
"Good luck," shrugged the other, "you have a decent head start, make good use of it."
Jill swallowed a bitter pill, scared, what the fuck did she expect? That they would help her?
She took a couple of steps backward, keeping her eyes fixed on Nemesis, now a few hundred
feet away from them. The son of a bitch was damn fast, so she did the only thing she could
do, she started running.
Carlos tried to move but Nicholai pushed him back onto the bench. "I'm not done yet. Don't
worry, he's not after us."
"I'm not gonna watch her die!" Rebutted the other. "So either you do something, or I'll take
my chances with her."
The Russian knotted the last stitch and then threw the forceps and the needle into the kit
inside his duffel bag, stepping back from him. "Then go for it. Everyone has the right to
choose how to die."
Carlos gave him a disappointed and hurt look, but he did not insist because there was no time
and hurried after the girl. Nicholai calmly closed his bag and put it back on his shoulder, only
at that point did he bother to cast a glance at Nemesis. He pondered, counting the number of
rounds he would need to put that useless, big fucker out of action for a considerable amount
of time, then he lit himself a cigarette. He had no reason to do it. No fucking reason at all.
Deeply disturbed he began to cross the street to get out of that B.O.W.'s way, calling himself
an idiot for wasting time and resources for nothing. It was at that moment that Nemesis let
out a very loud roar that stunned him for a moment, making his eardrums twinge, although he
was still a more than safe distance away.
Nicholai stopped in the middle of the roadway and glared at him, shaking his head a little,
annoyed by that discomfort in his ears.
"Fucking hell!" Jill lashed out when, as she turned the corner, she was confronted with more
barricades erected by Umbrella blocking her passage.
Carlos gasped when he saw her turn back and gave her a confused look. He slowed down just
in time not to crash into her and caught her on the fly to stop her.
"Wrong direction, hon," he admonished her, with a short breath. The roar of the thing had
scared the crap out of him. The last thing he wanted to do was get back close to him.
"Everything is blocked, we have to go back!" She answered him, hurriedly and slipped out of
his grasp, but winced, confused. "What the fuck is he doing?" She asked, seeing Nicholai
standing still in the middle of the road, right in Nemesis' path.
"Fuck me dead if I know..." Carlos sighed. He was aware that the Russian was a tough son of
a bitch, but that struck him as an unquestionably crappy idea.
Nicholai tucked his cigarette between his lips and unhooked his sniper rifle from his
shoulder, as relaxed as if this were nothing more than a practice round at the range. Odin, he
mentally counted and fired at the road hydrant, opening a hole in the metal from which water
began to gush onto the asphalt. He waited a few moments for Project-N to put his feet on the
wet pavement. "Dva", he muttered, shifting his aim to the cables of an electrical pylon,
sucking in a drag from his cigarette and puffing it out his nose, unperturbed, but when his
shot sliced through the cable, dropping it onto the road, nothing happened. He snorted. Wrong
one , so he fired again, and the whole street plunged into darkness, but he smiled when a
high-voltage arc spread, flickering, in the moist air, following the cable's fall. When it finally
touched the wet ground with a burst of sparks, there was absolutely nothing Nemesis could
do but fry in that puddle, and he would have stayed there as long as there was power on the
line. "Tri," he concluded his count, watching him writhe in convulsions.
Yell, again, if you dare, cunt. He sneered, that must have been painful. The voltage was high
since the static was making the hairs on his arms raise up even at that distance, leaving a
funny feeling on his skin. He made a disappointed grimace. Maybe he should have backed off
a few feet, before firing, and two rounds would have been better than three, but he couldn't
foresee which of the cables was alive, so all things considered, it was a passable result. He
put his rifle back on his shoulder and lifted the cigarette from his lips to shake off the ash,
before resuming walking.
When he reached them, he was surprised to find Carlos and Miss Valentine waiting for him.
Why had they not taken the opportunity to put as much distance as possible between them
and the Nemesis? Their logic, if they had any, totally escaped him.
"What?" He asked, facing their stunned eyes. "I didn't do it for you. The prick roared at me,"
he explained, grudgingly.
"That was so cool! So, so fucking cool, man!" Carlos exclaimed, giving him a big, beaming
smile and a pat on his back.
Nicholai rolled his eyes, then tossed his rifle and bag into his arms. "Load it, I well deserve to
smoke the rest of my cigarette in peace."
"Holy shit, what do you got in here?" Protested the boy, because that duffle bag was fucking
heavy even if he wasn't exactly a puny guy.
"In peace means in silence," the Russian shut him up, moving away toward the stone wall
over the riverbank.
Jill followed his movement with her eyes, uncertain.
What if Carlos was right? At that moment Nicholai certainly looked conflicted. She didn't
trust him, not by a long shot, but if there was even a chance of bringing an operative of that
caliber to their side, one who had not blinked in the face of one of the worst creatures devised
by Umbrella and had knocked it down like it was a walk in the park, wouldn't it have been
foolish of her not to take advantage of it? Maybe she really should play nice and be
charming, as Carlos had suggested. With no obligation on her part, though, because she
would have had no hesitation in throwing him under the bus if the choice was either him or
her. This was not about befriending either of them; it was about work. A means to an end:
destroying Umbrella, and if she had to pretend to be a bit of a whore, so be it.
She approached slowly and realized that he had noticed her right away, even though she had
been very quiet. He had cocked his head a little, a minimal movement, barely perceptible, and
only because she was staring at him. He certainly wasn't someone who could be easily
sneaked up on, but that wasn't her intention anyway. She covered the last few steps more
resolutely and sat down on the wall of the riverbank right next to where he was leaning to
look at the view, and crossed her legs, brushing his naked elbow with shrewd distraction.
"I think the word you were looking for was 'poodle', which is quite similar to what you said,
and, yeah, he kinda looks like a shaggy, curly puppy. He certainly acts like one," she told
him, and in glancing toward Carlos, intent on snooping in the duffle bag curious as a child, a
sincere smile bent her lips. He was tender in a way. Dumb but tender.
"Speaking asshole fluently all of a sudden, ain't we?" Nicholai ironized without even turning
to look at her but keeping his eyes on the flowing water.
"Not being dead certainly helps to catch up," she retorted without a blink, arranging a strand
of hair behind her ear.
"Why the fuck are you carrying around C4?!" Carlos exclaimed from the rear, but neither of
them gave him the slightest attention.
"Let's avoid this embarrassing drama shot, shall we?" Nicholai continued. "I'm not in my 20s,
you're not going to achieve anything by waving your legs in my face and fawning all over
me." He threw the butt away and slightly turned to face her. "Besides, it's insulting to both of
us. To me because you think I'm fool enough to fall for it, and to you, because you debase
yourself, Miss Valentine."
She laughed briefly. "You're more out of your mind than I believed, if you think I was trying
to hit on you, you're not worth it," she scoffed, although she had to admit she felt a little
burned in her pride. It did not often happen to her to be exposed so quickly and, at the same
time, to be rejected so flatly and flamboyantly. She even glimpsed a small sneer of derision
rise on his thin lips, but it lasted only an instant before he imposed composure on himself
again.
"If I have misunderstood, my apologies," Nicholai replied, well aware that her clumsy
attempt to manipulate him by acting all pretty was more than real and, given her desperate
situation, he certainly could not blame her for trying everything. He had not been born
yesterday, but he was a gentleman and would act accordingly. There was no need to be rude
and humiliate her further; he was sure she got the message. He moved off the wall and made
his way back toward Carlos.
Jill glared at him. Who the fuck did he think he was to treat her with that sort of
condescension? She was no silly little girl to be made fun of!
"May I ask you just one thing?" She called him back, changing tactic. Her voice was now
different. There was no longer that grimacing, phony hue, but pure anguish. Not that it was
untrue, but normally she would never have shown her frailties so openly.
"You can ask anything you want, and I'm free to answer you or not," he told her and saw her
look down, dejected and worried. "You want to know about your colleagues. If I know
anything about them," he anticipated her question and sighed when he saw her nod with those
hopeful doe eyes of hers. "Of those in town, one is dead, the other was alive when I left him."
Jill paled but held back her despondency. "Who is...?" Her voice trailed off. "Please tell me."
Nicholai looked away from her. He had managed to ignore his past for seventeen years, so
why was everything resurfacing on that damn night of all possible nights?
"Redfield is alive," he assented to her, and despite everything, it made him feel somewhat
better to see a desperate relief rise on her face, for clearly, although she felt sorry for Vickers,
Redfield was the one she really cared about. "No," he stopped her, "don't thank me.
Remember what my job is. I'm just an observer. I won't move a finger for him, or for you.
Make the most of the good fortune you have had so far, Miss Valentine. On any other night,
either of you would have been dead by now."
"Did you help him too?"
"I helped neither," he huffed, fed up with that redundant topic.
She changed her expression again and went back to being the snotty bobcat she had been
until moments before. "Someone who was with him, then," she said, confident.
Nicholai winced a little in surprise and then smiled, more openly and heartily. He had been
played. Good for her. Score one for both of them. What an intriguing game. She was
definitely an interesting woman, besides being pleasing to the eye, and the only real fighter
among that group of wretches. From what he had been able to observe up to that point,
Redfield was burned out, Leon was sharp but too impulsive and undertrained, Carlos... Was
Carlos. He was proficient in the field and very skilled, but so dreadfully selfless. If he had to
put his money on one of them, it would have been her. She was savage and, to him, that was
meant as an absolute compliment.
In spite of that, he gave her no answer, just one last look, before he reached Carlos. The boy
had practically emptied his duffel bag onto the hood of a car and was examining each item
very carefully. He could explain everything, the guns, the grenades, the ammunition, the first
aid kit, water and food, the flashlight, but the purpose of all that C4 with wires and detonators
eluded him. What did he want to blow up?
"Will you give me answers?" He asked when he sensed Nicholai's presence at his side.
"No, so don't bother asking," the Russian replied, beginning to put everything back in place.
"Just one! Innocent, nothing tactical, I promise," Carlos insisted and smiled when the other
nodded, bored. "Who is Matilda?"
Nicholai frowned, then recalled, "I don't know. It's not my gun," he said, picking up the
weapon he had taken from the kitten in the woods and looking at it. There was no specific
reason as to why he had kept it. He was a thief. He had always been a thief. That was an
ordinary 9mm, with a good magazine.
"And whose is it?" Carlos became curious.
"It's кот's."
"The guy who kicked your ass in the alley? That cat?"
Nicholai chuckled, because that was indeed what had happened, as absurd as it sounded.
"Yeah," he admitted and couldn't help but wonder how his kitten was doing, all alone by
himself. Since Nemesis was near them, he was probably fine. Not them . Near Valentine.
There was no fucking them .
"And I suppose that's the guy who's with Chris," Jill interjected, determined to find out more.
One side of her was reassured that Chris was not alone, but, knowing him, things could also
have gotten very nasty with a stranger. "Is he Umbrella?" She insisted when she received no
answer.
"He's a cop."
"That doesn't mean shit. We know about Irons. "
"Who?" Nicholai asked and was sincere, he had no idea who he was. How Umbrella
exercised its control over that city and many others had never been his concern, and the same
was true for every administrative and organizational aspect. He was not even aware of all the
experiments they were conducting in the labs, only those he had to personally test or monitor.
"You know perfectly well who I am referring to, stop playing dumb!" She snapped, irritated.
"No, I don't," he grumbled, not even knowing why he was bothering to do so, "nor do I care,
for that matter. "But the kid is just a rookie-
"Wait a minute, is his name something-Kennedy?" Jill interrupted him and was alarmed when
the Russian nodded. "Chris thinks he's a spy, and-
"Then he's an imbecile. Leon is not Umbrella material."

"Hey, are you guys on first names yet? Who is this cat?" Carlos stepped in. Christ, it had
taken him two years to have a word with him!
"Your jealousy tantrum can wait, now let the adults talk," Jill shushed him, pushing him back
to confront Nicholai, who, however, slung his equipment over his shoulder and remained
silent, irritated. She really needed to stop being a bitter bitch to Carlos. He didn't deserve that.
"There's only one adult here and that's me," he felt compelled to specify and she laughed
coldly.
"So now you won't answer me because I was mean to him? Really?" She asked in disbelief.
"It's called retribution, I'm sorry to be the first to teach you that, Miss Valentine."
"Says the psycho! And tell me, old man, what will be your retribution for all the shit you've
done in your fucking life?"
Nicholai hardened his posture and his green eyes grew sharper.
"Okay, red flag, big red flag!" Carlos exclaimed, grabbing Jill and dragging her behind him.
"She can be as mean as she wants, I don't mind. I really don't. Come on, she's been through a
lot."
"And she has the arrogance to think she's the only one. She'll get you killed and she won't
give a shit."
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares? You said you don't, so why should I? Why
should she? Nobody gives a shit, that's the norm here, right? I don't make my decisions based
on how much people care about me, or how good or bad they treat me. This is me. I do these
things. Since forever. I'm not going to change because you're a cynical sourpuss full of
resentment and she's pissed off at the world. What's going on sucks and if she wants to stop
it, I'm on board."
"It's never that simple, Carlos," Nicholai debunked him.
"Of course it-
"You have no idea what you're up against. Do you think that what you saw is all there is? You
really don't have a fucking clue," the Russian growled, towering over him.
"Then help me!" Carlos cried out, passionate. "Or are you too scared of Umbrella to do that?
Because if so, save me the trouble and shoot me in the face right now!" It was meant as a
joke, but when he looked up to meet Nicholai's eyes, his friend's mind was not there with
him. It was somewhere else, in a dark place to which he had inadvertently opened a door, so
he stepped back, cowed, bumping into Jill.
The Russian closed his eyes and clenched his fists, managing to snap out of it on his own, but
he was pale and a shiver of fury had shaken him.
Carlos was mortified. "Hey, I really didn’t-

Nicholai gestured to him to be quiet when the satellite phone in his vest began to ring. He
answered it and was surprised to hear Sergei's voice. He usually never bothered to give him
orders personally, he contacted him only for results, but he took the opportunity to hold the
conversation in Russian. He had to kill a scientist at the university and collect data on a T-103
that was about to be dropped in that area of the city. He replied affirmatively, not making a
fuss about the place turning into an inferno of the undead, although he wished he had when
the call ended. Because, fucking hell, if he had known earlier he would have prepared more
thoroughly, instead of finding himself doing magician's tricks with fire hydrants and high
voltage cables! Besides, if the general anted him to collect data on Project-N, how could he,
at the same time, monitor a T-103 and carry out an assassination? Should he cook his dinner
too and clean his fucking house, while at it? He was only one and, the last time he had
checked, he still did not have the gift of ubiquity. The directives were becoming more and
more delusional with each passing moment -not that Sergei had ever been particularly sane,
but asking for something that empirically was impossible was a peak he had never yet
touched, until that night.
He started walking again, threading his way into an alley that would lead him to the parallel
street where he had left his car but stopped when he heard the footsteps of the other two a
short distance away.
"Have I become the fucking Pied Piper?" he snarled, glowering at them.
"The main road is blocked, up ahead, don't give yourself all that importance," Jill replied in
kind, passing him.
"And you totally deserved this one," Carlos whispered, then, however, he quickly turned
serious again. "If earlier I made you remember something bad, I'm really sorry," he
apologized, before following the girl.
Nicholai bowed his head and stood still for a few more seconds, wishing he was home, where
at least he would be alone and away from everyone's bullshit, including his own.
Especially his own.
"So what's the plan?" Carlos asked, catching up with Jill.
She looked around and was comforted by the return of the light from the street lamps, across
the alley.
"I don't have one," she admitted, because, in all honesty, she had not expected such a serious
scenario. "First I have to find Chris."
"Who is Chris? A friend of yours? Is she as pretty as you?"
She giggled. "Chris is a twenty-five-year-old very manly asshole, bigger than you, with the
temper of a pissed-off mama bear more than ready to kick your ass if you rub him the wrong
way."
Carlos smiled, not at all concerned. "Well, bring it on, I have some experience in dealing with
guys like that," he retorted, nodding behind him. "So where do we find this Chris?"
"That's the asshole part. I have no idea. I've been looking for him since dawn, I've been
sweeping all the places he would go and also all the places he wouldn't go. It's amazing how
someone that big can vanish into fucking nothingness! I was on my way to the police station
before this whole mess started, it's the only spot I haven't been to yet."
"Guide me, let's look for him together."
Yeah, thought Jill, what a brilliant idea! Because, indeed, showing up in front of Chris
accompanied by one, maybe two, if Nicholai joined, Umbrella operatives was really a stroke
of genius. What could possibly go wrong with such a crappy plan, besides everything? He
would have freaked out, rightfully so. How the fuck had she gotten herself into that situation?
Chris would have been so pissed at her, not that she wasn't pissed at him in turn for leaving
like that. Damn jerk!
"Is he your man?" Carlos's question tore her from that whirlwind of anxiety. She seethed.
"No," she cut it short, "just my best friend." And even that had to stop because it was
becoming an obsession. She was going to tell him she liked him, at least, one way or another,
she would have closure and stop being on the fence. She hoped he would reciprocate, though.
She hoped with all her heart. She would have loved to be with him, away from all that
nightmare that seemed to never want to end.
"Hey," Carlos said to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a warm and friendly way,
"don't pout like that, I'm sure your handsome mama bear is okay, but for fuck's sake, he
should get his eyes checked, because how he can miss a gem like you is beyond me!" He
joked, to cheer her up.
"It's really that obvious, isn't it?" She asked him, dejected, but that time she did not budge
from his embrace. It was nice to receive some tenderness. She liked Carlos. Nicholai was an
asshole, but Carlos was just a poor guy who had been oblivious to who he worked for.
"That you have a crush on him? Yeah, pretty much. All you need to be more obvious is to
write it on banners in front of his house."
She laughed bitterly. "Knowing him, he'd probably be able to completely miss that hint too,"
she commented, discouraged.
"He must be really something for you to be so into him, despite his being.... Well, dumb as a
brick."
She scoffed. "He's not very good with women," and tried to defend him.
"Call a spade a spade: he's a fucking disaster. I'll teach him a few tricks."
"And this is the sad story of how Redfield will never get laid again for his entire existence,
how miserable" Nicholai intruded mercilessly from the rear. "Come here. Both of you," he
said, then, approaching his car, a minimalist-looking black off-roader parked on the side of
the road. He opened the trunk and stocked up on ammunition.
"Holy shit, you planned to win a war by yourself?" Carlos asked him, casting a glance inside.
That trunk was a picture-perfect armory, neatly stocked with firearms, edged weapons,
explosives, and all the tools needed for survival.
Jill, however, was surprised to see books stacked on the right side, among some fresh clothes,
so she leaned over to peek in. Some were technical manuals, but there were also novels,
essays, and poetry collections.
"I never would have guessed you were a bookworm," she commented, genuinely surprised.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, and things will stay this way," he retorted. "Help
yourself," he added to both of them, getting out of the way.
"Really?" Carlos exclaimed, as happy as a child in front of a present. "Can we take your
weapons?"
"My job is to collect data, and there is very little to collect if Nemesis kills you without you
being able to defend yourselves like sitting ducks. Let's make the game more interesting."
That should have been the truth, Nicholai thought, but part of him knew that was not the case.
He was about to leave. He had to. And those two idiots had only a gun, in the hand of the
least skilled of the pair, no less. A recipe for disaster.
Conflicted again, huh? Jill noticed right away, seeing right through the Russian's sphinx-like
face, but she didn't say it out loud and went back to focusing on the books. Some were in
Cyrillic.
"I don't think reading to him will prove to be an effective strategy, but you are free to try,
Miss Valentine, maybe he likes literature, too, who knows."
"How cool is this!" Trilled, Carlos pulled his composite hunting bow out of the trunk and
turned it over in his hands to admire it.
"Can you use it?" He questioned him. It wasn't an entirely idiotic choice, especially in the
presence of lickers, but it wasn't the smartest either if he wasn't proficient in handling it.
"Um, no?" Blushed the boy. “How hard could it be? Come on, teach me, please!”
"No. Put it back," he huffed, looking to the watch on his wrist to check the time. He had
about forty minutes to reach the University, which was on the other side of town; he could
stall a little longer, but not forever, and not for archery lessons, for fuck’s sake, Carlos was
such a child!
"I'll take this," Jill said, picking the grenade launcher, and Nicholai smiled. He was not
surprised. Miss Valentine was just the grenade launcher type of girl, it matched her
personality.
"Why don't you ask if she can use it as you did with me?" Carlos questioned him, offended.
"Because she chooses wisely. Hurry up, I don't have all night."
"Okay, okay, assault rifle it is," muttered Carlos, taking the AK-47 for himself.
" Niet , wait," Nicholai stopped him again, now impatient, "have you ever used a
Kalashnikov before?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" The boy cursed, then proceeded to unload, reload, point, and shoot at a
street sign on the opposite side of the road, hitting the mark, in a remarkably short time and
with perfect execution. "I've been holdin' this puta in my arms since I was thirteen, yes, I
know how to please it, thank you very much," he snorted.
Nicholai shrugged, unimpressed.
"This is not my first rodeo," Carlos insisted, eager to prove that point.
"I was just checking so it wouldn't be your last," the Russian hissed back, finally exposing
himself a bit.
"So you do care." The other smirked with a 'gotcha' look on his handsome features.
"I'm leaving," Nicholai ignored him completely and felt at fault when he saw his dark eyes,
bright with playful skirmish, tinging with the hue of uncertainty and confusion.
"Why? Where?" He heard him ask.
"Nothing that concerns you. Provide yourself with ammunition."
Carlos did not argue; he knew it would be useless, so he did as he was told, even setting aside
additional ammo for Jill's grenade launcher in his vest, but he was disappointed. It was clear.
When he was finished, Nicholai closed the trunk and then went to sit in the driver's seat, but
he lingered watching them both once more, fighting, within himself, that urge not to leave
them alone.
Fuck it! He thought, surrendering to a compromise solution. After all, he had knocked
Nemesis out for a while, they had a chance.
"If I were you," he said, addressing mostly Miss Valentine since Carlos was going to follow
her no matter what, "I would take advantage of the time gained to find Redfield and leave
town while it is still possible. It won't be for much longer. You are correct, the last place I saw
him was near the police station, but I can't tell if he stayed there. Whatever is going on here,
we are still at the beginning, but I don't think that such a level of contagion can be due to
infected people or animal bites. It is too rapid and too massive. Something else must have
happened, and judging by my boss's voice, it certainly wasn't intentional. If you must eat or
drink any food, consume only packaged goods. It is quite clear that something has been
contaminated, whether it is livestock or the waterworks I cannot say either. Good luck." He
concluded, but before he could close the door, Carlos blocked it.
"Just be careful, okay, Nick?" He murmured, softly concerned, "I can't give you back your
grand if you die."
The Russian snorted and rolled his eyes. "One last tip. If you find yourself among zombies,
avoid them or end ‘em with some blunt weapon. Don’t waste ammo. And, for fuck’s sake, it’s
Kolya!”
"Huh? Please have mercy on me, I can barely handle English, come on!"
"Short for Nicholai is Kolya, Kolen'ka, Nikolásha, Kolyan, Kolechka.. . List is long. Pick
one. I don't care. Just don't you 'Nick' me ever again, it's unbearable," he corrected him,
annoyed.
Carlos blinked, confused. "But… Some of them are longer than Nicholai!" He objected,
completely oblivious to the concession of affection and friendship the other had given him by
allowing him to call him by a pet name. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Actually, it does, but there's no time for that," the Russian cut it short, since it was probably
harder than archery for a foreigner, then nodded farewell to Jill with a laconic, "Miss
Valentine.”
“ Nick,” she replied with a smirk, just for the sake of being annoying, and she chuckled when
he glared at her, before speeding off.
Carlos watched him drive away like an abandoned puppy on the highway.
"Oh, Christ, you're so hopeless!" Jill mocked him, but she was actually tenderhearted. Carlos
really reminded her of Chris, and Nicholai, as much of an asshole as he was, still seemed
better than Wesker.
Not that it took much.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears ^^!

As usual, thank you so much for all the kudos, comments, subscriptions, and
bookmarks, as well as for reading my story <3!
In the end, I decided to put the chapter with Jill, Carlos, and Nicholai because the next
chapters with Leon and Chris will be really very connected to each other to have a week
hiatus, so the next three will be about them (hoping it doesn't become four, because I'm
afraid I'm going too long on their stopping being idiots).
We come to our trio. I didn't think Jill and Nicholai's interactions would be so much fun
right off the bat to write. That, sooner or later, they would get along was, of course,
expected, but that they had this spark of mutual appreciation was a surprise to me as
well (although neither would admit it even under torture).
As for Nicholai, we probably won't see him for a while because he is too unbalanced for
the threats there are at this stage of the story, and having him with one group or the other
would involve not really putting anyone at risk. I got him his show, but now he's going
to follow his missions (which should be the ones you see in Operation Raccoon City)
and be gone. His trick with the fire hydrant and high voltage wires should work (but
don't try this at home!!!), I've done several searches, but I'm not an expert. The only
forced thing I put in is the street hydrant with water in the tank, which shouldn't be so
far north because it would risk freezing in the winter (they are usually found in places
like California). Please indulge me with a tiny bit of suspension of disbelief. I needed
Nemesis to be out of the way for a while and leaving him there to fry will also help
make him more pissed off. Obviously, Nicholai was the best candidate to pull this trick
off, which is why I left him in the company of Carlos and Jill longer than expected.
Carlos is still Carlos, and, for the record, he is not dumb, he just pretends to be, when, in
fact, he is pursuing his goals patiently, without rushing things. This patience is his real
strength, as well as not letting anything stop him, and, slowly, he has already managed to
win the affection of both Jill and Nicholai.
Small parenthesis on the Russian nicknames: there are really so many of them and they
are divided into groups, I had Nicholai propose those that are friendly but not too
intimate (something that would not be used only by a close relative, or a lover, but my
knowledge is as a foreigner, so if there are any Russians listening and would like to
correct me, please do so, it will be more than appreciated), from the most neutral Kolya
(which I found transliterated also in Kolja) to the others, and it is really a great success
for Carlos, because, although partly through exhaustion, he managed to win Nicholai's
acceptance.
I conclude with Jill, our best girl. She is much more clear-headed and aware than the rest
of the litter, and, of course, in addition to analyzing the situation she tries to take
advantage of all the opportunities in front of her, and, I agree with Nicholai, I would put
my money on her, too. Without even questioning it. My beloved Russian aside, she is
definitely the most competent and the most resilient, net of less physical strength and
skill with firearms, because she, indeed, reasons, which the others are scarce in doing,
some because of inexperience with B.O.W.s as Carlos, some because they have other
problems and traumas as Chris and Leon. Moreover, unlike Chris, she does not let her
emotions guide her but remains lucid and determined.
That said, I hope everything is going great for you, and thank you once again for being
here!
A hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 18
Chapter Notes
Leon only needed to see Chris's face to know that things were not looking good.
"Whatever is going through your head, count to ten, don't fuck up," he whispered to him.
Redfield, in response, rushed out of the kitchen and then upstairs.
"No. Please! Don't go there!" Sherry shrieked, chasing after him.
When Leon also arrived upstairs, he saw the little girl planted in front of a door with her arms
spread wide to block his passage. Chris had not yet barked her away, but he seemed about to
do so.
"This is his safe place! He doesn't want anyone in it anymore! Not even mom!" She was
shouting, determined to protect whatever that room meant to her father in a surprisingly
fierce way for a child. "Please don't do this to him!" Sherry insisted, pleadingly. "Daddy
hasn't been well since Uncle Al..." She took a deep, heartbroken breath. "Please! Don't do this
to him, please!"
"Is he in there?" Chris growled, summoning what little patience he had left.
Sherry shook her head. "No! I told you! I don't know where he is!"
"Stand aside," the man ordered her.
“No!”
"Okay, that's enough!" Leon yelled, advancing toward him and putting himself, again,
between him and the child. Between him and the door that divided him from the son of a
bitch's studio where maybe he could find some fucking answers. He began to tremble with
impatience and anger, but Leon was not intimidated. Quite the opposite, he had a stern light
in his eyes, authoritative and arrogant, despite both of them being more than aware that he
would have no chance in a physical confrontation. Yet it still had an effect on Chris, who
frowned, lowered his head and stepped back, gregarious in the face of someone whose
judgment was probably less clouded than his own and who was sparing him from making
decisions and suffering the consequences.
Leon had his back to him and looked at the little one, sorry, "forgive him, he's been through a
lot but he means well," he justified him, despite everything, but he was wrong, Chris thought
because he had no fucking good intentions. As soon as he got his hands on the bastard, he
was going to kill him. Daughter or no daughter. He couldn’t give a shit if he was the perfect
dad! What about all the children he had orphaned with his sick experiments? What about the
horrible things he and his pals had done to the Trevor family? That poor girl, Lisa… His skin
crawled only remembering her. Birkin had to be stopped once and for all. No fucking mercy.
Luckily, Leon was still talking to the child and wasn’t paying attention to him, he didn’t want
him to perceive how determined he was in washing that story in blood. Not yet, at least.
"I know your daddy wouldn't want anyone going through his things. I'm also like that-
"No, you're not," Sherry contradicted him, "no one is like that."
"Okay, alright, but maybe there might be something that could help us understand why he
hasn't been in touch for days," the rookie insisted gently, without imposing too much.
The child hesitated. "I-it doesn't make much sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"What's in it."
"How about letting us try? I promise you, if we touch anything, we'll put it right back. Your
daddy will never find out we got in there, it will be our little secret."
Sherry nodded, troubled, but also a little hopeful. She didn't like Chris, but Leon seemed
really nice and he was so cute. Like Jack in Titanic. "I'll get you the spare key he left me; it's
in my jewelry box. Mom never looks through my things," she whispered, before walking
away and disappearing into the next room.
Leon looked at Chris with open distress. "You know? There's a place in hell for what I just
did. And it's a ticket for two."
"You don't understand-
"Oh, no, I get it all right, but it doesn't make it okay."
And Chris shut up, because Leon was probably correct, but being fair was a luxury they
could not afford. Or, at least, he couldn't.
Sherry returned a short time later, and they both watched her open the door in silence, but
Chris quickly moved forward and, stepping over the threshold, probed the wall for the
switch.
"What the fuck?" He groaned as the light finally illuminated the study.
The room was completely empty, there was no furniture anymore, except for the famous
curtains, closed in front of the window, and a wooden ladder. The wallpaper had been ripped
off and thrown on the floor and all the walls were covered with formulas, codes, numbers,
and letters, all written in tiny handwriting in blue marker, the same as that Paris 1978 on the
Polaroid Chris still kept in his pocket. Moreover, on the ceiling were two huge circles made
up of thousands of tiny dashes of different colors, some circled and with other notations on
the side, formulas, mostly. There was not even an inch of free space on any surface. It was
nuts.
Leon peeped through the door. "Holy shit, it didn't look like that in the interview photo."
"I told you, he hasn't been well the last two months," Sherry murmured, desperate to justify
her father's oddities. "Every night he comes home, kisses me good night, and locks himself in
here. I think he barely sleeps and eats. I tried to tell him this wasn't good, that he would end
up getting sick, I really tried! One night I even heard him arguing with mom. He was
shouting at her to mind her f-business. He was so mad, but usually, he never yells! Never! I
don't know what's going on!" She whined. "I think… I-I think it's all my fault!"
"No, honey, it's not," Leon intervened, crouching down in front of her again. "When my dad
died I was a little younger than you, and my mother didn't take it well at all. She suffered a
lot and she continued to suffer. For years I thought it was my fault, but it wasn't. People have
problems to deal with, and sometimes they are mean to each other, especially grown-ups, but
I am sure, one hundred percent, that you had nothing to do with it, okay? Your parents just
need time to work it out," and that was a lie. His mother had continued to oppress him until
the day she had died. She had never worked it out, she had always hated him, and she had
been plain cruel with him 'till her lasting breath, but he wanted to hope that things would be
better for Sherry. After all, her father seemed to really love her. Even though he was
entangled with Umbrella and dirty, that feeling seemed genuine, or, at least, it was for the
little girl, and so he wanted to make sure that she could preserve it in her memory as pure as
it was, no matter what might happen to her father from then on.
"B-but dad is okay, right?" She asked him, again on the verge of tears.
"I don't know," he did not lie to her, "but we will do everything we can to find him and bring
him back to you”, he repeated, “I promise."
"T-thank you," she whispered, before throwing her arms around his neck to hold him close.
"Now, stop crying, okay? Otherwise, I'll start too and I'm really-really ugly when I cry, I turn
into a slimy purple little toad. Trust me, you don’t want to see me like that," Leon joked,
trying to cheer her up.
Chris snorted silently. He had seen him cry. Not ugly at all. Leon would not have turned out
ugly even if he had fallen face-first into the muck, but beyond that, he wondered what it
would have been like if, so many years before, there had been someone with Leon's
sensibility to tell him that his parents had died under the knife. Would anything have been
different? Would he have felt less useless and helpless? It was an unanswerable question, but
it was with renewed respect that he looked again at the rookie. He was very young, but
already very prepared for situations like that. Now he definitely wanted to know everything
about his mother, because there was a big scar there and, perhaps, it was also the reason for
many of his attitudes. He went back to focusing on the room and all that writing. Although
Birkin had had two months to do all that thinking, the sheer volume of formulas on those
walls was still impressive and totally insane. He had no idea what they meant and no chance
of finding out. Maybe Rebecca could have gleaned something from that mess, but he wasn't
entirely sure about that either, because Birkin was a genius -Leon had told him so- and thus
was also probably on a higher level than everyone else.
Fuck ! He thought, frustrated. He knew those walls hid an answer, perhaps the answer to all
his questions, but he couldn't fucking figure it out! His nerves were on the verge of breaking
down.
"Can you leave us alone for a minute, honey?" Leon asked Sherry, and the little girl seemed
to hesitate. "We'll be downstairs with you in no time, I promise," he insisted.
"Okay..." She mumbled, sadly.
Leon checked that she had indeed come down from the office threshold before turning to
Chris, "What do you think?"
"That I don't understand a fucking thing and-
"Stop it," the rookie interrupted him, again with that patient and understanding look, "I know
how you feel and I'm sorry this doesn't make the slightest bit of sense," he went on with the
calmness and tactfulness of an artificer defusing a dangerous bomb because he was well
aware that Redfield was one step away from exploding and the only thing holding him
together was his willpower. "But there are still answers we can draw."
Chris snorted and shook his head, turning his back to him while massaging his temples. He
was so fucking exhausted and it just felt like he had been running on empty for months,
always one step behind Umbrella and with more and more dead friends on his conscience.
"Hey, no, come on, follow my reasoning-
"I don't give a fuck what you think!" Chris shouted for he was also beginning to get fed up
with the rookie’s pity and his damned enthusiasm. He cast a glance at him. Leon had looked
away, his lips tight and his eyebrows furrowed, and he realized that, once again, he had
unfairly treated him like shit and was also definitely getting on his nerves in turn.
"Never mind," Leon sighed, turning toward the door.
"No, wait," Chris stopped him, "I'm sorry."
Leon let an exasperated groan escape his mouth as he pulled his head back with an annoyed
grimace, then shot him a fiery look. "I know that, in general, guys like you never apologize,
and so I should be happy that you're at least somewhat aware that you're an asshole, but
apologizing and then continuing to treat me worse over and over again sucks even more. So
if you really want to be an asshole, please, do it all the way. Believe me, I can handle it a lot
better!" He hissed at him, hurt, but he was also sincere. After all, he had been Mike's
boyfriend for years, he had experience, and Redfield was really starting to seem like that kind
of guy. The one who didn't know what he wanted, who refused to feel fragile and poured out
his frustrations on everyone around him, making scorched earth out of anything good that
might come his way. "Let it out on your own, I'm done for the time being," he concluded,
leaving him in the room and slamming the door shut.
Chris winced and a tremor shook him because he was really sorry. He just couldn't contain
himself sometimes. He sniffed, hard, and felt that painful lump in his throat again. So he held
his breath, managing to maintain control and not break down as he had done in front of
Wesker's house, but it was only a facade, because, inside, Chris was screaming. He just
wanted someone to guide him and tell him what to do because on his own he couldn't get it
right and people were dying because of him. He wanted to stop that merry-go-round of
horrors he had foolishly started and go back to having a normal life. He didn't want to be the
strong one anymore! He just wanted to hug his sister and Jill again!
Downstairs, Leon looked for Sherry in the kitchen and did not find her, so he called her out
loud, concerned. He had no intention of thinking about Redfield; he was not worth the
trouble of getting further pissed off. That situation was quickly becoming untenable, because
he was tired of deluding himself that things were starting to work out between them, only to
receive yet another door in his face. Was it too much to ask for some human warmth?
Redfield had to make up his fucking mind.
"I'm in the lounge!" She answered, practically immediately, from somewhere else on the
ground floor.
He joined her and was very impressed by the decor of that room lit by a large rosy crystal
chandelier. That house had been furnished very tastefully. A little too antiquarian for his taste,
but it was still beautiful. In the center of the living room was a large wrought-iron table,
topped with a glass plate, which could have comfortably seated about twenty guests. On the
left, there was a spacious dark couch in front of an ornate fireplace, and along the walls were
bookshelves overflowing with volumes, all neatly arranged; on the right, between two
bookshelves, was a beautiful upright piano of reddish wood with carved Art Nouveau
decorations. Sherry stood right next to the instrument, with a hesitant expression.
“Do you play?”
She nodded.
"Go for it, if you want," he encouraged her, "I'd love to hear you."
Sherry frowned and shook her head, thoughtful. "No, that's not it," she murmured, and Leon
realized she wasn't really listening to him.
He approached her. "Can I help you?"
She sighed and then looked at him. "Do you really trust him?" She asked, hinting upstairs
with a nod, "because he doesn't look right to me."
Leon took a deep breath and sat on the piano bench, unaware that Chris had come downstairs
and stopped to listen, hiding behind the threshold.
"I don't know him well. We only met tonight," the rookie admitted. "As I was telling you
earlier, adults can be messed up when something bad happens to them. I don't think Chris is a
mean person, he's just hurt and lonely, but I'm sure he's a good guy, and, yes, I do trust him,
even if he pisses me off, sometimes."
"He was going to hit me!" She protested.

"No, he wouldn't have done that. Of this, I am absolutely certain." Leon replied, without even
having to think about it, then, however, he winced. "Has anyone ever hit you, Sherry?" He
inquired with extreme tact.
The child paled and lowered her gaze to the tip of her shiny shoes, shaking her head
vigorously.
"You can tell me, you know," insisted the young cop. "Does your mom do that?"
Sherry shook her head, sincerely this time.
"Your dad?"
"Oh, no! Absolutely not!" Sherry exclaimed, raising her head sharply, almost offended by
that insinuation.
"Then who, honey?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," she objected.
"No, it does matter," Leon insisted, “it always does.”
She took another deep breath and looked away. "Uncle Al. Last time he was here."
Chris, still hiding in the hallway, felt his heart halt for a moment and then break painfully as a
wave of nausea squeezed his insides. Wasn't what Wesker had done to all of them at the
mansion enough? Beating a little girl! Who the fuck had been the man he had idolized for so
many years? The more he found out about him, the more the figure of the perfect captain
crumbled in the mud, showing the true face of a revolting, sick creature filled with hatred.
How had he become attached to such a monster? And why, despite everything, did his loss
continue to devastate him so much? He swallowed, tasting the acrid sour flavor of acid
regurgitation in his mouth. He felt like throwing up, and it took all his willpower to restrain
himself. He heard Leon ask Sherry to tell him everything from the beginning, and Chris felt
the physiological urge to get the hell out of there because if there was something even more
awful about his captain, he did not want to know it. Yet he stayed where he was, paralyzed
with dismay.
"It was two months ago," Sherry began to say, "I heard dad crying on the phone and I reached
him here because I wanted to know what was wrong. I was worried, I had never seen him cry
before. My dad is a quiet person, he speaks rarely and does it very softly. He doesn't like to
talk, he likes to think and keeps everything to himself, but that night he was sobbing and it
was so strange! He ended the call and tried to convince me that I didn't have to worry, that it
was nothing. I knew he wasn't okay, but I went back to my room anyway, because I didn't
want to unsettle him even more. When he’s upset he needs space and silence. About twenty
minutes later the doorbell rang and I heard Uncle's voice. He’s not really family, he’s, I mean,
he was dad’s best friend. I was told to call him uncle since I was little.” She clarified.
“Anyway, at first I didn't go out, because I never liked him that much and I didn't want to say
hello to him, but then... I just wanted to know what was going on and, I know it was wrong,
but I started spying on them from above the stairs since they were still in the hall. I couldn’t
catch all they were saying, but dad was begging him to let it go, to wait a couple more
months, and then... I don't know if I should tell you," she murmured, looking away,
uncomfortable, and going back to wringing her hands so much that her skin reddened. Leon
clasped them between his to keep her from hurting herself.
"You can tell me anything, Sherry, I want to help you and it's easier if you don't hide things
from me," he reassured her and she believed him, because how could anyone not believe
him?"
"H-he... I mean, Dad kissed him. L-like lovers do, and he told him that he was still in love
with him, too."
Leon winced. He had not expected that turn of events. Of course, the fact that happily
married men had affairs with other men was an unsurprising open secret. Probably, of all the
guys he had screwed, cheating on Mike, a good eighty percent were married with children,
and the remaining twenty engaged to girls. Even his ex was about to tie the knot with his
poor unsuspecting bride-to-be. How much hypocrisy, how disgusting! He did his best not to
judge anyone, but that whole category of phony cowards had exponentially begun to get on
his nerves more and more as time went on. At least he had the decency not to deceive anyone
and stay single!
"And that's when things took a nasty turn," Sherry continued, tearing him away from his
musings. "While they... were doing their thing, dad pulled a syringe out of his pocket and
tried to inject Uncle Al with something, but he noticed it, pushed him away, and got really
mad. He called him names. He accused him of always being," she stopped, trying to recall the
right words, "an arrogant prevaricating snake, ready to do anything to get what he wanted,
and that he was tired of him toying with him as if he were a f-puppet to dance for his delight.
Dad didn't say anything, but when he tried to attack him again with the syringe, Uncle Al hit
him in the face, he fell to the ground and the syringe broke. I immediately ran down and I
tried to stop Uncle because I didn't want him to hurt him anymore and he," a shiver of fear
shook her, "he grabbed me by the hair, he smacked me and then he threw me to the wall. I'm
not sure what happened next, but dad lost it. I heard a shot and when I opened my eyes again,
dad was shielding me, he had a gun in his left hand, and Uncle Al was on the floor against the
front door. He wasn't hurt, but his glasses had fallen out. He looked scared and upset. He
called dad a hypocrite because he had qualms about a..." She sniffled, lowering her gaze,
flushed with shame, "a useless, stupid brat like me, when, if he had gone away with him, they
would have achieved everything they had ever wanted. Together, as they were always meant
to be. A-and then he... Uncle Al offered to get rid of m-me if he was too weak to do it
himself."
Fucking hell, Leon thought, what a psychopath... He felt so sorry for Sherry, it must have
been a terrifying experience for her.
"Dad became scary too," she admitted, with some reluctance because she did not want to
acknowledge her father's faults, "he was very angry, but he was… So cold," and his algid,
monotone voice echoed in her head as she repeated his words, "She is my daughter. My
creation. Consider again to harm her, and I will punish your thoughts before they glimpse the
dawn of becoming intentions."
"And then?" Leon asked her.
“Uncle left,” Sherry replied, although it wasn't quite right. She didn't want to remember how
her father had come to point the gun at himself to prove how determined he was in punishing
him. It had been so strange, Uncle Al had not opened his mouth, threatened him, or said
anything more about her, so why had her dad done such a dangerous and drastic thing? She
did not know, but it had certainly worked because Uncle had paled and then left with his tail
between his legs. Too bad dad had scared the hell out of her, too. And then things had gotten
even worse because in the morning, around dawn, her father had received a phone call and
she had been awakened by his terrible scream. She could still hear it echoing through the
walls of the house. She had jumped out of bed and found him curled up on the floor in his
studio, weeping in despair, and for a long time, she had been unable to do anything but hug
him tightly, trying to comfort him the best she could, without understanding what had
happened. Her mother, when she had returned from the night shift in the laboratory, had
found them like that, still on the floor, in the study and had ordered her to go to her room.
Only later had she explained to her that Uncle Al had been killed on a mission and it was
receiving that news that had upset dad so much, and she had also added that it was none of
her business, and she should not bother about it. Of course, Sherry had not told her what had
happened the night before because she did not want to get her father in trouble. Given her
young age, she did not have the tools to really understand all the complexities of that
situation, but she was old enough to know that a kiss and a declaration of love were clearly
cheating.
Sherry had only managed to talk to her father again the next day when her mother had
returned to work. She had found him devastated, with a pale face and reddened eyes, sitting
on the bed looking hopelessly lost. At first, he had not noticed her, not even when she had
clung to his arm. Then, however, he had come to his senses and with what had seemed an
inhuman effort had snapped out of his trance and apologized to her. He then had tried to
explain to her that he and Uncle Al had been very much in love since they were young,
although they had also hurt each other very badly over the years -and that was an
understatement because their sentiment had reached peaks of passion, abuse, frenzy, and
mutual cruelty that were well beyond both common sense and common morality. Although
Sherry could not have known it, William had wanted to explain to her about him and Albert
because that had always been his line of parenting -contrary to his wife, he firmly believed
there were no such things as overly complex topics, they just had to be deconstructed into
simpler problems, and he had not wanted to break his commitment to his baby girl, not even
if it was tearing his heart out to even think about Albert. He had not wanted to let his inability
to manage his emotions get in the way of the path he had taken with her. Because he loved
her, too, in a way that was healthier, more conventional, perhaps even more understandable to
an analytical, neuro-atypical, detached mind like his. Al had always been like an August
wildfire, so blazing that he had inexorably enveloped him, albeit without ever fully melting
him, and God if they had let themselves get carried away and been wild! From his point of
view, Al's way of reasoning had never been that complex, William had grasped it rather
quickly. It had taken him about twelve hours to foresee and counter Al's plan, when he had
foolishly tried to get him expelled from the Training Center, twenty-four years prior, and just
because he couldn't stand that someone could have better scores than his. Poor Al, he had
mistaken him for an easy target just because he was a shy, awkward fourteen-year-old boy
with his nose always stuck in his notebook, but he had paid dearly for his hubris, many times.
Perhaps it had been at that moment that the spark had really gone off, between them, when
Albert, for the first time in his life, had found himself unequivocally screwed and William
had found a sufficiently intriguing playmate in an otherwise dull, flat world dominated by
inadequate mediocrity. They had been two incredibly silly boys, deluded enough that, once
they had stopped trying to destroy each other, had really begun to believe they could grab that
world in their palm, together, and shape it from within, from its DNA, to make it better, fair,
meritocratic, and, above all, purged of all its stupid, chaotic cruelty.
Every dream was rooted in nightmares, and often the top of the fronds of hope turned out to
be only a scenic balcony over an even worse nightmare. That day, when he had learned of
Albert's death from the venomous lips of his much-hated wife -who had been eager to break
the news to him as soon as she had been informed by headquarters, because she was a
vindictive bitch, too- William had feared they had lost. Until, while comforted by his
precious little girl, a tepid cinder had resurfaced from the ashes of his despair to bring new
nourishment to his genius and to their everlasting love. The offense Al had done to his little
girl, already forgiven and forgotten, along with all the other wrongs they had done to each
other over nearly a quarter of a century. After all, Al had forgiven him a lot of things in turn.
Like when he had lost his sight because of him. He had stayed blind and in excruciating pain
for a couple of months while they were still at the Training Center. William hadn't done it on
purpose that time. It had just been a really nasty accident, and although Al had fully
recovered his sight, it had left him with permanent hypersensitivity to light.
Neither of them had ever been much of a saint, and neither of them regretted anything, in the
end.
In any case, if he had injected himself with the Progenitor -and William had been sure he
had- there was a 30% chance he might have been alive, and, if that was the case, Al would
have needed his help. Only he would have been too prideful to ask for it, and admit, once and
for all, he wasn’t the smartest among the two. Too outraged at no longer being the one and
only focus of his attention and affection. After all, he had always been temperamental; him
loathing Sherry made sense, but he would have gotten over it in time, just as he had gotten
over everything else.
After hours of grief in his daughter's arms, William had realized that his mind was in motion
again and that he was going to solve not only Al's virtually certain instability, but he would
also finally bring the G-Virus to fruition. He had regained his clarity, and it was all thanks to
Al because, after all, Eros and Thanatos had always been their prime mover from the very
first moment. He had just had to be cautious. The fact that he and Al were close was common
knowledge. He could not risk getting caught working on how to solve his problem or he
would have risked exposing either of them to Spencer's wrath. So he had decided to do it at
home, while at the lab he would have acted as naturally as possible and, at the same time,
looked for a buyer for the G because he also wanted to free himself from Umbrella once and
for all and take his daughter with him. He already knew how to find Al. As for Annette, she
might as well have croaked.
And in a snap of his fingers, Sherry had seen him change his mood like the color of a
chameleon and go from the darkest hues of mourning to thriving like a blazing star. He had
thanked her and kissed her tenderly on the forehead before starting to pull out of the study all
the things that might have distracted him from his work.
And now he was gone.
Dejected, she glanced at Leon who had a really sorry look in his eyes. He was so pretty and
kind, he made her heart flutter. She was glad she had met him. She was sure he would bring
her daddy back to her, and he would reward him, wiping that sorrowful expression off his
handsome face. Her daddy could be very generous and gentle to people who were kind to her,
and absolutely terrifying to those who treated her poorly. He had even scared Uncle Al away;
she had always been convinced that Uncle Al had never been afraid of anything. Her daddy
was extraordinary. He was her hero.
She was about to disclose something else to him when they heard hurried footsteps in the
hallway and then a door slam. Leon was immediately alarmed and got up from the piano
bench.
"Stay here," he ordered her, unfastening the button on the holster on his hip. He walked out of
the living room and looked around. The hallway was clear, the kitchen door was still open as
he had left it, so the noise could only have come from the third one, on his right. He
approached it cautiously, grabbing his gun, ready to draw it if necessary, and then pushed the
door wide open. It was a bathroom. His heart jolted when he saw Chris curled up with his
back against the wall, embedding his head between his bent knees and covering his head with
his arms, ashamed because he was crying and did not want to be seen by him. He had also
thrown up, given the sour smell in the room. He was a real mess.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
I will never get tired of repeating how grateful I am to all of you who are reading this
story, to those of you who are leaving kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions!
I hope you all had a good week, mine was a bit tiring, but pulling through!
Coming to the story. I have several things to say. First, I don't particularly appreciate
doing introspection of a character if the character is not in the scene, but I had to make
an exception for Birkin for obvious reasons.
As I mentioned to one of the kind commenters on the story, I really feel the
Birkin/Wesker ship a lot, and although part of me would like, time permitting, to write a
prequel story about them as youngsters, I have moral qualms because, as fine as they
were with it, they were an incredibly toxic couple on both ends. It's one thing to show
them that way as adults, but to show two kids of, respectively, 14 and 16 years old
performing let's say questionable acts, to put it mildly, toward each other, but also
toward other peers of theirs, kind of blocks me a bit. At the same time, I also don't want
to sugarcoat them, so I'm afraid that, for a while, this project will be on standby waiting
for me to make a decision on the matter, but if you have any opinions about it, please
feel free to tell me, if you like! In any case, references to their past romance (kinda XD)
will be here too, but they will be more of flashes than a linear narrative.
Birkin, in any case, was never a victim of Wesker; in fact, he was probably always the
one with the upper hand between the two. At the same time, he was not particularly sane
either, and the fact that he immediately forgives an act as serious as Wesker beating his
child is a clear indication of that. It's also true, though, that their dynamic has always
worked that way for them. However, I would like to reiterate that they were toxic as
fuck and not the dream couple.
Obviously, Sherry sees her daddy as a hero because she is a little girl, she will have a
way, over time, to realize who her father really was and evaluate whether or not to
continue to love him. We will see this in the course of the story, which, as I think I have
already told you, will come roughly to the events of RE5.
Ah, I almost forgot: what Birkin wrote on the walls is relevant and will be relevant much
later in the story, assuming someone can decipher it.
Small parenthesis: I refuse to accept that Wesker constantly wears sunglasses to look
cool or, trivially, to hide his emotions, so in every story I write, he will always have a
reason similar to photosensitivity (although it won't always be Birkin's fault, here though
it seemed appropriate).
Chris here made me endlessly tender, because, poor guy, every time he finds out
something new about Wesker he gets worse and worse. If I try to put myself in his
shoes, it is easy for me to imagine how lost, disgusted, and heartbroken he feels to learn
how the man he was unknowingly in love with was, in fact, not only someone who
never existed but also a questionable person, again to put it mildly.
I also wanted to take this space to wish a happy birthday to one of you readers (I won't
put the nickname because I don't know if they would like it), I hope you have a great
day!
Okay, it's a quarter to midnight, so fuck it, I'm posting now and not in the morning XD!
Thanks again to all of you!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 19
Chapter Notes
"G-go away…" Chris groaned, with labored breathing.
Leon did not, he re-buttoned his holster and closed the bathroom door behind him.
On hearing his footsteps approaching Chris became even more distressed. His fingers,
clenched on his short brown hair, tightened in a spasm of panic, but he barely felt the pain he
had caused himself. He was so ashamed, and the more he tried to regain control, the more his
mind refused to obey him. He didn't want to hear what Kennedy had to say, didn't want a
rebuke for being a fucking pussy whining like a brat. He deserved it, he knew he deserved it.
It was unacceptable for an operative of his caliber to break down like that, but he didn't want
to hear him say it because he knew that kick to his pride would devastate him even more.
"Fucking leave, please!" He begged him, coughing through his sobs.
Leon said nothing and flushed the toilet. Not that he was sensitive to vomit, he could not
count the times he had picked his mother up from a pool of her puke, completely wasted, and
cleaned up after her since he was nine years old. It was a stench he was more than used to,
but he wanted to make Chris comfortable. He sat in front of him, without touching him, and
remained silent for a few more moments, uncertain how to approach him. He had already
figured out the kind of guy Redfield was, and being seen in that state was probably worse for
him than what had put him there in the first place. He reached out a hand and placed it on his
fingers still mercilessly clenched on his hair.
"Let go," he murmured, stroking them gently, "come on."
Chris winced and slowly obeyed, sliding his hands down to completely cover his face.
"Good," Leon complimented him, patiently.
Baby steps. If he said or did the wrong thing, the other would clam up, engulfing his
emotions until he exploded in a far worse way. Surely it was too early to ask him for an
explanation, so he lowered his hand to his shoulder and squeezed it a little.
No reaction only restrained sobs.
"Holy shit, are you made of steel?" He joked, unable not to notice how thick his deltoid was.
Still nothing, but his breathing was becoming more natural. So he teased that muscle a little
with his fingertips.
"Stop it," Chris growled.
"Why?" Leon insisted, grinning defiantly. "Am I annoying?" He asked, continuing to poke
his upper arm. "Come on, tell me again how annoying I am!"
And finally, Redfield slapped his hand away, leaving his face uncovered.
Their eyes met, and Leon's sneer softened into a smile. "There you are," he said.
Chris hesitated and gulped, uncomfortable, feeling the urge to hide again.
"Keep those hands down, or, I swear to God, I'll bother you until you kick my ass," the rookie
admonished him, "you know I will."
Chris frowned, confused, but said nothing, just wiped his face and reclined his head back,
leaning the nape against the wall to take a deep breath.
"Good, breathing is good," Leon encouraged him, still with that sardonic note in his voice.
Christ, he really wants me to strangle him! Chris thought, but then he flinched, realizing that
what Leon was doing was actually very clever. He had diverted his attention from the
problem to his being a petulant little shit. He lowered his chin a bit so he could shoot him an
awed look, and Leon felt encouraged because he had found the right strategy to calm him
down.
"Serves you well, that's what happens when you eat chips that expired two years ago," he
scolded him, hinting at the toilet, "gross."
Chris snorted something that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and more tears
escaped his eyes. He was completely charmed by the damn kid, partly because he couldn't
believe he had managed to make him laugh at such a moment when his whole world had
come crashing down on him once again.
"Do you feel like telling me what happened?" He heard him ask, and there was no more
taunting, only tenderness in those big blue eyes. So limpid. So pure.
"I-I'm sorry about before..." Chris sighed, lowering his gaze.
Leon paled. "If this is because of what I said, I-.
"No," the other interrupted him. "No. I totally deserved that rant. I-I..." He fell silent, for
another lump had tightened in his throat and his chest ached as if a truck had hit him.
Leon sighed because he fully understood his inner struggle; it was a trap he fell into, too,
more often than he would have liked. On the one hand, Redfield wanted to keep up the facade
of the strong man, the soldier who mustn't cry, and all the other macho bullshit he had filled
his head with, but on the other, his emotions were churning inside him, and, sooner or later,
they would cause a mess if not managed in time. Chris seemed to have a softer side, well
hidden behind his outbursts and sarcastic comments, and it was a crime that he mistreated it
so much. He saw him blink in a desperate attempt to stop tearing up, and Leon would have
loved to tell him that it was okay, that he could and should let go, but he knew that, in all
likelihood, it would only have the opposite effect. It was much harder to console him than
Sherry.
He touched him again, this time placing his hand on his bare forearm, to let him know that
there was a connection between them, that he was there for him if he wanted him to, and he
felt him shudder under his touch. He didn’t mind and left his hand where it was, slowly
caressing his skin, almost absentmindedly, because it was working again, it was soothing
him.
"The man the kid was talking about," Chris swallowed painfully, "was my captain."
And Leon had figured that one out, but let him continue without interrupting.
"H-he was important to me. He was... The one I looked up to the most. The only thing I
wanted was to make him proud. I-I longed to be like him, goddamn it!" He cried, clenching
his fists. "He was the one who lured us to the mansion. He had us slaughtered, one by one!
He killed Enrico with his own hands! But somehow I kept deluding myself into thinking he
had integrity, values! and now I find out he was worse than I already knew! He even beat a
little girl! Threatened to murder her! Who the fuck was he?!" He burst into sobs again and
then said one last thing in a choked voice, "he was such a revolting freak !"
Leon gasped and instinctively withdrew his hand in fright, for he knew full well what that
freak was referring to. He had been addressed that way too many times not to. Although it
was irrational, Leon felt rejected in the worst possible way. If Redfield treated him like shit
ordinarily, what would he have done to him if he had known that he too was a freak ? Leon
knew this should have been the least of the problems, that the poor guy had suffered a series
of traumas that would probably ruin his life forever, and that he needed his help regardless,
but that small, apparently insignificant, word had really affected him to his core, perhaps
because it had always been Mike's favorite when gaslighting him. He had always been
cautious; in his hometown, no one but Mike knew anything about his sexual orientation, and
even when he had fucked around with others, he had always been careful not to attract
attention. Otherwise, terrible things could happen, from being beaten to a pulp to becoming a
pariah and losing face in front of an entire community. He was not ashamed of who he was,
but he was aware that the world did not want those like him, and apparently Redfield was
part of that world. He should not have been surprised; after all, that was the norm, he was
used to it, but somehow he had hoped that things would be different with him. He felt like
such an idiot...
Chris realized almost immediately that something had shifted because he felt cold when that
hand that held him so warmly left him, so he looked at him, confused and feeling forlorn, to
try to reestablish that connection, but Leon shied away and turned his face, refusing to give
him direct eye contact and making him feel even more singled out. Why had he become so
cold and detached all of a sudden? Maybe he had figured out that following him hadn't been
such a good idea, after watching him break down like a sissy. Maybe he wanted to leave
because he was too tired of having to deal with all his shit. Maybe he had simply treated him
too harshly and been an asshole one too many times. He realized that he didn't want Leon to
go, not because he might be a spy, but because he was getting used to his presence and the
comfort that came with it. It was addictive.
"Please stay..." He whispered with a hollow edge in his voice, ashamed of being so pathetic.
Leon winced and his eyebrows frowned for a second because he was totally taken aback by
his sudden request. Then he did just what Chris had hoped; he met his gaze.
"I'm not going anywhere," he reassured him with a half-smile, which, however, had not even
a quarter of the warmth of just before, and this led Chris to reconsider.
"No, no. After all, it's better if you do and take the kid with you. If you stay with me you'll
end up dead." Just like all the others , Chris added, only in his own mind.
Leon let out a nervous chuckle because he was not following his reasoning at all. What had
even made him think he wanted to leave? He had promised him his help, and he would give
it, no matter what. "It seems rather an extreme solution to me, and besides, it would be
kidnapping. I can't just grab a little girl and take her away without her parents being
informed. Okay, things are not looking good, but someone will come. The Army, the feds,
someone! We just have to hold tight while we keep investigating."
"You don't understand, I dragged you along, you are my responsibility!" Chris blurted out and
Leon laughed, shaking his head.
"It's so, so bold of you to even dare to suspect that you had any say in the matter! I would do
exactly the same things even if we weren't together. So wherever your crazy compass is
swinging between Fuck off, Leon, and Please, Leon, stay, just know that you're stuck with me
in any case because, to quote you, I don't give a shit what you think. And if you are
wondering if I am always this bossy, the answer is yes. Get used to it."
Chris sighed, not knowing what to reply. He was growing so fond of his sass, it drove him
nuts, but it was downright delightful. It was astonishing how quickly Leon was taking root
inside of him.
Astonishing and frightening.
"Do you work for Umbrella?" He asked him, out of the blue, carefully studying even his
smallest microexpressions.
Leon blinked, completely dismayed, and raised his eyebrows.
"What? No! Of course not!" He exclaimed. "Do you still think I'm a spy? Really?" There was
disbelief in his voice and he was even a tad offended.
"My captain was," he hissed, and although he was feeling slightly better, repeating it out loud
gave him another stab in the chest.
"Well, I'm not him," Leon objected, looking charmingly pouty.
And that was beyond doubt. In his place, Albert would have sternly kicked him out of all his
insufferable drama and brought him back to function the hard way. He would have never
been so sweet and understanding in front of such a pathetic display of weakness and
inadequacy. The mission always came first for him. Maybe after he would have calmly
explained to him why he had broken down and how to prevent any future occurrence of the
same issue, since he was so good at understanding characters… No, that was Leon’s talent.
Wesker’s one was being a master at understanding flaws and exploiting them. They seemed
alike but they were not quite the same.
Chris closed his eyes, conflicted. The rookie kept seeming genuine to him, and, at the same
time, too good to be true. "I'm really short on trust, Leon, and I am scared,” he admitted.
“Scared of making the wrong call and causing further death. Scared of trusting someone -
anyone- and end up screwed once again." He took a pause because he was finally seeing
himself with some clarity. "Scared of myself and of what I am becoming, who is nothing like
me and more like him with each passing moment. I've never been good with people but I’ve
never been evil ."
"You are not evil. Just a pedigreed asshole," Leon joked again, but this time he failed to make
him laugh. "What I mean is that you're hurt, and, sometimes, that fucks up your moral
compass, but you can still see the difference, and that's good news, for you can try to reason
and take a step back when things get out of hand. Not everybody is that lucky or that strong."
"Who was the sniper on the roof?" Chris continued with his questioning, pretending to have
ignored his words because it had now become a priority to figure out whether he could trust
him or not.
Leon hesitated. Nicholai worked for Umbrella and, although he did not know him at all, he
had saved his life twice and that was meaningful to him. He did not want to expose him to
Redfield, not until he had talked to him first. Besides, he had already omitted his existence
when he had reported what had happened in the forest; to admit that he had kept that possibly
relevant information from him would snap the frayed thread of trust he had built between him
and Chris up to that point.
"I don't know," he lied, "I saw someone on a roof, a man, I guess, before that monster
attacked us. I couldn't recognize him. He was too far away, but I'm thankful he shot to protect
me."
Chris snorted in frustration and rubbed his temples because once again Leon had seemed
totally honest to him. The problem was that he knew for sure how good he was at lying while
keeping a straight face.
"Ask me anything you want," the rookie encouraged him, "but I don't think it will do any
good. Nothing I tell you will ever be enough to convince you of my good faith. Only you can
take that step, but I'm not asking you to. I do understand, and I'm sorry that man, Al, hurt you
so much."
"Don't call him Al ," Chris dryly chastised him, bothered. No one had ever called him Al , no
one had ever had the guts to use a pet name with him. Rarely, very rarely, he had tolerated
being called Albert by him and him alone. To everyone else, he had been just Captain
Wesker. Only that son of a bitch Birkin called him fucking Al, and it drove him absolutely
insane, as the thought of the two of them together.
Leon thought back and recalled the files he had read on the two S.T.A.R.S. teams. "Captain
Wesker, then," he corrected himself, puzzled as to why Chris had reacted that way. Why did
he care so much about what he had called him? As if he had no right to be so familiar. He
also remembered how harshly he had thrown him out of his Captain's office, and a doubt
struck his mind, could he be… Jealous?
For fuck's sake, stop it! He scolded himself. Finding out if Chris was into men was not a
fucking priority! Not least because it was probably some bullshit he had made up just
because he would so desperately want to get fucked by him! It was revolting and pointless. It
wouldn't undo what Irons had done to him! The mask he had worn tightly up to that point
cracked perilously, and for a very long, interminable moment, he found himself still in that
awful office, with that pig grunting above him, inside him, and it was so vivid that he could
smell his revolting stench.
"Leon?" Chris called him, concerned.
He sprang to his feet to give him his back and flinched away, startled, when the other grabbed
him by the shoulder. He found himself facing his questioning, apologetic gaze and felt
himself being laid bare. He knew he ought to tell him something, an explanation, but he did
not want to give him the real thing. He couldn't say it out loud. He just couldn't! Redfield
would never look at him the same way again, would judge him, would see how disgusting
and stupid he was!
"I'm fine," he said, but, for once, his voice came out very hardly believable.
"Like hell, what's going on?"
"I've had my share of shit, okay?" Leon hissed, defensively, taking another step away from
him. "And sometimes I have flashes. I can't foresee them, but I can handle them. Don't
bother. Just give me a second."
"About the owner of the diner?" Chris inquired, giving him the proper leverage to build
another castle of lies.
Leon nodded because that was a trauma he could talk about. "I can see him staggering toward
me with those empty eyes, or devouring Polly's guts, or getting back up after I rip a hole in
his chest. And it feels so fucking real. Even the infected I shot in the street. They were people
before. I treated them merely as targets! A-and I feel awful even talking about it, because,
probably, you had to shoot your friends in that fucking mansion!" It was all true, and so was
the pain in his voice, only his flashes were not on those things. That realization made him
feel even more dehumanized and sickening because he was so selfish that he put his own pain
above the suffering of all those people who had died. Not only that, but he was also using
them as an excuse not to talk about Irons.
He covered his face with his hands. It was all wrong. He had gone in there to help Redfield,
not to prove himself, once again, so useless.
And then he felt it, that forefinger poking on his shoulder repeatedly.
Oh, come on, really? He thought, shooting an incredulous glance at the other.
"I can be annoying too, you know?" Chris taunted him with that sad, cheeky half-smile of his,
and Leon melted because he was so... Lame? Unoriginal? Fucking cute? All of those things at
once? And he felt that lust, that damn urge to kiss him, growing inside of him again, stronger
than his shame and all his waking nightmares, and it was so out of place and painful! It just
made him feel so much worse. Chris, on the other hand, was softened, because at that
moment Leon reminded him of Claire. She hated letting go, and she hated crying perhaps
even more than he did, but she was the sweetest when she held back - she always had been,
since she was a child. The rookie was just like her: a very tender fluffy little thing that,
however, could probably kill you with one glare if you pissed him off too much. He lifted a
hand and placed it on his head, ruffling that annoyingly perfect hair with a rough caress, and
Leon did not escape his touch; rather, he closed his eyes, tilting his head like a pampered cat.
"Are you going to start purring?" He teased him, but he didn't stop petting him.
Leon did not respond but advanced abruptly, and he pressed himself onto him, hiding his face
against his collarbone and clinging to his vest with his hands.
"O-oh..." Chris mumbled, surprised, yet unable to find the resolve to push him away, because
it felt weird, but also… Pleasant. He moved his elbow past his shoulder to hold him close and
let his hand slide down the back of his neck. He sensed Leon shiver under his touch and the
warmth of one of his sighs seep through the fabric of his T-shirt until it reached his skin. It
was like an electric shock and a wave of heat radiated from his gut till it enveloped him
completely. It was such a strange feeling, so unfamiliar. He closed his eyes, unconsciously
lowering his head, and was surprised to notice that Leon just smelled so good. It was not a
particular fragrance, not a perfume or a soap, it was him.
A loud thunder broke the silence and the two flinched away from each other, startled.
"Fucking hell, it feels like Spencer Manor all over again," groaned Chris, as violent rain
began to pour outside the window, followed by lightning that lit the street brightly and more
thunder.
Leon did not comment, as if he did not catch his words at all. He looked dazed and his cheeks
were flushed. "We should go back to Sherry. She might be scared," and having said that, he
fled out of the bathroom.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears ^^!

As always, due thanks to those who left kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and
comments, you are all my treasures <3!
Forgive me, when I posted the last chapter I was very tired and forgot to specify one
small thing: the substance Birkin tried to inject Wesker with was a sedative, to prevent
him from going to Spencer Manor and injecting himself with the Progenitor. This,
however, is not a tidbit per se; that drug is one that Birkin himself synthesized many
years earlier and used it on Wesker himself in one of their skirmishes, and it is also the
same drug that Irons used on Leon, because Umbrella, well aware of his disgusting
proclivities, made it available to him to keep him good and under control. If I ever write
the prequel about Wesker and Birkin I will probably go into more detail about what this
drug is, but basically, it is based on a paralyzing neurotoxin. I just wanted to tell you,
sorry XD!
Coming to this chapter, here for the first time we can see one of Leon's weaknesses. He
is very intelligent and is quick to understand situations, guess what others are thinking,
etc., but he is also prone to jumping to hasty conclusions. By that "freak" Chris was not
referring to Wesker's sexuality, nor was he expressing any judgment. Poor guy, he is so
dazed that, yes, finding out that his captain was having an affair with Birkin shook him
up, but along with everything else. Chris is going to have his own problems getting out
of denial, and it's going to be a long process full of things that are going to piss us off so
much, but he is not homophobic toward others. The only reason he gets so mad about
the whole Wesker and Birkin thing is that he's unknowingly fucking jealous, so he might
come off as brusque and borderline homophobic in his reactions, but really he's just
rotten envious.
In essence, his homophobia is more internalized and directed at himself.
Leon does not know this, however, and that is where the misunderstanding arises. The
first of many.
Regarding him, the poor thing just wants a hug, because he is really starved for
affection. He sought it from Nicholai and now he seeks it from Chris. Yes, he is also
attracted to him, but that is because, after what Irons did to him, he is so out of his mind
that he would give and do anything to erase that terrible trauma. As if that were not
enough, he also feels guilty for not being able to help as he would like to. I really have a
lot of sympathy for him, but, just to find a silver lining in this series of tragedies, Chris
is starting to become protective of him and that is definitely a nice step in the right
direction.
That said, one last communication and then I'll stop boring you, I promise: as far as the
update is concerned, I've decided to take a slightly wider window, so I might post
between Wednesday evening and Thursday evening, Italian time zone, depending on
which day is less taxing for me. Things at school are particularly messy, a lot of
colleagues are missing due to illness and other issues, so those of us who are at work
really find ourselves jumping through hoops to cover all the time gaps. I'm sorry I can't
be more specific, and I hope the situation will work itself out if only to keep a modicum
of sanity XD!
Thanks again to everyone for being here <3!
A hug,
Lady S.
P.S.: in case anyone is wondering, I am absolutely disgusted and heartbroken about the
outcome of the elections here in Italy, but let's not sully this peaceful corner with
politics. I just wanted to make it clear that the government that just came into office and
its premier do not represent me at all. Fuck 'em all.
Chapter 20
Chapter Notes
When Leon reached the living room he realized that Sherry could not care less about the
storm. She was standing on a chair in front of one of the bookcases, looking through the sheet
music, tossing the ones she was not interested in on the floor.
"Hey, hey, what's all the fuss?" He asked her, jokingly, because he didn't want to make it
sound like a scolding.
The little girl did not listen to him and continued her search, but she jerked when she saw him
beside her.
"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, embarrassed, "I get distracted when I'm doing something. Dad
does that too."
Leon smiled. "It's okay. What are you doing?" He insisted, starting to gather the sheet music
to stack them neatly on another shelf.
"No, that's not it either!" She complained, abruptly handing him the last volume. It was at
that point that she noticed a red leather folder half-hidden at the bottom, tucked out of sight
by other books. She reached out to grab it and would have fallen in her rush to pull it out if
Leon had not promptly supported her.
"Okay, now get down from there," he ordered her, in a slightly sterner tone.
Sherry complied, but more because she wanted to than to obey him, and placed the heavy
folder on the dining table. On the cover had been engraved a nobiliary crest with a spread-
winged eagle clutching a large gold-plated halberd in its claws. It looked very expensive and
ancient.
"What is it?" He asked her.
"Perhaps a key," she whispered laconically.
"For what?" Chris intervened, moving, at last, from the threshold from which he had watched
them in silence until that moment and joining them at the table.
"The piano," she replied, and Leon gave the other a confused look, but he seemed to have
understood, for he had seen something like that before.
"Is there a secret room here?" He inquired, remembering the one at Spencer Manor. The
Moonlight Sonata, obsessively repeated by Rebecca, that echoed through the halls still filled
his nightmares at times.
Sherry nodded, loosening the black silk lace that held the folder closed. "I've only seen it
open once, but I was little. So I don't remember very well," she justified herself. "But I heard
dad playing on Monday night. He hadn't done that in years. He must have had a reason to."
Chris frowned when he saw the first sheet, a bit yellowed by time, but the thing that caught
his attention most was the crimson writing in the center, neatly arranged. It was baroque,
sophisticated, and difficult to read, certainly not Birkin's, but not Wesker's either.
To the brave soul who ventures my halls,
Welcome thee, thou meek foe! Please, shy be not,
For I wander alone when night's hush falls,
And if thou heedest, thou pick what thou sought.
As Winter thou hid all sights from thy path,
All things thou embrace, and all thou dissolve,
But Lady Spring's forth, how fierce is her wrath!
She'll shatter thy ice, with mighty resolve.
And should the scorching bold Summer intrude,
she'd let him consume by his own madness,
They pretend to love, but their heart is crude,
The path before us brings only sadness.
Heed me, the Autumn, forgotten season,
for I can see thy Fall into treason.
"Oh, good, another creepy crazy ass, just what we needed! And this one even speaks in
rhymes!" Chris protested under his breath after reading yet another piece of nonsense. It
probably had some meaning, hidden between the lines, but in all likelihood, he would only
figure it out after he had gone all around the fucking globe to pick up an indefinite number of
puzzle pieces. At the end of the poem was a sign that looked like two coils of ivy wooden
together, maybe an elegant, unintelligible signature. Fuck, he had double vision from
exhaustion. Having broken down so miserably had drained him of the last of his remaining
energy. When Sherry turned the page he forced himself to look at that handwritten piano
arrangement of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, it was the same hand of the letter.
How many of those psychos there were?
At least, there was one good news: it wasn't the fucking Moonlight Sonata over and over
again. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples once more, unable to keep from staggering
a little on the spot.
"Hey, why don't you lie on the couch for a while?" Leon proposed in that soothing tone of
his, "I'll take it from here."
Chris looked at him, uncertainly. He had never liked to delegate, because, at heart, he had
always been a control freak, much less did he want to at that moment, but he was so tired that
the mere thought of standing for a single moment longer made him want to cry. Again.
"Come on, I've got this," insisted the rookie, gently pushing him toward the couch, "plus it
looks super comfy and I envy you so much."
Chris nodded, defeated, and took off his vest, before abandoning himself dead-weight
sideways on the couch. He didn't want to fall asleep, just take a break, but he practically
collapsed as soon as he laid his head on the pillows. Nor did he wake up when the storm
outside raged on, or Sherry began to play the piano repeatedly, just as Rebecca had done.
When he opened his eyes again, he did so several hours later, and only because he was
disturbed by unending cries. He wrinkled his face and it took him a moment to remember
where he was as he brought the living room into focus. He lifted himself up in his seat and
the blanket someone had laid on him slipped off on his lap. Only at that point did he notice
Leon, curled up on the opposite side of the sofa, his face drenched in a cold sweat, sobbing in
his sleep, blubbering unintelligible words as he stirred in spasms of sheer fright. His heart
broke and, for the first time, he had no more doubts. How had he even thought that this kid
could be an Umbrella operative? He was so young and he looked almost like a helpless,
terrified child, now that he could not hide behind his mannerist performances and prompt
lines.
Chris approached him with some hesitation, uncertain whether to wake him or not because he
did not want to upset him even more. Gently he stroked his head.
"Shhh, it's all right," he murmured to him, as he had done a thousand times and more with
Claire, after their parents' deaths and the constant comings and goings from the various foster
homes. In all honesty, he had never thought he would ever experience a more painful time
than that, but fate was an asshole that was not to be defied. If his little sister hadn't been there
he would surely have ended up badly, with all that anger in him, he would have gotten
himself into some nasty scrapes and landed straight in a cell or a pit. Contrary to what Claire
sometimes still thought, she had never been a burden to him. Quite the opposite, she had been
his anchor, his moral compass, and his strength. It had been hard to let her go to college
alone, but he had sucked it up because the whole point of all his efforts was precisely to set
her free and let her fly.
And now he had that kid on his hands -and, damn, he was a handful- that reminded him so
much of her from time to time. Christ, Claire would have fallen head over heels for a guy like
Leon. So cute, so bright, so insufferably perfect, and, in that case, he would have loathed him
and looked at him with extreme suspicion. Yeah, he was that kind of big brother, ready to
chop the balls off the first asshole who even thought about hurting his baby girl.
Too bad that asshole had always been himself and continued to be. He kept hurting her over
and over again, like when he had left her to enlist, and even for the past two months. He had
even promised her, once they had reconciled, that he would never disappear into thin air like
that again, and he had broken that oath. For her sake, sure, but it didn't make him feel any
better. For that matter, he should have never let Leon follow him, why the fuck had he?
Because he was an idiot as well as an asshole, incapable of rational thought, or, trivially, of
getting his head out of his ass when it counted, but maybe it was also because he so
desperately needed someone by his side, and Leon had been the unlucky guy who had gotten
that jinx.
He looked at him and denoted that his cuddling had succeeded in calming him. He was no
longer crying or even shaking, but he still had such a miserable frown on his gentle sleeping
face.
"I'm sorry for everything that happened to you," he groaned, "I'm really sorry. Things will be
better now. I will behave, I promise. We’ll fix this, together."
He moved his hand to brush a lock of his bangs away from his face, animated by an
incomprehensible desire to look at him better, now that he could do so without seeming
inappropriate and… Well, a creep.
He studied his features, caressing them with his gaze, unable to look away. The other person
he had observed for so long and so intensely had been only his captain. Sometimes he had
happened to watch him for whole quarters of an hour, from beyond the office glass, thinking
of nothing in particular but mapping his microexpressions. The way he furrowed his thin,
blond eyebrows until they disappeared under his sunglasses when he stumbled upon some
crappy report written by him or one of the others; the way the corners of his lips bent upward
just a little when something amused him but not enough to make him really smile; how his
cheeks turned a darker hue when he answered the phone and found himself arguing with
Irons for some time-wasting bullshit. The first time Chris had seen him without his glasses,
as he had stumbled into the locker room at the end of the evening shift, he had felt weird.
Warm. Even his captain had acted awkward in the face of his surprise.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he had told him when he had seen him jerk at his
entrance, "I just forgot my keys. Yup, I know, I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached to my-
O-oh!" He had not been able to hold back a squeal of surprise when Albert had turned around
and given him an alarmed bare look with his unshielded pale eyes, upset as if he had caught
him in his underwear.
Chris had smiled, for he had never been happier to be a dumb forgetful dork.
"Whoa! They're... Nice!" He had exclaimed, proving unequivocally that he was a douche, in
case that wasn't obvious enough.
Albert had given him the most genuine WTF expression he had ever received, and then he
had chuckled, shaking his head.
“Nice?” He had echoed him with a grin.
"I-I mean," Chris had stammered, embarrassed, "I always thought you had a scar you wanted
to conceal or.... I mean, something you didn't want to.... S-show," he had tried to justify his
dumbness, wishing he could throw himself out the window head first because it would have
been a far more pitiful death than the awkwardness he was feeling. "But, I mean, they're ni-
fuck! I mean, fine! Yeah, fine! Absolutely! Fine. I-I guess… Have a good night, sir!" He had
squealed, looking, panicky at the door without his keys.
“What’s the hurry?” Wesker had approached him, tilting his head like a predator. "Why don’t
you take a better look to be really sure, Chris? I mean , suit yourself" he had sneered at him,
making fun of his goofiness.
And Chris had found himself stuck between the lockers and his captain, standing in front of
him less than a step away, unable to complain about that sudden invasion of his personal
space because his imposing presence so cowed him. He had felt his face catch fire and had
been short of breath.
"So? Like what you see?" Albert had asked him in a husky whisper. "No, no, don't shy away,
now. Look at me, Chris. After all, it's what you wanted and what you do constantly, am I
wrong?"
And Chris had felt himself being sucked into those icy eyes, lost and completely terrified. He
had not feared that his captain would hurt him. It had been something else that had frightened
him. Something that, given the recent revelation of the affair between Wesker and that
asshole Birkin, acquired new slimy meanings.
What did Albert want from him that night? What would he have done if the janitor had not
entered the office for the cleaning shift, ending their conversation? And he, yes, he, what
would he have allowed him to do to him?
A shiver shook him from head to toe and he felt that knot of nausea in his stomach again. He
would not have allowed him to do a damn thing! What the fuck! Yuck! Just thinking about it
made his skin crawl in disgust.
He gasped as he felt Leon's head move and bump into his hand. He looked down at him just
in time to see those big blue eyes open slowly, still full of sleep. He was so tender.
"Mike, what the hell? Leave me alone, I'm tired!" The rookie mumbled, in a drawling, lazy
tone, turning away and stretching his legs to make himself more comfortable, before
clutching one of the pillows in his arms. Utterly adorable.
"Who's Mike?" Chris couldn't stop himself from asking, even though he was sorry to have
woken him up.
Leon snapped up as if he had been electrocuted and looked at him, panicked. "No one!" He
exclaimed, in a tight, high-pitched voice.
Then he gave himself a shake, and Chris could almost see his neurons lighting up like
Christmas tree lights back in full operation. He felt a little bummed; he liked to stare at him.
Congratulations, you sound like a real sicko! Fucking creep of the year! He scolded himself
because he knew it was wrong and also absurd. Why the fuck did he like looking at him? It
didn't make any sense.
"My best friend," he heard him explain, "well, my ex-best friend, we had a huge fight before
I came here and I think things are officially screwed now. I slept over a lot of times when...
Let's just say my mother wasn't exactly the best. He used to enjoy poking me when I was
sleeping, and you kinda look like him, big and tall as you are, that's it."
Leon lowered his gaze, deeply uncomfortable. Christ, what an idiot! What the fuck was he
thinking calling him 'Mike'? He had to sew that shit mouth of his. He quickly peered toward
him through his bangs, hoping he had bought that bullshit. He was generally not ready to talk
to anyone about his sexuality, beyond hypothetical partners, and after that freak, Chris had
definitely crashed to the bottom of the list of people he wanted to know he was gay. Noticing
that he had a relatively neutral expression reassured him, but it was still time to divert his
attention away from his slip.
"While you were asleep, I did some work on that poem," he began to say, but then shut up
again.
"And?"
"Nothing, it's pretty inconclusive. I don't want to waste your time,"
Shit... Chris thought, cursing himself. The last time Leon had tried to share his ideas he had
treated him terribly, and now he didn't feel like talking to him anymore.
"Also, Sherry was able to open that room," the rookie informed him. "She did great, she's
upstairs now, I took her to bed because she was exhausted, poor thing."
Chris turned his gaze to look at the opening between the bookshelves but did not head off.
First, he had to put a patch on his being an unforgivable dick. It was time to set his priorities
straight.
"Tell me about the poem," he insisted and even gave him an encouraging smile when he saw
Leon cast him a shy, suspicious glance. "Come on, don't make me beg. I was awful at
Literature, especially at Poetry. I barely understood what I read last night. Jill's the
bookworm."
"Jill?"
"Valentine. She's my partner. You had her too in your files." Chris replied, feeling safe
enough to share something. It was amazing the miracle a few hours of sleep could do. He felt
better, enough to hope that Jill was alive. After all, she was very capable, much more so than
he was.
Leon frowned. Partner? What did he mean by it? A colleague or a girlfriend? From what he
remembered from her personal file, Valentine was undoubtedly pretty, from an objective
point of view.
Not only straight but also taken. He noted, determined to put a stop to fantasizing about him
for good.
"I see," he replied, more coldly than he would have wanted, because it wasn't Chris' fault. It
wasn't anyone's fault, only his, for he was making fucking castles in the clouds, like a poor,
desperate prick, and then he was hurt by them. As if he needed any other reason to be.
Chris sighed and sat down next to him.
"Look, I get that I behaved poorly and, before you say it, I know you've already told me that
apologizing is useless if I persist in being an asshole. It's not a justification, but, last night, I
was very tired and very... I don't know. Angered? Desperate? Stupid? I mean..." and he bit his
tongue, annoyed, remembering how many times he had repeated those two fucking words
with Wesker, embarrassing himself even more.
Leon laughed briefly and turned his head to look at him.
"You're so cute," he told him, amused but not entirely sarcastic.
Chris chuckled. "I don't think anyone has ever called me cute before, maybe my mother when
I was a toddler, but I'm not so sure," he joked, a little uncomfortable.
"Well, being so awkward is the only thing that is saving you," Leon remarked, "but there is a
line, okay? Don't cross it, or we're done," he added, much more seriously.
"Fair enough," Chris nodded because he had had it coming.
"You don't really care about the poem, do you?" The rookie asked him, then, to test the
waters.
"Actually I do," the other retorted and then sighed once more. "I wasn't entirely accurate in
telling you about Spencer Manor," he admitted, "I purposely left out a lot of details to see if
you would betray yourself by showing you knew something I hadn't told you."
"Oh my God, you can be clever too, that's so, sooo shocking! You’re good at hiding it!"
"I'm sorry," Chris apologized again, without losing his temper. "That place was nuts, and I'm
not talking about the fact that it was crawling with zombies and other monsters. No. In order
to make my way through the mansion I had to solve riddles, find keys with shields, knights,
and other crap, move statues, find crests, and Rebecca, another colleague, even had to play
the Moonlight Sonata to the point of exhaustion to open a secret room. I don't even know
how those assholes managed to work there. Probably needed eighteen different keys just to
go take a piss! So, no, that poem is relevant, somehow, but it will probably take hours to
figure out why, and only if we're lucky. A whole city, assuming it's about the city, is much
bigger than a mansion."
Leon searched around on the couch until he retrieved a paper he had taken from one of
Sherry's notebooks and his pen. He had been working on it when he fell asleep. He
straightened it since it had gotten all crumpled up, and rested it on his leg.
Chris moved even closer to him, almost pressing himself against him to get a better look.
"You really are such a geek," he teased him, glancing at the paper full of notes and getting a
nasty look in response.
"It is a sonnet of English, or Shakespearean, inspiration. Three alternating rhyming quatrains

and a final rhyming couplet for a total of fourteen lines. See?" Leon prodded him, pointing to
the verses with the tip of his pen.
"I'll take your word for it, I really don't remember shit about all this stuff," Chris admitted.
And he had always found it pointless, but he kept it to himself, well mindful of the head-
bashing Jill had given him when she had heard him say it out loud. It had been during another
unfruitful evening at the office and even Wesker had given him a scowl about it, so, lesson
learned, poetry was great and he was just a sorry, ignorant sod. He would never speak of it
again. Never.
"There are four characters in the text," Leon explained to him, "and they are all represented
through metaphors: Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. Each season depicts one of them. Now,
Sherry describes her father as a quiet, cold guy who never loses his cool. The author, who
identifies himself as Autumn, talks about a meek foe and that leads me to think that William
Birkin was Winter. Spring is a woman for whom the author has high regard. He -assuming
he’s a guy- uses a title for her and I think he was in love, probably one-sided. There is this
verse: They pretend to love, but their heart is crude, so two couples, Autumn and Spring,
Winter and Summer, another man, probably..." He stopped and looked at him with concern
and even dread.
Chris sighed and averted his eyes. "Wesker," he guessed.
"Y-yeah," Leon confirmed, hesitantly, "but it could also be someone else, not necessarily-
"Believe me, who he was sleeping with is the least of my concerns," he interrupted him
abruptly and was so insincere, because he hated that news about his captain, on par with all
the others he had received, maybe even more so, but he didn't want to think about it precisely
because who Albert was screwing was not relevant to the investigation. "Please go ahead," he
said then, a little quieter because he had noticed how alarmed Leon had suddenly become, but
why was he? He thought about asking him directly but gave up on the intent when he saw
him refocusing on his notes and nervously tapping his lips with the back of his pen.
"Is everything all right?" He inquired.

"Just pondering," the rookie reassured him. "They were in dispute about something,
especially Birkin and Spring, but Autumn is strange. I mean, he teases him, and threatens him
but also seems curious and inviting, while he couldn't care less about Wesker, assuming
Summer is him. It sounds as if Autumn wants to encourage Birkin to talk to him as if to warn
him of something. Thy Fall into treason, thy Fall... Shit, I'm probably just making this up!"
He huffed, frustrated, and then turned back to him. "You said at Spencer Manor you had to
look for crests, was there something like the one on the cover of the sheet music? The eagle
with the golden halberd."
Chris shook his head. "And as far as I know, there is nothing about this guy in the
information I gathered."
Leon nodded, gloomy. "I'm sorry I couldn't get anything solid out of it," he apologized,
genuinely disappointed in himself, "it sounded a lot smarter in my head."
"Are you kidding? You basically explained this nonsense to me and, yes, maybe you are a tad
too imaginative in analyzing the evidence, but this is your first day. Go easy on yourself,
newbie," Chris comforted him. In getting up, he ruffled his hair with a brusque caress and
laughed at seeing him put it back in order frantically.
"You can survive without the styling, you know that, right?" He teased him.
"Just as you can survive without a hand," Leon answered him in a tone.
Chris chuckled a little more, then turned back to the secret room. "Have you entered it yet?"
"No, I was waiting for you. You're the one who knows the most about this, I didn't want to
risk contaminating the scene."
"Then let's go," Chris invited him, and Leon nodded with a coy smile.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears,
as usual the due ritual thanks to you who read this story, leave kudos, subscriptions,
bookmarks, and comments <3!
So, I'm a little tired tonight, so I hope to remember all the things I want to say.
First, please be forgiving, I have never written poetry in my life, in fact, I have always
kept well away from it even in my native language. I am not capable and, as a result, I
am not very good at it. I don't know what the fuck came over me when I decided to set
to work on a sonnet and I doubt I will do it again because it consumes too much time for
a handful of lines. I'm supposed to have maintained basic formal correctness, but I
confess I didn't pay much attention to the alternation of short and long syllables,
otherwise, I'd still be here letting my brain drip out of my ears. So, if it seems wrong or
incorrect, I apologize, I really put in all the effort I could with my poor poetic skills.
I will not tell you here who the author is, but the more knowledgeable of you on game
lore will probably be able to deduce the answer without too much trouble.
We will meet said author sooner or later, and I can say that this is a character I really
appreciate and I also believe has been underestimated by many, so it is my intention to
give said author new luster.
Let's turn now to Chris, who, at last, is acting like a decent human being (fucking
finally), but is still dumb as a brick. Until now we have assumed that he was a disaster
with women because, in fact, he is not interested in them, even if he is not yet aware of
it. But no, he's just a disaster, poor guy XD! When I was writing that flashback of him
and Wesker I was genuinely embarrassed for him.
And, for the record: should Wesker have decided to screw him, on all the desks in the
S.T.A.R.S. office one after another until he could no longer walk, Chris would have
loved every second of the ride. His denial almost makes me tender (almost because I
know the mess it will create later), but the truth is the truth, I don't make the rules here.
Too bad things didn't go in that direction. However, that night in the locker room was
probably the closest Chris came to getting wildly fucked by Wesker. That's because
Wesker is not made of stone, he has urges, and, at that particular moment, for some
reason, he had felt inclined.
Holy shit, how many problems it would have solved if Wesker had gone all the way
back then...
And on the notes of Chris' missed chance, I thank you again and hope you are having a
good week!
Oh, I almost forgot, in the next chapter we will see what Jill and Carlos are up to.
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 21
Chapter Notes
Carlos and Jill had reached the police station the night before, and although she wished she
had not stopped and continued looking for Chris, they both could not back down from
helping.
Inside the R.P.D., there was chaos. Her colleagues were running in every direction, trying to
coordinate their forces with the Umbrella militia and the army, which had just arrived in the
city to try to contain the contagion and create safe corridors to get citizens to safety, or, at
least, that was the official plan.
"Hey, you should lie down for a while," Carlos told her, concerned. He had been following
her the whole time, doing his best to help everyone he could, but they were both exhausted.
Plus it had been heartbreaking for her to see Brad's body almost in front of the entrance to the
gates, even if she had taken that blow like a champ..
"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Jill hissed, hurrying up a flight of stairs.
"Wait, slow down." He grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to turn around, "Staying clear-
headed is important, and you don't stay clear-headed when you're tired, in fact, you risk
screwing up that can endanger you, the guy you want to find, and the people you want to
help. I can go on a little longer. I haven't been around since last dawn," he told her, resolute,
and, seeing that he still hadn't convinced her, he resumed speaking without giving her a
chance to open her mouth. "What does this Chris look like? I swear on my mamà' s head, if I
see him I'll bring him to you right away!"
Jill sighed, for she was indeed tired. She had not kept a relaxed pace in France, then the
flight, the jet lag, the sleepless night, the day spent sweeping the city, the Nemesis, and now
the coordination. She nodded.
"Come with me," she urged him because at least she wanted to get to the office since she had
not yet had time.
"This place gives me the creeps," Carlos admitted, looking uneasily at the unicorn statue.
"And you should see it at the end of the evening shift when it's semi-deserted, it looks like the
set of a ghost movie," she agreed, "come, this way."
"Can I have a map?"
"There should be one in the operations room if no one has taken it yet. Once back in the hall,
go down the stairs and take the door on the right, not the one of spades, the last one. Go past
the reception desk and then follow the corridor to the end."
"Door of spades?" Carlos asked her, confused.
"This city is weird. You'll get used to it." Jill cut it short, finally opening the door to the
S.T.A.R.S. office.
She frowned when she noticed marks on the wall that, clearly, indicated a struggle, and, on
the floor, there were now-dried traces of small but substantial drops of blood.
Chris, for fuck's sake, what did you do to that kid? She wondered, distressed, but she was
reassured to see the open first aid kit on her desk. Maybe they had made up their minds. She
hoped so.
Shit! She cursed mentally, maybe if she hadn't stopped to question Carlos at the roadblock,
she would have been able to intercept them.
"Oh, what a big beautiful doggo!" The other suddenly exclaimed with his usual boyish
enthusiasm.
Jill turned to look at him and smiled, wistfully. "He was Kujo. Yes, I've always been an avid
King reader since childhood."
"Was?" Carlos asked, with those saddened dark eyes.
"Yeah," she nodded, "I had to put him down, about six months ago. He was old and sick. It
would have been selfish to make him suffer to have him with me for a few more days. One of
the hardest decisions of my life. God, what a shitty year!" She whined.
Chris had been wonderful in those days. He had been there for her both before and after. He
had helped her give Kujo the best day of his life. He had even carried him the three miles of
uphill trail to the lake and back, even though he weighed more than 70 pounds, because it
was his favorite place since they had arrived in Raccoon and she wanted him to see it one last
time. In retrospect, she recognized that hers had been just a foolish whim, but Chris had
indulged her no questions asked. In the evening, he had waited for her in front of the
veterinary clinic, and when she had come out alone, without her trusty companion of more
than a decade, he had brought her home. He had stayed with her all night, holding her in his
arms as she cried her heart out, until she had fallen asleep, and, in the morning, he had tried
to cheer her up by making her the best French breakfast she had ever eaten outside France.
For the asshole could cook as well. He had a gift, he would open a recipe book, and with a
snap of his fingers he would succeed, while she had tried dozens of times to make the same,
fucking, breakfast, getting only barely edible shit. She had appreciated the gesture, sure, but
she had also told him to fuck off because it was flat-out unfair that he was so good at it
without even having to make an effort. And then they had laughed, and mocked each other
like children. Fuck, it had been one of the worst mornings of her life, but, thanks to Chris, it
had also been one of the best. He had treated her with every care in the following days as
well, and if for work reasons he couldn't be there personally, he had instructed Claire to call
and keep her company, and she had been a real sweetheart, too. The Redfield siblings could
be two nasty-tempered pricks, but if you got lucky enough to get into their good graces, then
they went all-in in making you feel all their affection and part of their family.
"It's so stupid to feel sorry for a dog with all that's going on," he blamed herself aloud.
"Not at all," Carlos intruded, even though he had not been asked. "I've never had a dog. I
would love to. I did have a monkey, though, for a while, you know, back in Colombia. I don't
know if that counts."
She looked at him in curiosity. "A monkey?"
"A nasty little bitch, to be exact," he chuckled. "She started stealing food from the camp
supplies at night and no one could catch her. The kids loved her. I began to leave fruit for her
outside my tent, and slowly she began to trust me. We became friends. She even saved our
lives later on by starting to scream like crazy when an army platoon was about to surprise us
at night. I haven't seen her since then, because, of course, we had to move positions. She
came to say goodbye to me when we left, though, and it broke my heart to leave her.
Sometimes I wonder if she is still around and if she misses me as I miss her." He sighed,
seeing her pouty. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you sad! No one is allowed to be sad in my
presence!
Jill shook her head. "I was just wondering how someone like you ended up doing the job you
do. You're so out of place."
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes the current pushes you through unexpected ways,
and if you're smart enough to let it, something good pops up all the time, eventually. Like
you," he told her, sincerely. "I mean, I can tell you my story, it's not a secret, but not right
now. You really need to get some sleep," and in telling her, he finished clearing the desk to
allow her to lie down.
Jill sighed, then took her wallet out of her pocket and opened it. "This is Chris," she told him,
handing him a passport photo she had stolen from him when, for the umpteenth time, he had
had to redo his S.T.A.R.S. badge because he kept losing it.
Carlos smirked. "Are we already at the stage of keeping a picture of him in your wallet?
That's desperate, hon!" He teased her tenderly. "Regardless, I expected better," he
commented, looking at the somewhat anonymous guy with a pissed-off face.
"At least he's not a crazy-ass Russian twice my age," she retorted, lifting her chin, defiant.
"Says the one who tried to hit on him and was turned down at a speeding light. Yeah, this
poodle pays attention, and, ouch, that must have stung."
Jill couldn't help but blush, mostly in irritation.
"I wasn’t hitting on him! I was just trying to follow your suggestion to trick him into our
side!" She hissed, resentful because it was also Carlos' fault she had made such a fool of
herself.
"Hey, hey, don't blame me for that! I only told you to be nice, not to throw yourself at him. It
was bold of you to try to fool a fox, though. Dumb but bold. I’m sure he appreciated."
She gave him an annoyed look and then sat down on the desk. "What's the story behind you
two?"
Carlos shook his head, a little dejected. "There isn't much. He was the one who hired me for
Umbrella, but he didn't just do that. To make a long story short, I was more dead than alive,
all my friends were gone. He was supposed to pay the Colombian militia to free me, but, for
some reason, I don't know, he decided to take payback and kill all those motherfuckers. Then
he spent a week with me, maybe more, in the jungle, putting me back together so that I could
survive the trip to the states, but I only have flashes of those days. I was in terrible shape. He
fed me, gave me medicine to break my fever, treated my wounds, and he didn't do it because
he had to. He did it because he cared. I owe him my life. In what little I can remember, he
even tried to comfort me as much as he could. Too bad we didn't understand each other. I
didn't know a word of English, let alone Russian, and he didn't speak Spanish, but he was so
patient and gentle. He is very nice when he thinks no one notices. He's probably also
convinced that I don't have the slightest memory of those days, but he's hella wrong. Once we
got here, however, he dropped off the radar. For two years I managed to meet him only in
passing, and he always refused to even exchange a greeting. Until tonight. I'm not interested
in his reasons behind what he did for me in Colombia, those are his and if he doesn't want to
share them that's his right, but I want us to be friends. He... He is not well-liked in the ranks
of Umbrella. Everybody fears him and, most of the time, they try not to get in his way, others
really loathe him -not that he tries hard to be liked, apparently, he doesn’t give a fuck- and it's
such a sad thing. I think he deserves better and I want him to know that I am here for him,
because he has been there for me. This is, more or less, the story. That's why I told you to be
nice. Clearly, he's not used to it, but he likes it, and I think anyone has the right to be treated
like a human being."
"Want to know what I think?" Jill asked him, harshly.
He shrugged his shoulders, still with a smile on his lips. "Fire away."
She sighed. "Sometimes people are just what they are. Nicholai seems rotten and is probably
rotten. I mean, as soon as you realized what Umbrella really does, you immediately took a
step back because you are a good person. Him? He's in that shit up to his neck and he's
splashing around in it like a kid in a swimming pool. Maybe you're lucky enough to be in his
good graces, but what about all the others he leaves to die? The ones he personally kills?
How much blood is on his hands? You barely know him and maybe he is right in saying that
you have created castles in the air about a knight who does not exist outside your mind. I
really don't care what you think of him but... You remind me a lot of Chris in this. He adored
our captain and when he betrayed us it was a hard blow to him and still is. I just want you to
be prepared, that's all."
"And that's very sweet of you," he answered her, but with a hint of condescension. "I know
there are some people who are just shit, I've met my share, but there are also a lot of others
who didn't really have a choice. The first time a firearm was put in my hand I was five.
Nicholai has a tattoo on his chest that his cellmate gave him when he turned eighteen, when
do you think he first went in?"
"It depends on why he got in for," she retorted, not too sympathetic.
"He was a thief, but what's interesting is that he still claims to be one. A thief is not a
murderer by nature. He is made a murderer. I too have done a ton of dirty shit, some horrible,
but do I identify myself as a terrorist? As a kidnapper of children? As a heartless radical? No,
I did those things because I had, around me, people I cared about that I didn't want to leave,
because life forced me, because, for a long time, I didn't know any better. Does that clear my
conscience? Absolutely not, but it doesn't define me and I'm sure as hell it doesn't define him
either. He has books in his trunk, he has interests, things he is passionate about, and things he
hates," he chuckled, remembering something. "He was really a fish out of water in the jungle
which made him hypervigilant. Hot, humid weather is not his element, clearly. He definitely
can't stand mosquitoes and being sweaty all the time. What I mean is that he's not a machine
or a monster. He is like you and me. I spent my entire childhood believing that everyone
outside of our group was just a dehumanized thing, a target to be killed or a tool to be used.
Now I am adult enough to realize that is not the case. I want to believe in Nicholai because
I've seen that side of him and I'm sure I didn't make it up out of fever and delirium."
Jill couldn’t hold back an exhausted yawn."I hope you're right, and I do it for you. Not for
him, because until he proves something, to me he will remain a son of a bitch like everyone
else at Umbrella, and I'll treat him accordingly."
"That seems fair enough. Now get some rest. I'll see you in a while, and, don't worry, if I
meet Chris I won't tell him about the picture in your wallet, I'll preserve some dignity for
you," he joked, but waited until she had lain down, before covering her precisely with Chris's
leather jacket, with extreme care and tenderness, as if she were a little girl to cuddle.
"Light one of the table lamps for me, before turning the room one off, please," Jill murmured,
feeling that there was no reason to be ashamed of that somewhat childish request. Not with
Carlos. She had never liked the dark and, after Spencer Manor, even less. He would
understand without judging her.
"Of course, princesa. Have a good nap."
Irons parked in front of the R.P.D. with a mild sense of anguish. After being caught red-
handed by Vickers he had hidden, for a while, in the orphanage and, from there, had watched
through the cameras scattered around the station as the situation unfolded. He had seen
Kennedy flee from the two S.T.A.R.S. agents, return alone with Redfield, after a while, and
then leave again with that asshole. Doubt, however, gripped him. He could not know if the
three had talked about what he had done to the rookie, and although the idea of being
reported and even arrested did not distress him all that much, because he would easily be able
to drop all charges and come out clean, he feared Wesker's fucking pet. Redfield was a rabid
maverick, and Irons knew perfectly well that he couldn't wait to slaughter him with his own
hands, so he didn't want to risk crossing his path without being sure he could surprise him
and kill him first. The situation, however, had become complicated, and when he had
received a phone call from a furious Annette Birkin, he had realized that he could no longer
stay holed up until the dust settled, but had to get back to work and make sure that no one
went snooping around the sewers.
He closed the car with feigned calm and watched the commotion of people gathered in front
of the station gates with some curiosity. There were a couple of army trucks, but, for the most
part, it was the members of the U.B.C.S. who were running the games. He decided to ignore
them all, disinterested in their problems and walked toward the alley so that he could get in
through the side entrance without being too conspicuous. At the end of the day, he didn't give
a shit about what was going on, and if Umbrella had screwed up, they had to fucking sort it
out themselves.
He stopped, however, when he spotted some of Branagh's men intent on digging ditches in
the garden.
"What's going on here?" He asked.
The policemen shot him a frightened look. They all appeared exhausted and in shock.
"We bury our men," he replied, the bravest one. "We are trying to prepare the station as a
shelter, sir. There is no one available to retrieve the bodies at the moment, and the morgue is
full, so w-we thought we should bury them, at least, to show some respect."
Irons feigned a grave, contrite face and nodded earnestly.
"Carry on," he gave them his approval, but he had to force himself to hold back a grin of
triumph and delight when he saw, among the bodies lying in the driveway, the mutilated one
of Brad Vickers. The nosy coward had met the end he deserved, one S.T.A.R.S. down, four to
go. This also raised the odds that Redfield knew nothing about the rape. Irons was a longtime
predator, and although he had been decidedly careless in that particular scenario, he knew
that prey, more often than not, kept their mouths shut. His little dove was also a boy, and if it
was already unlikely that women would talk after such a short time, it was even less so in that
circumstance.
As he approached the doorway his mind wandered back to when he had first started fucking
the little bitch, and just remembering his stifled squeals, his desperate pleading cries, and his
gasps as he choked him, made him hard again. He was aware that, with all that mess, it was
unlikely that the rookie would ever get back into his clutches. but he would do anything to
make it happen. Not least because he and the little slut had a score to settle. Irons could not
bear to have been interrupted right at the most delicious moment when he had been on the
verge of the most fulfilling orgasm in years. Oh, no, he was going to catch his prey once
more and fuck him again and again and again until he was begging to be killed. That little
angel-face deserved to be punished for good after all the trouble he had caused him. And so
he was going to keep him alive, strapped to his work table in the orphanage, for as long as
that filthy bruise disappeared from his snow-white skin; until he was perfect again and ready
to be preserved forever in his collection. In the meantime, he would stuff him with his cock
whenever he felt like it and that would be often.
He gave his dick a squeeze from over his tweed pants, aware that his hard-on would hardly
go away unless he did something about it, and an idea crossed his mind, making him grin
with perverse amusement.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
Here we are at our weekly appointment, which by now I think will remain fixed on
Wednesday evenings (Italian time). As usual, thanks to everyone who is reading, leaving
kudos, comments, subscriptions, bookmarks, and commenting on this story of mine.
Irons is back (and no one is happy about it). I'm honest, I needed, in this part of the
story, a human villain, but I didn't quite anticipate how challenging it would be to write
this son of a bitch. To make a long story short (also because I may have already told
you, but I have a very short memory, forgive me), I have a particular method of writing.
I internalize all the characters when I move them through a chapter, and this is a
necessary process for me in order to make them as authentic as possible or at least try.
It's kind of an extreme version of "every character thinks he's the hero in his own mind,"
too bad Irons' mind sucks. I detest him and everything he stands for. He is such a
concentration of monstrosity and cruelty that he always leaves me a little dazed and
upset after writing about him. Obviously, he's not going to do anything good.
Carlos and Jill, on the other hand, are tender. He, at least for the moment, seems to have
taken a step back from hitting on her, since he has realized that she is into someone else,
however, he still treats her like a princess, which will be a bit of a constant in how he
will deal with her.
Jill, on the other hand, has now fully accepted his presence and has also begun to be
protective of him because she fears that Nicholai might let him down, and she tells him
so outright. My characterization of Jill is very much based on Jill from RE3R, where,
clearly, she is always very direct and does not take any crap from anyone.
In the next chapter, we're going to go back to Leon and Chris temporarily, with a chapter
that's going to be a bit transitional but I need to put in another detail that will be
important much later in the story. So we won't go back to Irons right away but expect a
pretty heavy chapter when we do. Don't worry, I will put the proper trigger warnings.
Again many thanks to everyone!

A hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 22
Chapter Notes
Chris looked out into the opening between the bookshelves and glanced inside.
"Wait," he said to Leon, restraining him with one arm and continuing to look at that medium-
sized, somewhat disused, and dusty room. There was a lab table in the center, and along the
walls were filing cabinets and shelves. "Okay," he murmured, taking the first step, "but don't
touch anything without asking me."
Leon huffed, "I'm not a child, you know."
"It's not that. There were traps at Spencer Manor. I don't want to see you poisoned by gas or
pierced by some spike," he explained, annoyed. "And you even had the nerve to treat me like
I was the touchy one!" He scolded him.
"Oh no, I never hid from you that I have a bitchy disposition," Leon contradicted him, trying
to enter the room. "Will you get the fuck out of the way, big guy? You kinda block the whole
door frame."
"Make me," Chris replied, amused and defiant, lifting his chin.
Leon gave him a shifty look, and on his full lips came a smirk. "The last two assholes who
played this game with me ended up respectively one with a broken hand and the other on the
ground holding his balls, are you sure you want to have this match?"
Chris chuckled, in disbelief. "Sorry, I'm having a little struggle picturing you as a tough one."
"Oh, really?" Leon didn't blink, that fire flared in his eyes again and he became reckless, once
more forgetting his good intentions. "Now that makes me curious to hear what you'd say once
you were on your knees in front of me. Assuming you'd be able to talk at all."
And there was something about the way he rolled those words on his tongue that dazed Chris,
making him feel cornered again, just as he had with Wesker that time in the locker room,
which was absurd because he knew full well he could kick that kid's ass in a heartbeat. So
why did he feel so threatened by his puny sass that was clearly a bluff? Without even fully
realizing it, he swiveled to the side, leaving the passageway clear, and a quiver shook him
when Leon patted him on the chest, passing him with a satisfied, almost purring "wise choice,
Chris. "
He followed his movement with his gaze, wandering his eyes over his back, lowering them to
his long legs and lingering, then, halfway across, on his butt, convinced that he was just
trying to figure out if Leon was hiding some secret training behind his less-than-concerning
features.
Knock it off, for fuck's sake! He called himself to order, realizing that he was staring again.
Fortunately, Leon was not paying attention to him and had already started snooping around
the room.
"Hmm, this is interesting," he heard him mutter.
"What?" He asked, reaching for it.
"There's years-old dust everywhere except on this," the rookie told him, pointing to a small
plastic case. "Do you have gloves so we don't leave- of course, we don't give a fuck about
tampering with evidence," he sighed, when he saw him grab it and open it without any
qualms.
"What's in it?" He asked, craning his neck to peek in.
"Nothing at all," Chris huffed, unnerved, and would have thrown the damn case away if Leon
hadn't taken it out of his hands to lay it on the table and examine it more carefully. He
focused on the dark gray foam rubber padding its interior, which had been hand-cut to
accommodate what? It did not look like a gun. A syringe, perhaps? No, not quite. He thought,
confused, leaning over to get a better look, and it was at that point that he noticed something
barely visible, letters that had become etched into the foam rubber, probably from a label on
the supposed syringe on which the ink had not dried properly. He tilted his head.
"W... No, it's PC, maybe PG, 63-W," he mumbled, then looked toward Chris. "Does that
designation mean anything to you?" He asked him, pinning it to the paper where he had
analyzed the poem.
"No, but you did well in spotting it, you have a keen eye," Chris told him, and it warmed his
heart to see him straighten up and smile, all proud to have received a compliment.
It was a strange feeling. Until that moment, it had never occurred to him to be on the other
side of the fence. He had always been the one to look up to Wesker, eager to make a good
impression and receive credit for it; he had not expected that it would be as fulfilling to be the
senior for someone else. Too bad Leon seemed so much smarter than he had been in the
beginning, so he only half-respected him. After all, though, even he, in the early days,
believed that his captain was nothing more than a pompous blowhard.
Now he understood that strange expression of tenderness mixed with pride that occasionally
appeared on Wesker's stern face, although it happened very rarely and only if he achieved
something really extraordinary and unexpected.
Such as surviving the Spencer Mansion.
A shiver ran down his spine as, whether he wanted it to or not, his captain's last moments
resurfaced in his memory.
He had entered the underground laboratory with Rebecca at his side, full of resentful anger,
and had seen him there at the computer, without a scratch, without even a spot of dirt on his
uniform, as if he had spent just half a day in the office. The blood had boiled in Chris's veins
and, at the same time, he had felt light-headed, driven only by his resentment. So he had paid
no attention to his captain's words of commendation and his sincere acknowledgment of him
as if he had taken it for granted that he would get out of that circus of horrors unscathed since
he was his protégé and pride of place in the S.T.A.R.S. unit. For he was his creation, in a way.
In those years of training, Albert had perfected his ground tactics and molded his character in
his own image, until he had reaped the rewards. With absolute coldness, Wesker had shot
Rebecca, perhaps because he was annoyed by her presence, but he had not killed her. He
could have shot her in the face instead of on her S.T.A.R.S. vest.
Why? Chris wondered in anguish.
Was it possible that that had been another reward? A prize for his hard work at the mansion?
Or perhaps because he feared that, by slaughtering her in front of his eyes, he would not
listen to what he had to say? Wesker had always loved the sound of his own voice and hated
that no attention was paid to him when he claimed it, but it had not been just that. Chris could
feel it in his aching heart, for, now, he finally realized it. Albert had opened up to him at that
moment, proudly showing him that horrible monster he seemed to adore just as if it were his
own child, his own creation.
Chris covered his mouth, shocked by those tiles that were horribly falling into place.
"He did it with Birkin!" He hissed with a choked, distraught edge to his voice.
Leon, intent on browsing the shelves, turned to give him a questioning and worried look.
Always so perceptive and caring. Chris looked away, feeling discomfort again, for there was
more to that horrifying recap of events.
"My captain. He had a degree in bioengineering too! You heard the girl last night, Birkin
called her his creation! And Wesker talked about the Tyrant in the same way! Did he try to
impress me, as if he thought I would pay no mind to the slaughter of my friends and - I don't
know - congratulate him? Or sided with him? And when I laughed in his face, hysterical, was
he ... disappointed?" Chris shook his head, pale in the face. "No. No, he was hurt! Oh, fuck!
SHIT!"
In a fit of rage, Chris grabbed one of the shelves and flipped it to the floor, startling Leon,
who jumped back abruptly. Then he shoved his hands in his hair, shaking his head.
"How could he even think that?" He groaned, reasoning aloud in panic, Did I give him the
impression that I would? Why! How?"
"Stop it."
Leon's order caught him off guard, or, rather, the peremptoriness of his voice. He looked at
him, searching for a direction for his mind that was spinning like a compass gone mad, for if
Wesker had believed he would be on his side, perhaps he had been right. Maybe there really
was something rotten and horrible inside him, something ruthless and monstrous, a seed that
would make him just like his captain.
"Whatever you're thinking is wrong," Leon continued, stepping over the shelf on the floor
and stopping in front of him. "Fucking wrong. I haven't had the displeasure of knowing this
asshole personally, but who he was is pretty clear to me. A psychopath and a narcissist."
There was icy anger in his explanation, and the more he spoke the more it grew, because, like
in a movie, all the viciousness Mike had done to him over the years was flashing before his
eyes. "Let me guess, he showered you with attention, he became a reference point, he was so
fucking perfect at making you feel safe, appreciated, maybe even loved, but I guess he also
punished you if things didn't go his way and then he belittled you, treating you like shit, like
an inadequate little freak!" He shut up, inhaled sharply, and clenched his fists, looking him
straight in the eye, imposing calmness on himself, but not toning down his resolve. "You've
done nothing to deserve it, there's nothing wrong with you and, above all, you're not
responsible for his delusion. The sooner you understand that, the better. Trust me."
"I watched him die," Chris confessed, feebly, he had not yet done so, because he was
ashamed and felt so tremendously guilty. Sure, he had told Jill that Wesker had been attacked
by the Tyrant, but he had never gone into detail and, more importantly, he had never admitted
what he had done. Or, rather, what he had not done. "I-I just watched as that monster passed
him from side to side with its claws a-and it felt.... good. R-right. So maybe I have it in me,
whatever he saw. Whatever made him believe I could…" His voice died over and he fell
completely silent.
"Stop it," Leon repeated even more firmly, "you are not what he wanted you to be. You said
it: you laughed in his face, at him and all his bullshit! Only you can decide who you want to
be, and you already have. You are here, determined to bring the entire Umbrella to justice.
Yes, you're a bit of an asshole sometimes, but you can't feel guilty about being human. That
man hurt you, and if for a fraction you’ve been happy he had met the end he deserved it’s
only fair. Cut this rope that binds you to him. He didn't deserve this power when he was alive,
let alone dead!"
Chris hesitated because, in the background of his head, he was also wondering where all the
resentment Leon was showing came from. He knew, of course, that it couldn't be toward
Wesker, since they had never met. Had it been his mother again or someone else? A
girlfriend? That ex-best friend? It was undoubtedly another raw nerve for the rookie. Or
maybe his was a cop-out, a way to distract himself, because he didn't feel free of Wesker or
his influence at all, and despite everything, maybe part of him didn't even want to be. It was a
frightening thought, one that took his breath away, because hatred, in a sense, still kept his
captain alive, whereas, if Chris had let go of that confusing tangle of feelings tearing him in
two, Albert would have died altogether, even inside of him.
Leon seemed to read his stream of thoughts clearly. "I know it's not easy," he told him, less
aggressively, "I probably also crossed the line and got pushy. I'm sorry. It's just that I've been
there. I spent years swallowing shit for someone who didn't deserve it, always feeling like I
was the wrong one and flawed. I don't want that to happen to anyone else if I have a say in
the matter," he insisted. For he had realized something else, when Chris did not get carried
away with all the bullshit that man had fed him with, he seemed really a good guy, stubborn,
sure, but also sweet and easygoing. "You're a better person when he's out of your head," he
said, getting straight to the point and well aware that that speech applied to him as well, but
as good as he was at giving advice, he was not so good at following it. Mike was still an open
wound for him, as Wesker was for Chris. It was clear and unfair because, probably, neither of
them deserved to be so hurt and feel so wrong.
Chris stood still with his head bowed, confused and with again that overwhelming desire to
run away from everyone and everything. Because he was conflicted again. Wesker had tried
to get him on his side; actually, he had seemed to take him almost for granted when he had
offered him an olive branch. Why?
He scratched the back of his neck nervously, and as the answer emerged in his mind he felt
that knot of nausea in his stomach once more, even though he really had nothing left to throw
up.
Birkin had let his Captain down and hurt him. Was he perhaps trying to cling to him? For if
so, then… something had been real between them, and, at some level, Albert cared for him in
turn.
Realizing this shocked him and made him feel even more self-doubting, scared, and
disgusted. He hurriedly left the room, eager to be alone.
"I need a minute," he mumbled, hoping Leon would not follow him.
He went out into the street, leaving the doorway open behind him and lit a cigarette,
determined not to think about anything, especially Wesker.
He looked up at the sky, facing a gray, cold dawn, and, suddenly, he felt the cigarette being
snatched from his hand.
"Gotcha!" Leon giggled like a pestering child, stepping back and bringing the swag to his
mouth to suck in a drag.
Chris tilted his head, giving him a crooked look, but he also bit his lip, intrigued. There was
something elegant and graceful about the way Leon moved, and that look of defiance that lit
up his eyes was driving him crazy. Plus, he was very good at stealth, he hadn’t heard him at
all until it was too late.
"You could have asked me for one. Rude," he scolded him.
Leon shook his head and took one last drag. "I didn't want a whole one, beside, you bid me
annoying, I don’t want to disappoint, sir," he replied, handing him back his cigarette in that
coquettish way of his.
Chris watched him stroll to the edge of the sidewalk, and another shiver shook him as he
brought the cigarette to his lips, although it was not the first time he had shared one.
"I have a question," Leon said, casting him a glance.
"Finally. You always seem to know everything."
"Ha! Ha! Very funny," mumbled the rookie, rolling his eyes. "Can you cook?"
Chris blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"
And Leon sighed, reluctant to admit that lack of his. "I'm starving, and Sherry will have to eat
something when she wakes up, too. Now, if I even try to go near the kitchen in the best
scenario I poison everyone, in the worst, I blow up the whole building. So, can you cook,
asshole?"
Chris laughed, amused by his embarrassment. "You're really asking me to make breakfast?”
He kept on mocking him, just for fun. He kinda liked to see him pissing off over nothing and
seeing his cheeks flushing.
"Screw you," Leon huffed, sounding out each syllable, “I’ll figure out something, thanks for
nothing.”
Chris sighed, “God, how touchy you are, pain in the ass,” he snorted. "But, seriously, how the
fuck have you survived until now without knowing how to put a pan on the stove?" Chris
continued to tease him.
Leon shrugged. "Microwave. Eating out when I could afford it. Saving something for dinner
from the canteen lunch at school. Not eating. Pick one, they're all true."
Chris winced because it made him so sad to think of Leon starving or warming up a desultory
microwaved pre-cooked meal, and he also felt a little bit guilty about having made fun of him
for it.
He had been lucky; his mother was very good at cooking and, before she died, had taught
him many things that still came in handy. When Claire was just a toddler, he had even started
cooking himself, more and more often, so that his mom could catch her breath and get some
rest. Those had been the best times of his childhood, the ones he remembered most warmly,
and although with Claire in college he no longer had many opportunities to show off that
hidden gift of his, he enjoyed cooking, it made him feel his mom closer.
"My mother was an alcoholic," Leon said, making the blood run cold in Chris’ veins. "After
my father died, she was never the same again. She never did anything for me and, by and
large, I tried to avoid her as much as possible. I would chug something when she wasn't
around, or hungover on the couch. No one taught me how to cook, nor did I want to linger in
that room more time than necessary when she was still around. That's why I snapped at the
spoiled thing, and, yeah, I am touchy because, good or bad, what I am is thanks to me, not
her. Of course, you couldn't have known that. I'm sorry, I should have explained it to you
sooner," he admitted, lightly, as if what he'd been through was no big deal, after all.
Chris shook his head resolutely. "You have nothing to apologize for, I ran my mouth. I
deserved a fuck you, and, well, I’m the sorry one. Again."
Leon chuckled, softened, because, by who knows what miracle, things were actually working
out with Redfield and he was really beginning to trust him, as well as enjoy his company.
They were even starting to set boundaries. "I suck at cooking regardless. I've tried, after she
died, a couple of years ago, well enough to realize that I'm a lost cause. I don't have the
patience to be at the stove or follow a recipe, I forget stuff in the oven. No, not my thing," he
joked, blushing. “So, for fuck’s sake, can you cook something or not?”
Chris smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest, glad he could help with something as silly as
making breakfast. Something ordinary, that didn’t include monsters or crazy scientists. Would
it be that bad to slow down a bit, and take a break from that nightmare? Probably, but Chris
was going to grant his small request regardless because he knew he had to make up for being
such a dick. Also, the thought of being of service was making him feel good, almost happy,
and that was a sensation he hadn’t experienced in a while.
"Don't worry, I've got you covered," he reassured him, and his heart fluttered a bit when he
saw him put down his sassy, defensive attitude and smile, contempt for being cared for, for
once, with that pretty face still soft from a not quite faded adolescence.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
Before due thanks, I apologize to anyone who may have had difficulty seeing the story
updates. I'm dumb and, at the last two updates, I forgot to check the notification of the
current date, so the updates, for those who have not subscribed, remained stationary as
of Sept. 28. Seriously, sorry about that! Fortunately Dan, one of you readers, kindly
pointed this out to me and saved the day!
Now, the usual thanks to those who are reading, subscribing, leaving bookmarks, and
commenting. You are truly special <3!
So, I know this chapter seems a bit transitional and with little content (other than Leon
and Chris buzzing around each other like bees on honey), but, and I think it's obvious by
now, through the chapters with Chris I am also slowly building Wesker up. What I like
about Wesker is that, RE5 aside, he's always working behind the scenes, you see very
little of him, and by the time you see him it's too late. However, this implies that despite
the fact that the story is very long, the occasions when we will actually get to see
Wesker will be limited, so there would not be much room to go deep into his
characterization. It is necessary for me to build him up indirectly, hoping that this
presentation of him between the lines will do him justice. Not least because the
conclusions about him reached by other characters may not necessarily be entirely true.
Now we come, however, to the really important element. As I imagine, you all know, in
Resident Evil 5 Wesker in order to keep his superhuman potential intact must inject
himself, in precise doses and at regular time intervals, with a compound called PG67-W.
Personally, I didn't like that thing at all, because it seemed like a lazy gimmick to make
Wesker artificially weak enough for Chris and Sheva to beat him (and no, I'm not going
to start talking about the fucking volcano that was supposed to kill everyone there just
because of the temperature in the crater, or Chris punching a boulder of several tons to
throw it into the lava, I understand the trashy streak but that was too much, sorry XD),
however, whether I like it or not, the PG67-W compound is canon and it is too important
to delete. The way I am, I had to give it more context than RE5 offered, though. In fact,
in all the other games where Wesker appears prior to RE5, there is no mention of the
damn thing. We don't know who synthesized it, or whether the instability it cures has
plagued Wesker since immediately after the events of Villa Spencer, in short, we don't
know shit. If this, as a gamer, annoys me a lot because I can't stand plot holes, fan-
writing side it has, on the other hand, given me a big assist in building my house of
cards *insert evil grin*.
I don't want to go into too much detail, but so far we know that Birkin, up until the night
before he disappeared, worked on a compound he called PG63-W and that, presumably,
it got to Wesker somehow. Of course, it is not PG67-W, but an earlier version that will
allow me, rationally, to make sense of the discrepancies and power imbalance we see
between the Wesker of Code Veronica, for example, and the Wesker of RE5.
I don't know, maybe many of you consider this unnecessary, and I don't blame you if
you do, but unfortunately, that's just the way I am: if I see a plot hole I have to fix it,
kind of like Wesker's use of sunglasses. It's stronger than me, pity me XD.
In any case, as much as they were in a toxic relationship, it makes my heart clench to
think of William's dedication to his former partner. He spent months barely eating and
barely sleeping to create a serum that could save Albert, from the instability he had
foreseen and the other had not considered because of his arrogance. He also calculated
every formula and every variable in his head, writing it on the wall of his study because
it would have been too dangerous to use the equipment in his lab at Umbrella. They
were screwed in the head, but there is romance in their madness, and theirs is probably
one of the strongest bonds we will see in this story. Their feeling was real and I'm sorry
it's gone.
On a lighter note: Chris, stop staring at Leon's ass, you pig!
With that said, I wish you a good week. I apologize again for forgetting that tick and all
the inconveniences it might have caused!
A big hug,
Lady Dumb (in this case)
Chapter 23
Chapter Notes
⚠ TRIGGER WARNING ⚠
As I anticipated two chapters ago, in this new chapter we will again be dealing with
Irons.
Attempted rape will be discussed in fairly graphic terms, so if these themes bother you,
there will be a small summary of the events in the notes at the end of the chapter.
You will be able to resume reading from the sentence, "Hey, is everything okay in there?
Are you changing or something?"
One more little warning: next week I will be away from home, leaving this Friday and
returning Wednesday. The past week has been particularly awful, full of commitments
that have kept me at work well beyond the hours of human decency. Unfortunately, I
have fallen a bit behind schedule, so next Wednesday I may be forced to post a shorter
chapter than normal (about 2k words instead of 3/3.5k as usual). I will try to work a
miracle to make it a little longer, but I'm afraid I won't be able to, so I apologize in
advance to all of you and thank you for your patience.
That said, I will see you again in the final notes.
Irons proceeded inside the station undisturbed because everyone had something to do,
besides, he was feared, and no cop would ever stop him without having a real reason, too
afraid of running into his wrath. He adored the regime he had managed to build in there, and
since that piece of shit Wesker had passed away, even giving him the grace to take most of
the S.T.A.R.S. members with him, there was really no one left to challenge him. Yes,
Branagh, from time to time, tried to raise his head, but he was easy to bring back into line.
After all, with a wife and three children, he really couldn't afford to lose his job. That would
have been a real disgrace!
He wasted no time and quickly reached the S.T.A.R.S. office where, completely unaware, his
consolation prize was sleeping placidly. He opened the door, taking care not to make the
slightest noise, and locked it behind him, then walked over to the desk on which Jill was
lying and observed her, not wishing to rush things too much. No genuine satisfaction ever
came from haste, after all.
Valentine had always intrigued him, but never completely. For one thing, he couldn't stand
that brash big mouth of hers, always ready to talk back, question orders, and constantly act as
if she were superior to everything and everyone. She was just an entitled whore, no more and
no less, and, in truth, he couldn't wait to treat her as she deserved and put her in her place.
It was a pity she wasn't a blonde, though, he loved blondes, they literally blew his mind, and
apparently he had a thing for blond boys, too. Definitely a good way to get out of a rut he was
almost bored with by now, after decades of honorable service.
He went back to focusing on Jill, lying on her side, helpless and oblivious, in front of him.
Maybe he could try dyeing her hair, after killing her, just to find a place for her in his
collection, although she didn't deserve such a spot of honor, since she was just filth with a
pretty face and a great slutty body. Even while facing a zombie-infested town, that little cunt
just couldn't pass up a pair of skinny jeans that nicely highlighted that juicy little ass of hers.
She was really asking for it. He felt the urge to grope her fucking butt, but he stopped to
reason, foreshadowing how she would react. Would she cry and beg for mercy like his little
bird? No, she would probably insult him and try to put up a fight like a rabid wildcat and this
Irons could not stand because it did not turn him on, rather, the exact opposite. His pleasure
had already been abruptly interrupted once, and he did not want to suffer that frustration
again, so he had to incapacitate her first, but how?
He could have simply killed her right away, but it would not have given him the same
satisfaction. In all those years he had built up so much frustration that unable to punish
Wesker for all the times the asshole had forced him into a corner, he now wanted to take it
out on the few remaining S.T.A.R.S.s, especially Redfield. It wasn't so much the prospect of
fucking that bitch that excited him, as it was imagining how Redfield would feel to find out
that, before he killed what, according to the rumors, was his woman, he had used her to
empty his cock. That was the real prospect that filled him with lust.
He looked around, searching for something to tie her up, and smiled when he saw a pair of
handcuffs, the ones Leon had abandoned on one of the desks. He grabbed them, happy as a
child, foretasting the moments that would follow. Sure, he could have popped into his office
to get another syringe and the paralyzing serum, but he didn't want to risk missing his chance.
Most of the men were in the lobby, still planning the division of tasks, but soon they would
be scattered throughout the police station.
No, he had to do it now and then hurry to hide the bitch's body in the trunk of his car.
Quickly he grabbed her right wrist and locked it in the cuff, but things did not go exactly as
he had planned. Jill, despite her unexpected awakening, wasted no time and reacted
instinctively, hitting him with an elbow before he could lock her other arm. Then she moved
to the side and managed to roll off the desk on shaky legs.
"Fucking whore!" Howled Irons, beside himself, and before Jill could completely escape his
clutches he grabbed her by the waist and slammed her violently back against the desk,
wrenching a cry of pain from her.
"I'll teach you to keep your hands to yourself, bitch!" He hissed at her, holding her down with
his weight and trying to block, as best he could, her fucking flailing. He narrowly avoided a
headbutt from her and grabbed her by the hair at the back of her nape to slam her face against
the desk, ending, momentarily, her struggling. He took advantage of her daze to cuff her other
arm behind her back as well but cursed aloud when she reacted again, kicking his knee with
her heel to get him off her. He crashed into her, once more crushing her with his weight on
the desk top, and gasped for breath, barely managing to keep her still. He was getting too old
for fighters, but he was still making it.
"Keep quiet and maybe I'll be nice," he told her, without, really, having the slightest intention
of doing so. "Come on, don't tell me Redfield never fucked you in here when no one was
around, you filthy slut."
He slipped an arm inside her sweatshirt and forcefully groped one of her breasts, squeezing it
between his fingers until he wrenched a groan of pain and disgust out of her. "See, you've
already started to have fun," he whispered, lowering her top and bra with a tug to touch her
living flesh.
Jill snarled in anger, her head throbbing painfully from the blow she had suffered, but she
could not, nor did she want to give in. She tried desperately to prop herself up on her toes for
leverage, but Irons slipped his other arm under her hips and pushed her further onto the desk,
taking her footing off the floor.
"I'll fucking kill you!" She shrieked, frustrated and nauseated.
"Oh, no-no," he chuckled, crushing her nipple with his fingers until it hurt as he rubbed his
boner on her ass, "I'll be the one to kill you when I'm done with you. I was thinking of hiding
your worthless body in the trunk, but maybe I could leave you here, spread-legged on the
desk with my cum dripping from your filthy, cold cunt. Wouldn't that be a good show for
your boyfriend?"
Jill's blood froze in her veins at the very thought because such a scene would have destroyed
Chris, even if he was not her boyfriend, so she stopped moving.
"Please don't do that," she whispered, in a far more submissive tone of voice, and she could
feel Irons' laughter vibrating in his flabby belly, pressed against her back, as his cock
plumped even more, pulsing against her butt.
"You're finally showing some manners, cow," he purred, smugly, and then stepped back a bit
to start fiddling with the button of her skinny jeans.
It was just what she wanted from him.
With an inhuman effort Jill managed to use one of his legs as leverage and turn on her back,
then kick him right in the face with her other foot, smashing his nose.
Irons went down thunderously and stayed there, dazed and whimpering, with both hands on
his face. Jill jumped off the desk and bolted at the door, just as, on the other side, the handle
was being lowered.
"Hey, is everything okay in there? Are you changing or something?" Carlos exclaimed loudly
from the other side when he couldn’t open it, and she had never felt happier to hear a friendly
voice.
"Help me!" She cried, sounding more desperate than she would have liked to admit, even to
herself.
"Move away from the door!" Carlos ordered, immediately alerted.
Jill turned around in time to see Irons unbuckle his gun from his waistband, and then she
lunged at Wesker's office door, shoving it wide open and slumping to the floor inside just in
time to avoid the bullet that would surely have killed her.
Carlos, still in the hallway, wasted no time and, after shooting at the lock, brought down the
door with a violent kick, unhinging it and crashing it to the floor with a dry bang that echoed
through the police station. He grabbed Irons by the shoulders and threw him back an instant
before he could enter Wesker's office.
The two men looked at each other in mutual bewilderment, both not quite aware of what the
fuck was going on, but when Carlos met Irons' spirited psychopathic eyes he immediately
recognized the threat. So he charged again, crashing with him against the wall, and firmly
grabbed the wrist of his armed hand, slamming it against the concrete several times until he
lost his grip on the gun. He grunted when the other kneed him in the belly and, for a second,
lost his hold, but Irons did not continue a fight he could not win. With a shove, he got the boy
off of him and ran away, from the office.
Carlos did not follow him and looked around, lost.
"Jill?!" He called to her, distressed. He had heard the shot, of course, and prayed that she was
not wounded or dead. When she leaped out of the office to his left he almost had a stroke.
"Hey, are you okay? Who the fuck was that guy?" He asked her, but she had no time for him.
Inside the office, she had managed to knock over Wesker's pen holder and, with a paperclip,
had freed her hands. Quickly she retrieved Irons' gun from the ground and set off in pursuit,
animated by blind fury. She had no plan, nor any ability to reason clearly. She was just going
to kill the son of a bitch at any cost.
"Wait!" Carlos groaned, unable to do anything but follow her at breakneck speed.
By the time Jill reached the library, however, Irons was no longer alone. There were three
agents with him, two of whom were his loyalists.
"There, there! She tried to kill me and she's armed! Shoot her! Shoot her!" Shouted the Chief,
pretending to be terrified, and, with his face entirely covered in blood, he was also incredibly
convincing. Jill did not stop, and like a tiger pounced on him.
"I'm going to rip your balls off, you son of a-" her voice died abruptly as the nearest
policeman tackled her, pressing his Taser against her chest. The electric shock went through
her body from head to toe, knocking the breath out of her lungs. It was a terrible, all-
consuming pain that caused her to collapse to the ground with a violent thud.
"Get your hands off her!" Carlos thundered, as soon as he crossed the threshold, and he too
charged headlong, paying no attention to his surroundings, interested only in protecting her.
He kicked away the asshole who had tased her, but before he could bend down to check her
condition, there was another gunshot that hit him in the abdomen, fortunately on his
bulletproof vest, but it still hurt like hell.
"Stop! Everybody STOP!" A voice shouted. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Carlos, crouched on the floor beside Jill with his arms clutched to his aching gut, looked up
and saw a black man enter. Marvin. A cool guy. He had met him the night before.
Before he could open his mouth to defend himself and Jill, Irons began ranting again.
"These two thugs have lured me into the S.T.A.R.S. office, and Valentine is at it again with
her baseless accusations, the ones her psychopathic boyfriend put in her head! When I
repeated to her, for the umpteenth time, that none of their bullshit made any sense, much less
foundation, that vermin held me down while she tortured me! I barely managed to escape!"
"That's not the way things went!" Shouted Carlos, through gritted teeth, feeling himself
boiling with rage.
"Shut up!" One of Irons' guard dogs intimated, approaching him.
"Touch her and you're a fucking dead man!" The other admonished him, straightening up,
and indeed, the policeman hesitated, intimidated.
"M-Marv!" Groaned Jill, in a trembling, unsteady voice, looking toward her friend. "Please
don't let him do this. H-he tried to rape me, for fuck's sake! I only defended myself! Look
around you! What's happening is also his fault!" And she was so enraged that she was on the
verge of bursting into tears, on top of that everything hurt, her face, her body, her wrists...
With a groan she sat up, clinging to Carlos who supported her while keeping a close eye on
the cop in front of him, ready to react to his slightest movement.
"More lies!" Irons growled, trembling with anger. "Until now I've been tolerant with you and
that dog of a boyfriend of yours, but no more! Throw them in a cell and get them out of my
sight!" He ordered.
Marvin gulped, uncertain, and passed an anguished glance from one to the other. He was no
fool and had been cursing himself for more than twenty-four hours straight for not listening
to Chris and Jill when he had the chance, but that situation was dangerous, especially for her
and her new friend. He soon realized that there was nothing he could do to prevent their
arrest. The safest way forward was to go with the flow and then later find a way to help them
more concretely. He, therefore, unfastened the handcuffs from his belt and was the first to
approach, casting Jill what he hoped she would catch as a look of understanding. Carlos
immediately flinched to retaliate, but she held him back, placing her small hand on the back
of his and squeezing it tightly.
They both let the officers inspect, disarm and handcuff them without further resistance, but,
now that he was incapacitated and with his hands pinned behind his back, Carlos paled and
felt really scared, because the last time he had been in such a situation all his friends had died
and he had come very close. He felt panic creeping under his skin, but he did his best to be
strong for Jill.
"It's not over, you filthy swine!" She hissed, as they walked past Irons.
"You can say it, Valentine," he replied, full of resentment, and he meant it but not right away.
"Marvin, you stay here and update me on any developments," he added, seeing the lieutenant
all too eager to accompany them. No, no one was going to release that bitch, that was for
sure. At the cost of personally killing every cop in that shithole.
When they arrived in front of the guardhouse, the officer in charge of cell control jerked as he
recognized Jill. He had never spoken to her, but he knew who she was. Everyone knew who
the members of S.T.A.R.S. were and what had happened to them, only a few months before
when a mission had gone horribly wrong, many of them had died, and the survivors had
come out half-crazed with shock. So he was not entirely surprised to see her there, but he felt
sorry for her, poor girl, so pretty and talented, it was really a shame.
"I'll open 9. Put them in together," he told his colleagues, "the others are all full. Do you have
his papers?" He asked, alluding to Carlos.
"I think the Chief wants them off the books," huffed one of the two loyalists, slamming the
two men's belongings on the desk.
"Fair enough, go ahead."
When the bars of the cell closed behind them and the officers were gone, having removed
their handcuffs, Carlos gasped, unable to hold back a quiver.
"Is everything okay? You're breaking a cold sweat," Jill told him, eventually managing to
regain some mental equilibrium.
Carlos tried hard to smile, but it was clear that something was wrong. "Yeah. Com'on, let me
see."
He pulled her close, but not too close. "May I?" He asked her, lifting a hand but not touching
her.
Jill nodded, but jerked anyway when he gently grabbed her chin and turned her face to
examine her injury. "Is it bad?" She asked him.
Bad was an understatement. Her left cheekbone was all swollen, the bruised skin shiny and
red, and it must have hurt like hell, too. "You still look beautiful to me, if I may give my
opinion," he tried to joke.
He is so dumb , Jill found herself thinking, but she smiled anyway, because he was also sweet
and reassuring. "Thank you for the medical opinion. Now tell me what's wrong with you."
Carlos sighed. "I don't like being locked up. I... Well, I've lived most of my life outdoors, and
the last time I... I'm sorry, I don't want to get emotional. You don't deserve my shit after what
just happened to you. You want to talk about it?"
Jill took a step back and went to sit on the cot, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor. "There's
not much to talk about. He tried to rape me and I managed to defend myself. I was lucky and
I don't want what happened to plague my mind, however, I'm glad you were there for me.
Fuck Nicholai and his grumbling, you are special."
Carlos blushed, because he did not expect it and was at a loss for words. She giggled, and in
doing so, a groan also escaped her, because her cheekbone had given her a terrible twinge.
"What? You flirt all the time and when a girl returns a compliment you get all embarrassed?"
She teased him.
"You just caught me by surprise!" He protested.
She got up, stood in front of the bars, and grabbed them, giving them a shake to essay their
resistance. She already knew that it would be impossible to open the cell from the inside. The
locks were electronic, so there was nothing she could crack open. She could only hope that
Marvin would do something to free them; she had caught his look of understanding -and that
was part of the reason she hadn't resisted arrest- but she didn't know how long that would
take. Irons controlled that shithole, and with Wesker gone, there was just no one left to stand
in his way and cover for them. In fact, their captain had always protected them, especially
Chris who had risked getting fired on the spot more than once over the years, but that
assurance was gone now.
She found herself wondering what Wesker would have done if he had been alive and if he
had known what Irons had just tried to do to her, and she could not answer herself precisely.
He probably would have unleashed hell, not so much on her behalf, but for the impact it
would have on Chris.
Always Chris.
His fucking favorite.
She didn't give a shit that she hadn't been their captain's pupil, especially in light of what he
had turned out to be. However, the way Wesker had always circled around Chris, even going
so far as to personally train him outside office hours, with whole days spent at the range or in
the woods doing who knows what had always alarmed her. She had never said anything about
it, because Chris had always been so happy to receive that shower of attention, and she liked
knowing he was happy because he deserved it more than anyone she knew. She had often
looked the other way when she had seen him return to work tired and covered in bruises after
a weekend of intensive training, and only now was she beginning to realize how toxic the
dynamic between the two men had been. As a result, Chris had made it through Spencer
Manor virtually unscathed, achieving the incredible, and, at the end of the day, it was only
because of him that she had been saved, at what cost, though? She winced, struck by a
sudden realization: Wesker had always trained Chris more than the others, but in the past year
he had hardly ever let him have a weekend off, and his dopey best friend had accepted it
willingly because, by then, Claire was in college, so there were no more commitments he
considered mandatory. It was too obvious for it to be just a coincidence, Wesker had wanted
Chris to survive at Spencer Manor!
A flush of anger shook her from head to toe. Partly because she couldn't stand the idea that
she and the other S.T.A.R.S. members had been used as cannon fodder in a bullshit
experiment, but there was more to it than that. Wesker had grabbed Chris in his claws and
planned to keep him there, like a toy, even after Villa Spencer. To what end? What did he
want from him?
A shiver of revulsion shook her from head to toe, and although up to that point she had
managed quite successfully to keep what Irons had tried to do to her out of her thoughts, the
memory of the ferocity with which that swine had come at her rushed over her like an icy
shower, making her shiver. It had been a very close call and she was aware that she had only
gotten lucky. Sure, she had managed to defend herself, but if Carlos had arrived only five
minutes later things would have been much worse.
Irons would have killed her after raping her, or the other way around.
She stiffened her jaw and clenched her fists, trying to swallow the lump that had grown in her
throat. She could not allow herself the luxury of whining like a little girl because that game
was far from over. Both she and Carlos would be in danger until they got out of that fucking
cell; moreover, she did not want to give Irons the upper hand by making him think he had
hurt or frightened her. No, she was furious and would use all that anger to make him pay.
Chapter End Notes
Hello everyone, my darlings!

As always, the usual thanks to all those who have left kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks,
and comments, and who are reading my story.
Now we come to the summary of what happened in the chapter: Irons, who is still
holding a grudge against Wesker, feels a lot of resentment toward the surviving
S.T.A.R.s. Having seen, from the cameras, that Jill was alone and asleep in the office, he
locks himself in with her and tries to rape her. Jill defends herself, manages to break his
nose, and resists until Carlos arrives.
Okay, coming to us, that Irons is a filthy pig we already know, and I don't think we need
to add anything to what we've said before. The only thing is that, for the umpteenth
time, the asshole got away with it, so we haven't seen the end of him yet. He will be
back, unfortunately.
Originally, Carlos was supposed to arrive a little earlier, but then I decided I didn't like
making Jill a damsel in distress waiting for the hero on duty to rescue her, trivially
because she's not that kind of character. Obviously, the experience shook her up, but
since Jill has a very different character than Leon, the two will deal with it just as
differently.
Okay, I apologize again for the probable, practically certain, inconvenience of the
shorter chapter next week, but being away for practically a week I will have very little
time or way to get my hands on it.
Thank you for your infinite patience!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 24
Chapter Notes
Jill turned to look at Carlos and was surprised to see him sitting in the corner with his knees
clutched to his chest. There was definitely something wrong with him. Up to that point she
had always seen him as very swaggering, even when he had first faced that zombie little girl
and then the Nemesis, he had always managed to hide his dismay behind a cocky smile and a
few jokes. It was so unlike him to be so scared and tense. She looked at him better and, for
the first time, Carlos seemed so young all of a sudden. At first glance it had appeared to her
he was about Chris's age, maybe even a year or two older, but now she wasn't so sure,
because he looked like a scared little boy.
She went back to sit on the only cot in the cell.
"A penny for your thoughts," she encouraged him.
Carlos laughed, but his was a short, nervous chuckle. "Believe me, that would be a really bad
deal."
"Maybe, but I'm still interested in them. You don't have to act all tough, we're becoming
friends, aren't we? "
Carlos's eyes recovered a little glow at the word 'friends'. "It's not that," he admitted, then,
with a sigh. "I'm not a tough guy and, if it were up to me, I would never touch a weapon
again for the rest of my life. Being locked in a cell brings back bad memories, that's all and
I'm trying to keep my mierda together."
"Such as?" She pressed him, in a soft, almost motherly tone.
He clenched his hands until his knuckles whitened and he was shaken by a tremor.
"When my platoon was captured, they locked us all in cages half as big, maybe a quarter as
this one, like animals. Then they started torturing us, one by one, first the girls, who fared
worse than everyone else, and were killed rather quickly." He clearly remembered their
screams as they were raped by those who were supposed to be guardians of law and order.
"Then us, one after the other. They beat us, starved us, didn't let us sleep, and gave us rotten
water to drink that slowly poisoned us, hoping thus to break us down and make us confess the
position of other comrades. I watched my lifelong friends die of starvation, gangrene, or
dysentery, their bodies decomposing in the cages next to mine. The stench, the flyes… I don't
know how I managed to survive so long, and then, they abandoned me among their bodies,
delaying my execution in the hope of gettin' me to talk, leaving me with the anguish I
could've been shot at any given moment. I... I'm sorry. I haven't found myself locked up
anywhere since, I didn't know it would plague me so much." He concluded in the low, hoarse
voice of a man on the verge of tears. But then he took a deep breath and blinked, chasing
away the tears and straining to smile. "But it's no big deal," he minimized, "I just have to get
used to it."
Jill, left speechless, continued to stare at him for a long moment and realized that, probably, if
she had been in Nicholai's place, she too would have killed all those sons of bitches with her
own hands, because what they had done to Carlos and his friends was as inhumane and
monstrous as what Umbrella was doing. Suddenly she reached him and knelt in front of him,
creeping between his legs to hug him tightly.
Carlos let a giggle escape. "Hey, this is nice!" He commented, holding her close to him,
"thank you."
"Don't get used to it," Jill snorted, "I'm not a hugger." And it was true, she wasn't, so why had
she done it? Which of the two needed a hug?
The truth was that she needed a break, a moment of stillness to gather her thoughts. She was
aware that she had done so many things wrong in the past months, like leaving Chris alone in
Raccoon.
She didn't even know why.
The little story she had told herself implied that she had done it for his safety, while she, more
cautious and better suited to espionage, would gather all the information she could in Europe
to nail Umbrella.
Yet things were not exactly like that.
She had sincerely believed at Spencer Manor that she would never see Chris again, and
although the fact that they had both made it out alive was, surely, something to be happy
about, at the same time this bond she felt she had with him had scared her to death. She was
frightened by her feelings for him. She would not have been as alarmed should it have been
just the desire to fuck him. No, it was the fact that she actively felt something beyond mere
lust that had made her feel caged.
And now she also felt guilty, because she had been a fool. Leaving him alone had caused
Chris to fall further and further into a spiral of hatred and vindictiveness, and, as if that were
not bad enough, that feeling that clenched the pit of her stomach was still there. It had not
gone away at all, and it did not seem intent on doing so. She also knew she could not place all
the blame on herself, because she was aware that she was human herself, but she was
determined to tie up that loose end with Chris once and for all. Whether it went well or badly,
she had to put a stop to it: become his woman, or, hopefully, be lucky enough to be able to
remain his friend.
That hug with Carlos, however, was making her feel good, and, all things considered, Jill felt
there was no harm in giving and receiving some innocent comfort.
She closed her eyes, abandoning the unharmed side of her face against Carlos's collarbone,
inhaling sharply. Beneath a barely perceptible scent of sweat, he smelled good, and he
certainly had much better taste in perfume than Chris did, because Carlos was vain. He knew
he was a good-looking guy, and he tried to make it shine to impress, while Chris, in that
sense, seemed to live on the clouds, and, not only did he not valorize himself in the slightest,
but he didn't seem to give a damn about it at all.
Fuck... How had she ended up in the arms of a stranger? An Umbrella soldier, no less.
Life was strange.
In his defense, Carlos seemed to be more than just a blowhard. He had a big heart and was
very passionate, so much so that he appeared, at times, as candid as a child. Was that why
Nicholai had taken him under his wing, although he did his best to mask that protective
instinct behind his unbearable expressions of stoic-affected intolerance? Perhaps. After all,
she was realizing it herself, how damn hard it was not to get attached to Carlos.
He really was like a puppy, and no one ever says no to a puppy.
"Then I'll preserve it in my memory as the most cherished of treasures," Carlos whispered to
her, dropping his fluffy, curly head against her shoulder, making her feel uncomfortable
because as much as it was one of his usual lame pick-up phrases, this time it had made her
heart flutter a little. She could almost hear Nicholai chuckling, wickedly, in the back of her
mind, because she was being fooled like a twelve-year-old girl by a few sweet words and a
pair of darling dark eyes. She couldn't help but wonder how that piece of shit was doing,
because Nicholai was also an interesting riddle. Fascinating, in a way, although she by no
means shared all of Carlos's high hopes for him. Surely, he would have mocked her for her
softness in that circumstance with his deep, Russian voice, and he would also have been right
because, with all that was going on, she could not allow herself such a distraction.
She was calling herself stupid when Carlos's posture stiffened in her arms and his hold
became protective. "I won't let that asshole touch you again, no matter what," he assured her,
and he meant it. He was even ready to get himself killed to prevent it. He had been unable to
do anything to save his friends in Colombia, and although Jill was only an acquaintance, he
was determined that nothing bad would happen to her. Perhaps, that way, he would feel less
guilty about not being able to help them.
Jill loosened the hug and sat down across from him with an expression that was both annoyed
and tenderhearted at the same time.
"I am not a damsel in distress to be rescued," she retorted, giving him a piercing look.
"As the chorus of this town sings: I don't give a shit. I will regardless, and you're right, you're
not a damsel, you're a princesa!"
"Fuck you!" She hissed, playfully but nonetheless upset.
"You don't like being called that?" Carlos asked her, perceptively.
She huffed, lowering her gaze.
"My father used to," she admitted, reluctantly.

"Is he-
"No. Or rather, I don't think so. I cut ties with my parents as soon as I turned eighteen. Let's
just say they didn't take it very well that I got tired of being their perfect little baby doll.
Fucking control freaks. They would have wanted me to attend a distinguished university, but
not a faculty that was too useful. Oh, no, because, at the end of the day, what they really
wanted me to do was to marry my father's slimy invertebrate partner's son, churn out a few
brats, and be a good little housewife. The degree would only serve to maintain social status
and gather dust hanging on a wall because beware of debasing the jerk they wanted to marry
me off to. They even organized a nice party with all their snobbish friends where the moron
was supposed to ask for my hand. They took it for granted that I’d go with the flow without a
peep. Rather I would have hung myself in the toilet, but I went to the party, only I did it with
my head shaved clean. I really put on a good show, then I took Kujo and fucking left. I
enlisted the next day, then, a few years ago, my captain notified me that there was a position
open here in Raccoon and that Wesker, a highly decorated ex-commie of his, was looking for
someone with my resume, and I was also looking for something new. So, no, by your norm
and rule, I'm nobody's fucking princess."
"Mmmh," Carlos mumbled, "I'll stop if you want, but that's not what I meant by it," he
objected. "It's a way of showing respect and being nice. I certainly don't want you to act like
a little doll, in fact, I would much rather be bossed around by you. It is much better to follow
you than Mikhail."
"Is that a veiled appreciation of my ass?" She inquired, arching an eyebrow.
Carlos laughed. "It was an appreciation of your person, but, for what it's worth, I must
respectfully admit that you have a better ass than Mikhail, too."
"Respectfully, of course," she echoed him, trying to show herself annoyed by his brazenness,
but it actually flattered her. Just a little.
"So? What's the plan now?" Carlos decided to change the subject.
"We wait for Marvin to find a way to get us out of here. In the meantime, it's your turn to get
some sleep."
Carlos cast an alarmed and suspicious glance at the bars and shook his head. "No way," he
sentenced.
"Irons will do nothing for the time being. He's a cowardly pussy and half the police station
saw us being arrested. Rotten as he is, not everyone here is on his payroll, he has to let the
dust settle before he can actually do anything," she reassured him. "Come on, you don't want
to miss out on the amenities Raccoon City has to offer, do you?" She joked, leaning back to
give some flaps on that awful cot.
"Holy shit! I don't know what a luxury hotel is like, I could never afford one, but I bet that's
what it's like!" He retorted, sarcastic.
"You mock it, but I once caught Barry sleeping here," Jill giggled. "He's another S.T.A.R.S.
colleague," she explained, in the face of his mute question. "He had a fight with Kathy, his
wife because he forgot their anniversary or her birthday, something like that. He was too
afraid to go home, but the bunks for the night shift were all occupied, so he took a cell. Chris
even pretended to grill him to get a confession out of him, making all the other poor people
under arrest shit themselves. They put on a full-scale act. God, those two clowns were
naughty together. Sometimes Wesker would split them up, just like you do with brats in
school."
"This Barry-I mean, is he ok?" Carlos asked her.
"Yeah, he's safe with his family, but that knucklehead Chris is pissed at him. They haven't
spoken for months, despite Barry's good intentions."
"That's really sad..."
Jill sighed. "It's not that I don't understand Chris's motives. He's right to be upset, but, I don't
know, after all that's happened at the mansion, why fuss about it? I know he misses Barry and
he's also a positive influence on him."
"Would you mind explaining what exactly happened? I understand there was a mission where
you and your pals found out about Umbrella and this guy Wesker, your captain, betrayed you.
Does Barry have anything to do with this Wesker?"
Jill sighed. "Kinda. That's a pretty long story."
"Well, do you have anything better to do?" He joked, pointing to the bars with a nod.
"Oh, yeah, the hairdresser at five but I guess I'll skip it, too bad," she giggled. "I'll tell you
about it if you lie down."
"If you want to get me laid, it will take much less eff-ouch! No! I was just kidding! I'm sorry!
I surrender!" Carlos exclaimed, laughing and shielding himself from a well-deserved slap
with his forearm.
"Blowhard," she hissed, but was actually amused.
"Okay, okay, you win," he huffed, getting up and sitting on the cot. "Happy now?"
"Almost. Down," she intimated to him, peremptorily.
"I obey, su Majestad!" He teased her, lying on his side to keep looking at her. Jill was really
something, and it wasn't just her looks that attracted him. Sure, she was really hot, even at
that moment, despite her swollen face and disheveled hair, but it was her character that blew
his mind. He was a sucker for bossy women. He wondered if he would ever have a chance
with her. Probably not with grumpy mama-bear Chris in the way. Bummer…
He listened carefully to her account of what had happened at Villa Spencer; about how Barry,
blackmailed by Wesker, had pointed his gun at her and locked her in that cell in the
underground lab, virtually preventing her from doing anything to help anyone else. She also
told him that Wesker had probably ordered Barry to kill her, but he had failed to do so
because they were friends and he was a good man, terrified that their monster of a captain
could hurt his little girls and his wife.
Jill stopped talking when she saw him slump asleep, despite the fact that he was trying to stay
awake to listen to her with all his might. She took off Chris's sweatshirt and spread it over his
torso like a blanket.
"Rest well," she whispered to him, tenderhearted, and she could not hold back the instinct to
sink, for a moment, her fingers into those soft, messy dark ringlets. "Bloody poodle," she
quoted Nicholai, mocking his thick accent, then she moved to face the bars, determined to be
on the watch.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears,
as always due thanks to everyone, readers, commenters, and those who leave kudos,
comments, and subscriptions, you are wonderful!
Tonight I am really exhausted, I have been away for more or less five days, at the
biggest comics and games expo in Italy (the Lucca Comics and Games), I have spent a
lot of money, I am voiceless and on the verge, probably, of getting sick, but I am happy.
Unfortunately, however, I have not been able to make the chapter any longer, I added
about 500 words today after returning from work. In the next few days, I will try to get
back on the right track and move forward with the writing, while hoping I won't get sick
for real.
In any case, I apologize for this shorter-than-usual chapter, I will try not to let it happen
again.
The focus is on Jill here. Probably, among the various protagonists, she is the one with
the least tragic past, in the strictest sense of the term - meaning that she did not suffer
severe grief and/or abuse during her childhood - but that does not mean that it was not
hard for her. Since the backgrounds of the others are particularly tragic, I wanted to go
and investigate other possible aspects that may have shaped her character. As I may have
mentioned before, one of the great things about the RE saga is that it doesn't offer
granite backgrounds, but instead lets our fanwriters' imaginations run wild. In this case, I
tried to imagine a very affluent family for Jill, but also a hyper-controlling one, where
her parents, especially her father, wanted to keep her under a bell jar and steer her life
until she decided to run away and be the woman she had always wanted to be, even at
the price of being alone (which was one more reason why she was attached to her dog).
Thank you so much for still being here and again a thousand apologies for the shorter
chapter, but, really, I tried hard to keep, at least, the day scheduled for the update. Also,
we have passed 100k words (and still have eons to go)!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 25
Chapter Notes
Chris tried to restrain himself from looking toward Leon as he set the plate with breakfast in
front of him. He felt tense, as if he were under scrutiny, even though he had told him nothing
beyond that, yes, he could manage in the kitchen. Everyone thought he was good, and they
had never refrained from showering him with praises every time he had prepared something,
but a mean little voice in his head had always told him that they had only complimented him
as a courtesy and because they didn't want to make him feel bad. After all, it wasn't like he
had ever had to work that hard to cook. He hadn't studied, it just came naturally to him, and
that was precisely why he thought he didn't deserve those compliments, assuming they were
sincere.
Only, Leon made him feel even more nervous, for some unknown reason. Chris would have
been sorry not to please him, or to make a bad impression on him, which was absurd since he
hadn't bothered at all not to be a bloody asshole. He felt like he was on the grill, and he had a
strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as if he had just come off a dizzying roller coaster
and had yet to recover.
"And one to you too, miss," he said, serving Sherry as well.
She thanked him heartily -showing herself far more well-behaved than Claire had ever been
in her entire existence- and thrilled, delighted, at the sight of the pancakes, which sent him
even more into paranoia. Those were no ordinary pancakes, for the pantry at the Birkin home
was the best-stocked he had ever seen, so he had let himself get carried away. Had he gone
too far? Would something simpler have been better for a little girl? Fucking hell, he was a
jerk!
Tense as a violin string, he sat back down at the counter, not daring to look toward either of
them.
Leon, who was watching him, let slip a silent little snort of amusement. Poor Chris looked
like he was in front of a firing squad, as nervous as he was. The muscles in his considerable
forearms were all tense as, to distract himself, he fiddled with the glass of orange juice in
front of him. Had he lied about his being able to cook? As little as Leon could judge,
breakfast seemed okay. It looked a little rustic because clearly, Chris was not a very refined
guy, but it smelled good, which was certainly inviting.
"Oh my goodness!" Sherry exclaimed, after taking her first bite. Chris lifted his chin
instantly, looking at her with sincere apprehension, ready to apologize profusely and get back
to the stove to make it right, but his face relaxed into a smile of shy relief when she continued
with, "These are so good!"
And at that point Leon was also dying of curiosity, so he stopped staring and cut off a piece
of pancake to put it in his mouth. He blinked, delighted and surprised by that explosion of
flavors. "Okay, marry me," he gasped, still mouth full.
Chris, who had just taken a sip of the juice, choked on it and coughed, painfully savoring the
acrid taste going sideways between his throat and nose. He coughed a few more times and
gave him a dismayed look. "Excuse me?!"
Leon did not blink. "Marry me, adopt me, whatever it takes, I don't care-
"Cut it out-
"No, you cut it out, I want to eat these pancakes every morning until the day I die. Period."
Chris blushed and looked away with an embarrassed laugh. "Fucking clown..." he hissed
under his breath, sensing that strange feeling in his stomach sharpen, but in truth, it made him
glad that his breakfast had been appreciated. By both of them, not just Leon. Right?
He peeked to his right to see what the damn rookie was doing and saw him scraping the plate
with his fork to retrieve the last remnants of food.
"You can have mine, too, if you want, and put something on those bones of yours," he
offered, giving his plate a subtle push to move it in his direction.
Leon lifted his head sharply, in his head a battle. He looked like a conflicted child because
clearly, the answer was yes, but it was also no, so he shook his head.
"You have to eat too," he told him firmly, "but you're going to cook them for me again
anyway. And, by your norm and rule, mine is not a request, it's an order."
Sherry, who in turn had finished eating, got up from the table. "Thank you for breakfast,
Chris." She murmured, politely, then hesitated for an instant. "Can I watch some telly?" She
asked, shyly. Her mother's answer would have been a peremptory no, but she was not there at
that moment, so she might as well give it a try...
"Sure," Leon exclaimed, addressing her with a big smile, "you've more than earned it."
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She trilled, lunging forward to snap a sticky kiss of
powdered sugar and syrup on his cheek. Leon ruefully held back a grimace and resisted until
she pulled away and left the room before rubbing his cheek vigorously with his napkin.
" What is it?" He asked when he felt Chris's gaze on him.
"Nothing," chuckled the other.
"I like gestures of affection, but not when they're so greasy, okay?"
"I said nothing," Chris insisted. "Hey!" He protested, then, when the damn brat stole a forkful
of pancakes from him. "What's your problem with asking? I even offered them to you!" He
complained, glaring at him.
Leon answered him with a smug, satisfied grin. "I'm… sorry?" He mumbled, far from
apologetic.
"Screw you," Chris huffed, amused and annoyed at the same time, and continued to eat what
was left of his meal in silence. He was beginning to loathe that strange feeling that had been
plaguing him ever since he'd had that kid on his foot, but it was also pleasant and warm.
"In case it wasn't clear enough, I loved your breakfast," Leon told him more seriously, and a
shiver of lust shook him as he saw him blush again.
"Yes. I got that. Thanks. Can you stop?" Growled the other, embarrassed, without returning
his gaze.
"Although," Leon resumed, "it looks like a bomb went off at the stove," he said, casting a
glance at the butchery Chris had made. There was the batter, dirty bowls and cutlery, pans,
flour, sweet potato skins, and other stuff literally everywhere.
"A grenade," Chris corrected him bitterly, but also with a hint of sweet melancholy.
"Huh?"
"And even today it looks like a grenade went off in here," he quoted. "Wesker used to say that
all the time. In general about the office, but especially looking toward my desk."
Leon stiffened, because, quite irrationally, he was beginning to be bothered by the man's
influence on his new friend, but he pretended not to.
"He must have been very important to you," he murmured, intending to get him to talk a
little.
And why do you want to make him talk? The judgmental voice of an imaginary Mike asked
him. You don't give a shit about letting him vent. You just want to find out if he's a fag too so
that he can fuck you like the shameless little slut you are! Come on, admit it, you'd love to
suck that juicy big cock right here and now and add some protein to your breakfast!
"He was..." Chris admitted, and he did so with such sadness that he swept away that damned
inner voice.
"Do you want to share some of that?" Leon prodded him, focusing all his attention on him.
"And what else is there to say? You already know everything by now."
"I know the events, but not how you feel, so you tell me."
Chris propped his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples with one hand, dropping his
gaze to the empty plate. "Well, I feel… wrong. So fucking wrong."
Leon waited without pressing him and returned to lay a hand on his forearm, just as he had
done in the bathroom, reestablishing that contact in all its purity.
"I miss him," Chris confessed, and saying it aloud, however much in a choked sigh, required
all his strength. "And I shouldn't."
"It's not something you can decide, you know?"
"Yes, it is!" Snapped the other, turning sharply to look him in the eye, again with that
irrepressible anger running under his skin. "He has caused so much death, so much pain!"
Leon did not blink and shook his head. "Sometimes I miss my mother, and she was a real
bitch. She made my life a living hell for ten years, and yet I still wonder if there wasn't
something I could have done more to make her love me. You can’t control it," he reiterated,
"because you did care, and you keep on caring. It can't go away with a snap of your fingers,
despite how fiercely you want it."
"He cared in turn," Chris whispered, and even that cost him a great effort. He didn't even
know why he was there being pathetic with a stranger, because that was what Leon was. A
fucking stranger. Yet, in a way, it was easier to let go with him, because he had not personally
experienced the events at Villa Spencer, and had not met Wesker, so he did not have the
extremes to judge him as Jill might have done. Just the thought of confessing all those things
to her made him feel like a worm, a disgusting, selfish creature who, after what she had been
through and the deaths of almost all their friends, had to be told that he missed that very
traitor of a captain of theirs. "In a twisted and gruesome way, yes, he cared too, I suppose," he
articulated, "otherwise he wouldn't have tried to get me on his side."
"Are you reconsidering your call?" Leon asked him, softly, trying not to sound brusque or
judgmental.
"No!" growled Chris, adamantly, and clenched his fists tightly.
"Then what is it that is distressing you so much?"
Chris took a deep breath and loosened his grip when he felt Leon's hand slip from his forearm
to the back of his clenched fist in a gentle caress of comfort.
"I should have done something. I should… I should have helped him! It keeps me awake at
night, and no matter how many times I tell myself it's right that he ended up like that, I feel so
fucking guilty! I was there, one step away from him, and..." he inhaled deeply, feeling his
throat tighten painfully, "I didn't choose to let him die, I just let it happen. I-I was frozen.
Years of training, working my ass off at the range and outdoors completely pulverized in an
instant!" And he couldn't help but think how, in that split second, Wesker had felt let down by
him and his poor performance, after all the effort he had put into training him personally until
he was the perfect soldier. This also hurt him, but he said nothing aloud, because he was too
ashamed of it, even in front of a stranger like Leon.
He gasped when he felt the rookie's grip on his hand suddenly become tighter to get his
attention. He shot him a lost look.
"I said," Leon repeated, well aware he had not heard a word, "that the situation you faced was
not something anyone could be prepared for. I get it, you're that kind of self-made guy who
thinks he's carrying the whole world on his shoulders. I'm like that too, for certain things,
probably for different reasons, but for fuck's sake, we're talking about zombies and monsters,
I think some self-indulgence is in order, don't you?"
"Self-indulgence? He's dead, Leon, and there's no coming back from that-
"Yeah, I know, I'm not dumb but-
"And it's not just him," Chris interrupted him once more because he didn't need or want to be
told that it was okay, that making mistakes, being scared and failing was human. It was all
bullshit. "I didn't do anything for Brad either. I have paralyzed again, and all I could see was
Wesker dying over and over and over again, like a gruesome horror loop. I almost let you die,
too."
Leon let out a laugh and, quickly, covered his mouth with the hand with which he had held
Chris until that moment.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I'm not laughing at the situation, because it's horrible. I just can't
believe how entitled you are. You didn’t do a damn thing. Period. I shot that monster. I got
myself chased. In short, I almost let myself die. You and that guy on the roof saved my ass,
and then you also kicked it, but we've put a stop to that, or at least I hope we have. This is
what happened, plain and clear, not the falsified reconstruction you created in your head just
to blame yourself for everything. I saw that you were in distress and I acted as I thought best,
but putting my neck on the line was my call and no one else's. You are a big boy, but the
world does not revolve around you, and you are certainly not responsible for my shitty ideas.
All I can say in my defense is that I didn't think that thing could be that fast."
"The track team," Chris muttered.
"Huh?"
"The duffel bag in your room at the motel."
"Oh, yeah, right. Well, they sorta kicked me out, but let's gloss over that."
Chris huffed, shaking his head. "What did you do?"
Leon thinned his eyes. "Why do you assume I was the one who did something?"
"Let's call it gut feeling, plus years of experience with a troublemaker sister. I'm resistant to
little angel faces like yours, and something tells me you're probably a worse hothead than she
is."
"I may have slashed the coach's wheels. She couldn't prove it, but she knew it was me. I wish
I could say that I did it for some noble reason, but, in truth, I simply could not stand her. The
feeling was mutual, but I didn't want to be the one to leave. Perhaps, in retrospect, it didn't
make much sense to react that way. What can I say? I'm a real master at tying offenses to my
finger, and she had been rude one too many times. Screw that bitch."
"As expected, a real shithead. Just like Claire," Chris mumbled.

"You should introduce me to her, we could become good friends."
"Hands off my sister, asshole," hissed the other.
Leon sneered, seductively, and returned to touch the back of his hand, playfully drumming it
with the tips of his fingertips. "I'd invite her on a date just for the sake of pissing you off," he
murmured, languid and teasing.
Chris sustained his gaze and smiled, menacingly. "Try that and I'll break that gooseneck of
yours," he retorted and knew from the sound of his defiant laugh that he hadn't scared him at
all. Only then did he realize how physical Leon was. He seemed to want to touch him at
every opportunity, and although Chris normally preferred to be left alone, he had to admit
that it didn't bother him to have his hands all over him.
"Getting back to the point of the talk," Leon resumed, regaining seriousness, "you really
should give yourself a break. Nothing that happened in that mansion is your fault, and neither
is what's happening now in town."
Chris looked away again. "You know, sometimes I feel like I get to the right answers only
when it's too late. Hours, days, weeks… Who knows how many crucial things I'm still
missing right now! No. It's not a feeling, it's the way it is. I’m just plain stupid."
"Just impulsive, for, if I'm a hothead, you're holding the crown, big guy. You can be a
hypocrite and complain about your sister all you want, but I put my hand on it that it's you
she got it from. Lucky for you, you now have me to keep you in check. You're welcome. I
want my payment in breakfasts, thank you very much."
"I can also cook dinner, you know. And lunch, and other stuff," Chris let slip, a little
exasperated.
Leon tilted his head a bit, shooting him a look through the blond wisps of his bangs. "Are you
inviting me to your place as a first date? Audacious!" He questioned him in a tone that was,
yes, playful, but also discreetly interested. By now he was giving in to that will of his to test
the waters. After all, he might as well have taken it as an innocent game. They didn't have to
end up in bed. Sometimes it was fun just to flirt a little, and it also made him feel less filthy
and sick because, precisely, it was a game, not a loophole to get laid in hopes of forgetting
what had happened to him. It was healthier, or at least it sounded that way.
Chris, for his part, arched an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "Prick..." He mumbled, but, in fact,
he wouldn't have minded inviting him home. Leon seemed like a fun guy to hang out with.
"We should have a beer, though, when things have calmed down a bit. Someone will have to
teach you what are the best places in town to go drinking."
Leon sighed, stood up, and began to clear the table, a little uncomfortable. "Actually I don't,"
he confessed. "Please don't mock me. I have my reasons," he felt the need to add.
Chris became attentive. "Is it because of your mother?" He asked him directly, for he had
never been much for twisting around speeches and sugarcoating.
The rookie winced and a fork slipped from the edge of the sink to the floor. He bent down to
pick it up. "Not quite," he replied, turning to look at Chris as he limply abandoned his back
against the edge of the counter. "As much as it bothers me to admit it, I'm nothing like my old
man. From the little I remember of him, he was the kind of guy who always had a smile on
his face, ready to help everyone and see the bright side in everything. He was a good man, a
genuinely good man. I'm not. I try, deluding myself in the old lie of fake it till you make it,
but the truth is that I am like her: moody, arbitrary, temperamental, unfair, and, potentially,
mean. I really don't want to see how deep the abyss is and how intensely it can look back at
me, so I keep away from that shit as much as I can. I don't want to end up becoming a black
hole for everyone who has the misfortune to be around me," he concluded. "Sorry for killing
the mood, but it seemed best to make that clear right away before I give you another
undeserved rant over an innocent joke. I know not drinking makes me look like a sissy, but
that's not the reason. Simple as that."
"Well, you can always have a coke, who cares," Chris downplayed, because, really, it wasn't
important. "And, for the record, if anyone ever made you feel bad about it, they're assholes
and you were hanging out with the wrong people."
And that's an understatement, Leon thought, but did not say, and started washing the dishes.
Christ, he had always hated Mike's friends. A bunch of ignorant, loud, sexist rednecks who
only cared about talking about pussy and football games. The nights spent at the pub with
them had always been a concrete representation of hell on earth for him, not least because,
when they finished their anything but high-minded arguments, it was not uncommon for them
to start making fun of him for not having a girlfriend, for not drinking, for not being able to
afford a nice new car, for often being quiet and not actively participating in their
conversations. Nothing seemed to work for them, but, after all, some of them had been
among the first to bully him at school before Mike put a stop to it. Several times the word fag
had even come out of their mouths, and the one who had laughed loudest of all at the
insinuation had been his own worthless piece of shit of a boyfriend.
Every. Fucking. Time.
Yet, the thing that enraged him the most was not Mike -he was an asshole, he had figured it
out pretty quickly-, no Leon was upset with himself because he had let them treat him like
shit for years, as if it was a normal thing, just because he was so pathetic that he didn't want
to find himself completely alone. Who the fuck do you think you're kidding? You really
believe they won't notice that you're a freak? That imaginary projection of his ex came back
to haunt him. Maybe it'll be okay for a couple of nights, but then sure as hell they'll see it and
it'll start all over again! Nobody can stand you, Leon. Stop trying so hard. You're only good
for getting boned hard, you slut, like that old sick fuck had done!
"Everything okay? I mean, you've been washing that bowl for almost two minutes," Chris
refocused his attention, "I think it's clean by now," he added, stopping at his side.
"Sorry, sometimes my head goes off on its own. Yes, we really should go out for a drink
sometime, thank you," the rookie replied, finally putting down that bowl and beginning to
clean the other dishes.
Chris scowled at that answer of neutral courtesy as if Leon had just wanted to be polite. Had
he asked him the wrong damn question? He didn't think so. He was aware that he was not a
champion at making others feel comfortable, but inviting someone out was fairly standard
procedure. And yet... Why did he always manage to say the wrong thing? What the fuck!
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "It was just a proposal, for fun. I mean, you don't have
to come if you don't want to," he told him, trying to make up for it.
Leon winced and hurried to set the dishes on the countertop while turning off the water. "No,
no! I want to come!" He clarified, frantically. "It's just a bit of 'new kid in school' syndrome, I
guess. I don't actually know anyone here in town, and I don't want to be hated right away," it
was true, but he said it jokingly because he didn't want to sound too pathetic.
Chris huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hated? You? With that face? Come on, don't
bullshit me! You look like you jumped straight off the cover of some awful girlie magazine.
Dream boyfriend and shit."
"Is that the title?" Leon teased with a nervous laugh.
"Fuck me if I know," shrugged Chris, "I've never read one and neither has Claire. She's more
of a tomboy than I am."
"My face has improved only relatively recently. Until a few years ago I was an all-boned
little toad covered with pimples. I looked like crap. That's the reason for these," he explained,
touching a lock of his bangs that still covered part of his face. "Adulthood is working
miracles," he added because Chris was clearly not believing him. He had been surprised
himself at the transformation that had taken place, and he could not understand how Mike
could have been interested in him before that moment. In spite of said miracle, he still carried
on his shoulders much of the insecurities that high school had left him, such as when he was
called Assy-bruffy because of the dimple on his chin. God, how he hated it, and, if he could
have, he would have sanded it down with a grinding wheel even at that very instant.
"And what were you like as a kid?" He asked Chris because talking about himself was
beginning to make him feel awkward, as were those dark blue eyes that kept scanning his
face for traces of that now-vanished ugly duckling.
Chris just couldn't picture Leon ugly in his head. From an objective point of view, the rookie
was practically perfect in his eyes. Annoyingly flawless. Flowing blond hair, big cerulean
eyes, a sleek little nose that looked like it had been sculpted by the hands of an artist, and
then that dimple on his chin which, now that he was staring at it, made him want to stroke it
with his thumb. Seriously, what the fuck more did he want? And then those full, rosy lips,
now bent into one of his lovely little pouts. He had never been that cute and never would be,
not that he cared, but Leon was one of those cases where the aesthetic dice had rolled in a
perfect throw. It was almost unfair how handsome he was.
He met his gaze and felt breathless as if a weight had suddenly rushed down on his chest.
They were close again, not close enough to snuggle as had happened in the bathroom, but
still closer than Chris considered safe, or appropriate, so he stepped back a little.
"Chubby," he answered his question, "at least, until before… Nothing," he cut it short. There
was no need to bring up his sad story. He could not bear to be pitied, and it was strange
enough that he even considered mentioning it. There was something bizarre with Leon,
something that made him feel safe enough to want to open up, as he had with Jill. Only, with
her, it had taken almost two years, not the time of a scarce day. Leon had even seen him
sobbing, and that had been witnessed just by Claire and not more than a couple of times in
more than ten years.
Leon blinked in mute question and Chris felt at fault.
"My parents died in a car accident when I was fourteen. Things kinda fell apart after that," he
summarized, omitting that he was also in the car and, more importantly, that they were on
their way back from an evening at the arcade for his birthday.
The last one he had ever celebrated.
This detail he hadn’t told Jill either.
He had never forgiven himself for being so pushy about going to the fucking arcade. His
father, who worked as a truck driver to support the family, had just returned from a long trip.
He was tired, one could see it in his face, but no, he, being the spoiled little shit he had been,
had stubbornly insisted until his parents had given in and taken him out, leaving Claire with
their neighbor, because, for one night, he didn't want her around. On the way back his father
had fallen asleep at the wheel on the highway, the car had gone off the road, and they had
crashed. His parents had died because he had wanted to go play some shitty video games as a
fucking brat who couldn’t wait until the next day. He had made his sister an orphan on a
whim. He had had nightmares for years, and from time to time, though very rarely, he still
found himself back in that fucking car.
It had been all his fault and he did not want to hear otherwise, regardless of whether it was
his sister, a specialist, or whoever said it. That was the reason he didn't speak about it in
detail. They were gone because of him, and no shrink could ever convince him that it was
not. He could and should have avoided it, just as he could have been quicker in bringing the
antidote to Richard, or in helping Albert at Spencer Manor, or Brad, just the night before. The
list was getting longer and longer and he hated himself for it.
"I'm so sorry," Leon murmured, and although it was a simple matter-of-fact statement, Chris
felt it was sincere, because he, too, had lost both parents, in a way. He knew what it meant.
Chris looked at those big eyes full of understanding and could not help but wonder what he
had done to deserve such a precious, clingy little thing, who was also a pain in the ass, sure,
but was nevertheless managing to make him feel better, almost good. Like a ray of sunshine
after weeks of mist.
To think that he had assumed he was a spy, what a moron...
"It's been a long time," he closed the conversation, "now let's get back to work. There's a lot
of stuff to go through in that room."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my treasures!
As always, due thanks to all of you, readers, commenters, subscribers, and kudoers (not
sure if that exists as a word, whatever, it exists now XD) for still being here!
This chapter was not supposed to exist either. I mean, there was supposed to be a short
scene between Leon and Chris, then move on to Nicholai and get on with events,
instead, as often happens with undisciplined children I gave Leon and Chris a finger and
they took the whole chapter, longer than usual also to make up for the brevity of the last
one.
So what happened? As Jill had already anticipated in one of the past chapters, Chris is a
total goofball in everyday situations, and this chapter is a bit of a testament to that.
Another problem he has, which unfortunately is common to many people, is being
convinced that if you are good at something without special effort, then that thing is
worthless. Also, he cannot handle compliments. It's very endearing, and Leon is a
spiteful little shit in pestering him about it, but it's his way of flirting. It has to be put up
with. I love Leon, but he has his edges and unbearable traits too, at least he is aware of
them too.
Beyond the fluff, however, this is also a chapter of bad omens. Needless to kid
ourselves, we all know the problems Leon will run into in the future, with alcohol but
not only that. These are all issues I plan to explore, so it gave me a strange feeling to
write him so young and full of good intentions, already knowing that it won't last.
As for Chris's past, I had already decided that the accident that caused his parents' death
was due to something he had wanted. I was uncertain until the very end, however, about
whether it happened on the very night of his birthday, and ultimately I decided to go all
the way and paint the worst possible scenario. Obviously, Chris's perception of what
happened is distorted, as well as completely wrong. He is not to blame for what
happened; he was just a kid who wanted to celebrate his birthday and his parents had
been happy to take him to the arcade. That's how things happened, but that's not how he
remembers them, because the guilt has practically destroyed him. Since he never fixed
the problem, he reiterates the mistake, and so he feels responsible for the deaths at
Spencer Manor and for Brad's, despite Leon showing him that, even in those cases,
things did not go as he claims. This is kind of the extent of how broken Chris is, and
even this opens the door to more bad omens about how other things will go.
Ultimately, even though this was not a planned chapter, I don't regret writing it. Chris
also finally admitted out loud that he misses Wesker, poor guy. God, the mess that will
happen when these two see each other again. I'm preparing a bomb that's going to go off,
first in my face, then in all of yours.
Thank you so much again for being here to listen to my ravings! One last warning: I
have the flu and right now I have a fever (not Covid, thankfully, maybe the T-Virus). It
shouldn't affect the writing of the next chapter, or at least I hope so, but in case I delay a
few days, please be patient and bring me a vaccine XD.
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 26
Chapter Notes
Nicholai jumped down from the ventilation shaft, landing in the corridor with featherweight,
confident feet. He cast a glance at the clock; it was night again and he had hardly seen the
light of day for two days already.
What a fucking situation.
He had spent a good part of the time watching that team of underdogs face the Tyrant and,
unsurprisingly, none of them had survived. It had been a literal massacre, so on paper, a
success, yet he still had many doubts about the actual use of such creatures on the battlefield.
The Tyrants, the Hunters, and the Project-N were all very powerful, potentially devastating
monsters, but he did not understand the practical sense of them. He had had his fair share of
wars, more and less traditional, and he knew full well that the army that had more powerful
weapons had a better chance of winning, but what Umbrella was crafting looked to him more
and more like a shortcut to doomsday. Exploiting diseases was not, in itself, a new element in
the art of warfare. It had always been used, even in ancient times, as when, in the mid-1300s,
a general of the Mongol army had decided to throw the corpses of plague victims over the
walls of Kaffa, successfully infecting the Italians besieged in the city for nearly two years and
forcing the survivors to flee by sea. And what had they gotten out of it? An outbreak of
plague capable of exterminating a third of the then-known global population, carried
comfortably on ships by fleas, rats, merchants, and sick soldiers. History was a great whore,
fucked by all and heard by none. Perhaps that was part of the reason Nicholai loved it so
much, but the truth was that if one really wanted to seek the answers of the present, the best
place to look into was between the pages of a dusty, forgotten book. After all, human beings
never changed, they only invented new tools, and that was precisely what was happening
right now. He wondered if Raccoon City was destined to become a new Kaffa, or something
even worse. There were limits to the damage a plague victim could do, but a zombie,
however dull and clumsy, was on the prowl, and an entire horde could be a very nasty
business. They moved, seeking living flesh to devour where dead bodies stood still, and they
made no distinction between allies and enemies. If the Tyrants, the Nemesis, and, potentially,
perhaps in the future, even the Hunters and other creatures had become better controllable
and programmable, no doubt they would have proved to be a sizable asset on the battlefield -
at least as long as the adversaries had not found their own way to manufacture them, that
much was clear- but the viruses were just pure foolishness. They carried no battle strategy,
too many variables could go wrong with contagion, and the risk that they could backfire on
their creators was all too high.
"Don't you agree?" He asked in a half-voice, turning to Dr. Mueller's now glassy eyes. He
had killed him a few hours earlier with a clean, quick shot. The scientist had not even realized
he was dying, then Nicholai had eaten and slept for a while in the air vent because, given the
way things were shaping up, it was imperative to maintain energy and lucidity. He walked
over to the computer to double-check that he had deleted all the vaccine data from the
University database as he had been instructed to do, and his hand ran to the plate-shaped
USB drive he wore around his neck, where he had secretly saved that data. That had been a
risky move, but a leopard cannot change its spots, and that information was worth more gold
than he weighed. He'd been cautious and made sure he wasn't triggering any security systems
in performing the procedure, but some of the tension had stuck with him. In any case, it was
too late now to have second thoughts.
He was rechecking his equipment when, in the silence of the office, the trill of the satellite
phone jolted him.
"Zinoviev here," he answered, slipping the earpiece to his ear.
"Mission status," Sergei stated plainly, in Russian, skipping any pleasantry.
"U.B.C.S. team completely annihilated by the T-Thanatos Tyrant in approximately six hours.
Failed to collect a sample. Dr. Mueller terminated. T-Virus vaccine data successfully deleted.
On my way back to monitor Project-N," he replied, equally succinctly. "University
demolition scheduled in," he looked at his watch, "ten minutes."
"Hmm," the general muttered, not particularly impressed. "We could have used that sample.
Too bad, I would have given you a generous bonus."
Which wouldn't have done me any fucking good dead. Come and get it yourself, if you're up
to it, Nicholai thought but didn't say. "New instructions?" He asked instead.
"Yes."
"Figures..."
"Is that a complaint I heard between the lines, tovarish Zinoviev?" The general questioned
him, now giving him his full attention and disapproval.
Nicholai snorted. "I don't think you have a clear picture of the situation here. This place is
doomed."
"We are all called to make sacrifices when duty beckons."
Yes, with other people's asses, but he kept that to himself as well. "I think it's time to know
what's really happening. How did it go out so massively?"
"It doesn't concern you," Sergei hissed. "Let's not waste time on useless negotiations. You
want more money and you'll get it. There has come intel about the presence of a mercenary
from a rival party in town. The name is Ada Wong. We want her dead. Sending her file to late
Dr Mueller’s email."
Nicholai sighed. "And where do I find this lovely mademoiselle?" He asked, since continuing
to argue was pointless and would only bring him trouble. Sergei was a man whose patience
was not to be tested.
"She is to meet a journalist who is currently in detention at the police station. Kill him, too.
And, Nicholai? Do not question orders again. Ever," he threatened him, ending the call
abruptly.
"Well, fuck you," Nicholai blurted out, unable to hold back that somewhat childish outburst.
He was so full of it. He was tired of being treated like a goddamn dog to whom the ball was
thrown farther and farther in the middle of a fucking minefield. Sure, Sergei would pay him,
at least he always did that, but something was shifting in him that night, and the money did
not seem, then, so enticing compared to the price he might pay for it. He was well aware that
he was not indispensable. He was good, sure, and his services were valuable, but, at the end
of the day, his life was as expendable as anyone else's in the Umbrella's agenda. He was not
special. No one was.
He approached the computer again and looked with annoyed resignation at the email
notification on the edge of the screen.
If we go on like this I’ll be the one who’ll kill more people than the plague... He thought,
opening the attachment and looking at the face of that young woman with Asian features. She
was quite stunning, he thought, and she also looked dangerous. He didn't care much for her,
nor did he feel any kind of sentiment at the idea of having to kill her. Business as usual, but
the fact that she was working for a second party intrigued him. Who were they? What exactly
did they want? And, more importantly, how much were they interested in paying for it? At
the end of the day, the contractors cared little about who completed the job; he could always
kill her and take it for himself.
And that's the best way to end up dead too, but he wanted to keep an open mind. In the
meantime, he had to find her first, kill her, and only then would he think about what to do
with her client, whoever they were.
He left the office quietly, without looking back, and had gotten almost halfway down the hall
when he heard voices coming from one of the classrooms. With circumspection, he
approached the ajar door and peered inside. Seeing Umbrella operatives did not surprise him
all that much; it was not uncommon for the higher-ups to send multiple teams to do the same
job, or even to get in each other's way to collect combat data. What made him snort with
derision was seeing them all looking like Hunk as if they were his fan club, and it was also
pretty clear that none of them was the man himself. Not that he was totally against heavy
equipment like that, but, personally, he preferred to travel light and have the ability to climb
and jump off high places without ballasting himself with dozens of pounds of armor, and he
especially hated gas masks.
The sizable group was talking animatedly. They all seemed moderately pissed off and shaken,
and he couldn't blame them for that, only a moron wouldn't realize how screwed their current
situation was.
"Do you think he's alive?" A woman was asking, "we should have stayed with him."
"Of course he's alive, he's Hunk! Death cannot die, remember? And after what that jerk did,
it's just obvious he didn't want us around either. Holy shit, if that thing hadn't killed him I
would have done it myself! Do they even check the people they promote? Not even a fucking
amateur would have shot like that for no reason!"
"Well, the doc had a gun," objected another team member.
"So what? He probably would have shot himself in the foot! Instead, look at this mess! We're
going to get our asses handed to us for what happened, whether Hunk gets that sample back
or not, we're finished!"
"Now don't be melodramatic..."
"Melodramatic? It's infected the whole fucking town!"
"Hey, we don't know if it's our fault!"
"Oh, right, because surely there must be other assholes who broke vials and vials of virus in
the sewers!"
Nicholai winced, so it really had been an accident. Whatever mission Hunk had had on his
hands had gone horribly wrong, so even the top of the class could screw up. This amused
him, despite the fact that, apparently, that mistake had caused the ruin of the whole city. By
rats, as with the plague, for that matter. Another proof for his theory that, cyclically,
everything repeated itself in History, sometimes in a clearly grotesque way. He went back to
listen to what the operatives were saying, finding them discussing how to move on from that
point.
Oh, you won't, he thought, stupidity has a cost, before closing the door from which he was
listening and blocking it from the outside without being heard. He left the university by
climbing out a window and then when he was within a distance he thought was safe, he
pressed the detonator he kept in his pocket. The building was shaken by numerous explosions
and collapsed in on itself, covering, under tons of rubble, every trace of the research carried
out in it, including the Tyrant, the infected, Hunk's groupies, and any other possible survivor.
Nicholai did not even turn to look, as heedless as if he had been an employee who had just
left the office after a tedious day's work. He threw his duffel bag into the passenger seat and
got behind the wheel. He had just left the campus when all the city lights suddenly went out.
Fuck, he thought, asshole is free now. Had those two morons managed to find Redfield and
the kitten and leave town? He sighed again, pressing on the accelerator. One way or another
he would soon find out.
Sherry got up from the couch, sad, bored, and angry. She had spent the day doing things her
mother would never allow her to do, such as sitting for hours in front of the TV eating junk
food, but by then she was fed up. She kept thinking about her daddy and why she had not
heard from him yet. She was also beginning to be suspicious of the two cops she had let in
because they were doing absolutely nothing to help her or her daddy, and she almost regretted
aiding them now.
She looked out the door to the secret room, where, since morning, Chris and Leon had been
sifting through every notebook and every object that was in there.
"You said you would find my daddy!" She protested, irritated, "You promised!"
Chris gave Leon a look with a plea for help as if to say: please take care of it, I don't want to,
and the rookie nodded, a little annoyed, because it wasn't fair it was always his job to trick
the poor child to keep her quiet, all the more reason, because perhaps he had found something
interesting after whole hours spent looking at absolutely incomprehensible shit, since Birkin
wrote mostly in formulas and codes. He put the bundle of letters he had found in an
anonymous tin box into one of his pockets and approached the little girl.
"I know that you're upset, sweety, but, if we want to find your daddy, we must first-
"Don't lie to me!" She shushed him, raising her voice. "This room has only old things in it!"
"Yes, but-
"No! Say that you don't really care to find him! And I bet it was another lie when you told me
mom sent you to check on me!"
Leon sighed, taken aback, because he hoped Sherry would take longer than that to understand
why they were taking it so slowly, inside that room, but, after all, since she was the daughter
of a genius, she couldn't have been a fool, yet he had hoped for more naivete.
"Okay, now I'll tell you all about it..." He muttered, and Chris turned his head toward them,
alarmed.
"We think your father may have done some bad things-
"That's not true!" She shouted, blushing with anger, "My daddy-
"We're not sure," Leon lied, trying to save the day, "that's why we have to examine
everything-
"He's been missing for days! Anything could have happened to him and you just don't care!
How can you be so mean! I trusted you! You promised! Liar! You bloody liar! I should never
have let you in!"
"Okay, that's enough!" Thundered Chris, peremptorily, joining them in the living room. He
had had his share of pre-teen unreasonableness, followed by years of teenage insufferableness
with Claire, and he knew more than well how kids could go from one to a hundred in the
blink of an eye. "It's not his fault. I'm his superior. I tell him what to do and he-
"Then you're ... You're such an asshole, just like Uncle Albert!" She shrieked and Chris
winced because that comparison had definitely gotten under his skin, but he wasn't about to
let a 12-year-old girl provoke him.
"This conversation is over. We'll continue when you've calmed down. Go to your room," he
ordered her, and before she could protest again, he raised his tone in turn, "now!"
Sherry's face turned even more purple, then she burst into tears and ran away. "I hate you! I
hate you both!" They heard her scream as she ran up the stairs.
Chris sighed and cast a glance at Leon, who looked really mortified and guilty. "First time,
only child?" he asked him, with resigned mockery. He couldn't count all the I hate you-s and I
hope you die-s that his sister had directed at him over the years, and in many of those
circumstances he had well deserved them.
Leon gave him a limpid look, for he, too, was just a kid. So cute. "Maybe I should go talk to
her, she sorta has a point..."
"Let her vent on her own first, or she'll destroy you. Believe me, I've been there."
"Yeah, but she's right. We're not getting anywhere here. We're no closer to finding him than
when we arrived last night. And we still screwed up. Assuming and not conceding that
among all this crap there's anything that can nail Umbrella, we burned it out, because we
don't have a warrant and the only reason we got in here is that we tricked a little girl. The
dumbest of lawyers would kick our ass before we even got to court, and we're probably
already out of a job, if not at risk of arrest, if Birkin or his wife were to, I don't know, sue us.
And, before you say it, I know you don't give a shit and that probably, given the way things
are in here, they would have gotten off scot-free anyway, and so you're looking for evidence
linking what's going on in the city with Umbrella to feed the company to the media, but, man,
he's her father. If Claire was missing instead, wouldn't you want to find her as soon as
possible, regardless of what she might have been accused of?"
Chris looked down and felt guilty and dirty because Leon was so candid and unaware.
Fed to the media...
No, he wanted to kill them all, one by one. He was the judge, the jury, and the fucking
executioner, and he was just looking for a way to find them, which was why he didn't give a
shit about compromising the evidence, but he didn't tell him.
"I didn't say she's not right, but we don't know where to look for him, and as crazy as it is, the
only hope we have is in this house. Sherry probably also knows things she hasn't told us yet
because she doesn't trust us and, believe me, right now, she really won't tell us anything new
until she's calmed down. All we can do is go back to work. Chin up, she'll be fine, and you
did nothing wrong," he concluded, gently grabbing him by the wrist to induce him to go back
inside the secret room.
After a moment of indecisive resistance, Leon let him drag him, casting one last glance
toward the door that looked out onto the hallway. His gut told him he might be right to go to
her right away, but if Chris believed things would calm down on their own, perhaps it was
best to listen to him.
"And you? How are you? You've been very quiet." He inquired, holding him back a little
longer before he pulled away from him again. He also had the feeling that Redfield was
hiding something from him, but what exactly he could not say.
Chris snorted, amused. "It takes more than a pissed-off little girl to upset me."
"And we’re handling more than that," the rookie pointed out, tilting his head to give him a
slightly languid look because maybe he himself was the one who needed some attention and
couldn't help but demand it.
"I'm okay," Chris huffed with a smirk, "but thanks for asking, how about you?"
"My brain is dripping from my ears," Leon admitted with a groan, and, in doing so, he pulled
back his hair with one hand to massage his head. Chris gasped because, on seeing him bare-
faced for the first time, with his hair put up like that, his ephebe face, for a pale, terrifying
instant, was replaced by Wesker's square features. They did not look much alike, but they had
similar colors, and the effect was enough to freeze the blood in his veins. Was that why he
felt so strange around Leon? Because he reminded him of Albert? He could have listed trait
by trait how different they were from each other, Leon was petite, skin and bones and with
features still acerbic and soft, Wesker, in contrast, had been slender, but tall and well placed,
with very sharp, dry facial features, was it the eyes? He almost felt the instinct to compare
Leon with the 1978 photo he had found in Albert’s house, but he restrained himself because
he realized it was nuts. He didn't know if it was grief or guilt, or God only knew what else but
he was slowly going out of his mind, to the point where he was seeing his captain
everywhere.
What if it's not a coincidence? Asked the voice of his paranoia, returning to confront him
with the doubt he believed dispelled that Leon might be a spy. What if they chose him on
purpose because he looked like him? Just to screw you over more?
Fucking nonsense! He brought himself back to order, partly because Leon was looking at him
somewhat confusedly.
"Is there something wrong with my face?" Indeed, the kid asked, rubbing his eyes for fear
they were crusted or something and, in doing so, released his hair, which then returned to
frame his face, ending that terrifying and disturbing illusion.
Chris strained to laugh nervously. "God, how vain you are! Your pretty little face is all right,
don't worry!" He teased him, giving him a light tap under his chin, right on that adorable
dimple -which Wesker never had- to make him lift it a little. Leon, per se, flinched slightly
because he did not expect it, but he did not draw back, nor… forward? Holy shit, if only
Redfield had been a tad clearer in his nonverbal messages! Was this just yet another way to
mock him, like a naughty older brother, or the most cryptic, confused, and awkward attempt
to get kissed that Leon had ever faced in his life?
"You must really like it, given how much you look at it..." He almost purred, provoking him
back just to see how he would react. After all, not that he had kept count, but it must have
been at least the tenth time that Chris, in a more or less direct way, kept pounding the nail on
how cute he was. A few too many to be just a coincidence. "Wanna take a better look?" He
added, stepping a bit forward, but not too much.
And Chris felt the strongest twist in his stomach he had ever experienced, and his heart
missed at least three beats all at once, for different reasons. Partly because it was some sort of
déjà-vu of what had happened in the locker room with Wesker, then because it had occurred
just after he had realized that Leon, in some way that he had not yet figured out, reminded
him of him. He felt again that fear of an unknown threat running under his skin but could not
look away from the rookie's eyes, which seemed to have petrified him there as a statue. He
saw him fold those full lips of his into a strange little smile and then wet them with a swift
movement of his tongue, and felt a sense of vertigo, but then Leon frowned and turned his
face toward the living room.
"Did you hear that?"
"Huh?" It was the only confused answer Chris managed to say.
The kid did not articulate and moved quickly. He first retrieved the gun from the bulletproof
vest he had abandoned on the sofa and then left the room.
"Fuck! Help me!" He shouted, immediately after entering the hallway, and then began
shooting.
Chris abruptly awoke from the stupor that had seized him and retrieved his weapon in turn,
rushing out, but once outside he saw only the bodies of three downed zombies just across the
threshold of the apartment, where the front door was wide open.
"Leon?!" He called to him.
"Upstairs! Sherry! Sherry, where are you?!" He heard him shout, panicked. "I can't find her!
She's not here!"
"Fuck!" Snarled Chris, and started shooting too, as more zombies crowded into the opening
of the front door. "Come down, we have to leave!"
"Not without her!"
"Leon, for fuck's sake!"
Chris moved forward, unloading his entire magazine on the zombies, and turned to look at
the stairs almost getting hit by the rookie's swift landing since he had practically skipped the
full ramp to make it quicker.
"To the kitchen!" He gave him no room to argue and, grabbing him roughly, flung him into it
and then locked the door behind them.
"No! She could be in the bathroom! I haven't checked the bathroom!" Leon cried out,
desperate, and would have opened the damn door again, deaf to the banging that was tearing
it apart, if Chris had not lifted him up and dragged him back.
"She's not in the bathroom, nor anywhere else in the house, Leon!" He shouted at him,
clutching him tightly between his arms to hold him still and make him stop struggling, then
he took his head between his hands and forced him to look at him. "She went out and left the
door open because she didn't want us to hear her close it!" He explained, trying to reason
with him.
Leon levered his arms against his chest and managed to wiggle off his grasp, then put his
hands over his mouth, distraught. His eyes were glazed and his breathing was labored.
"I should have gone to her right away," Chris heard him mutter to himself. "Why the fuck
didn't I?!"
Because you wanted so badly to be a wimp to Chris, you wee fucking whore! And now that
little girl is out alone in a town full of monsters. She's practically dead already and it's on
you, champ! Congratulations! Tell me, was it worth it? Had you at least kissed him? No! It
was also useless, as useless as everything else you've done in your bullshit life!
"Oh, no, no, no!" He groaned, shaking his head hard and gripping his hair so tightly that he
risked tearing strands out.
"Leon," Chris tried to get his attention, but it was quite unfruitful. So he grabbed him again
by the shoulders and shook him a little. "Leon, stop it! We're going to find her, okay? But we
can't do that if we get ourselves killed in here."
This seemed to have an effect and the rookie regained some composure. "Right, you're right,
I'm sorry. Let's try going out the window, she can't have gone far, she's a child!"
Fortunately, the zombies in the street had all piled up against the front door, so they could
jump down with relative safety, but they had barely set foot on the street when the city lights
suddenly went out.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As every time, due thanks to all of you readers, kudoers (we have invented this
neologism now, let's use it XD!), subscribers and bookmarkers, and also the precious
commenters.
I'm slowly recovering from this darn flu, but I'm still not well and, as they say in Italy
when bad luck reigns supreme, it always rains on the wet, my mother, who came by to
visit me these days, has Covid (with mild symptoms, nothing worrisome) but I might
have caught it on top of the flu too. I will find out tomorrow by taking a swab, because I
am scheduled to return to work on Friday and, since I work in a school, I have to make
sure I am not contagious to anyone. So although I will try not to, if I have to disappear
for a while it is because maybe my fever is back. I wanted to warn you so you don't
worry, in short.
Coming to the story, Nicholai is being a bad boy but, at the end of the day, what
redemption arc would it be if he did nothing wrong at all? All the details of the part at
the university and even the special Umbrella team he meets are all elements taken from
minor games, not in continuity (as far as I know) and I needed them mainly as a sideline
and to introduce what happened with Birkin. Obviously, we already know everything,
but the characters, within the story, have to find out and I needed someone to start a little
bit to connect the dots. The best character to do that was Nicholai, trivially because he is
the most aware and disenchanted. Chris and Leon are still there talking about where to
go for a drink once the situation calms down, but Nicholai and the other special
operatives, know full well that the city is gone and will never come back the way it was.
Moreover, now our favorite Russian (or, at least, my favorite Russian, I don't know
about you XD) is after Ada and on his way to the police station.
The city lights are out, which means our trusty neighborhood Nemesis is also back in the
game. Hunk is in pursuit of Birkin to get a sample of the G, in short, the city is getting
pretty crowded, and we are also approaching the time when Mr. X will make his
appearance, but it will be another little while yet.
We are, scene plus, scene minus, around the halfway point of the Raccoon City arc, and,
I confess, I have no idea how many chapters this story will reach, since we are already
on the twenty-sixth with this one and we have to get to about the events of RE5, I am
infinitely grateful for your patience and support for this crazy project of mine.
Don't get too upset with Sherry, poor thing, she is just a little girl who is lonely, scared,
angry, and incredibly worried about the fate of her daddy. Was running away like that
stupid? Absolutely, but I think she has all the extenuating circumstances, in addition to
her very young age and also the fact that, having been locked in the house, she had no
clear perception of what was going on outside. Obviously, it had a tremendous impact
on Leon, who feels responsible for her and believes he behaved badly toward her. All of
this will have consequences, and we have reached that point in the story where, very
soon, events will undergo a kind of domino effect and everything will begin to fall apart.
Chris, bless his aching heart, is in a universe of his own in which everything revolves
around Wesker, and the fact that he is also attracted to Leon is beginning to have some
not-so-good effects on his already troubled psyche.
What more can I say? I hope to be able to properly unravel this ball of yarn because
there really are so many elements to cross over. I've always been a spidery writer, a
weaver of webs but since this is the first story I've been writing in a long time, I'm
feeling some performance anxiety now that the temperature of the narrative is rising.
Thank you all so much for your support!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 27
Chapter Notes
Nicholai was driving with careful circumspection. The city had been completely transfigured
in the time he had spent inside the campus. It looked like a war zone with entire
neighborhoods on fire, abandoned checkpoints scattered at almost every intersection, and the
heavy, oppressive atmosphere in the air of a place entirely gone to shit.
Zombies were everywhere.
They mostly stood in clusters on the sides of the streets where they had probably chased
some poor unfortunate soul who was now part of their ranks, and they were caracoling left
and right with no real direction. They did not seem to be particularly interested in the car, but
this was something Nicholai already knew. As long as they didn't notice that he was inside
they would barely look at it, drawn by the movement and nothing more.
He was not frightened but neither was he tranquil. He had always been a precise, organized
man, almost maniacal in the way he did his work because he liked it and because it was the
only sure path to avoid an untimely demise, but Umbrella did not work in that manner and
that was starting to get on his fucking nerves. The company was like a hydra with many
heads, one dumber than the other, in which everyone was sending forward a different agenda.
Sergei, for example, since he was the one Nicholai knew best, was perhaps Spencer's most
loyalist subordinate not because he had any particular admiration for the man himself but
because in his heart he hoped to use perfected B.O.W.s to reconquer Russia, rebuild the
Soviet Union, and probably annihilate the United States once and for all in the process, like
the nostalgic asshole he was.
Fuck, that was certainly a scenario he wouldn't want to see for sure, and not out of any
particular love for the U.S., which he actually rather loathed, but because he didn't want to
risk finding himself under a regime again, let alone one led by that sadistic pig. Fortunately,
the chances of Colonel Vladimir succeeding were close to zero. Nicholai didn't know what
Spencer wanted, nor had he ever had the chance to meet him in person, but he certainly
wasn't interested in that crap, and if Sergei became too restless in that regard, he didn't doubt
that he would have him eliminated with a snap of his fingers. In fact, that was what he hoped,
what he had hoped for since they had joined the ranks of Umbrella because, although he
didn't like to admit having it, he wanted to be free of the yoke Sergei had put around his neck.
Sure, he could have left but the Colonel would have personally chased him to the deepest
circles of Hell if necessary because he perceived him as his own beast of burden to dispose
of. Clear as lightning in the dark he was reminded of the day Sergei had come to visit him in
that provincial clinic, so many years prior. They had not talked much, partly because the deal
with the Devil had already been sealed when he had pulled him out of the labor camp, but
there were specifics the Colonel had wanted to make.
"Непокорные собаки заканчивают с дыркой в голове, Николай. Не кусай руку, которая

тебя кормит, иначе я сначала научу тебя, что такое страдание, а потом усыплю тебя, как
ублюдка, которым ты являешься," which roughly translated to: Unruly dogs end up with a
hole in their head, Nicholai. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, or I'll first teach you what
suffering is and then I'll put you down like the bastard you are. That was what he had said to
him, looking at him with that one inhuman eye of his, and Nicholai, who at the time was only
a twenty-one-year-old boy had been fearful. He was no stranger to violence, pain, or injustice
and he already was a fighter and a survivor, but the most basic of animal instincts had made
him understand right away that he was facing a predator bigger than himself, crueler and
more ruthless. So he had bowed his head and agreed to submit because he was not convinced
that he would live much longer anyway, so he might as well employ every opportunity while
achieving his revenge.
"Убей человека, которого ты должен убить, а потом возвращайся ко мне. Теперь ты

принадлежишь мне. Мое - инвестиция, и ты будешь служить мне хорошо. Kill the man
you must kill, and then come back to me. Now I own you. Mine is an investment, and you will
serve me well.
Sergei had kept his word and Nicholai had done the same, returning to him more like a
hollow shell than a young man in the prime of his life, but despite this obvious proof of
loyalty, the Colonel had been heartless all the same because the lesson had to be well taught.
He felt a chill at the memory and the muscles on his back involuntarily spasmed, tensing the
skin of his scar. It was not only a matter of loyalty to the Colonel but also of attitude, ideals,
and decorum. His subordinates had to reflect in every way his ideals, his conception of a
soldier and a man. Anything that was not in line with his moral doctrine had to be eradicated
in blood, and at the time, Nicholai practically was the living embodiment of everything
Sergei despised from every point of view, political, moral, and human.
“Давай начнем с того, что удалим эту грязь с твоей кожи, Серебряный Волк. Ложись,
это займет всего минуту.” Let's start by removing this filth from your skin, Silver Wolf. Lie
down, it'll only take a minute.
He had fainted. Passed out from pain for the first and only time in his life, and it had been
even worse after that when he had had to start special training with a third-degree burn that
covered almost half his back. In retrospect, he was amazed how he had even managed to
survive at all since more than a third of his group had died trying. Where had he gotten all
that strength to fight and where had it gone now? Sure, he had seventeen years of experience
under his belt, but that energy, that drive, that passion he had had at the time had long since
disappeared. The anger had turned into a habit, the missions had gradually all become the
same, and the people he had killed were just a long list of forgotten names in the archives of
his memory.
Except for one but his name was banned. He didn't want to think about him, even though it
had already happened twice since his arrival in Raccoon, the first time in the car, the second
when he had failed to kill the kitten in the woods.
He had changed. All that hate towards everyone, himself included and first, had subsided
over the years, and he was no longer a suicidal ticking bomb. Perhaps Sergei was right, he
had succeeded. Maybe he really was his perfect dog and nothing more. After all, everything
he had been before the Colonel no longer existed but, to be fair, it had died long before Sergei
came into his life. He had killed what he had been, which, to be clear, had never been
anything special. Just an idiot kid. Useless. Dangerous.
Now he was nothing but a greedy asshole and it suited him well.
Although, even the money... Why did he want all that money? More specifically: what was it
that he wanted? His childhood had taught him the hard way what it meant to have nothing,
but now he had a roof, a job, and food. He didn't even have expensive vices. Yes, his house
was not cheap and required constant investment in maintenance and improvements, but he
was not the type to collect expensive cars, high-class whores, or whatever rich people did
with all their money.
"For fuck's sake, give it a rest..." He ordered himself with a guttural growl; this was certainly
not the time to get caught up in a midlife crisis.
He reached out a hand toward his duffel bag on the passenger seat, intending to turn on the
radio to hear what the other U.B.C.S. teams were doing, and out of the corner of his eye, he
caught sight of something launching itself into the middle of the roadway. Too fast to be a
zombie. With quick reflexes, he pressed the brake pedal and the car stopped with a sharp
screech just in time to avoid running over...
A little girl?! Nicholai winced as he spotted that blonde kid just a couple of inches from the
hood of his off-roader. She was harried, her cheeks were red, her hair was in disarray and she
looked scared to death, even the plaid vest she was wearing was all rumpled. Otherwise, she
looked fine. Uninjured. Miraculously, he felt like adding. Before he could even take a good
look at what she was running away from, the child rushed to the door, opened it, and slipped
into the car.
"Go! Please go! Go!" She shrieked at the top of her lungs, panting.
Nicholai stood frozen for a moment. What the fuck was just happening?! Absolutely not!
"Get off!" He blurted out, alarmed because the only thing he was missing on that fucking
mission was a little girl in the way. He didn't know how to deal with kids, had never been
around them, and that was fine with him.
"The monsters are coming!" She retorted, terrified, pointing to a group of zombies who were
inexorably approaching the car from the alley she had just escaped from.
"Shit!" He hissed, backing up to maneuver and then starting off again at full speed.
The little girl, after catching her breath, pushed Nicholai's duffel bag off the seat so she could
sit more comfortably and even fastened her seatbelt. "T-Thank you, sir," she whispered.
He did not answer her. He didn't even look at her. Too focused on trying to find a solution for
how to get himself out of that situation and, yes, putting a bullet in her forehead was
definitely a fix on the table. What the fuck had he done wrong in life? Probably everything in
the bloody book with very few exceptions, okay, but he still perceived it all as fucking divine
overkill against him.
"Do you work for Umbrella?" She asked him, after seeing the logo on his vest. "My daddy
does, too! Do you know him? Have you seen him? His name is William, William Birkin!"
Goddamn it! The bullet was off the table.
Yes, he knew him. Not personally, but he was one of the chief scientists there in Raccoon
City. One whose daughter it would not have been prudent to kill.
"You can't stay with me," he informed her, bluntly, stopping the car in a relatively safe spot.
"Get out."
Sherry sulked and glared at him, outraged. "I'm a child!" She pointed out to him. "You can't
leave me alone! Besides, I have to find my daddy!"
She was aware that hers had been a stupid decision and that, under normal circumstances, she
should never, ever have gotten into a car with a stranger, but that circumstance was anything
but normal. She had dearly regretted leaving home like that and had even tried to go back, but
when she had seen the zombies massing against the front door she had gotten scared and ran
away. She hoped that Leon and Chris were okay. She was still angry with them, but she never
wanted anything bad to happen to them because of her. She would never have forgiven
herself. At the very thought, her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, niet! Niet! Don't you dare, devochka! Stop that right now!" Nicholai intimated, finally
turning to look at her. To say he was uncomfortable in that situation was a fucking
understatement.
"You are mean! A-and rude!" She sobbed. "I didn't do anything to you! Why won't anyone
help me?!"
Her crying grew more and more desperate, and he could do nothing but look at her, feeling...
annoyed. Why was she crying? Crying was pointless. It certainly had not helped him when he
had found himself completely alone after his mother's death. He was only eight years old at
the time and had had to find a way to survive on his own, because in this world, if you want
something, you have to take it, otherwise no one will ever give you shit. So he had little
sympathy for a soft little American girl who clearly had never seen hardship before that
moment.
Yet, he still felt like an asshole and he didn't like that sensation.
"Okay, okay, let's start again," he told her in a calmer tone, "what's your name?"
"S-Sherry."
"Nicholai."
"P-please, help me, Nicholai, please!"
"Fine, but stop shouting and... crying. I won't even listen to you otherwise, and I'll throw you
out of my car."
She shivered but straightened her back and wiped her face with the sleeves of her blouse,
choking back sobs until her breathing returned to near normal.
"Well done," to him the compliment came out spontaneously even though he would not have
expected it of himself. "Tell me about your father. In an orderly way. The last time you saw
him and where you were going to look for him."
"He's been gone for days. I-I was trying to go to the police station to talk to some real cops. I
know dad has associates there, maybe they know where he is."
Nicholai frowned. "Real cops? Have you met fake ones?" He investigated, intrigued by that
small detail.
Sherry hesitated and lowered her gaze, blushing a little in shame. "Well, they weren't really
fake but they didn't want to help me. They just wanted to pry into my daddy's things. They
said he did some bad things, but he didn't! I know him! He wouldn't hurt a fly!"
Nicholai winced, raising both eyebrows. Blessed innocence, he thought, but he saw no reason
to disillusion her. As far as he knew, and given the position Birkin held, he was probably at
NEST, but he had no clearance for that lab. He also did not know exactly where the access
points were located in the city. What he did know, however, was that if the situation was that
bad on the surface, it could be much worse in the labs, so the child's father was probably
already dead, but he would not be the one to break that news to her.
"I'm taking you to a rescue center now," he informed her, restarting the car. He had heard on
the radio that several U.B.C.S. teams were preparing subway trains to take survivors to
safety. "There will be people there to take care of you and get you out of the city-
"But I don't want to leave, not without my daddy!"
Surely she knows what she wants, he thought, but it was irrelevant.
"If you take me there I will just run away again! Like I got away from Leon and Chris!"
Protested Sherry, stubbornly, then her voice broke again. "H-he is the only thing I have,
please, Nicholai sir."
He sighed. "Let's make a deal," he relented, already knowing he would regret it, "I'm going to
the station too. If we find someone there who can help you find your father, I will leave you
to them, otherwise, you will be a good devochka and have me take you to the rescue center.
Does that sound reasonable?"
She nodded and thanked him with some hesitation. The guy was really strange. Scary,
however, he didn't seem entirely bad, just awkward and grumpy, maybe she could try to make
friends with him. For long moments the journey proceeded quietly. "What is a dev... dev-
ochka? Is that a bad word?" She found the courage to ask him.
He snorted through his nose, somewhat amused. "No. It means little girl. It's Russian."
"Oh, cool, I studied Russia in school! In geography! The capital is Moscow, and it’s a very
big country. It has about 147 million people and is divided into five natural zones: the tundra,
the Taiga, which is the forest zone, the steppes, the arid zone, and the mountain zone."
He shot her a brief incredulous glance but let her continue listing all the things she knew
about his homeland. It didn't bother him and, in a way, was almost pleasant. Usually, when he
had happened to hear anyone talk about Russia they always fell back on politics,
preconceptions, and decades of rhetoric distorted by a Western-centric narrative. It wasn't that
Russia didn't have its issues, but it was absolutely unbearable to hear trash talk about it from
people who had not only never set foot there but had never even done the minimum amount
of research sufficient to get their heads out of their stars-and-stripes asses. The child was not
making that mistake and her enthusiasm seemed sincere. It was clear that she was trying to
calm herself down and bamboozle him by talking like a crazed little chatterbox, and he saw
no reason not to let her.
"Is it true that you have bears as pets? Have you ever had one?"
He could not hold back a short laugh. "No," he replied, "but it is partly true. In some villages
a few loons have. They are intelligent, loyal animals."
"I would love to have a bear, I could ask my daddy for my birthday."
And, given the average sanity of Umbrella employees, he might as well indulge her, Nicholai
thought, assuming he isn't dead.
"Do you miss home?" Sherry asked him innocently, and he frowned. He had never wondered.
"No, I don't think so," he admitted truthfully. Russia was a closed chapter for him; he had
never gone back there since he started working for Umbrella. Why would he have to? He had
nothing there anymore. He certainly had no intention of ever setting foot in Moscow again,
that for sure. Too many memories. Not all of them were bad, but all inevitably ended in
tragedy. Perhaps in Leningrad. Yes, he had always loved Leningrad and had spent less time
there than he would have liked. It really was a magical place, even for someone who hated
cities and people like him.
Holy shit, was he even getting nostalgic now?
"In Leningrad, between the end of April and the end of August, the sky never gets dark."
Someone had told him that they had even started holding a festival around that time. Maybe
it had been Sergei or Mikhail. He hadn't really paid attention.
"You mean St. Petersburg? It's St. Petersburg, right?" Sherry asked him, after a moment of
confused hesitation.
He winced and sighed, wistful. " Da, it's called St. Petersburg now."
"It must be very nice. I wish it happened here, too. I don't like the dark, you know?" She
confessed to him with candor. "What's going on?" She then asked him, showing that she was
not just a silly child and that she really did understand.
"It's complicated and I'm not sure."
"But... But these people, I mean, they're going to be okay, right?"
"No."
"O-oh... I-I see."
Nicholai looked at her again. "There's still time to get you to the rescue center. What do you
think your father would want?" He asked her without sugarcoating it.
"I don't care what he would want! He is not here to tell me in person, so he has lost the right
to decide what I should do," she hissed with sincere resentment because although she loved
her father tremendously, she was also angry with him for making her die of anguish like that.
"You talked about those two cops… About Leon. How is he doing?" Nicholai had been
holding that question on the tip of his tongue for a while and, in the end, had failed to keep it
to himself. After all, he was there with a little girl in his car, he might as well admit he was
interested in the kitten's fate. He was losing his dignity anyway. The fact that the Kot was at
Birkin's house with Redfield, however, also answered his earlier doubt: none of those four
idiots had left town. He had to admit that he was not surprised but indeed he was displeased.
Sherry jolted in her seat. " You know him?"
"Not really. Just enough to have realized he is very good at getting into trouble."
She blushed with shame and lowered her gaze, clutching the edge of her shorts between her
fingers. "I hope he's all right. I'm mad at him for being a liar, but when I left the front door
open I didn't think..." Her voice trailed off, choked with guilt.
"He's probably fine. He has nine lives," retorted the Russian, partly because if those two
couldn't even handle a few zombies then they didn't deserve to survive.
At the intersection, he turned to head toward the police station but there the situation was
definitely worse than he had expected. Dozens and dozens of crashed or simply abandoned
cars occupied the roadway. He was slow in moving forward so as not to attract the attention
of the countless zombies moving all around.
The situation sucked and he was conflicted. If he had been alone he would have simply
gotten out of the car and bridged the distance on foot but doing it with a little girl? Too much
risk. He was about to engage the reverse gear to take her to the nearest subway station
whether she wanted it or not when the sudden sound of a loud horn made him wince. He cast
a quick glance toward the rear window and saw a massive lorry proceeding toward them at
breakneck speed.
And he reacted by sheer instinct.
"Get out of the car!" He shouted, pouncing on Sherry. Quickly he unbuckled her belt and,
once he had opened the passenger door, hurled her out of the cockpit. At that point, he could
do nothing but brace himself for impact. The lorry crashed brutally into some of the vehicles
stopped on the side of the road, flipped over with a great clatter, and caught Nicholai's car full
force. The impact against the steering wheel was brutal as the hood crashed into an
overturned tanker truck in the middle of the road, crumpling like it was butter, but the
Russian could not allow himself the luxury of thinking about the pain. He grabbed his duffel
bag and sniper rifle and leaped out of the car. The explosion of the tank and his bloody car
caught him in mid-movement to take cover, and the shock wave slammed him violently into
the side of a police cruiser. Stunned and aching he remained on all fours on the asphalt as all
around him the road turned into an inferno of fire, and it was very fortunate that he had used
all his c4, plus more left to him by Umbrella, at the campus, otherwise, they probably would
have had to spoon him off the dark face of the fucking moon. He almost laughed at the
thought, and then he heard it, the high-pitched, horrified shriek of the child coming from
beyond that wall of flames.
"Fuck it!" He hissed, scrambling back to his feet, and then, taking a run-up, he jumped
straight through it.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
We reached 100 kudos, thank you, thank you, thank you! I am really very happy! And,
as is tradition now, thanks also to all of you who read, leave kudos, subscriptions,
bookmarks, and comments <3!
This chapter was a mess to write because I started with another scene between Jill and
Carlos that... will end in the next one, if not the one after that. I had roughly planned for
Nicholai to meet Sherry but hadn't precisely anticipated how they would deal with each
other.
Poor Nicholai. I don't know if you watched that video going around on various social
media with a guy who stops in the middle of the road to rescue a kitten, just the one, and
then gets overwhelmed by the whole litter. There, that is precisely what is happening to
Nicholai. Since he rescued Leon in the woods he is finding himself charged with them
all, and it is quite overwhelming as a condition for him. As we will have a chance to
investigate in the future, but we can already guess between the lines, he is a loner by
choice. He is not used to having too many people around, so even though he still tries to
maintain a facade of composure there are certain situations that are freaking him out.
The child was actual overkill against him, but not from a divine entity, from me. I am
the bitch, sorry-not-sorry, Kolya.
Since I didn't know exactly how he would react, it was fun for me too to find out his
responses as the chapter took shape, and I think Carlos is right in saying that, however
unwillingly, Nicholai is a caregiver too. He is also peculiar in the way he helps Sherry,
though. Any sensible person would have taken her to the rescue center but Nicholai does
not exactly think in those terms. He is a firm believer in self-determination, and if
Sherry has decided that she wants to look for her father, as he sees it, she has every right
to do so. I am not saying that his reasoning is right because, for fuck's sake, she's 12, but
from the point of view of a man who had no real childhood, for him, children are sort of
miniature adults, so he tries a couple of times to reason with her, but if she wants to go
straight her way, so be it.
And then he then helps her because he is inconsistent. I love getting him in struggles
like that.
About Sergei Vladimir. First of all, my apologies, I think I called him a general in some
past chapter, while he is a colonel. I don't like to make these kinds of mistakes, and as
soon as I have a moment, I will go and double-check and eventually correct it. Forgive
me, but with so many elements to keep in mind, this has slipped.
As an aside, Sergei is another very dark character who plays in the same category as
Irons. He is not a rapist, but he is plain cruel. Nicholai is a little short on details in
describing him because he is very resistant to thinking back to the past (and I don't
blame him), but we will get to know him better later. For now, we know that Sergei
pulled Nicholai out of a labor camp and Nicholai chose to work for him in exchange for
the head of a man he wanted revenge on, and then Sergei literally burned a tattoo he
didn't like off his back to start teaching him discipline. What a ray of sunshine, what a
good person!
Thank you all for still being here. I'm really sorry I didn't at least show Jill and Carlos
but since Nicholai and Sherry are also arriving at the police station (with a bang, but the
lorry scene was too good not to use XD) I'll have to write at least one more junction
scene before I get to them. As for Chris and Leon, of course, I haven't forgotten about
them but I don't know yet if they will be in the next chapter, I will alternate scenes or
slip to the next one.
One very last thing: I didn't have the Russian sentences checked because I hate to bother
people, especially if I don't know them well. I hope they are correct but if there are
Russians listening, please correct me in case. I try to be respectful but Russian is a new
language for me and it'll take time before I reach a fluency decent enough to double-
check properly how online translators work.
A big hug!
Lady S.
Chapter 28
Chapter Notes
Sherry shrieked at the top of her lungs as a group of zombies lunged at her. She didn't quite
understand what had happened; all she knew was that Nicholai had pushed her out of the car
before that truck ran over them. He had selflessly saved her life. That was why she had
approached the flames, to check that he was okay too. She had underestimated how quick
those monsters would be to reach her, and by the time she realized it, it was too late. She tried
to run away but what had been a woman, and was now just a rotting creature with white eyes,
grabbed her by the hair with a steel grip, hurting her.
She screamed again and, in her struggle to free herself, tripped and fell to the asphalt, leaving
a large lock of her blond hair in the zombie's hand. Terrified she curled in on herself,
sheltering her head with her arms. She felt the monster's icy hands grasp her firmly again and
her weight collapse on her, but before she could sink her teeth into her tender flesh she was
brutally ripped off. Sherry ventured to open her eyes again, lift them, and saw Nicholai drag
that zombie away, spin her around like a ballerina, press the barrel of his gun under her chin,
and then fire. She fell to the ground with a thud and did not move again, leaving a pool of
putrid blood beneath her bashed-in skull.
Nicholai then turned back to the group and fired three more times, taking down a zombie
with each bullet with surgical precision, but he soon realized that it was a losing battle. There
were too many of them and if they lingered there for a few more moments they would
surround them. He slipped the gun into his belt and, quickly, lifted the child off the ground.
"Hold on tight," he whispered in her ear and felt relief when Sherry tightened her arms
around his neck and her legs around his waist firmly. She was not panicking and that would
make the escape a little less desperate. He made sure he grabbed her sufficiently firmly with
his right arm before sprinting away. He jumped on the hood of one car then the next and the
one after that, doing his best to keep his center of gravity stable even with the additional
weight he was carrying in the least practical way ever, and without slowing down. On her
part, Sherry was trying to stay as still as possible so as not to risk throwing him off balance,
and he found her effort commendable. That child had balls of steel. As a Monitor, he had
seen full trained grown men piss themselves and cry like pussies for far less than what they
had around them. A zombie almost grabbed his leg on his last leap, but he managed to shake
it off thanks to his momentum, and then they finally made it to the side alley that would lead
them to the side entrance of the police station. Continuing to run, he zigzagged among the,
fortunately, few zombies in the station's garden, soon leaving them behind. They arrived in
front of a wire mesh door topped with barbed wire, and when Nicholai pushed it he found it
closed.
"I'm going to put you down now," he informed the child, and she took a few moments to
loosen the grip with which she was holding on to him. "Good devochka," he complimented
her, bending down so that she could place her feet on the ground. He grasped her face with
firm gentleness to make her look into his eyes. "As I open this door, you are to look toward
where we have come, and if you see anything approaching, you tell me right away,
khorosho?"
She nodded, trembling, and he found himself smiling at her and adjusting the red headband in
her hair now more disheveled than ever. “Davai!" He incited her, letting her go. "And stay
close to me," he added, remaining kneeling on the ground and opening his bag to pull out his
burglary kit.
Sherry did as she was ordered and kept her eyes averted toward the corner. Her heart
hammered hard in her chest and she felt dizzy with fear. Everything had happened too fast
and she still had not properly processed all the horrible things she had witnessed, but in her
heart, she was also happy. Happy that Nicholai was there with her, and happy he was okay
after that terrible crash. He was grumpy, but he was strong and had just shown her that he
could also be gentle. He reminded her a little of her daddy in that. At first glance, he, too,
seemed unpleasant and skittish, but if one took the patience to get to know him better, he was
the kindest person there could be. Nicholai was like that, too. She was sure of it. Otherwise,
he would not have saved her life once again.
"N-Nicholai!" She stammered, feeble as a bird when she saw the earth of one of the freshly
dug graves begin to move and then two misshapen hands struggle their way out of the dirt.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, assessing the danger. "Be calm, I'm almost done," and it
was true, with a metallic sound the door lock clicked open. "See? That didn't take long."
Sherry passed her gaze from him to the lock and seemed to realize what he had just done. "If
the cops ask, I'll tell them it was already open. I'm not a snitch, you know," she murmured
conspiratorially.
And the Russian snorted a chuckle because he had to admit it, that gutsy little girl was by far
the cutest partner in crime he had ever had in his entire career. She was so pure and it was
getting harder and harder for him to remain detached and professional. Even his discomfort
had dissipated.
"Care to learn?" He asked her.
Sherry looked away, tempted but cowed. "Well, I think it could get me in trouble..."
"That's for sure, but it can also get you out of them. It's a matter of perspective."
And suddenly she laughed somewhat hysterically, but he couldn't blame her for having frayed
nerves.
"What's so funny?" Nicholai inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to!" She blushed. "It was very rude of me! It’s just ... the way you said
it. Like a cat purring. Purrrspective," she giggled again.
He smiled, rolling his eyes. If he had a dollar for every person who had teased him about his
accent, he would have been a rich man indeed. That Sherry did it didn't bother him, though,
and neither did Carlos, after all.
"It's not my fault you Americans couldn't pronounce an r to save your lives," he playfully
retorted. "Let's get moving, our clumsy friend might even make it eventually," he reminded
her, pointing to the zombie who, with no little struggle, had managed to hoist himself up to
his waist from the dirt. The poor fellow was almost comical in his efforts. Uncoordinated, he
stretched both arms toward them, then kind of remembered that he was stuck and tried to
hoist himself up and so on in a quite pathetic loop. Even his grunts seemed to have become
increasingly frustrated.
"I almost feel bad for him," Sherry admitted, despite everything. "He's really trying his best."
"Wanna put him out of his misery?" He asked her, after a moment's thought.
She paled and her lower lip trembled, but then she remembered that it bothered Nicholai to
see her cry and she sucked it up. "I... I don't know. Isn't there any other way?"
"No," he answered her. "It is a virus that can be cured but not when it has reached that stage.
The man is already dead. It is the virus that controls him and wants nothing more than to
spread the infection through biting. That's why they eat people," he explained to her, sparing
her nothing. Yes, to some extent he was aware that this was not an appropriate topic for a
little girl, but neither of them had the luxury of worrying about not hurting feelings and
sensitivities. She had to be aware of the risks she was taking, especially if she wanted to
continue her search for her father.
"W-We can leave him where he is," she suggested, intimidated.
"In normal circumstances, yes, but he is also an opportunity to teach you something. It's your
call."
Sherry was silent for a long moment. Her father had once told her that one should never miss
an opportunity to learn, if given the chance, so she nodded.
"Good." Nicholai set the duffle bag on the ground once more and opened it to pull Matilda
out of it. An H&K Vp70Z would not have been his preferred choice as the first weapon for
an inexperienced child, but it was the only one he had that was even remotely suitable. Which
also made him wonder why the hell the kitten was using a European weapon that had been
discontinued almost ten years earlier and had been a genuine failure. It wasn’t an entirely
awful gun, and it was pretty powerful to be a 9mm, but it had its flaws. "Now listen to me
very carefully," he said, kneeling beside her. "Have you ever fired a gun?"
She shook her head vigorously, and he could tell by the way she was breathing that she was
terribly frightened.
"It's okay, it's just a thing, you don't have to be afraid of it," he tried to hearten her. "This is
the magazine, you get it out by pulling back this lever," and he extracted it. "There are 12
bullets inside, it's very easy to reload it, just put them in the right direction and press them
one after another until it's full. It only works with nine-millimeter bullets. They are usually
sold in red and black boxes with 'maximum standard' written on them. If you find any
around, take them. Everything clear so far?"
"Y-yes."
"To load the first bullet in the barrel -it's already there but I'll show you anyway- you have to
pull back the slide, like this, until you hear it click. Now the gun is loaded but not yet ready
to fire. See this round button here above the trigger? That's the safety and you have to pull it
back with your thumb to unlock it." He sighed. "Let's come to the issues, this is a very safe
gun but because of that, it has a trigger that is a real bitch."
Sherry gasped at the swear word.
"My apologies," he corrected himself, "what I mean is that it is very heavy to pull back and
impractical." In explaining he showed her that even by pressing it repeatedly but not all the
way down, there was no danger of the gun firing. "It is good, because you will never shoot
yourself by accident, but it requires some strength. After firing, you'll have to let the trigger
return to its original position or it won't fire again."
"Okay, I get it," she nodded.
"Smart devochka," he smiled. "It doesn't have a scope, not a proper one. You see this dark
line on the top? You have to align it with your sight and use it as a guideline for the direction
where you want to shoot. Now try it."
He reinserted the safety and handed her the weapon.
"It's so heavy!" She complained, surprised and alarmed, weighing it in her hands. "Who's
Matilda?"
"You'll have to ask Leon, it's his gun."
"Really?" She exclaimed and her eyes lit up as she clutched the gun with significantly more
affection.
He chuckled, "Someone's got a crush, I see."
Sherry blushed conspicuously. "No! He's a liar and I'm very mad at him!" She denied the
evidence. "B-but he's cute. A little bit," she admitted under his inquisitive gaze.
"Now focus," Nicholai brought her back to order, "or I'll tell him," he threatened her,
wickedly.
"Don't you dare!"
He laughed again and moved behind her. "Straighten your back and plant your feet on the
ground," he guided her, adjusting her posture with light but firm hands. "Wait before you
stretch out your arms. As you said, the gun is heavy, so you'll only be able to keep them
straight for a short time before they start shaking from the effort. Also, when you pull the
trigger you'll need to be able to handle the recoil. Never drop the gun, do you understand?"
"Never drop the gun, got it," Sherry repeated. There was something reassuring about having
him so close to her, whispering precise instructions. He made her feel safe and protected. She
looked again toward the zombie who had made no real progress from just before and still
moved uncomfortably in hopes of getting out of that pit. She was gripped with anguish and
Nicholai sensed her tension by the way she contracted her back.
"It's not murdering if the thing you're shooting at is already dead," he read her mind with
crystal clarity and this made him think back to what he had said to Carlos: All of you are
already dead to me. Everyone is already dead. Now, wasn’t that a good excuse? He banished
the thought. Now was not the time. "It's just a target. Nothing more," he reinforced the point.
"Come on, let's do it together." He pressed himself against her back, almost hugging her, and
made her lift her arms, holding them firmly. "Use your dominant hand to grip it and support it
with the other, so you will be more stable. "Now take aim. Try to hit the head, it's their only
weak point."
Sherry gulped, tense, but did as Nicholai told her. "S-safety off," she whispered, pulling back
the lever. "Use it as a guideline," she continued repeating the directions to herself. And then
she did it, with a great effort, because it was really heavy indeed, she pulled the trigger. When
the bullet left the barrel the gun jerked back. She managed to hold it in place, but the sound
of the shot scared her to death, making her eyes shut. Only after a long moment did she find
the courage to open them again.
She had hit him, and now that clumsy zombie no longer moved but lay slumped against the
pit wall with his white eyes wide open in a somewhat dumbfounded expression. It wasn’t
funny anymore. It was horrible.
Sherry broke down in tears, overwhelmed by guilt, confusion, and sheer panic. She turned
around abruptly, without letting go of the gun but keeping her fingers well away from the
trigger, and threw her arms around Nicholai's neck, still crouched behind her, beginning to
sob uncontrollably against his chest. He let her, and closed his eyes, regretful because
although he had not felt the sensation she was feeling in a long time, he remembered it more
than well. However, he did not begrudge the decision to have taught her how to kill. Yes, now
she was hurt but in perspective, it could save her life. He lifted an arm to hold her close and
stroked the back of her head with some hesitation. He had not received many hugs in his life
and had given even fewer and none to a kid.
"You’re very brave, devochka. Don't be sad, if he could he would thank you. You did nothing
wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong."
"Stay close to me, don't run around!" Chris ordered, grabbing Leon by the scruff of his shirt
before he could start bouncing around like a crazed marble looking for Sherry. He understood
his state of mind, and he too was worried sick, but letting anguish get the best of them was
the worst thing they could do. He had almost died when he had made that desperate rush to
get the antidote to Richard at the mansion, and it still hadn't helped. As if that were not
enough, they were in a shitty situation. They had both left their vests in the living room,
along with all the ammunition they had, and getting back in was not a viable option. They
were pretty much screwed because he didn't know how Leon was doing, but he was empty.
What a rookie mistake! How could he have been so careless? The truth was that when he had
heard Leon cry out for help, his mind had gone blank and he had immediately run after him
like an imbecile, without a plan, without a fucking method. He should have known better
than that, for fuck's sake!
He looked at him. The kid, having freed himself from his grasp with a sharp tug was looking
around with feverish eyes desperately searching for the smallest clue that might make him
realize where the girl had gone.
"Let me get the assault rifle from the car, then we'll do a sweep. Don't go off on your own, I'll
be quick," he told him.
Leon did not even answer him, and Chris, with a snort, ran across the street, also keeping an
eye on the group of zombies who, fortunately, were still massing against the front door and
had not noticed their sortie through the window. He opened the trunk and reached for his
weapon, but when he turned to look toward the sidewalk Leon was no longer there. Gone into
thin air.
"You jerk!" He hissed, angered. Why didn't he ever listen to a single fucking word? That was
probably how Wesker had felt every time he had gone off on his own like an asshole, and it
was an incredibly annoying sensation, he had to give him credit. He thought about calling
him out loud, but that would probably draw the zombies' attention and there were too many
of them to handle safely, so he could just look for him without making too much of a fuss. At
a brisk pace and with his rifle at the ready he hurried down the street and then he heard it, a
single shot coming from one of the alleys on the left.
There he is! He thought, starting to run. When he looked out beyond the corner he saw Leon
crouched on the ground with something in his hands. A female zombie was dragging herself
toward him, unable to get up because she had a broken leg, but the rookie seemed not to care
at all.
Did he shoot her knee to incapacitate her and not waste ammo? He wondered. Damn, that
was so smart of him! A tad too much for someone who was in that situation for the first time
in his life, his paranoia pointed out. Don't start that again. He is just determined to find
Sherry! He brought himself back to order.
Then he saw him rise to his feet as if nothing had happened and nimbly outrun the zombie
with a graceful little leap to head to the opposite side of the alley.
"Wait, damn it!" Barked Chris, enough to be heard by Leon, who turned to look at him as
restlessly as a colt kept on a short bridle.
"This pendant belongs to her!" He exclaimed, waving the jewel at him. "She came through
here, hurry up!" He did not wait for Chris to catch up with him and rushed toward the parallel
road. A large group of zombies was stationed on the sidewalk just a few meters from him,
and Leon noticed the signs of hard braking on the asphalt. He looked up and, between the
heads of the undead, spotted a car speeding away in the distance. Had someone picked her
up? He was overwhelmed by mixed emotions: relief that she was not alone in the midst of a
monster-infested city but worried nonetheless; who had picked her up in the car? Someone
who she had called when she had run upstairs or a passerby? What if it had been a prowler?
"Watch out, damn it!" Chris's shout made him jerk and he leaped back when he saw him
violently shove a zombie about to attack him off the sidewalk, knocking him to the ground.
"I would have avoided it but thanks," he muttered a little upset.
"Like hell! Will you get your head out of your ass and start thinking straight?!" Chris
attacked him, dragging him back into the alley.
"Get your hands off me already!" Leon fought back, pushing him away. "I can take care of
myself, for fuck's sake! I don't need a babysitter!"
Chris felt a jolt of irritation run under his skin. That was the first and last time he would be
someone's commanding officer; he had no patience for this shit. He wanted to strangle him so
badly. "Don't talk back to me, I'm your senior-
"Oh, you wanna play the senior card now? After all that's happened? Fuck you, Chris!
Someone's got Sherry! I saw a car drive away and we're wasting time! Maybe it was her
fath-
His voice choked out of his lungs from the force with which the other slammed him with his
back against the alley wall.
"I don't give a shit if it was her father or the president himself, you dickhead!" Chris
thundered in his face, glaring at him and pressing a hand to his chest to hold him in place. He
could feel his heart beating like a jackhammer under his palm, and although it was neither the
place nor the time, he couldn't help but notice that Leon looked even better when he was
mad. "You are putting yourself, the mission and me at risk," he continued, not letting his
flushed face and grim stare distract him, "and it's totally unacceptable! From now on you will
do everything I tell you, and that’s an order. No fucking rash acts, do I make myself clear?!"
Leon said nothing and snorted through his nose, equally enraged.
"I didn't hear your answer, rookie!" Chris insisted, authoritatively, clenching his fist on the
fabric of his blue R.P.D. shirt.
Leon lifted his chin, raising his face to bring it closer to his. How he wished he could shut his
fucking mouth once and for all. He had done nothing wrong. He had to find the girl, that was
his priority. He knew what he was doing. He didn't need lessons, least of all from him.
"Fuck you, sir," he hissed, almost blowing it on his lips.
Chris let out a frustrated growl from his throat and his grip on his shirt tightened even more,
but the real tragedy was that he had no leverage to reinforce his authority. How the fuck did
Wesker manage that?
Because you feared and respected me, Chris, and Kennedy does neither with you. You're not
worth a tenth of what I was. You poor thing, it must be so frustrating. You are such a
disappointment. His imaginary captain mocked him. Hit him, tiny as he is, one punch will be
enough to let him know who's in charge. Go ahead, hit him. Can't you see how he gets under
your skin? So much arrogance! He won't even be so damn cute anymore if you smash his
nose or his teeth. His pretty face is such a distraction, isn't it? Besides, he's too capable to be
just a rookie. He's a spy. He's Umbrella. Hit him. It made you feel good to beat him up in the
alley and then in the office, just as when you saw the Tyrant slaughter me. All that blood felt
so, so good indeed. You're no different from me and definitely no better. Without me you're
nothing. Stop pretending. Hit him, or he will die in front of your eyes just like me, but, who
knows? Maybe you’ll enjoy that too.
Leon saw Chris's expression go from anger to terror in the blink of an eye and then the
S.T.A.R.S. agent abruptly stepped back, letting him go.
"What was that?" He asked, confused, but the other did not respond. "Hey, I'm talking to
you!" He insisted, not too empathetic.
"Shut the fuck up for a minute, ok?!" Shouted Chris, moving away from him another step.
Leon huffed, annoyed. "Whatever. We should-
He stopped talking when something big plunged from above a few steps away from them. He
widened his eyes, horrified, as he recognized the monster they had encountered in front of the
police station. He was missing his hood and his ugly face was indeed hideous, but it was him,
without a doubt. He wasted no time in wondering how the fuck he was still alive after being
blasted by a rocket and grabbed Chris by the wrist.
"Fucking run!" He shouted, dragging him along.
Chris did his best to keep up with him, but Leon was fast, really fast, and he was slowing him
down.
"Let me go, it's me he wants!" He shouted at him, without, however, doing anything to free
himself from his grip. He could have forced his hand open with a yank but at that speed, they
were both in danger of falling to the ground.
"Cut the crap!" Panted the rookie, proceeding as quickly as possible toward the car.
"Leon!"
"Does this look like the time to argue, you bloody asshole?!"
Chris had to acknowledge that he had a point and did his best to pick up the pace. Damn it, he
had always been good at endurance racing, not sprinting. He felt the Nemesis tentacle hit his
back and barely managed to keep it from enveloping him in a vise.
"It's open, it's open, get the fuck in!" He shouted.
Once he had gone through the passenger door, Leon leaped into the driver's seat.
"Keys! Now!"
Chris handed them to him on the fly, and he immediately started the engine, pressing down
hard on the gas pedal. The car, which was an old clunker, jolted forward with a shrill
muttering of the engine, and Chris immediately realized that he had made a terrible
miscalculation. If he already felt uncomfortable when someone else was driving because of
his parents' accident, he knew from the first turn taken by Leon and the way he skidded the
car that he might have a better chance of survival against that monster.
"Hey, hey, slow down!" He shouted, pale as a ghost, gripping the edge of the window to keep
himself steady.
"No way, that fucker is slow on acceleration, but once it picks up speed he's fucking fast,"
Leon replied to him in an impossibly calm tone under the circumstances.
Chris turned to look out the rear window and had to admit that he was right. The Tyrant was
not too far behind them. It didn't look like it could accelerate any further, but he was still
keeping a dangerous, steady distance.
He grunted in pain when Leon gave the car a nasty jolt, causing him to slam against the
closed door.
"What the fuck are you-oh shit!" He cursed when he realized that the crazy-ass had begun
zigzagging between abandoned vehicles in the middle of the road at over sixty miles per
hour. "Slow down, for fuck's sake!"
"Stop yelling at me!" Leon protested. "He'll kill us if he catches us."
"Not if you kill us first!"
"Well, at least I won't have given it in to him!"
"ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL?!"
On a second examination, Chris decreed he should have hit him. No, he should have broken
his fucking neck. His heart was bursting in his chest with sheer panic, and there was
absolutely nothing he could do to get that fucking steering wheel out of his hands.
Leon was nuts.
He was going to have a stroke.
No, they both were going to die.
They were going to die so fucking hard!
"Oh, no! No! NO! We're not going through there!" He shrieked when he saw him speeding
toward the bottleneck between an overturned school bus and a car.
"STOP.YELLING.AT.ME!" Leon exploded, not slowing down at all and concentrating on

taking the necessary actions for the maneuver. Or, at least, he tried. The sides of the car
bounced from one side to the other of the two obstacles in a cloud of sparks, and the mirrors
flew clean off in a screech of metal, but somehow Leon managed to maintain control and
drive past them.
At that point, Chris just wanted to throw up or pass out so he wouldn't be aware of anything.
There was a fucking reason why he had literally begged Barry to give Claire drive lessons in
his place. He couldn't bare it and Leon, right there and then, was the embodiment of all his
nightmares.
Then he realized where they were and his panic skyrocketed. He could almost hear, in a
distant echo, his mother screaming to warn his father that they were going to crash. It had
been the last time he had heard her voice.
"Slow down! Slow the fuck down! The road is blocked, up ahead! There's a fucking
sinkhole!" The barriers were already in sight. "BRAKE, YOU FUCKING SHITHEAD!
BRAKE!"
It was too late for that, Leon decreed, so he gave it even more gas and hoped they would have
enough momentum to get over the hole and land on the other side, which, fortunately, was
further down.
"Hold on to something!" He warned him, then swept over the barriers, launching the car into
the gap.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, thank you all for the time you invest in reading this story, and leaving kudos,
comments, subscriptions, and bookmarks. I know, I am repetitive, but I feel it is my duty
to thank you every time and I will continue to do so until the last chapter.
So, let's start with Nicholai and Sherry who are turning out to be the cutest duo of all. I
know, I know, teaching a 12-year-old girl how to shoot zombies in the head doesn't
exactly qualify as tender, but, hey, Nicholai is a pragmatic guy, and, after all, she needs
to know how to stand up for herself too. Also, he loves to teach stuff, and in that sense,
he's probably the most patient character in the group. And then he even hugged her! Big
steps forward, Nicholai! I am so proud of you!
Sherry, poor sweet little thing, makes my heart squeeze because not only does the
situation suck, but things are not going to get better for her because sooner or later she
will meet her daddy again and we all know what he will try to do to her. I feel so bad for
both her and William and it's a bit of crocodile tears since I made them so close and with
such a strong bond, but it is what it is, I guess.
Now we come to those two disgraces of Leon and Chris, who only needed a little
tension to go back to their old ways. Sexual tension aside, they are okay when the
situation is calm, they tease, they play, they flirt, but the moment the shit hits the fan
everything falls apart. On the one hand, we have Chris who, in between spurts of
paranoia, has grown to care about Leon and is desperately trying to take control and act
like a commanding officer to prevent that damn kid from jumping into the middle of a
zombie horde armed only with his good intentions. As if that were not enough he also
has this imaginary Wesker on his shoulder who is starting to be scary for him, but also
for us who write and read.
On the other hand, Leon is an arrogant little shit who thinks he has the truth in his
pocket and doesn't need anyone, partly because he grew up practically alone, so he is
already basically intolerant of orders, even when they come from someone whose
authority he recognizes, let alone Chris's. Assuming he ever had it, Chris lost all
ascendancy with him when he started breaking one procedure after another, and Leon's
reasoning is: if you don't even follow the rules why the fuck should I? Sherry's life is
more important!"
In this regard, obviously, the car he saw drive away was Nicholai's, all the scenes are
roughly contemporaneous.
Generally speaking, even later on, meaning after the events of Raccoon City, Leon and
Chris will never be an effective team on the battlefield because Chris will always try to
take the reins and Leon will eternally continue to do whatever the fuck he wants.
And then there's the getaway car, which, I admit, was unplanned and my apocalypse
trumpets blared when I decided to put Leon behind the wheel. We all know that any
vehicle with more than two wheels in Leon's hands is going to crash, it's one of the
universal constants, and so far so good, in the sense that we're aware of it and we love
him for it too. But then I remembered that I had Chris's parents die in a car accident with
him in the car, so I only realized as I was writing about the terrifying trauma I was
putting him through again (as if he didn't have enough). He's terrified shitless, so he
loses it completely and panics because, let's face it, Leon is a freaking lunatic. Okay, he
has that mixture of natural talent and luck that always makes him fall on his feet (it's no
coincidence that Nicholai calls him "cat") but from an outside point of view, like Chris's,
taking a car ride with Leon must be a hell-circle experience. I don't blame him for
starting barking orders, although shouting at someone who is driving in such a situation
is not exactly the best thing to do to not make the situation worse.
We'll see what happens when they land, I'm just sorry Nicholai didn't witness this
getaway, because his comments would have been priceless.
Thanks again for being here, a big hug!

Lady S.
Chapter 29
Chapter Notes
Chris opened his eyes again with a groan. The impact had been very brutal, and he, for a few
moments, had been unconscious as he had slammed into the dashboard. His head hurt and so
did the arm with which he had shielded himself. With difficulty he pulled back, abandoning
against the backrest with labored breathing.
"Fuck..." He groaned, touching his right temple, which was bleeding a bit.
It took him a moment to reconstruct the chain of events that had led him to be in that
situation and he remembered Leon. He shut his eyes tightly, not daring to look to his left, and
his mind took him back to eleven years earlier.
He had been there before and he didn't want to do that again.
After the crash, he had recovered almost immediately, unbuckled his seatbelt, and leaned
toward the front seats to check if his parents were all right too. The front of the car had all
crumpled up against the wall they had crashed into, there was blood and metal everywhere.
His mother was unconscious with a swollen face, her nose completely crushed in, and she
was almost unrecognizable, but his father was awake. The steering wheel had smashed into
his sternum, and somehow, he had not died instantly. He had looked at him with wide-open
eyes, full of suffering and shock, and then had tried to say something but whatever he had
wanted to tell him had been drowned out by a gurgling sound and then a violent spray of
blood.
"Stop. Stop. Fucking stop!" Growled Chris, clenching his fists in a vise, strong enough to feel
pain and snap out of it. He reopened his eyes with his heart beating painfully hard in his chest
and finally glanced toward the driver's seat.
Of course, Leon wasn't there.
Confused and worried he looked in front of the car, already expecting to see him smashed on
the asphalt, but no.
He wasn't there either.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Only later did Chris notice that his door was open. Had he run off without him? Just thinking
about it hurt him more than he would have expected, or wanted but he also recognized that
after all their arguing it made sense.
It was the story of his life. He pushed people away if they were lucky enough not to die
horribly. That was the whole point of what he believed was behind the reason he had never
been able to keep a girlfriend. Not that he had really tried that hard, but a couple of times he
had hoped it could work, if anything, to keep Claire quiet. And it was the same with
friendships. Now he was keeping Barry at bay, and, sooner or later, it would have been Jill's
turn too. After all, he couldn't lose anybody if he was alone, right?
With a violent shove he managed to open his door, jammed from the brutal impact, and with
shaky feet, he staggered out of the car. Instinctively he looked back from where they had
come and his blood froze in his veins as he realized the extent of the jump they had taken.
The fact that they were both alive was a fucking miracle, and then he saw him.
Leon had not abandoned him, and that filled his heart with warmth.
No, he was standing at the edge of the sinkhole and looking up with his gun clutched in his
hands, ready to... Chris had no fucking clue about what he was about to do, and he was
genuinely afraid of it. He had to find a way to make him listen at any cost. He found himself
again wondering what Wesker would have done in his place, and only bone-chilling answers
came to mind. He needed Leon to be okay and did not want to hurt him just to make him
obey. That was out of the question. Even giving him orders only seemed to get him the
diametrically opposite result.
Why does everything have to be so damn difficult? He asked himself, discouraged, and for the
first time, he wondered if it wouldn't have been better to listen to Jill, leave that fucking town,
and take refuge elsewhere. In that case, however, Leon would have been alone. Somehow, the
thought of knowing him by himself in that living nightmare seemed unacceptable to him.
How had he become so quickly attached to a guy he had known for little more than twenty-
four hours? A guy who was an untamed, insufferable, lunatic little shit, no less! He didn't
know and perhaps didn't even really care, at that point, he just wanted him to be ok.
To save just one, for once.
Still staggering, he moved toward him, the assault rifle dangling from his shoulder. He was
about to call out to him when he finally understood why Leon was in that spot. He was
standing guard to protect him, the fool! Before he could get his attention, the monster reached
the opposite edge of the sinkhole and roared, furious.
"Come on, jump, you ugly son of a bitch!" Leon hissed through clenched teeth, almost
exchanging a defiant look with Nemesis.
The creature did not wait, and without even needing to take a run-up, he leaped into the air,
but Leon was ready, he had thought his plan out carefully. He had only three bullets but had
every intention of making them count. Raising his gun he fired but did not aim for the head.
Nicholai had not done so when he had protected him. He went for the chest. The first bullet
had no effect, but on the second the monster growled in pain and twisted, losing the
momentum needed to get to the other side. Heavily it fell backward, plummeting to the
bottom of that hole with a great thud and growled with frustration and agony. Leon lowered
his gaze and felt a thrill of satisfaction as he saw Nemesis lying on his back, pierced by the
metal grid posts of the concrete pylons of the current construction site, but he was not done
with him yet.
Oh, no, he wanted him to stay dead. For real, that time. For them, of course, but also for
Brad.
He raised his aim, directing it at a load of metal girders supported by a crane just above the
sinkhole. It was not an easy shot to take because the hook was small, and it was very dark all
around.
Come on, you can do it! Sherry needs you! Chris needs you! Don't be a fucking pussy! He
tried to give himself courage, doing his best to keep his hands from shaking because, in
reality, he was just so scared.
He only had one last bullet. He couldn't miss, so he took time to aim.
Too much time.
Nemesis managed to free one arm with relative ease and slung his tentacle up, twisting it
tightly around his neck and squeezing hard. Leon lost his aim; his shot missed, not even
going close to the hook, and he cried in pain. He collapsed to the ground and, tossing his gun,
tried to free himself from that noose of muscle and flesh.
To no avail.
It hurt like hell and it was only because of the unfavorable angle that the Nemesis could not
apply enough force to break his neck cleanly, but he was choking him and also dragging him
toward the pit. Despite this, Leon was putting up a fight with all his might, planting his heels
on the ground to keep himself as far from the edge as he could. He did not quite perceive
what was happening around him, because he was rapidly losing lucidity, but he heard a shot,
and then the crane load crashed down. The tentacle that was strangling him suffered a violent
tug before it snapped, and he found himself over the edge. With the last spurt of survival
instinct, he clung to it with both hands but managed to hold on for only a few moments
before passing out from lack of air.
Chris grabbed him by the wrist at the last moment and almost fell too, before throwing
himself back and dragging him along. They both crumbled to the ground.
"Leon!" He called out to him, but the kid was unresponsive, he was deadly pale and his full
lips were turning blue. Immediately, without even checking if the Nemesis was out of combat
or not, Chris tried to rip the damn tentacle from around his neck. It took all his strength to
loosen that grip, as powerful as the coils of a python, but, in the end, he managed to throw it
away.
"Please, please! Don't die on me, you fucking asshole!" He groaned, shaking him a little.
"Open your eyes!"
As if he heard him, Leon exhaled a hissing breath, sucking in air desperately, and then began
to cough sharply.
Still, in a panic and adrenaline rush, Chris sat him up and then pulled him into a tight hug.
His breathing was almost more labored than Leon's, who had just been strangled by a
monster.
"I hate you! I hate you so fucking much!" He growled at him, his mouth pressed against his
shoulder.
"Y-yeah, I get it..." The rookie groaned in a hoarse, feeble voice. "But you're finishing the
job, loosen up a little!" He begged him.
Chris gasped, realizing how hard he was squeezing him, and let go abruptly. "S-sorry! I-I'm
so sorry!" He stammered, regretful.
Leon stayed on him, limp and still in shock, and slowly lifted an arm to throw it over his
shoulder and cling to him almost by inertia.
Why did Chris have no half-measures? He had not asked him to stop holding him, only to let
him breathe, and he almost allowed himself to be lulled by his labored chest. He closed his
eyes, stunned and drained of strength, but he was so relieved that Chris was okay. When he
had seen him unconscious, after the crash, he had feared it was something serious. Something
irreparable. But he was fine, and that was all that mattered. He could rest, for a while.
"Hey, hey, no! Stay awake!" The other one intimated, lifting him up some more and pulling
his head back a little by the scruff of his neck. "Did you hit your head when we crashed? Are
you dizzy? Tell me how you feel!" He questioned him, anxious. According to what he could
see, the kid had only a few scratches on his face and arms, as well as the reddish mark of
where Nemesis had squeezed him that would soon become bruised, but otherwise, he looked
okay. His cheeks had regained some color, and his breathing was coming back to normal.
Leon huffed a short laugh and squinted his eyes to look at him. "I'm fine," he replied, still
raspy, "but it's sweet of you to worry, mommy, now let me sleep for five more minutes, ” he
teased him.
Chris was far beyond being worried, though, and was still slowly recovering from that string
of scares. "What the fuck were you thinking?!” He blurted out in a voice shaken by a
multitude of feelings: anger, fear, anguish, relief, and even that strange, unbearable sensation
in the pit of his stomach now that Leon was practically lying on top of him.
The rookie sighed and returned to rest his cheek against his chest. "Not now, please give me a
break before the next match. Just hold me. Without smashing my ribs, if you can," he
whispered and shivered as Chris began to stroke his hair.
"Okay," the latter granted, petting him, "but still keep in mind that when this mess is over,
you won't see your license again for at least a fucking million years."
Leon chuckled, which made Chris's heart flutter.
"I'm not kidding, you little piece of shit. The examiner who gave it to you deserves life in
prison without the possibility of parole, you're a goddamn public menace."
Leon lifted up a little, enough to rest his chin on his shoulder. "You're welcome," he
murmured in his ear, almost brushing his skin with his lips.
Chris really wanted to shower him with insults, to tell him that he had almost given him a
heart attack and that his insubordination was totally unacceptable, but his voice was choked
in his throat and the only thing he could think of was his warm breath on his neck. He blamed
the fright, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the fact that once again they had
managed to barely escape death by sheer luck.... He brought up any emotion he could think
of, leaving out of the equation the most obvious one: arousal. Not strong enough to be
manifest or inconvenient, but sufficient to make him feel a strange, all-consuming sensation
of heat and dismay, way, way stronger than the one he had experienced when he had hugged
in the bathroom. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and pushed him back with gentle
firmness, deaf to his moan of protest. "W-We have to move." He cringed at how uncertain
and decidedly un-authoritative his voice came out. "Can you manage to walk?"
Leon nodded and stood back up, proving that he was fine and just wanted to be cuddled as
the damn brat he was. On further consideration, Chris found it odd and slightly inappropriate
since he was not actually a child, but didn't voice his confusion. Inexplicably, he liked that
too, he liked his warmth, the way he clung to him, and the chance of holding him because,
maybe, if Leon was in his arms he could keep him safe and never let him slip away. With
longing, he watched him peer over the edge.
"Do you think he's dead now?" The rookie asked him, looking at the pile of rubble that
covered Nemesis.
Chris flanked him, "I don't know. I hope so, but we'd better put some distance between us and
him. He's different from the Tyrant in the mansion, that one had no tentacles and was
definitely dumber." He huffed, feeling like an asshole. "The last time I saw Jill, she told me
she had found out about the existence of a new B.O.W. that could track us. She called it
Project-N. I really think it's him," he explained. "Shit, Jill, where are you?" He added, then, to
himself, starting to walk back as, from a distance, the blades of a helicopter could be heard
approaching. Leon recovered his gun and did not ask questions about her because, childishly,
he preferred not to know if there was anything between them. He was growing fond of the
little moments of tenderness and cuddling that Chris brought out when he wasn't too busy
yelling at him and didn't want to deprive himself of that unexpected refuge by knowing he
had a girlfriend.
"My car..." He heard him whimper when they were next to the vehicle again.
Leon blushed, guiltily, because, in spite of everything, he was really sorry that he had
wrecked it for him.
Chris continued his inspection with a sad face. The axle shaft had snapped in two on impact,
two of the four tires had exploded, the suspension was probably gone as well, and the
windshield had shattered...in short, there was not a chance in hell he could get it running
again. It affected him much more than he would have expected. He had never realized how
attached he had become to that third-hand piece of junk. It had been the first thing he had
been able to buy for himself after taking service in Raccoon City. He had even slept in it, for
a time, until Barry had caught him and practically forced him to move in with him, Kathy,
and the girls until he had enough money to rent a house and take Claire there, too. He had
picked her up from their former foster home with that car, and damn, it had been one hell of a
ride. At the time Claire hated and resented him so much. Once he had even driven Wesker
home, and he had had the same reaction of Leon for the mess and the dirt inside of it, even
though in a considerably more discreet way.
There were so many memories attached to that car, and now it was gone. He was not angry
with Leon and was happy that they both got out of it with only a few bruises and scratches,
but seeing it so wrecked made him feel even sadder. It was yet another thing he had lost
forever.
"I'm so sorry, I mean it," the rookie said. "If it's any consolation, I crashed my own car, too."
Chris slowly turned to him with an expression somewhere between astonished and mad. "Are
you telling me you had two major accidents in two bloody days?!" He exclaimed.
Leon shrugged his shoulders, flashing one of his little angel faces as if to say: so what? It just
happened!
"If it's the last thing I do, you'll never put your hands on a steering wheel again for the rest of
your life."
"Oh, come on, don't you think you're overreacting? I don’t know about you but usually, I’m
not chased by zombies and fucking monsters!" Leon objected.
"Overreacting?! Look at my car! It's older than you are, it has survived happily until now, and
it took you five minutes to destroy it! Five fucking minutes, Leon!"
"I said I'm sorry!"
"That's not the point!" Chris stopped looking at him, doing his best to contain the incipient
burst of anger. "What I mean is that it won't always be just the car that ends up in pieces." He
took a deep, suffering breath. "My father was a skilled driver. It only took a second of
sleepiness for him to… And my mom with him. I was there too, I saw them agonizing…" he
paused, not willing to articulate any further, but he looked back at him with stern
determination. "I'm not joking Leon, not about this."
The rookie blinked, heartbroken and ashamed. Now everything was clear, and he really
couldn't blame Chris for panicking, back in the car. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't know." He
apologized. "I just wanted to keep us safe, I wasn't… I don't know, showing off or something
and I'm not an idiot fascinated by racing. Just a bad driver, I guess…" he whispered, pouting.
And Chris felt his resolve at wanting to reprimand him come undone because when Leon got
sad the world seemed to get grayer. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for being so
weak to be bamboozled by those sad eyes of his, but he couldn't help it, he felt sorry for him.
After all, that was his first day on the job, he was just trying to do the best he could in an
impossible situation and, all things considered, he was doing well. More than well. He was
incredibly smart and, looking forward, Chris was sure that he was going to be an
extraordinary detective someday, probably very soon. He had the potential and he had the
determination, but he lacked the method and awareness, yet.
He motioned for him to follow, and the rookie, for once, obeyed meekly without complaint.
Had he finally found a way to be heard? Was it really as simple as talking it out? Perhaps. It
wasn't his forte, but it was certainly worth a try.
"Listen," he told him, slowing down a little to walk alongside him, "I'm not mad at you. I
cared about the car, but I care much more that we both survived to tell the tale. I..." He froze
a little, uncertain because he was getting emotional and he didn't even know why. "To be
honest, I hate this whole fucking thing about being the commanding officer. My captain, no
matter how much of a piece of crap he was, was perfect at his job. He would have never put
me in charge of shit because he knew I am a hothead and I for one need someone to provide
direction in order not to fuck everything up. So I'm probably the worst superior you could
happen upon and I'm sorry for that. I mean, I don't give a shit about being called 'sir' and all
the ceremonies, they're meaningless. If I try to be authoritative it's because I'm scared, Leon. I
don't want to lose anybody else, I can't lose anybody else. I couldn't take it. Not now, maybe
never again. So please listen to me sometime, okay? I don't mean all the time. Just…
sometime." And he could almost hear that spiteful imaginary Wesker laughing at him, in the
back of his mind, because he was so pathetic that he had to go so far as to beg a subordinate
just to be heard. What a disappointment!
He was so lost inside in his own head that he did not catch what the other had answered him.
"Huh?" He mumbled, feeling like a jerk.
"I said, it's not you, it's me," Leon repeated, continuing to walk with a bowed head, the wisps
of his bangs swaying at the movement. "You think you have trust issues, that's cute..." he
continued bitterly. "Every reference figure I've ever had has left me high and dry. One after
the other. My mother, professors, instructors, my ex... At some point, I just stopped listening.
I take care of myself, I've been doing that for more than half my life and I know what to do,"
he stopped talking, conflicted, and then shot him a piercing look. "Fuck it, you want this
pedestal? Take it, just don't fucking let me down too, ok?" He cut it short because he really
wanted to trust him, he really wanted an honest friend or at least someone who could take
care of him just a bit, but it wasn't easy to let himself go.
"I won't," Chris assured him, determined, which reminded him of a warning Wesker, the real
one, had given him when, for the umpteenth time, he had asked him to go on a mission after
the endless months of training that had followed his stormy arrival in Raccoon City.
"If you think you are ready, I can and will indulge you, but keep one thing in mind, Chris:
what's asked can be granted, but is never earned, and what is earned doesn't need to be
asked. Don't let me down."
At the time, he had thought it was just one of his philosophical bullshit, but now he
understood the meaning and it hurt because it was true. Just as it was true and hurtful that he
was not ready, not to take the reins, at least. He also realized something else, that the voice he
occasionally heard in his head which sounded so much like his captain had nothing to do with
him. Albert would have never suggested to him to beat someone into submission because he
would have considered it ridiculous and futile. Fear was not respect, and in fact, he had never
beaten him, he had been strict, perhaps a little too brutal in hand-to-hand training, but he had
never laid hands on him. On the contrary, the times he had quietly talked him out of his
bullshit and insecurities were countless. Even at the mansion, he had been cold in sending
them to the slaughter, calculating, not sadistic. So what was that voice if it wasn't Wesker?
Was he himself being so dark? Was he giving that voice the face of his captain as a scapegoat
to hide his own inner rot? How had he gone from being surprised because Leon had been
afraid of him when he had arrested him to wanting to physically punish him for his
insubordination? Because a part of him had really wanted to.
"But you have to help me," he murmured, and if before his had been a request, now his voice
resembled a plea. The only difference was that he was so desperate that he was no longer
ashamed.
Leon lifted his head sharply and looked at him with slightly furrowed eyebrows, waiting for
an explanation.
Chris swallowed and, although he would have liked to shy away from it, sustained his gaze.
"I've told, you, in the bathroom… I have the feeling that I'm... I don't even know how to
explain it. It's like sinking into quicksand. Sometimes I lose myself and I want to do terrible
things even to those who don't deserve it. If I go too far out of line, I want you to tell me. I
want you to stop me."
Leon was silent for a long moment, pondering.
"Will you listen to me?" He asked him because he was far from convinced.
Chris nodded, "Yes. I will."
"Promise?" The rookie insisted, again with that somewhat childish attitude from when he had
asked him to swear that he would never let Irons near him again.
"I promise," Chris answered and was about to question him about what had happened with
that pig of a police chief when the helicopter they had heard in the distance flew over them
and illuminated them with a beam of light.
"You two, get to the subway station! We are rounding up the survivors there! Move!" They
incited them, before flying away.
Leon grabbed him by the arm, thrilled. "Maybe the driver took Sherry there too! We have to
go check it out!"
Chris, however, was scowling. "They are U.B.C.S., which means Umbrella," he hissed,
suspiciously, reading the logo on the side of the helicopter.
"If they wanted to kill us they would have shot us from up there," the rookie objected.
"Listen, let's get there, I'll go in first. They don't know me, and if I smell shit, I'll run right
back to you and we'll get the fuck off, okay? In and out."
Chris followed the chopper's departure with hate-filled eyes.
"Agreed," he growled.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
I hope all is well and, as always, thank you for being here to read, leave kudos,
subscriptions, bookmarks, and comments <3!
Okay, a whole chapter dedicated to Leon and Chris because I've fallen a little bit behind
on the events surrounding them and I need to get a move on to get everything to fit
together.
Leon is still Leon. He has great plans but then doesn't have the experience or coolness to
carry them out. I admit, I was afraid I would run out of ideas on how to knock down
Nemesis long before this moment but creativity and need keep coming to my rescue
XD. For now, poor Nem has been cannonballed with a rocket, buried alive in a building,
electrocuted for hours, impaled and crushed again at a construction site, and is starting
to get pretty pissed off. He came close to killing Leon this time, not least because our
rookie has already put the screws to him twice, and as far as my understanding of
Nemesis goes, he is a learning creature. Leon is not his target but he is certainly
someone he wants to get out of the way now.
Chris, on the other hand, is in a panic. All kinds of panic, he's collecting them: fear,
anger, gay panic, various and sundry insecurities, but, on the anger management side
he's also gaining a little bit more awareness and starting to be scared of himself.
Regarding his analysis of Wesker, however, I don't quite agree. Wesker, bless his
shrunken black heart, is one hell of a sadist. Period. He too is a cat who loves to play
with his prey, but I also think that for the time he was the S.T.A.R.S. captain, he kind of
kept this side of his character in check. In any case, no, the Wesker Chris feels in his
head is still not even comparable to the real Wesker who, even in sadism, would be
much more refined, and, yes, he would never tell him to beat up a kid to get something.
It is true that he did strike Sherry, but he did it at a time when he had lost his wits in
anger, so it is not quite the same thing.
Heck, I can't wait for the time when Albert will be far more than just a memory!
Back to our duo, Leon is getting kinda pushy with Chris in their 'cuddle' moments, as he
calls them. He is becoming more languid and even a little brasher, and I don't know how
wise that is because Chris is already very scared of too many things at once.
On the personal side, they seem to have reached yet another shaky compromise, but,
even on this one, things are creaking. Leon still keeps plenty of things to himself and has
lied to him about Nicholai, and Chris is making promises that he may not be able to
keep. They're both walking on really thin ice.
One last thing before I say goodbye: next week I have a Wednesday meeting (the classic
parent-teacher meeting about student progress useful only for ruining the kids'
Christmas holidays-I've always found it heartless, ever since I was a student myself and
now that I'm a teacher my opinion hasn't changed) so if I can make it, I'll post the
chapter on Tuesday night, otherwise Wednesday night but later than usual because I'm
afraid it will go on for a long time.
Thank you all so much again!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 30
Chapter Notes
"Walk behind me. Close but at the right distance," Nicholai said when, once up the stairs, he
opened the door that led inside the police station. He had never been to the place, did not
know its floor plan, and Sergei had not bothered to send him a complete map, just an
indication of the entrances, along with information about the woman he was to kill. Even
from the outside, that building looked like a fucking maze, and he had already wasted a lot of
time.
"What's the right distance?" Sherry asked him, clinging to his vest from behind.
"Not this one," he answered and, in doing so, rotated, hitting her gently with his hip to show
her what he meant, "I have to be free to move without knocking you to the ground or tripping
over you."
She nodded and moved back a couple of steps but it was clear that she would rather be
holding on to him, if not actually being carried. She knew she was way too old for that but
she felt so helpless and scared.
He looked at her with new eyes and a feeling of compassion weighing down his chest. It was
true the little devochka was just a spoiled American brat who had gotten everything and more
out of life but it was also true that the little girl she was was slowly dying to turn into
something else. The light of innocence was already fading in her gaze and, admitting her
unlikely survival, she would never return to what she was before again. He was not cynical
enough not to judge it unfair, and this brought him back even further in his memories. Life
had always been hard for him but there had been a time when he had been just as innocent, so
far back that it almost seemed like someone else's life. A time when he had been nothing
more than a bright eager child with raven black hair who loved to study and hoped, one day,
to be able to find an honest job to support himself and his mother, freeing her from the filthy
pigs she had to fuck in order to guarantee him a roof over his head in a communal house with
far too many people inside. His mother had been a beautiful woman and this had been her
demise. If she had been ugly or even just ordinary maybe she would have gotten away with
only grueling factory shifts and still been alive, without ending up raped and strangled by one
of those much-zealous customers who 'loved' her too much to share.
Not that being an ugly, all-boned boy had-.
"Are you mad?" Sherry's coy question dragged him out of his head and he was almost
grateful for it because he was beginning to get tired. Tired in every sense of the word.
"Did I do something wrong?" Insisted the little girl, apologetic.
He shook his head. "I was just thinking. Let's get moving."
"About what?" She held him back, grabbing him by the wrist with both hands.
Nicholai bent his thin lips into an enigmatic smile. "Много будешь знать, скоро
состаришься, моя дорогая девочка," he teased her tenderly, releasing himself from her
grasp and giving her a light playful tap on the tip of her nose with his index finger.
"W-what? What did you say?" She protested.
"Who knows?" He giggled, mischievously.
“Hey, that’s unfair! You can’t speak Russian to me!”
Nicholai bent down a little to give her a playful look of defiance. "Правда? Кто это сказал?"
"It's impolite!" Sherry protested, clenching her fists in frustration.
He swung his head a little, pondering. "Yes, perhaps it is," he conceded.
"So will you tell me what you said?"
" Niet," he reiterated, turning back toward the door.
"Asshole!" She hissed in a very low voice, believing she would not be heard.
He cast her an amused look over his shoulder. "I beg your pardon, milady?"
She blushed, embarrassed, and then paled fearfully.
"It must have been the wind," he sighed, patiently, casting one last penetrating glance at her
before opening the door.
He scowled right away. "Hush now," he intimated to her, sternly, already hearing the familiar
zombie grunts coming from the hallway.
Two, maybe three.
He made a quick summary of his resources and the situation. If he had been alone... He
stopped the thought immediately; it was a waste of time.
He was not alone. Period. Next plan. No distractions. Quick thinking was imperative.
He saw the first zombie pass the corner, followed shortly by the second, and heard Sherry
gasp behind him.
"Close your eyes," he told her, letting the duffel bag and sniper rifle slide to the ground. He
checked to make sure the corridor to his right was clear before moving away from her and
charging forward without any fear or hesitation. He used his momentum to tackle the first
zombie, crashing it against the window, shattering the glass in the process, and knocking it
out; then he turned sharply toward the second, deflected his outstretched arms, and mowed
down its legs with a swift kick, causing it to lose what little precarious balance it had. As the
zombie scrambled to the floor, uncoordinated and erratic, Nicholai kicked its head, forcing it
to turn sideways, and then stomped on its temple with the heel of his boot. Hard. The most
fragile part of the skull shattered with the first blow, but he did not stop and continued to
crush it until the brain became a mush splattered on the rich tiles of the hallway.
Without missing a beat the Russian looked in front of him, listening intently to the noises
around them but everything was silent in the immediate vicinity. He turned back to the little
girl who had not listened to him and still stood at the door with her glassy eyes fixed on his
boot, now completely covered with blood and brain fluids. She was very pale, shaking from
head to toe and wringing her hands in nervousness, however, she winced when she realized
that he was staring at her.
"I-it's okay, I know it was necessary," she whispered, justifying him, "you wouldn't have done
it otherwise."
Nicholai blinked, touched by her kindness, and retrieved his equipment. It was so rare for
him to be understood, and he certainly would not have expected it from a child.
"What does your father look like?" The question escaped his lips before it even properly
reached his brain for validation. For fuck's sake! He didn't have time for yet another
assignment, much less one that was unpaid and had a next-to-zero chance of success.
Fuck it, he was going to make the bloody time.
"Oh! I have a picture of him here!" She exclaimed, surprised, chirping like a little bird, then
hurried to put her hands around her neck but suddenly her face grew even more agitated.
"My pendant! I've lost my pendant!" She cried, in despair. "Mom is going to tear me to
pieces! She said it was very important and I shouldn't lose it for any reason!"
She covered her mouth with her little hands and clenched her eyes shut, turning crimson from
the effort not to burst into tears again. "She didn't want to! It was dad who convinced her! I
heard them arguing the night before my birthday, she said it was crazy to give such an
important thing to me, and now she's going to get mad at him too!" She vented, remembering
her mother's severity when she had given her the jewel.
Once again it had been her daddy's wish to have her mother give it to her instead of him. Her
daddy was good and wanted the two of them to get along, which was why Sherry had never
told him she had heard them, and now she had lost the pendant, letting him down, proving
once and for all that she was just a no-good absent-minded brat with no talent, just as her
mother used to say and Uncle Al too.
"Stop that right now," Nicholai ordered her coldly, and she lifted her gaze to shoot him a
resentful look.
"You don't understand!" She shrieked, offended.
"You're right, I probably don't," he conceded to her, "but I can't spare the effort, and neither
can you. You won't find your father standing there crying. Screw the pendant. Look around,
do you really think your parents will care that you lost it? It's just a trinket, it can be replaced,
unlike you or them," he explained to her, although it should have been obvious. "You have to
learn what your priorities are, and you better do it fast. Now answer my question."
Sherry's lip continued to tremble for a moment longer as she held back her grievances at
being treated so bluntly because he had a point. She knew he was right, even if he wasn't
pleasant.
"H-he is less tall than you and has blond hair like mine, the cut is about the same as Leon's
but shorter. He is very thin and always looks like someone who might collapse asleep at any
moment. He works a lot and often forgets to rest, or eat. The last time I saw him he was
wearing a white shirt and the dark red tie I gifted him last Christmas, but, at work, he also
puts on a white coat."
Nicholai nodded, proceeding ahead into the hallway to examine the various doors. "What
about your mother?" He inquired since the child had finally brought her into the picture too.
"She doesn't care about me..."
He paused before opening the door that would, presumably, lead them toward the main hall.
"And do you care about her?" He asked. "Don't answer lightly."
She winced and a lump knotted her throat.
Of course, she did.
"S-she's my mom, I love her," she admitted, heartbroken, "I just wish she loved me too…"
She looked at his broad, strong back and noticed that he was still waiting. "Her name is
Annette, she's blond too, and she has long straight hair. She always ties it to one side. I don't
know how she is dressed, she often changes in the lab. I last heard from her yesterday around
noon, well before Chris and Leon arrived, and she told me to stay home and wait for the
nanny or call the police if anything was wrong."
"Fair enough," was Nicholai's only comment as he slowly opened the door to the small room
that looked like an office or an information desk. There was no one inside, alive or undead,
and everything was unnaturally quiet.
"T-thank you," she whispered.
"Our agreement still stands. If we can't find anyone who can help you, I'll take you straight to
the hideout in the subway."
Sherry nodded. "I know, it was because at least you'll look for them if I can't. Not everyone
would do that. Leon and Chris didn't even listen to me..."
And that's fucking ridiculous, Nicholai thought. Why, with two cops ready to 'serve and
protect', as they unsufferably liked to print on every fucking logo, had the goddamned child
ended up in his charge, the most ruthless and methodical of the goddamned Umbrella
Monitors? What the fuck were they thinking? Yet Leon did not strike him as the type to let a
little girl down - he had even medicated a deer with his shirt! And how had he ended up at
Birkin's house, to begin with?
"Can you tell me anything about Redfield?" He investigated, kneeling in front of the door to
pick the lock.
"Who?"
"Chris."
Sherry hesitated, uncertain, "I'm not sure I like him. He's always so...angry. I mean, there are
times when he's quiet and pleasant but it's like he struggles. He was the one who told Leon
not to look for my daddy, he admitted it himself, and he also scared me, a couple of times."
"I see," Nicholai closed the conversation. Redfield is out for revenge. He will not stop until
the blood has dried. He's dangerous. He will have the kitten killed, an intrusive thought put
him on notice. And it's none of my business, he retorted, lucidly. What an asshole! Annoyance
intruded. Leon is only a rookie, he should not have involved him in his fucking suicidal
crusade!
"Still not my business," he mumbled, clicking the lock open.
"What?" Sherry asked him.
"Nothing."
She studied him for a long moment. Nicholai was so weird. It was clear that he didn't care
much about Chris, but every time she mentioned Leon, he would ask about him while
pretending that he didn't really care.
"You like him too, don't you?" The little girl asked him. "I mean Leon."
He winced. She was really smart, he recognized, and far too curious, so he said nothing.
"How did you meet?" She insisted.
"I rescued him from a tree as the damn cat he is," he sighed, blaming himself for the
ridiculousness of the whole thing.
"Huh?" She uttered, confused.
"Priorities, devochka. We don't have time to waste on small talk."
With that said, Nicholai opened the door wide, cast a glance in front of him, and by instinct
brought his arm back to block Sherry and cover her eyes. He was not a man who was easily
impressed and he had seen more than his share of atrocities and gory scenes in his life but
what he had before his eyes was entirely on another level of fucked up, to quote Miss
Valentine. Even though he had only a partial view of the hall he could clearly see dozens and
dozens of bodies. They were everywhere, many of them dismembered and in pieces. Blood
and body fluids were splattered on the walls, on the monumental staircase, and on the
furniture.
What the fuck had happened there?
"Ew! What's this stench?" Sherry asked, backing away abruptly and plugging her nose.
Clotted blood, guts, and their contents were the answer but Nicholai did not tell her and
slammed the door shut.
"W-what's out there? What scared you so much?" Fretted the little girl, reaching for the
doorknob.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, stopped her, and crouched in front of her.
"I'm not scared-
"You're not? Look at your arms!" She denied him.
Nicholai did so and was surprised to see the hairs standing up from the goosebumps on his
forearms, but he had not lied to her. He was not frightened. It was just... He knew he
shouldn't have given an absolute fuck about Carlos, but he did and it was a fact from which,
like it or not, he could no longer escape. The thought of finding him lying among those
bodies along with Miss Valentine was having an effect on him. He wasn't quite sure how this
made him feel but certainly not good nor as detached as he should have been.
"Listen to me, I'm going out alone now, and you are to wait for me here without moving or
making a sound until I come back, understood?"
She whitened and shook her head vigorously. "Please don't leave me alone!" She cried,
throwing her arms around his neck again. "I can't stand being alone! Don't leave me! Don't
leave me! Please, I'll be good! I'll do everything you say!"
He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her shoulder, taking a deep breath as he tried
to put together a plan that might work, or at least that wouldn't completely suck. He wasn't
picky anymore.
"W-what if a monster comes and you're not here?" Sherry continued to plead her case.
She wasn't wrong, and she didn't even know the extent of it. With all that slaughter the
zombies, which were probably in large numbers, were the least of their problems anyway.
There was definitely something else quietly lurking in the corners. Nicholai was more than
aware of it, and he was nowhere near properly equipped to deal with them.
"Stop crying, please..." He told her and his was no longer an order but more of an exhausted
request.
"Don't ever say you leave me alone again!" She hissed.

"Didn't you think I'm an asshole?" He found the strength to joke as he gently pushed her
back.
"Oh, yes sir! You are a huuuge asshole!" She growled, glaring at him. "B-but I know you care
and will protect me," she added, softening. "You definitely need to learn some manners,
though. I can teach you."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. How had he ended up being scolded by a little girl?
Indeed he liked her and her nerve, but it did not improve their situation in any way and that
was enough to make him deadly serious again.
"Okay, let's see if we can find another way," he huffed, walking back toward the door they
had entered. He opened it without worrying too much since they had just gone through it but
he regretted it soon after when a high-pitched, hissing growl filled the hallway.
Nicholai wasted no time and threw himself at Sherry, plugging her mouth with one hand just
as something landed on the threshold with another chilling roar, throwing the door wide open
and preventing it from closing.
The child's eyes widened in terror as she focused on the monster that had nothing human left
in it. Its arms and legs had become incredibly deformed; it had lost all its skin and was just a
bundle of vermilion muscles now. It had no face, but an array of sharp fangs topped by a
large whitish brain.
Nicholai turned her face a little so that she would look him in the eye and motioned her to be
absolutely silent with the hand with which he was not covering her mouth. She nodded,
trembling like a leaf in the wind, clung tightly to his neck, and wrapped her legs around his
waist when he lifted her into his arms again.
Nicholai slowly rotated in on himself, putting Sherry with her back to the monster so he
could look at it and keep her from doing so. He hoped she understood the gravity of the
situation because if she started screaming they were both dead. He began to back toward the
door that led into the hall, holding Sherry tightly to him and keeping his eyes on the licker
that was advancing across the floor swaying its head and making its long claws tick on the
tiles. It was less than a couple of steps away from them but Nicholai did not dare to speed up,
not with the kid in his arms. When he almost reached the door, he brought one arm back and
lowered the handle very gently but as the lock clicked open the licker, receptive, shifted his
head in their direction and rolled out part of his long tongue, dripping slimy drool on the
floor.
It knew they were there, somewhere.
At least the motherfucker was blind.
Nicholai opened the door and took a step onto the lobby balcony, but when Sherry saw the
slaughter of bodies that filled that great hall, a hiccup of pure horror escaped her. She hurried
to cover her mouth but it was too late.
Nicholai threw her to the floor, well away from the threshold, took the gun off his belt, and
shot straight in front of him, nipping the licker's leap in the bud and forcefully closing the
door just a moment before its tongue could twist around his arm. He clutched the handle with
both hands, pulling back with all his weight and strength. The monster, inside, screamed in
fury and frustration and lunged at the door, digging its long claws into the wood with such
ferocity that they flashed out the other side, and it might have even managed to open it, had
Nicholai not resisted with everything he had.
Only when he saw him retract its claws and felt it move away did the Russian let go of the
handle and, panting, let himself sit on the floor.
It had definitely been a close one. Too close for comfort.
With his gaze, he sought out the little girl who had huddled at the end of the balcony, under a
marble bust that watched the devastation with empty, uninterested eyes. He saw her small
body shake from the gags before she violently threw up, and felt so sorry for her.
"I-I want my daddy!" She whined, breaking down.
And it was at that moment that Nicholai decreed, consciously and unconsciously alike, that
he would bring him back to her, even if he had to drag the son of a bitch out of the bottom of
the deepest abyss of fucking Hell.
"Hey, hey, slow down, stop for a second!"
Leon turned to look at Chris and heeded him, casting an impatient glance at the entrance to
the Redstone Metro station.
"Don't screw around in there, okay? At the first shady thing, you come right back to me."
The recruit rolled his eyes. "I won't talk to strangers or take candy from anyone, cross my
heart. Anything else, mom?" He huffed, in disbelief.
"Stop calling me that or I'll feel entitled to spank you," Chris answered curtly.
Leon laughed coquettishly. "Are we getting kinky now? And, tell me, do you want me to say
'harder sir' while we're at it?"
Chris let out an exasperated grunt. "I'd be happy if you'd stop clowning around for at least a
second."
"But I was deadly serio-
"Leon!"
"Okay-okay," the other surrendered, sulking. "Ten minutes and I'll get back to you. Tops," he
assured him, but then grimaced uncertainly. "Actually... Don't come in shooting like a
madman if I don't. I'm a latecomer."
"Great..." Muttered Chris, tense and impatient.
"Hey, I do my best to be on time, really! It's the universe that makes me late."
"Yeah, I bet it takes you at least an hour just to fix your hair in the morning, but go ahead and
blame it on the bloody universe."
"Ouch!" Laughed Leon because Chris had a point, he really spent an unreasonable amount of
time getting ready but hey, it wasn't that big of a fault!
"I promise I'll try to be quick and careful. You're stuck with me, big guy," he reassured him,
patting him on the shoulder. "The only way you can get rid of me is to shoot me yourself."
"And that's not a solution off the table," Chris retorted but it was obvious he was worried. His
hangdog face was absolutely adorable in Leon's eyes who felt the instinct to hug him for the
umpteenth time but restrained himself and merely turned a sweet smile on him.
"I'm going now, or we'll stay here forever looking into each other's eyes. See you later..." He
waited patiently. "Oh, come on!"
"What?"
"Alligator! See you later... Alligator! Oh, fuck off!" He huffed, trotting away across the road.
Chris sighed as he saw him disappear down the subway stairs and felt a squeeze in his heart.
He did not like seeing him go away from him. He didn't like it at all.
"Ten fucking minutes..." He mumbled, slinging his assault rifle.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, a thousand and one thanks to all of you who read, and leave kudos,
comments, subscriptions, and bookmarks!
As I anticipated, since I will be busy tomorrow at school until late, I will publish the
chapter tonight.
You must forgive me though, I would have liked to write more about Leon and Chris but
since the scene promises to be long I had to cut it where I left it at the end of the chapter
because I would not have had time to finish writing it. I will pick them up first thing in
next week's chapter, I promise.
Coming to the commentary for this chapter, as I am sure you have noticed I have
described the police station hall a little differently than we saw it in RE2R, this is
because, personally, I have always found it a little depopulated with corpses. In
documents around the game, a real battle between the cops and the zombies is described,
and since the police station, perhaps even more so than the subway, was intended as a
shelter for survivors, something horrible must have happened.
Let me be clear, I am not criticizing the game because putting bodies everywhere and
increasing the number of zombies would have put far too much work into the game
engine, but since we don't have a problem here with on-screen loaded elements, I
decided to describe the station as the nightmare I always imagined it to be.
The first licker has appeared! You guys can't imagine how much I love/hate those big
sons of bitches. I deeply respect and fear them despite all the hours spent playing and
replaying RE2R. They are among the few creatures that always make me break out in a
cold sweat, even in RE5 where they are considerably less dangerous. Fortunately,
Nicholai was the one to handle the situation. He knows them well and knows how to
deal with them. I really don't think Carlos or Jill, in that situation, would have lived to
tell the tale. I'm not using a lot of documents because, realistically speaking, no one in
that situation would be reading randomly left notes, so they wouldn't have had the
slightest idea of what a licker was.
Our Russian is melting like snow in the sun even though it still has a nice perennial
layer of ice that will be hard to remove. He is almost sweet in his way of rejecting the
evidence. Even Sherry has noticed it. And, yes, he likes Leon, of course.
She, poor thing, is in pieces. Everything she is experiencing is too much for her and she
will need a little more time to normalize. After all, she is only 12 years old, and I think
anyone would cry at being confronted by a licker, and vomit at being in a hall full of
corpses. It is quite a miracle that she managed to keep almost completely quiet while
Nicholai carried her to safety.
He could also have killed the licker but, unlike zombies, there are too many variables
that can go wrong in dealing with one, so he would prefer, being the expert that he is, to
avoid them as much as possible. Especially with a child in his arms.
Poor Nicholai, forced to be a nanny!
Thank you so much for your continued support, a big hug! See you next Wednesday!
Lady S.
Chapter 31
Chapter Notes
"Hands up!" Barked a U.B.C.S. soldier pointing, nervously, his assault rifle at him.
Leon obeyed and slowly descended the last few steps of the staircase that had brought him to
the turnstiles accessing the subway tracks.
"Introduce yourself!" Another soldier ordered him; there were three of them and they all
looked like they were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"My name is Leon Kennedy, I am a police officer. I have a gun in my belt but it's empty."
"Have you been bitten?" Investigated one of the three, approaching him with his weapon
drawn.
"No. Some of you guys in a helicopter told me this is a gathering center for survivors. I
wanna help."
The soldier who by now had almost reached him burst into a cruel laugh. "He wants to help,
did you hear that? How lucky we are!" He teased him. "Hold them up," he then barked at
him, when he saw him inclined to lower his arms.
Leon sulked, feeling irritation run under his skin. It was always like this. Every fucking time.
No one ever took him seriously. He saw the soldier lower his rifle and took a step back when
he moved his hands in his direction.
"I have to check you for bites," he explained, impatient.
"I already told you I don't have any!"
"I don't give a shit what you said!" The soldier immediately raised his voice. "There are
women and children down here, I'm not letting any asshole in on his word."
Leon nodded and gasped when he felt his hands on him, first examining his arms, then his
torso and legs. He was reminded of how Irons had touched him, his filthy hands gripping his
hips, cupping his ass... He felt like gagging, even though there was nothing sexual in that
search.
"He's clear!" The soldier informed his two colleagues, finally leaving him alone.
"Will you let me keep the gun?" Asked the rookie, since that was the only thing the soldier
had ignored.
"Why? Afraid of shooting yourself in the foot? Come on, get down and go sit with the
ladies," he urged him, pushing him over the turnstile firmly.
Leon gave him a hostile look with the taunting giggles of the other two in his ears, but said
nothing and hurried down the stairs. Chris was waiting for him outside and, knowing him, he
was not going to react well to those three assholes. He had to get a move on and follow the
plan: find Sherry, make sure that was really a safe place, and if so, go get Chris; if not, take
her out. He went down another flight of stairs and found himself in front of several supply
crates so he took the opportunity to reload his gun before moving on.
Stopped at the platform was a stationary train with many cars that ended well beyond the
mouth of the tunnel. Except for those in the front, they were all full of people. He entered the
one where a soldier was sitting. He was a man in his late forties, stocky and muscular with a
gray beard and a red beret on his head with the Umbrella logo. Although he was injured, the
soldier immediately noticed his presence, even though he had entered almost on tiptoe.
"And you are?" He asked him in an obvious Russian accent, aiming his careful, icy eyes at
him.
"'Name's Leon. Leon Kennedy," the kid introduced himself.
"Go sit further back with the others. This carriage is reserved for my boys."
Leon did not even listen to him. "I'm looking for a little girl. She's blond, about this tall-
"There are several, go see for yourself."
"No, this one should have arrived recently. Half an hour ago at most," Leon insisted,
stubborn.
Mikhail shook his head. "Then she's not here," he told him, caustically.
Leon frowned. "How can you be so sure?"
"Yours is the first new face I've seen in six hours."
The rookie felt his heart sink into his chest. He had hoped so much that Sherry would be
there.
"Go sit with the others," Mikhail repeated to him. "She's probably gone and as soon as my
men get the power back on, this train will leave," he explained, although by now that had
become more a hope than a fact. He had lost contact with Seeker, the last he had assigned to
go to the power plant, long before.
Leon clenched his fists, insulted because there was no chance in hell he would abandon
Sherry and Chris to their fate to save his own ass. He was about to air all his grievances when
something better occurred to him.
"Is Nicholai around?" He asked and this immediately caught the attention of the unknown
soldier, lighting his eyes with confused curiosity.
"How is it that you know him?" Investigated Mikhail, studying him with his full attention.
"We are..." Leon wavered. He certainly couldn't say that he barely knew him if he wanted to
get help from the guy. He had to convince him to wait until he found the little girl. "We're
friends."
Friends, huh? Mikhail thought, misinterpreting his hesitation.
Was Zinoviev falling back into his old sick habits? Bold and stupid of him. If Sergei had
come to know about it he would have skinned him alive along with that pretty boy, but he had
no intention of telling him. Not right away, at least, because if Nicholai was somehow close
to that blondie, then he was certainly keeping an eye on him, and this was his chance to get
that fucking train rolling. He was running out of options and men, and if the only way left
was to put Zinoviev's little plaything between a rock and a hard place he was more than
willing to do it. At worst the pansy would die trying and the world would not mourn for him.
Otherwise, if Zinoviev really cared he would have saved his neck and completed the mission
for him. He didn't particularly like the idea of two like them saving the day but there were
almost a hundred people on that train who needed to be rescued so even faggots were fine
with him as long as they could get the job done.
Leon didn't strike him as particularly adept at anything but sucking cock on his knees, and the
image alone was very repulsive to him, but Zinoviev was of a different ilk. Whatever made
Seeker and all the men he had sent to the power plant disappear, he could handle it.
The decision was made. No use thinking about it further.
"He's not here but we could use your help," he told him, looking him straight in the eye.
Leon straightened his back, sensing his hostility and contempt, but also his desperate need.
"Will this train wait if I help you?" He asked him.
Mikhail huffed. The shameless cunt even had the audacity to make demands, but he was
willing to negotiate, or at least pretend to. Eventually, he would put a bullet in his forehead
anyway, and, hopefully, in that fucking rabid dog's too. On balance, he would even have done
them a favor because that would have been a quicker and more merciful demise than the one
Sergei would have given them instead.
"If you come back before my men finish clearing the tracks, yes. It's not personal, Officer
Kennedy, I just can't trade a few lives for nearly a hundred. It's simple math," he retorted.
"What do you need me to do?" Leon nodded, determined.
"Turn the power back on at the plant but beware better men than you have already failed."
The boy clenched his fists. This time the nastiness had hit him loud and clear. That man,
somehow, knew.
"And what do you mean by better men?" He hissed, hostile.
Mikhail sneered, amused. "Isn't that clear enough? The likes of you should play with dolls
instead of guns. But none of us has a choice: you want a ride out of town, and I have to get
this train started. Will you do it?"
Leon cast a glance at the other carriages, catching a glimpse, through the door windows, of
all those frightened people eager only to escape from that nightmare.
"Yes but not for you, asshole."
"I don't give a shit who you do it for. Just do it," was Mikhail's hostile response. "On your
way out, stock up on weapons, and ammunition, and get a radio. Channel 5. You’ll report
directly to me, Captain Mikhail Victor."
Leon left the wagon without saying goodbye. He had no idea how the guy had read so well
through him but it didn't matter in the least. Once outside he would have a chance to resume
looking for Sherry and would turn the power back on because, after all, he and Mikhail
agreed on one thing: he could not put a train full of people in jeopardy to save one. In that
case, he would stay behind until he found her.
On the way back he took a radio and retrieved a duffel bag, filling it with all the ammunition
he could carry, both for the guns and the assault rifle, giving up taking one for himself. He
would not have felt safe using it anyway.
"Back outside?" The soldier who had searched him earlier asked him.
"I'm going to reactivate the power plant."
"Well, good luck with that," mumbled one of the other two, again in that obnoxious,
incredulous tone.
He would show them, and then they would shut up. Leon was adamant.
He was not surprised when he found Chris halfway down the stairs.
"It's been over ten-
"Shut the fuck up and follow me!" Blurted out the rookie abruptly, passing him and throwing
the heavy U.B.C.S. duffel bag into his arms.
"Yes, sir..." Chris ironized in a whisper, confused and puzzled. What had pissed him off so
much? Leon was fuming.
"Would you mind explaining?" He asked, then, joining him outside.
Leon did not answer him and Chris saw him feverishly checking the road signs.
"Hey, I don't like it when you're too quiet. It scares the shit out of me," he pointed out to him,
trying to maintain a playful tone and avoid another argument.
"Power plant!" Leon exclaimed, reading what he was looking for.

The other grabbed him behind the collar of his shirt before he could run away, and this time
the tug caused him to pop off a button.
Leon broke free with an annoyed growl and slapped his hand. "Stop fucking doing that!" He
hissed, massaging his neck that still ached from his encounter with Nemesis.
"If you snap away like a bullet, I won't catch you. My ass is heavy," Chris retorted, after
counting to ten to keep his patience up. "What happened down there?"
"They're just a bunch of assholes!" Leon blurted out, livid with fury.
"Did they hurt you? Threatened you?"
"No, and even if they did I can take care of myself! I'm so fucking tired of not being taken
seriously! Everyone looks at me and thinks I ended up here by accident, or because I had
nothing better to do! All they see is a pussy out of place! I was top of my class at the
Academy, the other cadets' evaluations were light years away from mine! I earned this
uniform! I fucking earned it!" He shouted and then looked at the torn buttonhole of his collar.
"Fuck!"
Chris looked at him dumbfounded for a long moment, taken aback by his unexpected
outburst.
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered uncomfortably, "I didn't mean..." He let his voice die out because
he didn't know what to say.
"Forget it," Leon closed the conversation. "Sherry wasn't there but there's a whole train full of
people waiting to be taken to safety. We need to get the power back on."
"We?"
The rookie glowered at him. "I can do it myself if it's too much trouble for you!"
Chris rubbed his temples, the damn kid was giving him a headache.
"I don't work for Umbrella," he objected.
"Whatever, I'm going."
Chris stopped him again, this time grabbing him by the arm. "You don't understand-
Leon pushed him back. "Of course, I don't!" He thundered. "Because in addition to being
unfit for this job I'm certainly also stupid!"
"That's not what I meant!" Chris raised his voice in response and the kid took a step back,
still pissed off but also intimidated. "You just don't know them like I do, for fuck's sake!"
Chris continued. "They're Umbrella, they look like they mean well but they don't!"
"And what would be the alternative? Leave the civilians down there pretending that those
three assholes guarding the turnstiles won't be overwhelmed by zombies sooner or later?
There are only four U.B.C.S.s down there. Their shitty captain, who is also injured, and the
three on watch, plus someone who is clearing the tracks! There is no one else who can go to
the plant, and wherever this train goes is still better than here!"
The croaking sound of the radio prevented Chris from retorting. There was some static noise,
then Mikhail's voice emerged.
"-eat... do you copy, Officer Kennedy?"
Leon motioned Chris to be silent, before responding with a laconic, "Kennedy here."
"Oh, good!" Exclaimed the Russian with some surprise. "I was worried you were already
dead."
Chris saw Leon blush with anger.
"What the fuck do you want?"
Mikhail laughed malevolently. "Nicholai is right. Everyone here in America is a spineless

wuss. If you had responded like that to a superior in Russia at the very least you would have
said goodbye to that pretty face."
Leon cast a glance at Chris who was, in turn, listening attentively, and prayed that the asshole
would not let slip any more things about Nicholai. That was certainly not the time to tell
Chris that he was keeping secrets from him.
"We don't have time for a cross-cultural exchange of bullshit," he replied, sourly. "Tell me
what's up and fuck off."
"My men just informed me that the tracks are not lined up to take the train out of town so I
need you to also go to the Subway Power Station to set them up."
"Anything else? Do you also want coffee so I can at least piss in it?"
Mikhail laughed again, this time more heartily, and it was followed by a groan of pain and a
few coughs. "I'm starting to like you, Kennedy. Now move that ass. Over."
"Holy shit! And I thought you were being rude to me!" Chris couldn't stop himself from
remarking when he saw him hang up the radio on his belt.
"With you, I have only been on my best behavior. You haven't seen anything yet," Leon
hissed.
"Lucky me!"
"So, are you in?" The rookie cut it short.
Chris hesitated for a moment, assessing the situation, and realized that he actually had no
choice. He would never leave him alone, so he nodded. He did not trust Umbrella but, on a
second analysis, he doubted they were trying to kidnap a train full of people. Maybe they
really just wanted to get them to safety. It was clear that the virus had gotten out into the city
but, just like at the mansion, it had not been intentional.
"Stop," he intimated for the umpteenth time when he saw him go off like a firecracker.
Oh, what the fuck!" Leon protested, turning to glare at him.
Chris chuckled, rolling his eyes. "There's a quicker way if we cut through the alleys. That is
if listening to someone who actually knows the place doesn't sting your already wounded
pride even more."
"Guide me," retorted the other, "and don't play with fire, I'm sick of it."
"This way," Chris replied, tender, lifting a hand.
"Touch my hair and I'll cut it off," Leon threatened him, preceding him into the indicated
alley.
"You shouldn't take it so badly," Chris told him, after minutes of walking in silence.
"Easy for you to say. No one would question you at the first glance," Leon muttered, sullenly.
"Actually, my captain did that quite often but he meant well. He really wanted to make me
better."
"Yes, to enlist you in his circus of monsters," blurted the rookie but regretted it soon after
when he heard Chris slow his pace and realized he had hurt him. He stopped and looked back
at him, regretful. "Sorry, that was plain cruel and undeserved," he apologized, feeling
tremendous guilt in front of those sad eyes.
God, I’m just like my mother! He realized once again.
Chris did not reply and continued without resuming speaking. Why the fuck had he tried?
After all, he had really stood by Wesker's side until his betrayal had become far more than
obvious. In fact, until Wesker had said it to his face. He was not angry at Leon for that nasty
answer. It was not his fault that the truth hurt, and that was precisely why he had no right to
give anyone advice.
Leon trotted to his side. "Hey, I-
"It's okay," Chris reassured him and took another long pause. "You'll have your time to shine,
don't rush things. At least you have initiative, I'm just a trained dog without a leash anymore
and I clearly don't know what to do with all this freedom. For fuck's sake, I've made more
progress since you came to town than in the last two months. You are gifted, Leon, and you
are smart. I've never doubted that, for what it's worth."
"Then why do you always hold me back?" The rookie questioned him, still in that combative
tone.
"Because this is not high school!" Chris exclaimed, returning, finally, to look at him. "Christ,
you're just like her! And I mean my sister, she too is a dickhead always ready to tackle
everything head-on without ever posing a single, shitty doubt. She thinks she's a fucking
goddess, God forbid she's wrong! And yes, before you say it, she got it from me big time,
with the difference being that I constantly question myself! I'm holding you back because
you're not about to fuck off a professor and get your sorry ass suspended but because your
plans always come up short!"
Leon flinched, taken aback by that rebuke. "Meaning?"
"You didn't even notice, did you?"
"Can we cut the rhetorical crap and get to the point?"
"When you drew that monster's attention to you the first time you thought you could outrun-
shut up! I'm talking!" Chris ordered him, sternly. "I know you couldn't have known it was
faster than you, and I also know you saved my ass -and for that I'm grateful- but if there
hadn't been that sniper on the roof and if I hadn't tripped over a rocket launcher, you'd be
dead. And that's the first incident. The second: when you got out of the car and started
shooting at a horde without casting a glance at the alley behind you, and even though I
covered you by taking down those zombies, you still risked getting bitten. I said quiet!" He
reiterated when he saw Leon more than eager to retort and get into an argument. "Third: your
last plan to take down the Tyrant just now. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant but way beyond your
capabilities. You couldn't take that shot and the result showed, you almost got killed with it.
Three times out of three you needed someone to pull you out of the quicksand of shit you had
thrown yourself into, it must mean something or not? You jump into ventures without
knowing how to get out, and that is stupid and reckless! And I don't want to reopen the
subject of how the fuck you drive! "
"I am not a good-for-nothing!" Leon snarled but part of his anger had subsided, giving way to
uncertainty and a sense of inadequacy. "I just did what I had to do to save you and those
people's lives!" His voice was becoming more hoarse and plaintive. "And I'm sorry I missed
that shot! I'm sorry I lost Sherry! I'm sorry, okay? Fuck!" He imprecated, looking away and
turning his face to cover his glossy eyes with his bangs.
Go on, you sissy, weep like a little crybaby! Mike's voice echoed in his mind. You are a
worthless brat, that's why no one has ever loved you, not even your own mother! Chris is
beginning to see your true colors, isn't that right, you little slut? You should have got laid
before you got known, now he will stay well away! You suck! What if he knew about Irons?
Then he wouldn't even look at you anymore, you filthy spoiled meat!
He leaped back when he saw Chris approaching out of the corner of his eye.
"N-no! Please... I'll get over it..." He groaned, covering his face and choking back a sob that
shook his entire chest.
Chris ignored his protest and held him close anyway, partly because he understood by now
that Leon liked to be cuddled, and then because he felt guilty for scolding him like that. Leon
deserved it, of that there was no doubt, but he was too soft to maintain the act of the
disappointed superior. That was his second day as a cop; he should still be recovering from
his welcome party, not dealing with a monster outbreak.
"I-I just wish people would give me a chance!" He felt him protest against his chest, still all
tense from anger. His taking it so personally was cute, and Chris wondered if it was just a
kid's tantrum or if there was a much deeper wound behind his behavior. Leon was much more
fragile than he gave it away; he had to take that into consideration from that moment on.
"I'll tell you what," he said to him in a calm tone, "the next time you come up with one of
your plans, let's talk about it together and, if it's workable, put it into practice together. Does
that sound good to you, you ugly purple toad?"
Leon snorted a laugh. "Asshole!" He protested, pulling back abruptly to wipe his face.
Chris held him by the arm, gently squeezing his wrist. "You kinda served it to me on a silver
platter. So do we have a deal?" He asked, drawing him back to himself a little.
They were face to face, so close that their chests almost brushed against each other, and Leon
was well beyond his intentions to keep that platonic game going. He wanted to kiss him, he
wanted them to embrace each other naked and then lose themselves in one other in a bed, in
the back seat of a car, against the wall of that filthy alley, it didn't matter. He wanted him and
even the reason didn't matter, whether because he wanted to erase what Irons had done to
him, or out of simple lust.
He wanted him.
Maybe that way everything would stop hurting so much.
He quivered when Chris brushed his cheekbone with his thumb to wipe away what was left
of one of his tears, and he was ready to sprint forward and nullify that minimal yet
insurmountable distance that separated them when Chris, for the umpteenth time, pulled
back, continuing to send him mixed signals.
"We'd better get moving," he heard him say, and Leon, more confused and uncertain than
ever, followed.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
Back to our regular Wednesday meeting ^^. As always, thank you all so much for your
interest in my story: readers, commenters, kudoers (yep, neologism again XD),
subscribers, and bookmarkers. I also take advantage of this space to wish you happy
vacations at this time of the year. Personally, I will try to rest, they are driving me crazy
at school between overtime and all (this does not mean that I will not write, quite the
contrary, I will try to prepare a few chapters in advance to have them ready when I
return to work).
Coming to the story, poor Leon, if only those assholes who underestimate him knew that
he will become one of the most badass agents in the world maybe they would shut up.
He suffers so much from not being recognized and is hurt because he has been trying so
hard since he was a child and wanted to win back his mom's affection; so this trauma,
which is a baggage of insecurities hidden behind the bravado, is really a very vulnerable
spot for him. Under normal circumstances, if it had happened in boot camp, he would
have been pissed off but would not have broken down. In Raccoon City, however, the
traumatic experiences are kind of stacking on top of each other, and being taunted for
not appearing male enough to make it and then openly insulted in a homophobic way
has opened up that crack he has a little bit more. Of course, as he gets older, he will
grow out of this, gaining another slew of issues, one of which we can already glimpse,
which is sex. The push he feels toward Chris in this particular chapter is not entirely
healthy because Leon is looking for a loophole to stop feeling so bad at least for a little
while and, well, that's not the answer, my sweet boy.
Coming right to Chris, thumbs up, future captain! He has really handled the situation
properly here. Not perfectly yet but he has succeeded. He, too, will in time realize that
he will never be Wesker --meaning Captain Wesker, stiff, stern, and unwilling to put up
with anyone's bullshit, not Wesker mad-ass villain Wesker--and you can see this very
well at the beginning of his run in RE6, before he loses his memory to PTSD, where he
is really caring of his men, especially the newcomers. I am absolutely convinced that
Chris, by nature, is a really sweet guy who, however, keeps seeing the people he cares
about dying around him like flies and feels horribly responsible for it, as well as getting
increasingly lonely. He will never be the kind of captain for whom the mission objective
is prioritized over the team, for Chris no man should ever be left behind because he
cares, because those men are his brothers. Then he has and will always have his
communication problems and his twisted plans that leaving people in the dark will
somehow keep them safe, but we are not asking him for perfection XD.
Here with Leon, he behaved well because he managed to reason with him about his
mistakes, and then when he saw that the rookie was taking it too hard he consoled and
cuddled him (this does not mean that he will hug all his subordinates, in the future, it is
that he likes Leon but we are still at the level of exchanging effusions that one would see
between completely unaware elementary school children, on his part, while that other
one would like to be fucked hard against the wall, as I said: communication problems,
not just verbal, it will take ages for them to be on the same page, bless our patience).
I conclude with a few words about Mikhail: I am sorry to have made him so unpleasant
because I think he is not in the canon. Of course, I condemn any homophobic comments
he makes and let's just say that his choice to endanger the one he believes to be another
person's romantic interest is not exactly an elegant gesture either. To say something in
his favor, Mikhail is not in a good situation either and, personally, I don't think he wants
to take that train out of town to make Umbrella happy, but rather because he feels the
moral imperative to rescue those civilians and the end justifies the means. If he wasn't
injured, he would probably personally go to the power plant, so having lost a good
portion of his men, finding himself with someone he thinks is important to Nicholai
seems like a miracle to him. As much as he despises his fellow compatriot, he
recognizes his military and tactical value and superiority.
Regarding Nicholai some details about him are slowly emerging, there is still quite a lot
to be revealed but we have time.
I also apologize for the absence of Carlos and Jill, I swear they will reappear as soon as
Nicholai manages to get his ass down there (because, no, he won't help Leon at the
power plant, the kids will have to clean up that mess themselves but people should stop
endangering his kitten or someone will get hurt sooner or later).
Again thank you all so much, you are really, really special!
Happy vacations and big hugs!
Lady S.
Chapter 32
Chapter Notes
Nicholai approached Sherry with a light step, uncertain how to act. He didn't want to tell her,
for the umpteenth time, to stop crying because the child had been great and deserved a
moment of outburst.
They couldn't just stand there, though.
He cast another long glance around, noticing a detail that had initially escaped him, in his
haste to close the door to protect the little girl, the heads of those dead were all bashed in.
Interestingly, someone had not only figured out that the infected would get back up but had
been busy. Too bad they had caught up too late.
Why?
Miss Valentine should have known better. Where was she? Where was Carlos? Had they also
gone to Dr. Birkin's house? No, otherwise Sherry would have mentioned them.
He lowered a hand to stroke the girl's head, uncertain whether he wanted to comfort her or
seek comfort in doing so. It was a very thin line.
He had warned them to get the hell out of town while they still could! Why had they not
listened to him? He had done everything he could to lend them a hand, against his own best
interests because if anyone had reported it to Sergei it would have been his ass that would
have ended in shreds!
You could have stayed. You should have. The voice of that hideous conscience he thought he
had killed long ago reminded him. They are nobody to me. Just faces in the crowd. Nothing
else. He repeated this to himself a few times, enough to regain some coolness and lucidity.
Does it also apply to the child? Scruple questioned him.
He lowered his gaze to look at her. The little girl, still kneeling on the floor, was leaning
against his leg, clinging to the fabric of his pants, her face hidden against the outside of his
thigh as she continued to cry silently.
No. Nothing must happen to her.
He did not know exactly what that instinct was, whether a twisted surge of fatherhood that he
did not think he would ever experience in his life, or a simple trick of biology. Puppies
looked cute to instill a sense of protection in adults, and the human species was the most
vulnerable to that trap. As comfortable as it was for him to think he was a psychopath, he was
not and he knew it. He was simply a rational man who, over the years, had managed to
achieve the right detachment to preserve himself from being crushed by the life he had
always led.
Not always. You used to have dreams, remember? He winced, irate. Yes, and they ended in
blood.
So what was the point of having them if the outcome was the same?
Hell! That fucking city would be the end of him if he couldn't keep his shit together.
And wouldn't it be pacifying to finally die?
A faint laugh shook his chest. Was he a would-be jumper again now? Fucking great.
He felt Sherry pull away from him, and that managed to give him distraction enough to divert
from that dangerous soul-searching. He felt himself being scrutinized under her confused and
perhaps somewhat accusatory gaze.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I laugh when I'm tense. I laugh when others would normally cry,
not because any of it is funny," he tried to explain; and wasn't that adaptation, too? Crying
makes you look vulnerable, and pity is a rare commodity; laughing in the face of pain and
horror causes your enemies to think twice before antagonizing you, and that second of
uncertainty is all the time it takes to get the advantage for a quick kill. It was like
pickpocketing: one always had to use the spare hand to create enough of a distraction so that
the one in the pocket would be missed. Only, his job wasn't stealing wallets or watches
anymore; it was stealing lives. Out of a sense of decency, he should have said that the
transition had been difficult but it hadn't. His first killing had broken him and, once in
fragments, there hadn't been enough left of him to feel any remorse or even shame. His first
kill had killed him, too, in a way. The real question was: who was he now? And if he was
someone what was it that he wanted?
Sherry stood up to clasp his waist in a strong embrace, pulling her cheek close to his ribs, and
this time she was not seeking protection, she was giving it.
"Then laugh all you want," he heard her encourage him with a whisper.
Precious little thing. Nicholai thought with a pale smile.
"We have to move," he informed her, and she nodded, meekly, stepping behind him to the
distance he had indicated just before.
"W-what happened here?" She asked.
Nicholai shook his head. "I don't know."
"And that... That thing w-what was that?"
"A mistake. They don't have a real name. Someone dubbed them lickers and it stuck. All
viruses, including this one, develop variants, some sought in laboratories, some unforeseen.
One of these variants, the epsilon, results in certain predisposed individuals being able to
mutate further when they overfeed and thus become lickers. Judging from this
slaughterhouse, it is possible that there is more than one here in the station."
"Are they-
"Just like zombies, there is no way to make them normal again."
"No, I meant..." Sherry took a deep breath. "Can they be killed?"
"We're starting to ask the right questions, aren't we? Good!" Nicholai praised her, starting to
walk away. "Everything is killable, the only thing that changes is how hard it is to do it. With
lickers, it's not worth it. Their bodies are very tough and their muscles quite thick, which
allows them to withstand normal pistol or rifle shots. Perhaps with a straight stab to their
exposed brains, they could be taken down with a single blow. I don't know. I should try it.
The most effective method is to shoot them with acid grenades that can melt their muscles
but even then, one shot may not be enough. In any case, it is not something you can learn to
do. You would not have enough strength to stab them, or even to use a grenade launcher. The
best course of action is to avoid them. They are blind and have no sense of smell, but they
have very fine hearing, so as soon as you see one you have to move away in absolute silence.
If they hear you, it's over. They are fast and very strong, they can jump long distances, and
they also have a retractable tongue with which they grab their prey to drag it toward them."
Sherry remained silent and stopped when she came upon three dead bodies blocking her way
to the stairs. Two women and a man in a police uniform. They were covered in blood and no
longer had faces, only dark red pulps.
"Be brave, they can't hurt you," Nicholai urged her patiently and held out his hand.
Sherry nodded and squeezed it tightly, letting him help her through the grotesque obstacles.
"How do you know all these things?" She asked him when they reached the stairs.
And this, Nicholai noted, was a very uncomfortable question. He did not want to tell her that,
probably, one of those responsible for the creation of that virus was her father. It was not his
place to let her know. Nor did he want to tell her that he knew those B.O.W.s well because
monitoring their effectiveness in battle was his job. It was not just a matter of sentimentality,
he would more than survive her contempt but, just as he had told Miss Valentine, the
information at Umbrella was well compartmentalized and to make a little girl aware of such
dangerous company secrets, so to speak, was like putting a target on her back, regardless of
who her father was.
"I can't answer that," he told her flatly.
"But... Why?" Sherry objected, annoyed.
He turned to look at her. "Because knowing the answer would be far more dangerous for you
than the creatures around us."
She hesitated because it was clear that Nicholai was not joking and, somehow, she
appreciated his frankness. Just like her daddy, he did not patronize her as if she were a silly
little girl.
"I understand," she nodded.
The Russian made an incredulous flinch, surprised. "Really?"
"Yes. My daddy taught me that one should always take no for an answer when it counts. And
now it counts." She looked down at her shoes, awkwardly. "I really appreciate you not filling
me with lies, you know? Thank you, Nicholai."
"You're welcome," he replied, taken aback. "Your daddy taught you well and I bet he's very
proud of you."
The smile disappeared from his face when, looking down from the steps, he noticed a
U.B.C.S. uniform on one of the corpses piled beside the large statue of the blindfolded
goddess.
"What is it?" The little girl asked him, noticing the distress in his green eyes.
He did not answer her and, in a decidedly uncaring manner, sprinted down the stairs. He
pushed away the bodies that covered the one he wanted to see and then turned him around.
The head was almost completely gone and, in the movement, a piece of the smashed skull
snapped off, dropping that mush of flesh, blood, and brains onto the pile of corpses. Was it
Carlos? He could not tell. The olive skin color, build, and clothing were consistent but
Nicholai had no way to identify him for sure. He could have been. His heart was beating
furiously in his chest as he scrutinized those limbs with painstaking accuracy looking for a
mark, a sign, anything that could take him out of uncertainty. Memories of Colombia filled
his mind and it was like finding himself there.
Injustice. Disdain. Anger.
All the feelings he had felt when he had seen that dying kid tied to a pole amidst the bodies of
his friends came back to him in full force along with a sense of bewilderment and loss. Had
he saved his life only to have him die like that? In an insignificant fucking American town,
fighting a battle that was not his own because of a company that didn't give a shit if he lived
or died? Carlos was so light when he had loaded him on his back to carry him out of the
barracks. He had lost about half his body weight, was skeletal, dehydrated, had infected
wounds all over his body, and had a terrible fever. Nicholai had been certain that he would
die within a few hours and that any effort to try to make him survive would have been futile,
perhaps, even cruel, but for some obscure reason that he still could not lucidly explain, he
had tried anyway, and Carlos had proved to be the most life-attached motherfucker he had
ever seen. He had fought like a lion and, after days of agony, the first thing he had done when
he had opened his eyes again had been to smile at him. A genuine, grateful smile. Nicholai
knew well the strength it took to keep breathing after one's body had been so terribly torn
apart, but how Carlos had been able to revive his gentle soul along with it was an
inexplicable mystery to him.
And now that miracle was probably gone. Wasted for nothing.
"D-did you know him?" Sherry questioned him, stopping beside him. "I'm so sorry," she
added when she got no answer.
"It's not your place to be sorry. Others will be," Nicholai sentenced, feeling that wrath that
had accompanied him in his early years in Sergei's service come coursing back into his veins.
Only by now that metaphorical chain around his neck was no longer new and sturdy but
rusty, and he was also beginning to remember that he was not a dog, nor had he ever been
one. He was a wolf, and wolves had no masters.
He leaped to his feet when he heard the door to his right being opened and stood between it
and the girl, pushing her behind him with his free hand while he pointed the gun at the other.
"P-please! Don't shoot!" Gasped a black man in a police uniform. He was in bad shape, his
abdomen wound was bleeding, his complexion had taken on an almost dark gray hue, and his
eyes were red and bloodshot. He was infected.
"Don't come any closer," Nicholai ordered him with a growl. His whole body was tense,
ready to react like a beast prepared to protect its cub.
Marvin caught a glimpse of the child behind him and paled even more, raising his hands in
surrender. "I have no bad intentions-
"I said stop!" Thundered the Russian when he saw him bring one foot forward. Marvin
stepped back.
"Okay, okay! No need to escalate the situation. I understand, I have kids too. I will not go
near her. I swear, but I can't stand on my feet anymore. Let me reach that bench, please. I beg
you."
Nicholai nodded and followed his movement with the eyes of a predator. Nor did he ease up
when he saw him sit and start coughing up blood.
"He's sick! We must help him!" Sherry exclaimed, heartbroken, but did not dare take another
step when her guardian gestured her to stay where she was.
"What happened here?" Nicholai asked the sergeant when he had done coughing.
Sherry couldn't help but notice how differently he was treating that poor man. He had no
sympathy, he was so cold, so different.
"We didn't know… When we decided to make this place a refuge we let everybody in without
checking for bites or signs of sickness. We just wanted to help and your colleagues didn't
warn us. Nobody warned us. What happened after… Well, you can see it yourself," Marvin
summarized, dejected.
"This kid is looking for her father, doctor William Birkin. Let's cut the bullshit: someone,
here, was in contact with him. We need to talk to them."
Marvin shook his head. "It's probably Irons but I haven't seen him since… I don't even know
what time it is. Yesterday night, I guess. He probably left well before hell broke loose in here.
His men are dead among the others. I'm really sorry, sweetie," he replied, giving the child a
sad, guilty look.
"I-it's ok. It's not your fault," she tried to reassure him. "Thank you anyway, sir"
"What is the fastest way to the detention center?" Nicholai continued.
Marvin shook his head. "There isn't one. With the power out, the security door is locked. The
backup generator must be damaged, or the connections are off. I don't know, but it's only
powering half the station. I tried to go down there too..." and in saying that, the policeman
laid a hand on his wound. That was where he had been bitten, as he tried to reach the cells to
free Jill. "Maybe there's another way, but that's more urban legend than anything else. There's
a rumor that there's a secret passage in that statue, a colleague of mine was trying to find the
combinations to get the medallions but I'm afraid he's dead. I saw him being attacked by a
group of zombies from the internal cameras. There was nothing I could do..."
Nicholai crinkled his eyes, shaking his head. "Get the medallions from where?" He asked,
exasperated. Absurdity for absurdity's sake, he might as well give it a try.
"There are three other statues, the one of the lion, back there, the unicorn, next to the library,
and the aquarium, in the room above the library. They have a mechanism, a kind of slot
machine with figures. With the right combination, they should release the medallions to put
in the blindfolded goddess statue. Don't look at me like that, even I think it's crazy shit, but
it's all I have."
"Fair enough," Nicholai sighed, then cast a glance at Sherry. "Come."
"And what about him?" Worried the little girl.
"He stays where he is," the Russian ruled, giving Marvin yet another menacing glance, before
heading back up the stairs.
Sherry obeyed, casting, from time to time, a few apologetic glances toward the poor
policeman.
"Why are you so mean to him?" She whispered.
"He is infected and even if he is not yet undead, he can be dangerous. This virus consumes
you and tries to take control. He may bite you and only realize it after he does."
"But-
"There is no but, devochka, and before you ask, in our current situation we cannot cure him.
We don't have the vaccine. There is nothing we can do for him."
"I see," she murmured, saddened. "Do you really think there is a secret passage here? Like in
a medieval castle?"
"We'll see right away," Nicholai muttered, stopping in front of the lion statue and beginning
to scroll through the figures on the rollers.
"But we don't know the combination!"
"It's a permutation, not a combination, something so classy certainly doesn't involve

repeating symbols. Six picks three, so 120 possible combinations. Basically an expensive
toy."
"Huh?"
"For the first symbol we have 6 possibilities, for the second 5, because the symbol on the first
reel does not repeat, for the third, then, only 4. 6 times 5 is 30, and 30 times 4, 120," he
explained further.
"That sounds like a lot..." Sherry mumbled.
"They're not, but there's still a quicker way," Nicholai minimized, kneeling in front of the
pedestal and stretching his ear toward the slot. "Roll them for me, please, starting with the
first one, and be absolutely silent," he asked her, pressing his index finger on the first reel
gently.
Sherry obeyed, confused, making a full turn.
"Again, okay, stop on this one. Move on to the second."
The child repeated the operation, completely unaware of the criterion by which Nicholai was
choosing those exact symbols, and gasped in surprise when, on the third one, the statue made
a sharp clack, and the medallion in the center of the lion's shield practically fell into her
hands.
"How?!" She exclaimed, surprised.
Nicholai smiled, smug, getting back on his feet. "This is a bit more complicated to explain.
The mechanism makes a slightly different noise when it goes into place, and the vibration of
the roller is also different. I can't say it any better than that. It takes practice."
"You are such a thief!" Sherry scolded him, halfway between shocked and admiring.
"No, devochka, I'm one hell of a thief," he corrected her, amused. "Let me see that thing." He
graciously took the medallion from her hands and examined it.
"Does this mean there really is a secret passage?" She pressed him, excitedly.
"For now it only proves that there are medallions," he brought her back to order and then
leaned over the balustrade.
"Where did you say the other two are?"

Marvin lifted his head with a dumbfounded expression on his exhausted face. Who the fuck
was that guy? How could he have broken into that thing in less than a handful of minutes? He
was no ordinary soldier. Why was he there? The answer was obvious and he had to stop him.
Nicholai snorted. "You might try to arrest me later, now answer the question."
"That's the door to the library. The unicorn statue is on the same floor, there is only one door,
you can't miss it. For the aquarium, you have to go up the ladder and enter the door on this
side."
"What will I find besides the statues?"
Marvin shook his head dejectedly. "I really don't know."
Nicholai cast a glance at Sherry, uncertain. "It's better if I go alone," he told her, direct.
"But you said..." She did not finish the sentence and nodded in Marvin's direction.
The Russian crouched in front of her and after removing Matilda, which he had placed in her
belt, put it in her hands. "If he comes near you, don't even think about it for a second and
shoot him."
"B-but-
"Promise me," he insisted.
Sherry nodded weakly, frightened.
"And don't miss. It doesn't matter that you get him in the head now. Don't follow the mind,
follow the belly. If you feel in danger, just shoot him."
"O-okay but you make it quick. It's not polite to keep a lady waiting."
He laughed softly. "I guess that was the first lesson in manners," he ironized and felt affection
and warmth as she hugged him tightly, but stiffened when he heard the policeman slowly
start up the stairs. He forced Sherry behind him again and pointed his gun.
"What did I tell you?" He hissed. "I am a patient man, but it's running short."
"I'm going with you," Marvin retorted, determined.
"I don't need a ball and chain, copper."
The other looked at Sherry. "I'm going with you anyway," he reiterated, hinting that he had
heard their talk and did not want to endanger her.
Nicholai nodded. "Go sit on the bench. Walk down the other staircase," he ordered Sherry.
"I'll be back before you know it," he added more gently.
He waited for Marvin to flank him before continuing on and disappearing with him across the
threshold.
"What you're doing for that child is very noble, but I guess someone like you is not here to
babysit," Marvin told him once they were inside the library.
"Both reasons are my business. None of yours."
Marvin suddenly unholstered his gun faster than Nicholai would have expected from a man
in his condition.
"I won't let you kill Jill!"
The Russian shook his head, heedless of the gun barrel pressed to the center of his chest. "I'm
not here to kill Miss Valentine," he retorted, calm.
"Lies! You are a special operative-
Marvin's voice died away in a grunt of pain when Nicholai, grabbed his arm and violently
twisted it behind his back, causing his shot to go awry.
"I am a special operative. I'm not here to kill Miss Valentine," he repeated, snatching the
weapon from him and pushing him away.
Marvin, shaky on his legs, tumbled forward and collapsed to the floor. A zombie, drawn by
the commotion, rose from the floor and Nicholai tried to shoot him only to realize that the
policeman's gun was empty.
"You should have kept that last shot for yourself," he scolded him, throwing it in front of him
and taking his own. "In this line of work you should always save one for the ride," he
commented, algidly, downing the zombie. Then he froze, distressed. "The man who was with
her ... Carlos. What happened to him?"
Marvin said nothing but trembled under the fiery gaze the Russian gave him.
"Speak, or I swear to God, you will beg me to kill you."
And the policeman realized that behind that threat was not a mission but anguish.
"He should be safe. Along with her."
"Where?"
Marvin, however, did not trust him completely, so he kept silent again.
Nicholai felt a shiver of anger coursing through his body. "I don't want to torture you, but I
will if necessary."
"Will you take them to safety? Will you do what I failed to?" He asked him with an edge to
his voice and tears in his eyes. Tears that were not of fear but of guilt. "I should have listened
to her a long time ago. W-We would have avoided so much death... It is also my fault. It is
the fault of all of us and this is the ransom we must pay. We were so blind, so scared of
Irons..."
"I will do what I can. Like all of us," Nicholai answered him. He was too old and had seen
too much shit to promise things beyond his control but at least he owed him the truth, and
that seemed to be enough for Marvin.
"Irons had them put in a cell before this hell started. They should still be down there. Safe."
Nicholai's hard features softened a little into an involuntary expression of relief that
confirmed to the sergeant that he had not been wrong to trust him.
"Then let's move to open this fucking secret passage."
The Russian tried to open the door to his left, and when he found it closed he kicked it open
forcefully. He had had enough of doing things with finesse.
Marvin stood guard while he did his conjurer's trick and retrieved the second medallion.
There was definitely at least one other zombie beyond the bookcases, but he seemed not to
have noticed them.
"How much time do I have left?" He asked.
Nicholai closed his eyes and sighed. "Hard to say. I'm not a scientist but from my experience,
it differs a lot from person to person and from variant to variant. In the beginning, it took up
to a month, later I saw people transform in a few days, and others in as little as a couple of
hours. Judging by your condition, I would say you are one step away from the last stage
before death. In most cases, it is a coma, if that is any consolation. "
Marvin bowed his head and then burst into a pained, hysterical laugh. "When I told my wife
I'd rather die than accompany her and the kids to my mother-in-law's in Seattle, I didn't think
it would be literal! Fuck it all!" He then cried sobbing.
Nicholai did not comment but felt sorry for him. "When did they leave?" He asked instead.
"Last Friday. Why?"
"Then they are safe. I still have some things to figure out but the event that started this mess
is more recent than Friday. They are not infected."
Marvin was shaken by more sobs. "Thank God!" He groaned and then looked at him. "Thank
you," he added.
Nicholai grimaced. "God and I are not in the same league. He is much crueler than I will ever
be." He began to climb the stairs. "I don't need you to follow me. I just wanted you to stay
away from her. Rest, pray, whatever suits you," he concluded, increasing his pace.
The room he entered was a mess. It looked like a shed full of tools and building materials
and, of course, was full of dead people. Nicholai hardly took any notice. He had already
gotten used to it. The only difference was that someone had enjoyed locking the victims
behind bars and then enclosed everything with beams. There was also a lump of C4 glued to
them.
"Well, it's an overkill," he muttered, carefully removing it to stuff it into his duffel bag. He
then took an abandoned crowbar from one of the shelves and, prying it apart, dismantled that
barricade, clearing the passageway just enough to go through. Retrieving the last locket was
simple, but just as the mechanism clicked, a sharp hissing sound filled the room and a licker
plummeted down from the ceiling just in front of the opening. Nicholai stepped back behind
the statue and just then one of the bodies locked in there moved and awkwardly began to try
to get back on its feet.
Fuck! He thought. He had to find a way to get rid of the zombie in absolute silence but how?
He could not shoot it or even smash its head with the crowbar because it would make too
much noise and, in a second, he would have the licker on him. At the same time, he could not
even try to get out of that cage because the son of a bitch was blocking the exit.
He had to think of a plan C, and fast.
With extreme caution he slipped the bar behind his belt and gripped the knife, intending to
stab the zombie in the eye and then escort him to the ground as quietly as possible but before
he could put his plan into action he saw Marvin step through the door he had left open.
Slowly and with a light step. It was obvious that he, too, knew what they were facing.
Against his best interest, Nicholai waved him back but the cop moved in the opposite
direction, holding his breath. When Marvin felt he had come to a suitable distance he noisily
took in air again.
"Save them!" He shouted.
The licker, at the sound of his voice, sprang in his direction with surgical accuracy, crashing
him to the ground, driving its long fangs into his shoulder and tearing at his chest with its
claws. Marvin howled in pain but, with his last strength, clung tightly to the monster, holding
him in his arms, and, with the last breath in his throat gasped a gurgling "Go!"
Nicholai pushed the zombie away from himself and ran out without looking back. Once he
got inside the library, slammed the door behind him. Frantic, he had to lean against the
balustrade to regain his wits. Why had that policeman done such a stupid thing, instead of
dying painlessly!? He would have been able to get himself out of that situation! Everything
was under control! He had a fucking plan! There was no need for any unnecessary self-
sacrifice!
With a heavier heart, Nicholai retraced his steps until he returned to the hall. Sherry, sitting
dutifully on the bench, rushed straight to him as soon as their eyes met.
"What happened? I heard gunshots and then screams! Are you okay?" She asked him,
worriedly, feeling his chest to check that he was not hurt.
"I'm fine," the Russian cut it short.
"No, you're not! You're as pale as a ghost!" She protested. "Where is the officer?"
"He's dead. A licker got him."
Sherry covered her mouth with her small hands, with a gasp, shocked and distraught.
He ignored her.
"This shit better work or I'll blow the whole fucking thing up!" He hissed to himself,
retrieving the three medallions from his duffel bag.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
I hope you had a good Christmas, for those of you who are used to celebrating it, or that
you simply had some quiet days of relaxation. As always, a heartfelt thank you to all of
you who read, leave kudos, subscribe and bookmark, and comment. Also a public
apology to the commenters, this week I responded very late because, as I explained to a
few of them, some asshole abandoned a three-month-old kitten in my yard on Monday
night, so I had to catch this terrified little ball of fur and spend yesterday's day between
shopping and the vet to check that he was okay and didn't have a chip. He is fine, a real
sweetheart, and of course, I named him Leon.
Coming to the story, I also wanted to add the Leon and Chris part at the end of this
chapter but, partly due to lack of time (lunches with relatives and other unnecessary
obligatory occurrences, no, I'm not a fan of Christmas, and then the kitten, which I love,
though) and also due to the length of this part between Sherry and Nicholai, I couldn't
do it. However, I am glad that I ended the part on the upper floor of the police station
because the actions of all the characters are almost simultaneous and have to fit together.
It is probably the most complex part of the whole story because if I miss some details
now then later on I run the risk of being in trouble. In the later parts, things will be less
frantic to handle because, okay, we'll get around the events of RE5, but I'm not going to
recount every minute of every day from Raccoon City to Wesker's end. There will be
reasonable hiatuses and time jumps, otherwise, we wouldn't need a lifetime to get to the
end XD.
Nicholai is slowly crumbling, or, to use a metaphor, the decades-old perennial ice
around him is melting until we finally see what lies beneath. His intrusive thoughts are
becoming more frequent because he is letting go. The reasons come from a combination
of concauses: rescuing Leon in the woods and taking responsibility for it was the first
thing; reuniting with Carlos, with whom he has a connection that goes beyond the
feigned condescension with which he treats him when they are face to face-he cares
about the boy, and believing him dead has inflicted a good hammering on that ice; then
the little girl who, used to having to deal with her father's eccentricities, is very good and
very quick to catch up with Nicholai's; lastly, Umbrella is screwing up one thing after
another and he has always hated Sergei.
And while it is true that a wolf has no master, a wolf also needs a pack. We can tell from
the tags that Nicholai will have a romantic intercourse with Leon (and we'll see how that
develops) but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have or will have deep connections with
the others as well (except Chris because Chris is our special asshole and always has to
make trouble). With Carlos they already have a pretty intense history; with Sherry,
Nicholai is already at the point of the "if anything happens to her, I will kill everyone in
the room and then myself" meme; and he likes Jill as well (and vice versa, although they
will always have that kind of spiteful relationship made up of constant poking and snide
remarks to one another -as I had said before, I did not at all foresee the chemistry these
two would have, and since Nicholai swings both ways, so to speak, it is an interesting
playground to explore. I will give myself carte blanche on this and allow them to
surprise me).
Now let me say a few words about the hero of this chapter. I'm so sorry, Marvin! RE2R
was my first Resident Evil, and although it was clear from the beginning that Marvin
was infected, when I first saw him turned it made me endlessly sad. He is such a good
man. We had already talked, I think, about the fact that I liked both versions of Brad's
death and that I preferred the gore version of the original but I admit that the connection
they made with RE3R, where it is indeed Brad who infects Marvin, is also very
beautiful and heartbreaking. In my story, having chosen the first version, obviously,
Brad just died (horribly), but I still wanted to flesh out Marvin's storyline and
encapsulate, in his character, the repentance of the whole station for not listening to the
surviving S.T.A.R.S.
He got infected while trying to go help Jill and sacrificed himself in the hope that
Nicholai could accomplish what he had failed to do. Was his heroic act in vain?
Probably yes because our Russian would have gotten away without a scratch, but it left
an impression inside him. A stone thrown into a pond that will have ripples, later on.
Thank you all again, as always!

A very big hug and a happy new year in advance!
Lady S.
Chapter 33
Chapter Notes
The path to the power plant proved to be almost entirely free of hazards. There were small
groups of zombies here and there, but they could be easily passed if one advanced quietly.
Chris had to admit that Leon had a natural talent for sneaking around. Unlike him, who was a
big noisemaker, he didn't even need to make an effort; he was zooming around on those
skinny long legs of his, as light and graceful as a cheetah, while he was a freaking elephant in
a glass house. It was so fucking unfair, but looking at him was a treat for the eyes.
"You're as slow as a snail!" He heard him protest in a hiss under his breath.
"Oh, I'm sorry I don't weigh 100 pounds soaking wet like you!" He replied to him sharply.
"I'm not 100 pounds, I'll be at least 130!" Mumbled Leon, offended, stopping to wait for him.
"Well, I'm over 200, okay? If I move any faster, they can hear me from Mexico!"
"Fat ass," commented the rookie, giving him a mischievous look.
"Excuse me?!"
Leon burst into an amused giggle and then sprinted across the street, escaping the slap on the
back of his head that would soon come his way.
"Asshole," Chris huffed, but he wasn't really offended. He was actually glad that Leon had
regained some of his good spirits. He didn't like seeing him sad or angry, but he was aware by
now that his mood could change in the blink of an eye. Jeez, what a roller coaster he was! It
was hard to keep up with him. In every sense of the word.
He watched him waiting at the gates of the electric station, as cocky as a brat who had
escaped punishment for his foul mouth. It was just missing him sticking his tongue out or
giving him the middle finger to complete the picture.
"I think they misspelled your age on the file. You're 12, not 21, you scrap from a boyband,"
he scolded him.
Leon laughed again, almost softened this time. "Really? That's the best you can do? Boyband
scrap?"
Chris rolled his eyes and didn't answer but when the other turned to walk toward the door he
gave him a quick, sharp slap on the ass, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make a
big snap. Leon, taken aback, took a leap to the side with a gasp and gave him an outraged and
dismayed look.
It was Chris's turn to have a good laugh. "That wasn't so slow, I bet, huh? Besides, I warned
you I'd spank you if you kept misbehaving."
Leon snorted and bent his lips into a sneer. "And tell me, Daddy, will I get the rest at home?"
He teased, casting a lascivious glance at him through the wisps of his bangs.
Chris felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach and, at the same time, for a second
his brain short-circuited. He was not used to hearing jokes like that from another man. Jill, on
the other hand, made 'em all the time but they didn't have the same effect on him, maybe
because he was used to it and had known her for years, while Leon's cheekiness was new.
Besides, Chris was sure he didn't really mean it. He was just clowning around as always.
Nevertheless, he really could not find anything clever to retort. He sucked at that game.
Where was Jill when he needed her? She would have put that little shit in his place in a
heartbeat.
Leon observed him, fearing he had pulled too hard, given the deer-in-the-headlights look on
Chris's face. First rule for every gay asshole on the planet: don't fall for the straight guy! But
he wasn't good at following rules and, on and off, wasn't even so sure that Chris was in fact
straight. Oblivious? Maybe. That whole thing with Captain Wesker didn't convince him.
Especially the way Chris had reacted to the discovery of the relationship between him and Dr.
Birkin. The problem was that he was either unaware and, at least, bi, or straight and
homophobic.
Come on, Leon, what the fuck are you thinking? You're in a town full of monsters and a lot of
people are depending on you! He brought himself back to order, without self-judgment, for
once, because poking Chris had undoubtedly put him in a markedly better mood, even if his
left buttock was burning a little, the asshole had a heavy hand, and this was kinda hot.
"The time is over. I consider the skirmish won," he purred, reaching, finally, for the door, and
Chris was grateful for that.
What they found inside the staff locker room was enough to plunge them back into bleak
seriousness. Several zombies had been shot down, and that room smelled of death.
"It must have been one of the men sent by Captain Asshole," Leon reasoned aloud, checking
the wounds on the undead, "but why didn't he reactivate everything if he got this far?"
They heard wails of pain coming from the control room upstairs, and the rookie, without
even thinking about it for a second, ran up the stairs.
"Hey, no! Wait!" Chris protested, following him at breakneck speed.
Lying on the floor, gasping, was a young U.B.C.S. soldier, holding his stomach with both
arms and drenched in sweat.
Leon knelt beside him and lifted him up on his bended knees.
"'Easy! Stay calm, we're here now. We will help you!" He tried to reassure him.
"Leon, get away from him!" Chris ordered him, slinging his rifle.
The kid paid him no mind at all.
Murphy Seeker looked at him with eyes full of terror and suffering. He tried to say
something, perhaps even to warn them, but all that came out of his mouth was an
unintelligible gurgle.
"Leon, for fuck's sake!" Chris thundered, before grabbing him under his armpits and dragging
him back by weight like it was nothing.
The soldier fell back on the ground and shrieked in pain shaken by violent convulsions. In the
end, with a terrifying sound his abdominal wall was broken through from the inside and a
stream of small insects covered with blood and excrement ran out in all directions.
Leon recoiled even further against Chris's chest as if seeking refuge, horrified, and an
uncontrolled cry of disgust and revulsion echoed from his throat.
The other made sure the larvae were no immediate threat to them before turning him around.
Leon was shaking like a leaf and hyperventilating. He had not yet seen him so frightened. In
fact, he had never seen him scared at all. He had panicked a little when they had lost Sherry
but it had not been terror.
"Hey, hey, look at me! Deep breaths. You need to calm down," he told him in a gentle, low
tone.
Leon made a guttural cry of assent but his eyes continued to squint madly in all directions
looking for the dark spots in the room where the larvae had taken refuge.
"Leon, I'm here. Look at me. They're not going to do anything to you," Chris insisted, feeling
the kid's fingernails almost drive bloodily into his arm from the force with which he was
clutching him.
"You never said anything about bugs! I hate bugs!" Leon complained. They had always
disgusted him, but since he had had the unfortunate idea of watching Alien alone when he
was ten years old, his phobia had only gotten worse. He had had nightmares for weeks about
insect-shaped things coming out of his chest.
"Well, I'm sorry I left that out. I didn't do it on purpose," Chris joked, trying to distract him.
"Can you please get your claws out of my flesh now?"
"What the fuck!" Leon whined, letting go of his arm. "I fucking hate you, you were supposed
to prepare me for this!" He continued to protest, looking with pity and nausea at the poor
soldier.
A nervous chuckle escaped Chris because of the tragicomic nature of the situation.
"Don't laugh at me, asshole!"

"Maybe I could have warned you if you had listened to me instead of rushing ahead as usual.
Serves you right."
"Eat shit!" Leon insulted him, taking refuge in the corner of the door. "How mentally sick
must the one who invented this shitty G-Virus be?! And G definitely stands for gross, fucking
hell!" He kept complaining.
Chris winced. He had never told him the name of the virus, much less told him about the
existence of another virus. Only he and Jill knew about it; he had not even told Brad because
he did not trust him all the way.
"How do you know about the G?” He asked him.
Leon blinked, confused by his tone again suddenly so accusatory, and that stepped him out of
his panic. He searched his mind for the answer but could not find it, frightened as he was. "I
don't know, I must have read it somewhere. I've read tons of crap in the last few days, I can't
tell you where," he said, shrugging his shoulders, and then turning back his attention to the
surroundings, ready to flee at the first sign of bugs. He wanted to burn that fucking place
down so much!
See, you knew he was hiding something! Chris' paranoia laughed in his face. He is too good
to be true, you figured that out from the very first moment, you fool. And isn't it strange that
he went in and out of a place manned by Umbrella with a mission? Who would give a mission
like this to someone like Leon? No one. They're using you as a guinea pig again, you poor
schmuck, and that little angel is directing the dances just like Wesker did at the mansion.
No, we are here because we have to help innocent people! He tried to rationalize.
Oh, do you really think there are civilians down there? That’s sweet and delusional. Dance,
monkey! Dance! You obviously like the tune.
Leon approached him, sensing, at least in part, the resurgence of his distrust. "It'll come to
me, I swear," he tried to make up for it, "but now we have to think about how to fix this mess,
and please, I really can't do it alone this time," he begged him. “I want to get my ass out of
here as soon as possible.”
And there he goes, making big eyes again!
"This is not the G-Virus, it's the T," Chris corrected him to test his reaction.
Leon made a despondent face. "There's more than one?!" He asked.
"Maybe," the other did not confirm, partly because, despite his wanting to believe him, the
rookie had begun to seem less and less credible to him once again. Why? Everything was
going so well, despite the nightmare they were experiencing! He felt like a boulder had fallen
on his chest and it hurt. He wanted to be friends with him. He liked Leon but he couldn't bear
to be betrayed again.
He read that somewhere. Period. There is nothing behind it. He repeated it in his head a
couple of times, He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"If there are other things you know, or things you haven't told me about, now is a good time,"
he told him and prayed that, if there really was something else, the kid would tell him right
away, like a band-aid ripped off in a single pull.
Leon, however, was already far too alarmed by his sudden change of attitude to tell him about
Nicholai, so he shook his head, after pretending to think about it for a moment.
"Offhand I wouldn't say," he lied, "I had no idea there were even more viruses! What else can
they infect?" He asked, trying to deflect the conversation but this time Chris noticed,
although he pretended not to.
"I don't know," he lied in turn, staring him straight in the eye.
Leon took another step back, practically pressing himself against the closed door, now
cowed. Everything had changed in Chris in a matter of moments, his tone of voice, the way
he looked at him, and even his posture were stiff and ready for aggression. He was again the
guy who had handcuffed him and tossed him around. The guy who had practically put a gun
in his mouth and threatened to kill him. The guy he could not trust because he would hurt
him. Yes, he had stood up to him, in those two days, but only because he had been sure that
Chris was only barking and would never lay a finger on him, except for fun, like just before.
Leon was more than aware that, against someone like Chris, if determined to swell him with
a beating, he would just take it. He tried desperately to remember where he had read about
the fucking G-Virus, but his head was filled with too many anguishes. It wasn't coming to
him.
Chris, for his part, saw his fear clearly, what he could not interpret was whether it was the
fear of a kid or the fear of a culprit. The only thing certain was that those big blue eyes were
silently shouting at him: please don't hurt me! He hated seeing Leon like this and hated
himself for being responsible for it, so he blinked and turned away from him, focusing his
attention on the plant control panel.
"The breakers are off. They have to be reset before the power can be turned back on," he said
and heard Leon finally come out of his corner, behind him.
"Okay, let's do it."
"No. I'll do it. You stay here," he halted him, turning to look at his face.
"But we're a team!" Leon protested.
"Are we?" He couldn't help but snap back at him. "I'm going in alone," he reiterated, laying
the duffel bag with ammunition on the ground and taking with him only a couple of
magazines for the assault rifle.
Leon bowed his head and looked away. "Yes, sir," he submitted coldly and disappointedly,
going to sit on a large crate next to the control panel.
They did not look at each other as Chris left the room, but once he had descended the
staircase, he glanced back and saw Leon standing watching him through the glass window,
pale and worried. In any case, it was better to have left him behind, whether he trusted him or
not, at least then he would not be hurt. He looked around and saw other bodies with their
bellies caved in from the inside, many were plant workers, the rest were U.B.C.S. soldiers,
and the stench in the air was nauseating. It was a penetrating smell of putrefaction, combined
with the bitterness of vomit and a piercing scent he could not identify. Instinctively he
covered his nose, stifling a gasp, and then looked toward the mesh door left ajar, wondering
what the fuck he would find inside. He had already faced giant zombified insects at the
mansion, and although he didn't share Leon's phobia it didn't mean he liked them.
If only the high voltage was the only danger! He thought, bitterly, as he read the sign. A noise
behind him jolted him. He quickly turned around but saw nothing. He heard Leon shout, but
through the glass, he did not catch a single word. Then something heavy swooped down on
him from above with a screech. Before he was even fully aware of what was happening, he
found his neck caught between the pincers of the filthy thing in a tight, strong grip that
squeezed his windpipe, preventing him from breathing. His first instinct was to reach back
and grasp the pincers with his hands to try to get them off him, but they were covered with a
slippery slurry that prevented him from maintaining a firm enough grip to harness his
strength. He gasped, staggering, and on reflection opened his mouth to try to pull in some air.
The abomination was waiting for nothing more and pulled a retractable appendage out of its
mouth, but before it could shove it down his throat, it found itself pulled back from above
abruptly and was forced to release its grip on its prey.
Chris retreated, stumbling and ending up on his ass on the ground, and looked up in time to
see Leon, who had launched himself from atop the staircase, crashing down upon the insect
he had snatched off him in free fall. The rookie wasted no time in ducking back and drawing
his gun to unload the entire magazine on the filthy thing, which, well before the last shot,
scrambled to the ground, inert with all its legs broken by the impact. Leon then crawled back,
with a long disgusted guttural groan that sounded more or less like a long 'fuck' as he
desperately tried to clean his bare hands and forearms of that disgusting, greenish slurry on
his uniform. Chris leapt to his feet immediately, worried that, in all that commotion, the kid
might also have hurt himself, given the fall he had taken.
"Are you alright? What the fuck were you thinking?"
"Clearly not a goddamn thing! I just did it!" Leon answered him with a high-pitched whine,
showing that he was fine and just grossed out beyond words.
"Why didn't you just shoot it from up there? You reckless fool!" Chris asked him in disbelief.
"Because I didn't know where your dickhead was, underneath all those shitty limbs!" Leon
rumbled, zapping him with a look. "You're fucking welcome! Heaven forbid you say 'thank
you,' it might choke you!" He shouted, getting up and going for refuge at the top of the stairs,
as fast as lightning. "Asshole!" He added, before going back inside the control room.
"'Bloody hell…" Chris panted, massaging his neck, and cast one last glance at the insect,
before following him.
"Shut the fucking door!" Leon barked at him, barely giving him time to cross the threshold.
Chris only had to look at him to notice that something was wrong. He was in pain. He could
see it in his posture now that his adrenaline rush was waning.
"What is it?" He asked him.
Leon shook his head. "Nothing," and instinctively touched his shoulder, which had slammed
on impact. It was nothing serious, just a bump.
"Come on, let me see," Chris insisted, advancing unceremoniously.
And that freaked Leon out completely.
Let's try not to ruin that beautiful skin of yours any further, Irons' voice echoed in his head.
It's all your fault! You ruined everything!
"Don't touch me!" He shrieked, backing away with a jerk of well over three feet that led him,
again, to find refuge in a corner.
Chris hesitated, dismayed and hurt. He understood that Leon was frightened and that the
exchange they had had just before had set them back quite a bit but that reaction was beyond
exaggerated, even by his standards. The blood froze in his veins.
"Is it an open wound?" He asked, paling with apprehension.
No, it couldn't be!
Leon was not even listening to him, his head was clearly somewhere else, he was white as a
ghost, his forehead was beaded with sweat, and he was clearly panicking. He almost crashed
into the wall when he saw him advancing again, just to stay away from him. So Chris stopped
and raised his hands gently, indulging him.
"Leon, I need you to calm down. I'm sorry about before, okay? I believe you read that
somewhere," he told him, and at that moment he really did because he felt responsible. Had
Leon done such reckless shit just to prove to him, for the umpteenth time, his good faith? If
that was an open wound and if, somehow, he was infected, he would never forgive himself.
"Leon, please, I need to see your shoulder," he insisted, moving forward very slowly, feeling
a lump grow in his throat.
The kid shook his head. "I-it's nothing. Really," he murmured,
Chris tried hard to look on the bright side: Leon had stopped running away from him, but he
clearly didn't want to show his bloody shoulder. Why if it really was nothing?
"Come on," he almost begged him. "I won't hurt you," he assured him when the other
nodded. "Oh, thank God!" He exclaimed, relieved when he saw only the reddened skin that
was already becoming bruised.
"I told you. Don't blame me for it," Leon muttered, hiding his eyes behind his bangs.
Chris wondered for what freaking absurd reason he thought he could blame him for a bruise,
and, even if he wasn't the smartest of the bunch, it was blatantly obvious. Leon had suffered
abuse, most likely from his mother, he had perhaps had to hide bruises for years in order to
protect her, and it broke his heart.
"I'm just glad you're okay," he told him because that was not the time to inquire about his past
and add more trauma. He was too distressed already.
"Are you?" Leon repaid him in kind, giving him a taste of his own distrust.
"I said I believe you."
"Yeah, until next time," was the rookie's harsh comment. "Cut the crap," he then added,
turning away from him to peer toward the plant from the stained glass windows. "I have a
plan."
Chris felt a chill run down his spine but he had promised he would hear him out and, on his
side, Leon was honoring the agreement because, for once, he had not put it into action
without saying anything.
"I'm listening."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears, and happy new year to all!

The usual thanks to all of you readers, those of you who leave kudos, subscriptions,
bookmarks, and comments!
I hope your year has started a little better than mine. I caught another flu and have a
fever even now (I'm so pissed since these are my days off, but such is life). For those of
you wondering, Leon the kitten (I mean the real kitten, not Nicholai's nickname for
Leon's character in the story XD) is fine, I decided to keep him with me and he is
officially my cat now.
Coming to the story, I am beginning to pull some of the spider strands I have woven so
far, stretching them out until the time comes when the consequences will come to full
maturity. This unwitting slip of Leon on the G-Virus is a drum that will resonate
incessantly in Chris's head from this point on (and, yes, he read it somewhere indeed, a
lot of chapters ago, in a document that even Chris has forgotten about). Now the cards
are a wee bit more uncovered for both of them because Chris knows that Leon is hiding
something else, although he does his best to delude himself that he is not; and Leon, for
his part has realized that he cannot entirely trust Chris, because it could blow up in his
face like a bomb. As I said to the commentators: Nicholai is a hell of a problem from the
beginning for the dynamics between Chris and our rookie.
Leon's phobia of insects, on the other hand, was a sudden and unexpected inspiration for
me as well. Don't worry, it won't be crippling for him, but it will be fun to use this
premise as a starting point for when we get to the events of RE4. Yeah, a lot of things
I'm placing right now will have their full resonance way later on.
I feel sorry for Chris because, in a way, he is really trying hard to keep a leash on his
paranoia but Leon is kinda leaving him alone in this. Up to this point, I have hinted that
Chris will make numerous disasters for which he deserves sound kicks in the ass and I
don't take it back, however, sometimes Leon also puts his own spin on leading him
toward a possible point of no return. This is one of those times. Leon's problem is that
he is in a very unstable emotional condition, hence his sudden mood swings. The bug
scare and Chris's attitude also led him to have more flashes of what Irons did to him, and
the bruise issue brought him one step closer to a complete meltdown, so much so that he
was desperately and irrationally trying to run away even from poor Chris (who
understood that there was trauma behind this behavior but got the trauma wrong), when
he was just mortally worrying about him.
We will see in the next chapter how the power plant part will end.
Again many thanks to all of you!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 34
Chapter Notes
Leon squared Chris, wary, then approached the control panel where a monitor indicated the
breakers to be reactivated.
"I can make a run for-
"Don't even think about it!" Chris interrupted him absolutely aghast at the idea. He had
already almost had a stroke because Leon had simply bruised himself. There was no chance
in fucking hell he was going to get him into a giant bug nest. He was going to manage on his
own, somehow.
"And while I'm running, you'll be covering my back and shooting at everything that moves,"
Leon continued as if nothing had happened.
"I said no," Chris reiterated and did not relent in the face of the furious pout the rookie gave
him. "Nothing has changed, I do it myself."
"And by yourself, you will die," Leon hissed without sugarcoating it. "the same way these
U.B.C.S. soldiers who were trained as much as you have died! Don't you understand that if I
distract them and you have my back, together we have a chance?"
"It's too dangerous! And you're scared to death of those things, you'll freeze."
Leon shook his head. "It will only make me run faster. I could win gold in the fucking
Olympics with a thing like that running at my ass even if I'm way out of practice." He
paused, frustrated at yet another manifest lack of faith in his abilities. "You have to trust me.
I'd tell you to do it the other way around but you shoot better than me. You got that hook on
the first shot and even managed to save my skin, you completed my plan before, you can do
it again" he insisted, heartily. "Besides, your ass is heavy."
Chris blinked, conflicted. If it had been Jill instead of the rookie, he probably would have
agreed immediately because he knew how she moved in the field and could predict her exact
steps and reactions but Leon... Leon was a fucking crazy marble in a pinball machine.
Did he really have a choice, though? He knew enough about the little dickhead to have
mathematical certainty that he would follow him if he went in alone.
When working as a team, it is imperative that all members know each other's skills, and
decide accordingly how to move synchronously to achieve the goal. He was reminded of the
speech Wesker had given at the first full Alpha Team training session. Ideally, all actions
should be carried out as automatically as possible without wasting time or exchanging
unnecessary communications that might reveal your position to the enemy. Of course, now
you do not know yourselves, nor each other, well enough to achieve this kind of perfection yet
but it is what I expect from you in perspective. I have selected you one by one personally and
have high expectations. Keep in mind, however, that your position in this unit is not carved in
stone. I may and will get rid of you if you do not meet them. Make your mistakes now, in
training, and learn to avoid them. Your goal for today is to capture me and take me to the
station in handcuffs. We will use this abandoned factory as a training ground. The drill starts
in ten minutes and will end at 20:00. Good luck, everyone.
Of course, they had all been kicked to the curb that day, and at the same time, they had also
learned not to underestimate their captain. Chris had even come out with a black eye but he
had been the only one who at least had managed to put his hands on Wesker. Barely.
"Okay, let's do it," he agreed, "but let's try to make a proper plan of action and be ready for
any unforeseen events. Some corridors might be blocked and the bugs might not be the only
creatures in there. okay?"
Leon nodded and together they agreed on how to move forward, before heading outside again
and reaching the access to the plant.
Chris walked ahead and Leon, trailing close, had his back and checked to make sure no
insects caught them off guard from above or behind.
"So far so good," commented the S.T.A.R.S. agent once they had passed the door and the first
corridor.
"Speak for yourself, I feel like throwing up really hard," retorted Leon.
"You're doing great," Chris encouraged him and moved his arm back to give him a gentle pat
on the hip. "And it was your idea," he also poked him.
"Well, it's a shitty one but I couldn't come up with any others."
"Thank God!"
"Fuck you."
Chris chuckled, amused, and fired on a movement around the corner, knocking down a bug
before it even saw them. "They seem to hesitate if we're together. Or they don't have great
hearing," he reasoned aloud, peering into the next corridor. "The first breaker is in sight."
"Okay," Leon nodded, peering over his own shoulder past Chris. "Don't let any of those
fuckers deep-throat me, please," he begged, holstering his gun.
"'Ain't them your type?" Chris ventured a joke. "They seem very passionate."
"All yours. If you want, I'll give you all five minutes alone when we're done. I'll even light
you candles and pick romantic songs, but I'll pass, thanks."
Chris snorted, shaking his head, resisting the temptation to get distracted. The only reason he
was joking was to keep him as calm as possible. "Ready when you are. Don't be frightened
by gunfire. I won't hit you."
"Yeah, you already told me that. Now put it into practice."
Leon sprinted toward the lever he was supposed to reactivate, and immediately a large group
of monsters emerged from their cocoons in the walls and launched themselves after him,
drawn by his sudden movement. Chris opened fire, doing his best to remain calm and
collected as his captain had long tried to teach him, although there was something about
working with Leon that destabilized him and it was not just his unpredictability. He should
never have put him in that situation in the first place, whether he was a spy or not. He should
have left him at the station, where Marvin would have taken him under his wing and cuddled
him like the noisy little chick he was, or he should have just let him run away after their first
encounter with the Tyrant.
"Behind you!" He heard him shout, so he turned sharply, firing on his assailants. Little more
than an instant later Leon was upon him, bumping his back with a small thump. He felt his
hands tighten on his shoulders briefly, like the touch of a butterfly, seeking the physical
contact that always seemed to reassure him.
"Okay, one on, three to go!" He heard him exclaim, and Chris took a moment to check him
out. The rookie seemed to be bursting with energy as if he had suddenly forgotten about his
phobia. He was perceptive of his surroundings, alert, ready to react, and incredibly in
control.
Chris was genuinely amazed. He did not need Wesker's experience to realize that Leon had
boundless potential, and it was clear that as a mere cop, he would be wasted. He was
S.T.A.R.S. material. As they reactivated the second and then the third breakers with
unquestionable perfection, Chris could not help but think that, as a result of all that mess, lots
of heads would roll in Raccoon, including Irons', and what if the new head of the R.P.D.
tasked him with rebuilding the team as captain? For the first time in his life, and despite all
his doubts about being up for the task, Chris longed to be a leader and to have Leon as his
pupil. He would teach him everything he knew, everything Wesker had taught him until he
reached the pinnacle of his extraordinary potential, and then he would make him surpass it.
The two of them, Jill and their new team would destroy Umbrella from the ground up.
Together.
That is if he is not already someone else's pupil. The very pupil of your enemies. That
malignant voice intruded on his hopeful dream.
A pained and disgusted grunt from Leon abruptly tore him from both his considerations.
"Fuck!" He exclaimed when he saw that a bug had suddenly swooped down on his shoulders
and that Leon was not even defending himself because he was stubbornly and desperately
holding both arms on the lever to raise it and finish the job.
Chris couldn't shoot, so without thinking twice he sprinted forward and grabbed the insect
from behind, pulling it back so hard that even Leon ended up sprawled on the ground before
it freed his neck from the pincers, screeching frantically. Immediately Chris grabbed that
shitty tongue and yanked it until it was torn clean off and the insect stopped moving.
Leon, who had crawled back and was now sitting with his shoulders pressed against the wall,
looked at him with eyes full of gratitude, fear, and admiration. The damn thing was strong
and sturdy, yet Chris had torn it in two as if it was made of paper, but this was no time to
marvel at how strong (and hot) he was. Leon drew his gun and fired at the insects, which, in
the meantime, had crowded into the portion of the corridor behind Chris and were rapidly
running in their direction, then got back up and started raising the lever that had fallen back
to its original position.
"Mind if I assist?" Chris asked him rhetorically, putting a hand between his own and pulling.
Needless to say, the lever came up like a red-hot knife through butter.
"Having a heavy ass works wonders. Now let's get the hell outta here!"
Leon didn't let that be repeated, and quickly, they retraced their steps making their way back
with pistol and assault rifle shots.
"We wasted a lot of ammunition," commented Chris, once they were safely back in the
control room. "I hope it was worth it."
"Who gives a shit? We did it! We fucking did it!" Rejoiced Leon, hugging him with an
overenthusiasm that was nothing more than a manifestation of his anxiety, this to Chris was
more than clear but he let him be anyway and held him in turn. He deserved an award.
"Do you want to have the honor?" He asked him, hinting at the power activation button.
Leon broke free from the embrace almost abruptly. "'Fuck yeah! I want to fry all those gross
motherfuckers!"
And that was exactly what happened once he pressed it: the power plant became active again
with an electric sizzle and the entire nest structure collapsed in on itself, electrocuted. Then
Leon let himself slump down sitting on the floor. "Jesus Christ!" He groaned, suddenly
feeling exhausted. "That was wild."
Chris could not hold back a tender smile. "You did well in there," and his heart beat faster as
he saw his eyes light up, happy as a child rewarded for his efforts. There was something both
adorable and very sad about that echo of immaturity that Leon brought out at moments like
that as if no one had ever paid him a compliment before. He was so precious, and Chris
hoped he would never completely lose that aura that seemed to surround him because it was
special.
The radio crackled, ending his moment of contemplation.
You did it, you little bugger! Mikhail's surprised voice exclaimed. Kennedy, are you there?
"Yes. I was too busy telling you to fuck off in my head," Leon answered him, but then his
gaze fell on Murphy Seeker and that made him bury the hatchet. "I found your men. They're
dead. I'm sorry."
There was a long moment of tense silence. How?

"By doing their best and giving everything they had," the kid answered him. There was no
need to go into details.
I understand. Thank you, Officer Kennedy. Mikhail murmured. There was gravity in his tone
of voice but also something that sounded a lot like respect as if he was seriously
reconsidering him.
"I'm going to go line up the tracks now," Leon informed him.
Have you had any luck with the little girl you are looking for?
"No," he replied, dejectedly, "but I'm not leaving this shithole until I find her."
Mikhail took another long pause.
"Is there anything else?" Leon urged him, getting to his feet.
Line up the tracks, and this train will wait for you.
The rookie flinched, surprised. "Why the change of heart? You said it: it's simple math and I
agree."
I can despise everything you are but your actions have value. Yours and those of the asshole
in whose shadow you walk. Tell that bastard dog he owes me one. I'll see you then.
"Did you tell him about me?" Chris inquired, confused by that exchange.
"No. Of course not, but maybe one of the men guarding the turnstiles saw you on my way
out," Leon answered him promptly but it was yet another lie. It was clear that Mikhail meant
Nicholai and also that there was bad blood between them.
What a mess...
He again considered the idea of telling Chris everything but then discarded it. They had just
started getting along again and if they got into another fight this would jeopardize the mission
and, more importantly, the search for Sherry. He would confess only when they were all
safely on that train.
Yes, it was the best decision.
Nicholai could not believe his eyes when he saw the pedestal of the blindfolded goddess
statue rotate until it opened a passageway.
"It worked!" Sherry exclaimed enthusiastically.
"Yeah..." He mumbled, running a hand over the stone surface, confused and admiring. "I
want one of these at home," he murmured, devoting some of his concentration to imagining
how it might work, before entering what looked like a small office. It was clean and neatly
pulled together as if that tiny room was actually used with some frequency. It didn't take him
long to find the elevator and he motioned for Sherry to come in with him.
"Where do you live?" She asked him as the cabin began to descend.
"Far from here."
"Oh, come on! If it's a secret I'll keep it. Pinky swear!" She insisted.
Nicholai tilted his head, looking blankly at her hand with her little finger raised in
anticipation.
"You must cross your pinky with mine, so the oath is complete, silly," she explained to him
with a chuckle. He made an amused little sneer and then did as she told him, gently
squeezing her tiny finger with his.
"The place has no name," he surrendered, after all, there was no harm in giving some vague
information, "it's near a lake in the mountains, in a fairly hidden valley several hours from the
nearest town."
"Hey! You mustn't tell lies!" She told her, incredulous and offended.
"I'm not lying. I bought the land a long time ago, roughly a year after I started working for
Umbrella, and then I built the house piece by piece when I had some spare time. No one but
me knows exactly where it is."
"And is it pretty?" She inquired, still suspicious.
Nicholai shrugged his shoulders. "It is functional and I like it. I don't know if that's enough to
call it pretty, but I'm afraid you would find it quite uncomfortable."
"Why?"
"Electricity for a few hours a day, little hot water, no TV.... List is long."
"No telly?! And how do you spend your time?" She exclaimed, shocked.
"Fixing things that periodically break, building new ones, reading, hunting, exploring the
caves around there, sleeping quietly..."
"That sounds very boring."
He laughed. "It's actually very peaceful."
"Do you have a wife?"
"No."
“Kids?”
“Also no.”
"Why?"
Nicholai shook his head, though he wasn't really annoyed. "Aren't you a little too old for
endless litany of whys?"
"And you're too old for not having a wife," she mischievously retorted, making him laugh
heartily again.
"I'm not husband material," he admitted. "And I like being on my own."
"Don't you ever get lonely?"
"I'm used to it. Now hush," he intimated to her, slowly opening the elevator door.
The service corridor before them was completely dark and silent as a tomb. Nicholai tried to
reconstruct a mental map of the city. They were quite underground--what if the police station
was connected to the sewers and, therefore, to NEST? It was possible, indeed probable. He
decided to go down the stairs but soon found himself facing another closed door.
"Can you open this one too?" Sherry asked him.
"No. It has a latch on the other side." He could have blown it open with the C4 he had
retrieved upstairs but in any case, he had to reach the cells first.
To kill that reporter and possibly the mercenary as well. He gave himself priority orders
because his mind had already gone to Carlos. "For now let's go back and take the other
corridor," he whispered to her.
He had a strange feeling, a sense that they were in danger, in greater danger than anything
they had faced up to that point. Nicholai knew his gut feelings well. It was not paranoia, all
the more so because, if he had been monitoring the B.O.W.s he would have chosen just such
a spot as that for an ambush on the designated victims for the experiment.
And he was right.
As soon as they stepped onto a metal walkway they heard heavy footsteps all around them.
"Go back into the elevator and get back up. Don't go outside. Just wait in the cabin until I call
it back," he ordered Sherry, unbuckling his gun from his belt.
"But-
"Now!"
He had just finished speaking when something big pounced on him, and he managed to get
out of the way of being crushed by rolling to the side. Sherry, who had reached the hallway,
turned worriedly and paralyzed on the spot. The first thing she recognized was the old, worn,
poorly laced moccasins, then the blood-soaked gray jeans, but when she lifted her gaze what
she saw was not her father. It was a purulent mass of flesh, broken muscles, and bones
pulsing vermilion to which, like an appendage, was attached the unconscious head of William
Birkin.
She screamed.
She screamed with all the breath in her chest, wracked with shock and a dull ache that
seemed to want to suck the life out of her as well.
The creature, mute, leaped toward her, recognizing her scent but was mowed down by
Nicholai's gunshots. It then turned toward its assailant, determined to sweep him from its
path. With unbelievable force it struck him in the chest with its misshapen arm, sending him
flying back a few feet, then ripped a pipe from the walkway railing to use as a weapon to
finish him off.
"DADDY NO!" Shouted the little girl, and this had an effect.
William suddenly opened his eyes wide and shrieked in agony in a powerful, deep voice that
only vaguely resembled his own now.
How long had it been since the last time? Hours, days, weeks? He had gone from
consciousness to unconsciousness again and again endlessly, torn by the pain of his muscles
tearing, his bones breaking and then rebuilding themselves into a new form over which he
had no control. He staggered back, confused and in pain, straining to set up a coherent line of
thoughts but it was so difficult. The gun holes that Nicholai had inflicted in his body were
throwing out blood and pus but deep down the tissue was already rebuilding and he had the
impression that he could feel every single cell dividing and multiplying. He roared again,
gripping his face tightly with his still-human hand.
Sherry!
Why was Sherry there?
Where was he?
What was he doing?
And then he sensed that attraction to her, the arousal, the need to mate, to multiply such as
the cancerous cells of the creature he had created and unleashed. It was an irresistible,
irrepressible call. He wanted her. He wanted her body. He wanted to impregnate her. She was
the one he wanted. She was the perfect match.
He wanted her.
He wanted her.
He wanted her.
With an involuntary outburst he approached again, drawn by her scent, and he sensed the
parasite taking shape in his mutated arm, moving along the fecundation duct, and the
appendage stiffening, ready to thrust into her little, innocent mouth.
"NOOOO!" He shouted, pulling back that hideous deformed arm well before it could even
touch his precious child. Then he looked at her weeping, terrified face and with a titanic
effort held himself where he was. "RUN! RUN, SHERRY!" He implored her, desperate, for
that was a battle he could not sustain forever. He was more than aware of that, and then he
felt it, the dry, prolonged pain of his fibula snapping cleanly under the blow Nicholai had
dealt him.
He was grateful for it because the instinct to survive outweighed the instinct to mate. He then
gave total freedom to the G to chase him down the walkway and then to the floor below,
where that soldier had jumped to prepare to face him. He did not know whether he knew him
or not, and he could not find the strength to focus enough to clarify what, in the end, was an
unnecessary doubt. Whoever he was, he was protecting his child, so he had to protect him in
turn.
But he could not stop himself.
He could not stop the G.
Only get in its way.
Painfully.
With the animalistic determination of desperation, William prevented every blow he was
throwing with the pipe from hitting the mark, turning what would have been targeted attacks
into a chaotic barrage against whatever he had in his path. He also did his best to get hit by
every bullet and every club with the bar the soldier threw at him.
"KILL ME!" He struggled to articulate vocally as a large eye opened on his deformed
shoulder and the physical agony he felt from his wounds had become almost unbearable.
"KILL ME! PLEASE!"
At this, unexpectedly, the unknown man froze for a second, and William hated him for it, or
perhaps it was just the G's anger that wanted him dead. He let go of the pipe and leaped
forward to tear him in two with his mutated arm, but in midair, he realized that if he were
dead, no one would stop him from reaching Sherry anymore. This slight hesitation gave
Nicholai a chance to snap out of his shock and move out of the way in time to avoid the blow
that slammed the railing onto a deep, dark chasm, sending it to pieces. Back in control, the
Russian unsheathed his dagger and plunged it straight into that revolting giant eye, bursting it
in a flood of fluids. William at that point let himself fall forward over the edge and
plummeted into the void, hoping it was enough to finally die.
"DADDY!!!" Sherry shrieked, scrambling down at breakneck speed from the rung ladder she
had brought down from upstairs and running down the corridor. Nicholai grabbed her on the
fly before she could risk lurching over the edge and, even though she was doing everything
she could to wriggle free, he clutched her tightly to his chest, deafened by her desperate,
uncontainable sobs. Gasping, he let himself fall down sitting on the floor with her clawing at
his vest in the throes of her violent crying and hugged her, trying to give her all the comfort
he could, though it would never be enough.
He knew how she felt and he even heard the echo of his own voice. The voice of a child who
had been left alone in a world that had only begun to inflict cruelty on him on an ordinary
day when he had come home from school all excited about getting top grades. Only to find
his mother naked and dead on the bed they used to share because there wasn’t enough space
to place another one. He had clutched her to him, shaken her, begged her to open those eyes
disfigured by the beating that animal had given her, and then he had stayed hugging her
corpse until the other tenants of the common house had returned from their factory shift. And
then they had thrown him out like he was garbage less than a week later, having tossed what
was left of his mother who knows where because some of them practiced smuggling and
didn't want the police around. Not only had they not helped him but they had not even
allowed him the consolation of having a grave to mourn her. As for doing her justice, well,
that had never been on the table.
For different reasons, that child would not have one either, but he was not like those men and
women who did not give a damn about his tragedy or whether he lived or died, alone in a
Moscow grotesque and frightening to the eyes of a poor eight-year-old boy who knew little or
nothing about life.
He was an animal, yes, but of a different kind.
"I am here now," he whispered in her ear as she, exhausted, sagged against his chest, "and I
will be with you whenever you need me."
Although she was too young and too distraught to understand it, his was an oath, an oath that,
he knew, also applied to Carlos and, probably, to the kitten too.
Killing is simple; saving a life is what makes you really responsible for it. And he had done
that mistake three times already.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, the usual thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, commenters, subscribers, and
bookmarkers, you are all very special to me!
Jeez, what a chapter! Leon and Chris have empirically proven that when they can put a
plan together, they are virtually unbeatable even so young and inexperienced.
Chris's daydream of having his own S.T.A.R.S. team with Leon as his pupil is so tender
because, I'll say it loud and clear, it will never happen - sorry, Chris. Things will never
go so smoothly and easily but it is interesting to see his captain side begin to emerge.
He's going to have his team, of course, sooner or later, but not with Leon, and, yes, he's
going to be a very good captain someday but, again, not for Leon.
Our rookie, on the other hand, continues to be himself unapologetically. He clearly

demonstrates that he can give his absolute best when put under pressure and does not
disappoint expectations. So much so that even Mikhail, who, at first glance, had judged
him to be a useless sissy, has changed his mind about him, despite his bad blood with
Nicholai.
Let us also be thankful that Chris is not the brightest and that he has temporarily bought
the lie told by Leon to justify Mikhail's words. Things will get ugly when he begins to
piece together all these little inconsistencies but for now, we are again in a moment of
relative peace. We'll see how long it lasts.
And now we come to the most painful part of the chapter; William, my dearest William.
What happens to him and his little girl is so profoundly wrong and tragic. Sherry does
not lose her father because he dies. It is much worse than that. William has injected
himself with a virus that has created another creature, inside him, fighting for supremacy
and to reproduce. The effort of will he makes to keep the G away from his beloved child
is, arguably, one of the most difficult and terrible things that will happen in the whole
story, which proves that William, the man William, was and, for a while, still will be
indeed the superior being that so impressed Wesker to the point that he fell in love with
him. This is not merely a matter of physical attraction or even sick romance; William is
probably the embodiment of the superior human being that Albert will seek for the rest
of his life, all the more so because he was born and raised naturally, not subjected, as he
was, to processes of enhancement.
William's death will raise storm waves that will refract far into this story, farther than
you think.
And then there is Sherry, the sweet, brave, little Sherry who, of course, breaks down at
the sight of her father in that condition but, in her place, who wouldn't? She loves him
and he loves her back.
Nicholai, here, is more a mere helpless spectator because he knows perfectly well that
there is nothing he can do to make her better, and even the way he resonates with
Sherry's suffering sanctions his fate, here and now. Keep in mind that there is a reason
he hesitated when William asked him to kill him. I cannot tell you now, but it will be
revealed, in time. It is another crumb that marks the path.
We will see William again, anyway. He is still with us. The G has not yet won the war,
and, God, will he sell his skin dearly!
A big hug to all of you and thanks again for being here!
Lady S.
Chapter 35
Chapter Notes
After getting her up the ladder, Nicholai carried Sherry the rest of the way. The child had not
said a word since she had watched her father die and he had not pressed her. After crossing a
movable bridge he made sure to get it back to the other side of the track so that nothing could
follow them. There were no zombies or other creatures down there with them but caution was
never too much. He sat Sherry down on a crate and she took a while to loosen the grip with
which she had been supporting herself around his neck. Nicholai looked at her and found her
pale and exhausted with her eyes still swollen with tears and dull of any glow.
"Blame me for killing him," he told her, well aware that he had done it to protect both of
them, but anger was a powerful motivator that could put her back on her feet in that terrible
moment and he was ready to let her hate him to make her able to fight again.
The girl, however, shook her head weakly and clutched the edges of her shorts between her
small fingers. "You did what he asked," she whispered, "and I saw that..." She swallowed
loudly as her eyes filled with tears again. "That, in the end, h-he did it to himself b-because
you couldn't. H-he i-is- he was always so s-stubborn and full of… of himself. If you have to
do something, Sherry, do it yourself, my darling, because everyone else is just a bunch of
idiots. I-I think you made him so mad. He hated repeating t-things." She covered her face
with her hands and burst into another cry, more restrained than the previous one but no less
heartbreaking. "W-What do I do now, without him?" She sobbed.
"I'll find your mother-
"I don't want that bitch I want him!" Sherry shouted, shaking her head hard. And there it was,
the anger. Nicholai was sure she didn't mean it, it was just an irrational outburst.
Physiological, maybe even sane. He would find her anyway, hoping she had not ended up
like her husband. He had never seen such a mutation, and he wasn't even sure it was the T-
Virus. No, it was something else. Something worse and more powerful. His side still ached
from the blow he had taken. Nothing he wasn't used to but that thing was strong. However,
what was truly extraordinary was that, on some level, Dr. Birkin had maintained his
consciousness, he had even spoken to him. An absolutely outstanding achievement even as
tragic as it was.
Fucking hell, he thought, connecting the dots of that mystery. Was Birkin the doctor the Hunk
groupies were talking about at the university? Had the fool tried to betray Umbrella? That
was a very plausible explanation. Hunk and the operatives linked to him were at a higher
level in the company's military ranks because, unlike members of the U.B.C.S. who were
mostly mercenaries, they were inveterate loyalists, probably trained from childhood in
centers such as Rockford Island. They were employed for the most sensitive missions, those
where there was a lot of money on the line offered by rival companies to get data or samples,
so many that no mercenary would ever back down such bribes. The sample in question was
Dr. Birkin's and, according to the words of those dickheads, the operation had ended up in a
bloodbath. How had he got himself infected, though? By accident? Unlikely. Was he so
determined to hold on to his job that he injected himself, or was he just trying to save his own
life since Nicholai knew he had been wounded by a trigger-happy jerk? Hard to say. The only
thing certain was that he had chased them into the sewers from the NEST and that the
samples must have included the T-Virus that had caused the mess in the city.
What a fucking circus! You had a job, golden boy, just the one, and instead, look at the crap
you made! He could not help but think of Hunk with all his contempt. If they had sent him,
for the right price, none of this would ever have happened and the child would still have had
a father. And in that case, I wouldn't have given a fuck because I wouldn't have known her. He
admitted with some intellectual honesty, but they were not in the realm of 'what ifs,' they
were in the realm where everything had gone straight to hell and they had to deal with it.
He stroked her face, wiping away her tears with his big hand as gently as a feather.
"Now I need you to be a good devochka and get some rest while I go see what's upstairs," he
told her.
She gripped his wrist tightly. "Please don't leave me!" She begged him, frightened.
He bent his face a little toward hers to look her straight in the eyes. "I'm not leaving you. I'll
be back. I just want to clear the way for you. Then we'll both be much safer," he reassured
her. It was true only in part. He was going to kill the reporter and, if he was lucky, the
mercenary too. He didn’t want Sherry to see that or get in the middle of the crossfire. “Pinky
swear," he added.
"It doesn't mean anything if you don't make the gesture," she scolded him.
"My apologies," he nodded, lifting his little finger for her to shake. "And I'll do more, I'll
leave you a token," he added, taking off his dog tags and putting them around her neck.
"They have value to me." More or less, about half a million dollars, since they contained data
on the T-Virus vaccine, to be precise, but he didn't tell her that. "You will give them back to
me when we are safe, is that enough for you?"
She lifted her arms to hold him close. "T-thank you, you are so kind to me. P-please, don't
die."
A short laugh escaped him and he slowly took a step back. "I'll do my best."
She frowned in a scowl that, though Nicholai could not know it, was the spitting image of her
father, and even what she said might as well have come out of William's mouth: "That's not
good enough!"
The Russian smiled. "Then I won't die."
"Better," she nodded, clutching his dog tags in her hand as if they were a precious treasure.
"Now try to get some rest," he told her again, making her lie on her side. He took off his vest
which wasn't that warm, but it was still better than nothing and spread it over her like a
blanket. "See you in a while," he whispered, stroking the back of her head.
That done, he walked away toward the ladder that would presumably lead him to the
detention center and he couldn't help but turn back more than once to check that everything
was okay.
When he had reached the top he lifted the metal hatch carefully and peered all around. He
was in a parking lot and all seemed quiet, so he quickly got out to inspect further.
Jill squinted her eyes. After letting Carlos rest for a few hours, he had given the cot to her,
and although she had thought that there would be no force in heaven or earth capable of
putting her to sleep after what Irons had tried to do to her, in truth she had slumped almost
instantly. The corridor was in total darkness, only the emergency indication lights were on.
Straightaway she searched for Carlos with her eyes to find him again holed up in the same
corner from which she had flushed him out the night before. Even in that dimness, he looked,
if possible, even more broken down. Only a second later did she become aware of the
guttural groans coming from the cells next to theirs filling the silence of the detention center.
All around them were infected. A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach but she did her
best to keep it at bay.
"Hey," she said to get his attention, and Carlos was a little less responsive than usual to smile
at her.
"Good... morning, or whatever, princess," he answered her anyway, trying to hold in place
that mask of lightheartedness that just didn't want to stay up anymore. He was pale and his
voice trembled a little.
She hesitated, unsure of how to approach a conversation. She would have liked to tell him
again that theatrics were unnecessary, and that if he was scared and freaked out he had every
right to be, but she had a feeling that Carlos was not trying to fake it for her, but rather to
keep himself together.
"No one came, I suppose," she decided to sigh, setting herself up on the cot.
Carlos shook his head and seemed to want to say something, but then kept it to himself.
"What is it?" Jill urged him.
He stopped looking at her and merely shook his head. He did not want to tell her that he had
heard gunshots, lots and lots of gunshots coming from the upper floors of the station for
hours until they had simply stopped from what, by now, seemed like an eternity to him. Nor
did he want to tell her that he feared no one would come to free them at all, because maybe
they were all dead and they would end up starving and thirsting in there, just as had happened
to his friends in Colombia. He wasn't sure if this was really the case, but, if it was, he didn't
want to alarm her. No, he wanted to leave her hope as long as it was possible.
"Carlos, you have to talk to me, okay? We're a team," she nudged him, standing up and
giving him a playful bump on the leg with her foot.
"I'm just thirsty," he downplayed.
"Well, it wouldn't be my first choice, but the tap works."
"Nicholai told us not to," Carlos reminded her, "and judging by the noises coming from the
other cells, I think he was right about the water being contaminated."
"Shit..." She huffed and could not help but wonder if Nicholai's had been a fortuitous perfect
deduction or if he just knew. Either way, he had warned them, which was certainly a point in
his favor.
"It's like back then. The water is rotten," Carlos could not restrain himself from expressing
his despondency, and having experienced firsthand what it was like to feel almost dying of
thirst but having to resist the temptation to poison oneself, that situation was making him re-
live with all too much clarity every moment of that long ordeal. Maybe he wasn't even that
thirsty and it was just his head playing tricks on him but hell if he felt miserable.
Jill looked at him with empathetic tenderness, feeling great fondness for him. She had judged
Carlos too soon, seeing him only as a loudmouth charmer, but it was clear that there was
more to it than that, and she was sincerely sorry to see him in such distress. She could not
even imagine how horrible it had been for him to go through that experience, and in his
place, she surely would not have been able to remain so calm.
"Another hug would surely help," he pointed out, casting a sidelong glance at her with eyes
filled with a mischievous boyish glow.
"Oh, really?" She arched an eyebrow, unable to hold back a chuckle.
"I can beg for it, you know?" he joked. "Life is too short to be ashamed!"
"Stop it, dork!"
Carlos moved enough to get on his knees and prostrated himself in front of her. "Oh, you,
noble princesa of the... of the Land of Raccoons, please grant this poor but pretty good-
looking wretch a glow of your light! Save him from his misery with the warmth of your arms
and he will be your humble servant forever and ever!"
Her giggle turned into a long, heartfelt laugh. "You're such an… Ah! Ah! Ah! The Land of
Raccoons, how did you come up with that!" She exclaimed, holding her belly.
He rose back to a sitting position with a satisfied little smile. Actually, he didn't even really
want a hug, although he wouldn't have complained about receiving one; he just wanted to
hear her laugh. That was what he was good at, entertaining people, distracting them, and
making them feel great even in the worst situations. If others were okay maybe he would be
okay too, and Jill was really beautiful when she laughed. That Chris had better treat her like
the queen she was, or he was going to kick his ass mercilessly because one couldn't have all
that luck and throw it away like it was nothing.
She composed herself and looked at him shaking her head, still amused. "Thank you," she
told him, well aware of what Carlos was doing in all his radiant spontaneity. "Poodle."
He snorted. "You really liked that nickname!"
"I must concede to Nicholai that it's fitting. I wonder where he is."
Carlos tilted his head, intrigued. "Uh, someone's getting involved! Was it the accent? I
fucking love his accent, and Mikhail's too, my captain!" He provoked her to test the waters
because if there was room for Nicholai, perhaps her crush on that Chris was not so serious
after all, and he too might have a chance to court her. Or maybe he would have just ended up
with two suitors to challenge instead of one, preferably not in a duel, because he knew
nothing about Chris, but Nicholai would have kicked his ass in less than fifteen seconds.
"You're the one with a hopeless kink for Russians, not me," she hissed at him, rolling her
eyes.
"Yet here you are worried about him."
"Oh, for fuck's sake! I'm not worrying!" Jill fought back, crossing her arms over her chest
defensively. "I'm just curious. A little bit."
"Curious about what, if you don't mind me asking, Miss Valentine?"
Jill blinked and ventured against the bars to peer down the hallway, and there he was, that
asshole, leaning against the wall in the dimness with his arms folded and a sneer on his thin
lips. Even in that pitch black, it was evident how cheerful, almost gloating he was.
"Oh, you motherfucker!" She growled.
"Nic- I mean... Gosh, what was it? Kol..? Kolkia? Fuck, I'm so glad to see you, man!" Trilled
Carlos, leaping to his feet and joining Jill. And he was really happy indeed, to the point
where he would almost cry with joy because they would not starve to death.
"How long have you been standing there like a rat in the dark?" Jill questioned him instead,
aggressively.
The Russian lifted his chin a little to look at her silhouette. "Pretty much since 'the Land of
Raccoons,' which sounds like the title of a third-rate crappy fantasy book for dumb children,
to be honest."
"Hey!" Carlos protested, sulking, but then let it go. "Can you get us out?"
Nicholai grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose. I just wonder why you didn't," he
retorted, nodding to Jill.
"Excuse me?" She exclaimed, stung in her pride.

"Let me articulate better: are you clueless or just lazy? Or, speaking of kinks, maybe you just
enjoy seeing him miserable and blabbering nonsense. I won't judge you for that. To each their
own.”
She clenched her fists and blushed in annoyance. "If you mean that with the power gone, the
electronic lock is gone too, you're probably right, but that still leaves the manual one and I
don't have a fucking thing to open it with, genius! But, let's hear it, how am I supposed to do
it? With the power of my mind?"
"Mmmh," he muttered, pretending to ponder about it for a moment. "I was thinking more
about your tits, actually," he told her, point blank, briefly lowering his gaze, and Carlos
gasped, utterly confused and uncomfortable.
"Fuck off!" She shrieked, throwing a hand at the bars.
"Yeah, the hell got into you all of a sudden?" The other backed her up.
Nicholai laughed under his breath without taking his eyes off her. "Lazy, Miss Valentine, so,
so lazy and unimaginative. I expected better from you. Be a good girl and think on your own
some more, I have work to do first," he concluded, passing their cell.
"Hey! Don't leave us here, please!" Carlos whined, unable to maintain the minimum amount
of dignity not to appear pathetic. "I'm going crazy, I beg you!"
Jill, on the other hand, frowned and then groped her own tits, wincing in surprise. "Oh,
motherfucker!" She repeated, catching on.
"Whoa! Hey! Hey! What are you doing?!" Carlos asked her in a somewhat shrill voice when
he saw her take off her tank top and throw it on the cot. ”He was just fucking around, you
don’t have to show him anything! Jill, come on, stop!”
"Shut up!" She barked, increasingly irritated but this time with herself. What a jerk! How had
she not thought of that on her own?!
"Well, I would have settled for the hug but this certainly makes me happier!" Carlos
surrendered, playfully, when he saw her unhooking her bra as well. He had no idea what the
fuck was going on, but if she was ok with it, he had no complaints. Seriously. Anytime.
"Oh, for fuck's sake! It's just a pair of boobs, not the first you've seen in your life, I hope," she
huffed, disinterested, taking off the piece of underwear but she flinched when she saw him
approach, only Carlos was no longer looking at her breasts and had a far more serious
expression.
"That's a nasty bruise," he told her, concerned, pointing to the large portion of purplish skin
on the left side of her ribs. "May I?" He asked her permission, motioning her to rotate toward
the scarce light at their disposal.
Jill nodded, covering her partial nudity with an arm, and gasped when he palpated her rib
cage. "Your hands are fucking cold!" She protested, hiding the pain she felt.
"I'm sorry," he apologized with a gentle and entirely chaste smile. "Nothing seems broken,
fortunately. Was it that pig?"
She nodded but she didn't want to talk about it, so she turned and put her tank top back on.
She then sat down on the bunk and tore her bra, got rid of the unnecessary padding of the
push-up, and pulled out the two underwires that supported the cups. They were covered in
plastic, but the core was metal and they were malleable enough to make a rudimentary
lockpick with. Fucking hell, how dumb! She had needed to have that patronizing asshole tell
her!
"Damn me and fuck him!" She gritted between her teeth, frustrated, as with quick, skillful
fingers she readied her pick.
"Given a choice, I would prefer the other way around," Carlos joked and giggled like a child
at Jill's annoyed glare. "Hey, what are you doing?" He asked when he saw her crouch down to
bring her arms over the grates.
"I'm opening the damn door!" She growled, fatigued.
"And you're just doing it now?!"
"Jeez, the sight of my tits has made you even more stupid..." She commented, exasperated,
trying to jiggle the damn lock.
Nicholai, not far away and already returning, snorted, amused. God, how he loved Miss
Valentine’s harsh retorts! She was savage!
He'd found the reporter, opened his cell, and killed him in his sleep quickly and silently. He
had also listened to the tape in his cassette player, an interview with none other than Annette
Birkin concerning a virus called G and suspicious experiments in an orphanage. Of course, he
had kept it with him. It was a good thing that he and Ada Wong were pursuing a common
goal. He would have a way to find and kill her without necessarily having to wait for her at
the police station, and he also had a good excuse to find the mother of the devochka.
"Should I open it for you anyway, Miss Valentine?" He asked, slyly, leaning against the bars
and observing her manual dexterity. It was not so bad, and he acknowledged to her that she
was working with a makeshift tool and in a very uncomfortable position.
"I'd rather rot in here," she hissed.
"Do I have any say in this?" Carlos interjected since he couldn't wait to get out of that damn
cell.
"No," Jill extinguished his hopes.
"So I'm afraid we'll rot here together," he placidly accepted his fate with a defeated little
groan.
Nicholai smiled, watching them. They were cute together.

"In the meantime, take this," he told Carlos, handing him his water bottle.
The kid jerked, surprised, and his eyes filled with gratitude and affection. "Thanks, man, I
owe you one," he murmured, accepting the offer and taking a long sip that made him feel
better immediately.
"You owe me a long list..." Commented the Russian in a half-voice but it was a facade. He
was so relieved that the jerk was okay, he just didn't want to openly show it.
"Fuck you both!" Jill exclaimed, thrilled when the lock finally clicked. She leaped to her feet
and threw the door open wide, flashing a big middle finger at the Russian.
At that very moment, all the lights in the police station turned back on.
"How very ladyli-wait, what happened to you?" Nicholai changed his tone mid-sentence
when he finally saw her bruised face clearly. He also approached her and Jill was surprised to
see how intense his expression was. It was not worry, it was not even sorrow, it was
something different but just as strong and deep.
It bothered her and made her feel as weak as any sissy. She was anything but that. She needed
no man to protect her or avenge her.
"Nothing," she replied dryly. The last thing she wanted to hear was that she had been so
stupid as to put herself in that situation. Yeah, that was what she thought Nicholai would tell
her.
"Zip it," she then hissed, turning to Carlos who wanted to butt in, finally getting out of the
fucking cell and walking a few steps away.
The Russian followed her with his gaze without insisting further, but he was neither blind nor
stupid. He knew how to recognize the signs of a beating and, despite his efforts to want to
remain aloof, especially with her, he wished that the man who had inflicted it on her was
lying torn to shreds upstairs.
"Gotcha!" Carlos suddenly exclaimed an instant before jumping on him and pulling him into
a fiery, crushing embrace.
"Get the fuck off me!" Nicholai growled, scrambling to shake him away, but the other had
grabbed him tightly and did not let go.
"It's so good to see your ugly face!" Rejoiced the kid, running a hand over his silver hair in a
rough caress. "I would kiss you for how happy I am!"
Nicholai managed to rotate enough to plant his elbow in his stomach and hurl him away from
himself before he could actually smack a kiss on his cheek.
"Don't you dare do that again!" He admonished, glaring at him with his alarmed green eyes.
"Come on, I know you're happy to see me!"

"No."
Carlos huffed. "We have to do something about this allergy to cuddles of yours. Here's your
bottle, I haven't finished it."
"Keep it, you bloody wretch."
The kid chuckled and took another long sip. Then they both caught up with Jill, finding her
observing a pair of ravenous zombies stretching their arms toward her from behind the bars
of a cell.
"Did you find out anything about this mess in the meantime?" She questioned Nicholai. "Or,
rather, is there anything you might want to tell us now? The suggestion about the water was
far too specific to be a coincidence."
"It was just common sense," he retorted, "but yes, I think I have a pretty complete picture of
the situation now and it sucks."
"Details," she prodded him, annoyed.
"Irrelevant," he closed the conversation, passing her and stepping out into the parking lot
first. "You won't be in town long, and in a minute even you, Miss Valentine, will agree with
me."
A growl made him wince and, without even flinching a little, he grabbed the bar and smashed
it into the head of the Doberman who had tried to assault him from the left, interrupting his
leap and sending him to the ground yelping.
"Fucking dogs," snorted the Russian, bored, finishing him off with another blow. "What?" He
then asked Jill who was looking at him surprised since Nicholai had not even turned to look
at the damn thing. He hadn't needed to.
"Cool!" commented Carlos.
"Fanboy," she huffed, rolling her eyes, then turned serious again. "And you're a poor idiot if
you think you can tell me what to do," she added, glaring at the Russian.
"I didn't. I only said you will agree even if you don't like it," he corrected her, then looked
toward Carlos. "You will love it."
Without adding more he reached the hatch and opened it. "The last one close it. Without
slamming it," he recommended, disappearing down below.
Carlos and Jill exchanged a confused look.
"Well, I'm curious," he confessed to her, shrugging.
"So am I," she huffed unwillingly, starting down the ladder, and jerked as Nicholai grabbed
her by the arm and pulled her aside. "She just lost her father. Don't be a bitch," he
admonished her in a low voice. "And don't tell him unless she brings it up. You've seen it.
He's emotional. "
Of course, they heard the hatch slam loudly, followed by an awkward, " Mierda! Sorry!"
Nicholai closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, inhaling hard to resist the urge to kick his
ass, and Jill could not hold back a giggle.
"I'm so done..." He growled, leaving her where she was.
By the time he turned the corner, Sherry had obviously woken up in a jolt and, to his surprise,
was pointing Matilda at him.
She gasped, "S-sorry! I-I-
"Niet," he interrupted her, moving closer, "No, no, no! You have done well. Very well,
devochka! I'm so proud of you!" He complimented her and was absolutely sincere.
Jill, however, was not of the same opinion. "You gave her a gun, you fucking psycho?!" She
barked at him as soon as she laid eyes on the poor child. Then she approached her. "Come on,
honey, give it to me."
Sherry clutched the gun to her chest, after having reinjected the safe, and shook her head,
moving back until she took refuge at the end of the crate. "He taught me how to use it. I will
only give it back to Leon. It's his, not yours!"
Jill turned to glower at Nicholai with another fiery glance. "You're a crazy asshole, what the
fuck were you thinking?! She's a kid!"
"Oh, you have no idea how much of an asshole I can be," he assured her, shrugging.
"Oh, my God, who are you?!" Carlos exclaimed, as excited as a puppy at the sight of the little
girl, and immediately ran up to her. "Oh, no, don't be afraid of me, mi china! I am Carlos, and
you?"
She cast a glance at Nicholai to make sure she could trust the guy, and he nodded.
"I-I'm Sherry. Sherry B-
"Sherry." The Russian interrupted her, giving her an eloquent look.
"Nice to meet you," she resumed, with some hesitation toward Jill, and the woman was
equally confused. Why had he stopped her from saying her last name? Whose daughter was
that child? What damn game was he playing? She liked smart men but not when they were so
dangerous.
"Your unit, Carlos, has set up a shelter at the Redstone subway station where, allegedly, a
train has been set up to transport survivors out of the city," The Russian said. "The last time I
listened to the radio, they were just talking about getting the power back on, which they have
apparently done. You both will escort the child there."
"I'm not leaving without Chris!" Objected Jill, hostile.
"Where is this station?" Intervened Carlos, who had far other priorities now that there was a
child's life on the line.
Nicholai shrugged his shoulders again. "I'm not telling you," and turned his eyes to Jill. "You
will accompany them there. And don't think you're going to explain it to him by giving him
directions. He sucks in an urban environment without a map and the streets are dangerous.
This is as much of an asshole as I can be, Miss Valentine."
Before she could shout all her complaints in his face, Sherry whined: "Y-you're leaving me?"
Looking at him fearfully.
The Russian approached her and arranged a lock of hair behind her ear. "For a while," he did
not lie to her. "But they'll be with you. He's okay. He looks big and tall but he's more of a
child than you are. She… She's a bit of a bitch, but you'll get used to it. Otherwise, shoot
her," he joked.
"I've heard you!"
"Good. Proves your ears work just fine, Miss Valentine."
She winced, at a loss for words, and let out a frustrated grunt.
"The little girl was the last one to see Redfield and he was fine. If he's smart he's probably
heading for the subway too," Nicholai resumed with more seriousness. "If he's not, it's your
business what you're going to do, whether to stay safe or go back to look for him. I don't
care."
"Why can't we all stay together?" Carlos asked. "Parting is why literally everything goes to
shit and everyone dies in horror movies, come on man!"
Nicholai moved in front of him, squaring him from above with a harsh expression. "I don’t
watch movies. Moreover, I have people to kill," he told him flatly. "I don't need bleeding
hearts like you two trying to stop me."
Carlos hesitated and his eyes moved, lost, between him and Jill, who had an 'I told you so'
expression.
"So you didn't come here for us?" He asked him, hurt.
Nicholai laughed briefly. "Of course, I didn't. No one pays me to save your sorry asses, they
just seem to happen in my way."
Sherry looked at him and frowned. He was lying. Why was he lying? It was clear that that
dark-haired soldier was the one he had believed to be dead upstairs, so why was he treating
him so coldly now? She remembered that he laughed when he was tense and that was one of
those moments. Nicholai was a bit like her daddy, he said one thing but had a thousand more
in his head. Probably what he wanted was to know they were all safe, and be free to follow
his mission without being followed by his friends. He was making them despise him just to
keep them at distance. She didn’t know why he was there, but, given all he had done for her,
it was time to reciprocate. That was what her daddy would have done.
"He came here for me," she lied to back him up, and the Russian turned his head sharply to
look at her, surprised. "I am the daughter of an important scientist, my mother told me to
come here. She thought it was safe but it wasn't, so she sent him-
"Devochka-
"No, it's okay, Nicholai," she interrupted him, clutching his dog tags in her fingers again. "Do
whatever you have to, but please keep our promise."
For a brief moment, Jill saw the Russian's mask of stoicism fail and his sharp green eyes
soften into what looked like affection. He cared for the child, as unbelievable as that sounded.
She wasn't just work for him, so she could and will exploit that weakness.
"I'll take them to the subway," she told him, "on one condition."
Nicholai's expression immediately turned icy again but he did not retort, inviting her to
continue.
"Tell me what the fuck is going on. It's not such an unreasonable request."
"Not sure," he replied, vaguely.
"Then give me your best guess."
He hesitated for a moment, then abandoned the duffel bag on the ground, keeping only the
sniper rifle, his gun, the bar, and the knife for himself.
"Come." He turned away, walking out of the room back toward the moving bridge, and she
followed him without argument.
"I didn't want to talk about it in front of the child."
"That much is clear."
Nicholai explained to her all the deductions he had come to regarding what had happened
between the special team and Sherry's father, keeping no details of what he knew to himself.
The only lie he told was that he had been assigned to find the child and her mother and kill
the people who were chasing her, and he did this only because he wanted to back up Sherry's
version. It was a really good loophole, clever devochka.
"And what about Project-N? What exactly is it?" Jill took advantage of his sudden loquacity.
He tightened his lips until they almost disappeared, already irritated. "You said one condition.
Don't push your luck."
"And what if I refuse to go to the subway until you tell me absolutely everything?" She
challenged him, advancing and stopping just a step away.
"I'll break your neck," he threatened her without blinking.
She smirked. "Cute but it wouldn't solve your problem."
"No, but it would make me feel a lot better."
Jill snorted, despite herself because there was something intriguing about Nicholai, even if he
was utterly detestable. "Asshole."
"You're getting repetitive and boring," he concluded, activating the bridge. "Don't follow me
and don't go back upstairs to the station. Everyone is dead and the exits from there are very
dangerous. Especially with a little girl to escort. The card for the garage is in the last cell. On
an already dead body," he concluded, crossing the bridge.
"Aren't you even going to say goodbye to her? To Carlos? You heartless snake!"
"Not good with goodbyes, Miss Valentine, tell them for me," was his laconic reply, before
disappearing beyond the door.
Chapter End Notes

As, by now, a tradition, thank you very much to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers,
bookmakers, and commenters! <3 <3 <3
A little detail I forgot to mention when I first brought up Nicholai's USB dog tags. It's
not entirely my idea. Here in Italy, there is a fan division called, precisely, Umbrella-
Italia that has created merchandise. It's usually at major Italian comic and gaming
conventions and they put on some interesting shows (they're a big organization, they
have tons of cosplayers, streetcar cars all set up in full Resident Evil style, even a fake
helicopter; I don't know where they get the money (and permits) to do these things, I
think they have a license, but anyway they're called "Umbrella" so best not to investigate
XD). At the last Lucca comics, I stopped by their stand and bought these USB plates
(along with other things, like an Umbrella's umbrella, how could I live without an
Umbrella's umbrella? Come on!). Long story short, the very moment I bought the dog
tags I thought it would be a great idea to make use of them in the story as well and I
wanted to state that, but since I have the memory of a dumb goldfish I forgot.
Coming now to the story, Nicholai has reached his maximum endurance of sociability
and disappeared. Poor man, I kind of understand him. Jokes aside, he cannot do his job
if he has a little girl to protect, and while he can theoretically keep her safe from
creatures, doing so from a stray bullet in a firefight with a mercenary, for example,
would be much more complex.
Just as Sherry guessed, however, he would also want the other two idiots to be safe, and
throwing the responsibility for a child's life onto them was the quickest way to achieve
the desired result. It is not Nicholai's style to ask, he gets others to do what he wants but
Jill is not Chris, she is smart (sorry, Chris, you have other qualities, my big boy XD).
She notices and will notice inconsistencies in his behavior, but still, she would never
leave a child in distress. Besides, even if she does notice them, Nicholai doesn't really
give a flying fuck. He's the kind of man who doesn't have to explain himself to anyone.
He, too, suffers somewhat from the same fatal flaw as Leon, namely believing that he is
always right (although he, at least, has a ton of experience under his belt).
Carlos continues to be the invaluable ray of sunshine that he is. Even when he is hurting
and terrified, his first thought is always to make others well. He must have spent some
really hellish hours listening to what was happening on the upper floors of the police
station, and yet, he did not wake Jill up. He didn't tell her anything because, since they
couldn't have done anything anyway, he didn't want to distress her.
His lucubrations on how to win Jill are just so sweet, although he is also ready to give
up altogether if Chris should reciprocate her feelings. Besides, he is dumb and clumsy
about certain things but he really has a heart of gold and will utterly adore Sherry.
Jill continues to be a bit on her guard, especially with Nicholai because she doesn't trust
him and didn't like that he set her up that way but she is still light years ahead of Chris in
her being able to rationalize and take the best from the situations around her, even if
offered by shady characters like Nicholai.
We will return to Leon and Chris in the next chapter and see what they are up to
(spoiler: nothing good).
Thanks again to all of you for still being here!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 36
Chapter Notes
"So... you play guitar?" Leon asked suddenly. They had been walking in complete silence for
too long and it was making him feel uncomfortable. He desperately needed to know that
everything was okay again between them.
"I try to," the other admitted, a little reluctant to talk about it.
"Then I definitely want to hear you play!"
"Yeah, eventually, maybe."
"Oh my! You are such a shy one!" Leon chuckled, recognizing the same attitude as when he
had made breakfast.
"Stop it!" Chris admonished him, blushing a little.
"Do you sing, too?"
"No."
"Really?" The rookie pressed him. Chris, after all, was a very bad liar. It was written on his
forehead what he was thinking.
"Sometimes and no, you won't hear me sing. Period. End of discussion. Not gonna happend.
And, by your norm and rule, I still haven't forgiven you for thinking of using my guitar as a
weapon, much less for dropping it!"
"Oh, come on, that was an accident!" Leon whined.
"It doesn't change that she fell!"
"'She,' again?!" The kid laughed at him. "You definitely sleep hugging it, loser."
"Screw you."
I wish! It was Leon's unchaste thought, but he dropped it quickly enough.
"What do you do in your spare time? Besides being an annoying little turd, one thing you
excel at." Chris changed the subject, removing himself from under the magnifying glass and
turning it over him.
Leon shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not talented," he admitted, not particularly upset about it.
"I can't paint, I can't play anything, and if I try to sing, I'll break glass. I wasn't bad at sports,
but I'm such a poor team player that I even got kicked off the track team, as I told you
before."
"After slashing your coach's tires. Yes, I remember," sneered Chris, shaking his head. "So
what do you do?"
"I like to stay on the PC, play some games, surf the forums. I watch a lot of movies, read,
especially mystery and detective stories. I fucking love getting to the solution of the murder
before I finish reading or watching. And then I keep running a little bit, not like I used to,
though. Usually in the evening. I'm not an early riser."
Chris stifled a 'nerd' in a clumsy, fake cough.
"Yes, pretty much. Problems? I am utterly shocked that you know absolutely nothing about
football! You look like a stoned quarterback, maybe a wee bit underweight."
Chris scowled. "And how do you know this?"
"That's how I busted you at the motel, you and your nice Sharks cap," Leon explained lightly.
"Sure, I recognized you from the file but you could have been there for any reason. You
turned suspicious when it became obvious that you had no idea who their quarterback was.
Of course, I gave you a random name and you fell for it with both feet, mister!"
"Really? A cheap trick?"
"Yup!"
"So you're also a football-obsessed brain-dead?" Investigated Chris, a little disappointed.
"Oh, no. My ex I-I mean my ex's brother was," he hurriedly corrected himself. "The ‘best
friend’ I’ve mistaken you for when you’ve woken me up. He really was obsessed. He played
quarterback in high school, he knew the lineups of all the teams in the top league and the
promising ones, he was maniacally careful about what he ate. He spent three-quarters of his
time practicing but, in the end, he couldn't get a scholarship because he wasn't an outfielder
and he was too stupid to get decent grades, so he ended up working in his father's office like
the miserable piece of garbage he is."
"Jeez, you really like this guy and he was your best friend!" Ironized Chris, a little surprised
at all the resentment in the rookie's voice.
"He's done me far too many wrongs," he cut in short. "I'm glad he's finally out of my life. His
friends were among those who bullied me in school before I got involved with him and his
sister. After that they stopped hitting me or locking me in lockers or throwing me or my
things in the dumpster but they never stopped calling me names. He never lifted a finger or
defended me. We were buddy-buddy only behind closed doors. Asshole and hypocrite. What
a satisfaction it was to have his hand smashed the other night!"
Chris raised his eyebrows, stunned. "What?"

"He hadn't liked how I had broken up with his sister, so he wanted to teach me a lesson. I
dodged and he went for the garage door. Douchebag."
"You're a fucking public menace," the other chuckled.
"Excuse me? What was I supposed to do? Stand there and make me puff up like a bagpipe?
He's even bigger than you!"
"No no, according to your version of events, you did well. Still, I thought you were more
diplomatic."
"Diplomacy only works if you have enough neurons on the other side to sustain a
conversation. That wasn't the case with him," Leon hissed, giving him a glare.
Chris raised his arms a little, hinting at a surrender. "Hey, don't take it out on me!"
The rookie huffed, annoyed. "You remind me of him at times," he blurted out, without
thinking. He stopped walking, and looked him straight in the eye. "Look, we’ve been there,
but here we go again: I understand, ok? I know yours is not an easy position and it's clear that
your trust has been kicked to the curb, but I mean well. Truly. It's just hurtful to always feel
questioned and not believed. I think I've proven to you by now that I'm on your side. And
about before, when I reacted badly. I-I've been in the middle of some bad shit, too. I'm sorry.
I should have kept myself together but you're not making this easy for me. Fuck, I like you,
Chris, and things are wonderful with you until they abruptly go to shit!" He was aware of
how manipulative his speech was because it was true that he was hiding things from him but
it was also true that he was on his side and wanted to help him frame Umbrella with
everything he had. He just didn't see the world in black and white like he did. Not everyone
who had that logo on their jackets was necessarily bad. Nicholai had saved his life twice and
asked for nothing in return although they did not know each other; and even Mikhail, as
much of a homophobic asshole as he was, really cared about getting those people on the train
to safety. He didn't give a shit that they were on Umbrella's payroll if they did good but it was
impossible to make Chris understand that. He felt awkward when he saw those dark blue eyes
hesitating and getting more and more guilty. It wasn't fair what he was doing to him, nor was
it right flipping the tables to make him feel like he was solely responsible for their
misunderstandings but it was necessary. At least, that way, things would work out. You are
just like your mother, that hateful inner voice reiterated to him. And in the end, you too will
die alone just like her.
Chris, for his part, felt like shit because although he had more than enough reason to be
suspicious, seeing Leon's hurt expression made him miserable. He also so desperately wanted
them to get along.
"I was thinking about something while we were reactivating the last levers," he muttered,
looking away from those big blue eyes because he was ashamed and even thinking about
saying it out loud made it sound so stupid.
"Huh?"
Chris cleared his throat. "I was thinking that if there were to be a change of leadership at the
station and I was put in charge of rebuilding the S.T.A.R.S. unit, I'd really like to have you
in," he whispered. "I-I mean if you're not sick of me already."
Leon blinked, caught completely off guard because he expected another dose of distrust. "I-
I... Thanks!" He stammered. "Yeah, I'd love to!"
Chris felt the weight in his chest pulverize as he looked up and saw a radiant smile on that
kid's face and found himself smiling back like a fool with his belly going dizzy again.
"You'll have to call me sir," he admonished him, playfully. "And do whatever I tell you."
Leon laughed briefly and arched an eyebrow. "We'll see about that!" He retorted,
mischievously. resuming walking. "Holy shit, what the fuck is that?" He whined as soon as
he had turned the corner.
Chris immediately picked up his rifle but quickly calmed down when he saw that Leon was
aiming at the big mustachioed head on the roof of the toy store.
"He's just Mr. Charlie. Along with Mr. Raccoon he's kind of the town mascot," he explained
to him. "They also sell the puppets with the bobbing heads."
"He looks like something out of a fucking nightmare! If someone had given him to me as a
kid, I would have shit my pants!"
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. I think he's cute," Chris chuckled. "And children love it."
"No. It's not. Look at those googly eyes! He wants to eat your soul! He's clearly evil!"
"Now I know what to get you for Christmas," he teased him. "One for your nightstand and
one for your desk!"
"Don't you fucking dare! I'll shoot them and then you!" Leon hissed.
"Fortunately for you, we have to go that way," he told him, sneering, resting a hand on the
middle of his back to make him turn. "If we cut inside the diner we should make it straight to
the subway control center," he explained, leaving his hand where it was, mindlessly
tightening the fabric of his shirt a little with his fingers.
Leon noticed it and his fantasies became rampant again. Chris was becoming clingy, too; he
was not imagining it. He looked at him and gasped at how much he liked him. He had been a
little unfair to him. Beyond being a big boy he was nothing like Mike. Chris was of a sweet
disposition, and if it hadn't been for all that mess and his asshole late captain screwing with
his head, he would have fully proved it. He found himself imagining what it would be like to
not only sleep with him but maybe get to know him well, have a real relationship, and he
liked that scenario. Sure, they would bicker a lot but not enough to not work it all out with a
lot of healthy make-up sex and some cuddling right after.
Besides, he could cook, too!

He chuckled, disillusioning himself. He was doing more than putting the cart before the
horse, he was behaving like one of those silly girls fantasizing about marriage on the first
date, and theirs wasn’t even a date.
"What now?" Chris asked him.
"Nothing. Let's turn our backs to the big ugly head out of hell and get it over with," he
exclaimed, determined, trotting toward the improvised barricade that blocked access to the
stairs. There were bodies on the ground but they all got up when they noticed his movement.
"Hey, get back," Chris said, preparing to fire.
"No, wait," the rookie stopped him, tilting his head and watching that handful of zombies
huddle inches from him, just beyond the wire mesh. They were horrible with those gaping
mouths, and he could not help but think that, until a few hours before, they had been people
with lives, affections, dreams. It was so unfair, so monstrous. Why had Umbrella synthesized
such a virus? For military purposes, Chris had told him, sure, but he still didn't understand the
point. A virus that could quickly kill an opposing army was ruthless, certainly against
international norms, but it could have its own efficacy. This? This was just chaos and
innocent people were suffering for it. Of course, he knew that real life wasn't as in a movie or
in a novel, where everything happened for a reason and it was quite easy foreseeing what was
going to happen and the motives behind it, but why did it have to be so senselessly cruel?
"Leon, enough!" Chris insisted, tense, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him toward
himself as the barricade began to wobble under the thrust of those monsters.
"Don't shoot now, let them take it down for us," the rookie told him in a dark tone. Chris
winced, and not only because of yet another sudden change in his mood. He was getting used
to those by now, but there had been something in his voice and in his scowling, determined
expression that, once again, reminded him of Wesker. His captain, too, had been wont to
adopt that attitude when on a mission, as if he had a switch that could turn off all emotion and
involvement in the function of achieving the objective. That was what had made him great
and was probably the reason Leon was so gifted, despite his young age and inexperience.
That was how he had managed to defeat his fear of insects at the power plant. He had simply
shut it out. Chris had never succeeded in that. Over time he had managed to keep his
emotions moderately at bay while in action but they were always there to slow him down, to
confuse him, to make him doubt himself and, now, everyone else as well. He jerked when the
zombies finally succeeded and the barricade came down on the asphalt with a sharp crash and
before he could even put his finger on the trigger, Leon, quicker than he was to react, had
already taken down two of them.
He is too good at this. He is not who he says he is. Look at him. A fucking professional.
Echoed his paranoia. He did his best not to heed it and shot the other three with a short burst.
For a long moment there was only silence, until Leon turned and said to him, "clear way,"
with the hint of a smile.
Now he's the rookie again, thought Chris a little comforted but also uneasy, and the kid was
so radiant when he looked like just a curmudgeonly, adorable brat. Was it Leon keeping on
changing his colors like a chameleon or was it his mind putting a filter in front of his eyes
depending on what he was thinking? He had no certain answer for that but he was getting so
fond of him and in such a short time that it frightened him.
"Good thinking," he decided to congratulate him anyway and felt himself melt as he saw him
subconsciously lift his chin, all pleased and proud of himself for being praised. God, if he
could have made him his rookie he would have showered him with compliments, just so he
could watch all those cute little smirks Leon made without even realizing it. Chris saw him
wetting his lips again and couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mischievous,
crazy head at that moment but before he could focus on the thought, the kid started down the
stairs and he followed.
"Fucking hell..." Chris sighed once he had crossed the threshold of the diner. He had eaten
there hundreds of times because both Claire and Jill were fond of the place's donuts. He knew
everyone there. One of the waiters, Adam, had also been his sister's boyfriend during her
senior year of high school. He remembered when he had come to pick her up at their house
for homecoming, dressed to the nines like a goddamn penguin and scared to death that he
would put his hands on him to defend Claire's honor. Who knows what the fuck that little
bitch had told him to spook him so much. Sometimes she enjoyed tormenting her boyfriends
like that only to see their faces pale when she finally introduced them to him and they saw
how big he was. It was true that he was protective of his little sister, but not to the point of
chasing with a spiked bat any poor asshole with a penis who came near her. Adam had
seemed like a decent, level-headed kid to him, and even though his story with Claire was
over, Chris had maintained a good relationship with him. He had stayed in Raccoon to work
one more year and put enough money aside not to get hung up on too much college debt, and
now he was dead, lying on the linoleum floor of that shitty place. Something must have
frightened him so much that he had peed his pants.
"Hey, is everything okay?" Leon asked him in the usual sweet tone he brought out whenever
he saw him distraught.
"I knew him," he muttered, pointing to the kid at his feet. "I knew everyone in here," he
corrected himself, looking around. There was Cintia, an aging maid who always repeated to
everyone how wonderful her grandchildren were and how sorry she was to see so little of
them because they lived in Florida. She had taken Roy under her wing, a junkie loser who
was well known in the police station because he committed some petty theft from time to
time but was basically harmless and it was hard to dislike him. They were there too, right in
front of the counter and it was clear that he had somehow done his best to protect her but it
had not been enough.
And then there was Charles, the cranky old retiree who spent every day there from opening to
closing dispensing unwanted advice to everyone who came through the door; and Sarah, and
Connor and... fuck, he really knew them all and they were all dead.
He was overwhelmed.
"Hey, hey, come here," Leon told him, holding him close, and Chris realized he was crying
again, even if he didn't want to, even if it didn't do any good.
He sobbed, softly, hiding his face against his shoulder, and he felt so stupid for fantasizing
about the future and being almost happy at the prospect of becoming the new captain of the
S.T.A.R.S. unit. What would be the point? The city was finished, and if, perchance, someone
had been lucky enough to survive, they would never be the same again. They would all be
scarred for life, dead inside, though still breathing.
Everything was already over.
"It's not your fault, big boy. It's not your fault," Leon whispered in his ear, gently stroking the
short, brown hair on the back of his neck, and Chris trembled in his arms because it was. He
and the other survivors had not made enough noise to give the city a wake-up call, too afraid
of getting killed by the corruption around them. They should have done something fucking
loud! Like kidnap the mayor to beat the shit out of him and force him to spill the beans! Yes,
he would have ended up in jail, but at least all those people would have been able to continue
leading normal lives without dying senselessly. They would have had a choice of staying or
leaving.
Instead, the list of those he had to avenge was getting longer and longer and he was falling
further and further down the pit of his misery. It wasn't fair that he had survived if he couldn't
help anyone! He would have deserved to die at Spencer Manor!
Adam, undead, warned that he was about to get up with a grunt and Leon pushed Chris away,
before backing away in turn.
"Wait for me outside. I'll take care of it," he said, giving him the sweetest, most
compassionate glance.
Chris nodded and, even though he felt he should be the one to finish the job, he ran outside
and when he heard the gunshot he felt another part of him leave him forever. This was what
Umbrella had done to him and was continuing to do to him: deprive him of what he had been
and what he could have been, even before of what he had had.
Being in the open air managed to restore some of his clarity. Fatigued, he sat on the hood of
an abandoned car and tried to regain control. The job was not over yet; he had to destroy
Umbrella so that what had happened to them would never happen to anyone else again. He
had to kill them all. No exceptions, and if he had to die himself in order to succeed, he would
find it dutiful because he did not deserve to be alive.
He looked up when Leon joined him outside. "I'm sorry," he tried to justify himself even
though he knew the other would be sympathetic. "I-I shouldn't have-.
"Nonsense," the rookie interrupted him, as expected. "And if you want to take a break, I can
go by myself. The place is there, I can see it:"
"No. No, I'm fine. I can manage."
"There is no shame in stopping for a moment," Leon insisted.

"I'm not leaving you alone," Chris hissed, feeling an irrational protective urge toward the
damn kid. He couldn't lose him, too. He wasn't going to let that happen.
What if he is a-
He fucking isn't! He decreed. He was tired of asking himself that fucking bullshit over and
over again. All he was doing was putting them both in danger! Trusting him was just a matter
of will, and he wanted to do it.
He got off the hood.
"Come on, let's go," he prodded him before the kid could start again with the bitching that he
was not a useless pussy, and that he should give him more freedom. That wasn't the point. He
had grasped the concept but still did not want to leave it all on his shoulders. "We are a
team."
"Yes, sir," Leon retorted and, for once, seemed almost non-sarcastic in showing him due
respect. Insufferable little shit, but he was also such a beacon of light in a night so dark.
He followed him up the steps that gave access to the control center and watched him enter
following the access procedure into an unfamiliar interior down to the t, with his gun leveled
to check all the blind spots like the meticulous geek that he was. He was a little stiff because,
except in training, it was the first time he was actually doing it but it was so entertaining to
watch him experiment.
"Clear," Leon mumbled, "but I'm not so sure about him," he added, pointing to the corpse of a
man lying on the floor in the corner of the hallway. "Do I shoot him just in case?" He asked.
Chris felt a pang in his heart because this was the very first time ever, or so it seemed to him,
that Leon had asked him for tactical advice. "No. Let's not waste bullets. If he moves we
shoot him later," he replied, moved.
Leon only answered him with another one of those adorable little smirks of his and continued
down the corridor. He first checked the room on the right. "There's a shotgun!" He exclaimed,
seeing a rack.
"You can shoot that lock," Chris gave him in the go-ahead even before he asked.
The rookie executed with precision and then picked up the weapon. A shudder shook him at
the thought that that shotgun was not so different from the one he had shot poor Arthur with,
so he handed it to the other.
"No, I already have the rifle. You keep it. You know how to use it, I suppose."
Leon nodded. "Yes, it's just that... Nothing. I was thinking about that old couple at the diner.
They were so grumpy and cute with each other..."
"You did what you had to do to save your life."

"Yes. Yes, I know," he hooked it over his shoulder and slipped the dozen or so cartridges he
found in his already overflowing pockets. "I'll make good use of them. Now let's think about
the tracks so we can start looking for a way to find Sherry."
Together they entered the adjoining room, and Leon immediately focused on the control
panel. "It should be pretty simple," he murmured, "I just have to figure out where the
different stations are, preset the route on the pc and then line up the track switches. Do you
see a map or something?" He asked him, starting to look around.
Chris imitated him. "That should do it," he said, finding a control manual and tossing it to
him.
"Thanks!"
Chris smiled, crossing his arms over his chest, and watched him work. Leon was a volcano,
touching everything, hopping from one side of the panel to the other, flipping through the
pages. He seemed to know exactly what the heck he was doing as if he had been a station
chief all his life.
"Hum, fuck!" He heard him hiss between his teeth.
"What?"
"Some sections seem to be collapsed or otherwise unusable. See here?" He replied, pointing
to one of the monitors. "But, if we're lucky, it shouldn't be a problem. And we deserve some
bloody fucking luck, for a change!"
Leon fiddled with the controls some more until the reassuring computer voice told him that
all the exchanges had been aligned according to his setting.
"Fuck yeah!" He rejoiced.
He turned and found Chris behind him, intent on looking at him with an almost adoring
expression in those sad dark blue eyes of his, and he was so incredibly handsome in that
moment. Such a temptation. It was as if all the horror around them had suddenly left him, and
Leon, too, found himself drawn into that strange limbo where there were only the two of
them, a step away from one another, intent on looking into each other's eyes.
He did not stand to consider consequences, too intoxicated by the joy of having taken the last
step to secure the citizens on the train.
He needed this so badly.
He surged forward and shattered that invisible wall that had divided them until then. With a
wave of lust that set his whole body on fire he grabbed his face and pressed his lips to his,
possessive and hungry.
Chris, caught completely off guard, felt overwhelmed as if struck by a very violent electric
shock. He smelled the scent of his exhale, the warmth of his breath, the strength of his
completely unexpected passion, and when Leon licked his lips to invite him, almost force
him to open his mouth and let him in, he experienced the most intense, all-consuming,
unknown sensation he had ever felt in his entire life.
And it scared the shit out of him.
Reacting out of pure instinct, he pushed him back with all his strength, causing him to crash
into the control panel, and growled a confused, gasping, "What the fuck?!"
Then he looked at him. The kid had fallen badly to the ground and his eyes were wide as a
hunted prey. He seemed about to burst into tears but it was panic and terror that dominated
his mind. Chris saw him leap to his feet and, like lightning, rush out of the room, slamming
against the doorframe but continuing on without stopping, running away with the same sheer
terror as when he had fled when he had seen him in Irons' office. Still in shock, Chris did not
have the readiness to try to grab him.
"W-wait!" He groaned, chasing after him. Beyond the corner he was confronted by the
zombie who had gotten up from the rookie's sudden escape. "Get out of my fucking way!" He
yelled, pushing him down but, when he finally reached the street, there was already no sign
of Leon.
He was gone.
Chapter End Notes

This story has passed 150 kudos and almost reached 5k hits, I can't tell you how grateful
I am for this achievement. You are beautiful! So, as always, due thanks to those who
donate some of their time to read me, leave kudos, comment, subscribe, and leave
bookmarks, from the bottom of my heart.
Now some bad news, unfortunately. My mother has been hospitalized. It shouldn't be
anything particularly serious, but it kind of screws up all my planning for the coming
period. I will do my absolute best to keep the updates timely but just in case I slip a few
days, I'm not abandoning the story, it's just that life sucks. In any case, the chapter for
next week is almost ready and I will probably post it on Tuesday because next
Wednesday I have a meeting at work that will last until I die of old age.
Coming to the story. Well, I am... sorry? I guess. I'm aware that I'm a bitch for ending it
this way, and I'm even more sorry to confess that I'm an even worse bitch because, in the
next chapter, we won't be going back to either Leon or Chris. Please hate me but in
moderation. I really need to go back to Carlos, Jill, and Sherry to finish putting the last
pieces of the puzzle together and then bring it all down.
You know, when I was a little girl my favorite pastime was playing with wooden blocks
and erecting incredible towers. The fun, however, was not in the building phase, but in
how I would collapse them afterward. I think this mindset has stuck with me and I am so
thrilled to be this close to making everything crumble. Just a few more pieces and the
tower will finally be complete (and I sound like the villain I, in my heart, know I am).
Getting into the substance of the chapter, I don't think you were expecting the kiss.
Whereas I had planned for it. It had to happen at the most wrong and inopportune time
possible, light years before Chris is even inclined to broach the topic of his sexuality
with himself. That is why he reacts so abruptly. Certainly, he has had romantic and
intimate experiences with girls but he has never really liked it (we will have a chance to
explore this issue in detail after the Raccoon City arc) because, unlike Nicholai, Chris is
gay, not bi, although he does not yet realize it. He likes Leon. He likes him more than he
has ever liked anyone (except Wesker) but the thought that he might like him does not
even cross his mind at this stage. Chris is a simple-minded guy who needs fixed points
and stability and he's having none, right now, with his whole world dying around him.
Morever, he had a difficult adolescence during which he could not, nor would not, focus
on himself because he got the burden of raising his sister on his shoulders. At some
point, he started approaching girls because it was the thing considered normal. We also
have to keep in mind that this is not 2023 but 1998, when having another sexual
orientation was not discussed, in fact, it was still something to be kept well hidden (I am
not saying that it was right, nor am I saying that in 2023 everything is rosy, the world
still sucks pretty bad in that regard but in 1998 it was definitely worse). So Chris who
has been living in a kind of emotional and relational self-isolation has not yet figured
out anything about who he is and what he wants.
Leon is too direct and too blunt in his approach. He, too, probably, under more normal
circumstances would have gone for it way more tactfully, but he is one step away from
going off the deep end, so he throws himself at Chris as if he were a lifeboat but he is
not. Not now and not for a long time to come. He realizes this immediately when Chris
pushes him away violently so he panics and does the only thing he can: runs away. He is
afraid Chris will hurt him, afraid to broach the subject, and regretful that he made such a
stupid and rash choice that ruined everything.
Given all these reasons, I don't really blame either of them (don't worry, we will have
plenty of reasons to be pissed off at Chris in the future) it was just bad timing (and me
being an asshole).
Carlos said something very wise in the last chapter: splitting up is what makes
everything go to shit in horror movies. And isn't this a horror story, too?
Thank you all so much again!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 37
Chapter Notes
Jill approached the room where Carlos and the child were staying with her heart full of
anguish. What did Nicholai mean by 'they are all dead.' It was true that she resented many of
their colleagues, but that did not mean she wished them harm. What had happened in those
hours when she had slept? What had Carlos not told her?
This is the kind of thinking that leads to distraction and defeat. She was reminded of a rebuke
Wesker had given her. Although I admire your willingness to keep an eye on every aspect of a
situation, the truth is that not everything is worthy of attention. Specifically, once the goal is
defined, anything that evades its achievement is just noise to be silenced
As ruthless as this sounded, Jill knew that her captain had been right and that was still good
advice. Her goal since she had returned to Raccoon had remained the same as ever: to find
Chris and escape the city, yet she had become embroiled in something else entirely, not least
because Chris himself had gone rogue, that asshole. She was very hesitant and waited a
moment longer on the threshold, trying to gather her thoughts. Of course, she was going to
take that child to the subway, it was not even to be questioned, however, it bothered her that
Nicholai had used Chris to try to force her to go there. If at other times she would have found
that chess match between them intriguing, now she felt it unbearable because she did not
understand what the Russian wanted. If he cared about the little one why had he left? There
were discrepancies in his version of events because assuming it was true that he had been
assigned to pick her up from the police station, then why had he dropped her off to them as
an inconvenient package? Operatives of that ilk always carried out their mission, so the very
fact that he had not personally escorted her to the subway could only mean one thing: Sherry
was not his mission, perhaps never even was. This made the mystery all the more intricate
because, undoubtedly, Nicholai cared about that little girl but had nonetheless deemed that
she would be safer with them than with him. Indeed, already since the night before the
Russian had shown signs of deep impatience with what was going on in the city, and when he
had received that phone call, he had seemed to her even more irritated, not to mention, then,
the open contempt he had shown when he had told her about the disaster his colleagues had
wrought with the child's father or the general disorganization of Umbrella.
All these elucubrations only to arrive at one question: could she trust him?
Nicholai was morally gray but not dark enough to let an innocent child die. Yet it was also
equally evident that he was still a zealous gofer. For what reason? Clearly, he despised his
employers. Was he being forced? No, he was not the type to be entangled by blackmail. She
was reminded of the exchange she had had with Carlos: Nicholai was feared and hated by
almost all his colleagues, and Jill had no difficulty believing that, whether he was or act, he
turned out as an unpleasant man. So, again according to what their mutual friend had said,
Nicholai was alone. He had nothing and no one he really cared about. Nothing and no one to
fight for. Only a job at which he excelled, but had come to bore him, and a greedy attachment
to money.
Sherry, probably even Carlos were, however, living proof that this asset could change, and
then there was that young cop, the one with Chris, Kennedy. Those three were the pawns with
which she would win that chess game, but she was not like Carlos. She didn't give a shit
about giving Nicholai a better existence or friends. She was not a charity. She wanted to use
him as the dangerous weapon he was: the perfect soldier who knew many, if not all, of
Umbrella's secrets. First, so that he would not get in her way of leaving town with Chris, thus
causing him to give up on seeing them die at the hands of Project-N, and second, because if,
after that mess, she managed to get him to testify at a trial against Umbrella, his information
would be unparalleled.
But that was background noise again.
She reentered the room and found Carlos intent on entertaining Sherry to the best of his
ability, but the little girl seemed weirded out by all the enthusiasm.
"He takes some time getting used to," she joked, looking at her.
Carlos let out a groan of protest but his eyes grew lost when he saw that Jill was alone.
"Where is Nicholai?" He asked her, again with that abandoned puppy on the interstate look.
The Russian was an asshole, Jill decreed for the umpteenth time.
"Gone," she sighed.
"But he forgot his duffel bag!" Protested Carlos, who just would not give in to the hard truth.
"He didn't forget it. He left it for us," Sherry corrected him since it was rather obvious.
Carlos looked toward the door, clearly expressing a desire to follow him.
"He said not to," Jill stopped him, "and that everyone upstairs is dead, but you already knew
that, didn't you?"
He blinked, uncomfortable, and avoided her gaze. "I-I wasn't sure. I heard the gunshots but...
Look, I didn't tell you just because I didn't want to-
"It's okay," she interrupted him, and it was okay indeed. She knew he had kept it from her so
she wouldn't feel awful. "Just don't do it again. I hate being kept in the dark. Besides, secrets
can get us killed."
"Got it. Sorry," he whispered, casting another glance at the door.
"We'll see him again. He promised," Sherry tried to reassure him. She was not too fond of
being in the company of strangers again but she trusted Nicholai.
"What exactly did he promise you?" Investigated Jill, curious.

The child gave her a sharp, suspicious look. "None of your business," she replied, flatly.
"Jeez, his charm is infectious..." Ironized the woman.
"It's not just that," Sherry intervened. "You are Chris's friend. I don't like him."
Jill rolled her eyes. Bloody hell, that imbecile! She loved him, but damn if he was a master at
screwing up every time he opened his mouth!
"I'm sorry," he answered her, “from Chris, too. He's not bad, he's just-
"I begged him to help me find my daddy and he didn't give a damn! He even forced Leon to
ignore me! Maybe if we had arrived earlier... M-maybe!"
"Hey, hey, hey, come here!" Carlos reached forward and lifted her by weight, holding her in a
hug to comfort her incipient crying. From over her shoulder, he cast a questioning glance at
Jill.
"He is dead," she explained to him using only her lips and disobeying Nicholai's directions
because the rule about secrets applied to both of them, and Carlos's sorrowful expression
broke her heart. He really was emotional but she did not necessarily see it as a negative trait
because Carlos was in control and had amply proven it. She let him console the little girl
without interfering. She was not good with children. Of course, still better than Chris but that
took very little. She crouched on the ground and opened the duffle bag Nicholai had left
them, examining its contents. There were two more large-caliber guns, several rounds of
ammunition, three grenades, C4, a detonator, some food, and another bottle of water, in
addition to the one he had already given Carlos. Jill could not help but soften a little because
the Russian could be tender, albeit in his own way. It had not escaped her that the first thing
he had done was to give Carlos clean water to calm him down in the cell, and now he had
also left them food like a dedicated grandmother.
"It's a shame we lost the grenade launcher," she commented, though, because that would have
come in handy for them.
"If you want I can try to go and retrieve it. It should still be in your office, right?" Carlos
proposed, making Sherry sit on the crate again. "I'm quick when I want to be."
"You'll die," whispered the child, "there are lickers up there."
Jill frowned. "Lickers?"
Sherry nodded and reported perfectly what Nicholai had explained to her about what they
were and how to deal with them. "I only saw one, in that little room that leads to the hallway
to the service exit, but there's definitely at least one other. He killed that policeman. I think
his name was Branagh, but I'm not sure. His tag had blood on it." She saw Jill pale and
become distressed. "If he was your friend, I'm sorry," she told her, sympathetically.
The woman nodded and shrugged her shoulders, doing her best to keep that whirlwind of
emotions that were wracking her tightly shut.
"Background noise," she whispered through clenched teeth, refusing to cry and also ignoring
the anger she felt at continuing to perform as that son of a bitch Wesker had taught her to do.
There would have been time to cry. There would have been time to scream. There would
have been time to hate.
But now she had to remain clear-headed, otherwise, they too would end up like that.
Think about the task at hand, Valentine. She took the guns out of her duffel bag, kept one for
herself, and she gave the other to Carlos. Then she handed him the bulletproof vest that
Nicholai had left there with them.
"You can keep the sweatshirt if you're cold, but I want it back. It's Chris's. Put this on over it,"
he told him. "If you want to eat something, do it now because from the moment we move we
will not stop until we are at Redstone Station."
"Yes, ma'am!" Smiled Carlos who loved being ordered around by bossy women. He picked
up a small metal bib from Nicholai's things. "Come on, honey, now we're going to fill our
tummies," he said to Sherry.
"I-I'm not very hungry," groaned the child whose last thought was feeding herself.
"Me neither," Jill echoed.
Carlos sat down beside the little girl and opened the tin box that was not industrial and
sealed, it looked more like camping stuff and cast an intrigued glance at the little portions
inside. They looked like tiny baked buns, all strictly the same size and perfectly arranged in
three rows.
"Someone's got some OCD," Jill joked. Figuring Nicholai making his own ration and
arranging it all neatly somehow amused her.
"OC-what? Is that a recipe?" Carlos asked.
"No. It means obsessive-compulsive disorder. My daddy... had it." Sherry explained and did
her best not to break down again. "It means having the need to do things in a certain order, or
in a certain way, otherwise the person who has it gets all stressed and can even get sick. He
had many routines and little compulsions, and he followed them all strictly."
Silence fell again, and Jill felt a little guilty about that joke, she didn't mean to make her sad
again.
"Holy shit! These are so good!" Carlos exclaimed, continuing his usual light-hearted
behavior. He was no fool, he knew the situation was tense but it was not the first time he was
dealing with a traumatized child. He had been there himself but, more importantly, as a
senior, he had been tasked with taking care of new rookies. Other children, many of them
torn from their families just as had happened to him. If, at first, he had been overprotective of
them, almost to the point of being suffocating, in time he had learned that behaving normally
and giving the children a new routine was the best solution. Now the priority was to get her
to eat a little and keep her as calm as possible. "It's definitely not the crap they always feed us
in rations. I must ask Nicholai what these are." He held back a sneer as he saw both Sherry
and Jill craning their necks in curiosity. That was exactly the result he was trying to get at.
"I'm so lucky I can eat it all by myself," he mumbled, shoving two more of those buns into
his mouth.
"Okay, give me one." Jill was the first to give in to curiosity.
"Oh, no, all mine!" Carlos made the scene, pulling back the tin box and covering it with one
hand protectively and naughtily, before placing it warily between him and Sherry.
"Don't be a gluttonous pig!" Jill protested, moving forward, and as he tried to playfully
restrain her, the little girl, quailing like a cat, took one for herself.
"Oh!" She slurped, surprised when she realized they were stuffed with meat and were, in fact,
very tasty.
Carlos smiled radiantly, watching her finish eating it to immediately grab another, and Jill, at
that moment, realized what he had just done.
"Damn prick," she giggled under her breath. She definitely had to stop underestimating him
and considering him a dumbass. For certain things, he was, sure, but far more often he
pretended to be one to get others to do what he wanted them to do. If he had not been so
obviously kind, alarm bells would have gone off in Jill's head because that behavior bordered
on manipulative.
"Can I have one now, too?" She asked, almost plaintive, pushing him back.
"I don't know," muttered Carlos, thoughtfully. "Sherry, do you think she deserves it?"
The little girl did not think twice and, taking the tin box, held it out toward her, polite and
kind, although she did not like the woman very much.
"Hey, you should have kept her on her toes a little longer!" Protested Carlos.
"Screw you," retorted Jill, taking one of those buns. "You better not have told me bullshit
because if they suck at least one ass will get kicked," she admonished them, "and it ain't
yours, kiddo," she specified, smiling at Sherry. "Thank you very much," she added. "Fuck,
they're good," she said, genuinely surprised.
"You know what they are?" Carlos questioned her.
"Stuffed bread rolls of some kind, but I couldn't tell you more. Do you think he cooks them
himself?"
"He has to," Sherry intervened. "He doesn't have a wife," and in saying that she looked
intently toward Jill, causing Carlos to burst into a roaring laugh.
"Stop it, you moron," the woman hissed, hitting him in the side with an elbow. "And by your
norm and rule, I'm not interested."
Sherry shrugged her shoulders. "Too bad. He seems to have a nice house, but I can't tell you
where. I promised him."
Carlos sulked a little. Why did everyone seem to know more about Nicholai than he did?
First, that Leon-cat-guy, now even the little girl.
"And here he is turning green with jealousy!" Jill teased him.
Sherry tilted her head. "Why? Do you want to be his wife?" She asked Carlos without half
measures.
"What? Fuck no!" He protested, overpowering Jill's boisterous laughter.
"Well," objected the little girl, "that wouldn't be so strange, my dad was married to mom but
also had Uncle Albert as a boyfriend, and I think he loved him more than her."
Jill froze, "Albert... Who?" She asked with wide eyes.
"Wesker. Chris's captain."
"I-I think I need a moment," the woman whispered, dismayed.
Wesker was what? With whom? What the fuck? Not that according to what had happened it
made any difference, but it was yet more proof that neither she nor anyone else at S.T.A.R.S.
had ever had the faintest idea who their captain really was! How had the man kept everything
about him so secret? A cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought that Wesker had buzzed
around Chris so much for reasons that may have been outside the strictly professional sphere.
She categorically ruled out that anything had happened between them. First, because Chris
was not gay and, second, because he was an open book and, even if he wanted to, he could
never keep something this big from her or Claire. However, she had already come to the,
admittedly rather obvious, conclusion that, without his knowledge, Wesker had trained Chris
to make him survive at Spencer Manor. What would he have done to him if his plan had
succeeded and he had not died? She did not want that answer and was thankful to fate that the
asshole had croaked like the piece of shit he was.
"I didn't like him either," Sherry told her. "He was a bad man."
"Yeah..." Jill nodded, but then recoiled. "Now, though, we need to get moving."
Quickly they put everything they didn't need in the immediate future back into the duffle bag
Carlos slung over his shoulder.
"Be careful," Jill cautioned him before he could open the hatch.
He huffed. "I'll allow you to call me 'poodle,' but stop treating me like I'm five years old. I
can take care of both you and myself."
"I don't need your care," she scolded him.
"I'm sorry, it's included in the 'charming Latino' package you won in this lottery of horrors."
"Is he always like this?" Whispered Sherry.
"Unfortunately."
Carlos chuckled and, circumspectly, walked out into the parking lot. "Wait for my all-clear,"
he said and closed the trapdoor as he heard growls and then the quick sound of pawing on the
concrete of the parking lot floor. Quickly he grabbed his gun and fired as soon as a zombie
dog leaped past a parked police car to go at him. It hit him squarely, causing him to crash
with a squeal.
There was another one, though.
Carlos turned sharply, unhooking his duffel bag from his shoulder and shoving it into the
dog's mouth to keep him occupied as he shot him in the head at point-blank range. Only then
did he take care to finish the other one. He waited a few moments to make sure there was
nothing else in the fucking parking lot before opening the hatch again.
Jill was right down there with a worried look in her beautiful doe eyes.
"Oh, how sweet you are!" He teased her, and then everyone heard it. The thunderous,
terrifying sound of concrete being crumbled, followed by heavy footsteps. Footsteps that Jill
had heard before.
"Tyrant!" She whispered, paling. “Come back in, now!”
Carlos made a 'well, fuck' expression because he knew the thing was there on his floor but
what he had to do was clear.
"No! No! No!" groaned Jill, trying to stop him but the other not only shut the hatch in her
face but double-locked it. Footsteps were approaching and coming from behind the door of
the detention center. He did not know what the fuck a Tyrant was exactly, but what little Jill
had told him about what happened at Spencer Manor was enough to decree that he did not
want to come face to face with that fuck. Quickly and as quietly as possible, he entered the
only other door in sight with a green light indicating that it was open.
He had a plan. He didn't know if it would be enough, but it was still better than nothing. More
importantly, it would give his girls time to get to safety.
Meanwhile, Jill and Sherry had climbed down the ladder again.
"Nicholai said we must not go back upstairs!" Protested the little girl.
"Carlos left us no choice," she replied, hastily. God, she was pissed! Not at her, at that damn
prick who just couldn't handle not playing hero! She hoped he would survive just to kick his
ass herself! He was like Chris: an irredeemable dickhead! Was it ever possible that the only
man with a brain she had around was that slimy asshole Nicholai?
She proceeded at a brisk pace across the moving bridge, making sure the kid was following
her.
"But if we leave then how does Carlos catch up with us? He doesn't know where the station
is!" Sherry still tried to hold her back.
"He will find a way. He has more resources than he lets on," Jill replied to her without
slowing down and was surprised at how hopeful that statement was. To bring down the
Tyrant at the mansion had taken a rocket, and Carlos did not have one with him. Frustrated,
she frantically pressed the elevator call button, guessing that was the way to get back
upstairs.
"What if he dies?"
"He can take care of himself."
"Nicholai said he's more of a child than I am!"
Jill sighed, unable to think with a kid bombarding her with questions. How had the Russian
managed? She had a realization.
"You're right, but he taught you how to shoot. He's older, think how many other things he
taught him," she knew that wasn't true and that Nicholai had never trained Carlos personally
but it didn't really matter. That much was enough to appease Sherry. It was almost surprising
how rational and logical the little one was, especially in a situation like that.
When the cabin finally reached their floor they both entered it in silence.
"I made him promise not to die," Sherry whispered suddenly, clutching his dog tags again.
Jill snorted. "Don't worry. A nuke wouldn't be enough to take out someone like him. He's got
a tough hide."
"Why do you despise him so much?"
"Are you trying to lure me into marrying him again?"
Sherry giggled, the first sincere giggle since they had met. She was regaining some spirit.
"No, just curious."
"Good because it will never happen. Anyway, he's rude, unpleasant, and ruthless," Jill
downplayed because she didn't want to reveal to Sherry the real motives, namely that
Nicholai was an Umbrella hitman, maybe even something worse. "The real question is why
you like him so much."
"Because you're wrong," Sherry retorted. "He is very kind. Yes, at first he didn't want to deal
with me but because he was scared."
"Nicholai? Scared?"
The little girl nodded. "He's like the Fox in The Little Prince. He doesn't have much
experience with children or people, but don't worry, I'll teach him manners. He's a quick
learner. He's also learned pinky swearing."
Jill laughed, picturing that fucking Russian Terminator actually doing it to make her happy.
Hell, the little girl was utterly adorable, it didn't surprise her that she had also won that
asshole's heart of ice, but if she was actually taming him that was certainly an opportunity not
to be wasted. Jill felt a chill as she realized what she was becoming. Wanting to use Nicholai
for her own purposes was morally acceptable, using the child to get to compromise him was
much less so. She could not help but think that Wesker would have been proud of her for that
line of thinking, and it made her feel even more rotten. Would she ever be free of the imprint
that man had left inside her? Would Chris ever have been? He was dead but he was
everywhere nonetheless. It was truly a terrifying realization.
"Are you and Chris close?" Sherry asked her as if she had read her mind.
"Yes, he is my best friend."
"And that's it?"
For fuck's sake, was it really that obvious? Could it be that only that moron hadn't noticed?
Jill was appalled. "For the time being, yes, but when we manage to get out of here I'll invite
him to dinner."
"He really sucks, he should be the one to do that," Sherry countered, ruthlessly.
"He's a goof."
"I just don't get what you see in him. Leon is much nicer and more handsome."
Jill huffed out an embarrassed laugh. "Chris is really the sweetest guy."
Sherry rolled her eyes. "If you say so..."
"He's just hurt," Jill hesitated because she wanted to make her point, but without giving her
any hint that her late father might be involved. "Bad people have done cruel things to him.
They did them to me, too, and almost all of our friends died. He's not good at controlling his
emotions but I'm sure he's very sorry to have made such a bad impression on you."
"Leon said that too."
Jill felt reassured. At least Nicholai's Cat didn't seem to be another complete idiot. She hoped
that he would be sufficient to keep Chris in the bridle and prevent him from doing stupid
things. God, she wanted to be reunited with him so badly.
The question the child then asked surprised her.
"Was it Uncle Albert, too?"

"Him more than anyone," she replied bitterly.
The elevator car reached the floor and Jill extinguished the conversation by getting out.
"The main hall should be safe," Sherry reassured her and Jill left the gun tucked in the back
of her pants but, as soon as she had climbed the stairs to the secret passageway and was
outside, something hard hit her on the back of the head, causing her to crumble to the ground.
"Jill!" Sherry shrieked, rushing up to her, startled, and had just bent down to check that she
was all right when she felt a strong arm wrap around her chest from behind and then a prick
on her neck. The whole room swirled before her eyes and then there was darkness.
Chief Irons shouldered her like a sack and looked hatefully at Jill Valentine who, dazed,
groaned on the floor, half unconscious. The thought of raping her where she was as a parting
gift tickled his perverse fantasies but there was no time and it would have been too
dangerous. From the computer in his office, he had been following everything that was
happening in the police station very closely via the cameras. He had seen that Umbrella
operative enter with the little girl and then release Valentine and that obnoxious monkey who
was with her. He had seen that big monster in the hat and raincoat break into the detention
cells and the two girls get back up in the elevator. The only thing he had not seen was what
had happened in the secret basement because there were no cameras there, but that was not
important. The operative was gone, but the monster and the monkey were still playing hide-
and-seek somewhere and could have pounced on him at any time.
In those hours he had also watched everyone die and didn't give a shit. The thing that really
pissed him off was that he had repeatedly contacted the higher-ups at Umbrella to get rescued
but it hadn't done shit. They had even promised him a helicopter that had never arrived. No
doubt they had done this just to shut him up and stop calling, so he had to take matters into
his own hands. The little girl on his shoulder was not just any little girl, she was William
Birkin's child, and he knew how obsessed that crazy son of a bitch was with his daughter.
Now, at Umbrella they would listen to him and it was convenient for them not to keep him
waiting, otherwise, he would feel like playing with the damn brat for a while. Yes, he would
have said just that on the phone. Play a little bit. They would get the message loud and clear.
He wanted to get out of that shitty town.
He considered shooting that bitch Valentine in the head since she was already recovering, but
that would have been too merciful a death. No, he would have left her there for that monster
to tear her apart. He was only sorry he could not witness the show. Mercilessly he kicked her
side, rolling her over, and the sharp cry of pain she released was music to his ears.
"Now she's coming with me," he said, looking her straight in the face and pressing a foot on
her already aching ribs. The slut was panting and trembling in pain, and on the floor behind
her head was a beautiful trail of fresh blood. He knew she was conscious, just too weak and
in shock to react. "In my special place in town," he added, confident that she could never go
after him and that would have hunted her last moments. "So long, cunt, you had better spread
your legs for me."
Satisfied but not entirely fulfilled he left her where she was and walked into the hallway he
had cleared so he could conveniently leave the station through a ground-floor window just as,
downstairs, a loud explosion could be heard.
Chapter End Notes

So, the usual thanks to all of you. Readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmarkers, and
commenters! Apologies in advance, I will be shorter in these notes this evening because
my mother was discharged from the hospital today so it is a bit of a chaotic day (and
tomorrow will be worse). Mom is doing better but will have to do more tests to make
sure it was nothing serious. We still don't know anything.
As promised, I am posting tonight because I will be at work late tomorrow (there is a

meeting to compile the end-of-quarter report cards, and I'd rather die than be there from
dawn to sunset).
I know this chapter was a bit of a transition, but I needed to flesh out the
characterization of Jill and Carlos a little bit more, but, more importantly, I wanted to
build up a fake sense of peacefulness and then get to the final stoke with the return of
Irons. Among the commentators, many were wondering when we would see him again,
well, here he is. We are literally one step away from his much-deserved death, but first,
he will have to do, once again, his worst. I don't know yet if it will happen in the next
chapter or the one after that but it will be, for sure, the toughest and most rotten chapter I
have written up to this point. Of course, as usual, I will put the appropriate trigger
warnings, but start mentally preparing yourself in advance. It will be a tough ride and it
will hurt.
As for this chapter, Carlos continues to be an adorable puppy, while Jill once again
proves to be the calmest and most rational of the entire litter. Her strength is truly
enviable.
Sorry again for the brevity, but I have to go take care of Mom for a while and then throw
myself into bed to sleep for a few hours. I hope, from next week, to be able to return to a
pseudo-normality.
Thank you all again!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 38
Chapter Notes
*** TRIGGER WARNING ***

Hello everyone, in the opening section because, as I already anticipated to you in the last
chapter's notes this is going to be a really tough chapter.
It will be about rape, extorted sex, and threats against a little girl (but nothing will
happen to her, I'll spoil this right up front because even I have limits that I don't cross).
If you are sensitive to these issues, please don't read the parts I point out now because
the last thing I want is to make you feel bad.
You can safely read up to the sentence, "knocking him out but failing to kill him for the
umpteenth time." and then resume from "Nicholai jumped off."
As always, I will give a brief summary of the crudest scene in the endnotes.
I thank you already here and see you down below.
Leon kept running until he felt his lungs burning in his chest. He didn't even dare to look
back because he feared Chris was following him. He did not quite know what scared him
more, whether the prospect of being beaten by him or meeting his gaze filled with disdain
and disgust. How could he have been so stupid? How had he deluded himself like that, like a
poor jerk? He had known right away that it would end badly, with that 'freak' Chris had
addressed to his captain as soon as he had learned that he had had an affair with Dr. Birkin!
Why had he made such an imbecile choice?
Because you're just a stupid slut, ready to bend over for the first asshole who comes along!
He's going to break all your bones and, what's worse, he's going to tell everyone. There won't
be a single soul in this fucking town who won't despise you. You will be alone. Everyone will
stay away from you. No one will love you because you are just a disgusting faggot and a
goddamn leech!
His vision blurred with tears, but he did his best not to burst into sobs. In a panic, he bolted
against the wire mesh of one of the barricades and, crouching down, passed through a hole.
The short sleeve of his shirt got caught on one of the wires and he had to wriggle free. He felt
the metal spike scratch his shoulder until it bled, but he paid no attention to it and, once free,
started running again, perhaps deluding himself that if he was fast enough and went far
enough, his troubles would stay behind and he would forget them.
He continued at breakneck speed down the street, totally unfazed by the zombies that turned
their attention to him as he passed, and then slipped into an alley on the left where,
exhausted, he stumbled and collapsed on all fours on the sidewalk. He was panting so hard
that it hurt and he had strained so much that he felt like throwing up. If he had any breath left
he would have screamed. He couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. He just wanted to go
home and hide under the blankets as he had done countless times when his mother had
drunken fits of rage, or when someone had tormented him too severely at school. He wanted
to sleep and, for a while, forget about everything. He also wanted someone to hold him, to
tell him that everything would be all right, but he knew all too painfully well that he had no
one at all. It was his own fault. He had never understood why but if even his own mother had
never loved him, then something rotten must have been in him, something that pushed others
away and made him detestable.
And now history would repeat itself for the umpteenth time.
He had asked to be assigned to Raccoon City to start a new life, and despite his breakup with
Mike, he had been hopeful and had continued to be hopeful despite the horrible situation in
the city because he had found Chris. Or, at least, he thought he had found him, when in fact
he had figured him out well from the beginning. He was not a bad person; he was just another
guy who would have despised him and pushed him away. His bewildered, irate 'what the
fuck?" kept echoing in his head. They could have at least been friends, but instead, he had
ruined everything because he was such a shameless stupid slut!
He was so entangled in his bubble of abjection that he heard only at the last moment that
terrible growl. He looked up sharply and it was only because of his quick reflexes that he was
able to grab his gun and shoot that dog before it bit him in the throat. With unsteady legs
from the prolonged effort he got back on his feet and realized that he was exhausted. The
previous night he had gotten very little rest and his sleep had been plagued by nightmares,
then the day spent examining the hidden room in Birkin's house, the car ride, being nearly
strangled to death by that monster, the power plant, and finally the escape from Chris. He felt
drained. He knew he was at the edge of his strength and needed to find a place to take refuge
to catch his breath, but he couldn't. He still had to find Sherry and take her to the train. Would
he find Chris there? The thought terrified him to death but he knew he had no choice and
getting the child to safety was more important than the risk of being insulted and even beaten
to a pulp.
More barks made the blood run cold in his veins. How many fucking dogs were around
there? He saw two more snapping in his direction, so there was nothing he could do but
resume running and shooting, just as he had done in the woods until he ran out of bullets, but
the situation was too heated for him to stop and refill his magazine. Part of him hoped that
Chris would jump out of nowhere to save him from yet another mess he had gotten himself
into, but that, of course, did not happen because it could not happen. He had put too much
distance between them. Desperate he made one last labored sprint in the direction of a gate
with a blue raccoon and another strange red animal painted on the doors left half-open, and
closed them behind him, slamming them into the snout of one of the dogs. He leaned his back
against the surface and closed his eyes, trying to recover. His heart was beating so fast he
feared it would explode in his chest. He shivered as he felt the icy air on the bare skin of his
arms and was seized with despondency. Still panting, he pushed himself to the door of that
imposing building; there was a beautiful garden and a swing set. It must have been a
kindergarten or a school of some kind. He had not paused to read the colorful sign above the
gates. Perhaps it had a back exit that would have been safer. To go where? He had to find
Sherry but, in truth, he had no idea where the fuck he was. He would have figured that out.
He had to hold on. He could not stop. Not yet. Dragging his feet, he approached the door and
was surprised to find it ajar as well. He entered with some circumspection.
"Oh, if this isn't a welcome surprise!" Exclaimed a voice.
The hairs on Leon's arms stood up in terror and horror. He let go of the empty pistol and took
the shotgun off his shoulder at the sight of Irons, pointing it in his direction but his heart
stopped in his chest when he saw that the swine was holding an unconscious Sherry in his
arms.
"Let her go now!" He thundered, putting his finger on the trigger.
The chief smiled, amused. "Or what? Are you going to shoot me with that thing, reducing her
to mush, too?"
Leon felt his stomach knot up and swallowed, uncertain. Why the fuck hadn't he loaded the
gun in the garden? He could have shot him with it!
"If you have harmed her even a single hair I swear-
"Not yet," Irons interrupted him, slyly, and then slipped Matilda off the child's belt and
removed the safety, pointing it at her head. "But that can change. You know, I don't think I
like the tone you're using with me, my little dove."
It was his gun! Why did he have his gun? How? No, he didn't have it, he had taken it from
her. Maybe Nicholai had retrieved it in the woods but where was he? When had he given it to
Sherry? Leon began to tremble and although he was doing everything he could to maintain a
demeanor, he knew he could not fire the shotgun.
Irons chuckled, aroused by his fright. Fate had a strange sense of humor, and after all, he
could have some fun before contacting Umbrella again.
"Now I'll tell you what to do, little bird," he told him, gloating, pointing his weapon at him,
"you're going to drop that shotgun. Or, I'm going to kill you and then I'm going to do to her
everything I would have done to you. Your choice."
Leon felt his eyes fill with tears and his breathing become labored with panic. The idea of
choosing death crossed his mind for a split second, but he would never let that pig... Never!
Not to Sherry! Not to anyone else! Holding back a gag of vomit, he quickly capitulated and
did as he was ordered, abandoning the shotgun and kicking it away from himself.
"Good boy," the chief praised him.
"O-ok," he stammered, raising his hands in defeat, "just don't touch her, please. I'll do
whatever you want."
Irons grinned, triumphant. "Start with getting in here."

Chris put his hands in his hair, distressed and upset, as he continued to dart his eyes from side
to side in hopes of finding a clue to where the rookie was headed.
"Leon!" He called out loudly to him. "Leon!"
The only sound he heard was the rhythmic, repeated slamming of the zombie against the door
behind him. He moved out of the way before it could open it wide and jump on him from
behind.
His heart was racing and he felt nauseous. What the fuck had just happened? He had
misinterpreted everything. The innuendo, the constant back-and-forth, the allusive banter, his
being clingy... Leon wasn't clowning around, he was hitting on him! Jill was right: he really
didn't understand shit even when it was evident in front of his nose! Certainly, he didn't
reciprocate, and the very idea that he had been subjected to that kiss made him feel very
uncomfortable, but why the fuck had he pushed him away so hard? He had hurt him, he had
seen him fall badly, but more importantly, he had scared the shit out of him, when in fact it
had all been a huge misunderstanding. Even if he didn't feel like him, he had nothing against
people like him.
Now all Leon's slips of the tongue also appeared clear to him. There had never been any best
friend brother to his girlfriend, only an ex-boyfriend who had been an asshole, who had
neglected him, bullied him, and tried to lay hands on him when Leon had dumped him.
You remind me of him at times. His phrase echoed in his mind, but, even more so, the moment
he had said it, which was when for the umpteenth time the poor kid was venting about how
hurt he was by his distrust and aggressiveness. He was afraid that he would harm him as his
ex had harmed him, and, ultimately, it was exactly what had happened. That was also
probably why Leon had freaked out at the power plant, it was not because of his mother, or at
least not only, but because of that scum piece of shit!
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" He growled, rubbing his face so hard that he left red marks on his
skin. It was he, now, who was one step away from a panic attack. Why hadn't he reacted like
a fucking normal person, stepping away and saying he wasn't interested? Why had he had to
throw him off like that?! Why?! Fucking why?! He kept repeating that question in his head,
stuck. He was sorry. No, he was heartbroken and had no idea how to fix yet another terrible
mistake.
"Leon, I swear, it's okay!" He shouted again, hoping the kid was hiding somewhere around
there. "I'm not mad at you! Nothing has changed! Please come back!" But he already knew he
was deluding himself. Leon was a runner. Surely he was somewhere else by now.
Chris sniffed loudly, fighting the urge to start crying for how furious he was with himself. He
saw a small group of zombies staggering out of a side alley, drawn by all the noise he had
made. Perhaps Leon had gone that way and they had followed him? Maybe Leon was in that
alley in a pool of blood, mangled by their mouths, waiting to become one of them?
He didn't even want to think about it!
He had to find him. He had to find him at any cost.

He decided to head toward the alley because one direction was as good as the other. He just
prayed it was the right one. He shot those zombies aiming but without seeing them. They
were targets, nothing more. Entanglements that separated him from finding his rookie. For
Leon was his rookie now and he would have gone all the way down to hell to have him back
by his side.
He returned to the toy store street without a trace of him, and a lump tightened in his throat at
the thought that, just before, they had been there laughing and joking about Mr. Charlie. Now
that giant head staring back at him appeared disturbing to him as well. It seemed to be
judging and condemning him. He looked away to glance desperately around.
"Where have you gotten to, Leon?" He groaned in a half-voice.
Then he heard them, in the distance, gunshots. It was him. It had to be him. He noticed a hole
in one of the wire nets of the barricades blocking the road with a piece of blue cloth caught
between the wires. Chris took it in his hand and, after examining it, squeezed it tightly
between his fingers. There was no doubt, it was his shirt. His heart began to beat faster. He
had not found him yet but the idea of being a little closer to him filled his chest with relief.
With a tug, he widened the hole in the net so that he too could fit through it and once again
marveled at how tiny Leon was in comparison to him. Pestiferous ferret. He was going to
make him put on some muscle, definitely. Hoping he could make it up to him. With a few
restrained curses, he managed to get over the net. He heard more gunshots coming from
somewhere down the street on the left. He had to hurry. Leon was very careful with
ammunition. If he was firing that much it meant he was in trouble. He began to run, leaving
behind a small group of zombies that had become alert to his presence.
He had covered about twenty feet when a car flew past the alley to his right missing him by a
whisker, then, walking briskly, Nemesis also emerged.
Chris who had ducked sharply looked at him and, for the first time, felt no fear. Only hatred.
A burning, irrepressible hatred. He had no time to waste with that abomination.
He held his position, straightening up, and looked directly at that white eye on his repulsive
grunt. He was going to put him down once and for all. Only later did he notice that he had
something on his back, something that resembled a large canister.
"Fuck!" He growled, leaping back just in time to avoid being enveloped in a bundle of fire.
The piece of shit had a flame thrower now! Since when did they know how to use weapons?
He threw himself behind an overturned van to get a minimum of cover and have that moment
he needed to gather his thoughts. He knew what he had to do, he just had to find a way to get
an accurate line of sight. He needed higher ground. He rushed back in the direction of the
buildings a second before Nemesis leaped onto the van and tried to shower him with glowing
fire. He felt the heat on his back, covered as he was only by his S.T.A.R.S. T-shirt, but that
did not stop him. Reaching the sidewalk, he sprinted up the building's fire escape and was
almost to the top when he felt himself being squeezed by a tentacle wrapped around his ankle
that yanked him off the ladder and into the void. In free fall he spun on himself and grabbed
his rifle, firing in the insignificant window of time he was given. The bullet hissed through
the air, went over the Nemesis' head, and lodged, red-hot, at the top of the canister, piercing it
and causing it to explode. A perfect shot that proved, once and for all, that the title of best
sharpshooter had never been courtesy of Wesker just because he was his favorite, as that
envious asshole Forest used to whine constantly. He rightfully deserved it. He was the best
fucking sharpshooter of the whole bloody station.
The explosion hit Nemesis hard, but although he was on his knees, enveloped in flames he
still found the strength to yank Chris toward him to try to make him meet the same end.
However, it only succeeded in landing him even more badly and slamming the back of his
head into the concrete of the sidewalk, knocking him out but failing to kill him for the
umpteenth time.
"Undress," was the only thing Irons said to Leon when they arrived at that laboratory of
horrors. It had the same opulent decor as his office at the police station but had a chemical
stench. It was the place where the chief taxidermied animals and, in all likelihood, not only
those.
Leon stood motionless, paralyzed with fear.
"Get the fuck undressed!" Irons barked, jerking him off his feet. "Or do you want me to fuck
this child in front of your eyes?"
The rookie gave him a look filled with hatred and disgust, then, with trembling hands
unfastened the buttons of his shirt and took it off, abandoning it on the floor.
Irons' expectant eyes turned into a furious look. "You little shit! Look how you've ruined
yourself!" He thundered, irate because now Leon not only had that horrible bruise on his
back, but he had others as well. His entire neck had a purplish tinge, as did his right shoulder,
while his left even had a cut that was still bleeding. "Pants down. I want you naked, and get a
move on! "
Leon swallowed, holding back the urge to start crying. He tried desperately to come up with a
plan B, something to get Sherry safe and spare himself as well, but the revolting son of a
bitch knew what he was doing. He kept holding Sherry close to him and alternately pointed
the gun at him and then at her.
"Don't think I don't know what you're scheming, little bird," Irons taunted him with a sly grin.
"Now take down those pants or I'll blow your hard-working little brains out."
Leon did as he said, unfastened his belt, then his pants, and lowered everything down to his
ankles. including his underwear. The cold of the room made his skin crawl, and whether he
wanted it to or not, tears of anger, terror, and frustration began to stream down his cheeks.
"There are handcuffs inside the drawer of that table. Lock your wrists behind your back."
Leon hesitated again because, if he did, he would definitely lose any chance of fighting back.
Irons' tone of voice was becoming more and more eager, and this made his insides twist.
"You're beginning to tire me, dove!" The pig hissed at him, tugging at Sherry's blouse causing
her collar buttons to pop off. "You don't want to play with me, I don't give a shit that this is a
little girl! She's also blonde, my favorite!"
"Stop!" Leon begged him, distraught. "I'll do it. I'll do it right now."
He took the handcuffs and locked one on his left wrist, before putting his arms behind his
back and locking the other as well.
"Turn around and give a good yank. I don't want any tricks," the chief ordered him,
cautiously. When he saw that they were indeed tightly closed, he relaxed and laid the sleeping
Sherry on another table. He pulled the curtain of a partition before walking toward his prey. If
she had been an ordinary child he wouldn't have given a shit about having her attend the
show if she woke up prematurely, but since she was Birkin's daughter, he didn't want the little
bitch to go crying to her temperamental father because she had been traumatized. That lunatic
would have ripped his heart out with his bare hands and found a way for him to survive just
to torture him longer, so it was better not to touch her for real, but his little bird didn't know
that and, by now, had fallen into his trap. The time had finally come to collect his much-
earned prize.
He admired him. Leon stood with his shoulders hunched and his gaze low, completely
surrendered and miserable. He was shaking like a leaf. Even so battered he was such a treat to
the eyes. It was a shame to have to kill him, but not before getting what he wanted.
"On your knees," he ordered him, stopping a step away from him and undoing the flap of his
pants with his hand free of the gun.
Leon winced and raised his eyes in horror. Unconsciously he shook his head with a guttural
groan.
"I'm not asking you, whore!" Irons thundered, hitting him in the face with the butt of the gun.
With his arms cuffed behind his back and his ankles pinned by his pants, Leon collapsed
badly to the ground. The chief grabbed him by the hair and yanked him to his knees, pulling
his head back.
"Good Lord, red is just your color," he purred as he saw the trickle of blood dripping from his
split lower lip down to his chin and dropping away from his dimple. He grabbed it and ran
his thumb over his mouth, smearing the blood on it like it was a grotesque lipstick. "Let me
be clear: If you don't suck my cock, I'll shoot you and make her do it. If you bite me, I'll
shoot you and be very creative with her. I have a lot of interesting tools here. All clear?"
Leon looked at him with glassy eyes, his mind totally blocked by the panic he was feeling.
Irons slapped him hard. "All clear, bitch?" He yelled at him.
The kid nodded and then burst into sobs. Heavens, he was a true masterpiece. The chief
pulled out his already more than erect cock and pressed it to those voluptuous lips of his,
staining it with blood, and it turned him on even more.
"Suck it!" He shouted, enjoying his trembling. He grabbed him again by that blond hair and
drew him to his groin.
Leon closed his eyes with a groan of disgust and despair. He repeated to himself that he was
doing it for Sherry, but as brave and selfless as his sacrifice was, it did not make his ordeal
any less horrible. Holding back nausea he parted his lips and accepted the head into his
mouth. Irons' stench was horrible and the taste of his precum was no less. The monster
grabbed the back of his neck and, without warning, shoved all the way down his throat,
preventing him from breathing. He held him there, moving his hips to inflict violent
merciless thrusts, spurred on by his gagging and convulsive spasms in search of air. Christ,
none of the sluts he had fucked alive and dead had ever made him feel like this! He was in
heaven.
He only let go when he realized that the dove was losing consciousness and he didn't want
him to. The real goal of that game was to make him cry, to torture him until he lost all
glimmer of will to live. He admired him once more, slumped to the ground on his side
gasping for air, his ruby cheeks shiny with tears and his chin covered with drool and blood.
So beautiful.
He grabbed him under the armpits and slammed his belly against the tabletop.
"N-no! Please don't!" Shouted Leon between sobs because he couldn't take it anymore. He
just couldn't do it! Not again!
Irons stroked his head in a way that appeared almost sweet, then he turned him around
violently and pulled him up, pushing him until his shoulder blades slammed on the tabletop.
Crushed under his weight, Leon's wrists twisted painfully and he felt the metal sink into his
flesh.
"Stop! Please stop!" He sobbed, feeling him unlace his boots and yank his underpants and
underwear off him. "You don't have to do this! Please!"
Irons laughed, a long, mean baritone laugh. "Oh, you're so right, my little bird. I don't have
to. I want to." He ran his palm over his belly shaken by violent breaths now resembling real
spasms, caressing that soft, smooth skin.
"Tell me you want me," he ordered, ruthless.
Leon blinked, and once again found himself shaking his head unconsciously. He propped
himself up with his foot, seized by an instinctive survival impulse, and tried to move away
from him. The chief grabbed him by the ankle, restraining him, and then struck him in the
belly with the butt of the gun. "Tell me you want me or, I swear to God, I'll take her and rape
her on top of you, you little bastard!"
"DON'T!" Leon cried, bursting into more sobs.
The chief made him spread his legs and pressed down on him, crushing him with his weight.
"Then tell me you want me, whore, it's not that hard" he whispered in his ear, rubbing himself
against his groin.
"P-please..." Leon whimpered.
"Please what? I can kill you now, but then the sweet little girl will have to make it up for
you," Irons taunted him, groping his thighs.
"T-take me," whispered the kid, barely intelligible given the tremor in his voice. His hands all
over him so disgusted him.
"You don't sound convincing enough!"
"Fuck me! Just fuck me!" Shouted Leon, in despair. "Please! Don't touch her, I beg you!
Don't touch her! Don't! Please! Take me! I want it! I want it, ok?!"
Irons was not entirely satisfied, but he was so eager that he accepted that plea anyway. It
would be some time before Umbrella would send someone to get him; he had yet to call
them. Maybe he would even be able to fuck him one more time after that. Dead. He raised up
and, with very little ceremony, pushed the leaking head of his cock into his hole, and a
shudder of impatience and pure lust shook him as the rookie winced and cried out in pain at
that abrupt and almost entirely dry penetration. So he clawed his hips with his hands and
thrust all the way in with brutality, impaling him.
"I knew you wanted it too," he told him, panting. "YOU.SHAMELESS.LITTLE.FAGGOT!"

He shouted, stabbing him with his dick violently by bobbing in and out with every word.
Leon, by now, was just an incoherent mess of sobs and cries. It hurt. It bloody hurt and he
hated himself for letting it happen again. All he had to do was reload the gun in the garden!
The fucking gun! He felt like throwing up and couldn't breathe, his throat clenched in the grip
of panic as that filthy pig continued to fuck him with increasing savagery. Again, he wished
that he would kill him just to make that nightmare stop, only to be ashamed of it, too, because
if he died, that monster would be left alone with Sherry and he couldn't let that happen. He
tightly squeezed his eyes shut, wishing only that the son of a bitch would end quickly. If he
had thought the first time had been horrible, in truth the drug had saved him a lot of suffering;
now he felt everything and was also completely lucid. Irons lowered himself on him again,
taking what little breath he had left, and licked his neck, going to clutch his hair in a vice as
his thrusts became increasingly erratic and his breathing more and more labored. He was also
sweating, and the stench of his sweat mingled with the stale fragrance of his cologne, while
he grunted like the swine he was.
"You really were born to be fucked, my good boy. You are so beautiful, so precious," he
praised him, in the throes of the last rushes of passion. "Oh, God!" He grunted, sinking
deeply into that body totally surrendered to him and emptying himself through the most
satisfying orgasm he had ever experienced.
"Now you're mine forever. I've put my mark on you, little bird," he panted, thrusting his
softening dick inside of him a few more times to claim his insides by milking himself 'till the
very last drop.
Nicholai jumped off the very fire escape that Chris had tried to climb up and walked beside
him, tilting his head to look at him.
"Someone has finally decided to fight back. Congratulations," he commented in a half-voice.

That shot had been remarkable, he had to acknowledge it. "I still prefer Miss Valentine."
He took his time to jot down a couple of observations in the notebook he kept in one of his
pants pockets, while Nemesis browned in high flame a few feet away from him. Useless as
usual. He had not actively sought him out; he and Redfield had simply happened to be in his
path, so he had stopped to observe. After all, that was his main mission.
He paused to study a little the S.T.A.R.S.’ golden boy, Albert Wesker's protégé. He had often
heard both his name but especially his captain's name coming out of Colonel Vladimir's
mouth, He hated and despised Wesker with every fiber of his being. Nicholai did not know
why and had been careful not to ask him, but he did know that Redfield had been one step
away from being murdered, torn to pieces, and sent to his captain's address in many small
packages just for the sadistic pleasure of seeing him suffer. He had no idea why Sergei had
backtracked on his plan; it was not like him to reconsider. Maybe Spencer had tugged at his
bridle a bit, maybe Wesker wouldn't have given a shit about his protégé's death. He didn't
know. He had never met the S.T.A.R.S.’ Captain personally, just saw some video of him in
Sergei’s office. Not that he cared but he had understood that he hadn’t been just an ordinary
Umbrella employee. He’d been important before his premature death at Spencer Mansion, for
some mysterious reason.
He looked back at Chris, still unconscious. In his gut, he did not like him, and he did not like
him, both for the right and the wrong reasons. In a way, the idiot was like a distorted mirror.
It reminded him of how he had been as a young man, so driven by a blind, stupid thirst for
revenge that had led him to make numerous mistakes, primarily that of putting himself in
Sergei's service, but, ultimately, had caused him to flush his life down the drain. And for that,
he was the only one to blame. Sure, Sergei was a sadist and an asshole but he was the one
who had sold his soul to him. Not that there was much life left in him at the time, but surely
he would have done something. Or maybe he would have just died in that well and he would
have totally deserved it. Either way, it was too late for second thoughts. Seventeen years too
late. He didn't like Redfield, period, he didn't need to explain why. Not even to himself. He
thought about getting back on his path, but then Miss Valentine's big eyes came back to haunt
him. He remembered how relieved she had been that the poor prick Redfield was still in the
world of the living and he imagined how sad she would have been if he just let him die.
"Fuck it," he growled through his teeth, before bending down and grabbing him to drag him
away from the fire that was closing in on his legs. He kicked open a building door, made sure
there were no zombies in there and closed him in. He left it to fate to decide whether he
would wake up before Nemesis recovered. He had done far too much for that asshole.
Enough was enough. If Redfield was there alone, however, where was Leon? Where was his
kitten?
He cast a glance around but, except for a few zombies who were slowly approaching, there
was not a soul in the street. He could not stop to look for him, he had far too much to do, but
he could not help but feel distressed. He mumbled something in Russian and resumed
walking briskly. That young cop was none of his business. He had done far too much for him
as well. He turned quickly to the left. The orphanage was not far away and he hoped to meet
there the mercenary he was supposed to kill. There was a group of zombie dogs in front of
the closed gate, which meant that someone had lured them there. If he was really lucky, that
someone would be Miss Wong. Nicholai decided to leave them where they were, and taking a
good run-up, he climbed the boundary wall and jumped to the other side unnoticed, fast, and
silent. Some of the windows were lit, which made him even more optimistic. Perhaps if he
got rid of his target quickly, he might be able to take some time to look for his kitten. He
huffed at yet another intrusive thought. Why the fuck did he care? There were more answers
to that question and he knew he didn't want to investigate any of them, so he proceeded,
circumspectly, through the door left wide open and slowly closed it behind him. Seeing that
colorful room filled with toys and children's stuff made him feel uncomfortable. That poor
orphans had been used as guinea pigs by Umbrella did not surprise him. He had never dealt
with children personally, they weren’t good Monitors’ material, but it was fairly standard
procedure. Orphans, homeless people, prisoners, all poor, lonely souls whose absence no one
would ever notice. He felt disgusted and could not help but wonder why, after seventeen
years of total indolence, his conscience had decided to wake up just on those fucking days.
He shook his head as if to drive all those thoughts out of his head and forced himself to
maintain his focus. Any mistake could be fatal to him, and he did not want to die. He had also
promised Sherry and that was as good a reason as any to hold on to his skin.
He heard indistinct words coming from across the hallway on the left. It was a man's voice.
He did not know him. He then gripped the gun, before proceeding with a light step. As he
approached the end of the corridor they became clearer and clearer, and what he heard
confused him.
"You were a fantastic fuck, little bird, a dream come true. It's such a shame that I have to kill
you without being able to take you with me," the unknown man was saying in a morbid tone
and still panting. "Fortunately, I have the little girl with whom I can console my lonely
moments."
Leon, lying on the table, rolled to kick him, but Irons managed to move out of the way in
time.
"NO!" He shouted, desperate. "You said you wouldn't touch her! You said if I-
"I lied," purred the chief, moving along the side of the table and pointing the gun in front of
his face. "Good night, dove, you've been a really good boy, the best I've ever had."
Leon shut his eyes again, trembling with fear and feeling horribly guilty. It had been for
nothing. All that he had suffered. For nothing. Sherry would not be safe. He was going to hurt
her! He would have done to her what he had done to him! He was just a disgusting, worthless
imbecile!
And then there was a shot.
For a long moment Leon's mind could not register what had happened, then, slowly, as if it
were doing a system reboot, he heard Irons' howl of pain, and a spray of hot liquid on his
chest and face. Then there were heavy, hurried footsteps.
"You don't know who the fuck I am, you bastard son of a bitch!" The chief had resumed
screaming, in rage and pain. "I'll have you skinned like a pig for this! Wait! Get your hands
off of me! I'm a higher-up! I'm your boss, you fool!"
Then Leon heard the loud, dry crack of a bone being snapped cleanly, and Irons began
screaming again, louder than before. He dared to open his eyes, moving his neck to look at
what was happening, and met Nicholai's gaze, finding confusion in those green eyes of his, so
alive and full of anger despite his stoic expression, but when he saw that he was staring at
him, they softened all of a sudden. The Russian abandoned Irons there on the floor; he had
shot one of his arms and broken the other; he was no longer a danger to anyone.
"I-if it's money you want, I can pay you! Just let me go. I never saw you, I swear! I'll give
you all the money you want! I am rich! I'll give you everything! Everything!" Irons changed
tactics, beginning to plead with him, weeping.
Nicholai ignored him, and in a second reached Leon, crouched on his side on the table in a
fetal position. He freed his bleeding wrists from the fucking handcuffs and was pondering
what to say to him when the kid surprised him. As soon as he was free, he sprang up,
snatched the knife from his belt, and then lunged at the swine like a rampaging wounded
animal.
And as soon as he had reached him he began to stab him, first in the groin, making him cry
even louder, and then all over his body. Again and again and again, until his shouts were just
gurgling sounds, and even after he was dead.
Blood was spurting everywhere, on his naked body, on the floor of the room, on the walls but
he just couldn’t stop, nor did he want to.
At last, exhausted, Leon collapsed on all fours, and the long, agonizing scream that came
from his throat made Nicholai feel sick and catapulted into a past he did not want to
remember.
He had been there. He knew what it felt like.
Chapter End Notes
Hello again, my dears!

The usual thanks to all of you, readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmarkers! A small aside, thank you, "User", for asking me to include my story in
one of your collections. I hope I did everything right in giving you permission but, if I
messed up, please contact me somehow (even with an anonymous comment, I'll know
it's you) and let me know. I am relatively new to the site and until I got the email
notification of the request I didn't even know that something like Collections existed.
Also, if I should have messed up, my sincerest apologies, I will do better on the second
try!
Now let's get down to business. I begin with a brief summary of the crudest scene and,
as always, I will be as concise and sparing with details as possible:
Irons forces Leon to have oral and then sexual intercourse with him, going on to threaten
him that if he did not obey him, he would do those things to the child after killing him.
Now I come to the commentary. I'm sorry. This chapter was planned for a long time,
Leon was doomed to suffer again because of Irons, it was one of those events that are set
in stone and unchangeable. As I had also already decided from the beginning that Chris
would not be the one to save him. Don't get me wrong, he could very well have killed
Irons with his bare hands and probably would have but, in the long run, and without
making too many spoilers, he would not have been the right person to help Leon recover
from this. Chris is not ready. Nicholai, on the other hand, has a different age and a
different sensibility, and what he witnessed in this chapter hit him like a truck in the face
thrown at full speed for reasons we will have a chance to explore, in the future. If he has
wavered until now, his turning point starts officially now.
As for Leon, he is now definitely broken. I wish I could say that he is done suffering, but
that would be a lie. However, there should be no more rape scenes, not even in the other
arcs to come. Almost from now on we will see a different Leon being born, although the
change will not be abrupt.
I don't want to spend too many words on that pig Irons. He got the end he deserved and
it had to be at Leon's hands, he could not be killed by anyone else, nor could it be an
accident or a creature.
It had to be Leon, but even that will have an impact on our dear rookie who had never
killed a man before.
The tower I was talking about a couple of chapters ago is beginning to collapse but, as I
also said to the kind commentators, I have only begun. In due time I will crack each of
the characters. Leon was only the first. Those who are here for the angst will be
satisfied, or at least, I hope because I could hardly imagine anything worse than what I
have in mind, especially in the long run.
With this supervillain speech (Wesker who? Out of my way, amateur!) I thank you all
again for being here, see you next week!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
P.S.: have you seen the gameplay of RE4R? I am literally jumping out of my skin!
March is too far away! Give me that game NOW!!!
Chapter 39
Chapter Notes
Once he closed the parking lot hatch and entered that unfamiliar hallway, Carlos tried to
remember the floor plan of that shitty place. He had picked up the map where Jill had told
him but, of course, no longer had it with him. He tried to make up his mind. It seemed to him
that was where they had been escorted during their arrest, but he wasn't sure. Goddamnit! He
could not afford to take a wrong turn; those heavy footsteps were getting closer and closer
even though the Tyrant seemed not to have noticed his presence yet. Although his situation
was not exactly the best, he was incredibly calm because his main goal was to keep the girls
safe. What would happen to him was much less relevant.
"Yes!" He whispered, victoriously, when he recognized the door they had come out of the
night before. The bulkhead was half up but it was blocked in the middle, perhaps by a short
circuit. It didn't matter; it was enough to get out. Quickly he slipped through the opening and
stopped on the other side to look toward the doorframe. That didn't look like a load-bearing
wall, so it could do the trick, or, at least he hoped so. He'd never been the type for second
plans. As fast as he could he pulled the C4 out of the duffle bag, applied it to the center of the
doorframe, and then connected the detonator; he had just started the timer when a giant arm
broke through the bulkhead and grabbed him by Nicholai's vest, pulling him toward him and
causing him to crash violently against the metal. Carlos grunted in fright and pain but
immediately unfastened his vest and wriggled out of it.
"Mierda! Mierda! Mierda!" he shrieked, stumbling up the stairs and then throwing himself
around the corner just in time to hear the monster smash through the bulkhead and then get
hit by the explosion. Dust and rubble flew all around as the wall collapsed, just as he had
predicted, on the ugly head of the thing. Carlos, who was crouched on the ground in a fetal
position with his hands covering his ears, reopened his eyes, gasping. That had been a close
call. Too fucking close. He scrambled back to his feet with a groan.
"What the fuck?" He groaned in surprise as he tripped over a hat. Was it that monster's? Why
the fuck was he wearing a hat? Concentrate, you jerk! He called himself to order. He
advanced in the dimness, searching for the switch and, once the light was on, continued down
the corridor, distressed by the grunts of the zombies. There had to be at least two around the
corner, if not more. He gripped his gun and took courage. He shot down the first two without
thinking much about them but recognized the third. It was the policeman who had
electrocuted Jill with the taser; he had been mauled to death. In spite of everything, Carlos
could not be happy that he had ended up like that and felt sorry for him.
"You were an asshole, but this truly sucks, dude," he whispered, before putting a bullet in his
forehead.
There was another closed bulkhead on which were still etched the bleeding scratches of Irons'
galloper. Carlos only had to push a button to open it, but evidently, the poor fucker had been
standing there just as the power had gone out. Carlos cast one last glance at him before
continuing down a corridor full of dead people, most of them in civilian clothes. There were
also a lot of children among them. He blinked, trying not to be too upset by that terrible
scene, and moved silently, mindful of the warning Sherry had given him. Fortunately, he
found no lickers and managed to get out of the way before some zombies could get up and
attack him. He ducked down to the point of crawling under yet another portcullis and when
he found himself in the hall, he felt himself fainting at the sight of all those corpses. He never
thought he would find himself in a worse situation than the one he had experienced in
Colombia, but Raccoon City was quickly climbing the charts. Why did his life always lead
him to be up to his knees in blood and guts? He couldn't take any more of it. He was tired and
he was sick. He knew that he was not particularly bright, much less educated -practically he
had never seen a school except for the intensive courses at Umbrella to make him fluent in
English in the shortest possible time- and that therefore he could not aspire to who knows
what dream job but would be fine with anything but that. He wanted to drop the fucking gun.
He wanted to be a normal person.
And he wanted to hug his family again before he died.
He saw movement under the lady's statue in the center of the room and by instinct lifted the
gun, but he did not pull the trigger.
"Jill!" He exclaimed, running over to her and helping her sit up with his heart in his throat.
"What happened? Are you okay? Oh my God, you're bleeding!" He groaned as he saw the
blood flowing down the back of her neck.
She slapped him away before he could touch her, then she staggered back to her feet and
began to run in the direction that pig Irons had gone. She was beside herself with rage and
worry. She was going to kill that son of a bitch with her own fucking hands. She would have
ripped out his eyes and cut off his balls if he had dared to even think of touching the little
girl.
"Jill, fucking wait!" Carlos chased after her. "Where's Sherry? What happened?!"
She gave him no answer and, without even bothering about creatures or other hazards,
jumped out of the window the police chief had used as an escape route. A zombie was on her
immediately and grabbed her violently, throwing itself at her to bite her and would certainly
have succeeded if Carlos had not promptly shot it. Quickly and worriedly he took it off her
but grabbed her firmly before she could run away again.
"It's me!" He told her, to reassure her because, in addition to being clearly furious, she was
also terrified, but it was of little use. She flailed like a fury, trying to break free. "He's got her!
He's got her! Get your fucking hands off me! I have to stop him!" She screamed at the top of
her lungs. She was clearly beside herself and unable to reason, just as she had been the first
time that son of a bitch had attacked her.
"Slow down! Who took her?" He tried to understand.
"Irons!"
Carlos paled and a grip of panic tightened in his gut. "Let's go kill that bastard!"
"He took her to the orphanage! His special place has always been the orphanage!"
"Lead the way."
Nicholai advanced slowly. There was no point in hiding it. He was shaken and he was sorry.
It wasn't like him to get lost in hypothetical alternative scenarios, but he couldn't help
thinking that if he hadn't stopped to watch the fight between Nemesis and Redfield and then
help him, he might have arrived in time to prevent this.
Leon was still motionless in front of Irons' mangled corpse, kneeling on the ground and
sitting on his heels, covered in blood from head to toe. Nicholai tore the curtain from the
partition and was so fully intent on watching him that he did not even notice Sherry. With
slightly heavier steps he let him know he was getting closer and stood ready to stop if Leon
showed signs of not wanting him around, but the kid did not move, so he wrapped the curtain
around his shoulders as if it were a blanket.
Leon muttered something in a really low voice.
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand," whispered Nicholai, crouching down beside him and looking
at him.
The rookie's face was a grotesque mask of fresh blood. He had no expression but glassy, dead
eyes. He was clearly in shock.
"Take her away," he repeated, barely louder.
The Russian frowned. He looked back and only then noticed the little girl and connected
what the dead asshole had said with the horrible situation he had stumbled into. Leon had
gotten himself raped in Sherry's place. Why was she there? Where were Carlos and Miss
Valentine? He was so confused and felt almost lost. He had planned everything carefully, the
Redstone station was not that far from the police station, and he had even cleared the way of
most of the zombies for them, what the fuck had happened?
One problem at a time. He imposed himself. "I will take both of you away."
Leon slowly turned his head toward him to give him a confused and distraught look.
"I'll take care of both of you, I promise," Nicholai insisted, pulling out all the kindness he was
capable of. He knew it wasn't much because he was aware of how intimidating he appeared,
yet he had to try anyway. "Now, though, you have to give me back the knife," he added, but
when he extended a hand in his direction, Leon jerked back violently and went to take refuge
under a desk along the wall, breathing heavily and clutching the handle of the weapon with
both hands, pointing it at him.
Nicholai remained motionless where he was. God, how painful it was to look at him! "I won't
touch you. I just want to make sure you don't hurt yourself."
"Take her away! Take her away! Take her away! Take her away! TAKE HER THE FUCK
AWAY!" He screamed, putting the fingers of one hand into his blood-encrusted hair and
sinking his nails into his temple.
Nicholai winced, alarmed, and moved forward. He grabbed the arm with which the kid had
immediately swung the knife in his direction and drew him toward him, dragging him out
from under the table and then holding him tightly in his arms. At his previous panic attack,
the one in the alley, the rookie had sought his embrace to calm himself. Perhaps it could work
again, even at the risk of taking a stab wound. At that point, Nicholai really didn't care, he
wasn’t going to disarm him by force. It would have scared him even more. "Leon, listen to
me, it's over. He is dead. He won't do anything to her or to you. Everything's gonna be alright,
just… let me help," he told him but it was not so much his words that soothed the kid but the
hasty beating of his heart, this made him realize he was sincere.
And Leon broke down.
Hard.
Painfully.
He let the knife slip from his fingers and clung tightly to him as if his life depended on it
while his entire body was shaken by violent sobs. Nicholai held him even more impetuously,
despite himself being overwhelmed by his suffering.
"This pain you are feeling will not last forever," he murmured, tilting his head to rest his
cheek against his, but Leon was not really listening to him and he could not blame him for
that. He continued to hug him tightly in silence, and slowly his crying became less violent
until it died down completely and the kid sagged against him. He was clearly exhausted.
Sherry's faint groaning, however, alerted him again and Leon pulled away, going back to hide
under the desk.
"P-please take her away," he groaned, "she's waking up! I don't want her to see me like this! I
don't want her to see him! Please! Please! I'll be all right! I-I just need a minute and I'll catch
up with you. Please!"
Nicholai hesitated. The kitten was lucid again, but lucid did not mean safe. He looked at the
scratches he had made on his forehead and still feared he would hurt himself.
"Please, I swear! I'll be right there. W-wait for me in the hall. Y-you can take the knife. I'm
okay now. I'm okay. Just take her away, please! Take her away!"
Nicholai took a deep breath and tucked the weapon back into his belt. "I'll put her outside in
the corridor and then come back to you," he only half-agreed, before getting up and taking
the child in his arms because with her in the room there was absolutely no chance to calm
him down. She was not yet waking up, but whatever drug the man had given her was running
out of steam. He gave her a quick checkup and sighed with relief that she was fine and had
not a scratch on her. All thanks to Leon.
He had just put her down when he heard a shot at the lock of the front door and then more
coming from outside the garden. He leaped to his feet and grabbed his gun, moving in that
direction, ready to kill anyone who stood in his way. He winced when, just around the corner,
he came face to face with Miss Valentine and both pointed their guns at each other.
"You had one fucking job!" He yelled at her, lowering his weapon but marching toward her
like a charging bull. "Take her to the subway and keep her safe, Ты глупый идиот!!!" He
was mad, and his anger had mounted all of a sudden, without him even having time to control
it.
"Get the fuck out of my way!" She shrieked, equally furious, and pushed him off, hurrying
around the corner. "Sherry! Oh my God, Sherry!" She sprinted toward the little girl with her
heart in her throat and knelt beside her. "What did he do to her?! Where is that son of a
bitch?!" She roared, once she was sure she was alive. She did not wait for an answer and got
up to continue to the adjoining room but Nicholai barred her way.
"You're not going in there," he growled at her, threateningly.
"Fuck you! Now, you protect rapists too?!"
The Russian realized she was absolutely hysterical and looked at her livid face again. Had the
man assaulted her, too? His anger deflated and he felt sorry for her as well.
"Stop!" he exclaimed, grabbing her by the shoulders when he saw her rushing against the
door like a fury. He forced her to face him and pointed his eyes into hers. "He didn't touch
her. He's dead. Calm down," he told her, lowering his tone of voice. He understood her state
of mind, but he did not know how Leon might react if she went in there. He had to protect
him and her as well since he could turn violent again.
Jill pretended to loosen up enough to get his hands off her. "I don't believe you!" She then
suddenly rumbled, elbowing him in the face.
Nicholai did not hit her back but tackled her one more time, tightening an arm around her
chest, and she squealed in pain just at the moment when Carlos was also catching up with
them, alarmed by their crazy screams.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" He thundered, pouncing on him and slamming him against
the wall, even though Nicholai had already let his grip on Jill go because he had not intended
to hurt her. Only to stop her. He felt mortified, as absurd as that sounded.
Jill took advantage of his distraction to enter the fucking room.
"Shit..." She gasped at the sight of the gruesome scene before her eyes and covered her mouth
with one hand.
Irons was lying on the floor, dead, but there was blood everywhere. His body had been
mangled by dozens of stab wounds. Nothing but a pulp of flesh and tissue remained of his
groin, still visible from his open pants, but his torso, face, and neck were also falling almost
to pieces and his left arm was broken.
Nicholai and Carlos reached her, and the Russian immediately noticed that Leon's clothes
were gone and that one of the windows was open.
"What the fuck..." Groaned the kid.
"Did you do this?" Jill asked with an edge in her voice.
"Yes," lied Nicholai. One more death or one less would not have made much difference on
his record.
"Liar,” Jill retorted, turning to look at him. "You have blood on you, but nowhere near
enough to justify this, and there are dirty handcuffs on that table. Sherry has no injuries."
Nicholai sighed. She was so fucking smart and icy cold in drawing her conclusions. Such an
admirable quick wit, but he had no intention of moving from his position. "So? You're going
to read me my so-called rights and arrest me? I really dare you to try."
Jill shook her head and cast another glance at Irons' body, feeling satisfaction. Ethical or
unethical, she was happy that he had died in excruciating pain. She was only sorry that she
was not the one who inflicted it on him. "Where is she?"
"She who?" Nicholai continued to pretend not to understand.
Jill huffed with impatience and walked in front of him. "The woman who killed him with
your help."
"I killed him," the Russian merely reiterated.
"Yeah, whatever, I don’t give a shit. She may need assistance!" Jill protested, and when
Nicholai crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to open his mouth, she turned to Carlos.
"Go check outside that window."
"Do that and I'll break your legs," Nicholai growled in a terrifying voice, making both of their
skins crawl.
Carlos hesitated, casting a glance from one to the other. He had to do something before they
jumped at each other's throats.
"Guys, please-
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me there was another victim in here, you goddamn asshole?!"
Jill's bark covered his voice and the woman moved even further forward, giving the Russian a
shove.
Nicholai stiffened his neck but once again did not retaliate. "You didn't give me time!" He
hissed, then blinked and turned his head slightly, lowering his gaze. "I apologize for hurting
you. I didn't do it on purpose," he felt compelled to add.
Jill took a step back, caught off guard because the last thing she would have expected to hear
from him was that he was sorry. She was so confused. The man was a ruthless killer working
for the most monstrous company the earth had ever seen and he was paid to watch her die
horribly, yet there he was, apologizing because he had squeezed her a little too hard. Why? It
was clear that there was a story behind his contradictory behavior, but she didn't have enough
elements to piece it together. She thought back to the intensity of his gaze when he had seen
her livid face and the fact that he had been interested in what had happened to her. She had
thought he just wanted to make a snide comment about it but she had been mistaken. He was
caring about her too, not just the child, Carlos, and that mysterious rookie. The realization
destabilized her because she really would have preferred to continue to despise him, it would
have been easier, but this was a game changer that perhaps even Nicholai had not fully
realized yet.
"My ribs-I mean, that bastard hit me a couple of times," she mumbled, evasively, looking
away in turn and pointing at Irons with a nod.
"Did he-
"No. He tried but I was able to defend myself and he came at the right time to help me out,"
Jill concluded, casting Carlos a grateful look.
Unlike me, Nicholai could not help but recriminate. "Get the child and take her to the station.
No arguing, no whining, no protesting. Just do as I say and do it fucking right this time."
"What about-
"I will find her. Now go."
Jill nodded and, for once, consciously decided to listen to him. Carlos, however, remained in
the room.
"You too," Nicholai told him, without even turning to look at him.
"I just want to know if everything is okay and if I can help you in any way," the kid replied,
as kind as ever.
“Da, doing the shit I told you to do would be great, for a change,' blurted out the other, frosty,
and Carlos took a step back, hurt. Why did Nicholai always have to treat him so badly? Why
did he seem to care about everyone else but him? Why did he not want him as a friend? He
had said he didn't mind being mistreated but that wasn't entirely true. He pretended not to feel
bad about it, thus hoping to get to the bottom of the problem as peacefully as possible. He
just wanted to show Nicholai that he cared about him, he didn't need him to reciprocate, just
let him do his thing, because that was what he was good at: helping and cheering people up.
He would have been content, instead, those constant rejections were really hurting him.
"If it's because I slammed you against the wall earlier, I'm sor-
"No."
"O-ok, cool" he stammered, "then I'll see you at the station," he whispered, walking away
with his tail between his legs.
"Give her to me," he said, taking Sherry from Jill's arms and continuing with bowed head to
the hall.
"He's just distracted. He's not mad at you," she tried to hearten him with little result.
"Yeah..." Carlos mumbled, stepping out into the garden. "I killed all the dogs. Just tell me
where I have to go for the station."
"Carlos-
"I'm fine, okay?" He told her but his smile appeared really forced. "It takes more than that to
get me down."
"Why do you care so much?"
The kid inhaled and then sighed. "Because I don't have anyone. Not really. Yes, I'm a jester
and everyone loves me, but the only one I really feel I have a connection with wants nothing
to do with me. No matter how hard I try," he whined but there was no anger in his voice, just
an endless sadness. "Maybe I should just get over it as you said."
Jill remained silent, thoughtful. "Have you considered that he might be scared?"
"Who? Him? Stop kidding!"
"Yes, that's the reaction I also had when Sherry told me. At first, he didn't want anything to
do with her, but then, you saw him, he would have bit my head off for losing her. What I
mean is what if he's afraid of caring? Maybe he wasn't always like this, maybe he had people
he loved but, clearly, they're not around anymore."
Carlos laughed, a little bleakly. "Do these crappy viruses also create clones? Who are you?
What have you done with my Jill?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm still me and I'm not yours."
"Okay, but you gotta hand it to me, that's a big turnaround. To you, he was just an asshole
until, dunno, about half an hour ago. What has changed?"
"I realized he cares about me too, in his own way, maybe not as he does about you, the child,
or his 'Cat’, but-
"Fuck him. I hate that asshole already."
She laughed. "You're rotten jealous and it's cute. I think it's the first nasty mood I've seen you
express since I've known you. Congrats, you're human, too!"
"You don't understand, the 'Cat' kicked him in the balls and left him on the ground in an alley
and Nicholai speaks of him like he's a precious little thing! His eyes sparkle when he
mentions his name!"
"Maybe you should try kicking him in the balls yourself."

"What a brilliant idea! He would obliterate me off the face of the planet."
"Hmm, I don't think so," she retorted.
"Well, I care enough about my ass to take no chances."
Jill looked at his pout with tenderness. "You do realize that you've done a turnaround, too,
don't you? All you did was try to convince me of how nice he was and how much he cared
about you, and how a misunderstood hero he was, even when he literally flipped you over
with said ass on the ground. Why all this doubt now?"
Carlos blinked, extremely sad, and held Sherry a little tighter against him, as if she were a
teddy bear that could give him comfort. "I... I had plenty of time on my hands while you
slept. Bad thoughts. I-I... Sorry," he apologized, uncomfortable. "The last time I saw my
family I was five years old. I know they are fine but it could be risky for them if I reach out,
so... I don't know, it's like I projected the need to have them next to me on Nicholai because
he was the one who saved my life, and took care of me when all my friends, my second
family, died horribly before my eyes. Then when we arrived here in the States he
disappeared. I was so happy that he was added to our platoon the other night because I was
hoping that this was my chance to... Whatever. He clearly doesn't want me around."
Jill shrugged her shoulders. "I believe he's not exclusively a dog person, he also likes cats,
and there's nothing wrong with that, jealous Poodle." she teased him, but he kept his pout
firmly in place. "What did he do when we were still in the cell?" She then asked him.
"Call me an idiot in a variety of very clever ways?"
Jill snorted. " Aside from that."
"Did he make you show me your tits? That was a real blessing!"
"Knock it off, you moron! He gave you water because he knew exactly how you were feeling
and how scared you were, and then he also left you food."
Carlos winced and turned his head to look at her, astonished. "I-I didn't notice."
She smiled. "Insults always shine more than small gestures."
He sighed and admired her for how extraordinary she was, as well as beautiful. "That Chris is
a really lucky guy," he told her without mincing words. "I'd hit the crap out of you if he
wasn't in the picture."
She felt flattered but also incredulous. "You've been flirting since minute zero!"
"Naah, I'm merely stating the obvious, I'm not even trying. By the way, if he is ever stupid
enough to turn you down -which is unlikely- or break up with you, please knock on my door.
Even in fifty years."
"When I'll be wrinkled and ugly?" She laughed, heartily.

"Wrinkled perhaps, but the noble princesa will never be ugly in the eyes of her humble
servant!"
She rolled her eyes. "I bet you say the very same bullshit to every pussy that comes your
way! Besides, fifty years is a very long time."
"Hey, I never said I'd wait for you in chastity!" Carlos pointed out. "However," he continued,
"you're the kind of girl for whom I'd drop whatever the fuck I'm doing at any time."
"Yeah, until you got me laid, then you'd disappear into thin fucking air," she retorted, keeping
that game going because it was cheering him up.
"Normally, it'd be the case but-
"No, no, no, let me guess!" Jill interrupted him. "You wouldn't run from my bed like a hare
because I'm just sooo special, sooo different from any other girl in the whole world, duh duh
duh, fuck you, Carlos! I know better!" She laughed at him.
He smirked. "Well, let's get in bed and see what happens," he teased.
"Give it a rest," she huffed, rolling her eyes, and was about to add something dismissive
when Carlos paled, motioned for her to shut up, and preceded her to crouch behind a car,
holding the child tightly against his chest.
A moment later Mr. X came out of the alley with slow heavy steps. Even before Jill could
enact her intention to run away and lure him away from Carlos and the child, he grabbed her
by the wrist and looked at her intently, shaking his head. Then he peered over the hood. The
asshole was looking great, despite the fact that he had brought a wall crashing down on him.
He only had his raincoat a little creased and dusty. Why they had dressed up that horror
escaped him. Did they think that a gray-skinned monster over two meters tall could blend in
among people and be mistaken for a normal person? Shit, Nicholai was right that everyone at
Umbrella was a moron! Nevertheless, the Tyrant was approaching them and would soon
notice them.
Nicholai, who had come out of the garden in search of Leon, saw the whole scene, so he
grabbed his sniper rifle and pointed but before he could fire it to get the B.O.W. away from
them, he winced.
"Sergei?" He asked in a half-voice, looking at the thing's wrinkled face. He had never seen a
Tyrant's face before; even when he had monitored them they had always been fully covered,
or so disfigured as to be unrecognizable. No, it could not be Sergei, he rationalized. It had to
be Igor, his twin. What the fuck? Had the colonel given his own brother to Umbrella for them
to experiment with? He was speechless. Not that he had any sympathy for Igor, in fact, he
may have hated him more than Sergei but, as far as he knew, he had died years before, during
a mission. Like a raging river destroying a dam all the humiliation and torture, physical and
psychological, that piece of shit had put him through during his training overwhelmed him.
The time had come to settle the fucking score even if it was a very shitty idea.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers,
and bookmarkers.
I also apologize to the commenters because I was only able to respond today this week. I
usually try to do it on Tuesdays, but I've been having trouble at school and my father
(who usually only comes to me when he needs something), stopped by yesterday
afternoon and took hours of my time.
Okay, coming to us, this chapter is a bit cut with a hatchet, I do realize that. It wasn't
supposed to end like this but, again, I came to the conclusion that I was overdoing it and
that I wouldn't be able to write all that I needed to in time. Also, I always said that the
length of the chapters should be between 3k and 3.5k words and that was never the case
except for a couple of chapters XD. Forgive me, I am really bad at making such
predictions.
So, Nicholai had an initial approach with Leon but then had to walk away to keep Jill
from further complicating an already delicate situation. Don't worry, they will have a
chance to meet again and talk soon
Carlos, on the other hand, is wavering a bit. He, too, is beginning to take the blow of all
that is going on around him, and as much as he is a sunny and always good-humored
person, some things take their toll. In addition, Nicholai is unfairly hard on him, and
Carlos is somewhat right that he seems to care about everyone but him. In reality, this is
not the case. Nicholai also cares a lot about Carlos, and it showed in how he reacted
when he thought he was dead, at the police station. However, he does not want him
around because he knows perfectly well what Carlos is like and would never want his
dumb poodle to jump in the way during a confrontation and risk getting hurt.
I find it super sweet and hilarious that Carlos is jealous of Leon and says it just as a
sulky child who, however, is more sad than angry. Carlos is precious even in these
moments. Fortunately, there is Jill who holds the fort and manages to cheer him up a bit.
It is also extremely tender the way they flirt, too bad only that Jill is so fixated on Chris
that she doesn't see anything else. They really are a duo that works. They do all the right
things, unlike Chris and Leon: they are transparent, they don't hide anything from each
other, and they decide how to move together without chasing each other and without
always having to clean up each other's messes.
Ah! I was forgetting an important specification: Colonel Sergei Vladimir, of course, had
no twin brother. He had made himself n clones (I think six but I could be wrong) even
before he cooperated with Umbrella. Obviously, I don't think he was going around
flaunting it to everyone, much less low-grade subordinates like Nicholai at the time. As
a result, Nicholai met "the twin," not the clone, and never quite knew what happened to
him until now. This is because good Sergei Vladimir has a very rare DNA compatible
with the procedure to create Tyrants, so he made his clones available to gain prestige
and importance within the corporation. Don't worry, we will have the "pleasure" of
meeting the colonel as well, later on in the story.
Thank you all very much once again! You are invaluable!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 40
Chapter Notes
The Tyrant was literally on them, just a couple more steps and he would have passed the car,
seeing them. Jill gave Carlos a frightened look and held the gun. She seemed to want to tell
him with her gaze: take the child to safety, please!
He shook his head vigorously and was about to hand her Sherry when they heard a chant.
"What the fuck?" Jill asked, using only her lips, upon recognizing what sounded to her like
the Russian national anthem and was Nicholai's voice. Carlos answered her with an
expression of equal dismay.
The Tyrant stopped and slowly rotated on himself, allowing Jill to peek out from behind the
car. Nicholai was in the middle of the road about forty feet from them, with his rifle down,
and he was really singing.
He's fucking nuts! She thought, feeling her stomach clench with anxiety and adrenaline
because she had been one inch away from being the one to lure that monster away. Yet
Nicholai didn't seem to give a shit as usual, but he wasn't as calm and relaxed as he had been
when he had taken down Nemesis. He seemed angry and full of hate, but he showed it in an
almost contemptuous way. If they had enough luck to get out of that shitty city togheter, she
would ask him why. Why the anthem? Why all the resentment? Why was that monster so
personal to him? She jerked when she heard the sound of the first shot that, for a second,
covered his voice and realized that Nicholai had waited until the Tyrant was far enough from
both them and the alley before attacking.
"We have to go!" She whispered to Carlos, grabbing him by the arm but he was so damn
conflicted. It was written on his face that he wanted to stop and help Nicholai.
"He'll be pissed as hell if you do that," she admonished him, although she understood his
state of mind. "He'll be fine, he can handle these things better than the two of us combined."
About that, Jill wasn't so sure. She had fought one of those monsters, she knew how tough
they were and Nicholai was underequipped for such a challenge. She glanced around to see if
there was something he intended to use and play one of his tricks but there was absolutely
nothing relevant on that road. No high-voltage cables, no tanker trucks to blow up. It was just
him and the Tyrant. Was he so bloody arrogant that he thought that was enough, or was he
really proving that he was the unprobable hero Carlos said he was? Either way, it was not
going to end well. Carlos probably knew that too and Jill felt so sorry for him. Yes, she was
beginning to reconsider Nicholai but not to the point where she felt enough transportation
toward him to really give a fuck about him. Carlos, however, was a different story. If that
Russian asshole had died, it would have left an irrecoverable void inside him.
To stay there and all die together, however, would have been stupid, and Nicholai had already
made that decision for them anyway, like the assertive cunt he was.
"Let's go," she insisted, tugging Carlos by the arm.
Silently and crawling they slipped out from behind the car, but Carlos could not help but look
in Nicholai's direction. The Russian, who was expecting this, returned his glance and with an
imperious nod of his head intimated that he should get the fuck away and scram.
"Just don't die on me, too," Carlos whispered, clutching Sherry to him, before catching up
with Jill and starting to run with her.
Nicholai returned to give his full attention to the Tyrant who seemed to barely feel his shots,
despite having already been hit several times on his weak spot in the center of his chest. The
Russian was aware that he was not well equipped for that fight. He would need something
more powerful, a grenade launcher, a bomb, a rocket launcher. Perhaps even a point-blank
shotgun could have done the trick, but he only had the sniper rifle, a gun, and the knife. All
inadequate stuff to scratch the tough skin of the son of a bitch who managed to be an asshole
even in death. Attacking him had been a shitty idea, his first since that mess had started
because he had no plan B, he hadn't even had a plan A, but he had had no choice, Jill and
Carlos were even less equipped than he was and they had the child with them. He shot him
one last time, hearing him roar with fury, and then the Tyrant, tired of being used as a target,
took off running. He was less fast than the Nemesis and not programmed for speed pursuits,
given his poor coordination, but Nicholai had gotten him too close to get him away from the
others. He tried to limit the damage by moving aside at the very last, but the Tyrant's fist still
smacked him in the back, flinging him to the ground in front of the wide-open gates of the
orphanage, amid the bodies of the dogs Carlos had killed to cover Jill's entrance.
A groan of distress escaped his mouth as the pain made him, momentarily, dizzy. Fucking
Igor, he still remembered the heavy weight of his boot on the back of his head as it sank his
face into the frozen mud. Of all the ways he could have died he hated that it was at his very
hands, but he would have sold his fucking hide dearly. He rolled back, avoiding being
grabbed, and had just reached for his gun when, behind him, Leon jumped out of fucking
nowhere and landed between him and the Tyrant with his shotgun clutched in his hands. As if
he knew exactly what to do, he aimed at his chest, practically resting the barrels on him, and
fired. The monster staggered back, but Leon did not stop and unloaded all the shells at him,
finally getting to expose that hideous deformed heart. However, even this was not enough to
bring him down. Leon felt his weight shift and he found himself behind Nicholai, who began
firing his gun until the Tyrant collapsed to his knees on the sidewalk. The Russian did not
stop to check if he was dead for good or just stunned and, grabbed the kid's arm, began to
run, dragging him away with him. They had to get the fuck out of there and quickly.
Nicholai slipped into the alleys he had already walked and personally cleared of zombies,
feeling Leon struggling to keep up.
"P-please stop!" He heard him yelp, labored. "I-I can't take it anymore!"
"Just a little bit more," he tried to hearten him, and as they passed the corner, he acquiesced,
slowing his pace to a stop. He turned to look at him, and the kid was a mess. To begin with,
he was soaking wet and his hair was still dripping water. He must have found a bath or
something to scrub himself while he took care of the others, and he had rubbed himself so
hard that the portions of his skin left exposed by his short sleeves blue shirt were reddened.
He was shivering with cold or shock or both, and he was miserable and lost. His wrists were
also still bleeding although not alarmingly so. Nicholai felt his heart sink in his chest. Leon
was the shadow of the lively kid he had met in that diner, yet he had still been extraordinary.
Not just because he had saved his life -that, admittedly, had been a pretty shitty choice- but
because he had done just about everything right, like a seasoned soldier, despite his
devastated mental state. Moreover, he had been so quiet in the execution that Nicholai had
not even heard him coming. He had seen soldiers far more experienced than him die horribly
in the face of a Tyrant, even whole squads but Leon, who was little more than a boy, had
nearly taken one down all by himself. Now he was obviously exhausted, and Nicholai had
never felt the desire to protect someone as he wanted to protect him. He was screwed.
"I don't have anything on me right now, but as soon as we get to the subway I'll take a look at
those wrists," he told him.
Leon did not even listen to him and leaned his back against the wall, bending over to catch
his breath.
"T-the child?" He barely managed to ask, gasping.
"She is safe, I have given her to trusted people."
"The same ones who let Irons take her?" The kid asked him, lifting his gaze to shoot him a
hostile look.
"Did you hear our conversation?"
"It was hard not to."
"They didn't do it on purpose."
"I know," Leon retorted, sourly, leaving off a 'that doesn't change what happened to me.'
"I'm sorry-
"No," the rookie stopped him with a hiss. "I don't want to hear it. Not now," then he sighed.
"But thank you for not telling them. I couldn't have- I don't want them to know. I-I don't want
anyone to know," he groaned, feeling control fail and tears return to sting his eyes.
Chris awoke with a grunt. God, his head hurt like hell. Bewildered, he looked around. How
had he gotten inside the doorway of a building?
Leon.
Leon must have taken him there after he fainted falling down the fire escape but where was
he now? He tried to call for him but got nothing but his voice echoing in the deserted
hallway. Anguished he went out into the street. The Project-N was still where he had knocked
it down but the flames were almost completely extinguished. Some time had passed, but how
much? Ten minutes? An hour? More? Leon could have been anywhere and he didn't know
where to start, then he heard shotgun blasts, followed a short distance away by gunfire. Leon
had both, and clearly, he was still in trouble. Ignoring the headache, he staggered off in that
direction and took a few minutes to manage to regain enough concentration to hurry his pace.
He had taken a bad hit, but even if he had a concussion, it could wait. He had to find Leon
first, and he had to save him from whatever mess he had gotten himself into.
He slowed down again when he heard a voice coming from around the corner. It was deep
and with a pronounced Russian accent. He did not know it.
"I understand, and I swear I will take the secret to my grave," the stranger was saying. "But
now I need you to hold on a little longer."
"I'm sick of it!" Shouted his interlocutor, and Chris knew that voice well; it was Leon's. He
felt the urge to reach out to them immediately but his paranoia dictated against it. Who was
that man and why was Leon -who, by his own admission, had just arrived in town and knew
no one- so familiar with him? He moved enough to peek, unseen, over the corner and the
blood boiled in his veins at the sight of the sniper rifle on the shoulder of the gray-haired
stranger in an Umbrella shirt.
See, he's been lying to you all along! Snickered that evil voice in his head that by now did not
even resemble Wesker's and was just an indistinct timbre.
Despite this, he still managed to maintain enough lucidity not to move. Maybe he was just
misunderstanding. Maybe things weren't really as they seemed. He wanted to hold on to that
hope with all his might because his heart would be broken otherwise, now that he had finally
come to want to believe in Leon.
"I can't do this anymore! It's too much! It's too fucking much!" The rookie was carrying on in
a tone that bordered on hysteria.
Chris saw Nicholai move forward and grab Leon by the chin to induce him to look up.
"You won't have to do anything from now on. I'll take care of it."
And Leon threw himself forward, taking refuge in his arms in a violent and furious embrace.
"I should have listened to you when I could!" He whimpered, distraught. "I want to go home!
I just want to go home! Please take me home!"
As he heard them talking, Chris felt more and more betrayed. Not only did they know each
other but they also seemed quite close, judging by the distress on the Russian's face and how
passionately Leon was clinging on to him. He did not know what to do. The most feral part of
him wanted to shoot them both and get the thought out of his mind, but he didn't really want
to do that.
"For now, let me take you to safety," Nicholai said, grabbing his arms and pushing him back.
"Make one last effort, then you can rest."
Leon nodded meekly, and he felt like Nicholai was the only person he could really trust in
that fucking city. From the first moment they had met, he had done nothing but be good to
him: he had saved him from that bear, taken him out of the forest, waited for him to recover
at the diner, then tried to warn him, both there and in the alley. He had protected him by
shooting at the Project-N and, now, had even prevented Irons from killing him. He also
seemed genuinely mortified that he had not arrived in time to prevent what had happened
earlier. There had to be reasons behind his behavior but Leon did not care. The man had done
more for him in those few days than anyone else in his entire life. That was the reason he had
thrown himself headlong at that other monster to defend him or give him a chance to escape.
He owed it to him, but more than that, he wanted to protect him just as much because he was
the only one who seemed to care about him somehow. Of course, there was also Chris, but
Chris was haunted by too many demons and then, he, with that kiss, had ruined everything.
With Nicholai it was different. He knew that his caring was not influenced by suspicion, and
Leon felt that he would never turn on him. It was a strange, warm, unusual sensation that he
was not used to, but it was also such an unexpected safety rope that kept him from falling
into the darkest abyss of despair. He had felt so alone and so defeated when he had run away
from the window, naked as a worm, and had desperately tried to clean up every trace of Irons
both inside and outside his body with the watering rod from the garden, but when he had
heard the gunshots from Nicholai’s rifle new energy, coming from who knows where, had run
through him making him able to react again, to fight again because even if Irons was dead
that nightmare was not yet over. Leon was unable to think about what would happen in the
long run, all he knew was that he had to hold on a little longer just as Nicholai had asked him.
Enough to know Sherry and his mysterious Russian guardian were safe too. He looked at him
deeply with a gaze full of gratitude and, perhaps, even affection, and felt so safe for the hint
of an encouraging smile he saw rising on Nicholai's thin lips. The man would take him home,
and he would make sure that he, in turn, got out of town unharmed. It was a silent oath that
needed no words, only the intense gaze they exchanged, so he followed him, holding on
tightly to that thread of hope he represented.
When he saw them start walking again, Chris ducked out of sight and decided to follow them
from a distance. With each step his thoughts grew gloomier and gloomier as his suspicious
mind reviewed all the things Leon had said and the things that didn't add up: the reference to
Virus-G, which he could only know about if he was a member of Umbrella; that brief second
of silence that had succeeded his question about whether he knew the sniper who had
protected him during the first Project-N attack; and then that cryptic phrase from the guy at
the subway, the one that had so pissed Leon off: I can despise everything you are but your
actions have value. Yours and those of the asshole in whose shadow you walk. It was clear by
now that he was not referring to him but to that gray-haired stranger. What was he talking
about, though? What did he despise so much? Even if Chris would have liked to see anyone
who worked for Umbrella dead, he was not an idiot. He knew there were different rungs of
hierarchy and different levels of responsibility among the ranks. Were Leon and that asshole
guilty of such atrocities that even a colleague despised them? Leon had seemed so sincere to
him, though, when he had repeatedly told him that he just wanted to be helpful and that he
wanted to bring Umbrella down as much as he did; and he had always been so sweet in
consoling him in every moment of fragility. He recalled the warmth of his hugs, his adorable
pouts, and the way he teased and tormented him whenever he had the chance... Was it
possible that Leon was really such a skilled actor?
Wesker did you good too, more than you'd like to admit, and look how that turned out. He
could not stop that thought and, despite himself, neither could he refute it. He was so
confused and conflicted. A part of him, the part that still had the upper hand, hoped to be able
to talk to him and also to apologize to him for how he had rejected him; he wanted to clear
the air, he wanted to be told all the things Leon had kept from him and really give him a
chance to explain himself and his lies. Without making a scene, without threatening him,
without yelling at him. He just wanted to listen and understand. However, there was also a
beast inside him. A pawing, raging savage that would not accept how that damn kid had
turned his life upside down so suddenly and so quickly, and even less could tolerate another
betrayal. It wanted to punish him, to make him suffer for being a lying creep who had
crawled into his heart without asking permission, and it could not give a shit whether it had
the evidence to find him guilty or not. Along with him it also wanted to hurt that gray
eminence who had finally slipped out of his hole to walk beside him in plain light. They were
Umbrella. They were his enemies.
It was a very unstable scale that, at the first gust of wind could have tipped to one side or the
other, and he was terrified of either possibility.
So he just watched them disappearing down the subway stairs with his heart swollen with
misery.
Carlos laid Sherry on the wagon seats.
"Come on down and get to the locomotive," Mikhail was ordering his colleagues at the
turnstiles via radio. "We must begin preparations to leave."
"There are still some people who need to arrive," Jill intervened, and the captain looked at
her with a confused frown, as if trying to recognize her. "'S.T.A.R.S. Operative, Something
Valentine,' am I right?"
She stiffened, tense, and nodded.
"Don't worry. You have nothing to fear from me, this is neutral ground. And yes, we will wait
a little longer," he replied, laconic, mindful of his promise to Leon, although the little pansy
was taking his damn time.
"Nicholai is catching up with us," Carlos specified because he wanted to believe that he had
somehow gotten away from that monster. They heard a lot of gunfire as they ran, so he might
have made it. He must have.
Mikhail snorted. “On second thought-
"Come on, don't be an asshole!" The kid interrupted him, and the Captain squared him with
annoyance.
"Someone wants to clean toilets with their tongue for at least six months, I see."
"Oh, no, I'm fucking quitting! I'm done, finished, fuck you, this shithole and Umbrella!"
Carlos exclaimed with such conviction that his commander laughed so hard he started
coughing blood.
Carlos paled, worried but tried not to show it too openly. "Hey, everything will be fine," he
reassured him. "It looks bad but I'm sure it's no big deal and you'll be back to kicking ass in
no time."
Mikhail sneered, wiping blood off his chin with a cloth handkerchief. "Starting with yours.
Consider your resignation rejected," he informed him. "At least until we get these people to
safety I need all available arms, including yours, Miss Valentine, if you would be so kind."
"It's Jill and sure. What do you require?" She reiterated, cooperatively, because actually
getting that train out of town was a top priority.
"Nothing for the time being. Officer Kennedy has already taken care of everything and we're
just waiting for him to get his ass over here. Communications, however, has been off. We
don't know how extensive the contagion is and what the situation will be like when we get to
the suburbs. You and Carlos are going to scout ahead to make sure it is safe to get all these
people out. The others will stay here, ready to defend the civilians. All clear?"
Jill nodded. "Will this train be back later?"
Mikhail huffed. "Why, did you forget something at home and want to go back for it?" He
teased her a little.
She resented that. "No. There are a hundred thousand inhabitants here, on the train how many
will there be? A thousand?"
"Eight hundred and twenty-three, including you and Carlos," the captain answered her. "And
the last large group has entered by now twelve hours ago. I don't know how many more
survivors are out there, but I don't hold out much hope. In any case, it's not my decision. If
we are ordered to get back, we will turn back."
"Fucking gallop," Jill hissed through her teeth.
"I beg your pardon?"
"S-she didn't mean it," Carlos intervened, why did Jill always have to charge head-on at
everything and everyone? For fuck's sake, she was just like Nicholai!
"Oh, no, I meant it big time!" She insisted, shushing him. "Who the fuck cares what they
order you to do? Do you want to go back or are you too scared shitless to do so?" She
accused him, looking at him with contempt.
Mikhail shook his head, sneering. "I wonder, are you so passionate about the citizens or
because you are waiting for someone in particular? Maybe your S.T.A.R.S. colleagues?" He
saw straight through her bluff.
"I care about both," Jill replied but after a moment's hesitation. Her priority was Chris, but
that did not mean... Fuck it! Fuck it all!
"Don't be too hard on yourself. Everyone has people they care about and would do anything
for, including exploiting a tragedy. If I am ordered to take the train back downtown, I will
guarantee you a ride after you do the recon for me. Deal?"
Jill nodded, sad and furious, mostly with herself because she knew very well that if Chris had
been on that train with them, she would have had no intention of getting back. She went and
sat next to Sherry, and as much as she tried to rationalize, to tell herself that obviously, her
concern for the man she was in love with was only human, she just couldn't help feeling
disgusting and selfish.
You can't save everyone, Nicholai's rebuke of Carlos came back to her and made her feel
small and childish. Being on the S.T.A.R.S. team had put all of them on a pedestal, and made
them feel important, mature, and superior to everyone else but the truth was, in the face of
veterans like Nicholai or Carlos's captain who had decades of experience and had done and
endured tons of shit, their claims seemed really ridiculous. They both saw through her with
disturbing clarity, thwarting her efforts to appear in control when it was clear she was not.
"Hey, what's with the long face?" Carlos asked her, moving in front of her. "I'm going back
with you. You don't think I want to leave you in this mess alone, do you? I'll help you find
your goddamn Chris and he'll have to kiss my ass when we find him, the goddamn asshole!"
Jill, in spite of herself, smiled because Carlos was so precious. "Thank you," she whispered,
stroking Sherry's sleeping little head. She would have liked to vent a little to him because she
desperately needed to hear some kind words, but her attention was drawn to the entrance of a
young blond policeman she did not know and did not seem to have ever seen around the
station. Was he the famous Cat? He was certainly elusive and sneaky. The kid cast a very
brief glance at Sherry from behind Carlos before continuing on past Mikhail and taking
refuge at a brisk pace in the next empty carriage.
“Hey, Princess!" The captain apostrophized him. "Can we go now?"
Leon turned back slightly. "In a minute. Nicholai is making a phone call,” he dismissed him.
Mikhail huffed, annoyed. "Sure, let's wait for the dog's convenience now!" He gnashed
between his teeth. The rookie did not retort and walked away, going to sit in the back alone.
Jill stretched her gaze to keep an eye on the staircase, and when Nicholai finally emerged he
appeared enraged. Way more than she had ever seen him up to that point. And he was alone.
There was no sign of the woman he had rescued from Irons. Was she dead? Jill did not know
but was careful not to bother him when she saw him striding in like a knight of the
apocalypse.
Mikhail was not as shrewd and greeted him with a wicked laugh of derision.
"Это был Сергей?" He asked him. "Мне просто жаль мальчика, я уверен, что он был
хорошим, пока ты не заразил его своей отвратительной болезнью, пидорская
потаскуха." When he saw that the other did not respond to his insults, he reiterated.
"Интересно, как воспримет это полковник, когда я расскажу ему о твоей маленькой
белокурой шлюхе! Да, расскажет-
It was a matter of a split second. Nicholai did not even let him finish saying what Sergei
would do to him and Leon before pouncing on him like a beast. Mikhail cried out in pain as
the other lifted him from his seat and slammed him violently to the floor of the train, then
stomped on his wounded abdomen with ruthless ferocity, sinking the heel of his boot deep
into him.
"Hey! Hey!" Carlos shouted, trying to get his attention and get him to stop but when he saw
Nicholai slip the knife from his belt he lunged forward and tried to grab his arms from behind
to restrain him. The other reacted instinctively, without dwelling on who was attacking him,
and hit him in the face with an elbow. Brutally. Smashing his nose and knocking him to the
ground hard. Then he turned his attention back to Mikhail, crouched over him, and would
have opened his throat like a hog to be bled if Leon, back in the doorway, had not exclaimed
a weary:
"Enough."
Nicholai looked up at him and met his gaze.
"I don't care what he said but he doesn't deserve to die for it. He'll think twice next time,"
Leon concluded, before turning and going back the way he came.
Nicholai tightened his grip on Mikhail's jacket even more but then let go and rose to his feet
without addressing him. Only then did he realize that Carlos was the guy he had knocked out.
Miss Valentine had knelt beside him and was trying to get his nose to stop bleeding.
He moved a step toward them, apologetic. "I-
"Fuck you!" Carlos gasped, crawling back scared and distrustful, His dark eyes were so
pained, so betrayed that they made Nicholai feel even worse, he didn't mean to harm him. It
just happened.
"Are you happy now? Fuck off, we're done!" The kid shouted at him and the Russian just
nodded, backing away and following Leon into the other carriage.
Carlos got back up, heedless of his nose.
"Give me a hand with him, please," he said to Jill, and together they helped a dazed Mikhail
back into the seat. His abdomen was bleeding profusely but he was conscious.
"I don't know what the fuck you said to him, but I have a feeling you damn well deserved it,"
Jill pointed out to him, once Carlos had moved away.
The captain huffed out a laugh and then a stifled groan. "Our bad blood goes back a long
way. It was stupid of me but how good it feels to hit him right where it hurts. I'm not the one
who lost the confrontation."
Jill stiffened. "You would have lost more than that if that kid hadn't saved your ass."
"At least he'll stay away from him," Mikhail added in a lowered voice, nodding to Carlos,
who had returned to sit on the other side, cursing in Spanish. "I never liked the influence that
dog had on him and what he could care about him for. I made him show his true colors,
Carlos’s be better off without him.”
“What’s between them is none of your fucking business,” she hissed.
“Don't be fooled by how he talks or acts. He has his charm, da, he’d worked a lot on it, but
Zinoviev is just a revolting beast in human skin-
A voice interrupted him with a single question: "Jill?"
She raised her gaze abruptly with her heart going crazy in her chest.
"Chris!"
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
My heartfelt thanks to everyone as always: readers, kudoers, commenters, subscribers,
and bookmarkers! I adore you all!
Well, well, well, we all walk on very thin ice. We are in a moment of relative calm but
everything can go straight to hell in a nanosecond (spoiler: it will, not right away but
within a couple of chapters).
Mikhail made Nicholai lose his temper and got, in my opinion, some well-deserved ass-
kicking because there are times when he should learn to shut up. As usual, for my
possible Russian readers: I have used several translators but I always have a very shaky
certainty about the correctness of the sentences I attempt to use, so if there are any
errors, please correct me, I will be incredibly grateful.
For the non-Russian speakers, this is what Mikhail thoughtfully said in that situation:
"Was it Sergei? I just feel sorry for the boy, I'm sure he was good until you infected him
with your disgusting disease, you faggot slut. I wonder how the Colonel will take it
when I tell him about your little blonde whore! Yes, he will...-
Before he was kicked, not so much for the insults but for the threat. In other words,
again Nicholai reacted because Leon was threatened, albeit in a very remote way. In
doing so, however, he did harm because he unintentionally hit Carlos, who was already
having an emotional crisis of trust and now feels even more upset and hurt by his hero.
Poor thing, he's so very tender.
Leon, for his part, is a walking miracle. After all that has happened to him, he has again
found the strength to fight back, in part because he has realized that Nicholai is that
anchor he has been looking for and needs tremendously. Especially now, but also later.
Romance aside and included (because that will be important, too, anyway, in the
dynamics of their very complicated relationship) Nicholai will always remain Leon's
reference point, and they will love each other very much in both a romantic and non-
romantic sense.
And that, of course, will always create problems with Chris who, however, I have to
give praise to because he's really trying hard not to freak out. Although in a completely
unconscious way, he has also bonded with Leon very deeply. Leon is not just some
ordinary guy with whom he shared a little bit of road in Raccoon City, Chris feels
emotionally involved and, as a result, also betrayed. Just when he had finally taken that
insurmountable step of giving him total trust, here he finds him literally in the arms of
one of the most fearsome and ruthless Umbrella operatives that Leon has been careful
not to tell him about, lying to his face every time they have gotten on the subject.
Jill is the only beacon of hope in this widespread testosteronic hysteria, bless her! She
will do her best to keep things in balance, but, come on, you're getting to know me by
now. Shit will hit the fan and other pieces of the tower will continue to collapse.
Thank you again infinitely for your attention and time!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 41
Chapter Notes
Jill ran up to him and practically jumped into his arms, making him hold her tightly.
"You son of a bitch!" She growled at him, clutching his neck with a violent passion. "I hate
you so much, you fool! You imbecile! You unforgivable piece of shit!"
He smiled and pulled her away a little to look at her with shining eyes. "I'm glad to see you,
too," but his good mood faded when he saw her swollen and bruised cheekbone. "What
happened?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," she shook her head. "Hey, no, look at me! It wasn't anyone in
here," she forced him to stare at her by holding his head firmly with her hands since Chris's
eyes had already rushed to Mikhail and the pool of blood on the floor of the wagon. "It was
Irons-
"Where the fuck is that pig?!"
"He's dead. Take it easy. It's all right now. It's all right," she repeated it to him enough to
make him calm down a little, and carefully avoided any detail about what Irons had tried to
do to her.
Chris nodded but was shaken. "I-I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left
you alone. I didn't imagine... You were right. You were right about everything," he
apologized, feeling responsible for all that had happened to her.
"You couldn't have known," Jill hastened to reassure him. She knew him well and she could
clearly see he was one step away from a breakdown.
"You don't understand, Brad is dead. Adam, everyone at the diner... I-I couldn't do anything."
"It's not your fault, okay?" Jill insisted, looking him straight in the eye. "We'll get through
this. Together. I'm not leaving you again. I won't even let you go to shit without being able to
keep an eye on you, is that clear, dickhead?"
Chris nodded and then hid his face in the crook of her shoulder, squeezing her hard. "I'm so
glad you're okay!" He groaned with a shuddering breath. "I couldn't lose you, too!"
"Now that Romeo and Juliet are finally reunited, it's time to get this fucking train moving,"
Mikhail mumbled, fatigued and in pain. "And I guess no one's coming back at this point," he
added, sarcastically, looking at the two lovebirds.
Jill, who was gently stroking Chris's head, gave him a fiery glare and, in her heart, found her
suspicion confirmed: the beating he had taken from Nicholai had definitely been deserved.
Mikhail was an asshole who just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
In the next carriage, Leon was intensely watching the scene of Chris and Jill's hug from a
distance, feeling even more stupid and miserable. He was trying hard not to think about what
Irons had done to him or even how he had brutally killed him, deluding himself once again
that if he avoided the problem long enough, it would disappear. Chris, however, was not a
good distraction. What the fuck had been going through his mind when he had kissed him? It
was clear that he was straight and had a bone to pick with Officer Valentine.
"Do you want me to have your friend come over?" Nicholai's question caught him by
surprise, but he shook his head, lowering his gaze to the floor. "No. We are not… Friends. We
aren't shit. And... I don't want to have him around. I can't take it." He replied, grimly because
he really couldn't handle being showered with insults, although Nicholai was a good deterrent
to a beating.
"Understood."
The Russian asked him no questions. Leon did not want to talk to him. That was enough. He
moved toward the door and locked it with the latch.
On the other side, Chris noticed him, but mostly he saw Leon sitting at the back of the
carriage. He let go of Jill and almost bolted against the glass.
"Open the fucking door!" He growled, hitting it with his hand.
"Fuck off," was Nicholai's anything but diplomatic retort.
"No!" Jill intervened, holding Chris by the arm. "Let it go. It's for the best," she suggested,
patiently pulling him back. He resisted for a long moment, trying desperately to meet Leon's
gaze, but the rookie did not even turn around.
"Come on, let's go sit down," Jill insisted, and, finally, Chris listened to her. "There's
someone I want you to meet and someone you need to apologize to, you nasty shit." Jill
guided him up to the little girl as the train began to move, and he recognized her immediately.
"Sherry! Oh my God, where did you find her? Has Leon seen her?"
"Yes, but he ran straight off that way," she answered him, nodding to the carriage next door.
"I'll tell you the rest later. It's long and complicated."
Carlos, sitting next to the child with a miserable pout, was somewhat heartened by their
arrival. He was happy for Jill. It made him feel a little better that things had ended well for
her.
"You must be Chris," he smiled, kindly, rising to offer him his hand.
The other, however, did not respond to the courtesy and crossed his arms over his chest,
suspicious. "And you are?"
Jill rolled her eyes. "Carlos. He's Carlos and he's okay, stop acting like you were raised by
boars!" She scolded him and he, a little reluctantly, accepted his handshake.
"Is that my sweatshirt?" He asked then, seeing it on him.

Carlos jerked, a little uncomfortable. "Yeah, she lent it to me because I was cold. I'll give it
right back to you. It also has blood on it, I'm so sorry," he apologized profusely pointing at
his swollen nose.
"He doesn't want it back," Jill immediately restrained him, grabbing his hand before he could
unzip it and show off his Umbrella T-shirt. It wasn't that she wanted to keep it a secret from
Chris, but it was best to postpone the topic until they were safely seated around a table with a
beer in their hands and their asses well away from Raccoon City. At that moment it would
have been like waving a red handkerchief in front of a pissed-off bull, and she didn't want to
put poor Carlos in that position. He didn't deserve it. He really was a kid with a heart of gold.
"What about that asshole?" Chris quickly turned back to business, ignoring how glad the poor
guy was to finally meet him and pointing at Nicholai.
Carlos immediately seethed. "Just that: an asshole," he commented, bitter and sad.
"Oh, come on..." Jill sighed, absolutely certain that Nicholai had hit him so hard by accident.
"I can tell you who he is," Mikhail intervened from behind them before she could resume
speaking. "Who he really is."
In the other carriage, there was silence. Leon was in no mood to chat, and Nicholai was not
much of a talker himself. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat. "I got you something to take
care of those wrists. May I?"
The kid shrugged his shoulders in assent and did not react badly when the other knelt in front
of him. He hissed through his teeth, however, when he felt the disinfectant burning on his
fresh wounds.
"I'm sorry," Nicholai murmured, though it was no one's fault, it just didn't make him feel
comfortable to cause him more suffering. He opened a sterile gauze and, with all the
gentleness he was capable of, began to clean those cuts for him. They were deep, deep
enough to leave a scar but not to bleed him slowly.
"It is a ruthless, soulless animal," Mikhail was explaining to the other three. "Name
something cruel, he has done it. If you are under the illusion that you saw in him a glow of
redemption, you are sorely mistaken, Miss Valentine. As long as he is well paid he is willing
to do anything: to see fellow soldiers, civilians, and even innocent people die. The teams he
has led to slaughter in his mazes are countless. I suppose you are familiar by now with what a
Monitor is."
Chris shook his head, clenching his fists. If the Russian was all that, then what was Leon?
Had he been right in suspecting him from the beginning and stupid to have doubted his
instincts?
"Thank you," Leon murmured in a low voice, bending his wrists to take a good look at the
bandages Nicholai had applied to him. They were perfect, not too tight to restrict his
movements, but not too loose to be useless either.
"Do they hurt?"
The kid shook his head. "I'm too tired to feel anything," he admitted. "Except... It's like I'm
only half alive. I'm sorry, I'm talking nonsense."
Nicholai sat beside him without taking his eyes off him. "No. You're right."
Leon sighed, closing his eyelids. "It goes away?"
The Russian leaned back, tired in turn, and ignored the piercing twinge from the punch taken
by Mr. X.
"Human mind is strong-
"That's bullshit," Leon interrupted him abruptly. "I personally watched my mother's mind fall
apart until she became nothing but a cruel empty shell until she finally died."
"Did she fight?" Nicholai asked him, without refuting him. It was not a contest about who
was right.
"No. She didn't," the rookie replied bitterly.
"Will you?"
Leon puffed out a short, joyless laugh. "Why would I?"
The Russian shrugged his shoulders. "One reason is as good as another. It doesn't have to be
special. Just keep you on your feet. One step after another."
"I don't have any."
"Now that's bullshit," he echoed, managing, finally, to get his grim look off the floor. "You
fought for me. And, for the record, it was stupid."
"You did it first."
"With the difference being that I know what I'm doing," Nicholai corrected him.
Leon chuckled, incredulous and gloomy. "That thing kicked your ass good and proper. Was
that a demonstration of what to do to die, teacher?"
Nicholai smiled, snorting. "That thing and I have history, but you're right. I can be stupid
too."
"Who was on the phone?" Leon changed the subject because, as tactfully as Nicholai was
doing it, he did not want to talk about what had happened with Irons. Not even between the
lines.
"'Trouble."
"A Monitor is a peculiar kind of analyst," Mikhail continued. "Their job is to collect data on
the effectiveness of monsters like the ones you have seen. Believe me, if he is around you it
is only because you are just yet another experiment that-
"Yes, he made that very clear," Jill interrupted him. She did not know why she felt so
annoyed. On paper, nothing the U.B.C.S. captain was saying was untrue, and yet she was
now firmly convinced that there was more to the story and that Nicholai no longer fit that
profile.
"Damn, he really impressed you!" Mikhail sneered at her.
No, that wasn't it. Jill knew that Nicholai was an asshole and a questionable person. She just
felt she was irrefutably right, but she had no real arguments to back up why. She cast a glance
at Carlos, hoping he would step in to support her and defend his bloody hero, but he just
stood there with a hunched back, still licking his emotional wounds.
"Believe me, Miss Valentine, whatever he did for you that looked like help had an ulterior
motive behind it. That beast doesn't believe in anything. He has no principles. He has no
morals. He has no honor. He may have appetites, but not for you. And if you're under the
illusion that there was a before, for him, I'm sorry to disappoint you. He's a jailbird of the
worst kind, and before he ended up in a labor camp, he even killed his best friend, so to
speak, in cold blood, after they both sold out their little group of seditious anarchists."
Carlos frowned, finally showing a flicker of life, and lifted his gaze. "No, this can't be." It
made no sense. Not after what he had done for him in Colombia. Or maybe he had really
imagined it all and Nicholai had done it just to keep the Umbrella money for himself. After
all, that was what he had always claimed.
"Oh, yes, he did it because he thought that way he could avoid going back to prison. I
personally read the reports. It's all written in black and white. In fact, he did not go back to
jail but to a labor camp in Siberia, and in my opinion, it was a mistake not to have him
croaked in that pit where they had locked him up for punishment. That would have been the
right end for scum like him."
Jill looked at Carlos again and seeing his face distressed with disappointment and doubt made
her blood boil.
"You are full of shit!" She growled. She didn't give a damn what that asshole thought of
Nicholai, he was big and tall and had well proven he could defend himself, but the way he
was shattering Carlos's certainties was just cruel and uncalled for.
Chris, in all of this, was like a statue. He was listening. He was listening very carefully but
only to what he wanted to hear. He looked again beyond the glass and felt a burning hatred at
seeing Leon side by side with that asshole. They were definitely close, and if Nicholai was a
monster, then Leon had to be too.
"Free to think what suits you, Miss Valentine," Mikhail retorted without blinking. As far as
I'm concerned, I don't even like having him on my train. Death walks by his side like a sister,
and if anything should happen, he will surely be solely responsible for it."
Jill grinned, unnerved, and shook her head. "Then why the fuck did you let him up?"
Mikhail looked her straight in the eye. "Because there are bigger and much more dangerous
fish in the ocean than he is, in front of which all of us are nothing but cannon fodder. You
even met one of them. Your late captain who, however, clearly was not big enough."
"Not another word about him," snapped Chris, lowering his arm on the rifle.
Mikhail chuckled, amused.
"What about his… What was it in Russian? Кот? Fuck it! Who’s Blondie, back there?"
Carlos changed the subject before his captain got his ass kicked by Chris as well.
"Кот?" Mikhail laughed again and then shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea. From the
looks of him, I'd say his little plaything."
"Is he from Umbrella?" Chris interjected.
"If he is, I've never seen him before. But he's capable, so it could be. It's not like they tell me
everything. Out for blood, operative Redfield?"
The two exchanged a hostile look, but Mikhail wasn’t going to take any of his shit.
"Do you have any idea how many men I have sacrificed for this rescue operation? More than
twice as many as you lost at Spencer Manor. Don't start this game with me, you whiny brat.
Sit down and say thank you."
"Chris, no!" Jill exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from charging.
"I need you to do something for me, please," Leon whispered after whole moments of
silence. It was clear that Nicholai did not want to tell him what that other Russian guy on the
phone wanted. He went through his pockets, pulling out everything: the cartridges for the
rifle, the bundle of letters he had taken from Dr. Birkin's secret room. "Here it is!" He sighed
with relief, retrieving Sherry's necklace that had gotten twisted around another paper he
couldn't even remember the existence of. "When you have a moment, could you give it back
to the little one? I found it in the alley. She must have lost it before you came to pick her up.
Because it was you, wasn't it? She called you."
Nicholai shook his head and took the pendant in his hand. "In truth, she jumped into the
middle of the street as I was passing by. I almost ran her over."
Leon lowered his gaze again. "Thank you for protecting her, then."
"Well, she practically forced me."
The kid let out a short laugh, an authentic one, albeit exhausted. "She's bossy."
"Fucking hell. She even wants to teach me manners now."
Leon lifted his gaze, which had regained a hint of vitality. "And you are going to let her?"
Nicholai lowered his eyes with a smile and perhaps even a hint of awkwardness. "I don't
think my manners are that bad, but I also fear she won't take no for an answer," he mumbled,
turning the pendant over in his fingers. "She was so desperate when she realized she had lost
this," he added, opening the pendant and looking at the small family photo inside. He
recognized the father but paid special attention to the mother. Since he was going to have to
go back anyway to kill another fucking doctor on the colonel's orders, at least he might as
well look for her. He did not tell Leon, however. Not yet. He had come aboard just to make
sure he and the others got to a safe place. He shouldn't have done that, least of all with
Mikhail ready to spill the beans to Sergei but he was going to kill him the first chance he got
anyway. Far from prying eyes and bleeding hearts. He turned toward the carriage beyond and
when he met Carlos's offended eyes he sighed. He knew he had screwed up with him and he
was sorry. He saw him abruptly turn his face away, hiding behind his messy dark ringlets, and
it made him tender. He was such a puppy. He stood up, intending to go and apologize as well
as return Sherry's necklace.
Leon, who had been distracted opening that paper and had finally remembered where the
fuck he had read the G-Virus designation, which was in the response Internal Affairs had
faxed to Chris, only noticed his movement after a couple of seconds.
"N-no!" He groaned uncontrollably, feeling panic tighten in his chest.
Nicholai turned, giving him a questioning look, and Leon blushed with shame, lowering his
gaze.
"D-Don't leave me alone," he whispered. "I don't want to be alone," and he sighed with relief
when he felt his large hand stroke the top of his head briefly. "I-I'm sorry, I'm so pathetic..."
"Bullshit. It takes a lot of courage to ask for help."
"Why are you so good to me?"
Nicholai huffed. "It must be because I'm bad to everyone else," he replied, enigmatically,
crossing his arms over his chest.
"Do you kill for them? I mean Umbrella," Leon questioned him.
"That's an oversimplification, but yes."
"Why?"
"To take one step after another."
Leon looked up abruptly. He was dying to know more but to do so he would have to uncover
himself in turn and he was not at all ready. It would have destroyed him. It was too soon and
he was painfully aware of it.
"You should stop," he told him, without judging him, "you've come far enough. Maybe it's
time to look at where to move the next one before you make it, don't you think?"
Nicholai smiled wistfully and remained silent. He put Sherry's necklace around his neck and
sat back down.
"Aren't you going to answer me?" Leon pressed him, pushy.
The Russian sighed. " The time comes when there is only one, straight to the end of the line."
"I don't believe in that, you're too…" He couldn't find the right word, as tired as he was. "Too
much to simply fade away," Leon concluded in an increasingly feeble voice, before dropping
his head against his shoulder. "Does it bother you?" He asked, feeling him stiffen for a
moment.
"No. Stay," Nicholai reassured him, looking at him tenderly out of the corner of his eye.
"I'm so cold..."
"I don't have anything to-
"It's okay. I know. I was just complaining."
Nicholai was shaken by a giggle. "Does it help feeling it less?"
Leon closed his eyes. "No. Not at all. But I like to complain."
"Then whine all you want," he gave him his blessing as Sherry had given hers to him. Slowly
and giving him plenty of time to tell him to stop if he didn't want to be touched, he rotated his
arm until it encircled his back and turned him a little to hold him against his chest. It wasn't
much, but maybe that way he would be able to warm him up a little. Leon let him do it,
completely surrendered and trusting, and clung to his T-shirt weakly, clutching the fabric
between his fingers at the level of his heart. He adjusted his head over his collarbone, and
surrendered to exhausted sleep, reassured by his scent and warmth.
Jill was relieved when she was able to sit Chris down. Everything Mikhail had said had done
nothing but throw gasoline on the fire of his resentment, and she knew that very well. It was
strange. She had the feeling that Mikhail was really doing his best to turn Chris against
Nicholai, probably because, in his condition, he would never be able to defend himself. It
was not so absurd that he was trying to get him killed by someone else. In any case, she had
to defuse her dumb best friend before he ended up doing something he would surely regret.
"How did you get mixed up with these assholes?" He asked her, barely giving her enough
time to sit in turn.
"It doesn't matter. We can trust them."
Chris stiffened his jaw and looked around suspiciously. "What if it's a trap? What if they are
leading us and all these poor people-
"Where?" She interrupted him, a little derisively. "It's not a Nazi train, they're taking us to the
suburbs and that's where it ends."
"But-
"Just shut up," she ordered him peremptorily. "You do as I say period. Mikhail is a snake,
don't listen to what he said. He was just fucking with your head. Nothing is going to happen
and as soon as we are out of Raccoon we follow the initial plan. Clear?"
Chris did not answer her. He cast a glance at the other carriage and seeing Leon sleeping
placidly in Nicholai's arms made his hackles rise. How did they dare? An entire city was
dying around them and they did not have a single thought! No worries, no shame!
Monsters! Disgusting monsters!
"I told you to knock it off!" Jill barked at him, tugging at his arm.
"Why the fuck are you defending them so much?" Chris snapped with a sharp snarl.
Carlos became alarmed. He did not like the way he spoke to her. He didn't like it at all.
Without bothering to be discreet he gave him a warning look to inform him that he would
kick his ass if he even thought of hurting her.
"Congratulations," Chris huffed half-heartedly, "you even managed to impress that dork. You
kept yourself busy," he commented, annoyed. "Am I the only one who realizes the
seriousness of the situation?"
"Okay, huevón, give it a rest," Carlos intervened, standing up. The other was not intimidated
and leaped to his feet in turn.
"Oh, no, no, no! You keep your ass down," Jill growled, standing between them as a lion
tamer, "and you don't antagonize him." She winced, however, when she noticed that in the
other carriage, Nicholai was also watching the scene intently, considering whether or not to
intervene. She didn't know to defend who between her and Carlos, but the thought Oh no, I
just need you to jump in this fucking circus too! must have flashed so loudly on her face that
he not only understood but laughed as well and then went back to minding his own business.
Jill was grateful for that because she was desperately trying to keep that situation from
ending in a cockfight. It was better for everyone if Nicholai just stood over there cuddling his
bloody Cat.
"'Wow! The Missy really holds you by the balls, gentlemen" Mikhail commented, amused
when both Carlos and Chris obeyed her.
"Shut him up, or I swear to God I'll be the one to kill him," Jill hissed, turning to Carlos. He
nodded and approached his captain, asking him to tell him what had happened to the team
during his absence, but still kept his attention on the S.T.A.R.S. agents.
"This shit ends right now!" Jill admonished Chris, getting back to him. She was furious and
she was heartbroken. "I understand everything. I know you're hurting and, I swear, I'm trying
my best to be patient but… You think I don't care what's going on?! Fucky you, Chris! I
deserve better than this! I've been looking for you for days after you left me alone in the
middle of the road, you asshole! And-and-a-and…" She started stuttering, upset. "I didn't
know what the fuck happened to you and that fucking thing was following us! How dare
you?!"
Chris blinked and finally regained awareness. His furrowed brow relaxed into a mortified
expression and his eyes, darkened by paranoia, became bright again.
"Oh, Jill..." He groaned, realizing how badly he had treated her and how unfair he had been.
He curled in on himself and covered his face with his hands, ashamed. "I'm losing my mind...
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
She reached him immediately and without any hesitation. She knew him well. She knew that
was the real Chris and it pained her so much to see him so broken. She held him tightly in her
arms, almost lulling him.
"Everything will be all right. We are together now." She whispered to him, passionately.
"We'll hold each other up. I won't leave you, I won't leave you anymore."
She made him lift his face and pressed her lips to his because she needed him so desperately.
If she could she would have slipped inside of him in the hope, thus, that she could cure the
pain that so terribly afflicted them both. She was so in love.
And Chris kissed her back because he didn't know what the fuck else he could do. It was
sudden and unexpected, but Jill was also the only fixed point he had left, the only thread
keeping him from losing himself completely. He felt a connection with her that he had with
no one else except Claire. He was fond of her. She made him feel safe. She brought order to
chaos. It was possible that he loved her, too, although he had never even wondered. Surely
she would never betray him, and having that certainty was more important than the air he
breathed at that moment.
Carlos looked briefly at their kiss and then turned to seek Nicholai in the other carriage, who
was intent on gazing at that sleeping Cat of his hugging him. He felt so alone and cut off.
Everyone seemed to have found their special someone with whom they could find the
strength to go on, while there he was, in a foreign city full of horrible creatures, hundreds of
thousands of miles from home where there were the only people who still loved him but did
not even know he was still alive. He was doing his best to be happy for Jill and also for
Nicholai, although he was still very angry with him, and, in part, he was also sincerely so but
it was not enough. He thrust his hands into his pockets in search of that piece of paper on
which he had jotted down the phone number of his parents' hotel to squeeze it between his
fingers and seek some comfort. It had always been his lucky charm, but he could not find it.
They must have taken it from him when they had searched him before taking him to the cell,
and the pain he felt at losing it was physical and dull in the center of his chest. He got up,
moving away from Mikhail, who had closed his eyes to get some rest, and fled to the
opposite corner of the carriage where he indulged in silent weeping.
An unnecessary qualm, no one was paying attention to him anyway.
Chapter End Notes

The usual thanks to readers, subscribers, kudoers, bookmakers, and commenters, you are
all great!
On with the business (before some colleague calls me again, I can't take it anymore, give
me the Easter break!!!
This chapter is transitional but absolutely crucial for the development of the
relationships between the characters.
Let's start with Carlos, poor Carlos, someone give Carlos a hug! I felt so sad for him as I
described him pining for his complete loneliness while others, good or bad, have found
someone to share affection with. He is such a precious soul that he does not deserve at
all to be left in a corner alone crying.
Leon and Nicholai are so sweet. I know, they are a strange and unusual pairing and I
don't even know how I ended up shippin' them. It must have been one of those ideas that
always starts with a 'why not?' XD. Our rookie totally relied on him. Being the cat that
he is he has decreed that Nicholai is now his human and he must adore him. And there is
no solution, it will be so.
Nicholai is also going through an existential crisis and, indeed, what Mikhail says about
him is all true, including the fact that he killed his "best friend" (I have not yet clearly
decided whether they were lovers or whether Nicholai was in love but unrequited, either
way, the outcome does not change, he had indeed killed him). It is the unforgivable sin
that still haunts him and to which I have alluded, here and there, between the lines in
past chapters. Nicholai is such a complex character to unfold.
Jill is a force of nature, and I admire her tenacity and calmness in handling a very
critical and delicate situation. I do, however, find it amusing that she became Nicholai's
defense attorney XD. I swear to you, this was totally unplanned, I never imagined their
relationship would take this turn, but I'm glad it did (even though it could lead to other
unforeseen outcomes).
She is also super sweet to Chris and I feel sorry for her because she is really in love but
Chris is a mess. He practically kisses her back because he feels like he has been thrown
into a blender where everything is swirling around him without allowing him to
understand what the fuck is going on. It is the first of many steps in the most wrong
direction possible although I don't feel like I blame him entirely. He is going through a
particularly hard time, where the traumas are so many that they have become towering
nightmares. Jill is the only fixed point he has left right now (Claire's too, of course, but
she is too far away) and so he throws himself at her because she reassures him, because
she is the norm. Don't get me wrong, Chris will do a lot of shit but for this one in
particular I really don't feel like condemning him. Of course, they're gonna end up
together and, unsurprisingly, they won't be happy.
The next chapter will be... peculiar but I wanted to ask you something: since it will have
long italicized sections, I wanted to know if any of you have difficulty reading it. If so,
please let me know and I will try to find an alternative way to differentiate the parts.
Thanks again to everyone from the bottom of my heart!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 42
Chapter Notes
*** Everything was black and soft. Nurturing, in a way. The pain was gone. The suffering.
The urge.
It was a limbo suspended between two planes. Existence and nonexistence, but he had
awareness.
Incomplete. Fallacious. Confused.
As in a dream.
Was he dreaming?
Perhaps.
Was he dead?
No. There was nothing after death.
What if he was wrong?
"I'm here, where are you? Why did you leave me alone? I need you, please, come!"
But he wasn't going to, so he stopped. Why bothering? The silence was comforting and tepid,
like slipping into oblivion in the soft embrace of a lover. He could hear, faint and distant, a
heart beating rapidly and rhythmically, but there was a dissonance. It was not one. It was two.
He did not want to listen to them. They were harbingers of misfortune.
Where was he? What was happening to him? He did not have enough willpower to seek an
answer. He was afraid, paralyzed by the almost ancestral fear that if he forced himself to
reason the pain would return even stronger than before. He didn't want to suffer anymore. So
he stayed where he was. In the darkness. In the void.
Fleeing pain was human nature.
Yes. Yes, it was.
And he was still human, wasn't he?
"Al... Al, please help me... HELP ME! PLEASE!" ***

On the train, Jill moved back and blushed embarrassedly. "Well, that went better than I
thought it would," she whispered to break the ice.
Chris looked at her bewildered. His brain was whirling like a spinning top gone mad. Too
many things had happened to him, all simultaneously, and he did not feel remotely able to
take a direction, not even a single one. All he knew was that he cared for her but now that the
moment had passed, that abrupt approach of theirs put unimpeachable anguish in his mind.
Something was off but he did not know what. The only answer he could give to himself was
that they were best friends and that he had systematically screwed up any relationship he tried
to have. He did not want to screw it up with her. He couldn't lose her. Maybe he was in love
with her. Maybe things would work. What should he do? Why couldn't things just fucking
stay the way they were? First Leon, now her! What the fuck was wrong with everyone?
"Hey, hey, no, don't panic." Jill sensed part of his thoughts and looked at him with transport
and emotion. "I know it was sudden. Well, sudden for you. The rest of the world had figured
it out for geological eras," she tried to joke. "I'm still me and you're still you. Nothing is
going to change, okay? Take it easy. It will be even better."
Chris nodded, shaken, and then held her tightly in his arms as if he feared she might slip out
from between his fingers in an instant. Jill sighed and clung to him. She was aware that with
Chris it was going to be an uphill road. He was not good with girls, he would be absent and
distant at times, especially now that he had suffered so much trauma, but she was ready to
accept the challenge. She always had been. She didn't care how broken he was, she was going
to fix him. They were going to be happy together. Any other scenario was unacceptable. So
she kissed him again and felt relieved and almost happy when he responded by mimicking
her same passion.
In the other carriage, Nicholai could not take his eyes off Leon who was sleeping now
abandoned on him.
What the fuck am I doing? He wondered, wrinkling his face with his left hand since he was
holding the kid with his right. He is so young he could be my son. Besides, that chapter is
closed. He scolded himself. He was too old to dance around it. He liked him and it was quite
undeniable that something had clicked between them, although he still did not know exactly
what, but whatever it was he would not give it time to blossom into anything. He just wanted
to make sure he left town without suffering further. He would take care of it himself and then
let him go, as he had tried to let Carlos go before him. Yeah, Carlos… On a second
examination, he decided he would not apologize to him. Now that he had finally managed to
get him to stay away, what would be the point? People around him had always ended badly,
and despite his selfishness, Nicholai did not want history to repeat itself. He did not want to
listen to that hopeful voice suggesting that maybe it would be okay this time. That there
would be no pain. That there would be no blood and death. That was just bullshit. He knew
what kind of man he was, he knew even better what kind of man was the one he worked for.
There was no scenario in which things would not end in tragedy. The age of delusion had
come and gone for him but he felt a strange sensation seeing Miss Valentine kissing that poor
prick Redfield. He wished he still had some of that naiveté and bad judgment proper to youth.
It would have made him infinitely stupider, but it would have been better than the
nothingness he had felt for too long by now. He had been nineteen years just waiting for the
day he would finally die, like that inept idiot in a Dostojeski story who had bought the
revolver waiting for the perfect day to shoot himself. Mikhail always felt the need to
externalize his contempt for him but had no idea how much, in fact, Nicholai despised
himself. There was no competition. For this reason, he never reacted to his or others' insults.
Nothing can affect you if you first are aware of who you really are. This had been true until
he met Leon in the forest. Whatever had clicked, it had changed him right then and there, and
it was unsettling him. So did the unwavering affection Carlos had so desperately tried to
show him. And then there was the little girl and even Miss Valentine with her being a brazen
thorn in his side provoking him at every opportunity... Had none of those damn kids ever
heard about how bad the big bad wolf really was?
Leon groaned something in his sleep and shivered, before lifting an arm and throwing it
around his neck to cling better.
Nicholai laughed under his breath, disheartened. Clearly, the big bad wolf wasn't scaring the
shit out of anyone anymore. He just stood there meekly, letting the children sleep on him or
play around him. It was surreal and even ridiculous. He cast another glance at the glass,
undecided. Was Carlos staying away from him really for the best? When he saw him,
however, he quickly realized that his Poodle was restless. He had been in his corner whining
until that moment, but something had alerted him and he was frantically looking into the
carriage after theirs. Something was wrong.
"Guys!" Carlos said, backing away frightened. He had seen all the people in the next carriage
raise their heads in a rush as if something had plunged onto the roof. "Guys, something isn't
right!" He added, pulling out his gun. Mikhail was the first to pay attention to him and give
him a tired, confused look. The second was Jill, who instinctively sprinted toward the child.
Then an explosion rattled the entire train, and a shock wave blew the carriage door off,
sending it flying at Carlos and crashing him to the ground.
*** He felt himself falling, and the warmth quickly left him, supplanted by cold, an
excruciating cold that burned and tore at him as the darkness that had enveloped him became
a blinding white light. He had failed. Everything he had worked for. His dream. Their dream
was dead. Al was dead, why should he continue to live? He had only deluded himself when
he had thought that he had somehow survived. If he did, he would have made himself heard.
Alone he was nothing. Alone he was doomed.
"What a pathetic sight," echoed his voice.
But it wasn't his voice; it couldn't be. It was his mind playing tricks on him. Crazy
information that his brain was trying to organize as best it could. Or rather, it was, but not
quite. It was his voice unburdened by the weight of more than two decades.
William felt as if, at least in part, he had regained a body. He could feel the hard floor under
his feet and sense the environment around him. The vision was the last thing that returned but
it was muffled, just like in a dream. By now he was certain, but why had his mind taken him
there? He did not want to. Not again. It was painful. Yet he answered him just as he had done
at the time.
"You cannot see me. You have no idea what a sight I am."
Albert, sitting on the bed in the empty infirmary, had been silent for a few moments. That
long period of convalescence had been the only time William had seen him wearing white,
and only because he had been forced to. He admired him again, feeling the same emotions in
his heart as he did back then. Al sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, with only
the tips of his bare feet resting on the rich marble floor. He had his head tilted back with his
chin pointing just slightly upward in the direction of the large, wide-open window. It was
dark, but on that warm May night, the moon shone brightly, illuminating the room and,
especially him, giving him an ethereal, almost divine aura. So many years later William
realized that had been the moment when he had fallen desperately, hopelessly in love with
him. Sure, Albert had gotten his interest from the very beginning, which was almost as rare,
but love, the real love, the love that kept tearing him apart was born at that very moment.
Painfully. So it made sense that his mind had brought him right back there. His mind was
never wrong, after all. But why?
Al was so beautiful, even at that moment, with his eyes blindfolded by blood-stained
bandages, the only note of color in all that whiteness; but beauty was a relative concept. He
would have loved him anyway, even if he had been disfigured if he had been a monster if
only his mind even remained. Because Albert understood him. At the time, William still did
not realize this, and he remembered more than well the stormy feelings that had swirled in his
chest. So strong, sudden, and unfamiliar.
"You saved my life. Why?" He asked him, and his confusion was sincere, as was his anger
because he did not want to feel indebted to the person who had so stubbornly tried to snatch
from him the one place in the world where he had felt accepted and free to express his
potential. "Why?! From the moment I arrived, you have sought nothing but my destruction! I
do not understand! Say something, Wesker, for God's sake!"
Albert tilted his head toward him as he had done at the time, to give him a sidelong glance
that he could picture perfectly even though his eyes were covered.
"Which god?" He asked him. "There is no god. Not yet. Maybe never."
"What you're saying is nonsense," William heard his own voice respond even though, in fact,
he had understood the meaning of this in the meantime. Back then, however, he was still too
young, too crushed by the shadow of a family that had never understood him, much less
appreciated him. They had stolen precious years from him, considering his genius and logic a
work of the devil. 'Get down on your knees and repent,' he could remember nothing else his
mother had ever said to him, but the belt of his father trying to instill faith in him with
lashings he remembered vividly. He had never known how Spencer had found him before his
parents had died in a tragic fire that had taken them and all the other fools in their community
straight to hell during a Sunday service, but in time he had come to the conclusion that it had
not been an accident at all. Spencer had killed them because he wanted him. Why else had he
never met a social worker or ended up in an orphanage? A lawyer in a pinstriped suit had
taken him to a facility where they had tried to take care of him only to quickly realize that he
did not care at all about the death of his parents. He did not need attention or solace about it.
Then came college, Ph.D.… So many days and energy wasted behind someone else's studies,
and, finally, Spencer's Training Center. When he had met him for the first time, shortly before
admission, William had finally had the whole picture in front of him and had felt satisfaction
in denoting that his process of liberation had not, as he had long suspected, been a joke of
chance but the fruit of one man's labor. Everything that mattered in human history had been
created by wit, and his personal story was no exception. And what a pleasant surprise it had
been to discover that the Training Center was not as boring and redundant as everything else!
What they were studying there had never been tackled by any scientist except their
instructors, and the center served to prepare and skim an elite cadre of pioneer scientists who
would, one day, have their own personal projects. It was a dream come true. A dream that
Wesker had jeopardized from the very moment he realized how smart he was.
This had brought them there, in the middle of the night, to the infirmary hall, one step away
from mutual demise. The rivalry which Al had initiated had become increasingly bitter,
leading them to be cruel to each other but not only that, from week to week they had lost
patience, appetite, sleep, and sanity. Until William, exhausted, had collapsed asleep in the lab
in the middle of a dangerous experiment he had been working on in secrecy to prove, once
and for all, to Dr. Markus that he was the only pupil who deserved attention. What happened
during and immediately after the incident was very unclear. He had awakened as someone
was dragging him away by weight on the floor of the lab, but there was a lot of smoke and
the person who was rescuing him had put a gas mask on him. Something else had exploded in
the meantime, but he had seen practically nothing and was still so exhausted and intoxicated
that he had blacked out again almost immediately. The only thing that he remembered vividly
as he fell in and out of consciousness was someone, a boy like him, howling in pain. He had
awakened two days later in a hospital room with burning bronchus and lungs and a bad cough
but, otherwise, the accident had caused him no further damage. Once discharged, he had been
subjected to a heavy disciplinary measure that prevented him from accessing all classes and
training, as well as, of course, laboratories. Dr. Markus was furious, and he had not been
expelled immediately only because Spencer had postponed the decision until when Wesker
would be better. Only at the interview with them had William learned that it was indeed
Albert who had pulled him out of the death trap in which he had foolishly fallen asleep and
that his condition was critical. The revelation had confused him; the shock had come later
and had grown to become a nagging nail in his mind, a woodworm eating away at him,
especially when he learned that Albert had awakened, and had been transferred to the
Training Center infirmary, but was still in danger of irreparably losing his sight.
"Come," Albert ordered him, leaping to his feet with confident agility. and William felt the
same clutch of panic he had felt at the time upon seeing him climb over the window parapet
and out onto the ledge.
"Don't worry, I've already done this," a snide quip, aimed more at mocking him than
reassuring him.
"If you die I get expelled, come back inside immediately!"
Albert had laughed heartily and did so again in that dream. "Glad to denote that your
priorities are still well aligned, Birkin," he commented, before disappearing past the end of
the window.
William followed more readily than then, but the sense of dizziness he felt as he looked
below was the same, even if it was not real.
"Scared of a little height?" Al taunted him, continuing to walk toward the corner of the
building at a confident pace as if he were not walking on the edge of a chasm, completely
blind. "Hurry up, and stop whining, I can’t stand it!"
Hesitant and staggering as before, William obeyed. Then, it had been the devouring need for
answers that had led him to do that madness, now, however, it was just the desire to be near
him again even though nothing was real. Getting to the roof was much smoother for him than
it had been at the time. It was like a movie transition. Albert was waiting for him just beyond
the step ladder, sitting on the tiles. He was angry and frustrated but, for once, he was doing
his best not to go off the deep end.
William would have loved to sit next to him in search of that connection he had always
shunned with almost anyone else, but he did not move because that was not how things had
happened. Shitting himself from vertigo, he had followed him up there, in his heart also
secretly admiring how Albert was able to do something so unequivocally stupid and
dangerous blindfolded without feeling even a shudder or a hint of uncertainty. Wary as the
young man he’d been, William had stood by the ladder, ready to… To this day, he could not
say what. Clumsy as he had always been, he was unlikely to escape quickly anyway. He
simply did not trust Albert enough to accept his proximity. And between him and a fall from
a building, he’d preferred the latter.
"I heard Markus and Spencer talking. That's why I was there at the lab. There was something
I intended to discuss with you."
"That doesn't change what you did."
Albert gave a grin and then stretched out on the roof as if he wanted to look at the stars.
"Since when does doing what is morally noble cause so much resentment?"
"Morality is nothing more than a bauble for minds too simple to be self-determining. It does
not apply to you or me," William replied to him, feeling an irrepressible melancholy as he
retraced step by step that first of many ideological skirmishes. It had been the first time they
had actually talked to each other, rather than over each other to try to convince an
increasingly annoyed audience of scientists, instructors, and fellow students of who among
them was better.
"The social construct is beneath us. Both of us," William had insisted, troubled by his silence.
“So don’t play the noble hero bulls-
"Which one?"
"All of them."
"You're wrong," Albert had huffed.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, but I didn't bring you here to dissertate on philosophy."
William felt the same burning annoyance as then. He did not like to be denied without being
refuted. A 'you're wrong' without demonstration had no value, but he had let it slide.
"Very well," he blurted out, showing an indulgence he would not usually have granted
anyone only because stepping down from a roof was more complex and frightening than
simply leaving a room. "What were Markus and Spencer talking about?"
"Us."
"And?"
Albert had laughed at his pressing haste. "Forgive me, do you have places to be or other
appointments?" He had asked him, derisively.
"I don't enjoy your company," William had told him flatly, without skirting around it, and,
God, how badly that statement had aged and how heartfelt it had seemed at the time!
"It was all an experiment. Us. Spencer believed, maybe still believes, that the way to success
is to put you and me together. Markus, on the contrary, thinks it's a huge waste of time and
that at least one of us should disappear, if not both of us. Unstable rats. That's what he called
us," Albert explained, keeping his placid, relaxed pose unchanged. "I don't like you either,"
he had continued, "but in the long list of things I detest, being treated like a marionette is at
the top. You come next."
"Your pride will be your downfall," William commented, scornfully.
Albert sat up impetuously, tensing his muscles as if he was doing everything he could to
restrain himself from jumping on him and strangling him. "Says the one who's stomping his
feet like a brat because he's not getting the answers he wants." He paused, thoughtful, and his
lips curved into a noticeable grimace of anger. "At the end of the day, it doesn't matter
anymore. Go away, you're too stupid to understand."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Beg all you want, it doesn't change this fact. You have no drive, you have no ambition, you
have nothing! You are nothing!"
William felt his hands clench into fists. What a nerve Albert had had to call him stupid! And,
indeed, they had both been such foolish boys...
"And what are you now?" He hissed, playing his part naturally. "Just a useless fucking
cripple!"
Even if he knew it was going to happen, William winced anyway, sensing his adrenaline
rising when Albert jumped at him and grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, pushing him
back enough to leave him with just his toes on the ledge, poised over the void with only his
grip to keep him from certain death.
"If I had known you were such a weakling I would have let you croak back then!" Albert
snarled, full of rage.
William blinked and felt panic and annoyance. This was not right. This was not what he had
said to him. He did not like discrepancies. Things had to be ordered. Why were they not in
order? He didn't like that. He didn't like it at all! Yet even his dismay passed, supplanted by a
much more genuine fear when he saw two fiery holes open in the gauze covering Al's eyes.
The all-consuming fire.
The fire of wrath.
The fire of outrage.
The fire of madness.
In the distance, as if in another world, he thought he heard gunshots and shouts, but he paid
no attention. He did not want to wake up. He wanted to stay there with him. Forever.
"'Damn it, you son of a bitch, open the fucking door! OPEN IT, NOW!"
Whose voice was that? He did not know. What was happening? Where was he? Metal was
creaking, there was a stench of smoke and his hands were wet with something warm.
"Jill, take the child and go back! OH, MIERDA! How much worse can it fucking get?!"
More gunshots, nearer, this time. Desperately William looked at Albert, now not only were
his eyes on fire but everything around them. The heat was almost unbearable.
"I'm not the blind one. Open your eyes and fight, you wimpy coward! Open your eyes-
"DAAAADDY!"
His little girl. His sweet little girl. Why was she screaming?
"Because she's dying, you fool!"
William looked at Al in front of him, feeling a knot tighten in his throat. "Swear to me this is
not the end. I don't want to die!"
The flames in those eyes subsided, yet still did not return to the pale blue he knew.
"You know I'm not really here. Don't make unreasonable demands," his rational mind
rebuked him in Albert's voice.
"I-It's too strong, I-I can't control it!" He whined, shaking his head, afraid of the pain he was
going to feel once awakened.
"Weak. I would. You know I would," sneered that summoning. "You don't want to be
outdone, do you? And you don't want to lose that whiny, useless little brat of yours either."
William closed his eyes, heartbroken, and shook his head because his mind, Al, whoever was
talking to him was right. He could not let the monster he had created win. He couldn't let him
take Sherry.
"So, once again, scared of a little height, Will?" Albert asked him for a second time in that
sardonic, defiant tone.
William straightened his head and sustained that vermilion look of his. "Not in the slightest,"
and then grabbed his hand, making him open it.
"Then be brave, my love," he heard him whisper as he let himself fall into the void. ***
When William's eyes got really opened, chaos reigned around him. The first thing he focused
on was a young woman. He recognized her; she was from Albert's team. She was shooting at
him, and behind her, huddled under the seat of the wagon, was his little girl, looking at him
with eyes wide with terror. At the last moment, he deflected his monstrous arm that was
about to strike them and brought it down on the seats, sending them to pieces.
"You would. So I will, Al" he growled and with an inhuman effort pulled back, running over
and flying on the other side of the carriage Chris, who was firing behind him. Only he wasn't
shooting at him. With superior reflexes, he grabbed the tentacle that was about to envelop the
woman who was protecting his daughter and turned his head to look at what it belonged to.
For the first time, his will and the G's were on the same page: that thing had to be destroyed.
Sherry was not to be touched by anything but them. So William consciously unleashed the G.
and it was almost intoxicating. Yes, the pain was still there and he could clearly feel new
muscular tissues being dismantled as others transmuted to heal the wounds that had been
inflicted on them or, more merely, to go and correct all the frailties that a weak human body
had, but the pain was a transient condition that one could get used to. Al had taught him that.
Al had taught him so many things. And he was no longer a sniveling brat. He was a man. He
was a father. A better one than his own. And he would protect his little girl at any cost. He
was aware that it would be the last thing he would do, but it was worth the price. Picking up
momentum with his deformed arm, he sprinted toward that monster born of lesser minds than
theirs, and they both clashed in the center of the carriage, causing it to shake with such force
that it wobbled on the tracks. Carlos, in a moment of lucidity, grabbed Jill and Sherry and
dragged them toward the burning carriage, which, despite the fire, still seemed safer than
being in the midst of two terrifying B.O.W.s fighting each other.
"Chris!" Jill groaned, trying to wriggle out of the way, but Carlos held her tightly and carried
her past the unhinged door, while Sherry, in shock, watched her father, or what was left of
him, howl with pain and rage in that no-holds-barred confrontation.
Nicholai, in the next carriage, stood still in the middle of the aisle, stuck in indecision. The
most rational call would have been to beat a retreat, to run toward the locomotive and put as
much distance as possible between them and the hell that had broken loose behind them. He
saw Dr. Birkin rip the limiter of the Nemesis cleanly off along with a large piece of meat and
felt frightened, which was almost a new sensation for him. He heard Leon gasp behind him
and pulled back an arm to block his momentum. They could not go to them. It would have
been suicide. He had not seen Redfield since he had barked at him to open the door, before
Sherry's father practically pounced on him. After the fall he had taken he was probably dead.
He had thought he spotted Carlos rescuing the two girls but was not certain. He did not know
what to do. Or rather, he knew perfectly well, but he didn't want to accept it.
"We have to help them!" Leon was shouting, trying at all costs to loosen his grip. "Please!
PLEASE! WE HAVE TO HURRY!"
Nemesis slammed Birkin back, clamping his tentacles around his neck, and their fall gave
another sharp jolt to the wagons, causing them to stagger.
"Нет, нет, нет!" Nicholai shouted, seeing Mikhail stand up and fasten C4 around his chest.
He surged forward, alarmed. "Михаил, остановись, не надо!" But the other did not seem to
hear him, or perhaps he did not want to. Terrified, Nicholai watched him advance toward the
two B.O.W.s dragging his feet. "Остановись, урод, ты нас всех убьешь!" He almost begged
him. He had not brought all those kids there to watch them die so that the jerk could make the
glorious ultimate sacrifice no one would live to tell about. He tried to open the door but it
was jammed, warped from the blow Redfield had taken on it, so all he could do was watch
Mikhail pick up the detonator. In his last second of lucidity, Nicholai turned and sprinted
back, throwing himself on Leon and collapsing to the ground with him, holding him tightly in
his arms.
The explosion was devastating and for long, interminable seconds, everything swirled in a
meat grinder of debris, fire, concrete, sheet metal limbs, and guts, then everything went black
for many of them.
Carlos was one of the first to recover, he still had Sherry in his arms and she was fine too, but
he grunted in panic and horror when he saw that the monster with that dangling human head
was practically on top of them. Only after a long moment of panic did he realize that it did
not seem to have hostile intentions. Its long, huge misshapen arm with a large reddened eye
on its shoulder was stretched upward to support the weight of a portion of the tunnel ceiling
that threatened to collapse on them.
"D-daddy," whimpered Sherry, reaching out a hand to graze his face that was now
disappearing under the bundles of muscles of his deformity. The poor man's blue eyes filled
with tears as a broken, wheezing groan shook his large, unnatural chest. He could feel the
bones in his arm slowly and inexorably breaking under the weight of the ceiling and was
aware that he was dying. He had created the G, he knew how it worked. Without all the
damage his body had sustained perhaps he would have been able to maintain control longer,
but the will of the beast was too strong. It was supplanting his cells. It was killing him from
the inside out, and it had practically won. The only thing he could do was take him to hell
with him and not let him win. That was what Al would have done.
"G-g-good night, p-precious," he exhaled toward his beautiful child who had given him so
much joy, even straining to address the shadow of a smile to her that appeared grotesque and
agonizing. With his human arm, he grabbed Carlos, another stranger who was risking
everything to protect his little girl and, therefore, deserved to live, and threw them both back
a few feet near an unconscious Jill. Finally, an instant before the G managed to completely
envelop his face and smother his last glow of will, he released his grip on the ceiling and let
the tunnel collapse on him.
Dr. Birkin, William was dead.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As is now tradition, thank you so much to everyone, readers, kudoers, subscribers,
bookmakers, and commenters.
Jeez, this was really a crappy day, hope you guys are okay! ^^!
Let's get down to business, I got a little carried away with this chapter. When I had
decided in the past that William would also have his stage, I hadn't exactly planned for it
to be like this. I really feel sorry for him, to the point that I sometimes forget that he was
a ruthless scientist who vivisected children. His bond with Albert was really deep, to the
point that to be able to regain control, his mind conjures him up as if he were his
conscience and his compass. In a way, he probably was. Except for his drive toward
science, Birkin has always been a fairly immobile character, complete in himself,
whereas Wesker is an explosion of pure passions: ambition, anger, greed, and certainly
even love, in a twisted way. Winter and Summer, as someone called them within this
story.
William died, sacrificing himself for his beloved child. William died, and now Albert is
alone in the world. William is dead and this fact will shake the foundations of the story
to its end. I would not want to be anywhere near Wesker when he finds out.
As for the other characters, Chris is totally at a loss. He doesn't understand anything
about anything anymore. He is totally burned out. Jill, on the other hand, has fallen into
the mental trap that far too many people, especially women but not exclusively, fall into:
I met this clusterfuck, I love them, I fix them. No, honey. If you're lucky, you're on a
road paved with suffering and incomprehension. As I was also telling a commenter, their
relationship is not meant to please you readers (nor me writing). On the contrary, it must
feel claudicant, strident, and wrong from the very beginning. It is precisely why I put the
tag "bad partner choices," but we will have time to see how it will materialize.
Nicholai is another one who is completely stuck between his ever-growing desire to
protect this handful of wretches, especially Leon (yup, tovarish, you have a massive
crush on the spicy kitten), and his algid, calculating super-soldier setting. In the end, it is
his own emotionality that chooses for him, and it is not necessarily going to be good for
his health, starting with the explosion he took in the back.
What else to say? Now they have split again. Carlos (bless you, you precious saint),
Sherry, and Jill on one side, Leon, Nicholai, and Chris on the other. It's time for the shit
to hit the fan for real.
Thank you very much indeed for being here. Writing this story for you is one of the few
pleasant things in this period.
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 43
Chapter Notes
Carlos coughed, dazed and blinded by the smoke and rubble. Sherry was beside him and was
screaming desperately. She was calling for her father and was completely heartbroken. He
had no time to console her, however. Not at that moment. He had to find a way to get all three
of them out of there before they suffocated to death. Jill was still motionless, and he did not
have the courage to check if she was alive right away. He cast a glance at what was left of the
wagon he had dragged them out of and the answer was nothing. Behind them, everything was
on fire, and in front, the tunnel had completely collapsed; it was impossible for anyone to
have survived. His thoughts immediately went to Nicholai. He had ended up losing him.
"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Lock him out! Lock everything the fuck out!" He imposed himself,
distressed and struggling to his feet. A piece of something had lodged on the outside of his
left thigh, but he was so swollen with adrenaline that he didn't even realize it. Like a caged
animal, he dug his hands through the debris to reach the side of the wagon and hopefully
open a way out. When he caught a glimpse of the broken window overlooking the tunnel
corridor, right in front of a door he thought it was a miracle. He cleared the passageway
better, then returned to the two girls. Sherry had stopped crying but was in shock.
"Fuck...:" He groaned. The moment had arrived. He had to check on Jill. "Please, please,
please don't be dead too!" He begged her, lowering his bleeding hands to feel her pulse. "Dios
mío, gracias! Gracias! Mierda, gracias!" He almost sobbed with relief when he felt it under
his fingertips, strong and steady. Panting, he bent down to load her on his back and then
limped toward Sherry. "Estrellita, we must go," he begged her with a whimper. "I'm so sorry,
so very sorry," he insisted.
She began to cry again and cough from the smoke, but she stood up and followed him.
Carlos kicked open that mysterious door. He didn't know where it led but it sure was better
than there. They walked for a while, then he peered into the first door he found in that
narrow, unfamiliar hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just an empty locker room.
"Inside," he pointed to Sherry, turning on the light. "We'll stop for a while to catch our
breath."
Fatigued by Jill's weight on his back and the pain in his thigh, he limped inside and stretched
his friend on a bench before collapsing to his knees, panting.
"You're bleeding," the little girl murmured, pointing to his blood-soaked pants.
Carlos smiled at her, settling himself into a sitting position. "Don't worry. It's just a scratch,"
he lied. It was not a tremendously serious wound but not a minor one either. He had to get
that piece of metal out first, and he already knew it would hurt like hell, but he didn't want to
worry the little one. He looked at her with a broken heart. She had gone to take refuge in a
corner, curled up on the floor with her knees clutched to her chest. It was all so unfair, she
was just a little girl. A lovely little girl in her school uniform, now all torn and dirty, but at
least she was still alive, unlike the poor little girl he had seen cut in two by that pickup truck,
turned into a horrible monster. Carlos felt like crying again but was aware that this was not
the time. He was the one who had to take charge, starting with giving her something to do. At
least, maybe she would get some distraction from what had happened to her father. What had
happened to him anyway? He hadn't seemed like a Tyrant or even a zombie, but surely the
little girl wasn't the right person to ask. Nicholai, perhaps, would have been able to answer
him, but he was dead. Even the thought of it hurt him. He had lost another friend, although
the Russian had never wanted to be one for him, or maybe he was wrong about that, too.
Suddenly he felt so guilty that he had not given him a chance to explain himself, perhaps
even apologize, just before. Perhaps if Nicholai had lingered a little longer in their carriage he
would still have been alive. Perhaps...
"Hey, sweetie, can you look in the lockers and see if you can find a first aid kit?" He asked
her, chasing away those gloomy thoughts.
Sherry merely nodded and promptly obeyed. Carlos, on the other hand, turned back to Jill.
"Please wake up, princesa," he murmured, stroking her face. "You wouldn't want to leave a
poor prick like me alone, would you?"
At his touch, she frowned a little and then with a groan, squinted her eyes. She sat up sharply.
"Where are we? Where is Chris?" She exclaimed and would have gotten up if Carlos had not
held her back on the bench.
"He's fine," he promptly lied to her. He hated himself for it but making her think Chris was
ok was probably the only way to keep her on her feet.
Sherry, intent on rummaging through the lockers, winced, but before she denied him, she
paused to listen.
"The tunnel collapsed and he stayed on the other side," Carlos explained, giving substance to
that lie, "but we exchanged a few words before I took you away. He said he would look for a
way out and that we would meet..." He hesitated; he didn't know that fucking town. "Mierda,
where was it?"
"At the clock tower," Sherry intervened, rescuing him. She knew lying was wrong but she
was also a smart child and sensed why Carlos was doing it. She, too, would have felt much
better if she could delude herself that her daddy was still alive. Instead, he was dead. Really
dead this time.
Jill nodded, shaken. "O-okay. The clock tower. Makes sense, we were going in that
direction," she mumbled. "Let's move."
Carlos sighed, pointing to his injured leg. "I think I need a minute..."
Leon squinted his eyes. He was struggling to breathe and his back was aching badly. What
had happened? The carriage was almost completely dark and there was something crushing
him to the ground. No. Not something. Someone. Blood was dripping on him. He could feel
the heat of it. He could smell it.
"N-Nicholai?" He called out to him, failing to get him off him. Propping his hands up better,
he managed to disengage the steely embrace with which the Russian was still holding him
and slide him to the side. "Nicholai!" He called to him again, sitting up and shaking him but
the man was unresponsive. From what little he could see he was alive but wounded.
Like an abandoned child, Leon shook him a little more because he did not know what else to
do. When he had woken up he had not even had time to realize what was happening. He had
seen those two monsters in the next carriage and had sprung forward to help, but then
everything had exploded and Nicholai had thrown himself at him to protect him. He was in
that condition because of him.
"H-help!" He cried hoarsely in a low voice. "Please someone help us!" He found the strength
to shout. "Anybody! P-please!"
But no voice answered from the darkness. They were supposed to be safe! They were
supposed to be going out of town! What the fuck had happened? Defeated he burst into
desperate weeping. He was alone again. Nicholai was probably going to die soon, and the
others were already gone. Including Chris and... And Sherry! He had done... He had let
Irons... Why hadn't he fucking croaked instead of her? He was done anyway! There would be
no coming back from what had happened to him! Desperate, he curled up next to Nicholai
and continued to cry in stillness and darkness until he could no longer even do that. He did
not have the strength to react. He did not have the strength to do anything. Nor any reason to
take that step that he and his sole, new friend had talked about.
He did not know how long it had been, whether a minute, ten, or an hour, but at some point,
he heard something snap and crash against the floor of the carriage, a few feet away from
them. Quickly he pulled himself up to his seat and took Matilda out of his holster-he had
retrieved it from the orphanage along with his clothes, before escaping through the window-
and pointed it in the direction of the movement he had sensed. He clearly discerned a shadow
approaching, but quickly lowered the weapon when he recognized to whom it belonged.
"Chris! Oh my God, Chris!" He exclaimed, feeling a sudden sense of warmth and relief. He
dropped the gun beside Nicholai and instinctively surged forward to hug him. He was so
happy to see him that he paid no mind to his grim expression and empty eyes. The punch he
received in the face was, therefore, completely unexpected, and Leon felt as if he had just
been hit by a brick wall. He slumped to the ground like a sack, and for a moment his head
buzzed so loudly that he understood nothing more. Then, with eyes wide with terror Leon
realized that Chris was not home at that moment. He crawled back quickly, narrowly
avoiding a kick that, if it had hit him, would probably have broken his bones.
"Please stop!" He implored him, continuing to retreat and raising his hands prominently. "W-
We need help! He's hurt and I-I can't carry him- l-look, if it's because of that kiss, I'm sorry! I
swear to you, I swear on my life it will never happen again! Please stop!"
But Chris had no intention of stopping. He wasn't thinking straight. He wasn't thinking at all.
Jill was dead. All the people on that train were dead, and it just so happened that the only
piece of shit who had gotten away with a few scratches was that fucking little snake. As if he
and his asshole pal had known from the beginning that their carriage was safe. As if they had
wanted to lure them there. Even Mikhail had said that he didn't want to have Nicholai on the
train. That something would happen and, indeed, it had.
Jill was dead and the lying little bastard was still trying to manipulate him! The time for
explanations was over and he didn't even give a shit anymore about getting answers.
Jill was dead.
He just wanted to see them both dead too.
Without any qualms, he pointed his rifle, pulled the trigger, and growled in fury when he
heard the click go off because he was empty. Leon gave him no time to reach for the gun, or
reload and neither he tried to further reason with him. He rose to his feet, leaped out of the
broken window, and began to run down the tunnel, hoping, thus, to lure him away from
Nicholai. A bullet hissed close to his ear, and he flinched to the right.
"Chris, please!" He shouted, without slowing down and turning into a side tunnel just past the
track switch. "Fuck!" He shrieked when he realized he had run into a dead end. That was one
of the tunnels he had seen blocked on the computer at the control center, and the ceiling
above his head was also unsafe. Terrified, he crouched among the wreckage, knowing he was
trapped, and it wasn't long before Chris caught up with him. He approached him slowly, rifle
aimed and executioner's gaze.
Leon swallowed and shook his head, bringing himself to his knees with his hands raised. "P-
please, whatever you think I did, I didn't do it!" He whimpered, trembling. "It's in your head!
Only in your head! N-Nicholai needs help! I need-
"SHUT UP!" Chris thundered, planting the barrel of the rifle under his chin so hard it ached.
He was shaking like a leaf himself because, despite all the evidence he had gathered, a part of
him still fought to believe in Leon. "W-Why did you do this to me? To us?! He hissed at him.
"Hadn't we suffered enough?!"
The rookie looked at him with bewildered eyes. "I-I-I," he stammered because he didn't know
what the fuck to say to him anymore and he was so tired, so desperate, so hurt! "I
remembered where I read about the G!" He exclaimed, having a stroke of genius, and then
moved to pick up the paper he had put back in his pocket.
"Hands where I can fucking see them!" Chris ranted at him.
"O-okay, okay," Leon obeyed, lifting his arm again. "It was a document I found in the fax on
your desk when you left me alone!" He explained, frantically. "Internal Affairs got back to
you and that's where they talk about the G, about Irons being a rapist and an Umbrella goon.
It's all there. I have it in my pocket, let me get it, please, and I'll show it to you."
"You lied to me!" Chris barked, distraught, feeling tears stinging his eyes, and in saying this
he sank the barrel of the rifle even more on that swan-like neck of his.
"I didn't tell you about Nicholai because I was afraid you would react just like this!" Leon
shouted back because despite his fear of getting killed he was beginning to get fed up with
Chris and his obsession. What harm had he done to him? Why was he raging so hard at him?
It was clear from his murderous look that he was not believing a word. "You promised!" He
yelled. "You promised that you would listen to me if I told you that you were crossing the
line, that you were losing yourself! And that's a fucking understatement for the shit you're
doing now! You've beaten me! You shot at me!" He openly accused him, and on seeing him
hesitate, he even stood up, getting that fucking rifle out from under his face. "And if you're
going to shoot me, fuck you, just do it! I'm going to croak in this shithole anyway!" He
continued to lash out, furious, and as he went on he became more and more hysterical. "What
do you want to hear, huh?! That I'm a spy? All right, I'm a fucking spy! I'm whatever the fuck
you want me to be! Just get it over with! I'm tired, Chris! I'm so fucking tired I hope to die!
SHOOT ME!"
A heavy silence fell between them and they stood looking at each other, motionless as salt
statues.
They were both on the verge of tears, and Chris was struggling, an inhuman struggle to keep
himself from listening to the more reasonable side of his mind. The one that wanted to try to
convince him that Leon was sincere and that the fact that he was virtually unharmed was just
a damn fluke. If they had really lured them there, knowing what would happen, why had they
gotten on the train as well? He didn't want to reason about it; he had made his decision!
Hating was easier, but that trigger he had so easily pulled up to that moment now seemed as
heavy as a boulder. Leon was so damn good at turning the tables! Hadn't Wesker done the
exact same thing? He had been in on it at Spencer Manor, too. He had faced the dogs, the
zombies, the hunters! And that poor soul Lisa Trevor would have killed him if he hadn't
stepped in to back him up.
Chris, help me! His voice echoed from the innermost recesses of his memory, giving fuel to
his anger.
That Leon and Nicholai were on the train was not enough evidence to clear them. His captain
firsthand had proven how dedicated and insane the members of Umbrella were, to the point
that in order to obtain data on the B.OW.s he had not only sacrificed almost all of them but, in
the end, had died himself. Leon could just as well have been playing the part of the scared
and innocent kid as Wesker had played the one of the upstanding and incorruptible captain.
And for Chris, he had been much more than that. Albert had been a guide, a friend, a father…
He had gone deep inside him, to the point of becoming one of the most important people in
his life, and Leon was trying to do the same. He was just a rat. A slimy, crawling worm with
an angel's face and two big eyes cloaked in innocence. He would not be fooled again. He
would not be betrayed again. He was the reason Jill was dead!
Leon, for his part, was beyond it. Beyond all bullshit, beyond all hope, beyond all illusion.
When he had snuggled up to Nicholai before falling asleep, he had even been able to glimpse
that glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, but now? Now everything had gone to shit. He
really didn't care if Chris shot him. He felt tears teetering on the edge of his eyelashes, so he
blinked to chase them away and felt pain from the black eye Chris had given him just before.
He, too, felt betrayed and let down because he had indeed given his trust to Chris on several
occasions and the result had only been an escalation of violence. He had always been adept at
seeing in people only what he wanted and deluding himself for the best. He had been with
that asshole Mike for years, after all, begging for a little touch that was not even distantly
related to genuine affection. With Chris, he had done the same. He had imagined him to be a
different man with a good heart, a poor, hurting, flailing man with a shattered soul from all
that had unfairly happened to him, when in reality he was just another liar. And at that
moment he hated him. He hated him with all the power his heart had in his chest.
"What the fuck are you waiting for?!" He yelled at him, and Chris flinched, alarmed, but
nonetheless, lowered the rifle a little because he couldn't pick a side! Leon seemed so fucking
authentic in his resentment. Jill was dead. He needed someone he could trust, someone who
could drag him out of all that pain but he was so fucking confused!
A deafening rumble interrupted their heart-breaking confrontation, and soon after, the wall
next to them was smashed in by a hideous, van-sized creature that looked so much like an
Alien on steroids. Only on a second glance did they both recognize that it was the Project-N,
mutated even more horribly. Blocked by what remained of the wall, he tried to bite Chris,
who, however, leaped back and began to shoot.
"Run!" Leon spurred him on, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away.
The creature was already wounded and weakened, probably from the clash with that other
monster and the train crash, but it was still well above their capabilities. Chris had no plan
and no resources to come up with one.
"To the ceiling! Shoot at the fucking ceiling!" He was helped by Leon, who once again
proved himself a master at making split-second decisions. He did not even pose the question
of why at the ceiling, he just did it. He noticed later that it was unsafe and on the verge of
falling, so he focused his fire on a particularly fragile spot, hoping it would be enough to take
it down.
It wasn't.
Only a few pieces of rubble fell on Nemesis, pissing him off more. With one leap he managed
to break through the rest of the wall and into the tunnel. Sinking his long claws into the tracks
he turned his head toward them, pulled back its hideous snout, began to run on all fours, and
spread its jaws in a roar so powerful that it sent both Leon and Chris sprawling over the
mouth of the tunnel, at the track switch. And it permanently compromised the already
perilous ceiling, causing it to collapse on himself with a rumble.
Leon got back up and coughed, stunned by the blow and confused by all the dust that had
risen. At least that monster was not a problem anymore.
"Stay where you are, hands up!" The other barked at him, pointing his rifle at him again.
"We're not done!"
Leon gave him the most sincere 'are you fucking serious?" glare, but then his eyes filled with
panic. "'Watch out!" He shouted, lunging forward instinctively. Chris, unbalanced by his
violent push, stumbled into the tracks and ended up with his ass on the ground. He looked up
in time to see a tentacle almost come down on him and then Leon's legs get limp all of a
sudden as he staggered backward. He lifted his eyes, confused, and met his, which were, if
possible, even more confused as if Leon didn't understand what the fuck had happened either.
Then the rookie brought a trembling hand to his chest, just below his right collarbone, and
squeezed what looked like a stinger between his fingers. A surprised, pained little gasp
escaped him as he pulled it out, then the tunnel and everything around him began to swirl
before his eyes. His legs gave out and he fell flat on his back, shaken by violent convulsions.
"Nonono!" Chris cried, crawling forward with a snap. He knelt beside him, frantically
touching him and dabbing at his chest wound in hopes of making that terrifying tremor stop,
but Leon's body continued to jerk violently despite his efforts. His eyes were upturned and
white, and a slimy drool was coming out of his gasping mouth. Until he stopped suddenly
and lay unconscious and motionless between the tracks of that tunnel. "L-Leon..." Groaned
Chris, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him as if it might magically make him
lively again, but it was no use. He was not waking up. Maybe he would never wake up again.
Chris felt what little remained of his world and his assumptions falling apart. Everything
became, suddenly, completely irrelevant as he watched that kid's face turn pale.
"W-What did you do?" He groaned, in shock, continuing to grasp the fabric of his shirt.
"Why?"
He did not understand.
He had convinced himself that he was a spy! Leon had lied to him about Nicholai! He had
proof! Still, no one, no matter how crazy, would get infected to get data!
Either way, the outcome did not change. That inner voice told him, and it was full Wesker
again. You saved neither me nor him. You useless idiot.
As if crushed by the heaviest of pains, he collapsed onto Leon, abandoning his forehead on
his chest shaken by irregular, hissing breathing.
I want to eat these until the day I die! Out of nowhere, that stupid joke Leon had made only
that morning, all happy as he had been about his pancakes, hit him harder than the train
derailment, harder than any B.O.W. could ever have done. There would be no other morning
for Leon. No other breakfast. Nothing. And Chris realized, for the umpteenth time
inexcusably late, that maybe, in the end, he didn't give a shit about whether Leon was a spy
or not. He had sworn to himself that he would protect him, that he wouldn't lose him too, and
instead, he had just tried to shoot him, and now Leon had gotten infected to save his
worthless, shitty life!
Jill was dead, and Leon would have an even worse fate while he was still there. An unwilling
survivor. A broken man beyond repair.
He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even cry or scream so much he was
crushed by suffering and guilt.
And he did not even hear Nicholai coming, until his kick threw him away from Leon, sending
him sprawling between the tracks. Instinctively he raised his arms to protect his face but that
improvised defense was worth little in the face of the Russian's fury. Nicholai struck him in
the face with a steel fist and then a second, a third, and many more. Yet at one point he
stopped short of killing him. Chris twisted on his side, and with the last glimmer of
consciousness saw him load Leon on his back and walk away with him.
He stretched a trembling, bleeding hand in their direction. "N-no... p-please... C-come back!
Don't take him away from me!" He pleaded in a shaky voice gurgling with blood as his vision
grew blurry and that tunnel even darker.
Chapter End Notes
Hello everyone, my dearest ones!

As always, due thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, and bookmarkers. I
really never imagined having so much feedback with such a long and messy story.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Coming to us-what can I say? Carlos once again proves to be the most reliable character
of all and the one with the most sense and good heart. Yes, he also has somewhat
manipulative traits but he uses them exclusively for good. Everyone should hug him,
even when he tells lies.
Chris, on the other hand, just got the most brutal and heartfelt "you don't deserve nice
things" in History. No, seriously, he deserved every punch Nicholai threw at him, and
maybe he should have gotten a couple more as well.
Yes, rationally speaking, he woke up alive and unharmed after a derailment and his best
friend with whom, on some confusing level, he believes he is in love is, as far as he
knows, dead. It doesn't entirely justify how he treats Leon, though, who, poor guy, has
been through far too much to still tolerate his bullshit, but the thing that really breaks my
heart is that the first thing Leon apologizes for is for that kiss he tried to steal from him.
He's still so young and innocent to think that's the problem. Only later does he
rationalize and realize that it is Chris's paranoia. Nevertheless, he saves his ass once
again and takes the "bullet" for him. And it is Leon's childish innocence and his wanting
pancakes the first thing Chris thinks of in seeing him hurt in his arms because Leon is
just a kid while he is an asshole and Chris finally realizes this a little. Just a little. Yup,
he's going to fuck up some more. For the time being, however, he's going to lie down
where Nicholai left him because, hell, he does a lot more damage than the B.O.W.s.
One little last note: it is said by canon that Jill is resistant to the T virus and therefore
resists infection for quite some time.
Well, Leon is not Jill.
Thank you all so much for being here and again my apologies to the commenters for the
delay in responses!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 44
Chapter Notes
Nicholai struggled up the flight of the subway stairs until they were outside. Something had
hit him during the explosion, the door if he had to guess, and from the back of his head he
kept bleeding, but he didn't give a shit. He was able to think clearly, so he didn't have a
concussion, or not one severe enough to really compromise him.
When he had awakened alone in the wagon and had not found Leon he had felt relief that he
had escaped, saving his life, but then he had heard the gunshots followed by the crashing
roar. When he had finally managed to get back on his feet to join him, he had seen Redfield
point his rifle at him and then Leon sprint forward like the bleeding-heart idiot he was to
protect him from that last, desperate Nemesis attack. He hadn't even fully understood what
the fuck had happened, but when he had seen his kitten fall to the ground he had gone blind
with rage. The hand he had beaten Redfield with hurt and his knuckles were completely
scraped and bleeding, but he didn't care about that either. That asshole just had to be thankful
Miss Valentine cared about him but if he met him again, he would not pardon him a third
time. No, he would finish the job and free the world of his existence.
With the sky already beginning to brighten into a gray and gloomy dawn, Nicholai made sure
they were safe before laying Leon on the hood of a car. He had to try to figure out what
exactly had happened to him. A bite generally did not cause such an immediate reaction. Was
it possible that Nemesis had a higher viral load or other toxins? He did not know. He was not
a scientist. No one was giving him that kind of information. He did not even know that
Project-N could infect, nor had he seen exactly how he did it. It had to be a result of his
mutation.
With a tug, he ripped the buttons off his shirt to reveal the upper portion of his chest, and he
did not like what he saw. Leon had a coin-sized puncture just below his right collarbone. The
blood had already clotted and, around it, the capillaries had swollen into a grotesque spiral-
like halo of a bluish color close to black. Nicholai felt the lymph nodes on his neck and, as he
feared, found those enlarged as well. The infection was spreading fast. Leon was already
burning with fever and his skin was beaded with sweat, but the Russian did not panic. He had
little time and had to move quickly. There was no room for emotion. With a pained grunt, he
loaded Leon on his back again. The doctor he was supposed to kill was waiting for him at the
hospital, unaware that he was going there to eliminate him rather than save him. Just like the
scientist at the university, Dr. Bard was also part of the vaccine development team; it was
possible that he had a vial of it, and if he didn't, he would get him to tell him where to
retrieve it in the lab below the hospital.
Whatever the cost.
He wasn't going to let that kid die.

Of course, he was aware that this was a stupid decision, that he would have had a much better
chance of completing his missions and bringing home his skin if he had simply thrown Leon
on the side of the road and forgotten about him. Yet, in the endless list of atrocities he had
committed in his life, he simply could not add that too. Not after all that kid had already
suffered. He thought about Carlos and how they had parted, and he was sorry he had not
taken the time to go back and clear the air, but he wanted to be hopeful. If Redfield had
gotten away without so much as a scratch, Carlos and the girls had probably made it to safety
as well.
"What a mess… Let’s start by getting you back on your feet," he said, casting a glance over
his shoulder at Leon, who, of course, did not respond. Although Nicholai was a loner and
was, therefore, more than used to silence, he really would have liked to hear his voice. And
more, even though he knew it would never happen, regardless of whether he managed to cure
him or not, he realized that he would like to get to know him better.
Just for one day, like that damn song Mitia liked so much said, the one he had managed to
avoid listening to for about twenty years and that, like the Devil who always collects his
debts, had welcomed him on his way to Raccoon City. He was not a religious man, nor did he
believe in the supernatural, but his mother, who had been one, had passed on to him through
her imprint a certain permeability to superstition. A pagan superstition that he generally
shunned, deeming it ridiculous.
Always pay attention to the signs that want to lead you astray, my little Koliasha. The Devil is
clever and holds a grudge. If he does not scare you with his threats, he will try to buy you
with flattery and trinkets.
The one he carried on his shoulders was certainly a beautiful trinket that, without a shadow of
a doubt, had led him astray in the woods but no closer to the Devil. He was already working
for him, and he had a name, a surname, and a patronymic. He was made of flesh and blood.
And still, he appeared less cruel to him than a hypothetical god he did not believe in. Because
if there really was one, then both Sergei and the Devil would have been just miserable
amateurs in comparison with him. The very fact that he was alive and well was proof of that,
when many other people who would have deserved it were ten feet under, starting with his
mother who had never done anything wrong to anyone. Nor did the kid he was carrying like a
penitent in Dante's purgatory. If he had to look at the only bright side, at least there was not
the sweltering mugginess that had been in Colombia when he had carried Carlos to safety.
Neither were the mosquitoes. God how he hated fucking mosquitoes. He would have chosen
zombies every day instead of them.
" Сука блять ..." He sighed an exhausted curse when he saw that double dozen zombies
separate him from the hospital entrance. Running was not an option. Leon was not
particularly heavy, but he was still far heavier than Sherry, and he was much more tired and
sore. Shooting neither because he had lost his sniper rifle, Leon's shotgun was empty and
judging by Matilda's weight, it must have had roughly half a magazine. It was better to keep
those rounds for more emergency situations.
"It will only take a moment, Lev ," he muttered, laying the kid down and grabbing his
crowbar, "I promise."
"This is not exactly how I would have wanted you to take my pants off," Carlos commented
through gritted teeth when Jill helped him undo his belt and unbutton his fly. He had taken
the piece of iron off himself, and in order to bandage the wound he had to be in his
underwear. "But the view from here is pleasant," he added, on seeing her bending down on
her knees in front of him.
"Puta madre!" He shrieked as she mercilessly yanked down his pants and a twinge of pain
shot through his entire body.
Jill giggled, a little sadistically. "Leave my mother out of this conversation," she commented,
soaking a gauze with disinfectant.
"Do you also speak Spanish now? No, no, no! Keep it there, I'm not ready!" He whined,
staggering back before she could press it on his wound.
"I speak French. Mère is mother, putain is a way of saying whore. Not so different. Now stop
being a baby and get medicated!"
She didn't really give him time to counter-argue and ruthlessly lowered the gauze over the
wound, deaf to his screeching. Carlos was lovely but she wanted to get out of there as soon as
possible to be reunited with Chris. The fact that he knew she was alive was certainly a good
thing because it would keep him from doing the worst shit, but from the way she had seen
him just before, Chris was too unstable to be left completely alone.
"What about Nicholai and Kennedy?" She asked, continuing to clean the wound in the hope
that it would stop throwing out blood.
Carlos suddenly stopped complaining and his lively dark eyes filled with grief. He had lied
easily about Chris, but he would not succeed about Nicholai, and Jill read it right on his face.
"You didn't speak to them?" She asked, rhetorically
Carlos shook his head.
“Just Chris.”
"Come on, we're talking about Nicholai. It takes more than a collapsed tunnel to take him
out," Jill tried to hearten him. "Besides, he promised her he wouldn't die," he added, pointing
to Sherry. "He's not the type to break a promise."
Carlos nodded, remaining silent, and Sherry also did not comment. Jill had not seen for
herself how desperate the situation had been. She couldn't know.
"And cats have nine lives," he heard her add just to tease him.
"Fuck him," he blurted out from the bottom of his heart.
Jill laughed. "'Again? You're so predictable!"

"Yeah," he pouted.
"L-Leon is actually very nice," Sherry finally decided to speak. "You should give him a
chance."
"Are you saying this because he is or just because he's pretty?" Jill playfully questioned her.
The little girl blushed. "You didn't have to say that!" She protested, embarrassed. "But he's
also nice," she added.
"A guy full of virtues," Carlos commented, sarcastically. "I hate him so-Fuck!" He gritted
through his teeth as Jill began to bandage his wound. "You're a shitty nurse! You have the
delicacy of a butcher! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! You evil sadistic witch!"
Jill sneered. "Remember it the next time you want to think of me on my knees."
Carlos tilted his head and gave her a penetrating look. "How I imagine you in my lonely
moments is none of your business at all," he retorted with a small smirk. "Excuse me," he
added, pulling up his pants and fastening them.
Jill rose to her feet with a snort but smiled to see Sherry a little confused by their exchange.
She would understand when she was older. "Can you walk?" She then asked Carlos.
"Yes. It hurts like a bitch but I'll hold on."
"Good boy," she praised him, just like he was a big puppy. He didn't seem to take it badly; on
the contrary, he smiled. He was a very rare guy. All the men she had known would try to
disguise pain so as not to be seen as weak. Carlos didn't give a shit about all that macho
bullshit. He was always crystal clear and transparent in showing his emotions. He wished
Chris had a similar disposition. Not so much for her benefit, but because then it would be
easier for him to vent his emotions and get help. She needed to find him as soon as possible.
"How are we weapons-wise?" She asked him.
Carlos shook his head. "We don't have any. I lost my gun and you didn't have it either when I
rescued you."
"Shit..." She hissed, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. We have to move anyway." She
turned back to the little girl. "Can you move, honey?"
"Yes," she replied. "M-my daddy didn't save me for me to stay here. Let's go."
Carlos nodded. "I'll open the line," he said, picking up a large wrench from a toolbox
abandoned in that locker room. It wasn't the best but it would be enough to crack some skulls.
If, however, they were attacked by something worse, they would be screwed. All three of
them knew it but no one said it out loud.
They went out again into that narrow corridor, lit only by emergency lights, and proceeded
without speaking into the half-light. Everything was silent except for the muffled crackling of
the fire that was burning in the tunnel which soon faded completely. When they reached
another door, however, Carlos motioned the two girls to stop. Taking special care not to make
noise he lowered the handle and peered down the metal stairs.
"Clear," he whispered as he began to descend, and with each step, his damn leg sent a twinge
so strong he would cry. Things were not looking good. He was aware that he would not be
able to go on like this for very long but he would do his best to protect them as long as he
could. Jill, who was far from stupid, was equally aware of this. She could clearly see how
much Carlos was suffering, despite how hard he tried to hold back his grimaces.
Should a comrade be injured and unable to move, you will have to leave them behind. Yet
another teaching from Wesker echoed in her head. She remembered clearly that, at that time
he had been countered by a wave of protests, especially from Chris. The only one who hadn't
said anything at all had been Brad and, in fact, he had followed that advice to the t and left
them to croak as soon as he realized what the air was in the Arklay forest.
Oh, certainly, when you are all sitting comfortably behind a desk it is easy to say 'no one
must be left behind.' But tell me, Chris, if, hypothetically, you had a broken leg and couldn't
move would you want Valentine to die with you just to stay there and hold your hand?
She had let slip a snide comment under her breath, and it almost seemed as if she was facing
him again, Wesker, as he turned his head sharply toward her like a reptile.
Dare to repeat? he had prodded her even though it was obvious he had heard it the first time.
"Don't use me for your hypothetical bullshit," she muttered again in a half-voice.
"Huh?" Carlos turned to give her a confused look.
"Nothing," she blushed, "I was just brooding out loud."
Of course, that reckless statement of hers had been followed by weeks of grueling double
shifts, but Jill had remained of her mind. She wasn't stupid, she knew perfectly well that she
didn't have the physical strength to shoulder a man like Chris or Carlos but she thought
herself smart enough to come up with an alternative solution. Carlos gave her a half smile of
encouragement and opened another door.
"Aaand we have company," he commented, somewhere between playful and resigned when
he saw that zombie in the middle of the hallway. He was wearing a white lab coat and had a
dull, stunned expression. He didn't even have any blood on him. He had probably died there,
without harming anyone or suffering any, which once again proved Nicholai's point about the
water being contaminated.
"Sorry, man," Carlos sighed, wielding the wrench as if it were a baseball bat and hitting him
square in the face. The zombie capitulated to the ground in a disheveled manner, and Carlos
wasted no time in finishing him off.
"This will be a new addition to my nightmares..." He commented, looking at that mangled

skull. "But it is what it is, I suppose."
"Maybe he was a colleague of my dad's," Sherry whispered. "He also had a similar bracelet,
but a different color. He had given me one, too, when I visited him at the lab last month. I
wanted to keep it as a souvenir but he said no."
Jill bent to slip it off the scientist's wrist and turned it over in her hands. The wristband was
black plastic and there was a bright blue plaque inside with two white notches.
"What are these for?" She asked the little girl.
"For security, I think. I remember I had to pee so badly but in looking for the bathroom I
mistook the door and the computer lady told me I had to have access level two or higher to
continue."
"What color was yours?"
"Green."
"Your dad's?"
"Violet, as is mom's."
"And you said your daddy was an important scientist, right?" Jill continued to press her.
Sherry flinched at that past tense used so lightly. As if it were a normal, ordinary thing, and
she had not just lost the most important person in her life. Her eyes became sharp and, for a
moment, she thought about making her feel the way she felt and telling her that no one had
really heard Chris, earlier in the tunnel. Yet she found the strength to bite her tongue, partly
because Jill had already stopped paying attention to her and slipped on the bracelet, muttering
reasoning about security systems and the probable proximity of a lab, given the presence of
that scientist.
Carlos, however, did not miss the tension that had built up and of which Jill was completely
unaware. He abandoned the wall he had been leaning against to catch his breath and
approached the child, stroking her little blond head.
"She didn't do it on purpose," he whispered, giving her a heartfelt look.
Sherry sniffled, sullenly, and refused to burst into tears again, but she clung to his hand
tightly. Carlos was very sweet; it did not surprise her that Nicholai was fond of him. He chose
his friends carefully.
"I think he's still alive, too, you know? Nick."
Carlos let out a short nervous laugh. "Don't call him Nick. It pisses him off to no end."
Sherry tilted her head and bent her lips into a mischievous little grin. "I actually think I can
get away with it."
"Oh really? I couldn't."

"I'm cuter."
"No doubt about that, estrellita," Carlos chuckled.
She sighed. "I don't think he'd want you to know, but he's much softer than he wants to show.
And he was so heartbroken when he feared you were dead, at the police station. He kept
looking for you among the bodies in the hall."
Carlos paled a little and felt his heart clench with sorrow and guilt. "Y-you," he cleared his
voice to make it stop shaking, "you really think he pulled through?"
The child nodded. "He also has to take these back," she murmured, showing him the dog tags
around her neck. Actually, she did not want to delude herself much. It was unlikely that
Nicholai was alive, but she was telling Carlos those things for the same reason he had lied
about Chris with Jill. She wanted to give him hope again, partly because she could see how
badly he was hurting.
"I can't believe he gave them to you!" Carlos mumbled, unable to hold back that childish
jealousy of his.
Sherry did not mind and gave him a sincere and warm smile. "'They're two, you can have one
if you wish." She didn't really wait for him to reply and took them off her neck, opening the
hook of the chain to slip one out. "Here, take it. He won't mind that I gave it to you."
Carlos accepted that gift as if he had just been given the most precious jewel in the world.
Bright-eyed, he clutched it between his fingers with the same feverish need with which he
had often clutched that piece of paper with the phone number of his family's hotel. Perhaps
that was what Nicholai represented to him, an extension of his family. A father figure who
had always watched over him though often unnoticed and silent. He had behaved so badly
toward him! Only once, he was aware, but it had been one time too far. He wanted to
apologize to him! He wanted to hug him and get elbowed in the stomach because he
wouldn't! He wanted to be told he was a jerk and a loser again by that harsh voice of his that
in retrospect now sounded so affectionate to him! He was even ready to give the damn Cat a
chance so that he could talk to Nicholai again!
He took his dog tags off his neck and threw them into a corner almost resentfully. He had not
lied to Mikhail. He was done with Umbrella. He kept only the chain to hook Nicholai's on it.
"Thank you," he said to Sherry, "thank you from the bottom of my heart."
And she replied by wrapping a hug around his chest.
Jill, who until then had been examining the scientist's body for clues, turned to look at them.
They were so tender. Unlike her, Carlos was really good with children. Perhaps because he
was a child himself, in many ways.
"I think there's a lab down here nearby," she explained to them. She was also about to
establish a plan of action to go investigate but then looked at them better. Carlos was
miraculously dragging himself to his feet and Sherry was just a child. Besides, she had to find
Chris. There was no time or way to play detective and search for a secret underground
laboratory. They had to find a way to get back to the surface and escape that fucking city,
period. It was astonishing, though, how it all made sense. For years, collapses of roads and
buildings had caused deaths and injuries all over the place. The mayor had blamed it on
supposed underground caves beneath the city, but there was none of that. Just one or more
laboratories hidden under their fucking noses.
"Never mind, let's move on," she said, bitterly, because she had never been so close to finding
hard evidence and couldn't reach it anyway.
"Umbrella won't get away with it," Carlos interpreted her thoughts. "No one could manage to
cover up such a big mess."
"What do you mean by this?" Sherry interjected. Both of her parents worked for Umbrella.
"Fuck..." Jill sighed, looking away from her uncomfortably.
"Answer me!" Shrieked the little girl. Actually, in her heart, Sherry already knew the answer
but did not want to believe that her daddy had been involved in such horrible things. Her
daddy had been brusque, and sometimes rude, but he was not a bad person. He wasn't! His
job was to invent new medicines to make the world a better place!
"The company," Carlos replied to her, carefully dosing the words he was about to utter, "is
not what we thought it was. I mean, it's not just a pharmaceutical company. This virus you
see was created in their laboratories."
"Liar!"
"No, it's true," he insisted, patiently. "That doesn't mean, however, that all the people who
work for Umbrella are bad. I myself work for them -well, actually I just quit- and I knew
absolutely nothing about this pile of shit. And I'm sure your dad and mom are like me. They
just got caught up in it."
Of course, Carlon didn't know for sure, and, from the grimace Jill had made, the truth was
probably the opposite, but Sherry didn't have to know. Not at that moment. Besides, her
father had saved his life, too; he couldn't have been all evil.
They left the room to find themselves in another long hallway. The place looked like an
underground labyrinth but, at least for the moment, there was only one direction they could
go. And it seemed to be uncrowded.
"It stinks!" Sherry exclaimed as they approached another staircase, this time uphill.
"We may be approaching the sewers," Jill speculated, preceding Carlos up the ramp.
"Hey, I'm the one holding the gun," he chided her, playfully waving the wrench.
She smiled at him but was worried. As they continued, Carlos was slowing down more and
more and was pale. Despite the bandage, his leg had started bleeding again. and he was
inexorably beginning to feel the blow.
"I'm just taking a look, don't be a mother hen," she reassured him but in a somewhat annoyed
tone. She was not a child, she could take care of herself.
She trotted up the stairs lightly and gracefully.
"You should invite her out," Sherry suggested in a low voice, witnessing as a bystander the
adoring look he gave the S.T.A.R.S. agent before she disappeared behind another door.
"Don't think I'm not trying," he retorted, taking advantage of the pause to sit down. "But she's
taken. Or rather, she's decided to take someone else. I don't think she could ever be taken by
anyone. She is such a queen. Too much for a poor fool like me."
"You're still better than Chris," Sherry commented, lapidary.
Carlos sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Ouch,
fuck!" He cursed, only then remembering the stitches Nicholai had put on him. "I admit I
didn't like Chris much either," he told her. "I mean, Jill describes him as caring and amazing
but all I saw was a jerk who was only ready for a fight. In any case, it's her choice to make.
Not mine and not yours." He concluded. "But tell me a little about this Cat."
"You mean Leon? Why do you call him Cat?"
"I don't know. It is Nicholai who calls him that. You'll have to ask him."
"Oh, right! He said he saved him from a tree!" Sherry sighed, a little dreamily, as she sat
down next to him. "Leon's so cute."
"Okay, other than that," he chuckled.
"He's a bit of a liar," she admitted, "but, like you, I think he does it for good. I-I... It's just that
with him I felt free to talk about anything, even things I had never told anyone. He is very
sweet and patient, but he always seems so sad. Even when he smiles, he never really does it
from the heart. I would like to see him happy. He would be even more gorgeous."
"My goodness, you really have a crush on him!"
She gave him a glare. "Don't you dare tell him that!"
Carlos laughed again. "Don't worry, I'm not a snitch."
"Why do you dislike him?"
He lowered his gaze, ashamed. "Actually I don't. I don't know him. Christ, I didn't even get a
good look at his face. It's just that Nicholai seems to like him more than me. And it sucks,
after everything I've done to get an ounce of his attention."
"Hmm," mumbled Sherry. "Even if he did, Leon wouldn't be at fault, would he?" She pointed
out to him. "Other than that, I think you don't understand Nicholai very well."
"And you do? You barely know him."

"Yes, but..." She took a deep breath. "M-my dad... He wasn't good at showing affection either,
and when I was little, it hurt me so much. In front of the school, I would see other dads
hugging their children or playing with them, he not only never came to pick me up but was
always so distant and serious. One day the teacher asked us to write a letter to our dads on
Father's Day and I actually wrote him about how much his behavior made me suffer.
Contrary to what my teacher would have wanted, though, I did not give it to him because I
was afraid he would get angry, so I threw it in the trash can as soon as I came home. He
found it anyway, and when he called me into his study I almost peed my pants in fear at
seeing it on his desk." She giggled, embarrassed and sad. "Silly me! He wasn't mad at all, just
very confused. He apologized if his behavior had made me feel bad and then asked me to
explain further. He had canceled all his schedule for me, and although I didn't realize it at the
time, I now know what a big deal it was. We talked all afternoon until late in the evening, so
much so that we even forgot to eat, or rather, he forgot, I was so hungry I would have eaten
his desk but it was so rare to have time with him that I didn't want to tell him. It was the best
Father's Day I could have wished for. He promised me he would do his best if I taught him
manners a-and he kept his word t-till the end," she inhaled sharply, wiping tears from her
cheeks. "Sorry," she whispered, and let herself be held by Carlos' warm embrace. "What I
mean is that Nicholai is a bit like him, though less awkward. The first time I hugged him he
froze like a statue, but as time passed at the police station he was the one who hugged me
first. I'm teaching him manners, too, we can do it together if you like. He's not beyond hope."
Carlos smiled; it was amazing how that little girl had managed to defuse Nicholai and rout
the asshole armor with which he cloaked himself. She had seen straight through him.
"Sure, you'll have all the help I can give," he replied to her, amused.
Where was Jill, though? It had been a long time. Clinging to the railing he pulled himself to
his feet and, fuck, it hurt more each time.
"Do you need help?" Sherry asked him, rushing immediately to assist him in keeping his
balance.
"Thanks," he whispered, "but it's only bad when I get up," he tried to hearten her. "Come on,
let's go find where the princesa went."
Thanks to his willpower he managed to walk up the ramp but still had to catch his breath
before opening the door. Beyond was a metal platform that gave right onto a large sewer
tunnel a few feet below them that continued straight down into a considerable waterfall of
shit and sewage. He noticed Jill at the bottom of yet another staircase and gave her a puzzled
look upon spotting her crouched on the ground around the corner. Jill paled at seeing him and
with one hand pointed to the other side of the tunnel where, on a lower platform, Mr. X was
carefully examining every access. The asshole was doing just fine, according to what Carlos
could see, and if not even Nicholai had managed to knock him down, what hope could they
have? He gripped the wrench tightly between his fingers, ready to do something very stupid,
but Jill beat him to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jump out of her hiding place
and sprint into the middle of the tunnel.
"Hey, looking for me, you big piece of shit?!" She shouted and Mr. X immediately turned in
her direction.
"Good," she hissed between her teeth, "then come and get me!"
Carlos was about to make noise of his own because he did not want to allow her to sacrifice
herself for them but stopped when he felt Sherry clinging to her sweatshirt.
"What-
He pulled back a hand to plug her mouth, and all he could do was see Jill hurling herself
down the waterfall, pursued by that monster.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As usual, endless thanks to all of you who are here to read, leave kudos, subscribe,
bookmark, and comment <3!
So, a notice: I will do my best to publish the chapter next Wednesday but it all depends
if I survive the school trip tomorrow (yes, I should have said no when they asked who
was available among us teachers, why the fuck did I say yes?). Joking aside, it will take
up a lot of my time and even though I have already written about half of the next
chapter, I may find myself short on time. In any case, it will be here by the end of next
week.
Coming to us, this has been a little quieter chapter than the previous ones and a little
more transitional. The thing is, this is another point where I have to be very careful
about the concatenation of events so as not to create paradoxes. Fear not, as early as the
next one the tension should begin to rise again and events to precipitate. We are now
fairly deep into the final phase of the Raccoon City arc, but several bad things still need
to happen.
Nicholai is one step away from the hospital and, as, by now, predictable, he is ready to
do anything to save his kitten's life. I was sorry to interrupt their part so abruptly but,
really, I have to move the other group first. Nicholai's problem is that contrary to what
Carlos thinks, he is not really made of steel. He is starting to get tired and sore and that
is not exactly a good thing. Moreover, his past is knocking on his doors harder than ever.
I know, I'm revealing it to you a few lines at a time in over forty chapters, but I promise
that, sooner or later, it will be Nicholai himself who will take stock and allow you to
really understand it XD.
The song he refers to is Heroes by David Bowie (overused and not particularly original,
I realize but, believe me, I spent half of the last summer looking for something less
famous that would give the same effect and, in the end, I went back to my first choice).
Yes, of course, it's the same song he heard on the radio and caused him that flashback
while he was driving to Raccoon City, and now we even have a nickname, "Mitia."
Actually, perhaps you could draw some conclusions already with the crumbs I have
sown so far, but, as I said, there will be a time when I will clarify everything.
"Lev" is the equivalent of the name Leon in Russian and one of a thousand ways
Nicholai will call his kitten. He will indeed have an infinite number of them as time
goes on.
Things are not all rosy for the other three characters either. Carlos is injured, not life-
threatening, but still, his leg gets in the way of his movement a lot and hurts badly.
Precisely because of this, at the end of the chapter, Jill decides to play hero and jumps
down into the sewers to be chased by Mr. X, giving the other two a chance to be able to
continue on the opposite side. Sherry, for her part, does her best to hold back the darker
sides of her character and keep Carlos's spirits high. As I was also telling a kind
commenter, growing up with William has really allowed her to learn to read people well
and understand what is going on inside their heads. The more they are locked inside
themselves, like Nicholai but also William himself, the better she gets at it.
I will conclude by saying that this will be the part where I will deviate the most from the
main line of events. The fundamentals (the B.O.W.s, the forthcoming destruction of the
city, etc.) will remain, but I may not shuffle the cards a bit as to what some characters
will have to do and suffer.
Thank you very much for everything, as always! Wish me luck for the school trip, also
because the day after tomorrow RE4R comes out
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
Kisses and hugs,
Lady S.
Chapter 45
Chapter Notes
The landing at the bottom of the waterfall was hard and Jill found herself submerged in
sewage. She surfaced, gasping and holding back the instinct to vomit. She had to get out of
there and fast. As quickly as possible, she swam to the platform just as Mr. X landed at the
bottom of the sewage cascade. She hoisted herself onto the platform and looked around.
There was a ladder and, at the top, a door. She might have attempted that route, but if the
door was closed it would have marked her death sentence. She had to think of something
better. She noticed a shaft, about five feet high, narrow in diameter but wide enough for her
to crawl through. Risking getting stuck in there was not a pleasant prospect, but it was still
better than being torn apart by that monster where she was. She didn't really have a choice.
She sprinted in that direction and hoisted herself inside that dark shaft, barely larger than her
shoulders, and had almost made it all the way in when she felt herself being grabbed by the
ankle by a steel grip. She rolled onto her side with a squeal and with her free leg kicked that
horrible monster in the face, miraculously managing to make him let go. In panic and
adrenaline, she crawled toward the darkness as fast as she could without caring where it led.
Behind her, Mr. X was trying to widen the opening. To no avail. The wall was heavy and
solid. There was no way he could get through.
Jill heard his heavy footsteps moving away but did not stop. The shaft continued slightly
uphill and she was forced to plant her toes on that dry layer of excrement in order to keep
crawling forward. She could see absolutely nothing and it was so narrow that she could not
turn around. If she was forced to go back the way she had come, she would have to do it
backward.
"Fuck!" She shrieked, frustrated, as she hit her head against the end of the shaft. She did her
best to bring one arm forward and groped in the dark for an opening, something that would
allow her to move forward. She found a lever and turned it with all her strength, without
thinking about the possible consequences, terrified as she was. Almost immediately afterward
she was hit by a violent flow of sewage that soon submerged her almost completely.
Desperate and breathless, she tried frantically to close the lever again, but the current was too
strong and prevented her from doing so. Hanging on for dear life, she propped herself up with
her heels on the bottom of the shaft and planted her elbows, barely managing to lift her face
just enough to make it emerge above the flow. The air smelled nauseous, and she had to fight
with gasps so strong they were painful. She could not vomit, she could not let go because, if
she did, she would be dragged away and drown there in shit and darkness.
Meanwhile, Carlos had moved in the opposite direction with Sherry, and he was heartbroken.
With all his might he was trying not to break because he could not accept that he had lost Jill
too, much less in that way! Yet he was holding on because at least the child could still be
saved.
Sherry followed him in silence. She did not know what to say to him. It was all so horrible. If
just before she had been able to reassure him by telling him about Nicholai and her daddy,
now she knew there would be nothing she could tell him that could really cheer him up.
Without being able to do anything she saw his injured leg give way and Carlos collapsed to
his knees with a furious groan. He hated being hurt. He hated being so fucking useless! He
covered his face with his hands and Sherry realized he was shaking, so she immediately
threw her arms around his neck to comfort him at least a little.
"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" He apologized, grieving.
"No, no, it's okay!" The little girl hastened to say, rolling one of his disheveled raven ringlets
around her fingers. "Your hair is so pretty and fluffy!"
He made an effort to smile. "Other than me, you're the only person who likes it. Nicholai
would chase me with a pair of scissors if he could."
She giggled. "That would be a fun scene to watch."
Carlos slumped down sitting on the floor, taking his weight off his injured leg altogether, and
looked at her with determined tenderness.
"Now you have to listen to me, honey, okay?" He said, stroking her pretty face all dirty. "I'm
going to do absolutely everything I can to keep you safe and get you out of here but," he
interjected, making a frustrated grimace and shaking his head, "I'm not in the best shape. You
can see for yourself, you are a very smart kid. If that thing comes back or if we encounter
something else or too many zombies I won't be able to move quickly. In that case, I want you
to run away without waiting for me and without looking back, is that clear?"
Sherry shivered and her big blue eyes filled with fear. "B-but-
"No buts," Carlos swallowed and blinked to keep from tearing. "This is what I want. I've had
a shitty life and lost all the people I loved over and over again for a thousand different
reasons. I don't want to lose you too."
"But if you die-
"I'm alive now and that's when we're having this talk," Carlos interrupted her again, clasping
her small hands tightly in his. "And now is all that matters since we don't know what will
happen next. You have to promise me that. I'll trust you if you promise me."
The little girl's lips trembled but she nodded, shaken. "Okay. Okay, I promise."
He smiled at her even though his eyes were sad, even sadder than Leon's.
"And if you happen to meet Nicholai again," he resumed, lowering his gaze, "tell him I'm
sorry. He will understand. Or at least I hope so."
She nodded again and then pulled him into another hug. They stayed like that for a little
while, comforted and, at the same time, appalled by the tomb-like silence that surrounded
them.
"We need to get back on track," Carlos whispered to her, gently pushing her away from him.
Sherry, in looking at him, could not help but think that her daddy was wrong. He had always
looked at people with distrust and disdain, but she felt so lucky to have found Leon, Nicholai,
Carlos, and even Jill, even if she was a little less likable. Each in a different way, they all had
such big hearts and were willing to risk everything to protect her, even though she was
nobody to them. Just an ordinary child. She wished she could introduce them to him, so
maybe her daddy would have real friends too, not like Uncle Al. Unfortunately, that was
impossible. Her daddy was dead.
"Here, let me help you," she stepped forward to support Carlos as he struggled to get back on
his feet. "You can lean on me as we go."
He, in pain, barely bent his lips in an attempt to keep smiling. "Thank you, but I'd rather be in
front of you," he replied to her. "Vamos, imbécil, no seas marica! Que se joda! Que se joda
todo!" He gritted through his teeth to himself, leaning his weight on his injured leg to move a
step that made him see stars from the agony.
They continued through that underground maze until they came to what looked like a dump
of some kind.
"As if there wasn't enough stench in this filthy place," Carlos commented, wrinkling his nose
still swollen and sore from the beating he had taken from Nicholai. He limped over to a wide,
closed metal door and tried to slide it open without being able to budge even a millimeter.
"I think we've reached a dead end. We'll have to go back and try another direction," he
sighed, exhausted, and had just turned around when something large swooped down on them
from over their heads, dragging part of the metal platform above them with him. Carlos
flinched back, miraculously remaining on his feet, and pushed Sherry behind him, lifting the
wrench and standing ready to sell his skin dearly.
"D-dad?" The little girl whispered, recognizing the pants her father had on and that was now
the only thing still distinguishable about him in that mass of bloated, bloody muscle. The
creature, crawling through the trash, lifted its head with a guttural roar, but it was no longer
William's head. It was something else. Something monstrous and completely inhuman, just
like that giant yellow eye on the deformed shoulder. She could not have said why, but Sherry
felt it in her bones that that thing no longer had anything in common with her daddy, and she
screamed in terror as she saw it lurch toward her.
"Oh, no, you won't!" Snarled Carlos, interrupting G's momentum with a violent blow of the
wrench, hitting him more by accident than calculation, right on that big eye. The monster
staggered back with a thundering howl.
"Sherry, run!" Carlos ordered, settling another beating on the thing. "Climb up there and get
into the suction duct! It's narrow, it won't follow you in there!"
"C-Carlos-
"GO!" He yelled at her, distracting himself to give her a look that turned out to be a big
mistake. The G recovered and with brutal violence threw him backward, causing him to crash
against the wall. Sherry, however, had moved quickly and was almost already on top of the
trash pile and managed to get to safety. Without looking back, she crawled up that shaft until
it became too narrow to continue. Frightened and distraught, she curled in on herself and
plugged her ears so as not to hear the furious pounding that monster was giving the wall,
frustrated that he could not reach her.
Carlos, in the dumped room weakly lifted his gaze. He had done it, the child had managed to
escape. He began to crawl toward the door they had entered, unable to get up, and not just
because of his leg. The impact with the wall had been terrible and everything hurt. He
exhaled a choked gasp when the G plunged straight down on his back, and he could offer no
resistance when the creature turned him around like a rag doll and crashed him to the ground,
clutching his neck with the less deformed arm of the two.
Carlos couldn't do anything more than watch that monstrosity. It was over. He was going to
die and he felt like crying. There were so many things he wanted to do. To hug his family
again, and meet his brothers. To hug Nicholai! He wanted to leave that shitty life to get a
normal job and live an equally normal life. Maybe make a family of his own... None of this
was ever going to happen. Beginning to choke, he opened his mouth wide in a desperate
search for air, and at that moment something worse than death happened. The G extended the
appendage of his eyed arm and shoved it into his mouth, Carlos felt it creep deep inside his
throat and pump down a viscous, sickening liquid. Panicked, he clawed at that monstrous
limb, kicking, shaking, and biting desperately to try to pull it out, but he was not strong
enough to succeed. His heart was beating so fast in his chest that he thought he was going to
have a stroke, and maybe he even hoped to. He distinctly sensed something alive crawling
down his esophagus and felt like vomiting but that horrible arm prevented even that.
Then everything went black and he lost consciousness.
The flow of sewage slowly became weaker until it became little more than a trickle. Jill
slumped with her back to the bottom of the shaft with the muscles in her arms and legs
shaking painfully from the effort of having held herself up to that point. She lay there,
panting, too tired even to move, then panic kicked in. She started hyperventilating and had
the feeling that that already tight hell was becoming even more cramped as if those walls she
could not see due to complete darkness were collapsing in on her. With a clenched chest, she
began to crawl forward to escape from there before she had a heart attack from fear. She did
not stop even when she saw the light and threw herself out of there with one last desperate
momentum, proceeding on all fours on the slime floor of the tunnel she had drained. Her
arms gave out and she collapsed lying there in the filth. She was completely covered in
sewage, shit, and piss but she didn't care. She did not have the strength to be disgusted. She
wanted to scream to throw out that tension that was making her heart explode in her chest
but, with the last glimmer of reasoning she had left, she restrained herself. The Tyrant was
still down there, somewhere, and, following the torture she had imposed on herself to escape
the last thing she wanted was to lure him there where she was. Ignoring the weariness in her
limbs and the pain in her side that was slowly becoming unbearable, she got to her feet. Her
eyes were burning from the sewage and she was tearing up, but she could see and that was
enough to keep going. Behind her, the tunnel was a dead end, so there was only one direction
she could go. Staggering a little she moved and had to walk a little way before she saw that
ladder connected to a platform. She had never been so happy to see a fucking ladder in her
entire life. She climbed as fast as she could but almost lost her grip when she was confronted
by a dead soldier. She paused to make sure he did not get back up before she hoisted herself
on the platform. No, he was not infected. Just dead and badly so. One of his arms had been
ripped clean off and the gas mask he was wearing had been lodged all the way into his skull.
He was wearing heavy equipment, heavier than riot gear, but it clearly had not been enough
to save him from whatever had attacked him. He still had his assault rifle strapped to his
chest and a pistol holstered on his belt. Jill plucked up the courage to get even closer -she
needed those weapons- and took the opportunity to get a better look at him. He had no
identification on him, no army rank, nor any logo that would suggest he was Umbrella.
"Who the fuck were you?" She whispered, taking the rifle and pistol off him and beginning to
rummage through the many pockets of his equipment.
She found a stun grenade, two fragmentation grenades, numerous rounds of ammunition, and
a combat knife in his boot. Surely, whoever he was, he had come prepared. She could not
help but think that if he was a member of a third party, then that mess was bound to get even
bigger, but she had no time to worry about it or investigate. Carlos was hurt, and although she
was convinced that he would do his absolute best to protect himself and Sherry, she was not
sure that'd be enough. The very idea of finding them dead filled her with despondency. She
had grown fond of them. She wanted them to live. Sherry was just a child and Carlos was
such a ray of sunshine that the world could not afford to lose. If Chris hadn't been in her life,
she really would have given him a chance. Even if only for a one-night stand. She shook her
head; this was not the time. Quickly, she slipped the belt off the unnamed soldier and knotted
it around her waist to take all that equipment away. She had just finished hooking the last of
the pockets when a cold shiver ran down her spine and she turned sharply. She had the
feeling that she was being watched but as she looked around she noticed no one at all, neither
human nor mutated, nor where she was standing nor on the platform opposite. She decreed
that it was just her nerves being worn to a frazzle and, holding her pistol in her fist with the
rifle dangling in front of her chest, she passed through the only door there was. The room she
entered was clean and no one was there. It looked like an operations center of some kind, but
it was too state-of-the-art to be simply from the sewer system. Her attention was immediately
drawn to the screens on the control console, close to a hyper-sophisticated radio. Especially
when in one she recognized the monstrous creature that had attacked them on the train, the
one with the eye on his shoulder.
"So he is just fine too, great!" She growled through clenched teeth. Why did those fucking
things never die? And what was he doing, for that matter? Only when the G rose to his feet
did she get the answer, and she wished she hadn't.
"N-no!" She groaned, covering her mouth and stepping back. In horror she watched Carlos
lie on the ground amidst the trash as that hideous creature pulled out an appendage, which
was protruding from his arm, out of his mouth.
"NO! NO! NO! FUCK!" She shouted, hitting the console top with a fist.
Nicholai entered the hospital panting with fatigue and barred the door behind him. He had
cleared the area just enough to get through but there was a whole horde around the fucking
hospital. Probably in a panic, a lot of infected and uninfected people had poured in there to
get help and ended up tragically bad.
He wasted no time looking around and continued past the reception where he found several
dead bodies on the ground and only one zombie nurse standing. He was unperturbed and
dealt her a blow to the head with his free arm while he made sure Leon did not fall with the
other. He was checking that she did not get back up when one of the bodies grabbed his leg
and bit him, fortunately on the boot, without managing to make a dent in his flesh. He kicked
him off violently and nearly ended up on the ground dragging poor Leon with him. He was
beginning to be tired and, as a result, reckless. Only a palm higher and there would have been
two of them needing the vaccine. Fucking unacceptable.
"Keep your shit together!" He chided himself with a hiss, continuing on to the next room,
which, fortunately, was empty and was the access to Dr. Bard's office. He approached the
buzzer and pressed it insistently.
"Who the fuck is there?" Thundered the doctor's annoyed voice from the intercom.
"Sergeant U.B.C.S. Zinoviev, I was sent to rescue you and escort you out of town."
"It's about time, asshole! Have you been sightseeing?" the other taunted him, pompous and
rude, rattling the automatic door open.
Nicholai let the rudeness slip over him and crossed the threshold before Bard could leave.
"Who the fuck is he?" He exclaimed at the sight of Leon. "You brought a fucking infected in
here?! Are you insane?!"
The Russian snarled something unintelligible, cleared one of the desks with a flick of his
hand, and laid Leon down on it.
"Cure him," he growled. "Or we're not going fucking anywhere."
Bard looked at the kid with an expression somewhere between annoyed and curious. "I don't
see any bites. How long has he been infected? I'm still trying to figure out how this fucking
mess got started."
"It wasn't a bite," Nicholai replied, more cooperatively, reopening his shirt flaps to show him
the wound.
"Uh, that's interesting. Was it an animal?"
"It was Project-N."
Bard burst out laughing. "So they really did it? What dickheads! I've told them a thousand
times: we can control a virus, but a fucking parasite is a nasty bitch! We won't make it able to
infect, they said. Assholes."
"I don't give a shit about any of this pile of crap. Can he be cured?"
Bard shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose. The base is still the T, but this guy is in a pretty
advanced stage." He sighed, annoyed. "Let's cut the drama, I have a vial over there, I'll get it
for you and you get me out of here like the good-for-nothing trooper you are."
The doctor, unwary, turned his back on him. He only managed to take a step before Nicholai
lunged at him and with a quick grip broke his neck cleanly. The Russian threw him to the
ground without any care and continued into the adjacent small room. It was not difficult to
find the vial; it was bright purple in color. He also took a syringe and prepared it, before
returning to Leon.
He could not help but look at him with anguished tenderness. His kitten was so young and
helpless at that moment. He had stopped shaking, but his face was completely covered with
sweat and his eyes were tearing blood.
"It will be alright," he told him and could not resist the temptation to stroke his face to brush
a lock of blond hair away. Fuck, he was pretty indeed, even whit that black eye. Did Redfield
consider himself a fucking hero for beating the shit out of a kid half his weight? No, probably
not. Wanting to be a hero had nothing to do with his actions. In fact, Nicholai realized,
perhaps he was partly responsible for what had happened to the kitten. As he had correctly
guessed, Redfield was out for revenge and believed that Leon was, in some way, connected to
Umbrella, as Miss Valentine had confirmed to him. Having seen them together had set off
that spark that ignited the fuel of his resentment. Nicholai understood that. Of course, he did.
He had done far worse than beating up a kid when it had been his turn to get revenge, many
years before. He had destroyed an entire family, killing every single member of it before the
eyes of the man who had taken everything from him. He had done abominable deeds of
which it would have been foolish to be ashamed after so long. He was well aware that he was
not an honorable man, as the poor, late Mikhail never failed to remark, albeit for the wrong
reasons. Yet Nicholai despised Redfield for retracing his own steps. He was on the other side
now, and he knew more than well that revenge had given him nothing back. However, unlike
him, Redfield still had someone who cared about him, Miss Valentine, to begin with, and if
he had continued down that path he would have lost everything, her included. He was just a
poor moron, and one thing was certain: if he even looked at his kitten the wrong way one
more time, he would kill him.
"And I bet you wouldn't like that, would you?" He asked the sleeping kid.
He traced the side of his face with the point of his fingers, feeling free to admire him for a
while. What harm could it do? He didn't mean anything inappropriate, especially after what
Leon had suffered from that pig. On second analysis, Irons would have deserved to suffer
more before he croaked, but he was gone now, so that was okay. He knew that his kitten's had
been a spur-of-the-moment murder, nonetheless it had surprised him because he had never
expected him to be capable of such a thing.
"This is why you are a cat," he sighed, wiping away with his thumb a tear of blood that had
run down his cheek, "you fight back even though you are tiny and-
Leon suddenly barred his eyes with a snarl and grabbed him tightly with both hands, then
opened his mouth wide and bit him deep on the inside of his right forearm, sinking his teeth
into his flesh.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, due thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, and bookmarkers,
plus, of course, commenters. To you, again apologies, even today I responded at the very
last because I had a meeting yesterday that I had completely forgotten about. I survived
the school trip and so did all the kids. I would call that a success.
Coming to us. Yes, I am a bitch XD! I know you think so, so I'm anticipating and telling
myself that. I have definitely left you in suspense with both situations.
Let's go in order. Carlos was infected with the G. This was not a sudden decision, it was
planned before I started publishing. It goes without saying that because he is not
genetically compatible with the late Dr. Birkin, things do not exactly turn out for the
best for him. We all know that the G either kills the non-compatible hosts or turns them
into incomplete creatures.
Who would be cruel enough to endanger a ray of sunshine like Carlos in this way? Well,
I am. Sowwy!
Our other lucky infection winner is Nicholai, who loses his grip, gets softened up by the
cute wounded kitten, and gets bitten like a jerk. Poor, poor Silver Wolf, this is what
happens when you stop being a war machine for a moment and become human again.
Who ever said redemption arcs should be easy and painless?
Jill didn't have it so good either. Poor thing, she will be left with the trauma of that
conduit for life and I feel for her so much. Risking getting drowned is bad, risking it in
sewage is worse. Also, she has felt watched. Are we sure they are really alone down
there?
There is not much more I can say at the end of this chapter that would not be spoilers, so
I am forced to close it here.
Sorry for the cliffhanger!
A big hug and endless thanks to all of you!
Lady S.
Chapter 46
Chapter Notes
Nicholai leaped back, freeing himself from Leon's grasp with a violent tug, and immediately
pulled Matilda from his belt. Yet, when he took aim, he did not find himself facing a zombie,
only a very confused and weak Leon wandering with his eyes around the room trying to
figure out what was going on. Paralyzed, Nicholai saw him bring his fingers to his chin
dripping with fresh blood and then his blue eyes fill with horror and fright at the idea of what
he had just done. Feebly Leon moved to get off the desk with a distraught look on his face.
"Stay where you are," Nicholai ordered him more harshly than he would have wanted. He
was pissed off but not at the kid. At himself.
The virus consumes you and tries to take control. He may bite you and realize it only after he
does. These were the exact words he had warned Sherry with at the police station! Fucking
hell! How could he have been so stupid?! He had acted like an amateur! As if he had no
goddamn clue about the procedure to follow!
And now they were in deep shit because he was an unforgivable asshole!
Leon slumped over the desk and burst into sobs.
"I-I'm sorry!" He cried. "I didn't mean to! I didn't! I'm sorry!"
Nicholai took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but when he moved a step forward, Leon
crawled back abruptly.
"N-no! Don't come any closer!" He exclaimed in a choked voice. "I still want- A loud cough
shook him and blood splattered on the desk top. He felt terrible but the most unbearable thing
was the tremendous, unimpeachable hunger he felt. A sense of starvation he had never
experienced in his life. It was a horrible feeling. Although he was still able to reason and
realize how wrong it was, he felt, within himself, an irrepressible urge to attack Nicholai
again, to sink his teeth into his flesh and tear pieces from his body to devour them. Just the
thought of it should have made him want to throw up; instead, it increased his salivation. His
blood tasted good in his mouth and he longed for more. He was becoming one of those
monsters!
Nicholai did not listen to him and stepped forward, holding Matilda firmly in one hand and
the syringe in the other.
"No! Away!" Leon growled, using his last strength to take refuge in the opposite corner,
slamming into the pc monitor and knocking it to the floor with a loud crash. Only then did he
seem to notice the syringe and blinked. "I-is that a cure?"
"Yes, now let-

"No, wait," Leon interrupted him. There was something in the gravity of Nicholai's gaze that
made him suspicious. "It's not the only one there is, right?" He investigated.
"Of course not-
"Don't fucking lie to me!" Screamed the kid, throwing the keyboard at him to keep him from
getting closer.
The Russian deflected it with a swipe of the arm with which he held the gun and huffed,
impatient. "Come here."
"No!" retorted Leon, stubbornly, and he retreated so far back that he tumbled down from the
desk on the other side, or perhaps he did so on purpose so that Nicholai, to reach him, would
have to go around. "N-now I want you to listen to me." Shit, his fever was so high he was
having a hard time even lining up two thoughts but he had to tell him those things. He
fucking had to. "I have no one! Nobody cares about me! And I know you're lying!" He
blurted out, coughing up more blood. "It's okay!" He exhaled with a long, hissing breath. "I-I
mean, use it on you... Please, please, please use it on yourself!" He begged, lifting his head
toward him as he saw him pass the corner of the desks. "J-just..." A sob broke his voice as
more tears of blood poured down from his infected eyes. "P-please kill me now. I don't want
to b-become one of those t-things. I-I don't want to hurt anyone anymore!"
The mask of stern stoicism that Nicholai had held until that moment came crashing down,
and he found himself beyond that door at the top of the stairs, with the AK weighing like a
boulder in his hands. He smelled that musty, damp stench again, saw that broken rope
dangling from the rafters and that fucking song still playing at a deafening volume with the
record player scratching on the vinyl. Just as if he were there again.
-'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact-
In Leon's place was another kid on the floor with the other piece of rope around his neck. He
hadn't even been able to make a proper noose. Nicholai had not wanted to think about his
face for twenty years, and it was disarming and atrocious for him to realize how clearly he
could remember it. His blond hair, his green eyes, that slightly aquiline nose, and those
skinny cheeks crowned by sharp cheekbones.
Leon did not look as much like him as he had seemed when he had first seen him in the
woods but that was irrelevant. If there was a Hell, he was now in it, and Judgment worked in
mysterious but inexorable ways.
No, no, no! What are you doing here? You should be in Leningrad! Far away from here!
Mitia had shouted at him loudly enough to overpower the music when he had thrown himself
at him to remove the noose from his neck and flung it away. They are coming! They will
arrest us again! No! Don't touch me! You must leave! You must leave now!
Hurriedly he had gotten back to his feet and grabbed him by the arm to drag him to the
landing, deaf to what Nicholai had tried to answer to calm him down. There they had heard
numerous footsteps coming up from the lower floor, and Mitia had panicked. They had taken
refuge inside again and barricaded the door. It was at that moment that Mitia had begun to
implore him, to tell him that he did not want to go back to prison, that he was not as strong as
he was, and that he could not bear to end up in that hell again. That was why he had tried to
hang himself. He had confusingly and erratically explained to him that he had done it because
he was protecting him and because he believed that at least he was safe in Leningrad, where
they had promised to meet the following week. Then he had confessed to him that when that
agent had cornered him it had been he who had given the names of their fellow anarchist
friends in exchange for immunity for himself and him, but it had been no use because that
jackal wanted them all. Nicholai, who had been nothing more than a foolish and frightened
eighteen-year-old boy too, had been crushed down by all of it: his love for Mitia, his anger at
how he had betrayed them all, his fear of getting caught and going back to prison where he
had sworn he would never set foot again because he would rather die, his terror of what they
would do to Mitia if he went back in there and ended up in a cell far away from him... But
everything had been swept away by Mitia's mad, hysterical prayer.
Если ты меня любишь, застрели меня! Пожалуйста, Ника! Пожалуйста, убей меня !
He was deaf to every reason, to Nicholai's protests, his tears, his telling him that he couldn't
do it, that he didn't want to! When the police had started banging against the door to break it
down Mitia had kept telling him that if he loved him he had to shoot him. Please, Nika! -
Пожалуйста, Ника! and had even got down on his knees in front of him, mad with terror
and that damn song that wouldn't stop playing!
-Though nothing, nothing will keep us together, we can beat them-
In the end, when the door, behind him, had broken down, Nicholai had done it. He had pulled
the trigger, killing the only precious thing he had ever really had in his life, thus hoping to
spare him from future torment and condemning himself for eternity.
As the echo of that single shot slowly came to silence, the contours of Dr. Bard's office
regained texture and the memory faded along with that bloody song. Now there was another
blond kid at his feet, barely older than Mitia, who was making the same selfish, bullshit
request of him! Did those two assholes have any idea what it was like to carry the burden of
surviving with that guilt on their shoulders?
He was sick of it.
He put Matilda away and advanced with furious determination.
"No! What are you doing? I told you-" Leon shrieked as Nicholai grabbed him by the hair to
hold him still and then plunged the needle of the syringe into his arm, injecting him with the
cure. Whether he wanted it or not was none of his damn business. It was not his decision to
make because he was just a stupid kid who didn't know shit about life! But the Russian
crouched down on the ground when Leon started coughing again and held him tightly in his
arms, breathless and upset.
"W-why?" Whined the rookie in a whimpering thread of feeble voice, for he was losing
consciousness again. "I-I have no one, n-
"You have me," Nicholai corrected him sternly and repeated again when Leon pulled back his
head to give him a surprised, apologetic glance, though also warm with affection and
gratitude.
"And no matter what happens, you have to keep going. As we said, one step after another,"
Nicholai continued, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you understand?"
Leon nodded weakly and snuggled against his chest before he succumbed to fever and
blacked out again.
Nicholai remained where he was with him in his arms, trying to calm down. As absurd as it
sounded, being infected was the least of his thoughts at that moment. How the fuck had he
found himself in that situation? Overlaying a kid he had just met with the keystone of his
entire existence for better and, more importantly, for worse? There was a reason why he had
locked everything about Mitia in a dark, hidden corner of his mind. It hurt. It fucking hurt,
but he wasn't going to cry. He wasn't even sure he knew how to do that anymore. The last
time he had done so was when they had ripped him from his body to arrest him and, in the
course of the same day, had made him witness the execution of all his friends, when that pig
agent, the same one who had grilled Mitia until he betrayed them, had shot them in the head
one after another. It had been the last time he had shed tears, and he too, in a sense, had died
that day. The most tragic thing in that whole affair was that they had done nothing wrong.
Yes, they were a small group of anarchist dissidents, and yes, they had a few weapons that
they had managed to swipe, but other than a few pamphlets they had never hurt anyone. They
were just wretches who had formed a little group deluding themselves that they could make
their country better. They had nothing to do with the bombing for which they had been found
guilty without even a trial. It was just that that incompetent asshole from the 5th Chief
Department of KGB needed culprits to keep from losing his job. In any case, after the
execution he had been taken to the labor camp and had really become an animal, even more
so than in prison, surviving tooth and nail for about three years while trying to find a way to
get out of there and get revenge on a man he didn't even know the full name of.
The first time he had looked at himself in the mirror after Sergei had pulled him out of the
freezing pit they had locked him up in to punish him -or perhaps because they hoped he
would finally croak-, Nicholai had hardly recognized himself. Not only because of the dirt,
his terrible thinness, or his unkempt beard but because his hair, which he remembered as
black, was now gray even if he was barely twenty-one years old. He had no idea how it had
gotten that way, nor whether it had happened suddenly or over time. Серебряный Волк-the
Silver Wolf had been born that way, out of grief, starvation, torture, and hatred, and that was
how Sergei had baptized him.
Fucking hell, he had lost everything because of a single lawman and now he was there trying
to save another one. Life certainly had irony.
With a sigh, he lowered his arm to take a look at the bite Leon had given him. It was deep
and must have reached the muscle because it hurt like a bitch. From the way the blood had
clotted, it was clearly infected, but he was not particularly concerned. The lab was right under
their ass, after all, and, contrary to NEST, he had full access to it. He would find a vial for
himself.
"Did you want to give me a new scar to show off, or did you just want to leave your mark on
me, you bad kotenok , huh?" He asked Leon, laying a hand on his forehead to feel his
temperature. He still had a bad fever, but he seemed less hot, and his breathing was becoming
more regular, too. The serum was working and he felt incredible relief.
"Let's go," he said and was about to load him back onto his shoulders when the static noise of
the radio made him wince. He had even forgotten he had it on him, thought he had left it in
his duffel bag or had long since lost it.
"...anyone… copy? Please I... Help!"
"Miss Valentine?" He replied, confused. He could not hear her well. Where was she
contacting him from? The center of the earth?
"Oh… fuck...ank God!" He heard her exclaim and it was clear that she was in distress.
"The signal sucks, move over and try again!" Nicholai instructed, trying to reason with her.
"Can't... Carlos... been infected! ...need help!"
Nicholai's blood froze in his veins. "Infected by what?! Where are you?!"
"Nicholai...hear me?!"
"Yes, I need you to calm down. I hear you but barely and if you keep screaming I won't catch
a word. I need coordinates and intel!"
More static and, for a terrible moment, Nicholai feared he had lost the signal until Jill's voice
emerged from the noise. "...Sewers. Seems like...dump room...Reach him... Help!"
"What infected him?" Nicholai repeated the question, feeling a knot of anguish tightens in his
stomach.
"...Thing...big eye...Hurry! Shit…I… go…"
"No, wait!" He tried to stop her to get more information, but now there was only silence.
Miss Valentine was gone.
Alarmed, Nicholai rose to his feet, leaving Leon temporarily on the floor. He had not felt so
anxious in a long time. What was he supposed to do at this point? Perhaps he had figured out
the place Miss Valentine intended and it was not close. He tried to assess all aspects of the
situation. The lab was right below him but it would take time for him to find a vaccine for
himself and during that exact time Carlos might die.
A dump room, a dump room, a dump -there was something like that somewhere in the
sewers, near the cable car that led to NEST. Obviously, the two labs were connected, but he
did not have the bracelet, so even if he reached the NEST he would be stuck there without
being able to access it and continue to the sewers. The only other way in he knew of was in
one of the alleys near the police station and maybe even the locked door he and Sherry had
found in the basement but that was not a certainty.
It was madness.
Assuming he could reach Carlos in time, was there a cure for whatever Dr. Birkin had
become? He was not a scientist, but he had monitored enough B.O.W.s to realize that this was
something completely different from zombies and Tyrants, so the vaccine for the T was likely
to be completely useless. He needed intel. He picked up the satellite phone, aware that he was
about to screw up yet one more time on that mission, and called Sergei. Fortunately, it was
not he who answered him but one of his subordinates.
"Silver Wolf here," he said in a tone that did not betray his turbulent emotional state at all, "I
am in pursuit of the mercenary Wong but I need specifics. A B.O.W. I believe to have been
Dr. William Birkin is on our trail. I need to know what he was infected with, how I can kill
him, and if there is a cure," he said, then proceeding to describe the monster in detail.
The poor bugger on the other side hesitated for a long moment. He had a young voice but the
Russian did not know who he was. This kind of information is classified. I can't share it with
you, sir.
Nicholai huffed, impatient, even though he knew that answer would come to him. "May I
know to whom am I speaking?"
L-lieutenant Weiss, sir.
"And do you know who I am?"
Y-yes, Sergeant Zinoviev...
"Very well, Lieutenant Weiss. I will inform the colonel that it was you who withheld critical
information to the success of this mission and that, therefore, I was unable to carry it out as
he requested. Silver Wolf ou-
No, wait! The poor man begged him. I have a family and my son was born last week, please,
sir-
"I see no other solution," Nicholai interrupted him, ruthlessly. "You cannot give me the
information I need because it is above my clearance. Khorosho. I understand. Don't worry,
I'm sure Tovarish Polkovnik Sergei Vladimirovich will be sympathetic to your situation, too."
And that was probably the biggest bullshit he had ever said in his life. He knew it and so did
his unfortunate interlocutor who in fact gasped in dismay. That was the reason why he had
put some Russian into his sentence and Sergei's full title and patronymic. For some reason he
ignored, his using his native language scared the Westerners shitless many of the times, and
he wanted that kid to be scared.
Scared enough to give him what he wanted.
Give me a second, sir, he heard him whisper in an almost conspiratorial voice, followed by
frantically typing on a keyboard. Golgotha virus, created by Dr. Birkin as a result of-
"I don't need the whole research process. Get to the point: vulnerability and cure," Nicholai
guided him, pacing the room like a caged lion.
More typing.
T-there's no combat data. I-I think this is the first time this virus actually works.
"Never mind, I'll put him down somehow. Cure?"
Yes. A serum has been synthesized. It is at NEST but has never been tested , the lieutenant
replied. But, sir, he added in an even lower voice. If y ou have been infected, the outcomes are
not good. According to what I'm reading, the virus kills the host almost immediately if not
compatible, whereas, if only partially compatible, it mutates them into, well--it just says
'failure' here.
"In how much time?"
Between two and three hours, Weiss answered him in a trembling voice.
Nicholai was silent for a long time, casting a conflicted glance at his watch.
Sir, are you still there?
"Da, that's all."
Y-you're not going to tell the colonel anything, are you? I helped you! S-sir-
Nicholai did not even answer him and ended the conversation. He put the phone back in his
belt and then looked at the bite on his forearm. In the best-case scenario, Carlos had roughly a
little more than a couple of hours to live; he, on the other hand, had no idea how quickly the
infection would move. Certainly not as fast as with Leon, otherwise he would have already
had a fever or other symptoms, but even then it all depended on a genetic lottery. Leon was
probably particularly vulnerable to that kind of virus.
What about him?
It was useless to make predictions because he already knew everything. He had been in
charge of that monitoring and had written dozens of pages about it in his reports. He had seen
the T virus infect and kill the host in weeks, days, hours, and, with Lev, even less. There was
no exact timeline and, in any case, it was not the right question for him to ask himself in that
situation. Rather, was it worth risking everything to go to Carlos with no guarantee that he
could do anything for him but see him die or kill him himself? Was it worth leaving Leon
there in the hospital while he slipped into a mission that not even the worst idiot would
consider? Was he not thereby risking losing him instead if not both of them?
He had no idea what to do, and although he was well accustomed to handling tension he
could feel something that seemed tremendously like panic running under his skin.
Chris opened his eyes again and rolled onto his stomach with a grunt of distress. His face, his
head everything was tearing him apart. He heard footsteps and struggled to rise to his seat.
"L-Leon?" He called, peering into the dimness of the tunnel, but when he looked closer, it
was just a zombie staggering toward him. He was wearing a subway uniform and had been,
probably, the driver of their train. Why had he turned? How had this happened? Chris had no
idea, but it hadn't seemed to him that there were zombies on the train and, in any case, it
would have been too quick a turn. When he had read that janitor's diary and then the
scientist's diary, it had seemed to him that it would take days if not weeks for the virus to kill
the infected. Yet, if he looked around, it was evident that the T had spread through the entire
city much more rapidly, but if the machinist was a carrier of it and had been transformed
because he died on impact, did that mean that every single person in Raccoon City had been
infected without being bitten? What about him? Could he have been infected as well? The
very idea made his stomach twist, but it was possible. How, though? Food or more likely
public water. He tried desperately to remember if he had drunk any in the past few days.
Probably not, since the events at Villa Spencer when it was going well he had been guzzling
beer when it was going badly he had been drinking whiskey. Water had long since
disappeared from his menu, and he certainly had never stuck to the faucet of the filthy motel
bathroom, that was for sure. Yet the knowledge that he was healthy brought him no comfort.
The image of Leon writhing in convulsions kept replaying before his eyes, and despite all his
suspicions, he could not forgive himself for what had happened.
Almost without thinking about it, as if it had now become an automatism, he gunned that
zombie down and struggled back to his feet.
He had to find him.
He had to find Leon at any cost because, after all, what else did he have left? Jill was dead,
the city was finished, and although he knew there was no cure and nothing he could do for
him, the rookie was the only thread of hope he could still cling to.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As I do every time now and will continue to do until the end of this story, my most
humble thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmakers, and
commenters!
We finally have some more concrete details about Nicholai's past, it's still not everything
but we are beginning to understand more about it. Mikhail did not lie to the others when
he told them that Nicholai had killed even his 'best friend' (implying, of course, lover)
only he did not know the whole story. To this day, Mitia's is the only murder for which
Nicholai cannot forgive himself and for which, in all likelihood, he never will. Some
twenty years have passed and he is long past the stage of 'what would have happened if I
hadn't done it' and had managed to shut everything out of himself until the combination
of hearing the song on the radio and seeing Leon opened that crack that is ultimately
making the whole dam come down. There are a series of internal micro-connections, in
short. He hears the song, has a flashback, sees a policeman, kills him in cold blood, and
then meets Leon. Nicholai started crumbling right there in the car.
Two words about Bowie's Heroes. I love David Bowie but, for some odd reason, Heroes
is not in the pile of my favorite songs and maybe that's part of the problem I've struggled
so much with accepting it and seeking out so many other songs before returning to it. By
the rules of Ao3, I can't put the lyrics (a matter of rights and copyright) but I also didn't
want to do it in its entirety, just a few meaningful sentences. In the unlikely event that
you do not know it, I invite you to listen to it (regardless of the story and Nicholai, it is a
good song).
Getting back to business, Leon, who already basically reminded Nicholai of Mitia,
makes the exact same request to him, i.e., to kill him, and our Russian completely loses
it, forgets common sense and his individualism, and cures him. Certainly, this will affect
not only Nicholai who, for now, is fine but also Leon himself. Up to this point, we have
seen Nicholai taking care of his kitten because woe betide anyone who touches him, but
what will happen when Leon sees someone or something threaten the only person who
has ever shown him unselfish affection and offered protection? The only thing I can say
is that, sooner or later, we will see how strong and fiercely the kitten can bite.
And then there is Carlos. Nicholai's other puppy. At first, when he rescued him in
Colombia, it was actually not about Carlos at all. Exactly like Leon, seeing him as the
only survivor among his fellow soldiers threw him back into the past, and reminded him
of himself. If when he was young and inexperienced he had had no choice but to suffer,
in Colombia he had all the means and tools to kill all those motherfuckers. The reason
he kept Carlos at a distance later in the States was precisely that he was too close for
comfort. Or, in other words, too close to a life Nicholai left behind, which he wants to
forget and which ended in the worst possible way.
But now his poodle is also in danger, and since it was already quite obvious that he
would use the cure on Leon and not himself, it is equally obvious that he will go to
Carlos. Unfortunately, this will take him away from the laboratory where he would
surely have found a cure for himself.
Sorry for this long recap on Nicholai's past. I did it because I cannot expect you to
remember all the little details that I have sprinkled in over 45 chapters and about 200k
words so far, so it seemed only fitting to give a summary.
Also, Chris, our sleeping beauty, has awakened but it will be a while before he returns to
making catastrophes. He is one of the things that tense me up the most, far more than G,
Nemesis, and Mr. X!
Thanks again everyone for being here, see you next week!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 47
Chapter Notes
Jill let go of the radio and returned her focus to the camera screen. She had heard a short
burst and then an explosion not too far from her and wanted to figure out where they were
coming from precisely. Hers had not just been a sensation; she, Carlos, and Sherry were not
alone down there.
"W-what?" She mouthed when she saw the Tyrant lying on the ground without his right arm,
which had been torn clean off by that explosion.
There was no sign, however, of who had done it, and a shiver ran down her spine. Who was
capable of doing such damage to a Tyrant with so little effort? Nicholai, probably, but it could
not have been him. She had just heard him on the radio, if he was nearby he would have told
her, so it had to be someone else, maybe more than one. But who? And more importantly,
were they friends or foes? Could it have been Chris? No, he was good but not that good,
despite Wesker's best efforts. She thought back to that dead soldier she had found moments
earlier. Was it possible that he was not alone? That his hypothetical fellow soldiers were also
trying to get out of the sewers? If so, perhaps they could join forces and even find a way to
help Carlos together. She didn't care if they were Umbrella or something else, now priorities
were quite different. She had to find a way to reach Carlos and hopefully find Sherry along
the way. She had no idea where the little girl had gone, and from the cameras, there was no
sign of her. She might have been dead, but Jill did not even want to think about that
possibility. Okay, she had to move from there. As for Nicholai, she could only hope that he
had heard enough to reach them and help them out. If he had, Jill was absolutely certain that
he would come for Carlos. One hundred percent because that Russian asshole loved his
poodle. He would not let him die like that, and, in her heart, she hoped Nicholai also knew if
there was a way to cure him.
She looked around the room for something that would help her figure out how to get around
that damn maze and heaved a sigh of relief when she found a map. Examining it, she
discovered that she was not that far from the dump where Carlos was staying; it was just a
corridor beyond the second door of the control room.
Of course, it was locked and was exclusively electronic, so she had no way to break into it
manually. She looked sideways at several panels that were arranged on both walls. A few
electronic keys in the bizarre shape of chess pieces were in place, but several were missing.
"I hate this fucking city..." She huffed, discouraged because, in all that mess, it was
mathematically impossible to find them all.
She was in deep shit, but maybe…

Nicholai slowed his pace, panting as he entered the gun store. He knew Kendo, its owner
because he had gone there several times over the years to have his weapons modified or
created from scratch. He liked the guy. Not that they were friends, but he had been nice to
him, and although their conversations had always been purely technical in nature, Nicholai
thought highly of him. Kendo was a serious professional who never turned down a project,
not even the craziest one.
Given the state of his store, he must not have been doing well, and Nicholai felt sorry. He
hoped he was ok, somehow.
He looked around in the scavenged shop for something he could take. He had only kept
Matilda with him since he had preferred to leave the shotgun and cartridges with Leon for
when he woke up but there was not much left. Just a few boxes of 9-caliber bullets, which, all
things considered, was still better than nothing. He moved to the equipment section and
pulled a green tactical jacket down from a hanger. He was not cold, quite the opposite after
the long run he had made from the hospital to there, but Miss Valentine would have
questioned his bite mark and he did not want to explain himself to her. He was ashamed of
what a fool he had been in handling Lev's situation. What the hell had gotten into him? Duh,
he knew perfectly well but it was not a justification for his dumbness.
He had just slipped the jacket on when, behind him, he heard the well-known click of a
shotgun being loaded. He turned slowly to get a clear picture of the situation before
considering reaching for Matilda and felt uncomfortable at meeting the eyes full of suffering
and anger of Kendo himself. He didn't look infected, but he had certainly had a hard time.
"I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me," Nicholai told him, "I'll put everything back if you
want," he offered, and he wasn't doing it because of the shotgun pointed at him. Simply, the
idea of stealing from one of the few people who had always treated him decently did not
make him feel comfortable. God, how much he had softened up and it sucked…
Kendo did not lower his shotgun. It was clear from his gaze that he had recognized him but
didn't give a shit.
"I just want you to leave," he gritted through his teeth. "NOW!" He thundered when he saw
him intending to retort.
Nicholai lifted his hands in surrender and in the back of his mind, prayed he didn't have to
kill him.
"I will," he said, "but I have to go that way," he added quietly, pointing to the exit behind
Kendo's back.
"Don't even think about it!" Growled the gunsmith. "You're going the way you came."
Nicholai lowered his gaze with a sigh. He was wasting precious time and was aware of it,
but, despite this, he could not find the resolution to just kill him and move on. What a
situation, did moral qualms have to come to him at that very moment of all times?
"Look," he murmured, "I have a comrade-a friend-stuck in the sewers. He's in bad shape and
will die if I don't go get him," he explained, and as hard as he was trying his best to maintain
a demeanor, his voice trembled. "Please," he added in a tone of voice he hadn't used in so
long that it almost sounded like another man's and not his own.
Kendo stiffened his jaw, filled with anger and hatred. "Were the S.T.A.R.S. boys right? Is this
Umbrella's doing?" He asked with a snarl, well mindful of the outburst Chris had given him a
couple of weeks earlier when he had stopped by to buy ammo.
Nicholai blinked, feeling more shame emerge from within him, even though he had not
caused that mess personally. Screw it, there was no point in lying. "Yes."
"Why?!"
The Russian shook his head. "I don't know. An incident with a scientist in one of the labs. For
what it's worth, it wasn't intentional."
"It wasn't-" Kendo's voice broke into a sob of fury, and he jerked forward to point the rifle
under his chin. "You think you can get away with this so easily?! Like it's fucking nothing,
you son of a bitch?!"
Nicholai did not react in any way to that escalating threat but his eyes grew sadder. He huffed
a very short nervous laugh, again not because he was amused but because that was his way of
reacting by then, albeit inappropriately, especially at a time like that. He promptly halted it
and took a step back. "I don't know exactly how it happened, and if I have to tell you the
truth, I'm starting to not give a shit anymore," he paused, conflicted. "Look, I'm in this as
deep as you are- I just want to reach my friend, ok? And then… Whatever."
"You don't know shit about how I feel!" Kendo blurted out at him, and Nicholai was about to
give in to snatching that damn shotgun out of his hand and forcing him into submission when
a faint gasping voice drew his attention.
"D-daddy..?"
The Russian barely moved his head to look past the gunsmith and his throat clenched at
seeing a little girl about Sherry's age staggering forward toward them. She was clearly in a
very advanced stage of infection. From the grayish color of her skin and the hollowness of
her eyes, she probably had half an hour or less left before she turned completely.
And fear shook him, another feeling he could have done without. That would be his fate if he
didn't get a move on but it wasn't the prospect of dying or suffering that terrified him, he was
well used to pain, and turning into a zombie would only downgrade him to less lethal.
However, the idea of becoming progressively helpless, at the mercy of anything and anyone
as he had been as a young man and, even earlier, as a kid, really scared the shit out of him.
Kendo jerked as he heard his daughter coming and turned to go hug her.
"Honey, go back inside, it's okay," he lied to her in that falsely jovial tone of voice that adults
reserve for children in times of crisis.
"And you get the fuck out of here, or I swear I'll kill you," he added, turning to Nicholai, who
had not moved or even considered shooting him, now that he clearly could have done so
safely. Perhaps killing Kendo would have been a blessing, but it was not his decision to
make.
The Russian hesitated again. "I-
"I… know you," the little girl said, interrupting him.
"Huh?"
She moved a little further forward but did not completely detach herself from her father's
arms.
"Last year..." She continued, appearing a little more vital. "I was doing my homework at the
counter and you explained Maths to me while you were waiting for dad. I didn't understand it
at all but you made it so easy. I got an A, you know? I've been wanting to tell you for a long
time. You saved my life, thank-
Her sentence was lost in thin air as if the little girl's brain had suddenly stopped working and
could not conclude the thought she was expressing. A hissing sound escaped from her bluish
lips, and she, confused, looked at her father and clung tightly to his arm.
Nicholai approached her, deeply distraught. He did not remember that event at all, but he did
not doubt that it had happened. In any other circumstance, he would have been pleased to
know that he had helped her but like this...
Like this, it was just heartbreaking.
"No," Kendo stopped him but in a completely different tone. There was no more aggression,
just deep, devastating grief. "She might try to bite you."
Nicholai shot him a tragically ironic look. "I know. I already have mine," he confessed,
pulling up the sleeve of the jacket he had just stolen from him and showing the injury. He
paid no mind to his reaction, didn't care, and looked at the child.
"I am very proud of you, devochka," he told her, giving her face a caress, but both the
affectionate gesture and the remark fell completely on deaf ears. The little girl did not react in
any way and kept her now-white eyes fixed in one spot. She was still breathing but barely.
"Your friend," Kendo said with gravity, "go get him and save him."
They exchanged a look full of misery.
"Thank you."
Nicholai added nothing more because there was nothing to say and resumed running but
staggered as if he had been stabbed in the back when he heard the shot.
The little girl was dead. Killed by her father. Killed by someone who loved her deeply.
And Kendo was wrong. He knew exactly how he felt.
He had shivers now and didn't know if it was because his fever was slowly rising or if it was
because of shock. Either way, it didn't matter in the least. He had to reach Carlos and then go
back to Leon.
With his head down and without further thought he jumped off the scaffolding and into the
sewer access tunnel, continuing along the platforms. He stopped, however, when he saw a
dead woman in a beige coat in the middle of the corridor. He recognized her. It was Ada
Wong, his target. She was dead. Someone had shot her.
Good, one less nuisance, he thought and was about to pass her when he stopped abruptly. He
had told himself he was going to try to find out who she worked for and intended to follow
that plan. Hurriedly and completely cool in the face of that beautiful woman's death, he
searched her. He found a gun, a satellite phone not too different from his own, a fake FBI
badge, and a notebook he had no time to read right away.
"Nice toy," he commented, unhooking a grappling hook from the belt of her red dress, and
after taking that too, along with the other things, he resumed his run.
Leon woke up and felt awful but better than last time. He was still in the room where he had
bitten Nicholai but there was no sign of him. Before leaving, however, the Russian had laid
him on a stretcher and put a lab coat over him as a blanket. Leon found this tender and
bizarre. He sat down and something that had been placed on his chest rolled over his legs. It
was a small tape recorder. Without a second thought, he pressed play.
I'll cut it short because I have little time. And there he was, Nicholai. Something came up and
I had to leave. I left you the shotgun and all the cartridges you had on you. Under it, you will
find a note with codes pinned to it. You must not lose it, Lev, you will find access panels and
you will have to enter them manually in the order I wrote them. As you leave this room,
proceed to the left and then past the reception. In the hallway leading to the entrance, you
will notice a service door. I opened it for you. Continue in that direction until you find a
freight elevator. Just take it and get down. It will bring you to a cargo warehouse, and then
you’ll see the access to an underground laboratory. Go in. Along with the codes, I have
marked the route you need to follow to get to the roof. Don't take any detours and proceed
with caution, I have no idea what it will be like down there but it certainly won't be a walk in
the park. Go straight to the roof and wait for me there. Then Nicholai had paused. I'll join
you as soon as I can, or I'll send you someone who can fly a helicopter. Go to the roof.
And that was it.
Leon listened to the message a second time because his mysterious guardian angel had
spoken very fast, and his marked accent, along with his grogginess, did not make it easy to
understand.
What has come up? He wondered and something told him that Nicholai had not run off
somewhere to find a vial of the cure for himself, otherwise, he would have told him plainly.
Where had he gone and why? He was infected, for fuck's sake! What could have been more
important than that? His anxiety rocketed off. He had infected him. He had to do something
about it. It was his fault! How could he help him, though, if he didn't even know where he
had gone?
He decided to focus on one problem at a time. Nicholai had practically opened the doors to a
secret laboratory for him, and it was clear that Chris had been wrong when he had told him
that there was no cure for the T virus. He didn't feel that he had lied to him, he clearly didn't
know, but he didn't want to think about that asshole. He had other urgencies. Surely he would
be more likely to find a vial of it down there than Nicholai in a city he did not know at all. So
what he had to do was clear: find the cure, find Nicholai, and give it to him.
He got off the stretcher carefully and his legs staggered a little under his weight. He still felt
very weak and was terribly cold, but his fever had dropped enough to allow him to move and
think clearly. Perhaps it would have been wiser to rest a moment longer but he had no idea
how long it had been since Nicholai had left him. He had experienced firsthand how
devastating that virus was and still had its effects of it on him. There was no time to waste.
He put on the lab coat Nicholai had placed on him, hoping it would make the cold go away at
least a little, and retrieved his shotgun and the note.
No detours, Kot! Go to the roof! It was noted in hurried handwriting and underlined three
times just below the small map he had drawn for him.
Despite the tension, Leon let slip an amused snort. Between the recording and the note, he
had repeated it to him at least five times. "We barely know each other and already you're
bossy, huh?" He mumbled, putting it in his pocket. And what was a Kot? Maybe an insult in
Russian. A way of telling him he didn't have to be a stubborn moron and follow his directions
to the T.
It didn't matter. He had already made his decision, and if Nicholai wanted to stop him, then
he should have stayed there with him to do it.
"Fuck, yeah!" Jill exclaimed as the door's electronic lock clicked open.
It had taken her a while, but after opening each keyless panel and examining the connections
of the operational ones, she had managed to bypass the lock and join the connecting cables. It
had been even easier than expected, and as much as it gnawed at her to admit it, all the
intensive classes and training Wesker had subjected her to was really paying off.
You also want me to learn how to break into a bank vault? She had asked him, annoyed after
yet another lesson with an expert that had lasted late into the evening.
I want you to be able to get in and out of any place. If necessary, even a vault, why not? No
one knows where doom will lead us.
Years later, that pompous, philosophizing answer chilled the blood in her veins. Was their
captain planning to lead them into that trap as early as then? Was he expecting her to break
out from the cell he'd locked her in at Spencer Mansion? Was he testing her like he tested
Chris? She had no idea but felt a perverse satisfaction in the realization that she was still
there, ready to put her skills into practice, while that asshole was fodder for maggots.
"Screw you, Wesker," she whispered, stepping through the door, but her joy was short-lived
because the wide metal gate to the dump was locked and, without power, there was nothing
she could pry open. Why did everything have to be so fucking difficult?
She was undeterred. The starting lever could not have been too far away. It was not in the
room she had come from, and there was only one direction she could go, so she wasted no
time and continued on.
Indeed, she found it in the next room and had just lifted it when she heard a violent rumble
above her head. Instinctively she snapped to the side a moment before a giant clawed arm
smashed through the ceiling, missing her head by a whisker. The G had climbed up there in a
craving to reach Sherry, still hiding in the shaft, but had reacted to Jill's presence. With
another fist he smashed through the ceiling and leaped to the floor, blocking her access to the
door through which she had entered.
Jill had no choice but to turn and throw herself under the half-open shutter behind her. She
did not know where it led but that room was too narrow to even try to fight. With wings on
her feet, she got up and resumed running, jumping down from platform to platform until she
reached a container loading and unloading area. She was about to point but then remembered
how Nicholai had stopped the Project-N with water from a fire hydrant and a high-tension
cable. Perhaps there was something around her that could help. As she heard the monster
unhinging the shutter with its claws she noticed that she was right in the line of passage of a
large crane supporting a container.
It's worth a try, she thought also because she didn't have many other alternatives. That thing
had survived a train derailment, so what could she do with a rifle?
She backed toward the crane panel, keeping her eyes on the platform, and unbuckled one of
the flashbangs she had found from her belt, removed the safety catch, and threw it at it as
soon as the G jumped off. The creature let out a piercing roar and began to thrash about on
the spot, stunned and blinded. Jill did not stop to look at him and with one last leap reached
the panel and pressed that big red button, hoping it was the right one. The crane's boom
rotated abruptly, much faster than she would have expected, and struck G squarely on the
side, dragging him with it to the edge of the platform that overlooked a deep dark abyss. Jill
heard the sharp screech of his claws tearing through metal and did not need to see him to
realize he was trying to climb up.
"Oh, no, you won't!" She hissed, glancing quickly at the panel. With a brutal yank, she
pressed the hook release button and the steel rope loosened. For an agonizing moment that
seemed interminable to her, the container swung over the edge and finally tumbled over,
dragging that abomination with it.
It was over. She had done it.

She inhaled deeply, realizing only then that she had been holding her breath the whole time,
and her side gave her a painful twinge. Dizzy with adrenaline, she retraced her steps and
climbing the balustrades, managed to return to where the monster had attacked her. There
was a sinister and absolute silence around her. She should have felt reassured by the absence
of threats around her but the truth was that although she had managed to eliminate that
horrible thing, the situation was still desperate. She hastened her pace into a jog and lowered
the lever to open the dump. The gate slid to the side preceded by a mechanical sound and Jill,
at last, could see Carlos. She sprinted toward him and knelt beside him.
"Oh God..." She groaned as she looked at him so closely. Carlos was completely drenched in
sweat, his complexion was purple, and his muscles were shaken by small spasms that made
his whole body vibrate slightly. The most heartbreaking thing, though, was that he was
conscious and he reacted to her presence. His soft brown eyes, now an eerie yellowish color,
settled on her and his dark pupils dilated in a clear sign of recognition, and despite the
excruciating pain he was experiencing from head to toe, Carlos even tried to smile at her.
Before Jill could think of anything to say to him that didn't sound absolutely stupid, he
suddenly stirred and gasped something unintelligible, trying to move. Soon after, Jill felt
someone grab her from behind abruptly and she found her back pressed against a man's chest.
The stranger pulled up the rifle strap she had around her chest and twisted it over his fists,
tightening it around her neck like a garrote. Jill tried to wriggle out and kicked in the air to
slip away, but the man's arms were strong, and what she gained was only to be squeezed even
more tenaciously. With her strength already deserting her from lack of air, she pulled back
her hands to try desperately to claw at her attacker's face but all she found was a heavy red-
lensed gas mask.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, due thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmakers, and
commenters!
I know, there are a lot of things to talk about in these notes. First, I apologize to Ada's
fans. She is a character I largely appreciate but, in this story, I just didn't have any use
for her, so I decided to remove her with a sort of butterfly effect. Leon was not there to
take the bullet for her so Ada was killed by Annette along the lines of RE2R events.
What I needed instead was for Nicholai to have a way to contact Wesker, but how that
will develop we will see later.
Another big absentee is the alligator. I would be lying to you if I said I looked for a way
to include him. I didn't. I didn't waste even half a second of my time because as much as
a bus-sized alligator is undoubtedly fun to play with, putting it in a story that wants to be
more realistic would have only made it grotesque (on par with the sharks at Spencer
Manor, so no, no gators or zombie sharks for you, sorry).
One thing I regretted, however, was not being able to include a scene from Kendo. It
struck me immensely when I first played RE2R and I found it to be absolutely one of the
highest and most tragic moments in the game.
In this case, I also used it to confront Nicholai with the fate that might await him. Poor
man. I'm going to destroy him.
Leon has awakened and, needless to say, will not listen to Nicholai at all, but I guess
there was no doubt about that XD.
Jill reconfirms herself for the umpteenth time as our best badass. She is truly a force of
nature. I admit that I find it amusing to draw these parallels between how she saw
Wesker and how Chris saw him. In both cases, their captain trained them well, and in a
twisted sort of way, if it were not for our dear Albert, they would probably be dead by
now. Never mind that it was he who put them in danger, to begin with, gentlemen of the
jury, it's just a detail XD!
Although our wonderful heroine managed quite easily to get the G out of her way, there
was someone else lurking in the dark.
Come on, you didn't think I'd miss the chance for a showdown between HUNK and the
Silver Wolf, did you?
Let's open the betting!
Thank you all infinitely!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 48
Chapter Notes
Leon reached the reception in a very short time and was somewhat shaken by the brutality
with which Nicholai had cleared the way for him. Every single body in there had its head
smashed into a pulp. He was grateful for that but it was also incredibly disturbing, but the
most spine-chilling realization was that by now he was getting used to the sight of that
carnage as if it were a normal thing.
Christ, where had he gone? Leon desperately wanted to talk to Nicholai, to understand who
he was, and why he had helped him but the Russian was damn elusive.
No, don't think about him! He scolded himself as his mind took him back to Irons' horrible
lab in the orphanage. Even then, had it not been for Nicholai, he would have died there.
He was about to go on when he heard footsteps and although part of him hoped it was his
friend returning, he found it more prudent to hide behind the counter.
Shitshitshit! He thought, when, barely peeking out, he recognized Chris. It did not even cross
his mind to ask him for help. Not after what had happened in the subway. The very idea made
his skin crawl. Chris had really tried to kill him, and although the dumbest part of him still
wanted to give him a chance, the most prudent choice was to stay well away from him. In the
best-case scenario, they would start arguing again, and that would waste time he didn't have,
and besides, he had long understood that the best-case scenario never happened with Chris.
Anxiously he waited for him to leave the room and then ran out from behind the counter and
into the hallway, glancing over his shoulder. In doing so, he went crashing into the support of
an IV and it slumped to the floor with a sharp clatter that reverberated in the silence of the
hospital.
Shit! He thought again and hurried his run, sprinting toward the back door that Nicholai had
pointed out to him. He did not care that it slammed behind him, he had already attracted
Chris's attention anyway, and he continued at breakneck speed toward the freight elevator.
"Wait!" He heard him shout but he was still behind, probably he hadn't even seen him.
He pressed the down button and did not look back.
Screw him, he was done.
As soon as Jill stopped moving, HUNK tossed her to the floor like a broken doll, no longer
interested in her, if at all. The woman was just a hindrance in his path, an unbearable thorn in
his side that had further distanced his mission from him. He didn't even check if she was
dead. It'd be a waste of time. He had been in those sewers for days, had tracked Dr. Birkin
through that damn maze with shit up to his waist, and followed his movements as long as he
possibly could until he disappeared. And now that he had finally shown himself again, giving
him a chance to put him down and take a sample from him, the goddamn bitch had plunged
him into the void, undoing all his hard work.
He was tired and he was fed up.
That mission had gotten off to the worst possible start and would be a stain on his record
forever. The only chance he had to restore his reputation was to get the job done. Not
everything was lost. He could retrieve the egg inside the soldier and keep it as insurance in
case he failed to find Dr. Birkin or his body. So far he had crossed paths only with empty
corpses or badly transformed failures, but that operative was still alive, which meant that
perhaps the sample was still acceptably uncorrupted.
He unhooked the combat knife from his belt and approached Carlos. The guy was conscious
but it made no difference to him. He saw him wince in a desperate attempt to move and fight.
He was young and his eyes were full of hatred and despair but he was also completely
harmless. He cut open his sweatshirt and T-shirt and with his free hand felt his neck looking
for a bulge or any clue as to where the egg was embedded. He would have had no problem
opening him from head to toe if necessary, but he preferred to make quick work of it. Deaf to
his gasps, he released his throat from his grip. It was not there. Probably under the sternum,
and that complicated the situation because he would have to not only tear him open but also
crack his chest, breaking the ribs and uncovering it to retrieve the sample without damaging
it. All that while keeping the poor bastard alive.
That sucks… He thought.
He was pondering how to proceed when he heard a noise. He looked up and saw a little girl
running toward him armed with a short, sharp iron rod.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Sherry shouted, charging at him despite being busted. She had
really tried hard to be quiet but it had not been enough.
HUNK grabbed the rod like it was nothing and pulled it with such force that it lifted the little
girl up and threw her to the ground. He tilted his head, somewhat incredulously, and stared at
her writhing in pain. The hell? Whatever, what a little girl was doing down there was none of
his business. She was just another hindrance. An easy one to get out of the way. He gripped
the rod better to finish her off with a blow to the head but then he heard the shots, a split
second before he felt their impact on his bulletproof vest.
And they hurt like nasty bitches.
He barely had time to lift his head before a brutal kick caught him square in the chest,
sending him sprawling in the trash. He reacted immediately, more than trained to withstand
pain and let go of the rod but another blow prevented him from bringing his hand to the gun.
He grabbed a broken beam and turned abruptly, smashing it into his attacker, and took the
opportunity to get back on his feet and retrieve the knife. Only at that point did he recognize
who he was facing but gave his brain no chance to get distracted by wondering why the
Silver Wolf had decided to attack him. Unlike the others, he was a threat that had to be
eliminated as quickly as possible because if there was one man who could compromise him
irreparably, it was Zinoviev.
A blink of his eyes was enough for him to get an idea of the situation: the Silver Wolf was as
he expected. As usual, he wore light, almost nonexistent equipment, which made him free in
his movements but also exposed him to more painful impacts; he did not carry his sniper rifle
and this was a real stroke of luck because otherwise, he would have been dead already. No,
he had only a nine-millimeter, a caliber too small to penetrate his armor. This was why
Zinoviev had chosen hand-to-hand combat. He deflected his arm and slammed into him
before he could stab him, hitting him hard with the top of his helmet.
Nicholai let a hiss of pain escape through clenched teeth but did not allow himself to be
stunned. In that circumstance, he was at a disadvantage; he knew it perfectly well. Apart from
his knife, he had nothing with which he could actually hurt HUNK, the only thing he could
exploit was his speed in the hope of holding out long enough to find an opening. He took
advantage of their proximity to cut the strap of his assault rifle before being pushed back.
They exchanged a series of blows with their knives that ended up mostly dodged or parried
because they were both trying to be conservative in order to be able to win the fight without
getting too badly hurt in the process.
They were aiming for a quick kill but in truth they were studying each other, trying, at the
same time, to wear each other down. It was a fight but it was also a chess game where even
the smallest miscalculation could have led to devastating outcomes.
Nicholai deflected his arm and rotated behind him, managing to make a cut behind his leg.
Little more than a scratch, in truth, and HUNK's reaction was brutal and immediate. He
struck the Russian's chest with such force that something snapped cleanly inside him -a
couple of ribs, in all likelihood- and he lost his grip on Matilda, who flew off his hand.
Nicholai staggered back a little but gave no heed to the pain; on the contrary, he used it as
fuel for the fight. Like a combat dog in a cage, or a wolf fighting for his freedom. The
difference was subtle and irrelevant. He was not fighting for himself anyway. He surged
forward, intent on not giving his opponent even a second to breathe but suddenly his vision
blurred for an instant and he realized with absolute certainty that he had a fever and it was
rising. He was just in time to move slightly to the side before HUNK pounced on him and he
cried out in pain when, once they were on the ground, the tip of his dagger, which had been
aimed at his chest, thrust into his shoulder. Instinctively Nicholai raised his hand to block
HUNK's wrist before the second stab could drop straight down into his face. However, the
point opened a deep cut under his cheekbone, and his opponent who was, clearly, less tired
than he was, continued to apply force to finish the job.
Then there was a shot.
HUNK jerked in pain, distracted, and when a second hit him in the back, he lost his
momentum. With a snarl Nicholai gathered all his strength and reversed their positions,
crashing him violently against the floor then he recovered his knife and drove it into his eye,
shattering the red lens of his gas mask and using so much force that he heard the metal
screeching against the other side of his helmet, beyond his smashed skull.
In exhaustion he bent forward, coughing and breathing heavily, and stood there, on top of
HUNK for a few moments. It had been a long time since he had been hurt this badly, and he
almost didn't survive to tell the tale.
"About time, Miss-the voice choked in his throat as he lifted his gaze and found himself
facing Sherry. The little girl was looking at him shakily and still holding Matilda tightly in
her small hands.
"I-I didn't let it fall," she whispered, weakly. "I didn't," she repeated.
Nicholai felt pain erupt in his chest, a pain that was due neither to the infection nor to the
beating he had taken. It was a feeling. It was gratitude. It was repentance. It was tearing him
in half, and he externalized it with a gasp that, though not quite a sob, reminded him of it.
Then that precious little thing ran up to him and hugged him tightly.
"Fuck!" Chris cursed when he saw the dividers of the freight elevator close in front of him.
He tried to look down to at least see who he was following but all he could make out was a
white coat in the darkness.
Unable to do anything but wait until he could call the lift back up, he paused to reflect and
was assailed by doubts.
He had decided to get to the hospital because, while wandering around in circles hoping to
find a trace of Leon and that damned Russian, he had come to an alley full of freshly killed
zombies, and that had been as good a direction as any. Then, once inside the hospital, he had
heard that noise and then the hurried footsteps of a single person.
Only secondarily did he realize that the area he was in was unexpected. He had been to the
hospital many times since he had arrived in Raccoon City. He had even been there two nights
before…
Before meeting Leon. His mind pointed out and guilt choked him.
He had to find him.
But even if he did find him, what the fuck could he do?
Apologize? For the umpteenth time?
Leon was infected. There was no cure. And he had gotten infected to save his life after he had
tried to kill him! There was no apology that held for that.
There is one thing I particularly appreciate about you, Wesker's voice, the captain, not the
traitor, returned to comfort him from the recesses of his memory, and that is your integrity.
That conversation had taken place a few days after Chris had succeeded in 'un-fucking' the
mess that nearly cost Albert his job. Not only had he managed to track down the dealer he
had so foolishly let slip through his fingers, but he had also written a letter of resignation in
duplicate, one for Wesker and one for Irons, where he took responsibility for everything that
had happened.
He remembered the scene as if he were reliving it. He had been so nervous that night and so
heartbroken.
One of the letters was in his captain's hands, with him back in his seat behind the desk in his
office; the other, although he had not initially known it, was in the trash can at Albert's feet.
But your phrasing is atrocious. You should have had Valentine check this one too, as you do
with all your reports. Wesker had only needed to look at his face to indulge in a short, mean
laugh. Did you really think I didn't know that you have her proofread them all? That's cute.
Cute. Leon had called him cute, too.
Chris had not said a word because he was getting teary-eyed at that moment. He had been
happy to have it all worked out but he also knew that he was on the verge of being fired and
he didn't want to. He had started that job in the S.T.A.R.S. unit because Barry had dragged
him into it but since then things had changed drastically. He had met Wesker and he had
revolutionized his life. He had put him back on his feet after he had been kicked out by the
army for insubordination. He had restored his self-confidence, and given him a purpose to
cultivate that pride that drove him to improve day by day.
He did not want to leave him.
The very idea of going on with his life apart from him had made his heart sink in his chest, so
the fact that Albert was in a playful disposition and had completely put aside the icy anger
with which he had scolded him when he had gone to beg his forgiveness at his place, had
faded into the background. Chris had stood there looking at him like a poor, desperate jerk
not knowing how to apologize again for the mess he had made.
Wesker had huffed.
Sit down. He had invited him and had made another little amused grimace when he had seen
him comply like a good little soldier.
So obedient all of a sudden. I could almost get used to it. He had commented, sardonically,
leaning back in his chair and casting him a long look from behind his dark lenses.
Chris had swallowed before looking back at him, feeling his heart beating in his throat. I'm
sorry things ended this way. I-I... I mean, I just wanted to say that working with you was the
best experience of my life. A-and I'm sorry I disap-
The captain had rolled his eyes. You're almost as bad at talking as you are at writing. Lucky
for you, you have other qualities. You're not going anywhere, you moron. He had interrupted
him, snatching his letter of resignation in front of him.
Chris had stood dumbfounded looking at it. But I sent it to Irons, too, he certainly-
That boar is not the only one with some shady little hands crawling around the department.
Albert had smirked and after lowering his hand had pulled his other letter out of the trash.
Keep it as a souvenir.
Chris had turned it over in his hands feeling overwhelmed with relief and joy. A disruptive
joy he had not felt since before his parents' death and had never felt again.
I-I don't know what to say.
Wesker meanwhile had gotten up and walked past the desk to get his coat.
Don't say anything, for pity's sake, spare me and just shoo away before I feel like sending you
back to grade school to learn some grammar.
Chris would not have been able to tell what had come over him at that moment, -he was just
so happy- but he had jumped up and hugged him in a rush, thanking him profusely. Albert
had frozen, taken aback, then had relaxed his muscles and let him.
Tsk! Sometimes you make me wonder... He had whispered in a strange tone, releasing himself
from his embrace and sliding toward the door, coy as a cat.
Huh? Chris had uttered, confused, but Albert had only answered him with another small
smirk as he rearranged the sunglasses on his nose. He had turned around but before leaving
the S.T.A.R.S. office he had stopped in the doorway, his back to him with his coat resting on
his shoulder. Don't lose it, Chris. Your integrity. It will always give you the resolution to waltz
past all your mistakes. A pause had followed. Besides, it makes you a better human being
than me.
Chris did not quite understand what Albert meant, at the time, and although he definitely had
more information about him now, he felt he still couldn't catch it. Could it have been second-
guessing about his intentions to betray them and get them killed? That event, after all, had
happened a couple of months before the Spencer Mansion.
Even though he hated that part of him with all of his heart, Chris was forced to admit that he
would give anything to be able to talk to Albert again. He desperately needed to understand
the reasons behind his actions but, even more so, if something had been… real.
Always the same question...
Why did it have to hurt so much? Why couldn't he just hate him? He had every reason to.
Chris almost felt like he could see him, standing in the doorway with the orange light of
sunset shining on him from one of the hallway windows. How could two such opposite
essences have coexisted inside the same person? Because, especially in memories like that,
his captain seemed absolutely authentic to him and he missed that Albert so much.
Chris shook his head, distressed, and pushed him away from his thoughts again, deeply
disturbed that whenever he needed reassurance, his mind raced to him. Not to his sister, Jill,
or even Barry.
Wesker.
Always and only him.
In any case, that area of the hospital was not supposed to be there -he concluded the
reasoning he had left hanging- and as far as he knew, it had never even officially existed.
Maybe Brad had been right in directing him there to investigate.
Poor Brad, and now Jill, too…
He could not allow himself to be overcome by despair, though, because it would have been
different with Leon. It had to be. Chris didn't know how he was going to fix that mess but,
just as Wesker said, maybe his integrity, his willingness to take responsibility for the terrible
mistake he had made with the rookie would help them both come out of it. He had to indulge
in hope because the only alternative was to shoot himself in the head and be done with it right
there.
Impatiently, he pressed the up button of the lift until, finally, he heard it rise. Given his
situation, his best option was still to follow the stranger who had escaped down there.
Perhaps it was indeed that Russian. He was another target. He would find him and force him
to tell him what he had done with Leon. He would not be caught off guard again.
As he descended into that unknown abyss he could not help but wonder what the connection
was between those two and, as a result, felt even more guilty. He would have known if he had
given Leon a chance to explain it to him. Perhaps Nicholai was to Leon what Wesker had
been to him. Perhaps he had been the one who had brainwashed him and lured him into
Umbrella. In that case, he not only had to save Leon from the virus but also from that
monster.
When he reached the bottom, he got out calmly and circumspectly. He could not afford any
more mistakes. He inspected the corpse of a soldier who, however, had already been cleared
of weapons and ammunition, then continued into what appeared to be a large warehouse and
felt his heart beat faster in indignation when he recognized the Umbrella logo on many of the
crates. They had been under their noses all that time and yet they had failed to find out
anything about their dealings until it was too late. How many people had disappeared since
he had started working in S.T.A.R.S.? And Wesker, most likely, had helped cover up all that
rot personally.
It sickened him.
It took very little to be a better human being than he had.
He looked around to try to figure out where to pass and approached another freight elevator.
He was about to operate it when a single bullet passed tremendously close to his face and
shattered the power fuses, blocking him there.
He turned sharply, now almost completely in the dark, and heard more running footsteps.
"Okay, asshole," he hissed, pulling up his rifle, "let's play."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
What a hell of a week, I hope yours is going better!
As always, thank you all for being here to read, comment, leave kudos, subscribe, and
bookmark!
So, we have a few things to talk about. I start with the showdown between Nicholai and
HUNK, which has got me ridiculously anxious. I've reached an age where I have some
confidence about what I write and how I write it (that doesn't mean I'm not a victim of
paranoia and self-doubt, let's just say I've learned to live with it) but action scenes
remain my Achilles' heel no matter what language I write in. Partly because I know
absolutely nothing about combat but mainly because I am always afraid of creating a lot
of confusion in the mind of the reader. I hope I have at least made myself clear,
otherwise, I apologize.
Coming to us, I must make a confession: although I adore Nicholai and he is my

precious, gruff Russian, I don't think he could win against HUNK in a hand-to-hand
fight for several reasons. 1) Nicholai is in his forties, whereas HUNk, from what little
we know of him, should be considerably younger and, given the same training, that
makes a lot of difference; 2) I think HUNK is physically stronger than Nicholai, in fact,
he would have to be inhumanly strong to be able to break necks from the angle he does
in the games, but let's not quibble. Let's put it this way, if Nicholai had a way to play at
distance, using a sniper rifle or planting booby traps, he would surely win, while in close
combat HUNK would win.
Since I wanted Nicholai to get hurt, I put him in a position to fight at the greatest
possible disadvantage, i.e. not only up close but also feverishly. The reason why in the
end he wins and HUNK dies lies in the fact that, in the course of the events in Raccoon
City, Nicholai has profoundly changed, he has protected people and these people now
want to protect him. The fact that he taught Sherry how to shoot Matilda was a bit of me
playing with 'Chekov's Gun' (a narrative principle according to which all elements
included in a story must be necessary, in the case of a gun, if it is present in the story, it
will have to shoot sooner or later). In this case, it is not so much the gun that makes the
difference, but the fact that Sherry knew how to use it precisely for this scene. It was not
the gun that had to fire but the precious little girl. Yes, you may have guessed by now
that I have a lot of fun making tricks like this and I guarantee that I have sown several
that will materialize at various times in the future. Weird. I know. Indulge me as you do
with crazy people XD.
I also found it amusing to get inside HUNK's head, albeit briefly, and show his absolute
coolness even when faced with the prospect of gutting poor Carlos (sorry, precious
baby) alive. HUNK is still (well, was) what Nicholai is no longer and that is why he
dies.
Leon, on his part, has decided to play hide and seek with Chris because he is scared
shitless of him, and I defy anyone to blame him, poor guy. Apart from Irons, Chris is the
one who has hurt him the most, yet Leon still isn't hostile to him. For now.
Chris, on the other hand, is back on another planet revolving around Wesker. I confess it
breaks my heart to describe how deeply and unknowingly in love with his captain he
was, such that he felt heartbroken at the idea of being fired. Trauma aside, which makes
him mean, Chris is such a sweet little twerp that, albeit for a very brief moment, he even
softens Wesker. Regardless of what he becomes, I am absolutely certain that the
captain's was not just a show for Albert and that Chris's utter, sweet adoration for him
touched him on many levels. Unfortunately not enough to divert him from his path.
Thank you so much for still being here!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 49
Chapter Notes
Nicholai groaned in pain when Sherry wrapped her arms around his neck. He was in such bad
shape that even a child's strength made him see stars, but that did not matter at all. He let go
of the knife he had pulled from HUNK's head and clung to her blouse, holding her as if she
were the most precious of treasures.
It was not fair.
It was not fair that she was the one who had helped him kill HUNK. Miss Valentine had had
all the reasons in the world to resent him when she had seen her with that gun in her hand.
Sherry was just a child, just as he had been just a kid when he had had to start stealing to
survive. The fact that his life had been shit since early childhood did not give him the right to
ruin the innocence of others as well.
He understood that now, but it was too fucking late. The damage was done and could not be
taken back. That was the reason why he kept himself at distance from everyone, especially
from the people he cared for. He didn't want to ruin them or, worse, to watch them die.
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, devochka," he whispered, distressed, caressing her little blond
head.
"It's okay," she answered him, holding him firmly. "He was a bad man. He deserved it. Like
Uncle Albert."
She was too young to understand, and that was even more tragic. He struggled to let her go
when Sherry stepped back to give him a sweet worried look.
"You're going to be all right, aren't you?"
"Da, I just need a moment," he wailed. He tried to stand up, but his legs could not support
him. Not right away. "Maybe a couple."
He felt like shit. His back, where the Tyrant had hit him hurt, his side, his shoulder, his head
from the subway accident, the blows taken from HUNK and Birkin before him… He was a
resilient man, but he was starting to suffer all those wounds and bruises, and then there was
the fever. On all fours, he slowly approached Miss Valentine. HUNK had come down hard on
her and was surprised to find a pulse when he felt her neck.
She was stubborn, and insufferable at times, but she really had a great deal of potential and
she was tough.
He could not hold back a relieved smile when he saw her regain consciousness.
She grunted, distressed. Her throat hurt like hell and she felt like she had swallowed sand, but
she was alive. The guy had not killed her. She weakly squinted her eyes to find herself facing
Nicholai.
"God, you look like shit..." That was the first thing she said to him.
"And you smell of it," the Russian answered her, promptly, causing her to burst into a
somewhat hysterical chuckle followed by swearing between her teeth.
"Don't make me laugh, you asshole! Everything hurts!"
Nicholai, sitting beside her, relaxed his muscles a little, still a touch breathless. "Yeah, tell me
about it..." He sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "But I mean it, you need a
shower."
She sat up. "Don't worry, I'm gonna burn these clothes and myself with them at the first
chance."
"Jill!" Sherry exclaimed, almost jumping on her.
Nicholai let the two girls hug and moved toward Carlos, almost crawling. He had delayed
that moment because he feared what he would see. The kid was still conscious but barely, and
his condition had worsened in the meantime. His pupils were now entirely a rotten yellow
and his sclerae reddened by inflamed, broken capillaries. His breathing was hoarse and
wheezing, and the skin on his face and bare chest was covered with fluid-swollen blisters.
When Carlos set Nicholai on focus he gasped and then burst into a choked cry. It was hard to
tell whether it was of relief, suffering, or regret.
"I left you alone for five minutes and look what happened," Nicholai whispered, playfully.
"...ill... Sher.?!" Carlos gasped with difficulty.
"They're both fine."
The kid's breathing became less anxious but his suffering did not diminish. He felt as if his
whole body was boiling from within. More sobs shook him to the point of gasping.
"I...on't...n want... die!" He groaned.
"And you won't," Nicholai reassured him firmly, looking straight into his eyes. Finally
someone sane enough to hang on for dear life, instead of begging him to be killed, bless him!
"You won't," he repeated, and Carlos even managed to feebly smile, before rolling his eyes
and losing consciousness.
The Russian wasted no time loading him onto his shoulders as he had done in Colombia, but
when it was the moment to get up his broken ribs gave him a dizzying twinge, taking away
his strength.
"Hey, is everything okay?" Jill asked him.

"Da," Nicholai huffed. "I just remembered him being less heavy," he grunted, finally
managing to get back on his feet. "Anyway, you sounded worried, I'm touched, Miss
Valentine," he mocked her.
Jill rolled her eyes. "Fuck you."
Nicholai snorted. "Follow me. This way."
He had seen the NEST bracelet on her wrist, so what they had to do was clear: take the
funicular and go down. From there the road should have been downhill, or at least he hoped
so because time was short and he was a wreck.
It didn't matter. He would hold on for as long as necessary. He just hoped that his condition
would not become too obvious. He was very cold now, and he was sweating like a pig.
Clearly, he was not among the lucky ones who started showing the first symptoms after
weeks but, after all, when had luck ever been on his side? As for his aking body, well, he had
suffered worse.
His shoulder, however, was hurting and bleeding profusely. The cut on the back of his neck
also seemed to have reopened. He had to pay attention to it. He was not at risk of bleeding
out, but he was infected. He cast an anxious glance at the child since she had hugged him, but
fortunately, she did not seem to have any open wounds.
You are a bloody imbecile! He scolded himself bitterly for even allowing her to approach
him.
Jill followed him in silence, holding Sherry's hand and watching him. Nicholai was not in
good shape, it was quite obvious but if he was not concerned she saw no reason for her to be
either. He might be a bit of a dick but he seemed like a man who knew what he was doing.
"Where are we going?" She asked him, opening a door for him.
He made a strange grimace as if the kindness had annoyed him but did not comment on it.
"To NEST."
"Which is?"
"The place where dad wor-worked," Sherry mumbled sadly.
Jill nodded and asked no more questions, for the moment, although she would have many.
She didn't know what exactly was holding her back, whether it was the presence of the child
or the fact that, absurd as it was, she was really beginning to trust Nicholai, perhaps even like
him. Was this the right choice? She really could not say. He was certainly professional but he
was also ruthless and calculating. She knew he was there solely for Carlos, maybe for Sherry
too.
"Welcome, Dr. Worthcraig," that cold electronic voice jolted her while the cable car door
clicked open. Nicholai snorted in amusement and passed her to go and lay Carlos on the seat.
Immediately he stretched his back.
"You definitely weigh more than in Colombia, you fat ass," he told him, using the excuse of
fixing his hair to stroke his curly head. Then he sighed and walked over to the command
console.
"All aboard, the train is leaving," he warned and checked that the two girls had also got up,
before starting the cable car.
"It's not a train," Sherry corrected him.
"My apologies, whatever this thing is in English, it's leaving," he corrected himself but his
attempt to distract her was worth little. The little girl had moved next to Carlos and was
looking at him with eyes full of regret.
"It's my fault," she muttered on the verge of tears.
Jill took a step toward her. "Hon-
"No," Sherry interrupted her. "I mean I think that that... thing that killed my daddy is
following me. Like it wants me."
"Then it's his fault. Not yours," Nicholai intervened. "You didn't want any of this."
Sherry nodded, mournful, and sat down on the floor, clasping Carlos's hand in hers. "You said
there is a cure, you will cure him, right?"
Nicholai nodded and then went to settle down in the back by himself, and the little girl
decided to leave him alone.
Jill didn't.
"Who was that asshole? The one who attacked me."
The Russian shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know his real name, or if he ever had one. The
code one was HUNK. Human Unit Never Killed. Until now."
"Well, he really messed you up."
"You're welcome," he huffed, making a pained grimace.
"Let me take a look at that shoulder," she told him, but when she tried to get closer, Nicholai
abruptly crawled back and glared at her.
"I'll do it myself," he hissed.
Jill raised her hands dismissively. "Sorry, I was just trying to help," she huffed, annoyed.
"Jerk."
He did not answer her and tore the seam of the shirt sleeve to roll up the t-shirt. Undressing
would have been more practical but he did not want her to see the bite mark.
"What are you doing?" He heard her ask upon seeing him pull out his dagger and lighter.
"I'm closing it. I can't afford to bleed," he minimized, beginning to red-hot the blade.
"Are you out of your mind? It could-
"I've been doing this job since you were in diapers. I know the risks. I know the benefits. Just
be a good girl and don't bust my balls."
"Whatever..." Jill huffed but her stomach clenched anyway when she saw him cauterize the
stab wound and heard his feeble grunt while his skin was frying. In his place, she probably
would have screeched like an eagle but, for Nicholai, it sounded like just another day's work
in the office.
"Your tattoo is ruined," she changed the subject, and the Russian winced and glanced briefly
at his climbing spider from the tear in his jacket.
"It doesn't matter," he established. "He would rather have known I was alive."
"Who?"
"The one who did it to me."
Jill rolled her eyes. "Duh! I meant who was it? Your cellmate?"
Nicholai cast an impenetrable glance toward Carlos. "What a big-mouthed frog..." He huffed,
before turning back to look at Jill. "The name was Dmitri. Mitia," and he felt a shiver
stronger than those of fever at pronouncing his name again. How long had it been? Too long.
"He was a true artist."
"Were you close?"
"Why don't you stop dancing around it and ask me what you really want to know?" He
shattered her game immediately.
"Fine. Is that true? "Jill insisted. "That guy, the other Russian - Mikhail, I think - told us you
killed your best friend. Was it him?
She only had to watch his expression turn to stone to get the answer, and she was a little sorry
for being so intrusive. It was also equally clear that Nicholai regretted it and that Mikhail had
told only half-truths, as she had suspected.
"I owe you no explanation," was the other's icy comment.
"Of course." Jill surrendered to the evidence that her curiosity in this regard would not be
satisfied. So she moved on to her absolute priority.
"Have you seen Chris, by any chance?"

"I had the displeasure," Nicholai confirmed, evasively but way more comfortably. "And I had
to teach him a lesson," he then continued. "Let me be very clear to you, Miss Valentine, he is
still breathing only because of you."
She closed her eyes, and as much as she wanted to give Chris all the extenuating
circumstances at her disposal, she now understood that Nicholai did not do things by
accident. "What did he do?"
"He compromised Leon."
"That prick..." She sighed. "Is he okay? Leon."
"He will be. But if Redfield does so much as look at him in a way I don't like, I'll break his
neck." That was a fact. It was not even a threat. "Also, I think you should stay away from
him."
Jill immediately became defensive. Her entire posture changed, becoming rigid and
aggressive. "Mind your own fucking business."
"Of course," he echoed her. It wasn't his job to convince her but he still felt compelled to
warn her. Redfield was dangerous. He didn't know him well enough to say for sure whether
he would lay hands on her but his thirst for revenge would lead him to the bottom of a pit. He
didn't like the idea that Miss Valentine might be dragged into it herself. She deserved better.
Carlos, for instance.
Trying not to be noticed he took a quick glance at his watch. It had been about an hour since
he had left the hospital.
"Do you have an appointment somewhere?" Jill asked him.
Meticulous as ever. She was good. Nicholai cast a look at the little girl, still sitting and
holding hands with his poodle.
"We don't have much time," he whispered quietly so as not to be heard. "The virus that
infected him is moving fast. The cure should be where we're going."
"What happens if we don't get it in time?"
"We get it in time," was Nicholai's adamantine reply, and at that moment he reminded her of
Wesker. He, too, rejected 'no' as an answer. She sat down across from him, determined to
obtain a few more pieces of the puzzle.
"You seem like a smart guy, how did you get into this shit?"
Nicholai sneered, bending one knee against his chest and resting his aching back on the wall
of the cable car. "Clearly I'm not that bright."
"Are you ever going to give me a straight answer?"

He shook his head and his grin widened a little. "That would kill the fun for both of us, don't
you think?"
"I'm glad at least one of us is having fun..." She muttered.
That us kept sounding so strange to Nicholai's ears but by now he had reached the point
where he had to admit it existed.
Christ, what a mess! Assuming and not conceding that he could manage to get the fuck out of
town, Sergei would have taken the skin off his back if he only knew even a small percentage
of all the shit he had done. Starting with protecting the S.T.A.R.S.s all the way to killing
HUNK. Fortunately for him, he would be the one to write the reports and he doubted there
was anyone who could expose him. Yes, there was that lieutenant he had threatened, but
Sergei was the kind of commander who exercised his power, but more importantly his wrath,
in a completely arbitrary manner. The poor guy knew very well that it was best to keep his
mouth shut to avoid being caught between a rock and a hard place.
Miss Valentine's next question distracted him from his gloomy and, for that matter, useless
thoughts.
"Where was Chris headed?"
"Don't know. Don't care, I left him in the subway. I can tell you how to get back to the surface
if you want to go looking for him."
Jill hesitated and glanced toward Carlos. "No. Not right away. I want to help you with him
first."
Nicholai laughed briefly, a little incredulously. "Do I look like someone who needs help?"
"Damn right, you do," she answered him acidly. "Whether you like it or not. You should see
yourself in a mirror, right now."
He shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever, I don't feel like arguing."
"You're welcome," she huffed and then turned toward the front of the carriage. "We're almost
there," she stated, before facing him again. "What about your Cat? Where did you leave
him?"
Nicholai merely tilted his head without answering her. He had no intention to. Not with the
risk that she would then mention it to her complete asshole of a man. His plan was simple, at
least on paper: find the cure for Carlos, use the funicular connecting the two labs, find a cure
for himself, reach the rooftop, where he hoped to find Leon waiting for them and leave that
shitty place by helicopter. Other than Lev, he would take Carlos and the little girl with him.
As for Miss Valentine, she was the sole master of her fate. He would not deny her a ride if
she wanted one but he already knew she would not move from Raccoon City without
Redfield.
"Then, keep your secrets," she grumbled, "but beware that your Poodle is rotten jealous."
Nicholai chuckled sincerely, for once. "He's so dumb..." But that insult was so full of
affection that Jill felt tenderhearted.
"He is right, you know? You're really caring, almost cute."
Nicholai looked away again, uncomfortably.
"Oh, my God! You're embarrassed!" She taunted him and laughed when he glared at her.
Then the wagon began to slow down and Nicholai dropped the talk completely. He got back
on his feet, doing his best to appear as casual as possible, although his legs were a bit shaky.
Putting Carlos back on his shoulders was torture, but he did not make a peep.
"Almost there, you idiot," he whispered, settling him better on top of him. "Almost there.
Miss Valentine-
"Got it," she preceded him, moving out with her rifle pointed. "'Clear," she determined, after
examining the surroundings.
Nicholai walked past her, followed a short distance by Sherry. She was so confused. She had
been to her daddy's office before, but she certainly had not gone through the sewers. No, she
had simply entered a building downtown and then taken an elevator. It was all so grotesque
and creepy.
"Great..." Nicholai whispered, seeing the blood covering the floor beyond the heavy
automatic door that led inside the lab.
"WELCOME TO NEST!" Exclaimed the usual, mechanical, jovial voice as they passed the
sensor. "Please wait until the doors have fully opened before continuing."
"Yeah, whatever," Jill huffed, stepping over the threshold to examine the interior. There were
more bodies there, about a dozen, all burned, and a stony silence interrupted only by the
slamming of the jammed door. She winced, however, when a blond woman rushed out of one
of the rooms with a grenade launcher in her arms and she pointed it at her.
"M-mom?" Sherry gasped, peeping out from behind Nicholai.
Annette blinked, confused, before shifting her gaze to her daughter. She was clearly under
stress. She was very pale, her blond hair tail was all frayed and disheveled, and her lab coat
was stained with blood.
"Mommy!" Sherry exclaimed again, before running up to her and throwing her arms around
her waist.
The woman staggered as if dazed and grabbed her shoulders tightly, clutching her to herself
in a rush of relief mixed with panic. She was so happy that she was alive and well. That
William had not touched her, but then she became resentful because that place was not safe
for her.
"I told you to stay home or call the police," she scolded her, pulling her away from herself.
"Why don't you ever listen to me?"
Sherry stammered something unintelligible and an apology, moving back. Nicholai took the
opportunity to stand between them.
"This can wait," he decreed, "he needs the cure for the G-virus," he explained, hinting at
Carlos with his head.
"Get lost, I don't have time for this," Annette hissed.
"He saved my life!" Shrieked Sherry. "You must help him! YOU MUST! Mom, please!
Please, I beg you!"
The scientist hesitated for a second then nodded.
"With me," she cut it short, leading them to the infirmary from which she had emerged. "Lay
him down on that crib. Sherry, go sit in that other room, don't move from there," she ordered
her daughter, then looked at Jill. "And you, whoever you are, go outside and stand guard."
"Please indulge her," Nicholai whispered, seeing Miss Valentine's annoyed grimace.
"Just because you said 'please.' I thought you didn't even know it as a word," she replied
bitterly, and, with that said, she obeyed and left the room.
Annette, meanwhile, had slipped on a pair of latex gloves and with a small flashlight was
examining Carlos's pupils. She also heard his breathing with the stethoscope and counted his
heartbeats.
"He's a goner," she judged, "there's no point in making the effort."
Nicholai winced at that icy death sentence, then rejected it.
"I know there is a cure," he objected, "and that I have about another hour, I spoke directly
with headquarters!"
Annette took off her gloves, threw them in the trash, and sighed, exhausted. "You got your
intel only partially correct. The transformation will be complete in about an hour, but more or
less in half, three quarters at most, the mutations undergone by his body will be too massive
to regress and he will die anyway."
"It’s plenty of time, just point me in the right direction! Do you know who I am?!"
The woman tilted her head a little, looking at him more carefully then unceremoniously
grabbed him by the chin, forcing him to lower his face, and pointed the small flashlight into
his eyes.
Nicholai snapped back, cursing in Russian as if his brain had just been drilled.
"Yes," she huffed, exasperated, almost amused. "You're a dead man walking, too,” she
commented, backing away. "In an hour your fever will be so high you'll barely be able to
move, in two - to be generous - you'll go into a coma. From there it will depend on which of
your organs collapses first, usually, it's the respiratory system, but you could also have heart
failure, die and then turn. There is no cure for the T at NEST. William needed more space,
but you can try to make a run to the other lab. If the woman outside helps you, you can still
make it. Assuming you don't bite her to death, of course."
"Just tell me where to find the cure for the G," Nicholai growled at her.
"Very well, listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once."
Leon wasted no time keeping an eye on Chris; he just hoped that having shot the fuses would
slow him down enough to give him a good head start. He could have shot him directly and
gotten it over with but the idea had made him shudder as soon as he had it, and he was
ashamed to have had it to begin with. Chris was an asshole but he was also a victim. He did
not deserve to die and, in any case, he was no one to arbitrarily administer justice.
He arrived at a control room and entered the first code Nicholai had written down for him
without looking back, and the door opened in front of him.
"Welcome, Silver Wolf," the computer greeted him.
Silver Wolf? Sounds badass, he thought, and found it a particularly fitting code name for his
mysterious Russian friend. Nonetheless, when he laid eyes on the white corridor that had
opened in front of him he felt uncomfortable. What kind of place was that? What else did he
have to prepare to face?
Nothing had gone as he had hoped when he had left his home, and it seemed to him that an
eternity had passed since that moment. From the moment he had met Chris outside his hotel
room, everything had gone to shit. Why did it all have to be so absurd and horrible? He had
not consented to this! To any of it! He had only wanted to become a cop in a small town like
many others that had the distinguishing feature of having an interesting case on which he
could lend a hand and make a career. He had thought it was a serial killer, perhaps a cult, as
even the newspapers had speculated, but that... That was hell ascended to earth.
He had been chased by monsters, threatened, raped, beaten, infected, and nearly killed by
who, if not exactly a friend, he had considered at least an ally!
Everything was so unfair and he was so full of despair and anger. The only thing that kept
him from breaking down or exploding was his goal: he had to find a cure and bring it to
Nicholai. It was not just a matter of moral duty, no, he needed to save his life because he
wanted to preserve and cherish the one person who had done him good in that bloody
nightmare. Maybe then they would become friends. Maybe then he wouldn't be so lonely
anymore. Maybe he would help him out of that abyss because if he thought about how he
could go on with his life after all that horror, he had no idea! He needed guidance, he needed
someone to take care of him for once in his life!
And he was ready to fight for him.
Oh my God, do you want to fuck another one already? Taunted him that intrusive voice he
hadn't heard in a while. It went great with Chris, you shameless slut! You really want to make
yourself known to everyone!
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He hissed through clenched teeth, proceeding in a headlong rush.
Arriving at the end of the corridor, he came to a fork in the path. He took a quick look at the
map Nicholai had drawn for him. The quickest way to the roof was to the right, so he turned
left, hoping, thus, to delve into the laboratory to find what he was looking for.
He heard rifle shots in the distance. What the fuck was Chris doing back there? He had seen
absolutely nothing in the warehouse. What was he supposed to do? Go back to give him a
hand and risk not only the chance of finding a cure but also his own life? Not so much at the
creatures' hands, but at Chris's. What was to assure him that he would not shoot him as soon
as he saw him?
Absolutely nothing, and if he had died, then most likely Nicholai would have died as well.
He could not allow that.
Chris had made his choice, in the subway, it was time for him to make his own as well, so he
went on regardless of his fate.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As, by now, of solid custom, thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers,
bookmarkers, and subscribers!
I begin with a small correction to the last chapter's notes, where I wrote that Nicholai is
forty years old. As a kind reader pointed out to me, he is not forty. I was absolutely sure
I had put an almost, in front of it, but it clearly escaped me. Forgive me, I'll just say that
last week I practically worked myself to the point of collapse, and probably last
Wednesday I reread the notes I had written less carefully.
One specification though is necessary: for this story, I chose 1960 as the year of birth for
Nicholai, which was the year of birth in the original RE3. In the remake, they made him
a thread younger, i.e., 1963. I needed him to be closer to 40 years old, so, to clear the
fog, at the present time, in my story, Nicholai is 38 years old.
Forgive me if this was confusing, and I thank again the reader who pointed it out to me.
Coming to this chapter, poor Carlos is in terrible shape and his minutes are practically
numbered. I recognize that I was very cruel in keeping him conscious for so long
because Carlos is feeling all the mutations his body is undergoing. It must not be a good
experience, poor sunshine.
Nicholai, by now, is off on his suicide crusade. He did not think for a second about
going back to the other lab to save himself. As long as he can stand, his priority is
Carlos, which is very sweet and very distressing. Jill has realized that there is something
wrong with him but she has no idea how much Nicholai is putting up with just to get by,
and things can only get worse.
Annette Birkin also appeared and reconfirmed herself as an aloof and cynical asshole.
I'm sorry, I've never liked her as a character, and this will show clearly in my story. She
will play an important part in the chapters that follow, but she won't make a big
impression on us. I am sorry if there are any of her fans among you readers. She is just a
notch above Irons in my liking index, and only because Irons is at the bottom of the junk
barrel, and from there one can only go up. I am not anticipating anything, you will see
for yourselves what I mean, but it is not at all a good thing that Sherry is left alone with
her.
I conclude with Leon, who has entered his very personal tunnel vision: he wants to find
the cure for Nicholai, come what may. For that very reason, although he is not hostile to
Chris (for how much longer, I wonder) he is not on his side either. At the moment when
he has to decide whether to go back and help him against whatever Chris is facing, or go
on his way, Leon decides to abandon him.
This is the result of your being a dickhead, isn't it Chris?
Don't worry, they will meet again, in due time-I'm kind of pulling the handbrake on
them because the events surrounding them and those happening at NEST are
contemporaneous, but the Nicholai, Jill, Carlos, Sherry, and Annette part is definitely
longer.
Thanks again to everyone for being here!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 50
Chapter Notes
Jill turned around when she heard the door open.
"So what-
"Just move," Nicholai ordered her, and she almost had to run to keep up with him.
They reached a door and he abruptly grabbed her wrist, forcing her to put the bracelet in front
of the sensor.
"Now listen to me," he went on, beginning to move forward on a suspended platform.
However, Jill was too stunned and disturbed by what was in front of her eyes to give him her
full attention. "Holy shit!" She gasped at seeing how deeply that lab extended. She felt as if
she had suddenly ended up in a science fiction movie. How had they missed something so
gigantic and obvious? That place had been built and certainly needed continuous
maintenance, so how was it possible that they had never noticed anything? No suspicious
movements or illicit traffics. Yes, she now knew full well that the entire administration of
Raccoon City was in the hands of Umbrella, but it was impossible for her to believe that they
had been able to move so freely without a pass from the government. How far was that
corruption rooted? Who were they up against? She was disturbed and also frightened. Maybe
Barry was right, it was too big a game and too dangerous for poor sods like them.
"I told you to listen to me!" Nicholai barked, jolting her.
"Fuck you, okay?" She retorted, lengthening her stride. "To you, it's just a-
He had no time for this shit.
"Do whatever the fuck you want, stay and enjoy the view, I'm going in alone," he interrupted
her and was so quick to grab her wrist and undo her bracelet that she barely felt him do it. He
had sharp, expert fingers. She surely would not have even noticed if he had done it without
her looking at him.
He was a thief, Carlos' words came back to her. A thief is not a murderer by nature. He is
made a murderer.
She sighed.
"Wait!" She called him back, hurrying after him to the panel in front of which he had stopped
to extend another bridge. "Let's take a step back, talk to me."
"Every time I try, you never listen. It’s wasted breath," was his lapidary reply, before he
marched across the bridge with hurried steps.
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, you touchy prick!"
He turned sharply and stood in front of her, looking at her with such intensity that Jill feared
he was going to hit her.
He did not.
"Is that what they taught you at S.T.A.R.S.? To not know how to assess an enemy, to get
distracted behind the smallest bullshit, to forget your mission? No wonder so many of you are
dead!" He snarled in her face.
In response, Jill slapped him, outraged and hurt, then stepped back.
"I almost fell for the act of the poor guy with the unfortunate life, thank you for reminding
me of your true colors, you piece of shit," she hissed at him and was so furious that she didn't
realize how odd it was that Nicholai had let himself get hit like that by a slap that anyone
could have predicted and blocked.
"Go back to the infirmary, I don't need an amateur slowing me down," was his icy reply,
before he left her to continue alone across the lab threshold.
The child's mother had told him that the only other purple bracelet was from the greenhouse
foreman. He had begged the goddamn bitch to give him hers, swearing he would bring it
back but she had not wanted to hear reason. Nicholai had not taken it from her by force just
because she was Sherry's mother. He realized that, although in the most chaotic and
dysfunctional way possible, he had managed to accomplish that mission as well. He had
brought them together, yet he felt in his gut that something wasn’t right. He really didn’t like
that woman, she was so eager to see them go. She had something in mind, but he had no time
to deal with it. Not right away, at least. As for Miss Valentine, he was sorry, in part, that he
had snapped the way he did but he was losing both strength and clarity and could not let her
kid tantrums get in his way.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Did you really have nowhere else to croak?" He blurted out
when, upon reaching the next room, he saw the foreman crushed by a massive yellow flower
on the other side of the reinforced glass overlooking the greenhouse. The bracelet was on his
right hand, highly visible from his position but unreachable. Even a mortar shell would not
have been enough to break through that glass, so there was no point in trying. He had to go
around and find a fucking way to get that prick down, even if it meant sawing that goddamn
plant with his bare hands. He cast a glance at the watch, where the countdown was ruthlessly
ticking. He still had roughly twenty-five minutes left. He looked, annoyed, at the vines that
filled the walls of the antechamber.
Of all the monstrosities birthed by Umbrella, the fucking plants were the ones he detested the
most. He did not understand their tactical sense and they were, depending on the
circumstances, either very easy or very difficult to knock down. Generally, all that was
needed was fire but he had none. It didn't matter, he didn't have time to stop and incinerate
them anyway.
He yanked off the vines that were preventing the automatic door from opening, and when he
saw the arboreal entanglement that had formed in there he felt a little despondent. The bodies
of several scientists were hanging from the ceiling and their biological material had been
completely engulfed as fertilizer by the plant. Their bodies were now a tangle of vines but he
knew how tough and dangerous they could prove to be. He was forced to slow his pace. The
ivies did not have a particularly acute perception of the environment, so if he moved slowly
enough and kept his distance, he had a good chance of passing them without alerting them.
"Hang on, Poodle," he murmured, as if he could speak to him, and moved toward the
fertilization panel in the following room. There was always one in every greenhouse, and
although he had never been to NEST, ultimately all Umbrella labs looked alike. He read on
the monitor that there was already a vial of herbicide inside but when he tried to press the
start button, the computer voice told him that the compound was, by now, at too hot a
temperature and needed to be refrigerated in order to work. So he had to go down to the
refrigerated room, which, according to the map on the screen he had looked at as he passed
by, was supposed to be under a hatch in the greenhouse.
This is getting better and better, he thought, disheartened, taking the vial and putting it into
his jacket pocket. He was about to continue when he heard a burst from the room he had just
left. She never fucking listens! Damn her!
He stormed back to the lab infested by vines and drew his knife. Three ivies had swooped
down from the ceiling and were slowly staggering toward Miss Valentine, who was moving
around the room like a crazed marble trying to stall for time to figure out how to kill them.
Best wishes... He thought, impatient but not really planning to abandon her to her fate.
Although, in his heart, he would have hoped to face only one, not three at a time, damn her,
damn her, damn her!
He surged forward, hoping that the moron would not start shooting again at that very
moment. Quickly he stabbed the nearest one on a large, purulent bulb on his back, causing it
to pop. A quick, swift, and accurate but light blow because he could not risk the knife getting
stuck in their thick wooden skin. When the ivy writhed in shock, he pushed it away heavily,
dropping it to the floor against the wall. He turned, then, toward the other two, light on his
feet, deflected the first one's arms, and kicked the second one away to make room for
himself, before returning to stab the first one on all the bulbs on its torso.
Christ, he was tired, his movements were slow and his limbs were beginning to feel as heavy
as boulders. He dodged at the last second a lunge from the third ivy who, in the meantime,
had risen again, and crouched down, stabbing the last bulb of the one on which he had mainly
focused.
One was down. Two to go.
He grunted in pain when one of those things grabbed his burned shoulder and, once again,
lost control of the situation for a moment. One of the two ivies tried to take advantage of it
and split its head open, gaping the jaws of its carnivorous plant mouth. Nicholai shoved his
knife in it sideways and left it there, preventing it from closing on one of his limbs, then
stepped back, unsheathed Matilda from his belt, and fired. One bullet, one bulb. Precise as a
machine, until the two ivies fell to the ground inert. With another wail of irate frustration he
retrieved the knife with a yank and only then turned his head toward Miss Valentine,
addressing her the look.
Yes, the look because Jill knew it well, it was the same look of furious, frustrated disapproval
that Wesker had given her more often than she could count whenever she had disregarded his
expectations. And, before him, her father had also looked at her that way at least a billion
times because she failed to be the perfect princess he would have wanted. Although she had
grown stronger over the years, she felt the same sense of inadequate shame and braced
herself for a rebuke that, however, did not come.
Nicholai did not linger and, without saying a single word to her, went back the way he had
come, which was perhaps even worse.
She stood still for a moment, trying to hold her shit together. That was not the time to give
up. Something had changed in Nicholai since he had talked to Sherry's mother, there was a
different urgency in his actions, and this could only mean that Carlos's condition was
desperate. Yes, the Russian had been a jerk to her but that was probably the only way he
could cope with the stress he was under. Just like Chris.
Then she heard him coughing, in the other room.
She rushed over and found him leaning against the wall, wheezing and hunched as he pressed
a hand against his aching ribs, and although Jill had just seen him at work as the perfect one-
man army that he was, he appeared so fragile and vulnerable to her now. Carlos was right,
there was a man under that armor and he was in pain.
Nicholai closed his eyes, tilting his head, and let out a pained sigh. With more effort than he
would have liked to show he straightened up.
"I need your help," he confessed to her, not daring to look at her, "but you must listen to me,
otherwise there is no point."
"Okay, tell me," she said with determination.
Finally, they exchanged a look and it was one of mutual understanding. He had admitted that
he could not do it alone, and she was ready to put aside her wounded pride and acknowledge
his authority. Nicholai was not Wesker and he wasn’t her father either. He was just a
wounded, desperate man trying his best to save his friend's life. Moreover, she was the one
who had called him there. She was responsible for his fate.
"Come with me," Annette said, throwing open the door to the small room where she had
ordered her daughter to stay.
Sherry, sitting on the floor with Nicholai's dog tag clutched between her fingers, jumped up
and ran to her to hug her. There was so much she wanted to tell her that she did not even
know where to begin, but when she had almost reached her, her mother grabbed her by the
arm and began to drag her away.
"Wait!" Protested the little girl, still in pain from the beating HUNK had given her, but
Annette did not listen to her. "Where did Nicholai and Jill go?" She insisted and pointed her
feet to the ground when they reached the stretcher on which Carlos was lying. "I want to see
if he is better! I want-
"Stop whining!" Annette ranted at her. "They went away and left him here to die!"
Sherry shook her head her eyes filling with tears. "N-no, they wouldn't do that! THEY
WOULD NEVER DO THAT! YOU'RE JUST A LYING BITCH! AH!" She shrieked as her
mother slapped her and then fell silent, beginning to cry.
"Fuck..." Annette hissed, annoyed. That was William doing. He had thrust into their little
girl's head that she was free to say and do whatever was on her mind; he had always argued
that she was entitled to her own opinion when she was just a child and the only thing she had
to do was obey! He squeezed her wrist even tighter and started marching again, dragging her
out of the room.
Annette knew what she had to do and hated it with every fiber of her being, but it was the
right punishment for her stupidity. She should have killed William when she had the chance,
but instead, she had hesitated because she was a poor fool!
It was all her fault. Hers and her desire for revenge. It was she who had reported William to
headquarters. It had not taken her long to realize from her husband's feverish behavior that
Wesker had somehow survived the destruction of Spencer Manor. As a result, she had also
guessed that William would soon move to join him once the G was finalized, and she had
been seized with such blind rage that she had not thought twice before exposing him. She
could not bear for him to leave her, but even less could she stand for him to take away her
life's work and her daughter to take her to the fucking psychopath who had already misguided
and plagiarized her husband since adolescence. Or at least that was what she had always told
herself not to consider herself an absolute idiot for marrying him. By the time she had met
William, Wesker had long been off the radar. For all she knew, they had been fighting heavily
about something, and that had led to a rift in what, at the time, she believed to be just a
brotherly friendship with somewhat morbid traits. When Wesker had reappeared and she had
caught them screwing in one of the labs, her whole world had come crashing down on her.
Not only had she been hopelessly in love with William but her stay at Umbrella depended
solely on him. She had sensed that Wesker was not the type to share, and, for that matter,
neither was she, so she had done the only thing that could allow her to keep William and her
job at Umbrella, which was to get pregnant because she knew how William had always been
obsessively attached to his creations, voluntary and incidental.
The shitshow that had followed that 'glad tidings' had probably entered the list of the
company's most ridiculous incidents, and it had come close to Spencer killing all three of
them with his own hands. If William had taken the news of his future paternity with relative
maturity and composure, without giving away how much, in fact, it had sent him into a panic,
Wesker had completely thrown off his mask and shown himself in all his jealous, psychotic
glory.
One evening, around her second month of pregnancy, he had joined her in the lab and would
have killed her if William had not intervened not so much to protect her, but his creature she
was carrying. Their quarrel, so to speak, had resulted in the destruction of a laboratory,
several casualties, millions of dollars in damage, and the loss of the first promising prototype
of Tyrant that had taken about a decade to develop, along with all the data from the research
conducted. William had come out of it with a broken arm, a concussion, a thoracic internal
hemorrhage, and a prognosis of six months because the fool had put himself between her and
the Tyrant, which had snapped Wesker out of his jealous delusions and led him to spring into
action and take down the damn thing by blowing the whole place up. Unfortunately, he had
not died in the process. From that gigantic mess, she had emerged victorious, at the price of
being hated forever by William. If, until that moment, although it was quite clear that he did
not love her, he had always shown her some affection, that incident had changed everything.
Yes, they had married, in a dingy hospital room, as soon as William had been in a position to
actually say yes to something, but he had been very clear and lucidly cruel in telling her that
he was only doing it for the child and that he knew full well that she had wanted to set him
up. As for Wesker, she had no idea what shithole Spencer had sent him to serve his
punishment, but he had been away from them for years until he reappeared in the role of
captain of the S.T.A.R.S. unit.
When they had married, Annette had been naïve enough to believe that she could win back
her husband's love but it had taken her a short time to realize that she could not win back
something she never had. Day after day, year after year, that mad love she had initially felt
for William had turned into resentment, and she had found herself trapped with him at work
and at home with a child she had never really wanted but who, absurdly, had become the
apple of her indolent husband's eye. For the first time she had seen him love unconditionally,
or, rather, she had realized it because it was clear that Wiliam had loved that child ever since
she had been nothing more than a cluster of cells in her womb. This had genuinely surprised
her because she did not believe that he was capable of feeling anything beyond his sick
obsession with Wesker. She had seen him change, become more open, more communicative,
sunnier, even, almost a human being and while these would have been small things for a
normal man, for William they were the equivalent of moving mountains. He had come out of
his mind for her, something she was certain he had done for no one else in the world. No,
both she and Wesker had adjusted to him, but with Sherry, it was William who had come out
of his shell and stepped into a world he didn’t understand and was afraid of. Annette had no
idea how that miracle have occurred because, in truth, she did not know much about her
husband. He had never confided in her about his past or other personal things, not even at the
beginning of their dating. She had basically married a stranger, but, at the same time, a genius
so extraordinary that he was unique in the world. No man would have withstood a
comparison with him, so she had stuck by his side anyway, hating him a little more one piece
at a time because she was unable to accept that, in victory, she had won only the humiliation
of defeat. Especially since Wesker had returned to Raccoon City. Their rapprochement had
been gradual and never quite complete because their last confrontation had left them with
scars that were slow to heal and wrongs that were even harder to forgive. However, if the
research on the G had stagnated, during the years of Wesker's absence, William had sort of
blossomed again upon his return, although they were not working together on the project -
probably because the last thing Spencer wanted was to put the ticking bomb they were in a
lab back together- and they barely spoke to each other at first.
Annette had thus once again seen herself torn from her normalcy and under threat of losing
what she had earned in the meantime, namely a respectable position at Umbrella that was
hers and hers alone, and after the Spencer Mansion, things had plummeted even more.
So she had acted to preserve herself and what she had by denouncing William's intentions
directly to Spencer. She had not expected that they would try to kill William because his
genius was unparalleled and he was too valuable an asset to the company to waste him like
that. No, Annette had expected him to be locked up and Spencer to exploit Sherry's existence
to keep him in the bridle. When she had seen him advancing on shaky legs with his chest
riddled with bullets and shaken by spasms she had realized the gravity of the mistake she had
made
William had not even dignified her with a glance, ignoring her as, for that matter, he had
done whenever he could since they had been married. It had been immediately clear to her
that the madman had injected himself with the G and she had known from the beginning that,
with such a damaged body, the mutations would be sudden and unpredictable, but when she
had heard him cry out, so heartbroken because he had been robbed of his life's work, her
heart had sunk in her chest. It would have been hypocritical to say that her intention was not
to hurt him, she had wanted and sought that for more than twelve years, but not like this.
Never like this. She still loved him, and because of that, she had failed to pull the trigger
when she should have.
She knew that the G was hunting Sherry as the most compatible organism, so if she was to
use her child as bait to lure and kill him, then she was left with no choice and no doubt.
It was grotesque, in a way, that William was trying to infect the person he had loved most and
had created a virus that actively sought the greatest biological compatibility. He certainly had
not done it on purpose, but Annette was not surprised because, after all, that was how his
mind worked. Not that she didn't love her. Sherry was more William's daughter than hers, but
of course, she loved her. However, the circumstances were what they were and if the price
she had to pay to make amends for her terrible mistake was to sacrifice her, she was ready to
pay it.
So she dragged her into the elevator.
Chris climbed onto the platform with a grunt; that warehouse had turned into a fucking
nightmare. Dogs, zombies, even a hunter had gotten out of those cages, and then that white-
skinned zombie who hadn't gone down even with a whole magazine. No matter, he had killed
what he could and gotten through the rest and now, finally, he had reached his goal, which
was to get on the platform that would lead him past the warehouse. He had no idea what he
would be up against but he had the unpleasant, unbearable feeling that he was in an arena and
that he was, again, nothing more than a little piggy against whom each horrible monster was
to be unleashed to see how he would face them or how he would die.
A Monitor is a peculiar kind of analyst, the Umbrella Captain on the train had said. Their job
is to collect data on the effectiveness of monsters like the ones you have seen. Believe me, if
he is around you it is only because you are just yet another experiment.
Why the fuck had Jill interrupted him? Now it would certainly come in handy for him to
know more because he was mathematically certain that it was Nicholai who had blocked him
down there.
That big son of a bitch.
He hurried his pace as he reached the room above the warehouse, where he noticed a large
glass window. Had the asshole been watching him from up there enjoying the show? He was
going to kill him but not before he was told what had become of Leon. Without wasting any
more time, he approached the door, which opened in front of him, already unlocked.
How convenient! He thought, imagining that he was facing yet another test. So he proceeded
with caution.
Rushing things is just the best way to get everything wrong, and, let me be brutally honest,
you don’t shine with your deductions even when you take it slow. Another Wesker’s piece of
wisdom, if only Chris had known how right it was even at that very moment.
Meanwhile, Leon had gone ahead and tried to enter every room he came across. He was
soaking wet because once he had gained access to the hallway, he had been flooded with
disinfectant and was shivering with cold. The only door he had found closed was, probably,
the one he had to enter. He had tried all the codes Nicholai had left him but none had worked.
Damn him! While he was at it, why not write them all down for him?
Precisely because he didn't want you to slip in here, he answered himself but if Nicholai
thought that a stupid locked door could stop him, well, he clearly didn’t know him well
enough. He had noticed that the panel had an entry for a USB key. It had to be a way to
bypass the code, so he just had to find one. Surely the scientists had to have it, but so far he
had had no luck with the bodies he had inspected. In doubt, however, he had collected all
their magnetic cards, hoping they would be useful for something sooner or later.
He walked out of yet another useless room and ran up the stairs, His legs ached from exertion
but he had no intention of stopping.
That place was big, but not immense, and he had to find what he was looking for before Chris
could catch up with him and stop him.
"Go fuck yourself," he blurted out when a zombie scientist rose as he passed and tried to grab
him. With a yank, he unbalanced him away from himself and continued straight ahead. He
could have shot him but that would have meant revealing his position. He had to do without
while he could. He slipped into a room on the left where he found high-tech stretchers and a
strange machine on the back wall. A scientist had died right there in front of it. He
approached him and tapped him with the barrel of his rifle to make sure he would not get up.
He had a paper in his hand, and Leon had to exert a lot of effort and care to get his hand, still
stiff from rigor mortis, open and retrieve it without tearing it apart. It was a note from a
certain Dr. Bard.
"Okay, great!" He exclaimed, reading that all that was needed to synthesize a vaccine was an
antigen and an adjuvant. He was certainly on the right track. He turned over the paper where
in shaky handwriting had been pinned down: antigen lab 1 - adjuvant incubation lab
(freezer).
"Thank you, pal," he whispered, putting it in his pocket.
The computer's voice almost gave him a heart attack as he approached and heard her say, "To
start the vaccine synthesis put the adjuvant in the chamber."
This dispelled all doubt. His unfortunate scientist friend had also already brought one of the
two vials, making his life easier.
Lab 1 was just below him, and it was the room he had found closed but from what he could
see, beyond there the lab continued. He hadn't found any freezers where he had already
passed, so he had to continue in that direction but how? He still hadn't found the USB key.
He looked out onto the small terrace that overlooked large glass cylinders containing…
"Tyrants..." He said, taken by discouragement.
Don't be a pussy! He scolded himself. Looking closer, he realized that, with a little caution,
he could walk on the ventilation ducts, jump down to the middle floor, then onto one of those
cylinders, and finally downstairs. It didn't take a genius to guess it was a bullshit idea, but he
had no other, so he followed that plan.
He went over the balustrade and held on to make sure the ventilation shaft could actually
support his weight.
It could.
"You have no excuse now," he tried to comfort himself, kneeling down so he could lower
himself to the middle floor. He landed on his feet like the cat he was and continued to the end
of the balustrade, taking note that a grate, on the wall to his right, had been opened. He
looked despondently at the cylinder just below him, closest to the elevator. He was afraid but,
even if he had wanted to, it was now too late to turn back. Taking courage, he climbed over
the balustrade and jumped, landing safely on the damn thing. He froze, waiting for something
in there to awaken to kill him, but nothing moved, so he breathed a sigh of relief. He took off
the lab coat and tied it to one of the tubes so he would have a chance to climb back up, in
case things got bad. He was using it to lower himself when he heard a terrible roar in the
distance that startled him so badly that he lost his grip. He crashed on his back with a groan
but was very quick to get back on his feet.
He had recognized it.
It was that thing that had attacked him and Chris in the subway. The thing that had infected
him.
And now there it was, in the lab. Somewhere.

Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, a thousand thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmarkers,
and commenters!
So, the pursuit of the cures is proceeding with a few bumps in the road.
Nicholai and Jill have finally reached a stable compromise that will hopefully allow
them to achieve the goal by working together. Fortunately, she is not Chris and can tell
when to step back and let the more experienced one lead the operation. Jill almost sees
Nicholai as a father figure, and since she does not have a good relationship with her
father, the whole situation makes her a little uncomfortable.
Nicholai, on the other hand, has no more fucks to give and as long as she was whining,
he was ready to leave her behind. Too bad he also has to come to terms with reality. His
strength and concentration are dropping precipitously with each passing minute, so
although he is a proud man and, at the same time, not entirely persuaded that Jill is up to
the task, he relents and asks her for help. Which was all she needed to hear.
Annette does not disappoint expectations and shows herself for the bitch she is. The
discourse is more complex than that, however, and she too has traits that, with a hint of
psychopathy, can be shared. She created the mess in this story of mine and is actively
responsible for the catastrophe in Raccoon City (for fuck's sake, though, Annette, you
couldn't just file for a bloody divorce, could you?) and this knowledge would be enough
to send even the most balanced people (of which she is not a part) out of their minds.
Moreover, she is a woman who has done everything wrong in life. When she saw that
William had other interests, she should have left with dignity instead of trapping him
like that, locking herself in a cage with him for about 12 years.
Small parenthesis, I think I read somewhere that they were married before Sherry was
born, allow me and forgive me this creative license, it came back to me now that I am
writing these notes and it is too late to correct. Things would have gone wrong anyway
and Annette would have gotten pregnant to keep William from divorcing her, instead of
forcing him to marry her. Even reversing the order of factors, the result does not change.
The really big difference with the canon is that by the time Claire and Sherry arrive at
NEST, the child is already infected; here she is not. Personally, I see it as very plausible
that Annette would use her as bait to kill William because she knows he will surely
come after her. It is crystal clear in the game that ending William is her priority, to the
point that she sends a complete stranger to take the cure for her daughter when she could
have gotten off her ass and gone there herself, for fuck's sake. I'm sorry, I really can't
stand her to the point I can't even be the devil's lawyer and defend her.
Another one who never disappoints is Chris who cannot get a deduction right, and, I
admit, in this case, I used Wesker's voice to express all my resigned scorn. Chris is the
kind of person to take a puzzle, hammer the pieces together at random and say, "It came
out perfectly!" and he proves it once again. What should I do with you, you big dummy?
You only had to hear the word "Monitor" once to rocket off on a wild goose chase. You
bloody idiot...
Leon, on the contrary, shows himself to be highly organized in his random proceeding
into unfamiliar territory. I modified a few things by having some of the components
ready because otherwise, it would have been redundant to go over the paths taken in the
games step by step. He works very well when put under pressure, as has already
happened many times throughout this story but is really scared to death by Nemesis,
now. I really can't blame him, poor thing.
The next chapter I am afraid will be longer than normal and longer than this one. I plan
to finish the events at NEST and, if I can write everything in time, also the events
involving Leon and Chris. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll bore you if I drag it out too long,
and I for one am starting to get anxious to finally finish the Raccoon City arc and move
on.
Thank you all so much once again!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 51
Chapter Notes
"You must do everything I tell you. No questions, no arguments, no yes, no, or but. Those
would be wasted seconds. You just do it," Nicholai said. "It means: if I tell you to run, you
run, if I tell you to take cover, you take cover, if I tell you to shoot, you shoot," he continued,
turning to look at her, "and, most importantly, if I tell you to leave me behind, you must leave
me behind. All clear?"
"Why don't you say something useful instead of giving me the talk? You've pissed on the tree
long enough, you're in charge, old man. Got it," she huffed.
"Our goal is to retrieve the purple ID that will give us access to the lab where the vaccine is
contained. it's on the wrist of the poor dead fucker splattered against the glass window. We
have," he glanced at his watch, "about twenty-two minutes."
Jill stared wide-eyed, feeling overwhelmed with anguish. She had expected Carlos to be in a
desperate situation, but twenty-two minutes? That was insanity! "W-what?" She uttered.
Nicholai refrained from scolding her about the pointless questions and simply ignored her.
"We're dealing with plants, the rules are a little different," he said.
"Yes, I looked at you. I have to hit the bulbs," Jill answered him.
"Correct, but it is best to avoid being in that situation from the beginning. Ivies, that's their
name, are not very perceptive. If you move quietly, they won’t notice you. And keep in mind
that their presence does not rule out the possibility of other creatures." He paused, uncertain.
Should he tell her he was infected? No. He was still in control. He would do it later, if
necessary. "This is what we will do: we will go down to the lower level to cool the herbicide
that can kill the plant, spread it, and retrieve the ID. We will treat Carlos and then take the
elevator and go down to level 9, where a cable car will take us to another facility. There, there
are helicopters on the roof that will allow us to leave the city. Let's move. Quietly."
Nicholai opened the door and looked into the greenhouse, advancing quickly but making no
noise. It was amazing how a man of his size could be so light on his feet. He really was on
another level, but Jill felt that something was amiss. There was something he hadn't said to
her. Of course, there were hundreds of things she didn't know about him but her gut told her it
wasn't one of his many mysteries. No, it was definitely something he was really concerned
about. Perhaps he was just worrying about Carlos's fate. It was the most obvious answer, but
nothing assured her it was the right one. In any case, she would only know when he wanted
to bring her up to speed, so it was pointless to mull it over and take attention away from what
she was doing. She immediately stopped when he motioned her to do so and shuddered to see
him pointing at five of those zombie-plants hidden among the leafy branches of that giant
tree just over their heads, and goodness knew how many more there were. Nicholai signaled
her to be absolutely silent as if she needed to be told! It got on her nerves that he was treating
her like a clueless child. Nicholai had not thought twice before putting a gun in Sherry's hand,
but now that he was dealing with her, he did not let her out of his sight and bossed her
around.
Patronizing asshole.
A shiver, however, ran down her spine when she saw him open a trapdoor that led toward the
lower floor. The shaft down was narrow and dark, not so much the one she had crawled into
in the sewers but enough to remind her and make her freeze.
"Don't worry, I'll go first," Nicholai whispered to her in a gentle tone that sounded so bizarre,
but at the same time made her realize that he was not patronizing her, he was taking care of
her. This made her feel even more uncomfortable because she was not used to it. Ever since
she had decided to leave her parents, take charge of her life and make her own choices, she
had always rejected even the idea of having someone who could make decisions for her in a
more intimate and private sphere. This was precisely why it had taken her forever to give in
to the obvious fact that she was in love with Chris because he, too, had that tendency to
protect and care that often bordered on wanting to be in charge.
She watched Nicholai disappear into that hatch with a heart full of discomfort and, despite
herself, gratitude because a part of her felt reassured by his assertiveness. It made her life
easier and, moreover, she finally saw clearly the man Carlos had described to her with such
passionate affection. He really reminded her of Chris, a Chris at a different stage, to whom
everything had gone horribly wrong. Was this what he had wanted to warn her about? The
risk that Chris, too, could go crazy and totally out of control? Had that been the reason
Nicholai had killed his best friend? Had he lost his mind, back then? She would have loved to
ask him, but even if she could, she doubted Nicholai would answer her.
She was so lost in thought that, in going down the ladder she missed a step and fell down like
a ton of bricks. Fortunately for her, she had descended low enough to take only a sound fall
on her ass that hurt her pride the most. Especially when she heard that asshole snort in
amusement.
Then everything happened so fast that she hardly realized it. Nicholai yanked her to her feet,
dragged her past the corner of the hallway, and pressed himself on her against the wall,
plugging her mouth with one hand. Jill gave him a confused and annoyed look, not
understanding what was going on but one thing she did not fail to notice, now that she had
him practically all over her, was that Nicholai was as hot as a furnace.
Before she could focus on the problem or its implications, she too heard the noise that had so
alerted him, like something whipping the air, followed by the ticking of claws moving on the
wall. She winced when she saw, in the half-light, that long horrible tongue snapping just
beyond the corner, tremendously close to them. Nicholai pressed his hand over her mouth
even more impetuously, then slowly loosened his grip until he left only his index finger on
her lips, intimating that she should keep her foul mouth shut for once.
He let her go completely and, almost in slow motion, brought his hand to the knife and
removed it from his belt. The time had come to try out the strategy he had hypothesized to
Sherry. He stepped back from Miss Valentine and passed the knife to his left hand. He had
only one chance, and if he failed, they would both die and Carlos with them.
He didn't have to think about it.
He just had to act as he was trained to do.
With his right hand he grabbed that tongue suspended in midair and, catching the licker by
surprise, he yanked him to the ground with all his strength and then plunged the knife down
on him and repeatedly stabbed that hideous exposed brain. He was surprised himself when he
stopped moving. Part of him had not really expected it to work, but his relief was short-lived
when he heard another sharp, shrill hissing sound.
There were two of them!
As he could, he tried to get out of the way, narrowly avoiding the licker's paw before it could
chop his head clean off. He crashed against the wall of that narrow hallway and his own
momentum stunned him, causing him to lose his grip on the knife as he sprawled to the
ground on his back. He screamed in pain and frustration as the licker lunged at him and sank
his claws into his shoulders to hold him down.
It was over. He had failed.
No, not like this! With the sheer force of desperation, he lifted his hands, pushing up on that
flayed chest, lifting it enough to keep its voracious teeth from clamping down on his face.
Then he saw Miss Valentine throw herself, fearlessly, onto the licker's shoulders and he find
himself crushed by the weight of both. What the fuck was she thinking of doing? He realized
it when Jill clamped a forearm on the licker's neck and then began stabbing him in the brain
with his knife. He felt the licker's claws open a gash in his chest, and he lost consciousness
for a moment.
With a labored grunt, Jill was dragged down as the licker stopped moving and she lay there,
panting, holding on to that horror. Then she came to her senses. She slid to the side and rolled
the monster away.
"Don't do this to me, you piece of shit! Don't you dare!" She groaned as she saw Nicholai
motionless and with his eyes closed.
There was so much blood... And he looked dead.
It shook her to the core, much more than she would have thought possible. She had grown
fond of him in spite of everything. Perhaps it had been Carlos's adoration, perhaps Nicholai's
own actions. She didn't know. As the days passed, Nicholai had thrown off the mask and
revealed himself for who he really was; a man ready to sacrifice everything for those he
loved. For some absurd reason, she had ended up in the mix, even if he was her mission. He
was paid to see her die! He could have used her as bait, pushed her into the jaws of those
monsters, and gone on his way but he had not. He had protected her!
She gasped when she saw his eyes go wide and tried to hold him down, but he harshly
pushed her away.
"Stay back!" He hissed at her, crawling to take refuge in a corner, leaving a streak of blood
beneath him..
She stared at him with wide eyes, shocked and grieving. "Let me fucking help you!" She
shrieked, then her voice broke. "Y-you might be infected, I know, but-
"I was already infected," he interrupted her, and something broke inside him as he saw her
eyes become teary. That woman was a rock; he had not seen her shed a tear over anything in
those days, and the first ones were for him. He was so deeply touched.
"H-how...?" She uttered, letting her voice die and hurrying to wipe her eyes.
"Leon… Fuck, shit!" He growled in frustration as he leaned against the wall to try to get back
on his feet, and his legs gave out again, causing him to tumble back to the floor. "Away!" He
reiterated as Miss Valentine took a step toward him then he began coughing again and, this
time, there was blood.
He felt so weak and helpless, like the 21-year-old kid he had been, at the training camp. It
almost seemed to him that he could hear Igor mocking him because, after a grueling mission
in which he had not slept for days and his back was still healing from the terrible burn that
Sergei, his brother, had given him, he could no longer get back on his feet.
The pain and fatigue are just a trick of the mind. He had told him with his unbearable
arrogance. Do you think you are hurting now?
Nicholai hit the floor with a fist and inhaled deeply. "I'll show you how much more you can
take!" He snarled under his breath, repeating the sentence Igor had said to him before he had
beaten him until he almost killed him.
Under Miss Valentine's shocked gaze, he got back up and moved a few unsteady steps before
resuming a normal gait and passing her.
"Y-you need-
"I need to finish my mission," he shut her up and barely noticed that he had used another
phrase from Igor. Finish the mission. No matter how many people die, no matter if you die.
Просто закончите миссию! - Just finish the mission! He had filled his head with that crap,
him and all the poor bastards like him who had been subjected to the torture he called
training. Or, at least, those who had survived. Fuck him, fuck all of them. The mission he was
doing at that moment was the only one that really had value in almost twenty years and it had
nothing to do with their shit. He promptly grabbed a zombie hiding around the corner who
tried to ambush him and broke her neck cleanly, then shot everyone else in the room, not
stopping moving forward until Matilda ran out of bullets. Miss Valentine spared him from
wasting time reloading and shot down the last remaining ones.
Finally, she had gotten up to speed, he noticed. He was aware that he was upsetting her,
perhaps even frightening her, and although the more human side of him regretted it,
strategically it was for the best.
"What you did earlier," he told her in a tone so low and pained that he disgusted himself,
"was amazingly stupid, but amazing nonetheless." He did not turn to look at her and
continued down the corridor.
"You suck at compliments, you know?" She ventured a joke, after a long moment of complete
silence.
She made him smile. "You're the one who can't take any."
As he opened the door that would lead them to the refrigerated room he heard her inhale,
almost choking back a sob.
"I appreciate the sympathy but it is misplaced," he pointed out, again without looking at her.
He did not want to. He was afraid to see how messed up he actually was reflected in her
grieving face. That would have forced him to listen to his body, to his wounds, and he could
not allow it. Moreover, this would have made her uncomfortable. Miss Valentine was a strong
and proud woman, and the more time he spent with her, the more he appreciated her for it.
She shot another zombie in the office before he even realized the threat. Another sign that his
reflexes were slowing at an alarming speed; and he cried out in pain, blinded when he found
himself under the bright light of the refrigerated room. He bent over, covering his eyes with
one hand, and had to lean against one of the tables to keep from collapsing to the floor.
"Nicholai!"
"Leave me be," he quickly stopped her, sliding away from her onto the table.
"Photosensitivity, a common symptom."
"Nicholai-
"Stop Nicholai me, I still remember my bloody na-
"You're tearing fucking blood!"
"Oh… Also quite common," he downplayed, then took the vial of herbicide from his jacket.
"Freeze this," he ordered her and Jill winced upon seeing how much his hand was shaking.
Nevertheless, she obeyed and slipped the capsule into the machine in front of her.
"So, did Leon infect you, or did you get infected to protect him?" She asked him while it
started the process.
Nicholai let himself fall down sitting in a chair and slowly, opened his burning eyes. He had a
terrible headache, and an even worse cold in there. His whole body was shivering but at least,
the scratches the licker had made on him were stopping bleeding. They weren't that deep, not
that he was really worrying about it. The pain was also slowly diminishing and he was
beginning to feel as if anesthetized. It was the T that was slowly shutting him down but all in
all, it wasn't so bad.
"What difference does it make?" He huffed, chattering his teeth.
"A lot. You said he'll be fine, so if he was infected, you cured him."
"If that was the doubt, of course, there is a cure."
"Why didn't they use it at Spencer Manor?"
"Really? Does it matter now?” He protested, then he lowered his head. “I don't fucking know.
"He groaned, crinkling his aching eyes. "Umbrella likes to cut off dead branches from time to
time. The scientists in there were... expendable, I suppose, or useful just to see how the virus
would spread in a controlled environment. I-I..." His voice was lost in nothingness and he
forgot what he wanted to say. Like Kendo's daughter. It was beginning and he was also
starting to feel hungry. "Fuck..."
"Why didn't you treat yourself too?"
He looked up at Miss Valentine, seeing her in a tarnished way. "For such an intelligent
woman, you really ask shitty questions sometimes. I only had one vial, you idiot."
Jill winced and bit her lip, trying to contain her anxiety. "B-but... I mean, this is a lab, there
must be one somewh-
"Yes, maybe," he lied, as the machine announced the end of the cooling procedure with a
beep. "Not our mission. You take the vial," he concluded, staggering back to his feet.
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" Jill protested because it was totally unacceptable to
her that he was senselessly putting himself at risk like this.
"It sounded like a self-explanatory sentence to me," he scoffed at her, advancing toward the
door.
"Stop treating me like a damn child! If there is one, we should-
Nicholai finally turned his head to give her an imperious, annoyed look. He was scary with
those cheeks streaked with tears of blood, and even his irises, now that she could see them
better, were beginning to lose their green color. There was no doubt that he was turning, and,
hell, she understood Carlos’ frustration, now. Nicholai was insufferable, especially when he
clearly needed help but refused to acknowledge it.
"You will do what I tell you to do. Starting with- He jammed again. Why the fuck was it so
hard to keep a thought in line? He sighed. "Just have your gun ready. I might get dangerous,
and in that case, you must put me down as fast as you can. If I grab you while I'm still alive,
you're dead, trust me on this."
Jill watched him leave and stood paralyzed on the spot for a long moment, totally
incredulous. Jesus Christ, she never thought she would meet a bigger jerk than Chris in being
a selfless idiot! Was this a men's thing or did they all come to her? She grabbed the vial and
ran after him, finding him intent on climbing up the ladder with difficulty.
"Remember the ivies," he admonished her, lifting the hatch.
In silence, they went through the greenhouse without further incidents, but as Jill passed him
on the threshold, Nicholai felt the almost overwhelming instinct to jump at her and devour
her. He realized this when his hand was already in midair ready to grab her by the hair to pull
her back. With a snarl, he retreated and used that same hand to dig his nails into one of his
wounds. The pain returned, sharp and sudden like an electric shock, restoring his lucidity as
well.
Jill had flinched away and was now looking at him with frightened eyes. She seemed almost
a child to him.
"Why didn't you pull out your gun?!" He accused her, standing on the threshold without
advancing.
She swallowed, uncertain. "Because I trust-
"Your trust in me has nothing to do with this, you stupid girl! "Where's your sense of self-
preservation?!" He blurted out, before starting coughing again, longer this time.
Jill stared at him. He of all people was talking about self-preservation? Really? He who had
lost more blood than he still had in his body? He who was still standing only out of
stubbornness? Did he hear himself when he said that shit?
"So what am I supposed to do? Shoot you now just in case?" She provoked him.
"That would be wise," he breathlessly wailed.
Never," she retorted, standing up to him. "How much time?"
"More than Carlos, hurry up with that herbicide!"
"Cut the bullshit and fucking answer me!"
Nicholai gave up and looked at his watch. He had to wipe off the blood that had dripped on it
to see the display. It was twelve minutes to the end of the half-hour he had put on the timer;
Carlos probably still had about twenty left in total, since Annette Birkin had given him
between thirty and forty-five. "About an hour and a half before I black out, but I'll be
dangerous or incapacitated long before that, so get your ass moving and stick the herbicide in
there!"
Jill moved and obeyed, and as the computer processed the operation, setting up the irrigation
system, she looked at him, deadly serious. "This is what we're going to do, we'll take the cure
for Carlos, administer it to him, then I'll lock you up somewhere, find one for you and cure
your stubborn, insufferable ass. After that we’ll follow the rest of your plan. It's non-
negotiable."
Nicholai laughed, which forced him to lean his back against the doorframe to keep himself
upright. It was all so surreal. The woman he was supposed to see dead was there stomping
her feet like a capricious child to save his skin. And it was all useless because there was no
cure for the T there.
"What's so funny?!" He heard her shout, outraged.
He shook his head. "Nothing. All right."
Jill narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Just like that?"
"Da. You said non-negotiable, unlike you, I do listen, Miss Valentine."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, too bad you don’t give a shit. Remind me to kick your ass when
we're done. And call me Jill, for fuck's sake, you're getting on my nerves!"
He sneered. "I just want to be respectful, Miss Valentine."
"Thanks for the thoughtfulness, Nick."
"Bitch," he snorted with a chuckle as he turned to go back to the greenhouse.
"I heard you!"
"Здорово! That's progress!"
The last drops of the herbicide had just fallen when he advanced up the walkway. The flower
had wilted, retreating enough to knock the poor bugger down, and the ivies had also fallen to
the ground and were writhing as their bulbs exploded on their own. As he moved forward,
Nicholai wondered why no one had used the damn herbicide earlier. The answer was
obvious: because scientists were a bunch of idiots with little practical sense and too much
attachment to their creations. They had probably thought they could handle it differently, and
it had turned out the way it had.
He bent down to pick up the damn chip and the whole greenhouse swirled in front of him. He
was so hungry that he felt like throwing up, but even that was not exactly a new sensation for
him. He had been on the verge of starving so many times in his life that it was almost a
familiar feeling. Another one he didn’t miss.
Come on, keep your shit together! He tried to spur himself on. He would tell Miss Valentine
that there was no cure for the T at NEST, but only when the time was right. He did not want
her to be distracted from their main goal; he would try to get to the second lab but had no
intention of accepting her offer to help. No, Miss Valentine was to take Carlos to the rooftop,
and when he recovered, he would be able to take them and Leon away via helicopter. This
was Plan B, and his presence in it was completely irrelevant but he could not tell her. She was
such a bleeding heart, she would never accept it.
Jill was waiting for him inside.

"Stay at a distance," he admonished her, "and take this," he added, tossing her the bracelet in
which he had already replaced the chip. He preceded her by a few meters and recharged
Matilda.
"The ivies in here may have risen again, stay sharp."
Fortunately, this was not the case, and they were able to return with relative peace of mind
across the bridge. Nicholai stepped back a little to allow her to safely operate the other. They
did not speak to each other, partly because neither had much more to say. He was trying to
conserve what energy he had left, and she was too confused to externalize her thoughts. The
only thing she was thinking about at that moment was how heartbroken Carlos would be to
learn that something had happened to Nicholai while trying to find a cure for him. She could
not allow that.
What about her? How would she have taken it if she had been forced to shoot him? She had
not even been able to do that when she had first met him, let alone now.
She watched him move across the bridge and once again was shocked by his strength.
Anyone else would have collapsed long before and for much less. What kind of life tempered
you enough to withstand that? She did not know but she could imagine it and felt pity for
him. She followed him inside, all the way to a laboratory filled with small cases of deformed
failed experiments.
"Were they children?" She gasped, covering her mouth.
Nicholai did not even listen to her. "We need a key!" He exclaimed, and for the first time, she
heard panic in his voice.
She saw him stagger back, glance at his watch, and then pale even more. Nine lousy minutes
were left until time ran out, and even if Carlos had another ten or even twenty, it would not be
enough.
It had been for nothing.
All for nothing.
"Hey, no! Look at me! Nicholai, look at me!" Jill tried to hearten him because seeing him so
upset was heartbreaking. "M-maybe we can crack it open-
"Do you have any idea what the fuck you're talking about?! We can't-that damn bitch!" He
screamed, incoherent. Annette Birkin knew and had told him nothing! He wanted to kill her,
cost what it cost, and had almost reached the door when he heard Jill mutter something.
"Reincarnation, creation, metamorphosis..."
He knew those words; he had read them somewhere. Frantically he palmed his neck until he
found Sherry's pendant. Leon had given it to him on the train and he had completely forgotten
about it. He snatched it off and pounced on the console.
"Get off!" He intimated to her, pushing Jill away to try it. "It's working! It works!" He almost
cried out, turning that symbol that was identical to the one on the pendant. Now everything
was clear, even why Sherry's mother had been so opposed to giving it to her daughter!
The refrigerator door clicked and he impetuously threw it wide open, grabbing the flask.
"Take it, fly!" He ordered, placing it in the hand of Miss Valentine, who, in the meantime, had
returned to his side.
Jill did not let it be repeated twice and ran outside, retracing the path she had just taken. She
was so happy because they had made it, and although the situation was still critical,
especially because of Nicholai's condition, she was beginning to see a ray of hope.
That went out immediately as soon as she reached the bridges.
She heard something explode, in the distance but the thing that forced her to stop suddenly
was seeing the Tyrant, the same one from the sewers, unhinging the door where she was
supposed to go and hurling it away. That monster was different now, bigger, and the arm that
HUNK had amputated from him had grown back and now clearly reminded her of the Tyrant
she had seen at Spencer Manor, with those big deformed claws and that horrid giant heart
pulsing in the middle of his chest
Before she could even think of what to do, behind her back Nicholai began shooting.
"Hide behind the elevator and, as soon as the way is clear, make a run for it!" He ordered her.
She obeyed, reluctantly, as he covered her while continuing to shoot at the monster. She saw
him move onto the bridge leading to the greenhouse just as the Tyrant began to charge. When
he had cleared the main corridor for her, she started running again but could not help but turn
back when she heard that horrible metallic screech. Nicholai had miraculously dodged a blow
from Mr. X that, however, had hit the bridge, smashing it.
"You were always a fucking idiot, Igor!" The Russian growled, stunning him with another
shot to the heart and then kicking him in the chest to knock him off balance over the broken
edge of the bridge.
Gasping, Nicholai turned to Jill with a half-smile on his exhausted face, then the platform on
which he had his feet gave way, dragging him down into that pit whose bottom was out of
sight, and he heard her scream his name for the umpteenth time.
"Stop it! Where are we going?! You're hurting me!" Sobbed Sherry, now tired of being
dragged from hallway to hallway aimlessly.
She was exhausted and desperate. She just wanted to wake up and find out that it all had just
been a very long, horrible nightmare. She wanted to have breakfast with her daddy and then
go to school and live her life normally.
Annette did not even bother to answer her but slowed her pace, looking around anxiously, as
if she expected to be attacked at any moment.
"Get inside, quick!" She intimated, pushing her beyond a large, wide-open security door.
Sherry went down those couple of steps and looked tensely at the terrible place. It was a
square room filled with display cases containing specimens of other terrifying monsters.
They were submerged in a transparent liquid, and on the walls behind the cases were large
cryogenic canisters that made the place seem even more cramped and oppressive.
"W-Where are we?" Whispered the little girl, rubbing her shoulders because it was very cold
in there. "I want to go home! Please take me home! " She began to sob again. "I'm scared! I
beg you!"
Annette shrugged it off, continuing to ignore her, and pressed a sensor on the wall, sliding out
a console on which she typed something quickly. The cases opened simultaneously, flooding
the floor with liquid and filling that two-foot low area. Sherry shrieked with all the breath in
her lungs as a small, misshapen hunter swooped in front of her, but her voice came out
choked by the stinging cold of the liquid that had swept over her and reached almost to her
waist.
Annette still ignored her but it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to do so. Her
vision blurred with tears but she blinked them away. She had a plan and it was a good plan,
the only thing that could compromise it was her emotional state. She had already let the G go
freely because she had failed to shoot William; she would not make the same mistake
regardless of what she had to sacrifice.
"Mom what are you doing?!" Sherry shrieked at her as she saw her firing motion-sensor
grenades at the liquid nitrogen canisters.
"Shut up, and stay where you are! I'm thinking!"
To be precise, Annette was doing calculations. She had not considered freezing William to
death earlier because she would have had no way to lure him there herself. Her daughter's
presence changed everything. Annette had opened the cases to flood the room, hoping to trap
William there, but the hydroalcoholic liquid had a lower freezing temperature than water. No.
No, that wasn't a problem, there was enough liquid nitrogen there to freeze a whole pool. In
such a small room, and with so little liquid, it would have taken seconds.
She cast a glance at her daughter who, in the meantime, had climbed the steps and pulled
herself out of the revolting fluid. Her baby girl was terrified but she wasn't running away; she
hadn't realized she was in danger or perhaps, absurd as it was, she still trusted her. Annette
felt an emptiness growing in her chest and was overwhelmed by a flood of disconnected
memories: when she had first called her 'mommy,' when she had taken her first steps, the
good times they had spent together, especially when she was a toddler...
What had gone wrong between them?
Jesus Christ, I married my father! William had yelled at her, once he had caught her
punishing Sherry with a sound spanking because she had bungled a bundle of important
documents with crayons. Their daughter was three years old at the time and probably did not
even remember the incident. To this day, Annette had no idea what William meant by that
mention of his father. It had been the first and the only one; she had never even known
whether his parents were alive or dead because he never mentioned them. In any case,
William had snatched Sherry from her arms and carried her away, alarmed as if she was
torturing her when she was just giving her a normal punishment.
In another fight several years later, she had accused him of wanting to alienate Sherry from
her. William had not even taken his eyes off the microscope.
I have never done such a thing, nor have I ever said a single negative word about you in her
presence, he had answered her, flatly. It is not my fault that you are not capable of mothering.
You are lacking in intention as well as dedication. Whether you want to improve or not is
irrelevant. We do not need you. And after bringing that sentence down on her like the blade of
a guillotine he had continued working as if nothing had happened, ignoring her. But then he
had taken a step back because what he had said was only half true. He didn't need Annette,
but Sherry did. So he had forced her to give her the pendant for her birthday. The key to the
G. The key to all their hard work. It was clear by now that William had wanted to teach her a
lesson. He had not put it into words, but the meaning was clear: Sherry was just as important
as their work, and if she could not understand that, then she was the problem.
With the void eyes of a woman driven mad with despair, Annette crossed the flooded room
and joined her. "I-I am so sorry," she whispered to her, defeated because there was no other
way.
Sherry gave her a startled look and retreated, going over the edge of the step and tumbling
back into the liquid. She re-emerged, panting and with her eyes burning, and began to cry
again. She felt so alone, so defeated and betrayed. She was furious with her mother and yet
she could not even tell her how much she hated her. She wanted to curl into a corner, be
alone, or run to Nicholai. He would protect her. He would love her. He was like her daddy.
Then she heard it, the horrible sound of a wall being violently broken through. With blurred
vision, she saw that awful thing that had englobed her daddy in the center of the hallway
from which they had come. Annette turned sharply, finding herself facing what was left of
her husband. Nothing but a large misshapen monster full of eyes on his chest, back, and
limbs. It had an elongated skull-faced head and four arms. By now it did not even look like a
human being. That was not the fruit of their labor, it was just another horrible failure. Neither
she nor William had ever intended this. The G was supposed to be a virus capable of
improving and enhancing the structural frailties of the human body, able of annihilating every
disease by curing them all by regenerating compromised cells and tissues and potentially
even averting aging. Her husband wanted to give humans divinity, and that result was as far
away as anyone could imagine.
"W-William," she gasped before that horrible monster lunged at her and grabbed her with one
of its giant hands, and crushed her. Annette felt her bones crumble as if they were made of
glass and her breath was squeezed out of her body with such force that she could not even
scream.
Sherry reacted on instinct and did not stop to watch her mother die, but jumped out of the
improvised tub and sprinted toward the hallway. Only when she was over the threshold did
she turn to look back.
"M-mom!" She wailed, seeing the monster throw her away like a broken doll at the base of
the canisters of liquid nitrogen.
Annette, half-conscious, struggled to open her eyes and then even managed to stand up.
"Fuck you… William..." She hissed, and before the G could move toward their little girl, she
stepped into the radius of the mine she had prepared, detonating all the canisters.
A cloud of white vapor filled the room in an instant, ice crystals popped on the surface of the
liquid, and the large safety bulkhead dividing that room from the hallway came down,
trapping the monster there.
"MOM!" Cried out Sherry, venturing against it, there was only a porthole almost a meter
thick but there was so much vapor inside that she could not see anything. Only after a
moment did she realize that the metal to which she had leaned the side of her right hand was
so frozen it was burning. She tried to pull back but her wet skin was stuck there and it hurt!
There was a violent thud on the other side that made the whole bulkhead shake and suddenly
she saw the giant eye of that monster beyond the porthole.
Terrified she screamed and backed away with such force that she managed to free herself, at
the cost of tearing off the skin and flesh on the side of her hand. Stunned by the pain, she fell
to the ground on her back and, in shock, saw ice begin to form on that horrible eye, while the
creature, inside, howled, trying in vain to unhinge the bulkhead.
Then all went silent, nothing was moving anymore, and Sherry ran away.
Jill continued to stare wide-eyed at the spot where the bridge had collapsed, bringing
Nicholai down with it.
It had all happened so incredibly fast. One moment she was so happy because they had found
what they were looking for, and the next...
A heartbroken sob escaped her lips but she could not think about it, not now. She had to go to
Carlos.
For Nicholai, too.
She sprinted down the stretch that separated her from the infirmary and entered, shouting,
"I've got it!"
Inside, however, she found no one, neither Sherry nor her mother. Only Carlos was there, still
lying on that stretcher. She grabbed an empty syringe from one of the carts and filled it with
the cure before approaching him.
"Oh God..." She groaned, seeing that her friend's complexion was now purplish and he was
barely breathing. She tugged his cut sweatshirt and T-shirt to the side to uncover his shoulder
and planted the needle in it, pressing the plunger. Then she dropped to her knees on the floor,
threw the empty syringe to the ground, and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was
pumping so hard in her chest that she feared she was one step away from a heart attack. She
burst into an angered cry because it was all so unfair! They had fucking succeeded and at the
last moment...
Now she was beginning to understand why Chris was so hurting and losing his mind. At
Spencer Manor Barry had locked her up pretty much right away, she had seen little to no of
that horror, while he had watched their friends die one after another and now it was
happening to her.
"P-please be okay," she whispered, glancing over her head at Carlos. Trembling, she
squeezed his hand dangling from the stretcher. "At least you... I swear I'll hug you if you
wake up, so wake P-Poodle."
She flinched when the door was thrown wide open and a sob of desperate relief shook her
when she recognized Sherry, then she welcomed her in her arms. The child was much more
desperate than she was, almost hysterical, and would not stop crying. Jill stroked her head
and held her tightly to herself, trying to get her to tell her what had happened. The only thing
she could make out from her incoherent speech was that her mother had died; only then did
Jill see the horrible wound the little girl had on her hand. The torn tissue was bloody and all
around it were yellowish-blackish blisters on both the side and the little finger. She could not
leave it like that.
She stood back up. "Now I'm going to find something to medicate you, ok, hon?"
The child nodded and, as Jill rummaged through the infirmary, approached Carlos. "He... He
seems to be a little better," she murmured in a breathy voice. "Where is Nicholai?"
Jill froze on the spot and her heart sank painfully in her chest. "H-he had to do some...things.
You know how he is, he never says anything clearly. He'll join us later. Come here," she
added, motioning her to come closer.
Sherry cried and sobbed as Jill cleaned her wound.
"I'm almost done," whispered the woman, sorry, as she wrapped her hand in a firm bandage.
"See? There you go!"
Sherry did not react in any way and persistently kept looking at the door in the hope that at
least Nicholai would return to her.
"H-he's not dead, is he? You didn't tell me a lie, right?" she muttered, suspicious.
"Of course not, sweetie. We have to move now, though, okay?"
"Does he know where we are going?" Insisted the little girl.

"Of course he does, it's his plan." Jill prayed that would be the last question on the subject
because she didn't know how much longer she would be able to lie to her with a straight face.
She stopped looking at her and removed the block that held in place the wheels of the
stretcher on which Carlos was lying. She certainly couldn't carry him on her shoulder, but she
hoped the elevator would be roomy enough. She motioned Sherry to follow her.
"No, I don't want to go back downstairs! Please, let's not go downstairs!" The child pleaded
with her when they crossed the bridge.
Jill arranged the stretcher inside, before turning back to her. "Nothing will happen, I promise.
I'm here now," Jill reassured her and, unlike her mother, did not try to grab her, much less
drag her. She allowed her time to make up her own mind, just as her daddy would have done.
So Sherry plucked up her courage and entered the elevator, but trembled as it began to
descend.
The doors opened onto a different floor than the one she had escaped from, directly onto a
platform of a funicular. There was only one car there but there was room for two.
"Jill, look! Nicholai has written something!" She exclaimed, pointing to the side window of
the one still there.
Jill, distracted by trying to keep the stretcher steady, lifted her gaze abruptly. "What?!"
"Did he use… blood?" Sherry gasped. "And the letters are all messed up."
Jill frowned as she tried to decipher the shaky writing that, in part, had dripped down the
glass.
I Ctiлл alивe. No T vакziн , a word starting with what she interpreted as a 3 erased with an
abrupt stroke of the hand and corrected with here. Go нa крышу, Mисс Валентайн!
Christ, how bad was Nicholai for not even being able to distinguish one alphabet from the
other? He recognized 'Miss Valentine' right away and realized that the c was an s, the в a v,
the и an i, and the н an n. "I, - am is missing - still alive," she mumbled, and though it was
already obvious, she felt so incredibly relieved. "No T va-czin , vaccine! Here." Son of a
bitch! He knew and hadn't told her! "Go na..." She had no idea what крышу meant or how to
pronounce it, but she remembered well that he had told her to go to the other lab’s roof, so
she assumed he was reiterating it to her like the unbearable know-it-all he was.
"Insufferable flying asshole!" She snorted, one step away from starting to cry again. How the
fuck had he survived that fall? It was a question for a later time. She had to move because,
whether Nicholai wanted to or not, she still had every intention of helping him.
She lowered the stretcher and grabbed the unconscious Carlos under the armpits, dragging
him toward the car that Nicholai had already opened for her.
"He's right, you know. You do have a heavy ass!" She grunted from exertion. Once inside she
left him on the floor and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
"Come on, kiddo, we have to go," she prodded Sherry.
The little girl cast a long look over her shoulder. That was the place where both her parents
had died. What would become of her now? She was alone in the world.
My friends will help me, won't they? She wondered, frightened, and it was enough for her to
see the compassion in Jill's eyes to know that they would never leave her. So, she stepped in.
Chapter End Notes

As always, due thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, commenters, subscribers, and
bookmarkers.
I apologize again to the commenters because I was only able to respond today.
Yesterday I was at work from a quarter to eight in the morning until eight in the evening
for a meeting imposed on us at the last minute, and when I got home I did not even have
the strength to eat dinner. As if that were not enough, a few days ago my pc broke down
and that is why I had neither time nor way to put everything I would have liked in this
chapter. There was also supposed to be a (long) part about Leon, Chris, and also the
preparations for their meeting, but I just couldn't do it, forgive me. It will all go into next
week's chapter hoping that work doesn't come up with some other useless crap, I'm
already deprived enough of sleep as it is.
Coming to this chapter. I used liquid nitrogen trying to be as rational as possible, but
since it is not my area of expertise (or even my comfort zone) I apologize to the
scientists present if I fucked up too badly. I try to save myself by saying that they were
nice big canisters, so there was a ton of it.
Annette has left us and will not be missed. I thought long and hard about who should
permanently kill the G and after a few rounds through the various characters, I came to
the conclusion that it should all die out in the family. I decided to freeze the G because I
believe that, on par with fire, it may be the most effective method. With a friend, we
chatted a bit about what kind of organism the G is and whether or not it could survive
hibernation, and we concluded that it cannot. Given its rate of growth and mutation, we
hypothesized that the G has an incredibly fast metabolism and, as a result, stopping it
would probably kill it. Yes, I have, occasionally, poor martyrs with whom I brainstorm
about items I don't feel 100% sure about. It's usually decontextualized questions that
these poor friends of mine find on chat at 4 a.m. They don't even read my story and
know better than to ask me questions regarding why I need that information for their
own sake XD.
Nicholai is feeling terrible and I anticipate from here that, the last thing he actively
managed to do is save his own skin from falling and get on the funicular but he really
gave all he could give. Almost.
Little tidbits about Russian: in Russian, they do not use the verb to be in the present
tense, they omit it because it is the same throughout the whole conjugation. That is why
he wrote "I still alive" forgetting to put "am." The 3 that Jill reads is not a three, but the
first letter of the word здесь, which, precisely, means "here." As Jill deduces, на крыше
means "on the roof."
Poor Nicholai, he is so messed up that he almost can't "English" anymore.
Everyone is converging towards the second lab and I really hope to be able to close the
Raccoon City arc by May 27, which is the date when this story will be one year old.
Thank you all so much and forgive me if I have given you less than I promised. I have
tried with all my might. Now I'm running to the vet because I have to bring him Leon's
poop (the kitten someone abandoned behind my house in December and now my
precious baby) because he's not well.
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 52
Chapter Notes
Nicholai staggered out of the funicular car and threw away the blue ID he had kept for
himself before giving Jill the bracelet with the purple one. He had considered waiting for
them, at least to find out if the treatment had worked on Carlos, but then realized that his
condition was now beyond critical and he was dangerous. Reasoning was becoming more and
more difficult, and the sense of hunger he felt was all-consuming. Miss Valentine,
unfortunately, was not as trigger-happy as Redfield, and Nicholai could not let her or Sherry
become his prey because she had failed to shoot him.
He looked to the staircase in front of him with anguished despair. It was only a ramp but it
seemed as insurmountable as the highest of mountains. He clung tightly to the handrail,
trying to compensate with his arms the weakness of his legs, but proceeded with excruciating
slowness. Of all the horrible experiences he had gone through in his life, that was without a
shadow of a doubt the most frightening. His body was gradually shutting down, his muscles
were getting heavier and unresponsive, his coordination was going to shit, and he was so
damn hungry! With his chest bursting from exhaustion he slumped to the ground as soon as
he reached the landing and was forced to stop there to catch his breath.
The fear that he was a lost cause began to creep into his mind and it hurt. For years, when he
was young, he had flattered death and accepted every pain and torture as a reciprocation for
what he had done to Mitia, then time had washed away the sting of that grief, making him
just a war machine advancing through life by inertia. Still, he had felt no more attached to life
than now, as he crawled over that floor like the worm he knew he was. It was so ironic and so
right that death had finally come knocking at his door just when he no longer wanted it. What
was he thinking? That he would get away with it like that after all he had done?
There were no second chances, only consequences.
He had been many things in his life but never a coward, so he would accept them with
dignity.
Out of stubbornness, just as Jill had thought of him, he managed to get to his feet for the
umpteenth time to enter the code to open the door. He walked into the next hallway and
leaned against the wall, leaving a bloody handprint on the shiny white surface, wrote the
word rooф, drew an arrow in the right direction, and then staggered in the opposite way
dragging his feet. He ignored the first door he found and entered the second one that led to
another warehouse where all the equipment that both labs wanted to dispose of was stored.
He wished he could have gone downstairs to hide better or put as much distance as possible
from the door, should Miss Valentine have the unfortunate idea of coming after him, but
when he fell back to the ground he knew right away that there would be no chance in hell that
he could pull himself back up. He only managed to crawl to the balustrade and leaned his
shoulders against it, panting. With trembling hands, he lit a cigarette and smoked it in silence,
almost in contemplation. He tried to glance at his watch but it had broken during his fall.
It didn't matter.
It didn't matter anymore.
He had done everything he set out to do. He had cured Leon, he had cured Carlos, reunited
Sherry with her mother, and Miss Valentine was good enough to complete their escape
without his help.
What a fucking mess...
See? This is what happens, he thought, tossing the cigarette butt away, when you're the hero.
Just for one fucking day…
He took Matilda from his belt and pointed it under his chin. If he had to croak, he would do it
on his own terms. The last thing he wanted was to become a danger to the people he had so
foolishly stuck his neck out to save. Without any hesitation or second thought, he pulled the
trigger all the way down but heard only a mechanical click.
He was out of ammo.
"Черт побери!" He cried out, letting his hand fall onto his lap. "К черту! К черту все!"
Hopelessness swept over him like an ice storm. He had lost control over everything, and now
he could not even kill himself.
How much more did he have to suffer? Wasn't that enough? And for the first time in about
twenty years, he discovered that he could still cry.
Leon hurried up in the elevator unable to help but hear the shots Chris was firing echoing
through the halls of the laboratory. He had left him alone with that horrible thing, and
although rationally he knew he had every reason in the world for that choice, he felt his
conscience churning.
Because you are an idiot, the more rational part of his brain pointed out to him. Or maybe
because you are still hoping he will fuck you, you slut, added the crueler one.
Either way, he had gone too far to turn back. The only thing he could do was take the
adjuvant, synthesize the vaccine, and only then, eventually, reach Chris.
Maybe he could do both.
Maybe then Chris would finally be convinced of his good intentions and help him find
Nicholai in return.
He leaped out of the elevator even before the bar lowered and proceeded to the only door he
could see, hoping it was the place he was looking for. Before he even reached the threshold
two zombies stumbled out into the narrow hallway. Leon grabbed the gun he had taken from
that soldier he found outside the warehouse and took them down but stopped and blinked
when he saw that thing.
"What the fuck happened to you?" He mumbled, backing away and picking up the shotgun
instead. That zombie was different from the others, it had some kind of horrible bud on top of
its head and Leon squealed like a little girl when a tentacle emerged from it and tried to hit
him. It was so gross! Why was everything getting sicker and sicker as he went on? He tried
not to get too upset and, just as he had done with the bugs at the power station, he sucked it
up and ran forward, shooting that monster at point-blank range. The filthy bud blew apart and
the zombie collapsed to the ground with a thud.
"Anybody else?!" Leon blurted out, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Jesus Christ!" He
mumbled when a completely naked and flayed zombie with a whitish complexion staggered
politely out of the room as if to answer his call.
Leon pointed his shotgun and fired at him, but the zombie did not flinch and continued to
advance. He even saw its ruined and rough skin recompose itself before his eyes. He shot a
second time and it had no effect.
Okay, that won't do. Leon took the hint, then lowered the barrel of the shotgun and shot him
in the shin. There, the buckshot penetrated deeper and did more damage. The pale head
staggered and Leon was very quick to move behind him and unbalance him over the
balustrade with a violent shove. He had not solved the problem, he had only postponed it
because he was going to find him downstairs but, at the moment, he decided to enjoy his
success. He had so much adrenaline in his body that he was almost euphoric.
He finally managed to get into that room and it was so small that, for a terrible moment, he
thought he had the wrong place but breathed a sigh of relief when he saw some freezers.
He opened them wide and slid all the drawers open.
"T-Adjuvant!" He exclaimed, reading a label. He grabbed it and slipped it into his pocket and
then ran back.
Once on the elevator, he stopped it midway.
"Hey!" He shouted at the white zombie he had thrown downstairs. "You want me? Come and
get me!" He challenged him.
As the poor guy approached he reloaded the rifle and only when he was right below him he
resumed the elevator descent. He closed his eyes as he felt the platform break his bones and
smash his body against the floor.
"What the fuck…” He gasped, shuddering at how he could have even had that idea. It had
been effective, sure, but also psychopathic. He was losing his sanity-that zombie had been a
man!
"One step after another," he whispered, trying to hearten himself with the phrase Nicholai had
told him. "I have to move forward. I've almost got it."
He exited the elevator without looking at the mush of blood and tissue that had been
squeezed under the edge of the platform and focused, rather, on the cases. There were not
only tyrants but also lizardmen he had not yet had the pleasure of meeting, so to speak. He
took a moment to examine them more closely. The tyrants looked malformed. Failed
experiments and they were even more terrifying. He did not go near the others because they
did not look as badly shaped to him. With exhausting slowness, he reached the other side of
that corridor of horrors and sighed with relief when the door opened in front of him.
Only when he was on the other side did he realize that there was silence in the laboratory. He
could no longer hear gunfire in the distance. Was Chris okay? He had no idea, and it
distressed him to no end.
He found himself in a room with servers but did not give too much thought to it and sprinted
up the stairs. If his calculations were right, once on top he would find himself in the room he
had not had access to. He hoped there was a button to open it from the inside, otherwise, he
would find himself stuck there.
He stepped in with circumspection and was immediately alarmed to see those machines
supporting large black plastic bags containing more experiments.
Human beings, he corrected himself. Poor victims.
He caught sight of one of those pale zombies lying on the floor and heard the grunts of two
others. At least one other was above his head on the stairs.
Shit!
What could he do now? There were too many of them, and he didn't even know if there was a
way to unlock the door. He slowly moved to the side to try to get a better look, and only then
did he realize that the portcullis that replaced the back wall was a tiny bit raised. How had he
not noticed it from the hallway? Was he stupid? In truth, he felt lucky because if he had
entered that room and found himself surrounded by five or more of those monsters, he would
hardly have come out alive.
Okay, time to go! He spurred himself before sprinting toward the portcullis and then sliding
under it. To be on the safe side, once in the corridor, he looked back to check that he had not
been followed but the zombies had hardly noticed him. All he had left to do was to go and
synthesize the cure. He shot the zombie he had left alive in the upstairs hallway because he
did not want to take any chances and then entered the room with that machine.
"Come on! Come on! Come on!" He muttered, impatiently, after starting the operation, and
while waiting, he looked all around for a syringe he could take with him. He had taken a
good look at the one Nicholai had used on him before leaving the hospital. There had to be at
least one. He opened a cabinet wide and finally found several still packed and sterile. He
studied it. It seemed rather easy, all he had to do was insert the vial and then press the plunger
to inject it.
"Synthesis completed," the computer voice informed him.

"Thank you," he sighed, relieved, taking it and putting it in his pocket, along with the syringe.
He was so relieved to have made it. Everything had gone horribly since he had set foot in that
damn town, he needed to do at least one good thing. Sherry had probably died in the train
derailment, so the only person he had left was Nicholai, and he was desperate to save his
life.
Too bad he had no idea where he was. He had told him to meet him on the roof, so maybe the
best solution was to go and wait for him there but what if Nicholai was unable to reach him
on his own? He tried hopelessly to dig into his memory in the hope that he could deduce
where he had gone but he had no idea. He barely knew him and yet he felt drawn to him
because Nicholai had been so good to him, so caring. He had saved his life. He had saved
him from Irons. He had healed him. All this without asking for absolutely nothing in return,
and now the time had come for him to take care of him back.
He retraced his steps, shrouded in an eerie, spectral silence. He went back to worrying about
Chris. What would he have done if he had been confronted with his mutilated corpse? How
would he have felt? He had deliberately chosen to leave him behind, and if at first making
that decision had been easy, almost mechanical, because driven by his resentment, he was
now beginning to regret it. Chris was an asshole but he had been through a lot and did not
deserve to die like that.
He shuddered as he passed back into the disinfection room and was again drenched from
head to toe but the real shock was seeing what was on the other side of the door. The white
walls of the hallway were torn with deep scratches and pitted with bullet holes. Fortunately,
Chris's body was not there, so maybe he had found a way to escape, or maybe that horrible
monster had taken him away. The ceiling was caved in from below because that horrible
thing had climbed up there to go-where? Leon grabbed his shotgun with his heart pounding
with fear and slowed his pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn't want to
face that thing again but by now he understood that he would hardly have the luxury of
choice.
When she saw that the car was approaching the new laboratory, Jill turned away from Sherry
to go check on Carlos. Contrary to what Nicholai believed, she was not a total clueless fool.
She had prevented the child from approaching him and had kept her rifle ready, in case the
treatment had no effect and he attacked them. Fortunately, none of this had happened.
She crouched beside him and breathed a sigh of relief to see that his complexion had returned
to its normal olive shade and the blisters had disappeared without leaving permanent marks.
"We even saved your pretty little turd face," she told him, affectionately, pressing a hand to
his forehead to try to see if he still had a fever, but his skin was fresh to the touch. "Then why
don't you wake up?"
She missed his laughter and even his pathetic pick-up lines. If he could have answered her, he
probably would have said something along the lines of It's obvious, silly! I need my
princesa's kiss to wake me up!
"Not gonna happen," she mumbled to him as if that conversation was real and not just in her
head. It was amazing how quickly she had bonded with him and also with that asshole
Nicholai. She had only known them for a few days and yet it seemed to her like much, much
more.
Speaking of which, where had the son of a bitch gone off to? Where was Chris? How was she
going to find them in that mess? She jolted as the car reached the platform and the door
opened with a clack.
The break was over.
"Hon," she said, turning to Sherry, "I'm going out now to find the others. I need you to stay
here with Carlos." With some hesitation, Jill unholstered her gun. "In case you need to defend
yourself," she whispered, placing it in her small hands. Before leaving her, she explained how
to use it. She still considered it wrong and inappropriate for her young age, but she
understood Nicholai's point of view. She needed to defend herself.
As she moved out, she looked back and saw Sherry at the window moving her wrapped hand
to say goodbye. It made her infinitely tender, poor little girl. Life had indeed been cruel to
her. Jill smiled at her and returned the greeting, before running up the stairs. The automatic
door opened in front of her, and she immediately saw the sign the Russian had left, partly
because it would have been hard to miss.
"And how do you think I can get Carlos all the way up there, genius?" She huffed, annoyed,
but was actually worried because Nicholai had clearly gone in the opposite direction, given
the streak of tiny drops of blood he had left in his path. With a plodding pace, she followed
them, despite herself keeping her rifle ready. When she opened the door to the warehouse,
she saw him immediately, sitting on the ground with his back to her. Nicholai did not react in
any way to her presence. He was sleeping and was clearly alive, given his hissing, labored
snoring. Jill did not fail to notice the gun he still held on his lap. Had the idiot tried to kill
himself? Clearly, he had not succeeded, probably because he had run out of bullets, and this
heartened her.
"See? In the end, we follow my plan anyway," she told him, without approaching him
because if he woke up and attacked her she would have to shoot him. "Hang in there and
don't die just to displease me, okay, Nick?"
Hurriedly she retraced her steps and looked at the next room but found only an office full of
paperwork, so she followed the direction of the arrow Nicholai had drawn for her until she
reached a service elevator. She needed help and was ready to ask anyone for it.
Leon passed the door at the end of the hallway unharmed. There was no sign of the monster,
fortunately.
"What the hell is this place?" He uttered when he found himself on a walkway overlooking
some kind of large basin with strange machinery.
He did not have time to assume anything that a door on a lower platform on the opposite side
burst open.
"Chris!" He gasped under his breath as he saw him come rushing out, and his eyes filled with
horror as he saw that hideous creature peep out of the threshold and then burst through the
wall to leap forward.
Nemesis tried to get ahead of Chris and with his hideous tentacle snapped in half the metal
staircase he had started to climb, sending them both plummeting below.
Helplessly, Leon watched as Chris rolled down the sloping wall of that sort of giant concrete
funnel and then plunged into that sort of... Leon really had no idea what the fucking place
was. He lost sight of him because he was now out of his field of vision and sighed with relief
when he heard him start shooting.
He had to help him!
How, though?
For a moment he thought about jumping over the balustrade and joining him down there but
that would only be the best way to die in two, possibly three, counting Nicholai.
Think, you idiot, think! He spurred himself on. He took a better look at his surroundings.
There were eight giant cisterns, so maybe that basin down there could be flooded. Could that
thing swim? He didn't know. Then he noticed a huge hook suspended above their heads.
Maybe he could use it to pull Chris up!
Hurriedly, he took the shotgun off his shoulder and, after checking that the safety was on, slid
it over the edge. It wasn't much, but it was loaded and Chris could use it, then he started
running toward the control room that was on his floor.
In the disposal tank, Chris was not doing very well. An assault rifle was not the most
appropriate weapon to bring down such an abomination, and he was tremendously aware of
that. He managed, however, to hurt him enough to force him to retreat. The Nemesis roared,
making Chris's ears ring painfully, and then leaped back, clinging to one of the tanks. Chris
set the rifle from burst to single shot, but in the time it took him to raise the barrel and take
aim, the Nemesis ran away, hiding behind another cistern.
Too slow! Wesker barked at him from the recesses of his memory.
"Fuck you," he gritted through his teeth, firing and missing his target.
I've been too generous with you, if you shoot like this you're practically useless.
And whether he wanted to or not, Chris was transported back to the past once again. At a
training session that had been one of the most exhausting experiences of his life. Wesker had
taken a leave of absence for both of them and taken him into the mountains, where he had
forced him to march for four days and nights without food and only a canteen of water, and
when Chris had finally managed to reach base camp, his captain had confronted him with a
very complicated shooting gallery with extremely fast moving targets.
You will not eat, drink or sleep until you hit them all in a row. He had said to him.
And he had been true to his word, as well as incredibly hard on him. He had scolded him, he
had mocked him, he had insulted him…
And now, it seemed to Chris that Albert was beside him again, intent on harshly commenting
on his every move and poor performance.
You are just a waste of time and a deep disappointment. Let's go home.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Chris thundered, and just as Nemesis grabbed onto one of the
canisters supports, he fired and hit the electrical system, electrocuting him. The monster lost
his grip and, stunned, plummeted to the ground with such force that Chris had to step aside to
avoid being run over. In doing so, he slammed his heel into something and was surprised to
see a shotgun. He had heard something fall behind him but thought it was a piece of the
staircase. With now the certainty that he was being watched and evaluated like a fucking
gladiator in an arena, he picked it up and charged Nemesis who was writhing on the floor of
the pit. He saw the parasite gushing out of his chest, disgusting as a big fangy worm, and he
unhesitatingly fired all the shots he had at point-blank range.
They were not enough, and Chris, by a whisker, managed to avoid being blown away by the
tentacle of that hideous creature, by plummeting backward.
The Nemesis got back on its paws and roared but as it leaped to pounce on him and devour
him, something big swooped down from above, catching him squarely on the side of the
snout and smashing him against the back wall.
Chris sat on the ground for a moment, not quite sure what had just happened but when he saw
that hook approaching him slowly he knew it was his ticket out of that fucking situation. He
got to his feet and ran to grab onto the supports. The hook began to rise immediately but as
much as Chris tried to see who was helping him from the control room, whoever it was was
doing their best not to show themselves.
"Leon is that you?!" He exclaimed, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, but received no
response.
It was, of course, Leon, who, however, assuming he wanted to answer, was too busy trying to
find a way to free both of them from the Nemesis once and for all.
"Oh, fuck it! Red button it is!" He huffed, flustered, lifting the transparent lid covering that
button and pressing it down hard. A siren began to sound shrill and high-pitched.
"Attention all personnel! Acid release in progress," the computer voice declaimed.
"Fucking great!" He cried out, elated, but he had no time to celebrate; he had to get moving.
He shifted the crane lever so that Chris could reach one of the edges of the basin, and ran off.
There were monitors in that room, and he had seen Nicholai in a room called Warehouse-2.
He had also found a map, so for once he knew where he needed to go. He shot the zombie he
found just beyond the door and continued on.
Chris jumped onto the platform and jerked his eyes away from the acid in which Nemesis
was quickly dissolving when he heard the rumble of that gunshot.
"Leon!" He called to him again, trying desperately to peek into the control room, but he was
too far down. He immediately realized that he could not go up because the collapsed staircase
had created an insurmountable hole, so he went into the only door he had available. He found
himself in another warehouse, more cluttered than the one he had found before entering the
laboratory. Fortunately, there seemed to be no zombies or other creatures there. Not that he
was paying particular attention. By now he had convinced himself that it was Leon himself
who had helped him against that monster, as, indeed, he had done since they had met. Yes, in
his mind, the sequence of events was quite clear: the Russian had done everything in his
power to test him and collect data, using him as a lab rat, while Leon, had probably repented
and pulled him out of that last death trap.
Then there had been that shot.
Only one as in an assassination.
Chris's heart was in his throat because he feared that the Russian had shot Leon when he had
proven himself no longer loyal to Umbrella or… whatever! He really couldn't tell if Leon
was Umbrella too or not. He just wanted to see him again and know he was ok.
He proceeded to sprint through the dusty corridors of that warehouse, cursing whenever he
found himself at a dead end. Finally, he saw a staircase that would perhaps bring him closer
to the control room. By now he had lost both his sense of direction and his sense of time. He
climbed it with lungs bursting in his chest but braked abruptly when he saw the Russian
slumped against the landing balustrade.
Nicholai, who had heard him, opened his eyes, awakening a little from the stupor that had
engulfed him, and when he focused on him he burst out laughing.
Of course, it had to be Redfield the one who had to finish him off.
He did not even consider that anyone would try to save him. Even if they had the intention,
those kids would not have the skills, but clearly, his destiny was not to turn into a zombie and
die that way. He had never believed in crap like fate or predestination but what was
happening was so perfect that it made him doubt his beliefs. Redfield was the clearest mirror
he had ever been reflected in and it was somehow poetic that he was the one closing his cycle
while beginning his own. After all, as he had already realized, there were no second chances,
only consequences, and the stupid kid in front of him had no idea how hard they would come
down on him the day he found himself dying alone after leaving an endless trail of corpses
along his path.
All in all, he felt more pity than anger for him.

He looked up a little when he saw him marching toward him like a knight of the apocalypse,
ready to administer a justice that had nothing just about it at all. One day he would
understand this. Too late, just like him because they were one and the same.
Chris tightened his fingers on his rifle, doing his best to contain the irrepressible fury that
pervaded him.
"Where is he?!" He growled, kicking Matilda off his lap, although the other had not even
tried to grasp it again. "What have you done to Leon?!"
Nicholai folded his bloodied lips into a disturbing smile and did not respond. In part, he did
not even fully understand what he had asked him. His mind was clouded, and although he
had lived a large part of his life in the United States, the language now seemed as hostile and
elusive to him as when he had first set out to learn it. He had no intention of telling him
anything anyway. He was not the type for last words. However, he felt the ache loud and
clear when Redfield hit him in the face with the rifle butt, if only for an instant, because then
he soon returned to being almost completely anesthetized. It had been more of a memory of
pain than actual pain.
Interesting.
And Redfield was a fucking amateur. One never started from the head if he wanted to torture
someone. The poor bugger had to remain lucid and master of his reasoning to provide
information. It was much better to start with fingers or toes, or by burning small portions of
skin... No matter, he had no doubt that the boy would learn sooner or later. His destiny was
paved in stone.
He felt his breath being knocked from his chest when the idiot hit him with a stomp in the
stomach.
"TELL ME!"
Nicholai, now slumped on his side, struggled immensely to lift his chin enough to shoot him
one last, exhausted glance. A shrill hiss escaped his lips, and he abandoned even the intent to
think about what was happening. He had accepted the idea of dying. It was not worth
throwing himself into the mud and pleading for mercy and then for what? To become a
pathetic zombie? Actually, in his mind, he had already gone beyond that. After all, if there
really was a Hell, he was sure he could handle it. It couldn't be worse than his life, could it?
So he accepted more than passively the clumsy torture of that idiot.
Leon, eagerly, waited impatiently for the doors of that damn elevator to open. From what he
had seen on the surveillance cameras, Nicholai looked bad. Really bad, and he would never
forgive himself if it was too late to cure him. He was torn. Rationally, he knew that stopping
to help Chris had been the right choice, the humane one, but he felt the responsibility
burdened on him because if Nicholai had died, it would have been his fault. At the same time,
however, if he had abandoned Chris to his fate, his death would also have been on his
shoulders.
He had to save them both.

He thought he heard a faint explosion somewhere, but he did not worry about it. Perhaps
Chris had found some obstacle, and in spite of everything, he hoped he was all right. Because
Leon had made his decision, once Nicholai was cured, he would try to talk to him, alone, to
see if he could patch up that huge mess. He was well aware that it was not up to him to make
the first move, but one of the few things his father had taught him before he died was that,
often, problems were not solved precisely because everyone was too proud to bow their
heads. He didn't care about being right, although he clearly was. He just wanted those who
could still be saved to be saved.
In any case, how to get Chris to cooperate was a problem for a later time.
He snapped out of the elevator as soon as he had enough of an opening to get through and
continued at breakneck speed down the corridor, proceeding confidently toward Warehouse-
2, the second door at the end, according to the map he had seen on the control room
computer.
One last effort, Nicholai! Please, please wait for me! He thought hopefully, throwing the door
wide open, but when he had crossed the threshold he was dismayed and horrified by what he
saw. Nicholai was lying on the ground and barely moving. Chris towered above him, panting
and shaking with rage. The butt of his rifle was smeared with blood, and Leon distinctly saw
him kick his harmless friend again.
Why? Why was he lashing out so violently at an inoffensive guy?
Without a second thought, Leon sprinted forward. "Stop! Stop right now!" He shouted,
grabbing him from behind to try to drag him away.
Chris, in his eagerness, reacted on instinct rather than reason, shaking him off so vehemently
that the rookie flew to the ground.
Leon felt something break, on impact, and his terror became reality when, slipping his hand
into his pocket, he felt the sharp pieces of the shattered vial.
"N-no!" He uttered in a shaky voice. He pulled out the larger fragment and watched it drip off
the liquid into the palm of his hand. He trembled, distraught, and he felt like crying.
Why? Fucking why?!
He had to do it all over again, but he only had to cast a glance at Nicholai to realize that there
was no more time, that it was now a matter of minutes. It was over. All he could do was
watch him die and turn into a monster. All because of that fucking asshole!
Chris blinked when he recognized him and felt mortified. He didn't want to hurt him. Not
again. He had only...
He approached him, lowering his rifle. Unsure of what to say to him. Should he apologize
right away? Should he give him time to explain himself? What was he supposed to do?
Still uncertain, Chris leaned over him.

"Hey, are you-
His voice turned into a yelp as the rookie turned sharply and, rising abruptly, waved an arm at
him. Chris pulled back just in time but still felt something sharp tear into the flesh under his
jaw followed by an intense burning. If he had not pulled back, Leon would have slit his
throat. Shocked, Chris brought a hand to his wound and looked at him with wide eyes,
completely taken aback. Of course, he had expected that he and Leon were not on good terms
and that the kid was pissed at him, but not to this extent. It so totally startled him that he did
not even have the readiness to flinch out of the way when Leon kicked him between the legs.
With a low, dull gasp he collapsed to his knees and then to his side as he was hit by another
kick, this time in the gut, and then a third, a fourth, and more. Completely stunned, he
grunted in pain as the rookie flipped him onto his back and then crashed onto him with his
full weight.
With a choked gasp, Chris again felt that sharp thing pressing on the side of his neck, just
above the jugular
"L-Leon!" He groaned, searching his eyes.
The kid, straddling him, had his face transfigured into a mask of fury, was shaking with rage,
and shouted all his pain right in his face.
"I tried!" Snarled Leon, distressed, "I-I tried so hard with you!" A sob of hatred shook him,
and he clutched the fragment of the vial between his fingers even harder.
Chris kept looking at him completely lost and frightened but did his best to keep calm for
once. He could have tried to free himself but there was too much chance that Leon would be
able to slit his throat anyway.
"Listen to me," he told him in a measured tone of voice, "I'm sorry for what is-.
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" The kid growled at him.
He did not catch the hint and continued. "I don't know what your relationship is with that guy,
but he's Umbrella and-
"That man is the only one who has shown me kindness and compassion in my whole fucking
life!" Leon shouted in his face, increasingly out of his mind. "W-what have you done for
me?! You liar, you monster!" And when he had finished saying that, he cut him, driving the
sharp point into the shard beyond his skin. "I'm done with your empty apologies! With all
your bullshit! You promised," his voice broke into a sob and Leon began to cry, "y-you
promised you would stop if I told you you crossed the line, you promised! YOU
PROMISED! Fuck me! I should have let you croak when I had the chance! Instead, I helped
you and now he - Is this what you wanted?! Are you happy now, you piece of shit?!"
Chris was not happy; in fact, he was as far from happy as he could get. He was confused. He
was heartbroken, and he was aware that words would not be enough to get him out of that
situation, but having a sharp-edged weapon at his throat was the least of his thoughts anyway.
He was devastated to see Leon so broken and especially to be the cause of it. How had he let
him down so dreadfully? How could he have allowed himself to be so carried away as to
destroy what, in his lucid moments, he had wished to protect and train? Sanity had come
knocking at the doors of his consciousness again, and now he at least sensed that he had
become a monster, just as Leon had just yelled at him. A monster different from Albert, but a
monster nonetheless. He sniffed loudly and his eyes also filled with tears as he reviewed, in a
matter of seconds, not only all the mistakes he had made but also all he had lost. His friends,
Jill, and now the rookie.
"I-I'm sorry…" He sobbed, feeling a drop of warm blood trickle down his neck.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, bookmarkers, commenters, and
kudoers! This story has reached over 300 kudos, a milestone I never expected when I
started posting this story! So once again let me show you my deepest gratitude!
Okay, with that said, let's get to it. What many of you have been waiting for has
happened, Leon and Chris met again and our dear dumb-Redfield did not fail to pull his
latest screw-up, which was to get his hands on Nicholai and make Leon break the
healing vial. This was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back for Leon who, in
fact, went into full rage.
Certainly, he is furious with Chris about Nicholai but it is really a summation of things,
and among the most serious actions committed by Chris in his eyes is that he did not
keep his promise. As Leon himself had told him, he has a hard time granting trust to
anyone, and the fact that he granted it to Chris only to be let down pretty much across
the board will be a problem that these two will drag on for a long time. Leon's trust is
shattered, and Chris has really gone out of his way to lose it, because, until just before
beating Nicholai, Leon was still considering giving him yet another chance.
As I told some kind commenters, it was never my intention to make peace for them and
see them leave Raccoon City hand in hand under the light of dawn (or atomic detonation
XD). It would have made no sense, given how badly things had escalated between them.
Chris will really have to work hard to earn back an ounce of Leon's trust when the time
comes. Fear not, I have it all planned. In any case, this first "date" of theirs will leave a
deep impression on both of them and some scarring.
For now, Chris will have to be content with not getting his throat slit.
Thank you so much for being here!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 53
Chapter Notes
"Put your hands up and get away from him!"
Leon merely shot a quick glance at Jill as she appeared in the doorway and then returned to
glaring at Chris as if she did not even exist.
Chris gasped when he felt the sharp point cut him some more. "J-Jill! Back off, leave him be!
It's my fault!" He stammered, in a somewhat shrill voice.
She ignored him completely. "Let him go or I'll put a bullet between your eyes!"
Leon grabbed Chris by the hair with his free hand, forcing his head back, and pressed the
shard even harder. "Go for it!" He hissed. "But I'm taking him with me."
Jill hesitated, then stopped pointing the rifle at him, letting it dangle in front of her on the
strap. "Okay, okay," she told him, softening her tone of voice so as not to stress him even
more. "There's no need to-
"He is heartless! He is a liar!"
"Maybe," she conceded, "but I have the cure for him," she stated, pointing at the Russian. She
was no fool; Nicholai was in an even worse condition than she had left him; it was clear he
had been beaten. She did not know why Chris had done it, or who was right or wrong in that
fucking situation. The only thing she wanted was for the Cat to get his claws out of what was
hers.
Leon immediately raised his face, his eyes wide, brimming with tears, and to her he looked
even younger than he actually was. A scared and hurt kid in whom a spark of hope had been
rekindled when all seemed lost. If he wasn't threatening to slit the throat of the man she
loved, she would have felt incredibly sorry for him.
Retrieving that damned cure had been a nightmare for her, she had used all the grenades she
had found in the sewers and almost all her ammunition against those horrible white zombies,
and even hunters had tried to kill her. She owed it to Nicholai, but if his beloved Cat had not
stepped aside, she would have put him down.
"I'll inject him now, and then you let him go, deal?" She made him her offer, and that pup,
bless his heart, nodded with such hope in his eyes that it moved her.
"Jill," Chris tried to intervene.
"You just shut it!" She admonished him, well aware that he was by no means a saint. Then,
quickly, she crouched down beside Nicholai. "Jesus Christ... What the fuck was he thinking?"
She blurted out, upon seeing that he had a cracked cheekbone and probably a broken nose as
well. His breath was only a faint hiss, but when she touched him to turn him around and find
a spot where he had no open wounds to inject him with the cure, he was terrifyingly quick to
grasp her. With an animalistic snarl, Nicholai threw himself at her, causing her to lose her
grip on the syringe and smashing her to the ground. He was heavy and he was as strong as a
bull.
If I catch you while I'm still alive, you're dead, his warning echoed in her head as she
desperately and futilely tried to free herself. He gripped her shoulders so tightly that it was a
miracle he did not dislocate them. She cried out in pain and fright as she caught a glimpse of
his expression. There was nothing left of the man she had known until a short time before.
No trace of the gentleness he tried to disguise behind a sarcastic expression, just the empty
eyes of a rabid monster, but before he could sink his teeth into her neck to start devouring
her, Leon crashed into him from the side, taking him off her. They rolled on the floor, and
when Nicholai tried to pounce on Jill again, Leon threw himself over his shoulders and
blocked his bite with his left forearm. He yelped in pain when Nicholai's teeth sank into his
flesh, but held firmly to him, hooking his legs around his waist until the Russian, off balance,
fell face-first to the floor.
"No!" Jill shouted when out of the corner of her eye she saw Chris pointing his rifle at
Nicholai, and, scrambling to her feet she pushed his barrel away, causing him to miss. "He is
still alive!" She growled in his face.
At the same time, Nicholai had let go of the bite on Leon and was on all fours on the ground,
panting and coughing terribly. The kid had slipped off him, and after crawling to get the
syringe, he was back beside him, heedless of his bleeding arm, and unafraid.
The Russian lifted his battered face to look at him in complete despair and shock. Blood and
drool dripped from his breathless mouth, and his eyes were, by now, completely white.
"М-мне очень жаль! Мне так ж-жаль!" He coughed out and then grabbed him by the
shoulder, forcing him to stare into his empty eyes, and his voice came out pained, urgent but
also full of gentleness. "Ты должен убить меня, хорошо? Прежде чем я убью всех вас!"
Somehow he sensed from Leon's lost gaze that the kid was not understanding a word and his
frown grew desperate. "Убей меня! Убей меня!" He repeated, distraught. "Пожалуйста!
Пожал-
"Okay, stop it!" Leon interrupted him, again on the verge of tears. He laid a hand on his
cheek in a firm stroke. "It will be all right, just let me handle it, now," and without giving him
any warning or tempting his luck any further, he stuck the needle of the syringe into his neck
and pressed the plunger.
Nicholai flinched and, with a choked whine, tried to pull back.
"I know, I know," Leon sought to hearten him, tossing the syringe away, "it stings like a
bitch, but it will pass soon. Y-you'll be better in no time. Just... No more biting for a while,
okay? When I told you about dinner, I didn't mean I wanted to become it, you bad wolf!" He
tried to joke, but the Russian was unresponsive. He kept looking at him with those blank,
confused eyes as if he was unable to understand, assuming he was even trying. Suddenly he
fell forward, lacking strength, and Leon welcomed him against his chest, holding him close.
"It's okay," he sweetly whispered to him, sinking his fingers into his short, blood-encrusted
hair and even managed to smile when Nicholai clung to his shirt, twisting the fabric between
his fingers.
What was going on in the Russian's mind was a tangled band of concepts that he could not
extricate. He was only partially aware of what he had done but not fully. Was Miss Valentine
okay? Who had he bitten? The only thing certain was that kid's arms held him tightly, as if he
were precious as if he were not just filth.
It was so strange and warm at the same time, and he surrendered to it, although, in a moment
of lucidity he certainly would have shunned it.
"Hey, hey, no," Leon returned to talk to him, lifting his face, "I need you to be strong for a
little while longer. You have to get up so we can go to the roof," he gently prodded him. "To
the roof, like you said, ok?"
'Roof' was the only word Nicholai was able to grasp and it was enough. Weakly he nodded
and, leaning almost entirely on him, was able first to get on his knees and then to rise to his
feet.
Leon tried as best he could to encircle his back and secured one of his arms over his
shoulders but they managed only a couple of steps before Nicholai's legs gave out, dragging
them both back down onto the floor.
Chris who, until that moment, had watched the scene as an absent spectator, so incredibly
confused, moved toward them instinctively but stopped when Leon retrieved Matilda from
the ground and pointed it at him, again so alarmed and hostile.
"I just want to help," he clarified, raising his hands in surrender.
"Stay the fuck away from him!" The rookie growled at him.
Chris hesitated and, lost, cast a glance toward Jill for help. She bowed her head, sighing. She
had no clear idea how badly things had gone down between the three of them, but from what
little she knew, Chris had had his ass kicked by Nicholai because he had compromised Leon,
probably by getting him infected, and when Chris had found Nicholai again, he had given
him back his bread and butter. Chris wasn't the type to beat up a defenseless man, though;
that wasn't like him at all. Had Nicholai provoked him? Had he tried to attack him as he had
attacked her? She didn't know. The only thing that was certain was that the Cat was in full
rage with him and had already amply demonstrated that he was ready to defend Nicholai
tooth and nail, while Chris looked shocked and mortified. It was written on his face that he
felt guilty and probably was.
Whatever, she would have a chance to ask him for an explanation later, first she had to defuse
that situation. She looked at Leon who had not moved a single inch, with one arm he was
holding Nicholai tightly to him, and with the other still pointing the gun at Chris.
"Put that thing down, it's empty," she murmured in a calm tone, without approaching him. "I
know you're angry and scared, but he means well-
Leon interrupted her with a low growl of outraged dismay. "You know shit," he blurted, "he
always means well, until his fucking brain short-circuits. You're just lucky he hasn't suspected
you of being a traitor yet."
At this, Chris winced as if he had been slapped in the face.
"Leon, please-
"Don't talk to me!"
Jill waved him away, and Chris obeyed her, backing off a few steps with his head bowed and
his tail between his legs.
"You realize this is stupid, right, Leon?" She resumed. "He can carry him, you clearly can't."
"I'll wait for him to recover," retorted the rookie, glaring at her.
She smiled, unnerved, and clicked her tongue. "What the fuck makes you think I want to
leave him here?" She exclaimed. "Do you have any idea of the extent I've worked my ass off
to get him the cure?!"
"Yes, because I did it first! Before he made me break the vial!"
Jill turned her head to shoot a scowl at Chris, who lowered his head even more. "I swear to
you he won't fuck up again. I'll keep him in check."
"I'll wipe my ass with your promises!" Was Leon's hostile reply. "Just get the fuck out. Leave
us alone."
Jill hardened because she was beginning to get fed up with his tantrums, whether justified or
not.
"We don't understand each other. You can do whatever the fuck you want but I'm not leaving
him here!" She barked at him.
Chris closed his eyes. With that attitude she was not going to get anything out of Leon, he
knew because they had been there and together they had gotten over it. Then he had screwed
it all up.
"You don't know what could come in from there," he decided to try to tell him. Maybe if he
can make him reason about the situation he would cooperate. Leon stared into his eyes with
all the hatred he was capable of, making Chris's heart quiver with pain. He was so incredibly
sorrowful and aware that there was just nothing he could say or do to patch up that mess, and
the kid's response further confirmed it:
"It can't be any worse than you."

Carlos blinked weakly and frowned when he realized that... he was fine. His skin wasn't
boiling as it had in his last moments of lucidity, he no longer struggled to breathe and didn't
feel that horrible mass growing inside him anymore.
He felt almost refreshed. How was this possible?
Suddenly he raised himself up and looked at his arms, before patting his neck and face, and
he almost felt like crying at the realization that everything was as it should be.
"C-Carlos...?" Whispered Sherry, intimidated and in a feeble voice that sounded like the
chirping of a little bird.
"Oh, estrellita, you're okay!" He gasped, feeling a pang in his heart at seeing her huddled in a
corner, small and terrified. "Come here, little one!"
"Carlos!" She leaped to her feet and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. "I-I'm so sorry
for what happened to you! I-it was my fault, all my fault!" She sobbed.
“Nonsense!" He scolded her affectionately, cuddling her. "You're my precious baby flower
and I'll never let anything happen to you, put that in your pretty little head."
"I was so afraid you would die!"
Carlos sighed. "Well, that makes two of us, but I'm okay now. What happened?" In a very
confused way, he remembered Nicholai's arrival in the sewers but had no idea how things had
moved from that point on. The little girl shared with him how they had arrived at NEST and
Nicholai and Jill had decided to work together to find the cure for him. She also told him that
Nicholai had then gone on alone and that Jill had left to find him. The only thing she did not
mention was her mother; she did not feel ready to talk about her. She didn't even want to
think about her death.
"And what happened to you?" Carlos asked her thoughtfully, gently taking her wrapped hand
between his.
"I-it doesn't matter. It's nothing," Sherry mumbled, stepping back.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" He tried to insist, concerned.
"I said it's nothing!" She shrieked, angry, and then burst into tears. "Sorry! I'm so sorry!"
Carlos smiled at her in spite of everything and caressed her, causing her to lower her hands
behind which she was hiding her swollen eyes. "It's okay," he reassured her, "if you tell me
it's nothing, I believe you."
" A-actually, it hurts so much," she admitted. "And I don't know what to d-do..."
Carlos was about to pick her up and get out of there to go find an infirmary when he heard a
single gunshot coming from nearby. He was immediately alarmed and jumped up. His
wounded leg was no longer hurting him at all, but at that moment he was so distracted that he
did not even remember having injured it.
"Don't leave me alone!" Sherry pleaded with him, grabbing him by the wrist. "I can't take it
anymore!"
Carlos hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, let's go see what's going on together."
Before Chris could recover from Leon's terrible and truthful description of him, the door
swung open and all three of them pointed their guns toward the threshold.
Carlos barred his eyes, stepped back, and raised his hands, smiling uncomfortably.
"Whoa! Easy, guys, easy! I come in peace!" He exclaimed and Jill felt incredible relief to see
him up and healthy, but before she could greet him, the Colombian's cheerfulness went out
abruptly. "Shit, Nicholai!"
"Away from him!" Leon hissed but Carlos simply didn't bother and knelt down beside them.
"W-what happened to him?" He groaned, distraught, reaching out a hand to touch him.
Leon grabbed it right away, and, for the first time, Carlos showed signs of annoyance.
“Let me check on him or I’ll kick your ass so badly you’ll forget how to walk, entiendes,
Gatito?” He openly threatened him, pulling his arm back.
Leon changed his attitude, recognizing that the stranger was genuinely concerned about
Nicholai. Sure, Agent Valentine seemed to be too, but she was also on Chris's side. She was
his woman. He could not trust her.
"He might bite you," he warned him.
Carlos blinked and did nothing to hide the pain that the news inflicted on him. "I-is he
infected? Is there a cure? We have to find it!"
"Yes, let's bring him a third one!" Jill blurted out, impatiently, receiving a glare from Leon,
who, however, soon went back to looking at Carlos.
"We have already cured him but he may be dangerous for a while longer," he explained.
Carlos snorted. "If he wanted to set me on fire, I would only ask him if he wants a match or a
lighter. I owe him everything I’ve got."
Leon nodded, grateful and hopeful. "C-can you carry him?"
"’You kidding? Just point me in the right direction."
With a tug, he took off both the sweatshirt and the cut-off T-shirt so that they would not
hinder his movements, but when he tried to grab him, Nicholai flinched and moved as far
away as he could, which was very little. His engorged brain was slowly and painfully coming
back to function -his head was exploding from a throbbing migraine- but he had regained
enough lucidity that he did not want to put Carlos in danger.
He closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to gather enough concentration to handle fucking
English but all he got was an incomprehensible blending of the two languages.
Carlos burst out laughing in his face as the sunbeam he was. "Dios, esto es Colombia al
revés!" He joked. "And you know what's new? You can't talk me out of it or walk away from
me," he teased and chuckled again at hearing his very human snarl. "Come on, man, let me
take care of you for once," he added more softly. "I know you won't bite me, maybe you'll
kick my ass later, but you won't bite me now."
"And I'll keep an eye on you, just to be on the safe side," Leon intervened.
Jill, behind them, rolled her eyes. "Can we cut the drama short? Where is Sherry?"
"I-I'm here," chirped the little girl from the hallway, "keeping watch."
Leon gasped, hearing her voice. He had thought she had died in the subway. He felt so happy,
so incredibly relieved.
"You can go to her if you want," Carlos urged him, but Leon shook his head, casting a
distrustful glance at Chris.
"Okay, let's go together," the other sensed his mood, and besides, he didn't like Jill's
boyfriend either. "End of bargaining," he informed Nicholai.
Leon helped him load him onto his shoulders, and Carlos grunted as he lifted himself to his
feet. "God, you're heavy!" He complained. The Russian did not even try to answer him. He
was so tired, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed, so to speak, his uncomfortable ride.
Jill watched them leave the room and smiled as she heard Sherry greet Leon almost
enthusiastically. The little girl really had a crush on that vapid blond guy. Yes, he was cute,
but now that she got a better look at him she didn't see the point of all the fuss. In any case,
she was glad that Sherry could take her mind off all that had happened to her.
"I-I thought you were dead," Chris whispered behind her back, in a voice so faint she barely
caught it.
Jill turned to look at him and her heart clenched. He was a mess. Not so much physically
because the bruises on his face inflicted, probably, by Nicholai, were dark and swollen, but
the cuts Leon had given him were not so deep as to be worrisome- psychologically, however,
he was a broken man. She had never seen him this bad, not even after Villa Spencer.
Whatever the circumstances, whether good or terrible, Chris had always been a strong-willed,
vocal, and stubborn guy, ready to raise his head and impose his point of view. Against all
common sense, he had always stood up even to Wesker; now, however, he stayed in the
corner with his head down just because that pestiferous kid had puffed up his tail and hissed
at him.
It wasn't like him, but then again, it wasn't like him to beat the shit out of a helpless man
either. What had made him snap so horribly at Nicholai? What responsibility did Leon have
in that?
It would probably have taken her forever to get all that out of Chris, given his utter inability
to externalize his feelings but, for now, she was glad he was alive.
She pulled him close and took his face in her hands, forcing him to lower himself so that he
could rest his forehead against hers and look into her eyes. "It's all right now," she whispered
to him, and he merely shook his head, trembling a little.
"I don't know what to do," he mumbled, "e-everything I've done is wrong."
That was how Chris felt, entirely, utterly paralyzed and unable to take any direction. He was
absolutely despairing about having mistreated Leon to the point of driving him away from
himself, and even more heartbroken about what he had done to him in the subway, but he did
not regret taking it out on Nicholai. That man was Umbrella. He was scum. A danger to
them. A danger to Leon! Why did none of them seem to see it? Not even Jill! It made him so
furious!
Jill clearly caught that shadow clouding his mind.
"What is it now?" She asked him, doing her best not to sound accusatory.
"That sonofabitch. He's like Wesker," he growled, "and all of you are helping him like it's
nothing! He lured us here, watched us, treated us like rats, and now-
"Stop it," Jill shushed him with peremptory gentleness and halted him before he could back
off. "Your mind doesn't think straight, okay? I'll explain everything about Nicholai but not
now. Right now you have to trust me because I want to leave this fucking place. You still
trust me, don't you?"
You're just lucky he hasn't suspected you of being a traitor yet, what Leon had told her echoed
in his mind sharper than a blade and hurt him to the point that he trembled. He merely
nodded because his voice was stuck in his throat, and then he threw himself over her,
squeezing her into his arms and hiding his face against her shoulder in search of reassurance
and comfort. Jill held him almost motherly and did her best not to burst into tears. It was
heartbreaking to see him like this because she knew what Chris was really like and it had
nothing to do with the wounded animal she was trying to comfort. She also sensed how guilty
he felt for whatever he had done to Leon but she was well aware that he would not be able to
tell her, let alone him, so that was another thing destined to haunt him forever. Chris was a
good guy, someone who cared so much about doing the right thing, about helping everyone
he could without ever asking for anything in return. Yes, sometimes he could be brusque
bordering on rude but that was only because he was shy and awkward. What had happened to
him was unfair and what Wesker had done to him was inhuman. She was not only referring to
the betrayal at the mansion but also to all the brainwashing that monster of a captain had
done to him earlier, with the intensive training and all the bullshit he had filled his head with
by manipulating Chris's frailties to his advantage, thus hoping to achieve what? The perfect
soldier? A lethal puppet to dance around? Or perhaps he just wanted to feed his
disproportionate ego by playing with what he had always considered nothing more than prey
or a toy.
Could Chris come back from all that? Jill was convinced he could because submerged under
all that grief, pain, and blind rage that drove him to explode, the man she had hopelessly
fallen in love with was still there, fumbling to get out. She could feel it in the way he was
clinging to her, in the way he was trembling in her arms even though he was a colossus. So
no matter what, she was going to deconstruct the pile of shit Wesker had built on him like a
cathedral to set him free again because she loved him, sure, but mostly because it was the
right thing to do. She did not blame Leon for his anger and resentment. Certainly, Chris had
taken him there but the truth was that she didn't give a shit. He was just an immature kid she
hardly knew and who had not made a good impression on her at all because he had put his
hatred ahead of Nicholai's own safety by refusing Chris’ help. If Carlos hadn't recovered,
they'd probably still be there arguing! Chris, on the other hand, had always been there for her
even before they became friends. From the first day Jill had set foot in the R.P.D. he had
always kept an eye on her because she was the only girl on the team and he didn't want their
colleagues to be too much of a dick to her. He had acted like a big brother, probably because,
at first, he had kind of seen her as an extension of Claire. She could not let this go to waste,
and even though Nicholai had subtly suggested that she let him go, she was convinced that he
was wrong. Nicholai himself was proof of how wrong he was because, at the very moment he
had found people to care about and who cared for him, the mask of the heartless supersoldier
had crumbled and he had regressed to the man he had been before. The one Carlos had
always claimed existed and had almost died to save them all. So if he had been able to come
back after decades of that life, all the more reason Chris could too, and she was there to make
it happen.
She was on the verge of repeating that they had to move from there, when, from the hallway,
they heard Sherry let out a high-pitched shriek, followed by Leon's agitated voice instructing
them to get to the elevator and that he would take care of it.
Chris was very quick to dissolve their embrace and rush out of the room.
"Hey, wait!" She tried to call him back but could do nothing but chase after him. She saw him
disappear over the threshold leading to the funicular but slowed down to catch Sherry, who
had taken advantage of Carlos's distraction to go after Leon.
"I don't want him to die, too! I don't want him to die!" The little girl was screaming,
panicking, trying to free herself. Jill was forced to lift her by weight to be able to carry her to
the elevator. She had no choice, she couldn't let her go to whatever had alarmed Leon so
much.
Meanwhile, Chris stood at the top of the steps, frozen with fear. Below him, Leon was doing
his best to hold his own against a Tyrant who looked every bit like the one they had faced at
Spencer Manor. With his eyes averted and his chest shaken by hyperventilation, he could not
move. All he could see was Wesker dying pierced by the monster's claws, again and again
and again.
Leon, for his part, was doing what he could with the few shots from the gun he had taken
from that dead soldier, but as effectively as he was hitting his heart, the Tyrant did not even
seem to feel them. Finally, his trigger went awry and the rookie was forced to leap to the side
to try to get away. He ended up crashing into the funicular car and Leon squealed, startled
when he was forced to throw himself to the ground to avoid a claw from the monster that
smashed through the windows and showered him with shards. He closed his eyes tightly,
instinctively covering his head with his forearms and curling up on his side but just when he
thought he was doomed, the unthinkable happened. Chris caught up with them in a sprint.
"Not him too!" He growled, hitting the Tyrant in the face with a fist and making him flinch
enough that his misshapen arm missed Leon by a whisker and went smashing through the car
wall instead. He did not stop there and, with all the fury in his body, sprang forward and, with
both hands clawed at that horrible heart and pulled it. The monster roared in pain and with his
still humanoid hand grabbed him, flinging him like a doll across the room.
Then everything became incredibly quiet.
Leon squinted his eyes and, after a moment, found the courage to crawl away. Mr. X was
kneeling on the ground, motionless, and had a large hole spraying dark blood in the center of
his chest. His strength combined with Chris', who had not let go, had been enough to rip his
organ clean off. In shock, Leon cast a glance beyond the bulk of that gray giant and saw Chris
lying on his side at the bottom of the wall he had slammed into. In his hands, he clutched that
horrible heart that was still beating hideously.
They exchanged a troubled look and Leon realized that the other was not really there with
him but back in his head. Again.
Jill rushed down the stairs.
"Chris!" She called, rushing to him.
He hid his face against her chest and let out a ragged cry before bursting into desperate sobs,
overwhelmed by a flood of uncontainable feelings because, despite having just performed the
most impossible of feats, the only thing he could see was Albert's bloodied face, dead in front
of him. The guilt of what had happened at Spencer Manor, where he had seen everyone but
Jill and Barry die, mixed with that of what he had done to Leon crushed him to the point that
he could hardly breathe. He couldn't even feel Jill's touch or hear her words desperately
trying to comfort him and get him out of that cursed loop he was stuck in.
Desperate, she looked towards Leon, who had meanwhile stood, hoping he would say or do
something to help them, but the rookie merely shot them an icy, imperious glance before
running up the stairs.
He was done with Chris and the fact that he had just saved his life changed nothing.
"Chris, please stop," Jill whined, clutching him in her arms. "It's okay. You saved him. You
did it."
She kissed the top of his head tenderly and sighed with relief when, after a few moments,
Chris's crying began to normalize until it died down, but he seemed so empty and defeated
when she managed to pull him away from her.
Then he anxiously scanned the room with his gaze. "W-Where's Leon?" He asked in a
distraught voice.
"He's moved on, let's catch up with him," Jill prodded him, sensing, with some dismay, that
the damn rookie was, probably, the only thing that could move him from there.
So it was, as soon as she had finished saying it, Chris got up and threw to the ground, that
giant misshapen heart.
They found the others upstairs. Leon had picked up Sherry and did not even turn around
when they came out of the elevator. Carlos had laid Nicholai on the floor -he was asleep- and
turned a strained smile on them before picking him up again.
"This way," Leon said flatly, advancing toward the end of the hallway. No one was really in
the mood for conversation, so they proceeded in silence to another elevator that finally led
them to the roof. The first light of dawn was beginning to filter over the horizon, the sky was
the color of blood, and a few faded stars still shone in the distance. The city around them was
not silent; all over could be heard the grunts of the thousands of zombies that, by now,
crowded the streets.
Racoon City was dead.
"Can you fly?" Jill asked, and although the question was addressed to Chris, Carlos was the
one to answer.
"Sure, no problem."
"Thank you..." She whispered.
He snorted a laugh. "Right now I would even grow wings to leave this shitty place."
After checking that Chris was okay, she sprinted to the helicopter parked in the center of the
roof and threw open the door, leaping inside. Leon followed her almost immediately and,
after getting Sherry up, together they helped Carlos unload Nicholai and carefully left him
lying down. The Russian groaned something in his sleep and shifted on his side without
waking up.
"He still has a fever..." Leon whispered, worried.
"It will pass," Jill sentenced.
A tense silence hung between them. Both feared that the cure would not be enough to save
him but neither wanted to say it out loud partly because no one wanted to take on the
implications. Was it safe to have him in a helicopter with them? What would they do if he
turned in the middle of the flight? He could have put all of them, including the child, at risk.
"He would tell us to leave him here," Jill sighed, giving voice to both of them.
"Fortunately, he can't give us his fucking opinion," was Leon's dry reply, and she did not
retort because even for her the thought of leaving him behind was unacceptable.
Carlos, meanwhile, had sat in the cockpit and started the engine.
"I think you should go get him," Leon stated, hinting outside as the blades began to rotate. Jill
turned her head and saw Chris still on the roof. He was on the edge and was looking down
with a pained expression. She rushed to him and grabbed him by the arm.
"We have to go," she urged him.
Chris did not move. "We failed them," he uttered.
Jill in turn cast a glance at the road surrounding the hospital. There were thousands of undead
staggering all around. The sight made her stomach clench and her heart bleed. "I-it's not our
fault."
"Yes, it is. We should have done more. We should not have allowed them to come to this. It's
on us," he countered, and there was not even anger in his voice anymore, only defeat.
"Please, Chris, we have to go," Jill whined, pulling him by the arm. She had no real
arguments to counter his nonsense. Of course, they had not done enough but how could they?
The whole town, starting with the department, had drowned out their voices when they had
tried to report what they had seen at Spencer Manor. They had called them crazy, suspended
them from duty, and made scorched earth around them, and she had clearly understood, at
NEST, that Umbrella's work had not only been covered up but also funded and incentivized
from far beyond the borders of Raccoon City. They could have never won, but she knew
Chris was not ready for that conversation. He was too upset, too hurt.
"I-I need you," she wailed, hugging his back. "Please..."
Chris sniffed and closed his eyes. Not listening to her had cost Brad his life, and that was on
him, too. So he stepped back from the edge and stroked her face, turning toward the
helicopter. He noticed that Leon was watching them from the door but before he could
properly meet his gaze, the rookie hid behind his bangs and backed away abruptly,
disappearing inside.
Once they were aboard, Chris saw that Sherry was sitting as far away from Nicholai as
possible, while Leon was on the ground and had rested the Russian's head on his lap. With
one hand he was mindlessly stroking his hair but, in the other, he had his gun, Matilda, now
loaded and ready. Chris yearned to talk to him, to try to explain his reasons but knew he
would never be able to and, for that matter, Leon would simply not let him. Seeing him be so
tender with that asshole hurt him more than he thought possible. They barely knew each other
and yet he couldn't help thinking about how good it had made him feel to find himself in his
arms, at the diner, when Leon had held him close to comfort him. He realized that he missed
that warmth, and the idea that he would never have it again caused him a sense of misery and
emptiness. Like a bolt from the blue, the kiss the rookie had given him resurfaced in his
memory, making him feel even worse. It had been there that everything had fallen apart
because he had panicked and pushed him away, mortifying him and scaring him to death.
Then all had come crashing down more and more ruinously in a devastating domino effect
that had led them there, one step away from each other but irreparably divided. He would
have wanted to tell him for the umpteenth time that he was sorry and also warn him about the
man he was so lovingly protecting and caring for but did not have the courage. He feared the
venomous cruelty that might come out of Leon's lips, so he looked away from him and
simply closed the hatch as the helicopter rolled off the roof.
"I'll see if your friend needs a hand," he informed Jill, but the truth was that he wanted to get
as far away from Leon as possible. He had to approach him to climb over the seat and reach
the co-pilot's station, and as he did so he felt the rookie's gaze burn into him.
"Hey," Carlos greeted him politely but also with some suspicion.
Chris did not respond but looked at the instrumentation. "We're low on fuel."
"I know but it will be enough to get us out of town."
"Head for the mountains."
Carlos frowned, "Why? It's a longer ride."
Chris was silent for a long moment, somber and brooding. "The city is probably surrounded.
If it's Umbrella, Jill and I are dead; if it's the army, your friend back there could end up…
hurt. The woods are thick; it's hard to station men there in such a short time."
"Roger that," Carlos did not argue because it made a lot of sense and turned the stick to
change course.
In the passenger section, Jill had taken a seat next to Sherry and the little girl snuggled
against her.
"How is he?" She asked after more than fifteen minutes of complete silence.
"Better. I think," was Leon's uncertain reply. "He is breathing better and his heartbeats are
more regular."
"How did you two meet?" Jill questioned him.
"Nicholai rescued him from a tree. That's why he calls him Cat," Sherry intervened in a
sleepy voice since he did not respond.
"Cat, huh?" Leon whispered, finally understanding why the guy who was flying the
helicopter had addressed him as Gatito . He had taken some Spanish in school and had
always been a dweeb but not to the point of not understanding that simple word.
"And is that true?" Insisted Jill, a little incredulously.
"Actually, I knocked him down..." Nicholai suddenly intervened in a hoarse, fatigued voice.
"Not intentionally."
"Hey!" Leon exclaimed, overjoyed to hear him speak again. "No, no, stay down!"
The Russian did not listen to him and sat up with a groan. "Are you okay?" He asked Miss
Valentine.
"Yes, not because you didn't try, you just bit him," she retorted sourly, but the light in her
gaze betrayed her happiness. In all the horror at least that little thing had ended well.
Nicholai turned his head toward Leon, who shrugged his shoulders. "That makes us even. I
bit you first."
The other snorted. "Let's not make this a habit," he commented, then, switched his attention
to Sherry who was not approaching him only because Leon had told her not to. "I believe this
is yours," he murmured, taking her pendant off his neck and tossing it on the seat. The little
girl picked it up with trembling hands and squeezed it tightly.
"T-thank you!" She whimpered, moved.
"Hey, I'm here too, you know?" Carlos intervened, turning back from the pilot's seat to look
at Nicholai.
"WATCH IT!" Chris shouted, grabbing the stick and moving it to the side, rocking the
helicopter. A split second later a missile whizzed past them, heading toward the city they had
well left behind them.
"What the fuck?!" Jill exclaimed, bolting against the window.
They all heard the horrible rumble of the explosion but fortunately, they had flown far
enough away not to be hit by the shock wave, but that did not protect them from the horror
they were witnessing. Astonished, they could do nothing more than watch the mushroom of
the explosion rise skyward as flames and smoke spread throughout Raccoon City,
annihilating it and all who were still there, alive and undead alike.
He heard the sound of approaching heels as soon as she had left the elevator. With difficulty,
he rose to sit on the bed and, in the almost complete dimness of the room, glanced at the
syringe of PG63-W compound resting on the bedside table, still unused.
He did not turn around when she opened the door.
"I can replicate it," Alex informed him, not daring to step into the room. She knew he was in
no condition to do anything but she feared him nonetheless.
"'Good,' he answered her. "What else?"
Alex shivered. There was no point in lying. He would have noticed. She knew.
"Will is dead."
And two eyes red as the flames of vengeance glowed in the darkness.
Chapter End Notes

Hello, my dears!
As always and today especially, my most sincere and adoring thanks to all of you who
are here with me. Readers, kudoers, commenters, subscribers, and commenters!
About a year ago, on May 27 to be precise, I started posting this story and today I
finished the first arc. I am really happy because I had given up writing for quite some
time before I devoted myself to this story. I know you probably care relatively but your
presence here has helped me a lot to get out of a bad mental place.
That said, the story is far from over, and, starting next week, we will enter a new arc. I'm
not going to start a new story, I'm simply going to continue on this one because, net of
character development, this is more of a season finale than an ending, so it would seem
structurally wrong to close this story and make a sequel of it.
I absolutely loved the amount of love that those who commented showered on Nicholai.
Did you really think I was going to kill my best boy? I love him too much to let him go
so soon. There is still much angst in store for everyone. As I also told some of the kind
commenters, I am also glad that Chris turned out to be obnoxious and insufferable. That
was one of my goals because, in a way, he was a bit of an involuntary and incidental
villain in this arc. What I'm tense about, though, is that I'm going to have to do a really
hard job to lift him out of the sea of shit he's drowned himself in. I hope I'm up to the
task.
In this chapter, I have already started to dig a little into his introspection and tried my
best to highlight his frailties and how much his terrible condition does not allow him to
think clearly (but hey, he still rips a Tyrant's heart out with his bare hands XD).
We'll see where everyone goes from here.
I won't bore you any further and thank you again for everything, you are great! See you
all next week!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 54
Chapter Notes
** TRIGGER WARNING**
Yes, a bit unexpected, I recognize that, but given how crude a scene had turned out in
this chapter, I feel compelled to put it in. There will be no rape, but a rather violent and
homophobic scene. If the topic disturbs you, please stop reading at the sentence:
"Before Mike could say or do anything a car came honking."
And pick up at the sentence, "Before Ace could get him back."
To see those sons of bitches get the end they deserve. As always in these cases, there
will be a summary of what happened in the endnotes at the end of the chapter.
See you at the bottom!
Leon shuddered when, after a long walk from the bus station, he stood in front of the
driveway of his house. The way they had parted had been abrupt and uneventful. After
landing in a clearing in the woods, Nicholai had been the first to disappear into thin air. One
moment he was behind them; the next he was gone. Just like that, without a farewell. Without
an explanation. Nothing.
He had been the second.
Together with the others he had followed the trail until they reached a small town in the
mountains, then simply decided to take another route and got lost. Carlos and Jill seemed
okay, especially the former, but he did not want to stay in Chris's company any longer. As for
Sherry... He regretted not even saying goodbye to her, but he realized that the more time
passed the more even looking at her reminded him of what Irons had done to him. That
torture had started slowly with small flashes until it became a fixed thought that would not
leave him alone.
So he ran away filled with guilt.
He had washed himself up as best he could at a public fountain and then stolen some clean
clothes lying in the yard behind a house to dry in the sun. He still had his dirty uniform and
all the items he had collected in a garbage bag he had picked up on the street. He had thought
of throwing them away, but his shirt and pants were covered with infected blood, and the fear
that some animal might be attracted to them and get infected making that nightmare start all
over again made him change his mind.
He had walked for hours and then surrendered to hitchhiking. He had told the poor guy who
had picked him up that he had gone camping with friends, then they had quarreled and
dumped him there in the middle of nowhere. To make the story more believable and to justify
his black eye he even confessed to him that he had screwed the girlfriend of one of them. He
didn't know if the guy had believed the load of bullshit he had told him but had driven him to
a bus station in the valley and dropped him off there without asking too many questions.
Leon had spent the last money in his wallet on tickets for three different buses. It had been an
endless journey and he had never slept a wink, too afraid that someone might take, or look
inside, that envelope he still clutched in his hand. There were two guns, a police uniform
covered in blood, and other things that could have gotten him into serious trouble.
He had lost his keys somewhere along the way, and although he was well beyond exhausted
Leon could not find the resolution to approach the large broom pot beside the porch to
retrieve the spare one. Despite everything, he still did not want to go back into that house, but
what other choice did he have? It had been about a week since he had left it and at the time he
thought his only problem was having broken up with Mike.
What an idiot...
He moved a tiresome first step and the others came more naturally though no less painfully.
When he bent down to pick up the key among that tangled mess of branches, however, he did
not find it. He looked closer toward the front door and only then noticed that it was ajar.
Casting a glance at the street, he checked for passersby before taking Matilda from the
envelope and getting in.
Already from what he could see from the entrance, everything had been trashed. The coat
rack was unraveled on the floor and his mother's jackets, which he had not touched since the
day she died, were on the floor, and there was a strange smell in the air. He let go of the bag
and went on holding the gun with both hands feeling fear running down his spine once again.
When he looked out into the living room his heart sank into his chest and, lacking strength,
he collapsed to his knees on the threshold, bursting into sobs. In front of him, his mother's
sofa and armchair had been gutted, the cushioning was strewn everywhere, the T.V. was on
the floor, the glassware was shattered as were many of the bourbon bottles in there and
someone had pissed on the carpet, while on the wall above the fireplace towered the words
'FUCKING FAG, KILL YOURSELF!' in pink spray paint.
Chris, Carlos, and Sherry were waiting in a clearing not far from the road. Although the night
was beginning to get quite cold, they had thought it more prudent not to go too far into the
mountain town they had passed through. They had been conspicuous enough as it was. Carlos
was still shirtless, everyone was wounded and covered in blood, and they were in the
company of a little girl. The last thing they wanted was to get arrested. Only Jill had gone
back the previous night to phone Barry and had decided to stop there to wait for him, as they
had agreed.
Chris, however, was restless and his mind whirled like a broken record playing the same
music over and over again. What if Umbrella had noticed their helicopter and sent someone
there to capture them? Or what if that Russian piece of shit had reported them personally?
Maybe that was why he had vanished into thin air.
"Will you please sit down? You're driving me crazy..." Carlos sighed, casting a glance at him
and then at Sherry who still kept peering through the trees in hopes of seeing Leon or
Nicholai return. He knew that wasn't going to happen. Or, at least, he knew about Nicholai
because, in fact, when they had split up to look for him he had found him.
"Different woods, same shit. You know I'm good at this," he had told him, jokingly, when he
had sneaked behind him.
Nicholai had frozen in place before huffing an exhausted. "Just let me go."
"Mmmh, nah. I don't think so," he had chuckled, approaching him but had winced when
Nicholai had flinched back, zapping him with his gaze.
Carlos had huffed, rolling his eyes. "Can you drop the act? We all know you care about us.
Well, Chris maybe not, but who gives a shit about that ass-
"I'm going back."
"Back where? The city has been pulverized! Wait, you mean to Umbrella?"
Nicholai had looked at him impatiently. "As Miss Valentine would say: duh…"
"Why?!" The kid had asked him in complete disbelief. "After all that's happened?"
"I never said I wanted out. This is my life, Carlos. I'm going to get my fucking check."
He had known from the first moment that the Russian was hiding something from him,
probably everything, as always, so he had grabbed him by the wrist holding him back.
"You're not going anywhere. I'm pretty sure I can take you right now."
"I wouldn't push my luck," Nicholai had hissed at him, then lowered his head. "Please," he
had muttered more heartily.
"Just give me one good reason. No mysteries. No riddles. I need you. The child needs you,
even your fucking cat."
"Miss Valentine is right, you really are rotten jealous," Nicholai had commented, somewhat
amused. "I did what I could for you but it ends here. I want to go back, isn't that enough?"
"Bullshit!" Carlos had answered him, and then Nicholai had done something that had totally
taken him by surprise. He had stepped forward abruptly and hugged him. "What you saw in
Raccoon City is not the worst of it. My life is mine to bet but I will not put yours on the table
as well. Do you understand?" He had whispered in his ear.
"B-but you deserve better. Please reconsider, we are here for you, w-we-.
Carlos had stopped talking as fast as Nicholai had stepped back shaking his head with that
enigmatic half-smile on his thin lips.
"I don't want that. What I want is for you to stop this life. Don't let Redfield or even Miss
Valentine drag you into a crusade that is not yours. Drop the rifle, Karlen'ka, okay?"
"Hey, that doesn't even sound like my name!" Carlos had protested just so he could keep him
there a little longer.
"For what it's worth, none of you ever got mine right either. It's Nik -a- lai, not Nik -o- lai,"
he had pointed out by giving him a light slap on the cheek that had ended in a fatherly caress.
"But it's spelled with an o! I saw it in the lists!"
Nicholai had shrugged his shoulders. "Welcome to Russian," and then he had actually walked
away.
"W-what should I tell the others?" Carlos had asked, still trying to hold him back.
"That you didn't find me," he had dismissed him, disappearing into the woods, his last words
carried by the wind: "Take care, Poodle."
And that was it. Nicholai had not returned, and Carlos had no illusions. He found it
suspicious that the damn Cat had also disappeared such a short distance away. He had no
proof that they were together, but if so, he would not forgive him. Nicholai had to stop having
favorites.
In any case, neither Sherry nor Chris had listened to him in the slightest, and they continued
to keep one eye on the road and the other on the woods. He stood up, too, however, when he
heard footsteps coming running.
Soon after, a girl in a red jacket darted out of the trees, but he barely had time to see her
before she pounced on Chris, who grabbed her on the fly and squeezed her in his arms as if
his life depended on it.
"I'll fucking kill you!" Growled the stranger. "You goddamn son of a bitch!"
"Leave poor mom out of-
"Shut it, dickhead! Just shut it! You scared me to death! I didn't know what happened to you!
How dare you!" And as she cried out she punched him in the shoulder with one hand, while
with the other she clung to him. Not that it was needed, Chris was holding her up off the
ground, clutching her to him as if she weighed nothing.
Who is that girl? Carlos wondered. Another contender for that jerk's heart? What did they see
in him? Whatever...
"It is okay," Chris murmured to his sister, "I am here now."

"No, I am here now, you fucking cunt!" She barked, pushing him back and making him let
go. She was about to resume the long sequence of insults she had carefully prepared in all the
time they'd been apart but the words died in her throat when she saw his face properly. She
knew him too well not to realize how devastated he was, and her heart filled with anguish.
"You'll tell me what happened and we'll work it out together, okay?" She told him in a calmer
tone. "And by your norm and rule it's an order, not a request."
"How did you find me?" Her brother asked her.
"I told her," intervened a male voice in the trees. "She wanted to come to Raccoon to look for
you, so I stopped her." A man of about forty years, in a dark red military jacket, emerged a
moment later; he had a thick brown beard and an equally important mustache while his short
hair was pulled back. He and Chris exchanged a tense, pained look. Their last meeting had
been anything but pleasant. As soon as they had stepped off the helicopter returning from
Spencer Manor, Chris had come close to laying hands on him and then refused to speak to
him 'till that very moment.
"Hey, kiddo..." The man sighed, resigned to receiving another dose of his scorn.
Chris trembled and gulped, shaken, blinking hard to hold back his tears, then surged forward
and hugged him too.
"I'm so sorry, Barry," he groaned in a breathy voice.
The man smiled sadly and patted his broad back. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I should have
been there with you. I should have done more."
Jill, on the car ride, had given him a succinct account of the hell Raccoon City had turned
into and pleaded with him to be patient with Chris. As if he needed to be told. He had known
the kid since their Air Force days. He had taken him in along with Claire. He had basically
completed raising both of them and loved them like a father. When he had seen her
motorcycle parked on the side of the road he had hit the brakes and rushed out.
"N-no, I'm glad you weren't there," Chris mumbled, stepping back and wiping his eyes with
his arm. "Is Katy okay? The girls?"
"They're safe."
Carlos, meanwhile, had approached Claire.
"And you are?" He asked, smiling at her.
"Trouble," Jill answered him, joining them with a shoulder bag.
"Jealous?" He chuckled.
She glared at him and huffed, "Just honest."
"The name is Claire," smiled the girl, "and I have the misfortune of being his sister," she
added, nodding to Chris.
"Well, you certainly won the genetic lottery," he retorted, and indeed she was pretty, very
pretty but he still cast a sidelong glance at Jill to see if she had any reaction.
"Are you trying to piss both of us off?" Claire questioned him, noticing it. "Not very wise."
Carlos chuckled, embarrassed, and scratched his neck. "I always thought girls gained charm
when mad at me," he tried to save himself.
"Great, another idiot," Claire mumbled, approaching the child who stood half-hidden in the
trees. "And who are you, little one?" She asked her, softly.
Sherry, frightened, stepped back even further and refused to come out until Carlos was the
one to pick her up.
"She is a little traumatized," he then explained to Claire. "Come on, estrellita, say hello to the
nice señorita. She is a friend."
Barry, meanwhile, had sat Chris down on the ground. "You need a few stitches down here,
and another one here" he informed him, checking the wound under his chin and on his neck
after disinfecting it. "Who tried to cut you?"
Chris did not answer and his mind raced back to Leon, to how he had left without addressing
a single word to them. He knew that was his fault, too. Maybe he should have taken courage
and tried to talk to him. He didn't even know where he lived. Maybe he should just let him
go. Maybe he had reached Nicholai and now they were together somewhere. The idea
disturbed him deeply because he did not trust the man and then ... There was also something
else, something he could not define that had started on the helicopter when he had seen Leon
cuddling that asshole. Could he have been his ex? No, he'd told him that his name was 'Mike'.
What was their connection, then?
"Ouch!" He protested, when Barry, with his proverbial heavy hand, began to stitch him up.
Once he was done with him, he turned to Carlos.
"What about you? Do you need anything?"
The Colombian smiled, tense. "I have to pee first," he replied, evasively, walking away. He
didn't, but he unfastened his blood-encrusted pants anyway and pulled them down to check
his leg. He paled, startled, to notice that he no longer had any trace of the wound he had
gotten on the train. His thigh was only smeared with blood but was otherwise completely
intact.
"Qué coño?" He whispered, dismayed, and brought a hand to his forehead but apart from the
thread with which Nicholai had stitched him up, even there he found nothing at all. What had
happened to him? What had that horrible thing done to him? Could he still turn into a
monster even though he had been cured?
"JILL!" He called out, alarmed.
The woman reached him in a flash. "What is it, what's wrong?!"

"Look at me!" He exclaimed.
"If you called me just so I could see you in your underwear, I swear-
"No, imbécil, my leg! Look at my leg!" He blurted out, panicking.
Jill barred her eyes, finally understanding what he meant. "Okay, okay, okay, breathe, you
need to calm down," she told him, moving forward and placing her hands on his chest to try
to soothe him. Then she lifted them to grasp his chin. "Stop. Carlos, look at me!"
He stepped back abruptly and, tripping over his own lowered pants, crashed to the ground on
his back. He was hyperventilating and couldn't get any air, terrified as he was. He even felt
like he could feel that horrible thing pulsing inside of him, hurting him, compressing his
chest. It wasn't, but the panic was gripping his mind so tightly that it was all real again for
him as if that nightmare had never ended. Trembling and weeping, he curled up against the
trunk of a tree, unable to compose himself or to reason.
Jill watched him in dismay. It broke her heart to see him like this. Carlos was the one who
could always lift everyone's spirits with a dumb joke; the one who had a gentle word for
everyone and who, despite how much shit poured down on him, reacted with a smile and
optimism. Always in control. Always the sweetest. It felt wrong to see him so desperate and
terrified; it was against nature and an insult to the order of things. Out of the corner of her eye
she caught sight of Barry and Chris coming over to check that everything was all right. She
motioned for them to get the fuck away and even had to growl at Chris to convince his
stubborn dickhead to leave her be.
Only when they were alone again did Jill kneel in front of him and take his trembling hands
in hers.
"Do as I do," she told him with firm tenderness, staring straight into those dark eyes
overflowed with tears. She took a deep breath, swelling her chest. "Come on, I know you can
do it. In and out."
Carlos tried but for long moments, only a garble of sobs, coughs, and hoarse hisses came out
of his mouth. It took him a while to synchronize with her and get air back into his lungs. It
was so painful and he felt so lost and hopeless. Suddenly he thought back to how that horrible
monster had attacked him, its appendix pressing inside his throat dripping viscous liquid into
him and then the large mass of that egg sliding down.
He choked again.
"No, no!" Jill's agitated voice brought him back to the woods, along with the grip of her
hands. "I need you to breathe with me, okay?" She repeated to him, patiently. "Good, very
good! Just like that!"
When, at last, his panic attack turned into just crying, she pulled him close to her.
"Admit that you just wanted to be hugged again," she ventured a joke, and her heart wobbled
in her chest as she heard that very brief weak laugh burst from his lips. She sank a hand into
his dark curls and held him against her, letting him rest his cheek over her breast. At any
other time, Carlos would have said something really stupid to her about it, like he was in
heaven or some other pathetic nonsense, or maybe he would have even improvised a clumsy
ode to her boobs. Instead, he just stood there, still trembling, trying with all his might to calm
himself down.
Where the fuck was Nicholai when he was needed? Jill knew why he was gone and kind of
judged him for it. Clearly, the asshole had no idea how to handle that new setup, where he
actually had people around him who cared about him. He had faced monsters, gotten
infected, had his flesh torn, bones broken, and had almost died saving their necks without
blinking but had chickened out when it came time to face the consequences of his actions.
Nicholai simply did not want to deal with the aftermath. One word from him would have
been enough to help Carlos out of his nightmare because he had such a hold over him.
This, however, gave her an idea. "You are okay, do you understand?" She murmured to him,
continuing to stroke his hair.
"Y-you don't know that!" He whined, shaking his head sharply. "What if it's only temporary?
What if-
She pulled him up, forcing him to look into her eyes. "Do you really think Nicholai would
have left you with Sherry if he even remotely suspected that you might be dangerous?"
Carlos blinked, pondering. "No, he wouldn't," he then admitted, abruptly removing the knife
from her belt.
"Stop, what are you doing?!" She exclaimed, alarmed but before she could stop him, he still
managed to open a cut on his forearm. Red blood gushed out of the wound and he gasped
with relief that everything seemed normal, he even burst out laughing hysterically.
"Give it to me, you idiot!" Jill blurted, knocking the weapon out of his hand. "You try
something like that again and I'll kill you with my own hands!"
He mumbled something unintelligible in Spanish, squeezing the wound and looking at the
blood running down his arm as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. It was not
dark and purplish like that monster's! It was normal!
He turned his gaze back to Jill, deeply grateful for the help she had given him. He had been
so scared and for what? For nothing. Fortunately for him, he had that wonderful woman by
his side. He was so into her that it hurt because he had no chance. Not as long as she was
with Chris.
"Thank you," he told her, wiping his eyes.
She sighed, giving him a nervous half-smile. "Anytime, Poodle," she replied. "Now pull up
those pants and get that fucking arm bandaged," she ordered him more sternly.
"Being with Nicholai is not good for you, you are more tyrannical than usual," he retorted.
"You said I'm your princess, so get your ass up and move."
Together they went back, and Barry immediately approached them with a grave expression.
Behind him, Claire and Chris were keeping Sherry company.
"What is it?" Investigated Jill, reading his expression.
"The kid needs a real doctor for that hand," Barry whispered. "She's not in good shape, she
might lose her finger and, if we're not fast, possibly the whole hand."
"Do you know someone that might help us?" She inquired, casting a worried glance at the
little one.
Barry nodded and started to explain about this military doctor, a pal who owed him a lot of
favors.
Carlos didn't linger to listen and as soon as the guy was done bandaging his cut, he ran
directly to her to take her in his arms.
"How is the world's most beautiful little star?" He asked her, hiding his concern behind one
of his sunny smiles.
She shook her head a little, dejected. "Not well, I'm tired and I can't feel my fingers well
anymore. Why did you cry?" She investigated, seeing his reddened eyes.
"Oh, it's nothing, I just got scared about something but it's gone now. Don't worry, honey."
She frowned. She was not used to that kind of evasive response. Her daddy would have told
her straight, but he was dead and she was too tired to fuss, so she leaned her cheek against his
shoulder and closed her eyes.
"Okay, let's get a move on," Chris took charge.
Together they went out onto the road and changed clothes there.
"I'll ride with you, okay, sis?" He asked.
Claire nodded.
Barry approached Carlos.
"You're in the front with me, boy, so Jill can lay the little one in the back with her."
He nodded, a little reluctantly because he would have preferred the other way around.
"No," Sherry objected, "I want him," and in saying that she clenched her fingers on the
hoodie he had just put on.
"You'll be a little tight," Barry told him.
"It's fine. You can put me in the trunk for all I care," Carlos retorted, opening the door.
Leon paused, panting, and lowered the aching arm with which he was desperately trying to
wipe the writing off the wall with a wet sponge. Once he had recovered from the shock of
finding his living room in that condition, his first instinct had been to clean up. It was a habit
ingrained in him because whenever there was a mess in the house, his mother used to take it
out on him after recovering from yet another hangover. Even though she had made the mess
herself.
Over time keeping everything in perfect order and clean had become an obsession for him,
something he couldn't do without. Not that it had ever changed things, if it wasn't for that, his
mother had always been extremely creative in finding excuses to harass and torment him. He
had done so much to try to make her love him at least a little bit. He had always been a good
kid in school, with straight A's in almost every subject, a gifted athlete, always polite, always
thorough; as soon as he had been old enough, he had even started doing small jobs to earn
some money... Why the fuck had she hated him so much?
She as well as the whole world.
What harm had he done to Chris to deserve all the violence he had poured on him? What had
he done to deserve Irons? What to deserve to find his home trashed like that?
It was clear that Mike was responsible for it. He was the only one who knew where he kept
his spare key.
He looked around, feeling drained; he had removed the carpet and thrown it on the patio, then
swept all the glass and padding, with the echo of his mother's screams in his mind. He could
take no more. His head ached. He wanted everything to stop at least for a second
Reaching back, he almost tripped over one of the bottles that were still on the ground. He
bent down to pick it up and turned it over in his fingers, looking at the label and the amber-
colored liquid inside. He found himself wondering what it tasted like and what it felt like to
be completely drunk. From the outside, having seen his mother more drunk than sober, it had
always been incomprehensible to him to even imagine what benefit she derived from it. The
one time he had dared to ask her, the answer had broken his heart. He was only eleven years
old.
It helps me not to think about this fucking life! And about you, you useless brat! You should
have died, not your father!
It was that last statement, in all its absurdity, that had shattered him inside, and although now,
as a young adult, he was quite capable of understanding that it had been nothing more than
the ravings of a broken woman, that 'you should have died' still cut him like a sharp double-
edged knife. It made no sense; he was in school when his father had been shot. He had
nothing to do with it, but logic was a very meager consolation.
Was it true, though? Did that shit help her stop thinking?
"What the fuck..." He groaned, furious with himself. An entire city had been annihilated first
by a horrible disease engineered by unscrupulous madmen and then by the very government
that had bombed it. How many people had been still alive in Raccoon City? Locked away
somewhere in the desperate hope that someone would go to help them. What had he
concretely done for them? Nothing. Nothing at all.
At the point of exhaustion, he sat down on the battered couch with the glow of the explosion
again blinding his mind, and almost felt as if he could hear those innocent people screaming
as they burned alive.
And he stood there contemplating his own misfortunes as if he were the fucking center of the
universe! His mother was right, he should have died because he was just a useless, whiny
brat.
Everything hurt so much.
Almost in a trance, he unscrewed the bottle cap. The first sip grossed him out. The thing
tasted like shit and the sudden burning in his throat made him cough, but he didn't stop and
drank more.
And more.
Until everything went silent.
Nicholai was in the car. He had been given a vehicle from the Umbrella outpost where he had
been patched up. As he had predicted, he had a couple of cracked ribs from his scuffle with
H.U.N.K., they had had to give him a transfusion because he had lost a lot of blood, and they
had patched up the lacerations the licker had left him as a reminder of Raccoon City.
Naturally, even if he had wanted to, he had been forbidden to return to work, and Sergei had
not liked that at all. He had heard him briefly on the phone and his tone of voice had been
enough for him to realize that the ship was sinking and the rats had already started running all
over the place. The destruction of an entire city was not something Umbrella would ever be
able to rise up from, this was shockingly clear to everyone. In imperious fashion, Sergei had
ordered him to write and send him his report on what had happened, since he 'still had fingers
and was not completely useless,' and Nicholai had done so diligently. He had kept out any
details involving his help to the S.T.A.R.S. agents, specifying that he did not know what their
fate had been but that they were presumed dead. He had purged any reference to Leon,
Carlos, and Sherry and made sure to describe Project Nemesis in the worst possible light so
that no one would think of recreating that piece of shit ever again. He had also added that he
had personally taken care to terminate Dr. Mueller, Dr. Bard, and Agent Wong, as he had
been ordered to do. He had not killed the last one, but he deserved that money after all that
mess. Besides, there was no one to disprove him either.
He had been ordered by the doctors to take at least three months off, and he intended to enjoy
all of them, although, in all likelihood, Sergei would have called him back to duty much
sooner.
Arriving at an intersection his gaze absentmindedly went to the road signs; he did not read
them knowingly but his mind registered a piece of information; the name of a location that
tickled his memory. Where had he read that name?
The answer did not come to him right away-it took him a few hundred feet to remember, and
his foot eased the pressure on the accelerator pedal.
"Oh, no, you won't," he said to himself in a half-voice when in truth he had already turned the
steering wheel to turn around. "That's such a fucked up idea..."
Leon winced when the sound of the doorbell being pressed insistently, almost panicked,
echoed through the house, waking him up sharply. He shakily scrambled back to his feet with
his head still groggy and aching. He had not had much to drink but, between his extreme
tiredness and the fact that it was his first time, it had taken very little to make him collapse on
the couch.
With circumspection, he approached the front door but paused, before opening it. He had not
even taken a shower and although he had washed and changed as well as he could along the
way, he was really in a pitiful condition.
"Who is it?" He asked.
"It's Mike."
Leon felt the blood freeze in his veins and anger mount. "Go fuck yourself!" He shouted at
him.
His ex, on the other side, hesitated for a long moment. "Please let me in before someone sees
me!" He told him, hurriedly, and when there was no reaction, he continued speaking. "I'm
sorry about what happened! I was drunk and pissed off when I told the guys that you hit on
me and that you broke two of my fingers when I rejected you." His voice broke, sounding
really sincere and scared. "I-I didn't think that by bringing them here they would... I'm so
sorry!"
Leon was bewildered, taken aback. The more rational part of him kept telling him to keep
that door closed, that he was better off without him. The more fragile, however, insisted that
at least Mike was there and had always been there, in his own way, even if he was an asshole.
"Go away!" He repeated to him with much less resolve than before.
"L-look, I went back to work only this morning. I heard your message, and after what they
said on the news-please, Leo, I just want to see that you're okay, then you can tell me to fuck
off! Please!" Mike insisted, tapping the door with his palm. "I-I thought you were dead...
When I saw the lights on, it didn't seem real! I beg you!"
With a trembling hand and against his better judgment, Leon lowered the handle and pulled
back the door until it was wide open. He did not throw himself into his arms, however; he
remained as still as a statue and clearly saw Mike's despair turn into shock.
"Oh my God, what happened to you?" He groaned, horrified when he saw him completely
distraught with his left eye pitch black, pale as a corpse, and wearing clothes too big for him
that made him look even thinner. Instinctively he stepped forward and Leon did not move
when he lifted his healthy hand to caress his face.
“Shit, Leo…”
"I-I hate you so fucking much..." Leon hissed with a trembling edge to his voice, labored
with rage. "Why d-did you do this to me?" He groaned as two tears ran down his cheeks,
wetting his fingers. "I never did anything but love you… For years!"
Mike gasped as he smelled the stench of alcohol on his breath and although he was not
exactly bright he was able to understand the gravity of that event because, unlike their
friends, he knew about his mother. He knew everything. "Have you been drinking?"
"FUCKING ANSWER ME!" Leon shouted, pushing him back.
Before Mike could say or do anything a car came honking over and parked straight into the
driveway without any thoughtfulness. From there got out Ace, Colt, and Charley, three of
Mike's closest friends.
"That's why you weren't answering your phone, you're already here to kick his ass! What an
asshole, you should have called us!" Ace chuckled.
Leon, alarmed, tried to close the door again but Mike stopped him by pressing on the other
side and overpowering him.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Groaned Leon.
"They'll do the same to me if I don't let them!" The other hissed at him, desperate.
Leon was so shocked and disgusted that he stopped even trying to close the bloody door. "I'll
fucking kill you!" He screamed, throwing himself at him and punching him several times in
the face until Mike fell backward.
"Oh, the little faggot wants to be a big boy! I'll show you how a big boy acts!" Ace taunted
him, before hitting him in the abdomen with the baseball bat he had taken from the trunk,
while, behind him, the other two howled in delight like hyenas.
"So how do you like it, shitbag? Or maybe I should stick it up your ass?" Ace continued
under the shocked gaze of that cowardly Mike, but, when he bent down to grab him from the
floor, Leon still managed to shatter his nose with an elbow.
"YOU FILTHY FUCKING FAGGOT!" He thundered, beginning to kick him wildly like an
animal.
"Stop it you're going to kill him! STOP!" Shouted Mike covering one hand with his mouth
but too scared to intervene.
Ace shot him a confused look then seemed to realize. "You're right, let's take him inside,
someone might see us," he snapped his fingers turning to the other two thugs. "Take him."
"Forget it! What if he gives me some disease?" Protested Charlie, disgusted.
"Yeah! I'm not touching him, yuck!" Colt echoed him.
"Do it or I'll split your shit head in two," Ace snarled, spitting blood on the ground and
swinging the bat at them, "you stupid chickenshit pricks!"
That was enough to mark the territory and show who was boss. The two stepped forward,
muttering how much, at times, he looked like a fucking psycho, and obeyed the order,
picking him Leon up and dragging him inside under Mike's traumatized gaze. There was so
much blood on the floor. He didn't want this. He had never wanted this but he couldn't help it.
He did not want to end up like that. He didn't want the whole town to know that he too was...
So he followed them to the living room. He did not fail to notice that it was clean and tidy,
writing on the wall aside that was now also dripping with soapy water.
"Come on, Mike hit him too!" Ace encouraged him, lifting Leon and holding him up from
under his armpits, exposing him almost like a trophy.
Mike trembled under the hate-filled gaze of Leon, who by now barely had the strength to
move. Blood trickled from his nose and cracked lips but he said nothing. He did not try to
trash him, to say that they had been lovers for years because he was different, superior and if
he did not have the strength to escape from that situation at least he would keep all his dignity
intact.
"C-come on, or are you such a pussy you can't even do that?" He blurted out to him in a voice
laced with hangover and blood.
When Mike finally hit him, he did so with less than half the force he could have, and this
triggered Ace's hilarity.
"Oh, please, I know it's not your good arm but you can do better!" He spurred him on. He
waited a moment but since Mike was wavering, he slammed Leon back down on the ground.
"I left this sick freak next to my little brother! He sat on the couch next to him, he's got to pay
for it, fucking pig!" He leaned over to pick up the bat he had dropped but sneered as he
noticed the started bottle. "My-my!" He exclaimed, "The little bitch decided to become a man
all of a sudden! Why don't you take another sip?" He proposed, cruelly. "Colt, pull his head
back!"
Leon grunted in pain when the piece of shit grabbed him by the hair and tried to back off, to
no avail, when Ace plugged his nose. It did not take long for him to open his mouth in a
desperate attempt to get air, and immediately he ended up with the bottle inside with that
burning liquid running down his throat.
"Suck like you suck cocks, I guess you like it like crazy, you filth!" Ace taunted him,
laughing, he stopped only when the bottle was finally empty.
Colt let go of his grip and Leon curled in on himself, coughing terribly. He had drunk most of
it but much of it had made him almost choke. He felt like he was dying and feared it would
happen. He had survived Raccoon City only to be killed by those three assholes under the
eyes of his ex-boyfriend who was not lifting a finger to help him.
Ace, still not satisfied, smashed the bottle against the fireplace. "We should write 'FAG' on
him," he snickered.
"T-that's enough," Mike tried to intervene.
"I'll tell you when it's fucking enough!" he barked at him. "A slap like this would be okay if
he hadn't come into my house," and kicked him, "ate at my table," another kick, "next to my
little brother! You fucking pervert!"
He rolled Leon onto his stomach and pulled up his shirt, sinking a tip of the broken bottle
into the flesh of his lower back, just above his butt. Leon cried out in pain and tried to crawl
away.
Before Ace could get him back a single gunshot hit his hand, shattering the bottle and
blowing off three of his fingers. Colt instinctively retrieved the bat from the ground and
lunged at the silver-haired man standing in the living room doorway. A grave mistake.
Nicholai dodged the blow with ease, snatched it out of his hand, and then used it to hit him
in the face with such force that the bat snapped in two, knocking him off. When his pal
Charlie tried to run away he kicked his legs, causing him to sprawl to the ground.
No one would leave that place unharmed.
No-fucking-one.
With his left hand, he shot that asshole in the leg, shattering his femur with almost surgical
precision, and then again, in the opposite knee, so that he could hardly walk again in his
entire life.
Then he turned his gaze to Mike, who stepped back, terrified. "P-please! Please don't kill
me!" He shouted, bursting into sobs and cowering in the corner. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!
Don't kill me! I-I didn't want to! I am in love with him!"
He kept screaming, more and more shrilly, even ending up pissing himself in terror.
Nicholai sought the gaze of Leon, who had laboriously pulled himself up to sit, leaning
against the unlit fireplace, and made him a silent offer: one nod from you and I'll kill him.
The kid, who was barely conscious and, despite himself, completely drunk, nevertheless
found the strength to shake his head. Ace and Charlie had heard Mike. It was enough. It
would have been more painful for him to live.
Nicholai nodded and moved right in front of Ace, who crawled over to the couch in a panic.
"What about this one?" He asked, tilting his head like the predator he was, and since Leon
was taking his time, he decided to stall as well. "Open your mouth," he ordered him, pressing
the tip of the barrel to his lips. "Suck it like a cock," he quoted him since that had been the
first sentence he had heard when he had crossed the Kitten's doorstep.
Ace obeyed, sobbing in terror.
"Not like this," Nicholai hissed, and with a brutal flick of his wrist he smashed his teeth with
the butt of the gun. "Try again, davai! There's no hurry, no teeth on the way anymore," he
prodded him, marking his hard Russian R's almost playfully, sticking it back into his bleeding
mouth, and Ace ended up pissing himself, too, as he gagged incomprehensible prayers for
mercy on that metal pipe that went back and forth all the way down to his throat.
"N-no killing," Leon whispered, faintly.
Nicholai nodded. "Very good," he commented, and, pulling his gun out of the asshole's mouth
changed targets and shot him right between the legs, sparing the world the possibility that he
might reproduce. His screams joined those of the jerk he had kneecapped but Nicholai was
unaffected. He slipped the gun into his belt and, once close to Leon, lifted him into his arms
with the gentleness of a butterfly. His ribs sent a twinge of pain through him but he couldn't
care less, he would get him out of there and never leave him again.
He approached the door but stopped at the threshold.
"I don't give a damn what you come up with," he said in a tone so icy that it even stopped the
screaming, "but if you try to report him or me to the police, I'll come back and finish the job
and I'll kill all your families before you," he warned them, before proceeding further.
Chapter End Notes

As usual, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, commenters, subscribers, and
bookmarkers. I am amazed by your patience and there are no words to tell you how
happy I am.
I will start right away by summarizing the part about TRIGGER WARNING: Leon
returns home and finds the door open. Inside, everything has been vandalized and they
have even done horrible homophobic writings on his living room wall. Desperate, he
sets about cleaning up until, exhausted, he decides to open one of his mother's bottles of
bourbon and drink, eventually falling asleep. He is awakened by the doorbell. At the
door is Mike, who apologizes to him for what happened. As he and Leon confront each
other, Mike's friends arrive and break into the house to teach Leon "a lesson." At one
point Nicholai arrives and gives the bunch of sons of bitches the end they deserve.
Okay, as I said in the opening notes, the trigger warning was not intended but I felt
compelled to put it in because things got out of hand and the whole sequence at Leon's
house came out much more brutal than I had initially anticipated.
I'm not going to lie to you, while I was writing I was deeply disgusted and disturbed in
my own right and I don't regret anything about what I made Nicholai do. Homophobes,
as far as I am concerned, are the filth of the planet, and although, in reality, I am against
all forms of violence, that does not stop me from being more extreme in a fiction story.
The name "Ace" is a little quote. I'm really bad at picking random names, but as I was
writing, I was reminded of that huge asshole Ace (Asso in Italian) in Stephen King's
Stand by Me and who is also present, or at least named, in his other books set in the
small town of Castle Rock, so since the character is similar, I named him that.
End of parenthesis. As you could see, neither Nicholai nor Leon took the time to stay in
the company of the other characters. They both escaped for different reasons. Leon's are
clear. Nicholai's will emerge step by step.
I feel very sorry for Leon. No one should have to suffer what he suffered but, sadly, it
still happens all too often in reality to this day. I am also sorry that I wrote it in all its
brutality but it is not my style to sugarcoat things too much. This is an incredibly
disturbing chapter, I am aware but, just a few days ago, a transgender person was
brutally truncheoned here in Italy by the police and anger got the best of me, I'm afraid.
My apologies.
Now, a few final words more generally: if in the Raccoon City arc I have been fairly
philological with events, from now on there will begin to be more salient variations on
the canon. As you may have guessed, I have a writing style similar to a domino effect. I
place my tiles and then collapse them so that they go to make up an arabesque. The
Raccoon City arc was the placement and this transitional chapter was the flick that
dropped the first domino.
To the Chreon shippers: thank you so much for your endless patience and trust. I know,
by the way things have turned out, it seems very difficult, almost impossible for them to
get close again but, I promise you, I still have several tricks up my sleeve. As soon as
Chris has finished his journey through the Code Veronica arc and Leon has had a chance
to experience his time with Nicholai, we will finally get to Chreon. As I was telling a
kind commenter: there will be fireworks.
Again many thanks to all of you!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 55
Chapter Notes
Leon awoke amid clean sheets, and the bright light coming from the dormer beyond the head
of the bed dazzled him when he ventured to open his eyes. Everything hurt, his head, his
abdomen, his arms with which he had tried to shelter himself and even his throat burned
terribly. Getting to sit up was a real ordeal but he did so in spite of himself, shaking off the
comforter that had been wrapped around him. He could remember practically nothing and
had no idea where he was. The last clear memory was Ace shoving the bottle down his
throat; the rest was absolutely blank. He felt that he had bandages on him, under clothes he
did not recognize. They were not his own, nor were they the ones he had stolen. He had on an
old gray wool sweater twice his size and sweatpants that were also far too baggy for him.
As he laid his bare feet on the boards of the floor he realized that he too was clean. His hair
was soft and not encrusted with dirt as it had been-until when?
What the fuck had happened?
He looked around with his heart already pounding in his chest in fear. He was in a spacious
attic that housed a comfortable double bed, a large light-wood closet, a chest of drawers
under the dormer, many shelves on all the walls overflowing with books, and a lit cast-iron
stove. Apart from it, everything was made of wood and had a precise, square appearance with
no frills. There were also two bedside tables. The one closest to him had only a full glass of
water and a bottle of painkillers on it; the other was overflowing with books, too, laid
somewhat haphazardly. That side of the bed, however, was untouched. The pillow was
missing, and although Leon was still very frightened, the fact that no one had slept next to
him reassured him a little.
He looked at the glass with extreme suspicion and sniffed the water before taking a small sip.
It seemed okay. Even the painkillers looked like just ordinary over-the-counter medicines so,
though, with some suspicion, he downed a couple of them, emptying the glass. The water
gave immediate relief to his parched throat, taking away some of the acridness in his mouth.
Only then did he stand up, slowly and in pain.
Except for the crackling of wood burning in the stove, the house was completely silent.
Nothing could be heard from downstairs. After knotting the lace of his pants to lock them at
his waist and rolling the hems firmly past his ankles so that he would not risk tripping if he
had to run, he approached the staircase, clearly visible from the open hatch. Whoever had
brought him there probably didn't want to make him feel trapped by closing it.
He descended the steps slowly and circumspectly, taking care not to make any noise, but
when he reached the floor he realized fairly quickly that he was alone. It was one wide room.
On one side was a large fireplace also lit in front of a large comfortable-looking sofa on
which he saw the missing pillow and a woolen blanket rolled up in military fashion. On the
other, was a table as square as the rest of the furniture in there with equally spartan chairs that
divided the living room from the kitchen where there were cabinets, a sink, and another large
cast-iron cooking stove on which something was bubbling in a pot. It had an intense and
inviting scent of spices that Leon, in his total culinary ignorance, had never even smelled.
Had he not been in a situation that scared him so much he would have run to peek inside and
maybe eaten something. He was starving. Instead, he approached a hallway that after an
abrupt corner led to a small entrance beyond a door. There, on a map on the floor, he found
his boots. He put them on at once, before throwing open the front door, but what he saw
beyond left him even more bewildered. In front of him was the giant meadow of a valley
surrounded by dense forest and high ridges already covered in snow. There was no road, no
path, or any other sign of civilization, and it was bitterly cold. The air, too, was pungent and
clean as in the high mountains. Not that he had ever been there before but he had always
heard that, and now he finally understood what it meant. It did not, however, make him feel
any better. Of course, the hatch of the room was open for him, where the fuck could he go?
He was in the middle of nowhere!
After the initial shock passed, he heard a series of repeated thumps coming from somewhere
behind the house. Even more uneasy, Leon tiptoed around, tracing the left part of the
perimeter with exhausting slowness, and the view he had completely ignored from the
windows, back inside, took his breath away. The house was a hundred yards from the shore
of a beautiful mountain lake with the clearest, bluest water he had ever seen shimmering in
the sunset, and high peaks crowning it all around. It was stunningly beautiful but he had no
time to stand and admire it. Still keeping close to the wall of the house, he reached the other
corner and peered over. There was a black offroader parked in a wooden carport next to a
shed, and the sound came from behind it. He recognized it now. Someone was chopping
wood. He wasn't alone and the stranger was armed.
The first thing Leon did was to approach the car to try to see if it was open but, of course, it
was not. With anguish, he realized that the sound had stopped and more out of blind instinct
than reasoning, he turned around waving a punch.
Nicholai redirected it away from himself with a simple movement of his left arm and caught
him as he lurched forward, but Leon, who still did not get a good look at him, leaped back
like a crazed marble going crashing against the side of the car.
"Are you done?" The Russian asked him, tilting his head to the side, looking at him as if he
were a curious little creature. Leon, on his part, was so surprised to see him that he was
unable to say anything at all and only stared back at him with wide eyes.
Nicholai huffed, looking away because, clearly, that situation did not make him feel
comfortable. Since he had built that place, board by board, pipe by pipe, he had never taken
anyone there. It was his refuge but it was more than that, it was the only place where he could
feel at peace. The presence of that kid changed everything but he just couldn't leave him
where he was at the mercy of those assholes. Of course, he was relieved that he had gone
looking for him but the most withdrawn and selfish part of him cursed itself for having done
so.
What was he to do with him now that he was awake? He had no idea so he turned away to go
back to chopping wood, not ready for that conversation.
With hearing he continued to follow his movements, almost as sneaky as his own. The Kitten
was light on his feet but not enough. Even without turning around, he knew perfectly well
that he was about ten feet behind him slightly to the right. He lifted the ax from the stump in
which he had stuck it and laid down another log, before dropping it down and cutting it into
two pieces with a single blow.
"'Mind helping me?" He asked him since silence, too, was only succeeding in upsetting him
further.
Leon winced but hurried to place another log for him and then another and so on.
"What happened?" He found the courage to ask and that was enough to open the dams of all
his questions. "Where are we? Why am I here? How-
Nicholai closed his eyes. "One at a time," he interrupted him and, once cut the last log for
that evening, began loading all the chunks into a wheelbarrow. "What is the last thing you
remember?"
"Mike's friends who..." Leon's voice died in silence and shame.
"Don't you remember my arrival?"
"N-no, not at all."
"I see," he sighed, turning and sitting down on the stump. He was in short sleeves but the
bitter cold did not seem to afflict him in the slightest. "Let me summarize: I went into your
house, took care of those pieces of shit, and took you away. You slept for three days. To
medicate you, I had to give you a bath first. It was necessary, You were in no condition to say
yes or no." He did not specify why, he did not want to make him feel uncomfortable, but he
wanted to be clear to him that he only undressed him because he had to. After what that kid
had suffered from that pig, he didn't want there to be any misunderstanding between them.
Leon blinked, alarmed but then nodded. "It's ok. T-thank you," he whispered and looked him,
finally, in the eye. "What did you do to-
"I didn't kill them. I punished them."
Leon shivered, and although what had happened in Raccoon City led him to trust Nicholai,
he could not help but notice the ruthless edge in his tone of voice. He was a dangerous man
who, for some unclear reason he ignored, had taken a liking to him. He did not know,
however, if that could change and how quickly. Being alone with him in such an isolated
place did not make him feel calm. Not after all that had happened to him. He dared not ask
for clarification about the punishments in question and bowed his head, crossing his arms
over his chest, defensive and submissive at the same time.
"How do you feel?" The Russian became more kindly concerned, sensing his state of mind.
"Barely alive."
Nicholai sighed again. "This is my home," he clarified, "the place has no name, if you want I
can give you coordinates." He stood up, grabbed the handlebars of the wheelbarrow, and
lifted it, proceeding toward the house. "And let it be clear that this is a temporary solution."
Leon followed him like a lost puppy, rubbing his arms because, unlike him, he was actually
very cold. He watched him neatly arrange the wood in a crate near the entrance in complete
silence.
"Do you have any relatives or friends I can take you to?" Nicholai asked him.
The kid shook his head. "I told you when I wanted you to treat yourself. I… I don't have
anyone. Well, there was Mike but-
"He's not an option anymore," Nicholai shut him up with protective sternness. "You will stay
here until we think of something better."
"I-I... I'm sorry to bother you." Leon whined, suddenly terrified at the prospect of being
alone again. "B-but, even though… I mean… I can do a lot of things. I-I won't be a dead
weight, I swear to-
"That's not the point," Nicholai stopped him, closing the crate. "Being around me is not safe."
"Yet it's the safest place I can think of," the kid replied to him with such disarming sweetness
that it made him flinch.
Nicholai looked at him and sneered despite himself. The little shit was really a damn cat who
had apparently chosen the human to adopt him, and he had fallen for it like a poor idiot. As if
he didn't know any better. Clingy pretty thing. Him and his purring. It endeared and annoyed
him at the same time.
He straightened his back and gave him a mock stern frown. "First rule of the house: shoes
must be taken off at the entrance. Understood? You uncivilized amerikanets."
Chris went out onto the porch of that lousy motel where they had taken rooms. They had
showered, they had eaten. Pretending that everything was normal…
Jill had insisted on sharing a room, and he had accommodated her. Not that either of them
had had the strength or the mood to do anything other than collapse into bed, share some
kisses, and sleep cuddled together. Little, in his case. A couple of hours, as usual. When he
had gotten up he had let her rest. There was no reason to wake her. Jill needed a break.
He leaned against the balustrade and peered downstairs. Barry's car was still not there. He
had taken Sherry to that doctor friend of his, and Carlos had gone out of his mind to go with
them. He had not even washed or fed himself. Stubborn as a mule. Chris had not yet made up
his mind about him but the kid seemed harmless enough not to pose a threat. The only thing
that made him suspicious was that Jill had been incredibly vague in telling him who he was,
but if she judged him as okay, then he'd be okay with him, too. He was still convinced that he
was not wrong about Nicholai, but apart from him, he was aware that his judgment was
flawed, so he was ready to defer those kinds of decisions to others.
He lit up a cigarette, looking in front of him without really seeing anything. All the motels
looked alike, and the one they were in was not much different from the one he had been
living in Raccoon for the last while.
The same one where, for the first time, he had met Leon. He could not stop thinking about
him to the point that he had become the protagonist of the nightmare that led him to wake up
in a sweat. He had re-lived with distressing clarity the moment of their confrontation, when,
without even quite understanding how -since Leon was an undertrained skinny kid who
weighed around eighty pounds less than him-, he had slammed him to the ground and nearly
slit his throat.
Never underestimate someone's resolve to kill you. Wesker's teachings came to his aid once
again. Even when they seem harmless on the surface. Desperation is a powerful fuel and can
sometimes overcome years and years of training. Don't let your guard down and especially
don't let your emotions make you lose focus.
"Well, too bad..." He mumbled, shaking his head, and ran his thumb over the cut under his
chin. He had looked at it, in the mirror. It wasn't very deep, but it was almost two inches long.
He would be left with the scar, a reminder of his stupidity.
In the nightmare, things had been even worse. He had seen Leon turn before his eyes while
he was still straddling him, and the sensation of feeling his teeth tearing into his throat had
been overwhelmingly real. It still gave him goosebumps. He closed his eyes, bending even
further with his chest against the balustrade, and although he was wide awake, he found
himself retracing the steps he had taken when he had come back from the hospital to return to
the motel. That fucking Sharks game…
Leon had opened the door of his room and bumped into him. That was how it had started, and
ever since that moment, that skinny brat had always been three steps ahead of him. When he
still had no idea who he was, he had already recognized him and fooled him. It was no
surprise that, in the end, he had also kicked his ass. He had even warned him that it was going
to happen, at the Birkins' house.
Chris wasn't entirely sure he had deserved it, though. For what he had done in the subway,
sure, but for what he had done to Nicholai? No, he didn't feel guilty about that. Not in the
slightest. He was just trying to protect Leon, and he was going to stubbornly die on the hill
that the asshole was no good. Who was that jerk for Leon? Were they..?
From the look of him, I'd say his little plaything, had said the other Russian on the train and it
burned in his mind. The idea of the two of them together twisted his stomach but he was
distracted by a more concrete pain when something small hit hard the back of his head and
then bounced metallically on the floor.
"A penny for your thoughts," Claire told him soon after, "asshole."
He brought a hand to his sore spot and glowered at her. "That was so unnecessary," he blurted
out.
"Oh, really?" She hissed, marching toward him with fiery eyes. Now that the situation had
calmed down, she was pissed off at him again. Great…
"Claire, for fuck's sake, not-
"Yes, now!" She growled.
Chris jerked and looked around. "Don't shout or you'll wake up the whole motel, you idiot!"
"Like I give a damn!" She was trembling with fury.
"I'm sorry-
"Oh no-no, no! Don't start with your fucking 'I'm sorry-s'! They don't mean shit and we both
know it!"
"But I am sorry!" He protested.
"Not enough, as always!"
Chris confronted her with a look between exhausted and intolerant. "And what is this
supposed to mean?" He asked her.
She turned her face away in a scowl, swinging her auburn ponytail, and instinctively
clenched her fists doing her best to restrain herself from both kicking his ass and bursting into
tears.
When she finally returned to face him, he took a step back, cowed. He was not going to like
what was about to come out of her mouth. Holy shit, hadn't Raccoon City been enough? How
many punishments did he have to serve? It was fucking four in the morning! He was tired, he
was upset, he was traumatized!
"You remember when mom and dad died-
"Claire-
"No, you fucking asshole!" She barked. "You came to my room, hugged me tight, and
promised you would always be there for me! Then the foster homes came-
"You can't blame me for that!"
"And I don't! I do because of what happened next! W-When we had finally found a decent
place, where they would keep us both, you left in three weeks' time, the night before your
fucking birthday!"
Chris threw the butt of the cigarette to the ground and covered his face with his hands. He
couldn't believe they were having that damn conversation again for the thousandth time! He
had done it to enlist, to put money aside for her to study and secure her future! Why did he
still have to be crucified for that?! How far back did Claire want to go?
He didn't have the energy, and even if he was losing his temper in turn, he gave her a
desperate look, silently begging her to give it a rest.
"I'd also made you a gift. A drawing," she informed him, and that was a new piece of
information, one she had never shared with him before because Chris had always been
adamantine, almost violent, in his willingness not to celebrate his birthday. It was not a happy
day for him, nor a day to celebrate since it coincided with the death of their parents for which
he felt responsible. In truth, he did not even want to hear about that date entirely. "Don't
worry, you'll never get it," she resumed speaking, upon seeing him react with the same long-
suffering latent insanity, "I tore it into pieces long ago when I realized that you had
abandoned me."
Chris shook his head and inhaled painfully. " I've never-
"Shut up," she silenced him in a broken voice. "I didn't even want to come to Raccoon when
you called me after three years b-but despite how much I hated you I wanted to give you yet
another chance. I just deluded myself. You never fucking change!"
"This is different! Did you even listen to a word we said after dinner?!" He protested,
incredulous and outraged.
"I thought you were dead! You promised me that you would never disappear into thin air
again! Y-you had-
"Do you hear yourself when you speak?" Thundered Chris, ending, despite himself, in
shouting back. "Do you think I wanted this?! Any of-
"LIAR!" Claire yelled at him, marching over to give him a shove, and he heard the echo of
Leon's wrath raging in his mind: W-What have you done for me?! You liar, you monster! And
it made him snap completely.
"I PROTECTED YOU! ALL MY FUCKING LIFE, I’VE DONE NOTHING BUT CARE
AND WORRY ABOUT YOU! I DEVOTED MY WHOLE DAMN EXISTENCE TO YOU!
WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!” He screamed so loudly that, less than a second later, Jill
rushed out of the room as she was, in her underwear and T-shirt, abruptly awakened. She
found them one step away from each other's throats, Chris with a furious expression on his
grim face and Claire who, equally angry but also heartbreakingly shocked, was defying his
gaze from below. He had never shouted at her like that. Obviously, it was not the first time
Jill had seen them fight and, yes, he had occasionally raised his voice but nowhere near that
harshness, and it frightened her, especially after what he had done to Nicholai. Chris was
totally out of control, and as much as she wanted to ignore all the red flags he had been
waving for the past few days, she could not allow him to do something he would regret for
the rest of his days. She had no mathematical certainty that he would hit Claire as well -
probably not- but it was not a risk she was willing to take.
"Cut it out now! Both of you!" She blurted out, jumping between them and pushing them
away.
Claire sniffed a few times, her fists still clenched, deeply upset. "Fuck you too," she told her,
"I thought you were my friend, at least you should have said something to me!" She attacked
her.
Chris reacted immediately. "Hey, don't take it on her, you ungrateful fu-
"Go inside, dickhead!" Jill hissed at him, pushing him towards the threshold.
He gave her a betrayed look because he had just defended her. "You, too, now?! Get the fuck
out of my face," he blurted, hurt by her aggression and beyond tired of being attacked by
everyone. Without adding anything else he harshly moved her to the side with a swipe of his
arm and sprinted down the stairs.
"What the fuck!" She then snarled at him, but Chris didn't stop and disappeared down the
porch.
He was full of it. He just wanted to spend some time without anyone yelling at him. Was that
too much to ask? He ran away from the motel with his head down like a charging bull until
the voices of Jill and Claire, who, in the meantime, had begun arguing with each other, faded
completely.
Frantic, he stopped on the side of the road. He felt so full of anger that he feared he would
explode. He paid no attention to the car coming up behind him, nor was he suspicious when it
slowed down, but he more than felt the sudden prick of a dart in the middle of his back and
the narcotic liquid burn for an instant before the world began to spin before his eyes.
"What's in the pot? It smells so good." Leon asked, as Nicholai, with a lit cigarette in his
mouth, rummaged through the cupboards.
What the hell… Was it possible that he didn't even have a second plate in there?
"A mess," he replied distractedly. "It's missing half the ingredients."
If he hadn't had to get Leon there as fast as he could, he would have stopped to get supplies
for the winter, and, after he had taken care of him, he hadn't felt like leaving him alone. The
first night he had even watched over him the whole time regretting not taking him to a
hospital.
"Screw it," he huffed, closing the cupboard after pulling out a tin camping bowl. It would
have been fine just the same, for fuck's sake…
That situation made him so tremendously awkward. Interacting with people at work was one
thing -and, basically, he always tried to avoid even that- but having someone inside his house
in an ordinary, everyday situation was something he hadn't experienced in twenty years. He
sighed with relief to notice that at least he had cutlery for both of them and when he turned to
set the table in that improvised way, he realized that Leon had not even sat down. He stood
by the table, still and intimidated.
"Пожал - fuck, sorry. Grab a seat," he told him, pointing to the chair in front of which he had
placed the real plate. He would keep the bloody bowl for himself. "If you like."
He saw him obey as if he had ordered him to and it made him feel even worse. He was not
stupid, he understood that Leon was intimidated and also had every reason to be but he did
not know what to do about it. He put out the cigarette in the ashtray and with a dishtowel
took the pot from the stove, placing it in the center of the table. He removed the lid and
absentmindedly tossed it into the sink, before filling his plate and then his tin bowl. Like a
dog's. Damn it all...
He remained undecided as to where to place himself since he had assigned to Leon his
favorite spot, and, after a few moments of awkward appraisal, decided to sit on the other end
of the table, right in front of him.
"I want you to know that I have no bad intentions," he said, after clearing his throat. "You are
not a prisoner here. If you wish, I can take you away or you can leave whenever-
"I know," Leon interrupted him, anxiously, and a flicker of panic shone in his eyes. He did
not want to find himself alone again, and even if he did not feel entirely safe there, it was still
better than the alternative. "It's just that... I didn't expect to wake up somewhere else," he
looked away, in discomfort. "In truth, I didn't expect to wake up at all. One of the last things I
remember is thinking I would be beaten to death." He lifted his gaze. "I am grateful. I really
am but... Why the fuck do you have to live right in the middle of nowhere?" That question
erupted from his lips in all his tragicomic disbelief. He probably would have felt much more
comfortable if they were in a normal place. Not necessarily a metropolis. A small town, or
even a countryside where at least another house could be glimpsed in the distance.
"Don't you like it?" Nicholai questioned him, doing his best not to take it personally. It had
taken him years to build it from scratch, he had worked his ass off, and he had really had to
resource himself to get the necessary materials there all while trying not to attract Sergei's
attention because the last thing he wanted was for him to know exactly where he lived.
Leon gave him an apologetic little pout. "No, it's beautiful! That was not my point!" He
hastened to correct his words. "I don't know! What… What if you fall and break a leg?"
Nicholai shrugged his shoulders. "I die," and laughed briefly when Leon zapped him with a
glare full of scolding. Perhaps some ice was melting between them. "I have a satellite phone,"
he explained to him, "and I'm too good an asset for the company to let me croak up here. For
that, I have to at least be on duty so I can die in a useful way."
"I bet Umbrella has great health insurance packages," commented the kid, gloomily. "Our
business is cradle to coffin."
Nicholai snorted. "Do you want me to put you in touch with the marketing department?"
"No, thanks."
"Eat, now," the Russian urged him and then took a spoonful of the vile slop he had made and
frowned, dissatisfied. "'Never mind. It sucks," he sentenced, standing up but as he reached to
take the plate away from him, Leon clutched it in his hands, bringing it to his chest with a
faint whining growl. He was hungry as hell, so hungry that he would even eat the table leg
with a pinch of salt to flavor it. He tried to think back to when was the last time he had
grabbed a bite, and the breakfast with Chris flashed through his mind like a comet, irritating
him even more.
"All right, you feral little thing, keep your shit," retorted Nicholai, pulling his hand away,
"but don't say I didn't warn you."
Leon gave him a suspicious look as he put the plate back on the table. "If you try to take it,
I'll bite you. Again," he warned him, annoyed, and for the first time Nicholai chuckled
sincerely, still a little nervous, but spontaneous. There was a whole fucking zoo of elephants
in the room that both of them were carefully avoiding, of course, but there would be time and
since the Kitten was distracted examining what was in his meal, he allowed himself to
contemplate him a little. Even bruised so badly, Leon was strikingly beautiful, and that was
one hell of a problem. Not that he had any intention of doing anything, especially after what
that kid had been through, but the knowledge that he didn't have enough strength to prevent
even the thought of it worried him on many different levels. Dammit, he had been screwed
from the very first moment he had framed him in his gunsight, and only now did he realize it.
From that point on even though he had deluded himself into thinking he had a choice, he
really never did. So, on balance, he was not surprised that he went so far as to take him home.
Just annoyed with himself. When he had decided to reach his address, his intention had
actually been to watch him from a distance, without interacting, to make sure he was all right,
as he had done, for the previous two years, with Carlos. Finding him in danger had instantly
pulverized all his resolve. Besides, Leon was not Carlos. Although he was undoubtedly cute,
Nicholai had never felt any interest in his Poodle in that sense. It had always been more of a
fatherly urge that led him to worry about him. With Leon, he sensed it went beyond that. Far
beyond. The extremes he had reached in Raccoon City proved it and were also the reason
why it was not prudent to have him around. It was not so much the fact that that kid might be
his end that worried him, but what might happen if he found himself caught in the crossfire of
him and Sergei. Nicholai was reasonably sure that there was no trace of all the mistakes he
had done in Raccoon City but he was not absolutely certain. If even suspicion had brushed
the Colonel, things would have turned very bad for him, and if Sergei had found out that
there were people he cared about, they would have become his first targets. He would not
have been satisfied with killing him or torturing him. He would take everything from him
first, just as he had threatened to do to those four assholes he found at Leon's house. Oh, the
irony! In essence, he and Sergei were not so different, only he had done it to protect, the
Colonel, on the other hand, would have done it out of spite because he could never accept
being disrespected by his dog. If this was then compounded by the suspicion that his interest
in Leon was 'sick,' then he would really have butchered his Kitten before her eyes, after 'all
the trouble he had gone through in order to cure him.' Back then, the 'cure' had consisted only
of more beatings and torture during his training period, and it had not cured shit at all because
Nicholai was not sick, nor had he ever felt that way. He appreciated women and men equally,
period. He had accepted this for an eternity, although he had been very careful not to
approach another man since he had been in Sergei's service. Not that he had ever felt the need
to. After Mitia's death, in truth, he had reached the conclusion that he really did not like
anyone anymore. There had been a few random shags with a few women but nothing that had
ever gone beyond that. He wanted to be alone, and that had not changed. If, however, Sergei
had found out something and decided to make him pay for the pile of shit he had
accumulated on the mission in Raccoon City, he would not dwell in niceties. He would
painfully kill Leon anyway and he was far worse than four homophobic dickheads.
That's why the kid has to go. He thought, watching him devour with relish the yucky soup he
had prepared with the little he still had in the shed freezer. But not today. And, despite
everything, that notion warmed his heart.
The butler knocked gently on the door of the ballroom, and although the violin continued to
play, he waited patiently and professionally not only for the performance to end but also for
permission to enter. When he was inside he turned an anguished look to his young master.
That had not been an easy week for him. Past memories had plagued his mind, so when he
had finally put a wish into words, he had immediately gone out of his way to grant it. He had
his back to him and watched, from beyond the ornate glass windows, the storm raging on the
terrace. In the half-light of the night, dressed in white in his sleeping outfit, with the violin
clutched in one hand and the bow in the other his young master had all the appearance of a
restless, suffering ghost.
"What is it, Mr. Harman?" He heard him ask in an absent, distracted voice.
The butler cleared his throat, maintaining an impeccable posture. "The team was successful.
The rest of the group has not been touched, nor alarmed, as agreed. The prisoner you
requested will be here in about forty-eight hours, sir," he paused, doubtful about what he was
about to say. He was not frightened of his young master, never had been, but he did not want
to cross the line into impudence. "May I suggest that you eat something and rest, sir? You
haven't touched food for days, I'm worried about your health. I will have your favorite dish
prepared at once. Please-
"I wonder if he will have the scent of summer or one of his own," was the laconic reply that
came out of his master's mouth, before he put the violin back under his chin and started
playing again. Butler Harman had always loved to revel in the sound of his virtuoso notes but
not when they bled pain and lacerated the soul as they did at that moment and in the days
before. He could not bear to see him in such sorrow. Nevertheless. he stayed because he had
not been dismissed.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
I am posting a little bit earlier today because last week I totally forgot that today would
be my birthday (yes, I am at this level of forgetfulness). As always I thank you all,
readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and bookmarkers.
So, let's start with Leon and Nicholai who are tremendously, tenderly awkward. Neither
of them expected such a sudden and drastic solution. Things will start to get better once
they sniff each other out a bit and get used to each other. Nicholai is terribly
uncomfortable because he gave up on having normal interactions with other people long
before. He is rusty and clumsy and so out of his comfort zone, poor man. Plus he feels
like an inadequate host because his home is, shall we say, barely suitable for living. He
loves it, it is the result of his hard work but he is aware of all the problems it has and
how uncomfortable it can be for a guest. Moreover, Leon's presence alarms him. The
Kitten is cute and, let's not kid ourselves, we all know where Nicholai's good intentions
will end up. From the very beginning of the story all he does is repeat "I will not do
this," and punctually he does XD.
Leon, on the other hand, is in a state of total grogginess and constant alarm. He does not
have time to get used to a situation that immediately everything around him change
completely. While it is true that, given what they have been through in Raccoon City, he
trusts Nicholai, it is also true that he is basically a stranger to him from whom,
potentially, he would have no chance to defend himself if he wanted to harm him (he
would never do that, rather Nicholai would drown himself in the lake, but of course,
Leon does not know for sure, yet). He, too, needs to adjust to the situation; meanwhile,
when in doubt, he got himself adopted. The time has finally come when, after much
hurt, our sweet rookie will receive the comfort he deserves.
I conclude by talking about Chris. Initially, his comparison with Claire should have been
much less sharp than this but it didn't feel right. Chris is sick and when a person is in his
condition, is always in pain, a little less, a little more but it is a constant situation. He is
now aware that his mind is not working well and, indeed, he tries with all his might to
pull himself out of situations that might trigger him but, unfortunately, around him right
now he only has people trying to put out the fire with gasoline until, eventually, he
snaps. Also, have you noticed that although he has approached Jill romantically he does
not even address a thought to that situation but continues to orbit around Leon?
Someone got burned, didn't he, Chris?
I don't blame Claire for her own anger, though. In the first place, she is a nineteen-year-
old girl who has only her brother in the world. He, as you can tell from their exchange
and a few details I left here and there in previous chapters, has always had this
propensity to run away, and Claire has never quite forgiven him, although, in calmer
moments she understands that he has always done it for her sake. Only the fact that he
disappeared into thin air for the umpteenth time, combined with the terror of losing him
with the Raccoon City explosion, did not help her rationalize enough to handle the
situation with the necessary maturity. Jill tries but even she gets scared. She is not a
stupid woman, she fully understood why Nicholai suggested she stay away from Chris,
and although she does not want to because she is in love with him and determined to fix
him *sigh*, when she sees him become threatening and potentially dangerous even with
Claire, she takes action to protect the weaker party. Let me be clear, Chris would not lay
a finger on his sister, just as, at the beginning of the story, he would never lay a finger on
Jill and is deeply hurt by her distrust. So he does the only thing he can do, run away, and
then someone catches him, and no, it's not Wesker, but the character we glimpse in the
epilogue and whose trace we've already seen in a fairly back chapter. I think it's pretty
obvious that it's Alfred Ashford by now, and I have to confess I'm glad to finally be able
to use him. He is going to be a very peculiar character, on whom, as with Nicholai, I am
going to do some engineering work, and I am curious to see how you will perceive him.
One last thing, next week might be a bit messy because I have to administer exams to
students. I should still be able to update regularly, but when in doubt I'd rather warn you
that there might be delays. I will do my best not to let it happen and then finally this
fucking school ends *said the 34-year-old teacher*.
Thank you very much for everything, as always I'm going to run now that I have to take
a shower and then go out to dinner!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 56
Chapter Notes
Small opening note, no trigger warnings, and I promise to be brief. The one thing that, in
my opinion, the written words lack is an adequate soundtrack.
In the chapter you will read, a violin will be played at some point, and I have thought of,
as well as listened to while writing, a very specific piece. Should you wish to do so as
well, I leave you the link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vg0dG6pIs2Y&ab_channel=DavidGarrett-Topic
Let me know if you would like me to leave them for you in the future as well (Alfred
Ashford will be playing a lot)!
See you down below ^^!
Leon jolted awake when he heard a knock and almost had a stroke. It was not yet dawn but a
pale grayish light was beginning to illuminate the sky beyond the dormer window. Just after
dinner, the power had gone out throughout the house. Nicholai had given him a flashlight and
sent him to bed, then went out cursing something in Russian. He had listened to him partly
because he was still very weak but mostly because he did not want to cross him.
"I-is that you?" he asked, agitated, turning on the flashlight and pointing it toward the closed
hatch.
"Who else?" Nicholai answered him with a snort.
"I don't know, maybe the wicked witch of the woods, or a troll," Leon retorted curtly.
The other huffed and he imagined him shaking his head, exasperated.
"I'm going down to the valley to get some supplies. Wanna come?" He heard him propose.
"God, yes!" Leon exclaimed, leaping out of bed like a cricket and throwing open the hatch.
Nicholai shut his eyes when he got the light in his face and grunted, annoyed.
"Oh, sorry!" The kid apologized, pointing the torch elsewhere. "Did you fix what you were
supposed to?" He asked, following him downstairs.
"'More or less."
Rather less than more, Leon thought, when he noticed that the kitchen was lit with a gas lamp
hanging from a hook next to the chandelier that gave the whole place an even spookier look.
"Things do break up here," Nicholai justified himself, awkwardly, as he fiddled with

something at the kitchen stove, "especially if I've been gone a while. The generator got stuck,
I'll take a good look at it when I can."
"O-oh, well, that's okay," Leon mumbled uncomfortably. "It makes everything more... cozy. I
guess."
"You hate it," Nicholai sighed, placing a steaming cup in front of him. "You can say it. I
won't… Whatever."
Leon took a sip to delay the task of answering him. Why couldn't he just shut up instead of
letting that foul mouth of his run free? And yet, in realizing that what he was drinking was
not what he expected, he couldn’t help another grimace.
"No, it's not coffee," Nicholai voiced his consternation with surrender, "when I was young I
couldn't afford it, and when I drank it for the first time I found it tasted like shit. I prefer tea."
Leon looked at him, and a shy smile escaped him as he began to notice that Nicholai was
freaked out just as much as he was. Tall and bulky as he was, he stood with his back pressed
against the sink and barely looked at him while he drank his tea nervously as if he too had no
idea how to handle that situation.
"Don't mind me, I'm just a natural whiner," he joked, trying to hearten him a little. "And I
don't hate your house-
"It's not perfect," Nicholai interrupted him, "and I made several mistakes in the beginning-
"Wait, you did it yourself?" Leon winced, blinking in surprise, and he looked around with
new curiosity. "Okay, now, that's impressive!" He commented, genuinely admiring. "I don't
even know how to hammer a nail." He heard him make that characteristic snort with his nose
that usually presupposed one of his smirks as well, and he was heartened.
"Finish your tea," Nicholai told him, "I'll wait for you at the car."
"Hey, where's the bathroom? I really need to go."
"Outside," the other answered him, disappearing past the corner of the hallway.
"What? Really?!"
"Da. Told you I made mistakes," his voice now reached him from outside. "Shed's on the
right. The first one, the second is… Nevermind. Another mess in progress, I'm afraid."
"Jesus Christ..." Leon sighed, facepalming.

Jill gasped when the room phone rang and ran to answer it.
"Chris?!" She exclaimed, clutching the handset tightly.
Nope, just me, Carlos answered her from the other end. His voice sounded exhausted despite
his efforts to pretend to be in a good mood.
"Oh..." Jill huffed.
Sorry to disappoint...
"No, it's just that... A mess happened," she sighed, sitting down on the bed and shaking her
head to Claire, who was watching her from beside the window. "How's the little one?"
Carlos, on the other side, sighed. The doc had to amputate her little finger, as Barry had
predicted. He said he had never seen such a severe case of frostbite before. She is out of
danger now but she's had it rough.
"When are you coming back?"
Tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest.
Jill became suspicious when he stopped talking. "What else is there?"
She heard him gasp and then lower his tone of voice. Remember that cut I-
"Yes, dickhead-
It's gone. He interrupted her in a frightened whisper. As if it was never there. I-I don't know
what to do! Should I tell this doctor? Should I get him to take a look at me?
"Absolutely not!" Jill exclaimed, alarmed. "Don't say shit. To no one, Carlos, do you
understand me?"
O-ok, he whispered, deeply upset. I have to go now, see you soon.
Jill put down the handset and turned up the volume of the television, on which yet another
news program was playing.
"I can't believe they made up this crap!" She growled, furious. For the past couple of days, all
they had been doing on every channel was talking about an accident, specifically a giant
Umbrella lab explosion that had leveled the entire city.
"Did you really think they were going to talk about zombies on NBC News? The whole
world would have laughed about it," Claire commented caustically, without taking her eyes
off the window.
"Surely thousands of people were still alive in the city and the government bombed it without
a second thought! They are just as responsible as Umbrella!"
"No doubt about that," Claire commented distractedly because, clearly, her thoughts were
elsewhere. Jill had scolded her harshly for the way she had behaved, and although she felt she
was not in the wrong, she regretted having treated Chris that way. She had driven him away,
the very last thing she would have wanted. Fuck it.
"So, you and my brother, what's going on?" She asked her because that was also new.
Jill turned her attention away from the TV and shot her a fiery look but did her best to
rationalize. Claire was also hurt and feeling terrible. She knew her well, and since she was
too stubborn to apologize, her way of trying to make amends had always been to deflect the
conversation and act as if nothing had happened. Jill didn't deny that it bothered her, but if
one of them didn't decide to take a step back and be the adult, they would have continued to
bite each other's throats for eternity. In any case, that question made her uncomfortable.
"Am I about to get the talk that if I break his heart you'll kick my ass?" She inquired,
defensively.
"No, it's just that... I feel cut off from everything," Claire whispered, casting her a gaze as
limpid as that of a hurt child. "But you're right, it's none of my business."
Jill sighed and tapped her hand on the bed to urge her to sit beside her. When Claire did so,
she sighed.
"We didn't even have time to talk about it properly, in truth," she confessed. "I've liked him
for a while."
"No kidding!"
"Shut up, bitch!" Jill barked at her and felt a little better upon hearing her laugh, albeit
nervously. Perhaps once Chris returned, they could get back to living normally again and
become a family. Holy shit, she had spent years running away from her family and now she
couldn't wait to have another one.
"Chris ditched me alone because he didn't want to leave town, and when I saw him again,
alive and well, I don't know what came over me, but I was so happy that I kissed him, and
he... Well, he kissed me back."
"Yuck," Claire commented with a mock gag, but despite the tense situation, she was
genuinely happy for her. Although... Something was not quite right with her. She felt, in her
skin, that everything had happened too abruptly, and although she hoped with all her heart
that things would work out, between them, she wasn't too sure about Chris. The question of
why he didn't have girlfriends like a normal guy had always been a mystery and a sticking
point for her. He seemed not to be interested at all, and knowing her brother, she also knew
there was something going on. Something that, in years, she had not yet been able to get out
of him. Her best guess was that Chris was afraid of bonding with someone so deeply and
risking losing her the way they had lost their parents, but even that explanation was
beginning to seem reductive, or at least incomplete, especially since her brother had barely
even screwed around without commitment.
Jill bit her lip, blushing like a little girl, and giggled in embarrassment at the silence that had
fallen. "I don't even recognize myself, I feel so silly."
"You're just in love. With a jerk, but, yeah, he's my jerk, so if you break his heart I'll skin you
alive," Claire threatened her and together they chuckled not at all concerned. Chris would
come back, sooner or later, he had no money or documents with him, and everything would
be sorted out.
"And what about that other one?" Claire investigated. "Curly hair, all muscle, dumb look,"
she specified when Jill gave her a confused look.
"Oh, Carlos! Nah, he's nothing."
"That's funny because he looks more like your type than my sourpuss brother."
"Is this a trap?" Hissed Jill, suspicious, making her laugh again.
"No, I swear it's not! I just pity the poor guy, he's really lost his mind over you."
"He even said he will wait for me for fifty years!"
Claire rolled her eyes. "Oh, my God! Laaaame..."
Jill laughed. "I actually find him a little tender, when he doesn't overdo it. You should give
him a chance, he's cute and he's really sweet."
"And take your scraps? No way! If you think my brother is the best I dare not imagine what
kind of hopeless cases you discard. Besides, I have a couple of situations going on in
college."
Jill flinched. "A couple?!"
"Yup. Don't you tell Chris!"
"I don't need him to have you locked up in a convent, you hussy!"
Chris was dragged out on a stretcher, and his aching body was immediately hit by a violent,
freezing rain. He was barely conscious and had a very high fever. When he had awakened
from the sedative, earlier than his captors had anticipated, he had fought with what strength
he had in his body until he escaped them. All had been in vain, however, for when he had
gone outside he had realized that he was on a ship on the high seas. To knock him down they
had had to shoot him, not mortally, but they had medicated him miserably with the little they
had on board.
Falling in and out of consciousness, he realized that they had landed somewhere and that that
was a port but although he was doing his best to memorize landmarks, his mind could not
absorb any information. When he opened his eyes again, he was in an interior and a blond kid
was leaning over him.
"L-Leon?" He uttered in a whimper, unable to bring him into focus.
"I commanded that he be brought to me unharmed," he heard the stranger say, who was
clearly not Leon. Then everything happened incredibly fast. Chris sensed a quick movement
and then something hot squirted on him in large amounts, followed by the gurgling of
someone agonizing with his throat slit.
"S-sir!" Another voice exclaimed and Chris recognized it; it was that of one of his captors.
"On the ship he got loose, he killed three of us, we had to-
His desperate justification was abruptly interrupted by a gunshot followed by four more and
all went silent.
The blond stranger bent over him again, his sharp face dripping with blood that was not his
own. Chris still could not get a good look at his features, for so much his vision was blurred,
but his eyes were wide, ocean-blue with an unnatural violet hue.
"Treat him," he heard him order in an imperious voice, "and if he should die, all the doctors
will be executed at once. I have been too indulgent to all you inept fools. Mr. Harman, look
what they made me do!"
"Absolutely unacceptable," replied the calm, disheartened voice of another man whom Chris
could not see but seemed older, "my apologies, sir, but with the disappearance of operative
H.U.N.K. I had to-
"I am not interested in your excuses! Draw me a bath, clean my staff, and then display this
filth in the citadel square for all to see."
"Yes, milord."
They had been in the car for some time already. Before leaving, Leon had been in the
bathroom, and it was ok. It had everything he needed. He would have found it spacious and
comfortable if it had not been fifty feet away from the freakin' house and frozen cold. Out of
politeness, he had made no comment about it also because he had been too shocked to see
himself in the mirror. He still had the black eye that Chris had given him, which in the
meantime, had taken on a purplish tinge, a swollen nasal septum, split lips, and even a
completely bruised cheekbone. He was practically unrecognizable.
"In a couple of weeks you'll be as good as new," Nicholai told him, noticing that he was
continuing to look at himself in the window reflection. "Nose isn't even broken."
Leon remained silent for a while longer, pondering. "Why did you leave?" He asked him,
deciding to start lightening the mountain of mysteries that covered the Russian a little,
despite his fear of annoying him. "And why did you come looking for me?"
"I told you. It's not safe to be around me. Neither for you nor for the others."
"Why?"
"I still work for Umbrella."
"Why?!" Leon repeated, harshly, shooting a furious glance at his sharp profile. Nicholai had
no particular expression, kept his lips tight and his eyebrows slightly furrowed over his
prominent nose as he looked, concentrated, at that wooded path on which he was driving.
"Fucking answer me!" He exclaimed, fidgeting in his seat. He could not believe that! After
all that had happened, after all that Umbrella had done, he was still on their side!
"Second rule of the house," Nicholai huffed, "no questions about my job. You know what
kind of man I am. I've never made a secret of it."
"But-
"No buts. Forget about Umbrella. Otherwise, once we get to the valley you can go wherever
you want."
"I don't even know what state we're in..." Leon mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest
and looking out the window again.
"Wyoming."
"Fucking great..."
"What's with Wyoming now?" Nicholai investigated.
He was not offended by the pout Leon was giving him. It was reasonable for him to feel
resentment, but there were two reasons why he did not want to talk about Umbrella. First,
and most importantly, because what he did was top secret, and, if he cared about keeping his
neck, it was best to leave it that way; second, he did not want to stir him up. Precisely as with
Carlos, he wanted Leon to leave that life behind because it would do him no good.
"Nothing, except for cows, that's the whole point."
Nicholai smiled, amused, but dropped the topic right away. "I came back because I needed to
know you were ok. The others have each other but you…"
"I am alone," Leon concluded for him bitterly. So he pitied him. That was the reason. He felt
ashamed of it and of the whole situation. Christ, Nicholai had not only found him naked and
tied to a table but also beaten like a sissy with the words 'FUCKING FAG, KILL
YOURSELF' on his living room wall. "Look, about… Mike and his friends, I..."
"You owe me no explanation," Nicholai held him back, "and who you sleep with is none of
my business."
Leon gave him a shy, incredulous glance. "Really? Because you look like the kind of guy
who could give me shit about it." He really believed that. After all, the Russian was a military
man, a tough guy, older than him. He did not give the impression of having an open mind. He
was reminded of the disdain with which Chris had rejected him and the disgust in his eyes.
What the fuck had he been thinking about trying to kiss him? At the end of the day, however,
judging by the way things had ended with that asshole, it was for the best.
"You're wrong," was Nicholai's laconic reply, "I truly don't give a damn," and as he said this
he realized that it was not exactly so and not for the reasons Leon believed. Quite the
opposite.
As if someone like him could be interested in a grumpy old fuck like you! He thought, smiling
in self-pity, and then he was neither willing nor interested. Things were complicated enough
as it was.
"What's so funny?" Leon asked him, full of resentment.
"Everything," he breathed a sigh but then resumed speaking, aware that that answer had not
satisfied him. "I've never understood why everyone makes such a fuss about it as if they can
gain something from who their neighbor fucks with."
"It's clearly never been your problem," Leon huffed, annoyed. It was easy for him to talk; he
was a six-foot heterosexual behemoth. Only an idiot would have thought to say or do
anything to him to bitterly regret it.
Nicholai shot him a brief glance. Arrogant little shit, if he had known even half of it... He
added nothing, however, for he owed him no explanation either.
Leon remained silent for a long time but it was evident that he was restless.
"What did you do to them?" He then asked, without looking at him, alluding, of course, to
Mike's clique.
"What they deserved."
"In detail?"
"I may have killed one of them. I don't know, I haven't checked. He attacked me, I cracked
the baseball bat in his face. He'll be lucky if his mother can recognize him. I shattered another
one's femur and kneecap. He will never walk again. I castrated the blond one who was cutting
you with the bottle."
Leon winced but as much as morals told him those actions were extreme and criminal, he
could feel no sympathy for them, only extreme, searing hatred. "Was one of them Mike?"
Nicholai shook his head. "No, I guess he was the one who was screaming that he loved you. I
didn't touch him, you didn't want to."
"Wait, I talked to you?" Leon marveled, shocked. He remembered absolutely nothing.
Nicholai nodded without elaborating. The Kitten had done more than that, once in the car he
had had an excruciating nervous breakdown. He had started shouting confusing things about
what had happened in Raccoon City, about the abuse he had suffered from his mother and
that pig Irons, about his relationship with Mike, about how he had done everything he could
to please Chris only to receive a beating, and then he had talked about himself, about how he
was nothing but a pathetic whore crawling in search of a shred of affection. He had started
sobbing that he wanted to die, then he had trowed up on himself and all over the cockpit
before collapsing.
Nicholai did not want to tell him any of this. He did not want to get involved. That boy wasn't
his mess to fix. He had cleaned him up, cleaned up the car for fucking hours, and now he was
going to keep him around long enough to get him back on his feet. Nothing more than that
and it was too much already. Like a stubborn idiot who did not want to accept the reality of
the facts, he still tried to delude himself that he had a choice and that this kid really had
nothing special. He seriously believed that he could dispose of him, and go back to his life as
if nothing had happened.
The rest of the trip was silent because neither of them felt comfortable. Leon would have
liked to ask him a million more questions but he was sick and tired of getting only half-
answers and felt that Nicholai was keeping him at arm's length. The warmth he had given
him in Raccoon City seemed to have vanished into thin air.
He didn't know you were a fag, back there, that hateful voice in his head notified him, making
him feel even more lonely and insignificant. No wonder you disgust him now.
After what seemed like an eternity they exited that wooded path and turned first onto a dirt
road and then onto a proper one until they came to a medium-sized storefront in the middle of
fucking nowhere.
"Take whatever you think you need," Nicholai told him as they crossed the threshold.
"I don't have any money," Leon retorted, "and I don't mean on me, I don't have any at all."
His bank account was also virtually empty; he was counting on his first police paycheck to
survive but, of course, it would never come.
"I do," was Nicholai's brief reply, before he dumped him there to move toward the food
sector.
Leon watched him take a cart and it seemed so bizarre to him. The Russian was such an
unusual man that to see him doing something as ordinary as grocery shopping was almost
alienating. Nicholai, on the other hand, pretended not to look at him at all. He did not know
exactly what the kid’s intentions were, but if he intended to leave, he wanted him to be free to
do so. He saw him go around the displayed clothes and sulk because they were clearly not to
his taste, and found himself smiling.
Spoiled little thing, he thought with a little reproach and a little tenderness as he watched him
pick up some jeans and a few sweatshirts almost reluctantly. Only secondarily did he notice
that Leon was looking at each individual tag and deciding to take only the items that cost the
least. To be precise, he realized this when the Kitten paused to admire a brown leather padded
aviator jacket on a mannequin and decide, with sorrow in his eyes, to leave it there because it
apparently cost too much. Nicholai sighed and then decided to go back to taking care of the
supplies, otherwise, they would get nowhere
Leon joined him after a while and arranged the things he had taken in the cart overflowing
with food. Pants, T-shirts, sweatshirts, socks, underwear, and an anonymous, off-color, rather
ugly snow jacket.
"You'll also need shoes," Nicholai pointed out to him. "No," he stopped him on seeing him
turn a pair of running sneakers over in his hands, "it's going to snow in a couple of weeks,
maybe sooner. You won't do anything with those."
Leon nodded with a truly miserable expression and fell back on a pair of padded boots.
"I'll wait for you outside," he murmured then, hiding behind his long blond locks when
another customer in the store cast him an inquisitive and dismayed look, given how he
looked. The cold air whipped him violently and he felt like crying. He knew he should be
grateful to Nicholai for all he was doing for him but he was utterly terrified of being dumped
by him as well. At the same time, he was frightened by the surreal situation of having to
depend in every way on a stranger who was a hitman by trade for the most horrible company
that existed in the world. He did not turn around when he heard him coming and stood there
by the hood of the car for as long as it took him to load the supplies. He winced with fright,
however, when something soft but heavy fell on his head and he jerked it off making it fall on
the ground.
"Cover up or you'll catch a cold," was Nicholai's only comment before he climbed into the
car with a lit cigarette between his lips. Leon bent down to pick up the jacket and realized
that it was not just any jacket, but the only nice thing he had seen in that godforsaken place,
and that cost an arm and a leg. All the effort he had made not to cry was in vain because
when he took it in his hands he was overwhelmed by the austere sweetness of that silent
kindness. He immediately put it on, feeling wrapped in the warmth of that very soft fur.
"You look great, can we get a move on?" Nicholai teased him when he saw him trying to
mirror himself in the store window like the vain boy he was.
Leon blushed and hurried to get into the car. "I don't know what to say," he murmured,
closing the door.
The Russian smirked, maneuvering to get out. "I do. The other jacket is better. Warmer, but
you're free to freeze your ass off all you want with this one."
"Why are you so good to me? Please don't tell me again that it is because you are bad to
everyone else. I would like a real answer."
Nicholai sighed, looking down the road.
"You remind me of someone I used to know," he replied after pondering for a while, "when I
glimpsed you in the woods for a second I almost felt like I was seeing a ghost. I hadn't
thought of him in a long time."
Leon pricked up his ears, alert because, for the first time, Nicholai was not dancing around
his questions.
"Who is he?"
"Was."
"Uh, right! I'm sorry."
"So am I."
Leon was careful not to ask for an explanation, it would have been too indelicate, but he
waited impatiently for the other to say something else, and Nicholai indulged him.
"We met in prison when we were kids. Unlike me, he wasn't even supposed to be there. They
had put him in to punish his father. He never hurt a fly and was as tame as a lamb," he said
and then shot him a look, "unlike you, you pestiferous kitten."
Leon laughed briefly. "What's the story behind 'kitten'? Is it really because you didn’t save me
from a tree?"
"Niet. It started as a joke when I read your name but the truth is that you have the spirit of a
cat."
"I honestly don't follow you, but it's not a problem! I mean, it's cute."
"Being cute is irrelevant. If you take a puppy, a small dog, or even a child and put it in a
dangerous situation, he will cry, run away, and inevitably die. A kitten, on the other hand,
will scratch and bite the hell out of it, fighting fiercely for his life. That's why you are a cat."
Leon lowered his gaze, seething. "I don't think I put up so much of a fight, all things
considered," he muttered, and the thought of what Irons had done to him lacerated his mind.
"You lived. Besides, I am not easily impressed, Lev," Nicholai continued. "You have a lot
more potential than you think and, if you feel up to it, I can help you bring it out," that
proposal slipped out of his mouth without the sifting of his brain but he realized it only too
late. It went to contradict several firm points he had established, especially the one about not
getting involved, but, after all, what harm could it do?
"You mean you want to train me?" Leon exclaimed, thrilled.
"Don't get excited. If we do, it means I'll kick your ass. Without mercy," he admonished him.
"You'll hate me."
Leon pondered the matter more seriously, trying not to get too carried away by the joy of
receiving so much attention and care. He thought back to Mike and his friends. He had not
been able to defend himself against them, and before that, he had not been able to stand up
for himself against Chris either. With that punch, he had practically thrown him from one side
of the train to the other, and his black eye showed it. He wanted to be able to knock him
down and not just because of a lucky kick to the nuts.
"Okay, let's do it," he sentenced, nodding.
Nicholai bent his lips into a small smile. "Very well. We start tomorrow."
Chris opened his eyes without knowing how much time had passed. He had a nutrient drip
attached to his arm and was in a room that looked neither like an infirmary nor a cell. It was
spacious, with a very high vaulted ceiling. It and the walls were richly frescoed with
mythological themes enhanced by gilding and plaster floral decorations in an elegant
Baroque style. The bed was also in that style, with precious sheets and a frilly velvet
bedspread of the same vermilion hue as the flowers that dominated the center of the fresco,
just above his head, where a young man with long blond hair was portrayed weeping
desperately, lashed by a violent wind.
"What the fuck?" He groaned, dismayed.
He did not know of, exactly, what he would be faced with once he woke up but certainly not
this. Heedless of the beauty of the room, he snatched the IV from his arm and stood up. He
was shirtless and had the shoulder he had been shot in wrapped in a tight bandage that had
been freshly changed. He had been well cared for, and that confused him even more. Where
was he? Jill and Claire? Had they also been captured? Were they well? He had not been able
to find them on the ship. Anguish and the terror that something bad might have happened to
them choked his throat, especially after how he had treated them. He should never have left
them alone.
It was his fault. All his fault.
With impetus, he sprinted out of the room and paid little attention to the fact that the door
was not even locked. He found himself in a spacious, tastefully furnished, and equally
frescoed antechamber and looked around desperately for something he could use as a
weapon. The only thing he could find was a heavy metal candlestick.
"Easy with that, it's older than your home country," a voice that seemed to come from a
portrait on the wall warned him jokingly.
On instinct Chris moved in that direction and removed the painting, finding only a full wall.
A brief chuckle from just beyond it startled him.
"Why don't you come out and face me like a man?" Snarled Chris, backing away with his
improvised weapon clutched in his hands like a sledgehammer.
The stranger laughed again. "Come and get me!" He mouthed at him in a sing-song voice.
"'You want to play hide-and-seek? I'll fucking tear you apart," Chris growled, rushing out of
the room. He found himself in a long, narrow, dimly lit service corridor. On the other side, he
saw the silhouette of a slender man with a violin and heard him play a few notes to taunt him.
Forgetful of all caution and training Chris charged forward with his head down but when he
had reached about half the distance between them a sharp sound anticipated the movement of
a mechanism. The portion of the floor on which the stranger stood rotated and Chris nearly
crashed into a solid portion of the wall.
"Son of a bitch!" He screamed, striking it with his palm, and as he did so, he realized that the
marble bas-relief of a coat of arms of nobility that towered in the center moved a little. He
had seen it before, somewhere, but at that moment Chris was so angry and frightened that he
was unable to think clearly. Out of pure instinct, he turned the halberd that stood vertically in
the middle of the eagle and placed it between its claws. The floor rotated again, taking him
across, into another long corridor, wider than the previous one and brightly lit, with frescoed
ceilings and mirrors on both walls. The violinist was continuing to play, out of sight, and
although his notes were beautiful the sound only increased Chris's anger, like a chisel drilling
into his mind. He just wanted to nab the asshole and force him to tell him what he had done
to Claire and Jill. So blinded was he that he did not realize that the room he was in was not
what it seemed. As soon as he thought he caught sight of the stranger, he started running
again and this time crashed full force into a mirror, shattering it and bouncing back to the
floor with his legs in the air. Dazed by the headbutt he had taken he grunted in pain and
frustration, but before he could get back up another mechanism clicked and the room moved,
and the mirrors rattled until they formed a wide circle around him. From behind some of
them came two armed squads who surrounded him, pointing their rifles at him, and a man in
a butler's livery looking tense and worried. As the violin abruptly stopped playing, Chris
blinked and spun around, holding the candlestick tightly like a hunted animal even more
confused and scared than before.
"My goodness, Mr. Harman, you are no fun!" Exclaimed whiningly the voice that had
tormented him until just before. He turned and, atop a towering marble staircase finally got a
good look at that guy, leaning limply against the balustrade. He had a pointed, diaphanous
face, very light blond hair pulled back, and wore a red military jacket with medals and
insignia.
The butler, a man in his sixties with salt-and-pepper hair and a grave, stern face, intervened.
"With all due respect, sir, the prisoner is dangerous and-
"Hush-hush," sighed the kid, placing the violin on the balustrade and descending the steps,
waving the bow gracefully. "Everybody out, you rude pigs."
"Sir-
"I said everybody out!" He thundered and the soldiers, after a second's hesitation, obeyed the
command but Mr. Harman remained and his master ignored him, walking with elegant stride
toward Chris, not at all concerned.
"I am immensely sorry for this interruption of our little game," he told him, looking straight
at him with those strange blue-violish eyes. "Please forgive poor, kind Mr. Harman. He is
sometimes overzealous in his willingness to serve me."
Chris, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum, stayed on the ground trying to assess
the situation. There were only two of them now, and they did not seem dangerous. He could
overpower them but the two teams were probably not far behind. He had to start using his
head; he couldn't get killed, not without knowing anything about Claire and Jill's fates, he
clenched his fists, seeing red, when he noticed the Umbrella symbol on that piece of shit
jacket's badges.
"Who the fuck are you?!" He growled at them.
The kid blinked his long blond eyelashes a little surprised by his harshness and then chuckled
like a child. "How rude of me! Let me introduce myself, I am Lord Alfred Ashford,
commander of this facility. Welcome to Rockfort Island, my most honored guest."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, thank you all for being here to brighten my days, you readers, commenters,
kudoers, subscribers, and bookmarkers.
A small announcement: I am mortified but next week's chapter may be shorter than
normal. Administering exams is horribly tedious. Last night we teachers were in a
meeting until 9:30 p.m. and the various tests, including the corrections we will have to
make, will continue until next Tuesday. I am considering asking them to put a cot at
school so at least I am already there in the morning. I am beyond burnout, feeling like
Raccoon City: nuked out. In my free moments, which are very few, I try to write a little
but, right now, I roughly have 1k words ready. So I apologize in advance if, in the next
chapter, there will be fewer scenes and fewer events but I promise I will make it up to
you when I am, finally, on vacation.
Now we come to the events that happened in this chapter. Leon and Nicholai are, slowly
and awkwardly, getting a little bit used to each other and, of course, the jacket that our
beloved Russo gives him is the one we see in Resident Evil 4. Some time ago, close to
the release of RE4R, I had come across an article about what exact model it was and
how much it cost (about $1,000, which made me pass on even the vague desire to buy it,
I admit, WTF XD) and since I wanted Nicholai to give Leon a nice gift, I thought the
jacket was perfect.
Then we had a girly moment between Claire and Jill where they have some fun
gossiping (although they should stop being such bitches to Carlos, he is so precious and
deserves the world). Of course, they don't even remotely imagine that Chris might have
been caught by someone; they just think he's somewhere in a corner blowing off steam.
Two words about Carlos: I reasoned for a long time about whether or not to give him
lasting effects as a result of his exposure to the G, and, in the end, I decided to do so. He
does, clearly, have regenerative power but it is not as instantaneous as what Sherry has
in Resident Evil 6. His wounds heal much faster than normal but they, still, take a few
hours to a few days depending on the severity.
As for the overall context, although in the canon the games hint that, with the Raccoon
City explosion, the problem of B.O.W.s has been made known, I personally decided to
lean toward a temporary cover-up. Realistically speaking, if there was a zombie
outbreak I think they would try everything to solve it and cover it up without alarming
the entire world (although, currently, something would come up because everyone has a
cell phone with a camera in his pocket, however, in 1998 things were different). Even if
this story is mainly based on the events of the protagonists, I will also try, from time to
time, to highlight these more geopolitical aspects.
I will now conclude with our newcomer who, at last, has presented himself in all his
glory. I think Lord Alfred Ashford, in the canon, is an extremely underrated character,
and I plan to work a lot on him. From what we can see so far, he is flamboyant and
alternately capable of committing the most heinous acts as well as the greatest acts of
kindness. Oh, I also entirely re-imagined his mansion, making it full of secret passages
and extravagant rooms. Although, in Capcom's initial plans the Ashfords' setting was
supposed to have a more Gothic or Neo-Gothic look, I personally believe that Baroque
is much more suited to their personality, both for the sometimes excessive and cloying
aesthetic grandeur and for the more illusionistic aspect. In any case, Alfred does not
seem to have ill intentions toward Chris and, of course, has his own reasons for wanting
him on his island but we will find out in time.
Too bad Chris does not return the courtesy.
Thank you all so much!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 57
Chapter Notes
"An apology is also in order for the treatment you received during the trip," Lord Ashford
continued under Chris's dismayed gaze. "It is not easy to find suitable subordinates these days
but I assure you they have already been punished for their rudeness."
Chris recalled in fragments what had happened at the time of his arrival. "You killed them."
Alfred laughed again. "Oh, but of course! It is easier and less tedious than writing letters with
bad references, isn't it, Mr. Harman?"
"Certainly, sir," replied the butler who was still very nervous and kept casting glances in the
direction of the doors concealed by mirrors.
Chris said absolutely nothing because, in truth, he couldn't figure out what the fuck was
going on exactly. He was in an Umbrella facility, that was little but certain, but who was this
madman and what did he want with him? He took a closer look at him without even being
able to get a clear idea of how old he was. At times he looked roughly his age, at others much
younger, like a kid excited to have received a long-awaited gift.
"Where are the others? Where the fuck is my sister?!" He snarled, jolting the poor butler.
"What has been done with them, again?" Alfred asked his servant as if it were information of
no importance.
Mr. Harman straightened his back without even directing a glance at Chris, but before he
could answer his young master blocked him with a wave of the bow he still held in his fist.
"It was our guest who asked you," he chided him kindly and with some tenderness. "Come
on, Mr. Harman, shall I be the one to remind you how to behave?"
The butler bent his lips downward in a dissatisfied expression and looked at Chris as if he
were a self-propelled pile of garbage. "They have not been touched or alarmed. We had no
interest in them. You were the only one to receive the invitation to this island." Alfred gave
him another sign and Mr. Harman added a very pained 'sir' to the end of his sentence. He
regretted having acquiesced to his young lord's whim now that he had that beast in front of
him. It was clear that Officer Radfield was an uncivilized dangerous commoner, and even the
fact that he had been Albert Wesker's protégé did not make him feel comfortable. He did not
understand why his master was so intrigued by him, and although it was not his job to
question his lord's wishes, he hoped in his heart that he would quickly grow bored with the
prisoner and dispose of him.
Chris passed his gaze from one to the other, wary. As much as he wanted to believe their
words and bask in the relief that he was the only one in danger, he did not trust them.
"You keep looking at this one," Lord Ashford said, unclipping the Umbrella medal from his
chest, " it's yours, if you want it," he offered, with candor, extending his hand toward him.
Chris slapped it away from him and the medal bounced on the rich wooden floor. "Fuck
you!"
Alfred winced, frowning a little, somewhat shocked, and the butler instinctively stepped
between them.
"Our guest is clearly still upset," he intervened sternly, zapping Chris with a fiery glance. "I
suggest that he be escorted back to his room so that he can get some more rest.
"Fine," whispered Alfred almost shyly. "I got a little carried away with enthusiasm but of
course I understand. Proceed, Mr. Harman," and having said that he retreated up the stairs,
massaging his offended hand, until he disappeared past another door.
"Inside," the butler ordered, and immediately the two squads returned. "You may follow me
on your legs or I will have you dragged, sir," he added, turning to Chris.
He stood up, looking at each of those men with loathing and desire for murder, but he was at
a disadvantage. At the first hint of rebellion, he would be riddled with bullets, so he handed
back the candlestick when he was ordered to do so.
"Thank you, sir, would you be so kind as to follow me," the butler ordered him, and, god,
how he hated that fucking penguin, him and his snobby little master. Nevertheless, he
complied by backtracking the route he had taken just before.
"On the bed, please," Mr. Harman instructed him once he reached his room.
Once again Chris obeyed even though it was becoming increasingly difficult.
The butler returned toward the door but stopped at the threshold. "Stand back," he ordered the
soldiers, before turning to look at Chris. "A piece of advice," he said, haughtily, "every single
soul on this island is loyal to Lord Ashford. Do anything to cause him harm or suffering and
you will be killed. I hope that is clear enough, sir. I will return later to ask what you would
like for a meal." With that said, he closed the door behind him, and after another sinister
clack, iron bars came down from above, blocking the threshold. Chris bolted at the window
but throwing it wide open did him no good since that side of the palace gave directly onto the
edge of a very high cliff.
He was trapped.
"On your feet!"
Leon leaped to sit on the bed, startled and alarmed.
"What the fuck? What is it? What?!" He exclaimed, sleepy, and Nicholai had to do his best to
maintain a stern expression and not burst out laughing, upon seeing him curled up on the
opposite side of the bed with the comforter clutched in his hands, his eyes wide and his hair a
mess.
"Our training starts now," he informed him.
Leon mumbled something unintelligible that sounded so much like 'fuck you' and lay back,
covering himself up to the top of his head.
This time Nicholai could not hold back a smirk and a snort. The damn kid was so cute, but he
would not be distracted so, with ruthless determination, grabbed the comforter and snatched
it off him.
Leon whined, snuggling into a fetal position. "Please, five more minutes... I'm not an early
bird."
"Like I give a shit! On your feet or the next step is a bucket of freezing water!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Wanna bet?"
Leon raised his head when he heard him approaching the trapdoor. "No," he groaned, "no, I'm
coming. Fucking hell..."
Still groggy from the rude awakening, he staggered out of bed and stretched. "You're mean,
you know that?" He pointed out, pouting.
"And we still have to start," Nicholai sighed. "Get dressed comfortably and join me outside.
You have two minutes, after which I'll drag you as you are," having said that, he left him
alone.
It was cold that morning, not that it particularly bothered the Russian, he was used to far
worse, but it was probably going to snow earlier than expected and he wanted to do some
tests before there were meters of snow to get in their way. He looked at his watch. A minute
had already passed and he was beginning to doubt his choice. Not only because Leon did not
seem motivated enough to him but also because he was not entirely sure he was up to the
task. Yet the lazy kid had done incredible things in Raccoon City. Not only had he survived
but, from what little he remembered and was able to piece together, he had single-handedly
managed to break into a lab infested with the worst creatures and get him a dose of vaccine.
Then, somehow, it had ended up broken, probably by Redfield, and that scrawny kid had
managed to slam him to the ground and almost kill him. Not to mention how he had
confronted the Tyrant outside the orphanage. He turned around when he heard him come out
and complain about the cold,
"Give me your jacket, you won't need it," he ordered him, sternly, tossing it back inside. "Do
some stretching, or whatever you're used to doing to warm up."
"Can we at least have breakf-

"Shut up," Nicholai admonished him again, icily. "When we practice, we practice. No talking,
no objections, no distractions. Right now, I'm not your friend, I'm your commanding officer
and we'll both behave accordingly."
"What are we going to do?" Leon asked him, now a little more intrigued, although all that
sudden discipline annoyed him. "Are you going to train me the way you were trained?"
Nicholai winced and a shadow clouded his gaze for a moment. "No," he replied, thinking
back to all the torture he had endured when he was his age. "I will do it better. As for what
we will do, you will find out piece by piece. Now get started, we're wasting time."
Nicholai patiently watched him do the exercises, observing his form. The kitten was thin and
had probably also lost weight during and after the ordeal in Raccoon City. That had to
change. He had to start having decent, regular meals, properly calibrated. He was going to
take care of that. It was the easiest part of the job and the part that made him less nervous. He
had never trained anyone, and the examples in his memory were certainly not great or
applicable. For fuck's sake, why on earth had he embarked on that quest so lightly? It would
take him months to get that kid to a high level, maybe even a year or more, and he knew they
didn't have that time. He was an idiot.
"Okay, ready," Leon smiled at him, trotting toward him. Now that the numbness of his rude
awakening had passed, he was really excited to test himself. "Oh, come on, do you have to be
so grouchy?" He asked, tilting his head like the puppy he was. "It'll be fun!"
"No," Nicholai shook his head, "It'll be hard."
Leon lifted his chin a little, arrogant and defiant. "Oh, really?" He asked him. "I'm a
competitive guy, you know? Do your worst."
The Russian advanced toward him, shooting him a predatory glance, and sneered. "Follow
me, hotshot."
Together they walked to the edge of the woods, and there Nicholai stopped. "I want you to go
around the meadow skirting the trees as fast as you can."
Leon looked at the perimeter of the valley and shrugged his shoulders. It was a path of about
two miles. It did not bother him. "Is there a time to beat?" He inquired.
"Of course."
The kid waited a few moments for clarification that did not come. "Which is?"
Nicholai smiled, amused. "I won't tell you."
Leon rolled his eyes and huffed, "Fine... I'll just go then."
The Russian was just in time to start the timer before his kitten took off like a bullet. Seeing
him run was a treat for the eyes, and he already knew he was going to pass that test with
flying colors. He wasn't exactly giving his best, as he wasn't going as fast as he had when he
had first seen him in the woods near Spencer Manor, but zombie dogs were hard-to-reach
motivators in terms of effectiveness. Leon maintained a more than sustained gait,
occasionally accelerating but never for too long. He could handle both breath and fatigue
perfectly. He was not surprised to see him finish the run in just under ten minutes.
"So? How did I go?" Leon asked him, even before he caught his breath. "Good? Acceptable?
Did I make it?"
"Stop, before you pass out."
"Huh? Oh, no, I can also do it another time if you want!" Proposed the kid, jumping on the
spot.
Nicholai ignored his enthusiasm. Leon was going to make it to lunchtime crawling in any
case. He pulled out his notebook to quickly jot down his time, but he snapped it shut and used
it to smack him on the head when the damned kitten stretched his neck to peek.
"Come on!" He heard him whine.
"Curiosity killed the cat," he scolded him, amused, but appreciative of his passion. He would
not have guessed it, given his slow awakening.
"Party pooper..." Leon mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and sulking.
"Drink some water. A couple of minutes break," Nicholai instructed him, handing him the
canteen.
Leon took a small sip and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I'm going to need a bath
and I want you to heat the ice cellar you call 'bathroom'," he protested.
Nicholai raised his eyebrows, surprised by this surge of courage and pretentiousness. Leon
also seemed to realize this, and, in fact, blushed. "I-I mean, please," he corrected himself.
The other chuckled, shaking his head, and did not comment. "Since you still have plenty of
breath to shoot your mouth off, go to that tree over there and then run back to me."
"A sprint, then?"
"Yes, smart-ass, a sprint."
"Expect to be surprised!" Leon exclaimed, trotting toward the spot he had indicated.
He felt good, sure, his body was still recovering and not responding as he would have liked,
but, for the first time in days, his mind was not plagued by bad thoughts. All he was thinking
about was what he was doing and how to impress Nicholai. Exactly as with every figure
before him, Leon had fallen back into the same habit: trying to succeed beyond all
expectations in the hope of receiving attention and affection in return. He had done it with his
mother, trying to be good at school, with his bitch of a coach who, however, had taken a
dislike to him from the start, and with Mike, trying to be the perfect boyfriend, at least until
he started cheating on him. On closer inspection, he had even done it with Chris, and it had
gone tragically wrong with each of them.
So why try again? That hateful voice asked him. He's going to dump you eventually, anyway.
"Are you okay?" Nicholai asked him, raising his voice, as he immediately noticed not so
much the change in his mood, as he had his back to him, but the change in his gait. Leon
winced, taken aback, and turned around with an uncomfortable smile.
"Yeah," he replied, also signaling him with a thumbs up.
Nicholai stiffened his posture, not satisfied. "If you're in pain, we can put it off until
tomorrow or the next few days. "
Leon shook his head a little too quickly and sighed, distressed when Nicholai motioned for
him to turn back.
See, you've already fucked up! Snickered that horrible voice and he swallowed, feeling a
lump grow in his throat.
"Сядь."
"Huh?" Leon became even more cowed.
"It means 'sit down'. I will give you several commands in Russian, it comes more naturally to
me. Get used to it."
"O-ok," he whispered, settling cross-legged in the grass. "What was it again? Sadi?"
"Syad'."
"Guess I'll have to write them down."
Nicholai sat across from him, which immediately made Leon uncomfortable. The Russian
was able to understand his moods when he was sixty feet away and with his back to him, let
alone like this. So he hid behind his blond bangs and focused his gaze on the grass in front of
his legs.
"None of this will work if we don't trust each other," Nicholai pointed out to him in a low,
almost fatherly tone.
Leon winced and his grimace turned hostile. "Easy for you to talk, you haven't been screwed
by all the people you've tried to trust!" He protested, crossing his arms over his chest,
reticent.
"You are such an arrogant little shit," this time Nicholai told him to his face. "What the fuck
do you know, I wonder," he added but without anger.
Yet another silence fell between them.
"Earlier," the Russian resumed, "you asked me if I would train you as I had been trained."
"You answered that you would do it better."

"Da. Do you want to know what that means?"
"Whatever..."
"Don't dismiss me as if you were doing me a favor," and Nicholai uttered this rebuke in a
decidedly more annoyed manner. To be successful they had to meet halfway, but if the kid
was not willing to even make that slightest effort, then there was no point in continuing.
"Never mind, forget it," he hissed, getting up.
"Wait," Leon called him back, still keeping his gaze down. "It's not that easy, okay? I'm just
scared."
"Of me?"
"No!" the kid huffed. "Of being left on my ass for the umpteenth time. All my life I've done
nothing but give my best and something more, and, in the end, I've always found myself
alone. Clearly, this is not a problem for you since you live in this godforsaken place but I'm
beginning to wonder what the point is."
Nicholai frowned because what Leon had said did not make the slightest sense. "Has it ever
crossed your mind that what you do is to improve yourself and nothing else? That's the point.
If the only reason you've decided to get training is to impress me, then really it's better to let
it go. There is no need for it. You have the right and the freedom to say no."
Leon was silent for a few moments, feeling anger suddenly mounting inside him. "It's not just
that."
"Good, so what else?"
"I want to be able to defend myself and attack first when needed. I want to be able to knock
him down."
"Would you mind putting some explicit accusative, here and there, in the sentence?" The
Russian joked, trying to defuse him a little.
"Some what?"
Nicholai frowned. "I think in English is the direct object. Never mind, w ho do you want to
knock down?"
"Chris," Leon hissed, shooting him a fiery look.
Nicholai laughed briefly because he was so childish. "Are you aware that you have already
done that, da? I was almost unconscious but you should remember it well."
"It was luck and he was not fighting back," Leon objected.
Nicholai shrugged his shoulders; he did not care about the reason for the dispute between
those two kids, and besides, Redfield was a moron. "I can teach you how to kill him in half a
day and in a hundred different ways, who cares," he sighed, "but luck has nothing to do with
anything you did in Raccoon City. Luck can save you once, yours are instinct and speed of
adaptation. Over the years, I've seen dozens of veterans succumb to far less than what you
faced, and that's a fact. Besides, you saw it yourself, Mikhail's squad was decimated and
every one of those soldiers was ten times more trained than you. You have no idea what your
real potential is." And he laughed again. "Redfield, for fuck's sake," he muttered half-
heartedly. "I'm the one you should want to knock down because if you can handle me, you'll
be able to take down anything."
"Even Umbrella?"
Nicholai snorted again. "Your thirst for revenge is misplaced, Umbrella has already taken
itself out, and that is also a fact. You talk a lot about Redfield but be careful not to become
like him, if not worse."
Leon shook his head firmly. "I don't care about revenge, I want justice for all the people who
died in Raccoon City!"
Nicholai took a deep breath, somewhat disheartened by such naiveté. "Justice is a relative
concept, it swings as times and places change but I don't want to upset you."
"Oh, no, please do."
"History tends to repeat itself, are you familiar with what Operation Paperclip, formerly
called Overcast, was?" He watched him shake his head. "A secret U.S. government program
in which over a thousand Nazi scientists were hired to deal with various weapons projects
and other stuff because, of course, we were the enemy at that point. On the other side of the
Cold War, we did the same with the Операция Осоавиахим. Now, I would say that the Nazis
were the worst of the worst-
"Well, there are always the Commies," Leon objected, jokingly, and the other smiled, closing
his eyes.
"I served it to you on a silver platter, silly of me," he conceded his victory, before resuming
the thread. "What I mean is that a good chunk of those who were universally considered the
worst monsters in history were caught and put to work on new war projects. In many
countries they were protected and were not even extradited when discovered, nor did they
ever receive any punishment for their crimes because they were considered useful. My point
is, do you really believe that the process that started with Umbrella will die with it?"
Leon paled, now genuinely distressed. "Do you mean that the projects of those monsters will
spread like wildfire all over the world?"
"Those, and new ones will be made. It is only human nature. Although the international
situation is less tense nowadays, every country wants to have the upper hand just in case."
"But that means there are bound to be more incidents! More Raccoon City!"
"Indeed, but the major governments already knew this and rather across the board, because
they were secretly funding Umbrella's work. Of those I know, certainly the United States,
Russia, France, and probably many others. The ones that have always had the most power on
the international chessboard, so, I suppose, Germany and Britain are in as well. I warned you
that I didn't want to upset you."
"We have to do something!" Leon exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
Nicholai shook his head. "There is nothing that can be done. Once a process like this has
started it is like a fear-fueled avalanche. It was the same with the Manhattan Project, after
all."
"The nuclear bomb one?"
"Da. Unlike men like me, scientists are not professional killers, many are so absorbed in their
work that they disregard the implications, but what made everyone else fast and efficient,
back then, was the simple question: what if the Nazis get it first? And they could get it first,
they came very close. With the B.O.W.s it will be the same if it isn't already. Of course, when
it is no longer possible to deny their existence as they are still doing, officially these
experiments will be banned by countless ethics committees, but there will always be active
underground laboratories covered by the shady secrecy of this or that government agency,
and sooner or later B.O.W.s will be deployed. Furthermore, just as naturally, the projects will
end up in the hands of arms dealers who will sell them to the highest bidder, which includes
terrorist groups, dictators, and so on. At that point, there will be chaos. The only difference
with atomic bombs lies in the fact that uranium and plutonium are rare and expensive
materials; the process of creating most of these viruses is not. As if this were not enough, an
atomic warhead, once manufactured, remains in its hangar, unmodified and inert until it is
launched. Viruses even in nature mutate autonomously. I am not saying that we are facing an
apocalypse tomorrow, but, certainly, the risk is higher now than it has ever been in the past.
States and independent military groups will surely arise to counter the uncontrolled spread of
B.O.W.s but I fear their efforts will be nothing more than a drop in the ocean. In the end, they
will not make a difference."
"How can you be so calm?!"
"Running around screaming wouldn't change the state of things, so I might as well get on
with my life and try to make the best of this mess. Everything has a price tag."
Leon thinned his lips into a furious, determined expression. "I don't think I can do that. I don't
want to."
Nicholai sighed. He had expected him to say something like that, and he knew there was
nothing he could say or do to change his mind. Unlike Carlos, Leon had not had enough
weapons or blood on his hands to be tired of it and he was so damn idealistic. "So that should
be your reason, forget about that jerk Redfield. Soon he will be nothing more than a little
stain in your memory ready to fade. However, consider that if you really choose to follow this
path, you will have no life, you will have nothing, and eventually you will die alone,
somewhere, forgotten. Take advantage of our time together before making any hasty
decisions and, for what it's worth, try never to sell your soul to any agency or organization
because you will be just a number to them. An expendable item for profit or for the sake of
yet another senseless war."
"Doesn't this nice little speech apply to you too?" Leon commented, acidly because he
couldn't stomach that Nicholai was still on Umbrella's payroll or what was left of it.
"Precisely. Is it such a disgraceful thing to try to get you to avoid making the same mistakes I
did? I know you are full of anger, I was too, ages ago, but I hope to teach you to channel it in
the right way."
"Thanks, I guess," sighed the kid. "Earlier, what did you want to tell me? When we were
talking about the training."
"Actually I wanted to show you something," having said that, Nicholai took off the jumper he
was wearing and threw it to the ground.
"Oh, my God!" Leon gasped, covering his mouth with one hand at the sight of the bandages
wrapped around his chest, shoulder, and, surely, his entire upper back as well.
"Oh, no, not these. These are recent. That licker really did a number on me. Come closer."
Leon obeyed, shy and deeply sorry. Although he had not given it a second thought, he
recalled with disarming clarity when he had found him, in a bloodbath, one step away from
becoming a zombie. He also remembered the fear he had felt at the idea of losing him and the
blind rage when Chris had made him break the vial. Nicholai was the only person who had
shown him affection and tried to protect him, how stupid he had been to doubt. If anyone
deserved his trust, it was him, and screw it if he worked for Umbrella. He could work for
Satan himself, he didn't really care.
"Oh, come on, don't look at me like that. They will heal quickly. I'll need your help getting
the stitches out in a few days."
Leon blinked, distressed. "B-but I don't know how!"
"I'll teach you," the Russian downplayed, before lifting one arm upward to show him his left
rib. "It is a little bruised, but you should see it anyway."
Indeed, there was a scar several inches long with a vaguely triangular shape. "The first week
of training, my senior officer kicked me so hard that the metal toe of his boot came off and
stuck in my flesh. Then there's this one," and he ran the tip of his index finger over his upper
abdominal band, where there was a long, thin line, "he cut me during a hand-to-hand
confrontation with the knife-
"Jesus Christ, that's horrible!" Groaned Leon, shocked.
"I won't list them all for you. I can't even remember where I got a good part of them.
Whenever I didn't meet expectations, I was punished but I would never do that to you. It's
possible that you get hurt in combat training but not this much." Distractedly he bent down to
pick up the jumper but froze when he felt Leon's fingers graze the large scar on his back, just
below the bandage. "That's a story for another time," he sighed, straightening up and
dressing.
"Please tell me no one did that to you on purpose, too," whispered his sweet kitten.
He bent his mouth into a crooked smile. "That would be a lie, and I understand you don't like
them."
Instinctively and without giving it much thought, Leon hugged him tightly, squeezing his
chest with gentleness so as not to go pressing on his wounds. Nicholai winced, taken a little
aback but he didn't push him away, against his best judgment.
"What is this for?" He asked him, though, softening his tone of voice, and brushing his soft
blond hair with the tip of his chin.
"I don't know. I just felt like it. B-but I won't do it again if it bothers you."
The Russian kept him against his chest and stroked his hair. "You pups and your obsession
with hugs," he sighed.
"Who is the curly-haired guy? Carlos." Leon suddenly asked him, and although he had tried
to pass off his question as casual, Nicholai clearly sensed his annoyance between the lines.
Great, they are jealous of each other! He thought, dishearteningly amused. Christ, if Carlos
had known he had brought Leon there and not him, he would have sulked at him for eternity.
"Another stray I've picked up over the years," he replied briefly, dissolving their hug. The
Poodle's story was not his to tell.
"Hmm," was Leon's laconic response but the Russian did not fail to notice his sharp gaze,
half-hidden by his long blond locks. They had that in common, too, not really seeing where
the fuck they were shooting. One day he was going to shave them both to the bone.
"Shall we continue?" He prodded him.
The kid nodded with conviction but, after a few steps, he stopped and turned. "I understand
the importance of discipline and orders," he said, giving him another one of his manipulative
forlorn puppy eyes, "but I like it better when we talk, you know? I promise I'll listen to
anything you say!"
"Yeah," Nicholai snorted, "like when I wrote you to go straight to the roof," he teased him
reproachfully.
Leon gave him a mischievous smirk and lifted his chin again like the arrogant little shit he
was. "Okay, small correction: I'll listen to anything you say unless it's flat-out stupid." The
intensity of the gaze the Russian gave him made him quiver. He wasn't canonically
handsome, but there was something magnetic about those pale green hunter's eyes that
messed him up inside.
Attaboy, get your ass kicked like you got from Chris, you stupid slut! Remarked to him,
unfailingly, his judgmental inner voice. Mike was right, would you do anything to get
affection from the first asshole who walks by, or do you just want to spread your legs and get
fucked, you incorrigible whore? As if he didn't know you're just spoiled, disgusting meat!
Nicholai noticed this umpteenth change in his mood, but Leon turned away toward the
starting point of the sprint before he could say anything to him. So he decided not to press
him and let him do his thing. The kid had tons of trauma to process; he needed to give him
some space and let him decide when and whether to open up. He would be there for him
anyway, and screw his previous intentions.
Jill opened the door wide when she heard a knock.
"Yup, me again, sorry," Carlos sighed, in a low voice, as he had Sherry sleeping in his arms.
"Sorry," she replied, "it's not that I'm not happy to see you it's just that-
"It's okay. Barry went to buy something to eat. Can I put her in your bed at least until he
brings me the key to mine?"
Jill moved quickly from the threshold. "Certainly," she gave him permission, feeling
uncomfortable.
It was not her intention to make him feel sidelined it was just that Chris' disappearance was
making her nervous; it had been three days now and he had not even given a sign of life.
Claire had gone out for a motorcycle ride in hopes of catching him but, so far, she had not
made contact either.
She watched him put Sherry to bed and tuck her in with the delicacy of a butterfly and the
gentleness of an older brother. He, too, looked exhausted. He was pale and visibly distressed.
"Let's go outside for a moment, talk a bit," she told him.
Carlos moved his gaze to her and then back to the child.
"Let's leave the door open so if she wakes up you can hear her right away," Jill reassured him,
at which point he complied.
"When was the last time you slept?" She questioned him once they were on the motel
landing.
"Pretty much since Raccoon. I took a few naps in the car but don't worry, sleep deprivation is
one of the skills I'm best at."
Jill huffed. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should."
"When she was in surgery I couldn't and, after that, I just wanted to be there for her, whatever
she needed."
She gave up arguing because it would be like talking to the wall. "Let me see that arm."
Carlos nodded and with his hand trembling with exhaustion and restlessness, he lifted the
sleeve of his sweatshirt. He had removed the bandage and, just as he had said, his skin was
intact. "W-what should I do?" He asked her, so startled that he was one step away from tears.
"Do you have any way to contact Nicholai?"
He shook his head and then wrinkled his exhausted face, before sitting down on the floor
with his back against the balustrade.
"That big asshole," Jill hissed.
"Hey, don't take it out on him. He did more than he had to."
She clenched her fists, irritated. "Too bad he dumped you for the umpteenth time."
He grew tired in response. "Tell me where Chris is again?" He retorted curtly.
"Oh, fuck you!"
Carlos took a deep breath and stopped looking at her. "Sorry," he sighed, "he has his reasons,
okay?"
"And you know how?"
"Because I talked to him, in the woods, and I let him go. I think it's bullshit but it's his right to
try to protect us as he sees fit. If it wasn't for him, none of us would be here to tell the story.
You're just pissed because it's not under your control. Get over it, that's how it works with
Nicholai."
Jill crossed her arms over her chest and decided to drop that conversation as well because it
was another losing battle. It was amazing how hostile a mild-mannered guy like Carlos
became when someone touched his Russian son of a bitch. The truth was that she was
worried about him, too. Where the fuck had he gone in that condition? Maybe he was
somewhere with his asshole Cat, but she kept that to herself; she had no reason to be a bitch
to poor Carlos, even after that unfortunate outburst about Chris. Also because he was right
and that was what was gnawing at her.
She sat down next to him and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "Sorry. It's been a shitty
few days."
"No kiddin'..."
"When Barry comes back, we'll talk to him about your... problem. Maybe he knows where
Rebecca is."
"Who's Rebecca?"
"Another member of S.T.A.R.S., a little genius, and a doctor. Maybe she can run some tests
on you. See if you are..." Her voice was lost in nothingness because she for one did not want
to think about the possibility that Carlos might still turn into a horrible monster.
"Is she pretty?" He joked to defuse the far too tense situation.
"Is it the only thing you can think of?!" Jill exclaimed, outraged, slapping him on the back of
the head.
He laughed but then, whether he wanted to or not, his mask came off and he hid his face in
his hands. "S-sorry," he groaned, "I just don't know what to do about anything! I don't know
anything about this thing inside me, I don't know what to do with her! She is little, maybe she
has family somewhere but... I-I don't want to leave her! I don't even know if my fucking
papers are in order now that I've left Umbrella, nor do I have a clue what my criminal record
is like in Colombia! I don't know where to go! I-I'm-
"Hey, come here," she told him, sweet and reassuring, pulling him into a hug. "You're with us
now and whatever happens, we'll help you out. We won't leave you alone, okay?"
He nodded, sniffing hard.
"Am I interrupting anything?" Exclaimed, suddenly, Claire's voice that had just come up the
stairs.
Jill moved away from Carlos and stood up. "Don't be a bitch," he scolded her. "Find
anything?"
Claire shook her head despondently and Jill felt anger mount inside her because, yes, maybe
the two of them had been wrong to treat him that way, but Chris couldn't act like a damn brat
every fucking time.
"Can I give you a hand?" That saint Carlos intervened, wiping his eyes.
"No," Jill answered him dryly, "you need to rest now. You can barely stand. Fuck him."
"Where are you going?" Claire questioned her, seeing her walking away.
"To have a fucking drink."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmarkers!
I'm a tad behind my usual schedule, but I needed to reread the chapter at least once in its
entirety. I usually do several rereads but this week I barely survived. If you notice any
errors or smudges, please let me know so I can correct them right away. Last week, in
the notes, I even wrote " Russo" instead of Russian because, clearly, a traffic accident
between Italian and English occurred in my mind XD.
Coming to us, I would have liked to write at least one more scene in Rockfort Island, but
I couldn't. I just didn't have the time. Alfred was a bit hurt by Chris's aggressiveness and
poor butler Harman will end up having a heart attack sooner or later. He is a character
who doesn't even appear in the game but his letter of resignation always deeply
impressed me. I'm also a Downton Abbey fan, so I think I'll be inspired a bit by the
atmosphere of that series to sketch the relationship between him and his young master.
I haven't gone into detail about Alfred's characterization yet because I haven't had a
chance to show him enough, but, rest assured, we'll analyze him properly sooner or later.
Nicholai ends up contradicting himself within one scene. He decides things and then
changes his mind because whether he admits it or not, he is smitten with Leon. He likes
him, not only because he is undoubtedly a cute kid but also because of his character and
he absolutely loves his attitude now that he is starting to come out of his shell.
With quietness, however, all the specters that Leon carries inside are also beginning to
resurface and will slowly grow until they explode. Fortunately for him, Nicholai is there
to catch him on the fly.
They are so tender and I love them so much! Yes, I know, I should be impartial but
nobody is perfect and I least of all XD!
Carlos, on the other hand, is just in a slump, poor guy, and I don't blame him. He's
completely alone, in a foreign country, all the comrades he had except Nicholai are dead,
he doesn't know what's happening to his body, he's tremendously attached to Sherry, and
the woman he's hopelessly in love with is with someone else (an asshole who mistreats
her and anybody else, to top it off, from his point of view). He has every reason to be
depressed and Jill who, however, has taken a liking to him is there for him. At the same
time, our indomitable heroine is also gradually losing patience with Chris, although, as
we know but she does not, the poor guy is not to blame this time.
Thank you so much for your support and for being here!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 58
Chapter Notes
Hi there!
Another small musical moment, right in the first scene, in case anyone is interested in
listening. In the notes at the bottom, I will put a translation.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c56qtfgV5f8&ab_channel=CeciliaBartoli-Topic
See you back, down below!
Chris was jolted awake in the middle of the night by a loud clap of thunder. A strong wind
whistled outside the window and the rain beat against the glass like a machine gun burst.
All the horrible feelings he had experienced at Spencer Manor swept over him like a flooded
river, and he had to call on all his strength not to give in to panic.
He turned on the abatjour at the side of the bed and a dim warm light illuminated the room.
The bars were still down but the door was open, with the tray still resting on the pass-
through. He had not even touched it, although he was very hungry. He did not trust any of
them, and it did not matter whether they called him a prisoner or a guest. They were
Umbrella. They were scum. He was going to break free, somehow, and kill them all.
He frowned and the hairs on his bare arms stood up when he heard that female voice singing,
somewhere in the rooms around him. Was that fucking place haunted, now?
Ghosts don't exist, he scolded himself for that childish, irrational fear before getting out of
bed and advancing toward the bars.
The woman singing was a soprano, her voice incredibly delightful but at the same time so sad
that it weighed down his spirit. She was heartbreaking. Was she another prisoner? He had no
idea what exactly she was singing about, he knew absolutely nothing about opera but it
sounded to him like something Italian. He couldn't help but listen to her as the storm raged
outside.
Lascia ch'io pianga
mia cruda sorte,
e che sospiri
la libertà.
Il duolo infranga
queste ritorte,
de' miei martiri
sol per pietà.
He had no idea what the lyrics meant but the intensity of that voice and its sentiment deeply
moved him. It made him think about his own life and how miserable it had become in a
matter of months. Assuming they were not also in a room somewhere, were Claire and Jill
furious with him? Did they think he had abandoned them again? The fear that, this time, they
would not forgive him made his heart clench in his chest. How had he gotten into that mess?
Why him? And then where was Leon? Was he safe or was he with that monster? He could
have died there, on that damn island, and he had not even apologized to him. To any of them,
and he might never have the chance to do so again. He didn't even know what exactly he had
to apologize for or how to explain the tumultuous hurricane of suffering inside him. He just
wanted things to be right again, to be able to laugh and joke with all of them but maybe it
was too late.
He felt an emptiness inside when the mysterious woman finished singing and he clung to the
bars.
"Hey!" He shouted. "Is anyone there? Do you need help?"
Narrowing his eyes he saw something moving in the darkness beyond the threshold of the
open antechamber and a glimpse of blond, long hair.
"Don't be afraid of me, please," he tried to call her back, "my name is Chris. Chris Redfield.
Are you a prisoner too?"
He received no answer and, desolate, took a step back, continuing to look at that dark room
with only the sound of the storm as a background. To his surprise, however, the bars lifted
shortly thereafter.
He stepped out much more coyly than he had done the first time and did not try to find a
weapon. If the girl was a prisoner like him, he didn't want to scare her. If, on the other hand,
she was a resident of the palace, then she would be protected. The memory of Liza Trevor
crossed his mind, what if he was faced with something like her? A monster in spite of
herself? Well, then in that case he would be dead.
A light went on down the hall and he hurried his step in that direction and did the same from
room to room. He was aware that he was following a predetermined path, but he also knew
that if he tried to deviate, he would run into someone or something that would either kill him
or take him back to his cell. He needed to understand what the fuck was going on and who
was that poor woman so sad. His blood froze in his veins when the Moonlight Sonata began
to resonate among those rooms with the storm outside, just as it had at Spencer Manor. In
spite of himself, Chris slowed his pace, pausing to peek around every corner, certain that
sooner or later a zombie or one of those lizardmen would pounce on him.
His heart was pounding in his chest and paranoia now dominated his mind as, with trembling
hands he continued past the ajar doorway at the top of another triumphal staircase, but not the
same of the hall of mirrors.
He found himself in a beautiful ballroom and blinked as he noticed that the long grand piano
in front of the panoramic window was playing by itself. There had to be a rational
explanation, so he approached to examine it. The keys moved as if an invisible pianist was
actually playing, and it was eerie as hell. The lights in the rich chandelier flickered a little,
and a thunderclap louder than the others nearly caused him a stroke.
"Do you like it?" Lord Ashford's faint voice suddenly asked him.
Chris leaped to the side, stumbled into the bench, and had to lean against the keyboard to
keep from ending up on the floor, tainting the beautiful tune with a loud off-key mess.
Alfred, who had always been sitting at a bureau in the corner indulged in a trilling, melodious
giggle. "Forgive me, it was not my intention to frighten you," he apologized with sickly
sweetness. "We finally have some time to ourselves."
"Did you 'fire' the butler too?" Chris asked him in a confrontational way. Yet he was the
frightened one among the two. Inexplicably. That lunatic was shorter than Leon and probably
even thinner, looking almost feminine, and yet Chris felt terribly threatened. He would not
underestimate a puny guy ever again, and instinctively touched the wound under his chin.
Alfred chuckled at his joke and shook his head. "Kind Mr. Harman is getting old. He can't
keep up with me anymore. Don't be resentful with him, he just wants me to be happy and
safe. Too bad the two deny each other, am I right?" He asked him, rising with slight elegance.
Chris took another step back, taking refuge between the piano and the stained glass window.
"Am I that scary?" His host questioned, intrigued.
Chris did not answer him but jolted at yet another rumble of thunder.
"My apologies, the weather is what it is on this island. There is little I can do about it."
It was not the weather that was the problem but the constant flashes of the Spencer Mansion.
Chris expected zombie dogs to jump into the hall at any moment, smashing through the
windows. He almost took it for granted, but his host seemed calm and unflappable. He had
taken off his red military jacket and was now wearing a black pinstripe suit with a vaguely
womanly cut that went to highlight how unhealthily slim his figure was. Leon, by
comparison, would have seemed almost fleshy. His waist was so thin that Chris feared it
might snap at the first gust of wind. Yet, everyone seemed to respect or, more properly, fear
him. Why? Sherry could kick his ass, and she was twelve years old. Was it because of the
confidence with which he walked around as if he owned the place? Which he did, by the way.
He felt exposed in front of those unnatural violet eyes. Was he a B.O.W. himself? Unlikely.
He had killed his captors in a rather conventional manner and there were people with odd
eyes like him, Liz Taylor, for instance. He was just an ordinary guy, he had nothing to fear. In
a second he could have snapped his neck but he felt as if paralyzed and kept feeling the shard
with which Leon had almost ripped his throat cutting his flesh. Would he have killed him if
Jill had not arrived? Could that other ridiculous little blond boy kill him?
"There is no one to intervene, we are on our own," Alfred said as if he had read his mind.
"But to be honest, I'd rather die some other way if it's all the same to you."
"What?" Uttered Chris, taken aback by both his words and his seraphic calm.
Alfred smiled and looked away from him, pointing his eyes toward the glass window. "I'd
like it to be grand and tragic in the arms of the woman I love, as in the great ancient
tragedies, myths, and operas, where the characters come close to the purest of joys but, in the
end, an adverse fate annihilates them." He sighed. "I know, I know, I sound crazy and I
probably am, but you have nothing to fear from me, I can assure you of that."
"Why am I here?" Chris finally decided to ask him as the piano behind him stopped playing.
"That is yet to be decided. It is not in my power to foresee what you will be. You could play
the villain, the friend, or be nothing more than a background character. I will not impose a
role on you with my expectations."
"Why me?"
"I was lonely."
Chris clenched his fists, furious. "Enough of all this bullshit! You Umbrella assholes are all
the same! What the fuck do you really want? To use me as a guinea pig too?!"
Alfred did not bat an eye and continued to remain as quiet as a lamb. "I am not Albert
Wesker," he said and there was clearly contempt in his voice, maybe even hatred.
"What do you know about Wesker?"
The other tilted his head in his direction, shooting him a look. "Oh, everything," he replied
lightly. “I know him better than he knew himself, actually.”
Chris was silent for a long moment, in his head a battle. For the first time, he was facing
someone who could actually give him answers and who seemed not to be hostile to him. And
as much as he was trying to convince himself that he wanted to gain evidence to bring the
company down, the truth was that the only answers he really cared about were those
regarding his late captain. He hated himself for it but there was nothing he could do about it.
"He must have hurt you very deeply," Alfred resumed, reading his expression, "I'm so sorry.
If it is any consolation to you this is something we have in common. My only regret is that I
did not have the chance to pay him back in kind. It doesn’t matter. After all, his premature
death was unfortunate but not unexpected.” He took a long pause. "How did William die?"
He whispered, and for the first time, his carefree, sophisticated voice had a tremor of sincere
mourning.
Chris huffed, annoyed. "What was so special about that asshole?" It escaped his mouth with
his unconscious jealousy suddenly rekindled.
"He had a kind and special soul."
"Said the one who executed five of his men in cold blood. You're all freaks out of your
minds."
Alfred turned his head again, scrutinizing him with those eyes that seemed to cut into his
soul. Then he laughed. "You're funny," he said, facing his insulted and hostile expression. "If
I'm not mistaken, you killed three of them during the journey, and you don't seem to be here
pining in repentance."
"I was kidnapped!"
"So you're implying that your wrath is more valuable than mine? Yet your murders have
produced no fruits for you. You have come here regardless. I, on the contrary, am bound to
maintain order. Incompetence and sedition can result in the collapse of what my family has
built and maintained for generations. I cannot allow that." He walked a few steps away,
heading for the bar on the opposite side of the room. "Something to drink?" He offered him.
"Go fuck yourself, you kill people, experiment on poor victims, and in the name of what?
More money? You live in a goddamn palace!"
Alfred chuckled, pouring himself a goblet of red wine. "No one has ever dared to address me
like this, you know? I find it refreshing and quaint," he pointed out, pleased. "As for our
research, you may be surprised to know that the goal of none of our scientists has ever been
to create weapons. Take William, for example, and his G, what he really wanted was to find a
cure for the weaknesses of the human race by erasing disease, defects, and aging. He
considered working on biological weapons an unpleasant but, alas, necessary waste of his
time. Financing this kind of research requires funds, much more than the pocket change used
to build this palace. The kind of money that only the richest countries have, or, more
precisely, the families or associations that hold their strings. Are we to be deprecated or those
who hold the game of supply and demand in their hands, I wonder? If it wasn't us, it would
be someone else." He concluded, taking a sip. "In any case, it was never my concern. I'm just
a puppet," he added with some bitterness.
"Oh, you poor thing!"
"Your sarcasm is misplaced but I don't blame you. You have lost so much that your eyes are
brimming with sorrow. That too I can understand."
Chris fell silent again, confused. How was it possible that the only one who was showing him
any human understanding was his enemy? Anyone else in his place would have already lost
his temper, but instead that bizarre individual continued to speak to him with gentleness and
compassion. Why? What was his game? What the hell did he want from him?
"So please indulge me and tell me how William died."
"Why should I?" Chris hissed, hostile. "You had me kidnapped, brought here against my will,
and the company you work for destroyed my life and the lives of everyone I loved! Fuck you
and your precious William!"
"What would you want?"
"To see you all burn! How dare you talk about my losses?" He thundered, marching toward
him like a fury. "What the fuck does a brat like you know?"
Alfred did not move when he came within an inch of his face. He was not frightened by his
anger; his gaze was grim and sympathetic, and that sent Chris out of his mind because he was
giving him no chance to start a fight. He could have done anything to him: knock him down,
torture him, and kill him before anyone could notice. Yet he was the one who felt scared even
though he knew they were completely alone, so as he had advanced he retreated, upset. He
didn't even know what he was afraid of. Not of the consequences. He did not care about
being killed and, in his heart, he knew that the butler had told the truth about Jill and Claire.
They had not been caught. However, this did not change the state of things. He did not want
to cooperate. Quietly, Alfred went to sit on the piano bench and crossed his long legs
elegantly, swirling the wine in his goblet as he leaned his back against the edge of the
keyboard.
"Why don't you fucking react?" Chris blurted out, clenching his fists.
"To what?" The Lord asked him. "It is obvious that you are not a threat. If you wanted to kill
me, you would have done it as soon as you entered the room. You are not the beast you think
you are and believe me, I have seen fearsome ones pass through these halls, myself included,
of course. I see no reason to be hostile to you."
"You're mistaken, I'm just trying to figure out how to leave," Chris retorted but weakly
because he really didn't know how to handle that surreal situation. He felt like that skinny
little turd had put an invisible chain around his neck to keep him on the bridle, but he refused
to admit that he had succeeded just because of his charm.
"Oh, I can tell you this too, if it's all you want. There are three ways to leave the island and
none within your reach. The first: by ship but there are none anchored in the harbor. They
come periodically to bring us supplies but, as you can see, the weather is not exactly
hospitable in my little corner of paradise. Assuming and not granting that you could take
control of one and improvise how to sail, there are many icebergs in this region and the ocean
is unforgiving. The second: by underwater, and I’m afraid you don’t know how to pilot a
submersible. The third is via helicopter, which you know how to fly beautifully, I'm told, but
you would need to know the coordinates to the nearest mainland, which, by the way, is
Antarctica."
"Antarctica?" Chris echoed him, paling. "Are you fucking with me?"
"I beg your pardon?" Alfred asked him, genuinely confused by that vulgar colloquial
expression.
"Are you serious?"
The other smiled. "Oh, totally. You're lucky that spring is coming. The weather can be much
worse."
Chris had stopped listening at 'spring,' dazzled by a sudden memory. That's where he had
seen the coat of arms with the eagle and halberd before! At the Birkin's house!
"Autumn," he whispered, baring his eyes, "you are Autumn!"
Alfred raised his thin, very pale eyebrows in a sincere expression of surprise. "How do you
know about this?"
Chris recoiled, dismayed-he had really had to go all the way around the globe to get some
bloody answers about it!
His host snapped up and ran toward him, grabbing his hand. "Please tell me more. Did
William still have it? My sheet music?" He begged him, heartily.
Chris withdrew with a tug and gave him yet another hostile look. "I'm not telling you shit,"
he sentenced, deeply upset, "I'm going back to my cell."
"It's not a cell, it's your room. You are a guest." He heard his plaintive voice follow him as he
left but did not turn around and continued straight on the way he came.
Leon shivered as he came out of the bathroom with his hair still soaking wet and was hit by
the frigid mountain air. Despite the fact that he was completely wrecked, to the point that he
had risked falling asleep in the bathtub, and all his muscles, bar none, ached, he ran toward
the house.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" He exclaimed with his teeth chattering as he threw open the front door.
"Shoes on the mat!" Nicholai admonished him from the kitchen.
"Yeah, yeah..." Leon mumbled, slipping off his boots and then rubbing his goosebumps-
covered bare arms. "You managed to get the generator working, bravo!"
"Are you shitting me?"
Leon chuckled, turning the corner. "A bit." Then he bolted toward the stove like a hungry
wolf. "What's for dinner?"
Nicholai hit his wrist with the ladle he was using to prepare the meat in a pan and pushed him
away before he could stretch his grubby hands toward the casserole. "Not ready yet. Set the
table, the dishes are there."
The kid obeyed but looked away when he saw him grab a glass bottle with a white label, pour
some to tinge the meat, and then take a sip directly from the bottle.
"What is it?" He inquired, curious, smelling the clear alcoholic odor.
"Vodka."
"Why do I even ask!" Leon chuckled but winced when Nicholai handed him the bottle
without turning to look at him as if it were a normal thing, which it was, only... Not for him.
"Taste it," he merely told him in a somewhat mischievous tone.
Troubled, Leon turned the bottle over in his hands and tried to read the label, which, of
course, was in Cyrillic. He thought back to when he had stuck to one of his mother's bottles,
breaking that vow he had made to himself never to drink.
Fuck it, he thought as he unscrewed the cork and took a swig.
He regretted it almost immediately when his entire mouth began to burn as if it had been set
on fire. He coughed and it went down his throat, making him feel even worse.
"You're a fucking asshole!" He gasped when he heard Nicholai laugh out loud and even threw
the cork at him, which amused him even more.
"Cute little American can't hold his liquor, poor thing," he teased him, lifting the bottle from
his hand and taking another sip without batting an eye.
Leon, who was struggling to remember how to breathe, shot him a resentful look.
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Nicholai justified himself, closing the vodka and putting it out on
the windowsill. "Did you like it?"
"Fuck you," Leon hissed but softened to see him laughing again. It was rare for his precious
friend to do so heartily. He would have preferred it not to be to his detriment but it warmed
his heart anyway, so he let out a smile. "You are a piece of shit," he reiterated affectionately,
pouring himself a generous glass of water and draining it in one gulp as Nicholai filled his
plate.
"Wait, before you dive in, there's one thing missing," he added, retrieving a bowl again from
the windowsill.
"Wouldn't a fridge be more convenient? Maybe a small one," Leon ventured.
"I've got a whole cellar, out-
"In another shed, figured," the kid concluded for him, mimicking his accent and chuckling at
his snort.
"Very funny."
"Is it sour cream?"
"You don't like it?" Nicholai immediately asked, stopping himself from pouring a generous
spoonful over his meat. "I use it a lot."
Leon blushed, "Oh, no! I eat everything, I was just curious. In fact, I'm very grateful that you
cook for me. I wouldn't know where to start without a microwave. And no, before you get the
urge to teach me. I'm a lost cause and I doubt you want to see your beautiful house burn
down. Can I eat now?"
Nicholai grinned in disbelief as he finished preparing the plate for his very hungry kitten, and
it turned into a smile when he noticed that Leon had put his dishes next to him and not on the
other side of the table. It was a tiny, silly thing of no importance but it meant a lot. After days
of awkwardness, they were finally starting to share the house and be comfortable around each
other.
"This is sooo good!" He heard him mumbling with his mouth full. "You spoil me a lot!"
Nicholai looked at him a little dreamily and a little awed as he began to eat more quietly. The
first day of training had gone well, all things considered, but he was surprised that Leon had
not complained once, except for the fact that he still had not told him how he had done in the
various tests. As if he had read his mind, the kid asked him for the umpteenth time.
"As expected," he replied laconically.
"No! Now you tell me in detail!" Protested Leon. "You said you'd do it once we were done!"
"But we're not, there's still the hand-to-hand combat missing. You were too tired to do it
tonight."
"Against you?" Leon paled.
"I tried to ask the wicked witch of the woods but she was busy."
"Oh well, we can consider it already failed. You'd kick my ass even asleep. "
Nicholai made an amused wince. "Correct."
"So it's as if we did it, come on, tell me about the others!" He meowed, whining.
Nicholai sighed, aware that he was really getting to the point where he could not deny him
anything. "You passed the first three tests beyond expectations, and I know you can do even
better than that. I've seen you. 9 minutes 48 seconds for the 3000m run, 11 seconds for the
100m sprint, and 22 seconds for the 10m suicides. Then you pretty much failed everything
else, especially the pull-ups, you couldn't even do one. Your legs are quite strong, you are fast
and agile but your upper body is very weak."
Leon seethed and lowered his gaze to the now empty plate, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I'll do better
tomorrow."
Nicholai mussed his hair with a rough caress, getting up to clear the table. "You have nothing
to be sorry about. As I said, I expected it."
"What kind of test was it? I took something similar for the police academy, but nowhere near
as tough."
Nicholai began to wash the dishes. "The one to get into the Spetsnaz, which are the special
forces of the Soviet Un-of Russia," he corrected himself. "Don't be hard on yourself. It is a
really demanding test and you are not even in your optimal condition."
"Why did you make me do it even though you already knew I would fail?"
"I needed to study you better to decide what strategy to follow."
Leon nodded, mournfully, because he was disappointed that he had done so poorly. He had
tried with all his might, and his aching arms proved it, but to no avail. "So you want to
continue nonetheless?" He asked shyly. "Even if I suck?"
Nicholai stopped what he was doing and turned around, crossing his arms sternly. "Let me be
very straightforward with you. My time is money, tons of money and I don't waste it. If I
decided to invest some of it in you, it is because you have already proven something to me.
More than something, actually, so I don't want to hear any self-pity whining. You are clearly
incapable of seeing yourself in perspective. You have to fail to improve, otherwise what the
fuck am I here for?"
"The point is," Leon took a deep and furious breath, "what the hell did you see? I-I mean, you
found me..." He interrupted himself because it was too painful. I would have died if you
hadn't saved my life over and over again!"
"You made some bad decisions, that's no doubt, like competing in speed with the Nemesis but
you also noticed that I was shooting him in the chest and, from that moment on, you not only
realized that it was his point of vulnerability, but you applied the rule and saved my life
against the Tyrant at the orphanage. And since you like so much to compare yourself to
Redfield, the great hero you fear so much was huddled behind a car shitting himself while
you, a rookie, handled the situation."
"But, in the end, he was able to rip the heart out of one of those monsters with his bare hands!
I will never be able to do such a thing!" Shouted Leon, leaping to his feet in anger and
frustration.
"Thank goodness because it is tremendously stupid," Nicholai commented bluntly.
"Yet he saved my life because, for the umpteenth time, I could not defend myself!" He
realized he had gone too far and closed his eyes, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, you had nothing
to do with this. I'm just tired, I'd better go to bed."
"Lev..."
"No, really. I'll be better in the morning," and once he said that he ran up the stairs and closed
the hatch behind him.
Nicholai sighed, worried. He knew more than well that Leon's problem was neither Redfield
nor the stupid competition he had built up in his head. It was Irons and what he had done to
him, but as long as the kid would not bring it up explicitly and while sober, he would not
force it on him.
He finished tidying up the kitchen, revived the fire in the fireplace a little, and, after taking
off his jumper to replace it with a T-shirt, retired to the couch. He took from the armrest the
book he was reading but no matter how hard he tried he could not concentrate and kept
finding himself on the same damn line. Worn out, he snapped it shut, turned off the lights,
and lay down. Although he was a patient man and knew that some problems could not be
solved quickly, his heart clenched to see Leon suffering like that. If he could, he would have
erased all that pain with a snap of his fingers, but all his training and experience were
worthless. He felt useless.
He had been asleep for about a couple of hours when he was awakened by his light footsteps
coming down the stairs. He did not move. He did not want to give the impression that he was
constantly keeping him in check. It was Leon who approached him and curled up on the
floor, in front of the fireplace with his side leaning against the sofa. He could tell from his
breathing that he was frightened and remained in doubt about what to do for a few moments
before deciding to talk to him.
"Are you okay?" He asked.
"No..." Leon whispered. "I'm mortally exhausted but every time I close my eyes.... I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to wake you up. I-I just wanted to feel safe and you make me feel safe."
Nicholai lay on his side, the kid was too ashamed to look at him, so he stroked the back of his
head gently.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Leon trembled. "No. Can I... Can I just stay here close to you for a while? I won't bother you,
I swear."
Nicholai moved back a little, pressing himself against the backrest. "At least come up. I don't
like you staying on the floor."
Leon turned to cast him a shy glance as if still wanting to ask his permission, but he did not
let it be repeated when Nicholai lifted the blanket, hinting for him to lie down. Gently he
settled by his side, being careful not to bump into his wounds.
"Thank you..." He murmured, hiding his face against his chest.
"Try to sleep now. Nightmares go away at first light."
Leon nodded, closing his eyes, and, just as had happened on the train, his presence and
warmth reassured him to the point that he actually managed to clear his mind. He did not
know who or what he had to thank for having found such a good man to care of him but he
did not want to let him go. He felt his breathing turn from tense to more relaxed and, along
with the gentle crackling of the fire in the fireplace, he too was able to calm down and finally
fall asleep.
Nicholai sighed, a little uncomfortable, and wondered for the umpteenth time how the fuck
he had ended up in that situation, with a beautiful kid almost half his age lying on top of him,
but he banished that thought immediately. The thing he needed least was to start fantasizing
about it. He was almost forty years old; he could control his impulses. His emotions, on the
other hand, were a different kettle of fish. The only person with whom he had slept together
was Mitia who, just like Leon, had slipped into his bunk one night and from there on never
left for the duration of their sentence. He was no longer on the uncomfortable wooden plank
of that frigid cell with a moth-eaten blanket that was barely enough for one, let alone two, but
he still felt like he was lying on sharp nails because he didn't want those memories. They
were not happy. For fuck's sake, if he had to count his happy memories he would only need
the fingers of one hand and probably even have a couple left over. Mitia, too, had always had
a tendency to put himself down and belittle himself because he did not feel strong and
ruthless enough for the context he found himself in. After all, how could he? He was a lamb
thrown to the wolves and, contrary to any silly rhetoric, the only outcome for those like him
was to be devoured. In a sense, Mitia had died the day he had set foot in that hell.
No, he died because you killed him, he reproached himself bitterly and resentfully. He did not
want to give himself any justification for that. He deserved to have his heart bleed every time
that memory crossed his mind and he would no longer shun it as he had done for more than
half of his life. It was the right punishment and he would let it torture him until his last
breath. The very same that had once again been put off by two foolish kids, Leon and Miss
Valentine, idealistic and stupid as they had been. He could not even tell whether he was
grateful to them or resentful. At NEST-2, when he had realized that he no longer had the
strength to go on and had been able to cry after such a long time, he had then achieved
acceptance of his fate. Redfield's appearance had been the crowning of it because it would
perfectly come full circle. He had not yet had time to think about it but it was alienating to
have been so abruptly torn back when by then every fiber of his being was already projected
beyond the threshold.
Taking care not to wake Leon, he ran a hand over his bandaged shoulder, on which was his
now irretrievably ruined spider tattoo. It had been the first Mitia had ever done, and he had
gladly left his flesh as a palette for him to experiment with. Mitia had been so shy about
asking him and so afraid that he might hurt him. And he had, in truth, but the joy of seeing
him finally take an interest in something had been well worth the blood he had spilled. Mitia
had always had beautiful hands. Delicate ones. Artist-like. And if Nicholai had to say which
part of him he had adored most, it would have been precisely his hands. Although it was true
what he had told Miss Valentine, now that he was no longer in a life-or-death situation, it
broke his heart that he had ruined his spider with the burn he had given himself after
H.U.N.K. had stabbed him. He should have bled instead of destroying one of the last
remaining traces of him. Only the rose on his chest remained intact, since the other one, the
one on his back, had been completely destroyed by Sergei. The rose he had tattooed on him
on his eighteenth birthday. That would have been a good memory if things had not ended as
they had. God, why couldn't he stop thinking about it? He should have protected him. He had
sworn to protect him and instead had taken his life. His eyes moistened and a dull sound burst
from his chest in spite of himself.
Leon muttered something because his sleep was light. "Sorry," he whispered, moving his arm
a little lower. "Did I hurt you?"
"You didn't," Nicholai reassured him. His cracked ribs actually gave him a few twinges from
time to time in that position but he didn't really care. "Just don't ask me to kill you. Never
again."
Leon, sleepy, barely lifted his head to direct a confused look at him. "Huh?"
Nicholai cursed himself for saying that. For the umpteenth time he had spoken without
thinking, and now he had no idea how to get out of that situation. "Nothing, never mind," he
whispered to no avail since Leon was now fully awake and alert. He saw him rise to his seat
and promptly grabbed him by the shirt to keep him from tumbling off the couch. "Watch it."
"I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have killed me," Leon joked. "Oh, no, come on! I didn't want to
bother you!" He protested when Nicholai sat up to make room for him, but he settled down
beside him anyway, crossing his legs and trying to make out his expression in the dimness of
the room. He turned serious quickly, on seeing that he had not hinted at even one of his usual
grins and seemed more nervous than usual. "If it makes you uncomfortable that-I mean, that
I'm this close to you because I'm-I swear to you I had no strange inten-
"It's not that," he interrupted him immediately.
"Then what?"
"I have my demons too, and sometimes they are more persistent," the Russian finally decided
to answer him, but he did not really want to talk about it. It was one thing to accept what had
happened within himself; it was another to say it out loud. "But I assure you that it has
nothing to do with your sexuality. In fact, it has nothing to do with you at all." And that,
again, was not quite true, because he was falling so hard for that damn kid. The only chance
he had for maintaining his sanity lay in the hope that he would not reciprocate and never
notice.
What would Leon have thought of him if he had told him that he had shot Mitia? That he was
a monster, what else? He would have run from him, and that was the last thing Nicholai
wanted. Partly out of selfishness because it had taken him only a few days to get used to his
presence and appreciate his company, but it was not just that. With Mitia he had done
everything wrong; with Leon, it would be different. He would protect him, of course, but
above all he would teach him to defend himself so that no one could ever hurt him again. He
was going to turn that pestiferous kitten into a real lion and let him go only when he no
longer needed him.
"Встать," ordered him, and Leon, after a moment's hesitation because he had a big mess in
his head with those damned instructions in Russian, stood up and watched him push back that
big sofa as if it weighed absolutely nothing.
"I don't follow you," he admitted.
Nicholai lifted his chin and shot him one of those imperious glances of his. "Let's fight."
"Now?!" Exclaimed the kid, stunned.

"Did I stutter?"
"I can barely see you! Besides, you're still recovering, what if I hurt you?"
Nicholai sneered, amused by his nerve. "You'll have to get your ass kicked a lot before you
can even imagine a strategy to hurt me."
"Oh, really? What about the alley? I hit you twice and I bet it hurt well enough."
Nicholai chuckled. "Come at me, then, Kot.”
About half an hour later Leon had been used as a mop to wipe the floor so many times that he
could not count them. Just the right punishment for being an arrogant little shit. The most
comical thing was that Nicholai had not attacked him even once, he had merely dodged,
deflected, and blocked his clumsy blows causing him to get off balance each time and land
his ass on the floor.
"Okay, I give up," he groaned, panting, sprawling completely on the floor on his back. "You
win. I'm beaten."
"So soon?" Nicholai asked him, playfully, walking around him like a wolf circling its prey. "I
understood that you wanted to hurt me."
"I was afraid of hurting you, I never said I wanted to."
"And that's one of the issues," Nichoali answered him, moving toward the kitchen to rekindle
the stove and put the kettle on to heat.
Leon rolled onto his belly to continue watching him. "Tea again? You're really obsessed!"
"I just like it, what's the big deal?"
The kid smiled. "Nothing, I think it's cute."
"Want some?"
"No, thanks, I mean, it's good but after the third time in a day, it starts to be too much. Plus it
makes me want to pee and I want to venture to the bathroom as few times as possible."
"Lazy."
"It's not laziness, it's just that it's so cold!"
Nicholai chuckled, carefully arranging the leaves in the infuser. "Believe me, you don't know
anything about cold. I can't wait for you to do some field practice in the snow."
"Over my dead body."
The Russian turned to shoot him a tender but anguished look at the same time. "You will do
what I want you to do. Period," he reiterated and smiled at hearing his exhausted guttural
groan as he laid his forehead on the floor. He finished preparing his generous cup of tea in
silence and took a sip, reflecting on the fact that he did not drink it that much. About five
times a day, maybe six. A reasonable amount. "The other problems with the way you fight
are that you have bad balance and - Lev, are you listening to me?"
He had fallen asleep. Completely collapsed in the middle of the floor.
Nicholai put down the cup and advanced. "Hey, wouldn't you better go to bed?" He asked,
shaking him gently. The only response he got was a weak growl of protest. He sighed. He
couldn't leave him there. "I'll take you," he informed him, lifting him up a bit fatigued
because he was tired, too, "but don't let it become a habit."
No response at all, so, carrying him gently, he climbed the stairs and brought him up to the
room, where he laid him down in bed. He did not even need to turn on the light. He knew his
place. He had just finished tucking him in when Leon suddenly grabbed him by the wrist.
"Stay, please," he told him in a sleepy whisper.
Nicholai wrinkled his face, conflicted, then went around the bed and lay down on the other
side. "This doesn't have to become a habit either," he notified him, and, in response, Leon
turned and grabbed onto his T-shirt with one hand. "And you didn't even let me finish my
damn tea, you clingy little thing," was the Russian's defeated comment.
Shortly thereafter, however, he too closed his eyes and was finally able to fall asleep.
"Well, we can't stay here forever either," protested Barry, who had been arguing with Claire
for some time. "The child needs a real place to stay."
"Besides, you were the one who insisted that Chris was always doing this, leaving out of the
blue," Jill intervened, "why the turnabout now?"
Claire did not move but crossed her arms over her chest, feeling cornered. "Because I feel
something is wrong!"
"You feel? Have you become psychic now, too?"
"No! It's just that-
"That you don't want to surrender to reality," Jill interrupted her.
Claire huffed, shaking her head and her ponytail. "Look, it's your first time, and I understand
you're pissed off but-
"Give me a fucking break!" The other barked at her. "If someone had taken him, as you say,
why leave all of us here? Aren't we dangerous witnesses ourselves?"
"I don't know!" Claire shouted back.

"What you're saying doesn't make any bloody sense, do you realize that or not? He's just
gone, and staying still here waiting for him will only put us in danger! People around here
have already started noticing us, for fuck's sake!"
"Girls, please..." Barry tried to butt in, to no avail as the two continued to fight as if he were
transparent.
"You guys can leave whenever the fuck you want, but I'm not moving from here!" Claire
shrieked.
"Forget it!"
"I'm not a child anymore, I'm an adult and I can make all the decisions I want! You are no
one to tell me what to do!"
Jill took a step back, outraged and offended. "I'm nobody?" She echoed her, hissing.
Claire took a deep breath, holding back her tears. "If you don't listen to me, yeah, you're a
fucking nobody to me because I know I'm right!"
"You're just a stubborn bitch, just like him! And if you'd kept your stupid mouth shut when
you were supposed to, we wouldn't be in this situation," Jill concluded, before marching out
of the room like a fury.
Claire turned her back to Barry and furiously ran her fingers under her eyes to wipe away
tears before she even gave them a chance to run down her cheeks. The man reached out and
gently squeezed her shoulders in his strong hands.
"She didn't mean it, he just-
"She meant it, all right," she retorted in a rough voice. "And she's right, it's all my fault.
That's why I have to stay or go after him."
"You don't even have a lead. Be reasonable, hon, please. If anything happened to you, he
would never recover, and neither would I. You are like a daughter to me."
Claire turned to give him an affectionate but determined look. "I love you too, Barry but this
is my decision and no one will change my mind."
The man sighed gravely. "Okay, then, but I'll leave you one of my cell phones. At the first
sign of trouble, you have to call me, and that's an order."
"Yes, sir."
"Come here, little one," he told her, wrapping her in a fatherly embrace filled with affection.
"You grew up so fast, in the blink of an eye, who gave you permission, huh?"
She smiled, wistfully, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "I sure was a good training
ground for when girls become teenagers."
"You've been much more than that and you know it, hardhead. Promise me you won't do
anything stupid."
"I promise I'll bring my prick of a brother back home."
"That's not what I asked," Barry objected.
She stepped back with a mischievous grin. "But it's what you're gonna get."
Carlos was loading Barry's car with Sherry when Jill passed behind them furiously. He
followed her with his eyes, uncertain of what to do.
"Go to her," the little girl told him.
"Will you be all right?"
"Yes, I'm missing a finger, not a leg," Sherry smiled, wearily. She was still very worn out but,
slowly, she was regaining some spirit.
"I'll only be gone five minutes."
"Take your time and tell her you like her!" She ordered him with a little chuckle. "Uh,
Carlos…" She called him back. "Take this!" and threw him one of the chocolate bars he had
bought for her.
"You are a genius!" He exclaimed, before running after Jill.
He found her sitting on the guard rail on the side of the road, fuming with anger.
"Hey," he said, settling down beside her.
"This is not the time, Carlos."
"Come on, tiger, I just want to cheer you up."
"What if I don't want to be fucking cheered up?" She growled at him, glaring at him.
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "Then I'll just sit here and observe the deliciously bleak
landscape of this place eating chocolate all by myself while you stay pissed off."
Jill snorted through her nose like a she-dragon, annoyed.
"But," he continued, "if you need to talk, a shoulder to cry on or punch, I'm here," he
concluded, opening the bar and taking a small bite.
"You are unbearable. You and your high spirits."
"It is hard work but someone has to do it in this world of long faces."
Jill leaned forward and pulled back her hair, tremendously upset. "I can't take it anymore, for
fuck's sake. Days and days spent in Raccoon City not knowing if he was dead or alive and
when we miraculously are out of that hellhole that could have killed us all, he just picks up
and leaves! What the fuck! And for what? Because I stopped him from smacking his sister,
something he wouldn't forgive himself for in a million years!"
Carlos sighed. He was at a crossroads: trying to take advantage of the situation to further his
courtship, or actually trying to help her. He was not the type for the first option, so he quickly
discarded it. "Listen, I don't know him well but I've seen many of my friends lose control just
like him, back in Colombia. When you find yourself witnessing atrocious things, or, even
worse, doing them it can happen that you lose yourself for a while." Or forever, but he kept
that last consideration to himself. "You've always told me that Chris is an okay guy, and I
believe you-
"Nicholai doesn't."
Carlos smiled, incredulous. "And since when do you listen to Nicholai?"
"He and Chris are similar in a way, including running away like chickens. And just as he
implied, Chris has gone out of line far too many times but I can't help him if he doesn't stay
close to me!"
He looked at his shoes, feeling like the poorest of assholes. "Has it crossed your mind that
maybe he left to protect you and Claire? Think about it, if he was really going to hurt her and
he realized it, it's reasonable to think he would want to stay as far away as possible. Maybe he
just wants to get his shit together again without risking doing something he would, indeed,
regret."
She lifted her head sharply, her lips bent in a desperate pout and her eyes glazed over. "But I
don't want to be away from him!" She groaned, then burst into tears. "Why won't he even
give me a fucking chance?!"
"Come here," he whispered to her, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close
to him. "I think he loves you so much that he doesn't want to take the risk," he continued,
lulling her a little and stroking her hair. "I mean, I would never hurt you unless it was the
only way to know you were safe. If Chris is at least half the man you described, then he did
as I would. You are an amazing woman, come on look at me," and he made her lift her chin,
"the only thing he can do is try to fix himself to deserve you. And now stop crying or I'll start
too," he chided her, wiping the tears from her cheeks. And he really felt like crying because it
was incredibly painful for him to stand there and play defense lawyer for that jerk, but if she
wanted him, he was ready to say and do anything to see her smile again. He had genuine
feelings, he didn't just want to get her laid, which was precisely why he didn't want to take
advantage of her turbulent mental state.
Jill took refuge in his arms again. She was so confused. She was still pissed at Chris but what
Carlos had told her made sense. So there was no reason to stand there like sitting ducks and
Carlos needed help too. Barry had put her in touch with Rebecca and she had immediately
offered to help them like the sweetheart she was, but what if the tests gave horrible answers?
Carlos would need someone to be there for him and she owed him that much after all he had
done and was still doing for her. She moved back and finished wiping her eyes. "Can I have
the chocolate now?" She joked, sadly.
Carlos gave her the sweetest of smiles. "All yours, mi princesa," he replied, handing her the
bar.
Soon Barry pulled alongside them with the car; Sherry was already in the back.
"I'm going with her," Carlos stated, getting up.
Jill did the same. "Did you put some sense into that stubborn bitch?" She asked, taking her
seat next to Barry.
He made a defeated and amused grimace. "To be honest, I didn't even try," he sighed, starting
the car.
"Well, fuck her too. Fuck all the Redfields."
The lieutenant entered the room fearfully and looked toward his superior, not daring to speak
while he was on the phone. Fortunately, he did not understand a word of the conversation and
was glad because even inadvertently having his ear too long could turn out in a death
sentence. He stepped back when he saw him get up from the console in front of the monitors
and stand in the room in all his intimidating bulk.
"What is it? I said I didn't want to be disturbed."
"I-I'm very sorry, sir," stammered the lieutenant, one step away from pissing himself when
the other gave him an imperious look with his one remaining eye. "B-but Olivera and the
members of the S.T.A.R.S. team we have been keeping track of are moving."
"All of them?"
"No, sir. The sister of the one in Rockfort Island stayed behind."
"Did Redfield make it down there?"
"Yes, sir."
The other slipped the long knife from his belt and began fiddling with it absentmindedly.
"Let's hope he breaks that aristocratic sissy's neck, then. I never could stand him, that feeble
lab rat. At least his sister was good for something."
The lieutenant did not comment. It was none of his business what his superior thought of
Lord Ashford. "What are we to do with the other S.T.A.R.S. survivors along with the
deserter? Should we terminate them?"
"Is my treacherous dog with them?"

"No, sir, and we still don't know Silver Wolf's location."
"Then let them dance in their cage a little longer and continue to track them discreetly. He'll
come back at the sound of the whistle, thinking I don't have a clue, and indeed he may still be
useful to me for some jobs before the time comes to skin him alive on top of all his new
friends' bodies. There's no hurry, though. He believes he's smarter than me. He believes he's
smarter than everyone, poor little bastard."
"And what are we to do with Redfield's sister?"
"I don't care about her. Leave her alone. Her death might alarm the others and then my dog
and I don't want my revenge spoiled. Let's give them a false sense of security. You may go.
Keep me updated."
"Of course, Colonel Vladimir."
When he was left alone, the Colonel turned his gaze toward a dark corner of the room. "I'll
even let you play a bit with your favorite rookie, aren't you happy to see Kolen'ka one more
time, Igor? He got big and lethal, you know, an impressive beast. Alas, you've been too soft
with him, he's raising his head, thinking he's free when he is nothing more than my
possession. Don't worry. Together we'll give him a lesson he will never forget again."
The Tyrant didn't reply but he stepped forward into the light, receptive of his master's voice
speaking his name.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
Today I am posting in the morning because later in the afternoon I have another tedious
meeting at work that I fear will go on into the evening.
As always, thank you all for the readings, comments, kudos, subscriptions, and
bookmarks. You are truly precious treasures!
So, I begin by translating for you the aria "Lascia ch'io pianga" from the opera Rinaldo,
composed by Händel in 1711 with texts by Giacomo Rossi. The texts are free to use but,
for the English translation, you will have to make do with the one I write because I don't
want to run into copyright problems.
Lascia ch'io pianga/Let me cry

Mia cruda sorte,/My cruel fate,
E che sospiri/ And sigh for
La libertà/freedom
Il duolo infranga/Let grief shatter
Queste ritorte/these chains
De' miei martiri/Of my martyrdoms
Sol per pietà/Just for mercy
Obviously, I cannot explain to you what is behind the mysterious woman singing but for
those of you who have played Code Veronica, things should be pretty clear. However, I
don't want to spoil the surprise for those who don't know anything because I think it's
one of the best twists in the whole saga.
So, finally, Alfred and Chris had a chance to talk a bit and our generous host was, once
again, very well disposed toward his guest. Chris, on the other hand, continues to act
like an ass but, as I said to one kind commenter, some of it is justified, although I am a
little annoyed that he treats poor Alfred so badly (he is another one of my precious
babies and I will fight anyone who tells me otherwise). The most bizarre thing is that
Chris is scared to death of him, partly because of his history with Leon. Moreover,
although he is beside himself, he seems unable to finalize his will for revenge unless
Alfred actively participates in his attempt to bring the situation to a breaking point. This
is because, as I have told you several times before, I believe that Chris is basically a
goody-goody. He was in a much more critical situation in Raccoon City but now that he
is in a relatively calm one he does not have that animalistic urge to attack head-on as he
did with Nicholai. Alfred knows this. Alfred knows a lot, actually, although he seems
frivolous and, at times, even childish in the way he behaves. He is unbelievably smarter
than Chris and towers over him in everything, and that is what makes our favorite big
dummy feel so intimidated.
Oh, forgive me also for the poetic license of giving Alfred violet eyes, I think in canon
they are blue, but, well, there is some history in his background that, in my opinion, can
justify this little aesthetic change of mine.
I also made another small change: in canon Rockfort Island has an airport and jets are
used but, frankly, I have always found that not very believable, so the only means by
which to reach or leave the island are those said by Alfred.
We now come to Nicholai and Leon who are the cutest mess and continue to walk on
eggshells with each other. Or rather, Nicholai continues to do so. Leon has already let
himself go quite a bit and is clamoring for attention. It is tragicomic how much Nicholai
alternates between moments when he tries to be a little bit stricter and moments when he
really gives his kitten anything. Both have very insistent specters inside their minds and
though we are close to the conclusion of the romance, for now, they will continue to
orbit each other for a while longer. Unless they surprise me, which means that should
there be an unplanned moment for them to come together, it may happen sooner than I
anticipated and planned. I have no particular fixed points at this stage of the story.
As for the larger group, Jill and Claire inevitably ended up fighting because both are
hurt and angry. Claire feels guilty and is determined to find her brother, should she go
and catch him down in hell. Jill, on the other hand, is tremendously pissed off at him
and, at the same time, feels frustrated because he never gives her a chance to help him.
Through it all, that angel descended to earth-Carlos does everything to make her feel
better, even going so far as to defend Chris in order to calm her. This man is so precious,
Jill, open your fucking eyes! Yes, despite the fact that I hold the reins of the story, I
often find myself incredibly frustrated with the characters' bullshit.
Finally, we had a little glimpse of one of the villains of this arc, Colonel Sergei Vladimir
(which makes no sense in Russian since they are both first names, but let's not be subtle
XD). He not only knows exactly where Carlos and the S.T.A.R.S. survivors are but also
seems to be more than aware of Nicholai's betrayal. Fear not, he will take his time
before acting. I just wanted to let you know that he is there. Waiting.
And mind that he's not the only one lurking in the dark.
Thank you so much for everything, as always!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 59
Chapter Notes
Chris was sitting on the bed when the damn penguin came over to bring him breakfast.
Mr. Harman winced to notice that the bars were open; his master had already told him that
morning that he should not dare to make his guest feel like a prisoner any longer, but seeing
that brute free to move about the house distressed him tremendously.
He knocked politely, staying on the threshold. Chris, for his part, did not even turn his head to
look at him and, sullenly, continued to stare out the window at that gray and gloomy sky, but
after a while he grew impatient.
"Are you going to stand there with a broom up your ass all day?" He grunted at him.
"I'm going to stand here long enough to receive permission to come in and serve you
breakfast, sir." And that 'sir' of his sounded so much like 'asshole' in Chris's mind, Clearly the
dislike was mutual.
"Then wait as long as you like."
Whole minutes passed and they looked like two silent, stubborn statues. It was Chris again
who lost patience first and shot him a look.
"Are you serious?" He asked him, incredulous to see him still standing there with that heavy
tray in his arms.
"I'm always serious, sir."
Chris let out a short, exasperated scoff and then rubbed his temples. His head ached because
he hadn't slept a wink since his meeting with Alfred and hadn't eaten in days.
"Leave that tray and go fuck yourself, then."
Mr. Harman entered the room with a quick, light pace and approached the desk, which he set
up shortly and with absolute perfection.
"Who put you up to this, huh?" Chris questioned him again. " Hanging around here kissing
that little fucker's ass."
The butler, who had just lifted the heavy silver lid of the tray set it back with a little too much
impetus. "Serving Lord Ashford is an honor for me," he hissed.
Chris laughed cruelly. "Oh, come on, we're alone in here, take your broom out and blow off
some steam," he prodded him. "I won't tell on you."
Mr. Harman turned fully toward him, maintaining his stiff, strutting posture. "I have devoted
my life to this family as my father before me, and his father's father for generations. I held
little Lord Ashford in my arms even before his father did when he was born, twenty-seven
years ago-
"Twenty-seven? That brat is older than me?" Chris interrupted him, taken aback. He would
have given him Leon's age, maybe even a couple of years younger!
"That is correct, sir," was the butler's laconic reply. "And to conclude, I have nothing to vent
about my position other than your presence in this palace. I don't think you will be a good
influence on my master, sir, but, stay assured, I will die before I let you harm him."
He was not joking at all, Chris could tell by his harsh tone and the icy look he gave him. He
shrugged his shoulders; he felt sorry for the asshole and angry at the same time, but if he
liked being a slave, that was his own damn business.
Mr. Harman went back to attending to his breakfast.
"I heard a woman last night," Chris sighed because her voice continued to haunt him. "She
was singing."
He immediately noticed a change in the butler's posture, which became, if possible, even
more rigid. "I'm afraid you were dreaming, sir. There are no women on this island."
"I heard her and I was wide awake," Chris insisted, not intending to be fooled. "I even caught
a glimpse of her, she has blond hair."
"As I said, I'm afraid you are wrong. It's not possible," he replied, calmly, looking him
straight in the eye. "I beg your pardon, Lord Ashford requested that I bring you something
else. I'll be back shortly. Breakfast is served, enjoy your meal, sir."
Annoyed, Chris watched him leave the room. Clearly, the woman existed, for fuck's sake, and
he had every intention of finding out who the poor tormented soul was and whether she
needed help. Or to be killed, like the unfortunate Lisa. At the smell of breakfast, his stomach
gurgled in protest and he, a little surrendered and a little reluctant, got out of bed to approach
the desk. In addition to the scent, the appearance of it was also absolutely magnificent with
plating taken care of down to the smallest detail. It was a rich English breakfast with bacon,
sunny-side-up eggs, toasted slices of bread, sausages, beans in tomato sauce, and grilled
tomatoes. In a separate saucer was butter, then a carafe of American-style coffee and a glass
of blood orange juice, next to a cup and a small bowl with sugar cubes with a tiny tong. The
fine china was also beautiful, off-white, and with gold-decorated borders in an elegant floral
arabesque crowning the Ashfords' coat of arms. The cutlery was bright silver, of course, and
probably just the sugar bowl alone cost more than his entire salary. He felt so out of place,
and he would have felt that way even if he had not been a prisoner there. His father was a
truck driver and his mother, before she had Claire, had been a cook in a diner, and although
there had been a lot of love in their home, money had always been rather scarce. After their
deaths, then, his life had become a real shitshow; he had only got back two pennies in his
pocket when he arrived in Raccoon City, and only because, for a couple of years, Barry and
his wife had hosted him and Claire in their home without ever accepting a dollar from him.
That guy, on the other hand, Alfred, had always had everything and he had it because he was
part of a company that did horrible experiments on people. How could he sleep at night?
How could he look at himself in the mirror without being disgusting to himself? In his place,
he would have put a bullet in his head. He despised him and all he represented so much.
He was still more than determined not to cooperate in any way but he was so starved and that
breakfast was so tempting. With a snort of blame to himself he sat down at his desk and
began to eat so fast that he could hardly taste anything. Everything was delicious but his
priority, in any case, was to fill his stomach.
"Glad you've got your appetite back, sir," the butler said to him, coming back as quietly as a
cat and scaring the shit out of him. The old fart loved it, he was sure of it. "Lord Ashford will
be pleased."
Chris replied only with a grunt but looked suspiciously at the inlaid wooden box Mr. Harman
was carrying.
"A gift from my master," the other explained, setting it down at the end of the unmade bed.
"If you wish I can take care of tidying up your room, sir."
"I have two hands and they both work. You can get the fuck out of here, now, and take your
present back. I don't want anything."
"Lord Ashford expected you to say something like this and asked me to refer you that the
contents of the box are now out of his hands and you can dispose of them as you see fit. Also,
he would be delighted if you would accept his invitation to have dinner with him, this
evening."
"I'd rather throw myself out of that window. Go ahead and tell him," blurted Chris without
even turning around.
"Very well," was his annoyed reply, "since you have finished your breakfast, I will proceed to
clear the table."
"You forgot the 'sir,'" Chris taunted him as he stood up and disappeared into his en-suite
bathroom, the size of his entire old apartment in Raccoon.
Mr. Harman rearranged everything in the tray and left the room without waiting to be
dismissed, that animal had already done it, in his own way. He did not deviate to bring it to
the kitchen, and after abandoning it on a hallway table, he quickly reached his young master's
apartments.
"So how did you find him?" Alfred questioned him, opening the door even before he had
time to knock. The Butler paused to look at him for a moment. It had been a long time since
he had seen him so full of life and good humor. He hated the idea of telling him that the
prisoner had behaved, once again, like an uncivilized beast. Although he would never have
dared to say such an outrageous thing out loud, Mr. Harman regarded Lord Alfred as a son.
He had raised him, been there for his first word, his first steps, he had comforted him every
time he cried, read bedside stories to him, and loved him more than anyone else in the entire
world. That was the reason why he had never found himself a wife, nor had he ever wanted to
carry on his dynasty of loyal servants. He had devoted his whole life to that sweet child so
easily forgotten by everyone else, and he did not regret it.
"In a foul mood, as always, after all, sir."
Alfred smiled, moving from the threshold to let him pass and pawing gracefully away on his
bare feet. "You don't like him, do you?" He teased him, going to sit on the bed cross-legged
like a little naughty boy.
"I can't say I've seen anything to help me appreciate him, to tell you the truth," he retorted,
beginning to clear the room of the chaos that reigned there. There were notes, sheet music,
drawings, and musical instruments scattered everywhere, along with a good deal of clothing
that his master had pulled out to find the best outfit for the coming dinner.
"You are a grumpy old owl, Mr. Harman, and I keep you here anyway. You haven't put my
guest back in a cage, I hope. How can he settle in if you treat him like a jailbird?"
"I left the bars open, as requested, and I apologize again for last night's hasty decision. I was
only concerned for your safety."
"I know, I know but don't do it again. Not without asking me."
"Of course, milord."
Alfred moved again on the bed, excited as a child. "What did he say about my invitation to
dinner?"
The butler, with his back bent to gather his clothes, sighed. "I'm afraid he politely declined,
I'm sorry, sir."
"Politely?" Trilled Alfred in an incredulous laugh. "There is nothing polite about my guest,
don't lie, Mr. Harman, you are the very worst. In any case, I'm sure he will change his mind."
"Whatever you say, sir. If I may ask, what's in that box?"
Alfred let himself fall down lying between the soft sheets. "What he covets most, of course.
He is so delightfully simple to read, an open book."
"With nothing written in it," was the butler's harsh comment, and Alfred laughed again.
"Don't be mean now," he tenderly scolded him, "he has his qualities too."
"I'm glad you're able to see them, milord..."
Chris, in his room, was asking himself the same question as Mr. Harman as he stubbornly
insisted on not even glancing at the damn box. He didn't want to give those assholes any
satisfaction, but he was tremendously curious. He approached the bed almost hesitantly.
There was no harm in peeking for a second, though, right? Just a second. Then he was going
to throw it out the window anyway because he couldn't be bought with any trinkets. So he
lifted the lid and set it aside. He frowned at seeing that there was nothing valuable in there, as
he would have expected. Just a large leather-bound booklet that looked shabby and dated
with the cover all scratched up on which he could make out a word that looked like 'Project'
followed by another whose initial was now all he could read, a 'W'.
"Project W," he whispered in a half-voice, having no particular insight. An instant later he

had already sat on the bed and pulled it out of the box, oblivious to his intentions and stances.
Inside was a ream of typed sheets of paper and, giving it a quick glance, he noticed that some
things, the names of people and places, had been redacted. Nonetheless, he began to read
anyway, and as he went on his dismay and disgust with Umbrella grew by leaps and bounds.
It spoke of a project begun in the early 1960s in which hundreds of children had been ripped
from their families' arms by the company at the behest of Spencer himself. The goals of the
project were to raise, educate, train, and experiment on them with a virus whose name had
been diligently erased from every page. Horrible things had been done to those innocent little
children: preselection tests to assess their physical fitness, the ability of their DNA to react to
infections, operations, injections of unknown compounds, things for which even the most
ruthless Nazi doctor would have paled. Many had died, others had developed monstrous
mutations and been suppressed, and more others had ended up with immune systems so
compromised that they died of a cold. Those who had survived without compromising
damage, fortunately for them, had experienced severe memory loss. It was unclear whether
due to the experiments, shock, or their very young age.
It was horrifying and heartbreaking.
By evening, he reached the last page, folded in two, and in opening it a photograph slipped
from his fingers. He grabbed it on the fly before it could fall and turned it over to look at it. It
portrayed two children, about four years old, hidden under the bed of a lab. The boy on the
front was standing between whoever had taken the picture, and the crying little girl he was
trying to shield. They both were wearing white coats with numbers printed on the front, XII
for the girl and IX for the boy. Chris recognized him at once, even though he was very young
and his head was completely shaved. He knew those eyes. He had dreamed of them so many
times, but it was the first time he was seeing them so full of fear and defeat, and he felt his
heart break, no matter what.
"Oh my God, Albert..."
Leon squinted his eyes, still sleepy. Why were there no curtains at that damn window? He
rolled onto his other side with an annoyed grumble but his brain activated a little more when
he noticed Nicholai standing in front of the open closet. He was half-naked, with a towel tied
around his waist and his skin still glistening, damp from the bath or shower he had taken.
Although the decent thing to do would have been to close his eyes and pretend nothing was
happening, in truth he had never been the discreet type. Nicholai had an incredible physique,
and although he was full of scars, bruises, and bandages, his figure proved to be incredibly
satisfying to the eye. He had broad shoulders and even if he was massive, he was not
ungainly. His legs were long and well-rounded, as strong as those of a thoroughbred horse,
and, God, his arms were something else! Leon followed with his eyes a drop of water
trickling down his spine all the way into the groove of his buttocks, barely visible from the
towel, and a shiver of lust shook him. He was induced in the thought of what such a man
might do to him in bed, how hard he might take him - or would he be gentle? - and his
cheeks tinged a little.
"Enjoying the view?"
Leon jumped up on the bed like a spooked cat, and the pink of his face turned crimson. "Shit!
I-I mean, no! I just woke up," he stammered, wishing he could sink all the way to the other
side of the planet.
Nicholai indulged in a low laugh that vibrated in his mighty chest. "I meant the lake in the
morning," he said, ruthlessly, shooting him an amused look.
Leon covered his embarrassed face with both hands. "Can we pretend that nothing
happened?" He groaned, well beyond embarrassed. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Nicholai chuckled, shaking his head and slipping on a clean pair of boxers
before taking off his towel. "I need your assistance in removing the stitches," he continued,
putting on his pants as well.
Leon nodded, ashamed to even breathe at that point, and winced when Nicholai advanced and
lifted his chin with a firm grasp
"You can look. I don't mind," he reassured him. "After all, you're young and I'm the only
breathing thing around here for miles. I understand. I'll wait for you downstairs, take the time
you need," he chuckled.
Leon frowned as the Russian turned away. There had been something about the way Nicholai
had held his chin firmly that had made him quiver and raised his pulse. Was it possible that..?
No. No. He was merely building more castles in the air, just as he had done with Chris. He
knew perfectly well how it had ended. He wasn't going to fuck up with Nicholai.
Besides, what the hell? The Russian knew what had happened to him. Even if for some
miraculous reason, he had been interested in him, he would never have given him a look after
that. No one would have.
He was just spoiled meat.
He gasped, however, when he heard something downstairs break ruefully. He got out of bed
and rushed to the living area.
"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?" He asked, even before he had finished descending the
stairs.
He got no answer but clearly saw that one of the chairs had shattered into pieces after being
thrown against the kitchen wall. On the table, in a basin, were the bandages the other had
taken off.
"Nicholai?" He called out to him, startled, feeling a sense of anguish growing inside him. It
had taken him ages to be able to be calm, in that place, and even to get back to being able to
sleep by himself, but it took very little to disturb that fragile balance. Anxiety was again
galloping inside him, accompanied by the terror of being left alone again. What was he going
to do at that point? Go back home? Nicholai had assured him that neither Mike nor his
asshole friends would ever have the balls to press charges, but what if he was wrong?
Regardless, he did not want to leave. He wanted to stay there with him.
He felt the cold air coming from the hallway, so he ran through it and then out, without even
putting on his shoes.
"Nicholai!" He called him again, sprinting around the perimeter of the house until, at last, he
saw him on the shore of the lake.
He caught up with him, but the other did not move even though it was clear he had heard
him. "Hey..." He whispered, harried, flanking him. "You scared the crap out of me."
Nicholai stood there with his eyes closed, a furious frown, and all his muscles tense. "Just
leave me alone," he growled.
Leon hesitated because he just could not understand what had happened, or what he had done
wrong. He looked at him more closely, desperate for some clue but found nothing. His
wounds seemed to have healed well, although the monster that had attacked him had taken a
considerable portion of skin away from his entire chest, on which claw marks were clearly
visible.
"Whatever it is, we can talk about it and see if we can work it out together-
"Back off!" Nicholai snarled, moving to push him away before he could even lay a hand on
his arm to comfort him.
"No!" Leon lashed out, deflecting, instinctively, his hand by mimicking one of the techniques
he had imposed on him in previous days, beginning with that night in the living room. He
realized that Nicholai had noticed but it was not relevant at that moment. "If I did something
wrong I want to know so I don't do it again."
The Russian shook his head, sad and depressed. "The world does not revolve around you."
"Too bad because I would make it neat and decent!"
"Says the budding dictator," Nicholai huffed, turning back to look at the lake.
"Whatever, if it's not about me, then what is it?"
"Incredible as it may seem, I existed even before I met you, and as I've already told you,
sometimes my past is more haunting. That doesn't mean you have the right to force me to talk
about it."
"Oh, for fuck's sake! I don't want to force you! I just want you to understand that I am here
and maybe there is something I can do for you!" Protested Leon, annoyed by his shutting him
out.
"Can you bring back the dead?" Nicholai answered him curtly. "Niet? Then there's nothing
you can do for me," he sentenced, walking away down the shore.
"Oh, you're such an asshole," Leon muttered through clenched teeth but did not demur and
continued to chase after him. "Is this about that guy? The one you met in pri-
Nicholai immediately snapped and turned to zap him with his angry green eyes. "Don't call
him 'that guy'!" He barked, looking down at him.
"How else? You didn't even tell me his name!" The kid protested. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he
hastened to say as the other resumed marching away. "Let's start over," he added more softly,
increasing his pace to parry in front of him.
"Move away or I'll throw you in the water."
Leon let out a nervous laugh. "Well, it can't be any colder than your fucking bathroom, can
it?" He provoked him by spreading his arms wide to prevent him from moving forward.
"Hey, I saw that! That was a smile! Busted!"
"Just exasperation..." Nicholai huffed. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"
Leon shook his head with a mischievous grimace. "You're the one stuck here with me, not the
other way around," he joked, softening even more. "Come on, what's wrong?"
Nicholai closed his eyes for a moment and then ran a hand over his chest, right over that big
scar. "Dmitri - that was his name - tattooed me three times when we were in prison. Before he
was arrested he was a talented young painter and had found a way to reinvent himself in
there. I thought one was still safe but that is not the case. It was here," he explained, making a
circle with his fingertips over a portion of the scar the licker had left him. It was gone. "The
other one was on my back, the one you pointed out the other day. My commander-in-chief
burned it off my skin once I was in his service. It was not in line with the party, or what still
stood of it. Fuck him," he hissed. "The other one I ruined with my own hands to stop
bleeding, in Raccoon. What a fucking idiot!" He growled, furious with himself. "I have
nothing left of him anymore."
Leon was dying with curiosity to know more, to hear explicit confirmation of what he already
suspected about their relationship but that was not the time, nor was it his priority. Nicholai
was hurting deeply, despite how unable he was to express it in gestures and words, and he
had to be there for him, first and foremost.
"I know how that feels," he sighed. "When my dad died, I was a child, My mother went
completely insane and, within a few days, threw away and destroyed all the things that
reminded her of him, including the toys he had given me. She burned our family albums in
the fireplace, sold his car... In the blink of an eye, I lost everything I had of him, and I..." His
voice trembled. "I loved my dad. Just like Sherry. The only thing I could save from the
garbage was his damn gun, Matilda, the bitch that jammed, causing him to die. I hid it in his
desk drawer, in his study, where my mother never had the strength to go back in. There is
also the only photo that still exists of him there. We resemble each other, you know? A little
bit. He was better, though, outside and inside, while I am just like my mother." He shook his
head, moving his blond locks. "Sorry, I digress. In Raccoon, I lost the damn thing over and
over again, and each time it found a way back into my hands, whether I wanted it to or not,
thanks in part to you. Now that I think about it, in a way, it's like my dad came back to me in
another form, or maybe I'm just delusional, I don't know." He lowered his gaze, kicking at the
pebbles on the shore, nervous. He took a deep, desolate breath. "What I mean is, maybe even
your tattoos came back in another form and somehow allowed you to survive like my dad’s
gun saved my life and not his. S-sorry, that doesn't make any sense..."
"Actually it makes a lot of it," Nicholai murmured, touched. God, the kid had almost
managed to make him cry again. He moved forward and pulled him close to him from
behind, holding him in a hug, and Leon sagged completely against his chest.
"Your father would be very proud of you," he told him.
The kid's breath trembled. "I-I don't think so. I'm just a good-for-nothing little fag. He would
be ashamed of me, like anyone I've met in life."
Suddenly, he felt Nicholai's arms push him forward and he found himself flying over the edge
of the shore. Stumbling he ended up face-first in the lake and he felt his soul leave his body.
He surfaced, sputtering and gasping, shivering terribly because the icy water had ripped all
the air out of his lungs.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" He shrieked, as soon as he could get some breath back in his chest.
Nicholai looked at him crawling in the water as he cursed to get back on his feet, and
grinned. "For what it's worth, I'm very proud of you, except when you talk shit. Punishment
was in order. Let it be a lesson for next time."
Leon gritted out something that sounded so much like a death threat, but his teeth were
chattering so loudly that he couldn't even get the words right.
"Now don't make a big deal out of it, it was just a little bath," Nicholai chuckled, watching
him rush toward the house like a bullet. "Don't get the whole floor wet!"
With a wistful smile that showed no intention of dying on his lips, Nicholai touched his chest
again, looking tenderly at the door in which his poor soaked kitten had disappeared. Leon
was right, what Mitia represented had indeed come back in another form. Only, it had nothing
to do with the scars he bore, but with a bratty young rookie cop with a sharp tongue.
Chris jumped to his feet, dropping the whole file to the floor, startled, when Mr. Harman
cleared his throat beyond the open door.
"My apologies," said the butler, not at all sorry. "Lord Ashford sent me here to find out if you
had had a change of heart about the dinner."
Chris, terribly distraught, looked at him wide-eyed for a long moment, unable to divert his
mind from the revelation that his captain had been one of the W-children.
What had happened to him and the hundred or so survivors of the pre-selection tests? The file
made no mention of it!
"I don't mean to be insistent, sir, but it is not my intention to leave my master hungry. He has
been waiting for you all day," Mr. Harman urged him without any empathy for him.
"Y-yes," stammered Chris who, now more than ever, needed answers and immediately
walked to the door, but the other stopped him with a nod.
"May I suggest a change of clothes, sir? For you to keep walking around shirtless and in
sleepwear is not at all decent or acceptable. The closet has been properly stocked for you. I'll
wait in the antechamber."
Chris literally grabbed the first clothes that came into his hands, a pair of black pants and a
white shirt, which he quickly buttoned. He couldn't even remember the last time he had worn
one, but he couldn't care less. He also slipped on the pair of dandy shoes at his disposal and
hurried into the antechamber.
Mr. Harman looked at him with resigned disgust. "My goodness..." He sighed as he noticed
that the buttoning of his shirt was half crooked and it was completely out of his pants. The
hick hadn't even worn socks.
"Piss off, I'm dressed. Let's go."
The butler sighed again. "A little progress is still progress, I suppose," he relented. "Follow
me, please."
Chris did at a brisk pace for what seemed like a freaking eternity. How huge was that place?
Twice as big, perhaps even more than Spencer Manor, and although there were many very
large rooms, it appeared to him, if possible, even more labyrinthine. He had to start mentally
mapping out the whole layout of the various floors but not at that moment. He was too upset
and distracted. If until half a day earlier he had wanted to know nothing at all about Alfred,
now things had changed drastically.
When, at last, Mr. Harman threw open the dining room doors for him, he rushed inside. The
master of the house was at the window in an iridescent black waistcoat embroidered in silver
with floral decoration, a white shirt, a crimson tie, and the white pants of his military
uniform, and his hair neatly slicked back. Everything about him was artificially perfect: his
posture, the way he moved, his appearance, his porcelain complexion, and although he was
so tremendously thin he did not look weak or sickly. The idea that he might also be a W-child
crossed his mind but he did not feel like asking him so directly.
"Glad to see you've changed your mind, please have a seat," his host told him, addressing
him with a big smile and pointing to the chair at one end of the very long table in the center
of the room. "Mr. Harman, leave us. I don't think we will need your assistance."
"But who will serve dinner, sir?" The butler asked him, shocked, almost heartbroken.
"I think we'll manage on our own if that's all the same to you," Alfred replied, questioning
Chris who merely nodded.
"Very well, I will return to bring you the next courses. For now, I wish you bon appétit," with
a bow, Mr. Harman left them alone.
The first thing Chris did, under the amused and surprised gaze of Lord Ashford, was to take
the plates, glass, and that disproportionate amount of cutlery and bring them next to the host's
seat.
"What? If we're going to talk, I don't want to do it from half a mile away."
"Well, that sounds reasonable, actually," Alfred smiled, as Chris brought the tray of beef
carpaccio closer to them and tossed some onto his plate. His host continued to look at him as
if he were a bizarre creature, then sat elegantly in his seat and served himself by arranging the
meat neatly, slice by slice, on the plate.
"A-hem, you should use the other one, the one for the hors d'oeuvres," he pointed out, a little
shyly, when he saw him using the wrong cutlery.
"Don't talk to me in French. Besides, a fork is a fork. This one is just fine. Try it if you don't
believe me."
"Tempting. However, I'm afraid poor Mr. Harman would die of a broken heart if I did. I am
fond of him; I could never give him such a disappointment. Wine?"
"No," huffed Chris, who was getting tired of all the unnecessary ceremony, but as Alfred
picked up the bottle left to decant his eye fell on the label. "1806?!" He exclaimed.
"Huh? Oh, yes, a particularly tasteful year."
"It's almost two hundred years old!"
Alfred looked at him confused. "So? I can assure you that it has been carefully preserved. I
would never serve spoiled wine to a guest, and for what it's worth, I wouldn't drink it
myself."
Chris laughed, nervous and incredulous. "I can't believe you're fucking serious. You talk
about it like it's something you can easily find for pennies on a liquor store shelf!"
Alfred averted his eyes and sighed. "I don't know what to say, I've never been in one," and
before Chris could butt in with one of his snide quips, he continued, giving him a sad look.
"In truth, I've never set foot off this island."
"What? Not even once?!"
"No," he replied, taking a small sip of wine. "I do believe, however, that there are topics of
greater interest for you to address. Have you read the file I gave you?"
"Yes..."
" To the end?"
Chris nodded, gloomy in the face. "What happened after that? To the surviving children."
"It's unclear. You see, this is a very secret project that, formally, I'm not supposed to know
anything about at all. Spencer would have me killed if he knew I came into possession of
those papers."
"And you gave them to me, just like that? Without a care in the world? Why?"
Alfred bent his lips into a small smirk. "Because you clearly need closure. Albert Wesker was
important to you, as surprising as that sounds."
"I have my reasons but why do you despise him so much?" Chris inquired.
Alfred blinked his long blond lashes and tilted his head a little. "We are not yet intimate
enough to discuss this."
It was the first sharp no he had said to him since he had awakened on that island, and Chris
was somewhat destabilized by it.
"But I can give you some more information, however fragmentary," Alfred resumed. "Of the
hundred or so children who survived, only a little over a dozen reached adulthood without
complications that led to their untimely demise. They had been well cared for and given the
very best education. I believe only one is alive at present. XII, the girl in the picture, whose
name is Alex Wesker. The other was Albert. The surname, of course, came from the first
director of the project but who he actually was has fallen into oblivion, I’m afraid."
Chris remained silent for a long time, even stopping eating because his stomach had become
clenched. He winced when he felt Alfred's hand squeeze his forearm a little to comfort him,
and although his first instinct was to retreat abruptly, he did not. He needed some human
warmth, like when Leon had hugged him at the diner, or his insistent pestering of him in the
bathroom of the Birkin house, where he had taken refuge to cry.
"Did... Did A-Albert know?" He whispered, failing in stabilizing his voice.
"No, and that's precisely the reason I do," Lord Ashford sighed, retracting his hand and rising
to vent his nervousness by taking some steps. "I won't lie to you, I hated him. I hated him
with every fiber of my being and every throb of my heart. This is why I took the risk of
researching this information. My intention was to destroy him brick by brick until there was
nothing left of his pompous arrogance but dust. Unfortunately, it took me too long."
"So that's why I'm here, because of Wesker."

"In a way. Yes, I suppose, and I confess that, beforehand, even I did not know what my
intentions would be toward you. Part of me wanted to take it out on you, as the last and only
glimmer of his existence, but when I saw you wounded on that stretcher, my mind changed. I
have always been of a fickle disposition but there is more to it than that. I did not want to
stain myself with what I knew in my heart to be a profound injustice."
Chris smiled bitterly. "I didn't matter to him anyway. I was nothing more than one of his
piggies. Cannon fodder."
"I don't think so," Alfred interjected, pausing in front of a French window that overlooked an
imposing lodge. "Albert wasn't the sort to waste his time on things or people of little
importance. He was a man ruled by his passions and utter greediness. There must have been
something in you that kindled the flame of his interest. Were you lovers?"
"Absolutely not!" Thundered Chris, outraged.
Alfred gave him a brief confused look but did not comment on his overreaction. "If I have
offended you with my curiosity, I apologize. I am not very skilled in the art of conversation."
"He was my captain. I thought he was important to me but that was it," hissed the other,
unable to understand why that question had so irritated him. The very idea made his stomach
twist and took his breath away.
"Oh my God, look!" Alfred suddenly exclaimed, before opening the French window and
rushing outside.
Chris, confused, followed him and was stunned by the beauty in front of his eyes. The night
sky above them was tinged with iridescent waves of red and purple lights rising from the
horizon and extending up to above them like an artist's brushstrokes.
"It is the last gift of winter, and I believe it is for you," Alfred said, clasping his hands on the
balustrade. It was indeed very cold that evening, but neither of them seemed to mind, and
they stood in silence admiring that late aurora australis until it disappeared from the sky a few
minutes later, leaving them in complete darkness, except for the lights coming from inside the
palace.
"Birkin was betrayed," Chris muttered at one point, as neither of them seemed to have any
desire to get back in, "or, rather, punished." He was not quite sure of his information; Jill
herself had explained to him what little Nicholai had told her. "As far as I know his intention
was to leave Umbrella and sell his research, or, at least, that was what he was accused of. A
team broke into his lab with the intention of taking him into custody but Birkin resisted and
they opened fire. It didn't end there, though. It is only a guess, but it appears that this attack
also caused the outbreak in the city. They didn't kill him, and Birkin still had time to inject
himself with the G-Virus, turning into a monster that chased and killed the squad who was,
allegedly, transporting vials of both the T and the G viruses, in the city sewers." He paused,
trying to piece together the things Jill had told him plus the details Carlos had added about
what happened on the train. "That's how he died. No, not quite," he corrected himself, "for a
few days he apparently remained conscious and he managed to protect his daughter before
being annihilated by the monster. I don't really know how it was put down, there was just the
child there and she was in no condition to talk about it, emotionally or physically."
Alfred remained motionless, not even flinching when a violent gust of icy wind lashed them.
Chris looked at him, uneasy. He had finally told him what he wanted to know, why was he
having no reaction? Who had Birkin been to him? He tried to guess what he was thinking,
certainly nothing peaceful, given the hard expression on his sharp, angular face and he felt
dread again.
"Are you okay?" He asked, finding himself, against his better judgment, genuinely interested
in his state of mind.
"Far from it," was Alfred's dry reply, "but I thank you for your honesty. Excuse me."
Bewildered, Chris watched him walk away at a brisk pace toward the end of the lodge and
then disappear down a side service staircase.
"Hey, wait!" He exclaimed, chasing after him.
By the time he had reached the courtyard at the bottom, however, there was no sign of the
housemaster, but a door leading into the mansion was still ajar. He went back in as well, and
the situation did not improve, for, in the hallway he found himself in, there were six doors, all
closed.
"Alfred?" He called out to him, not even knowing if that was how he wanted to be addressed.
"Lord Ashford?!" He tried again, bending his temper to the stupid nonsense that seemed to be
the rules of the house, but he got no answer anyway. He leaped back when, however, one of
the doors swung open and Alfred marched out with a sniper rifle, an MR7, in his arms. For a
moment Chris thought he was going to shoot him, but Alfred merely addressed him with an
imperious, "move aside," before walking past him back toward the courtyard.
After a long moment of shock, Chris recovered. "Wait!" He called him back again. "Where
are you going with that thing? Do you even know how to use it?!" He ran after him, trying
not to lose sight of him in that damn maze.
"Alfred, stop!" He barked at him.
To this, Lord Ashford, having almost reached the entrance of a long wooden-covered bridge,
reacted, giving him a haughty and surprised look.
"What makes you think you can give me orders?" He asked him, slinging the rifle over his
shoulder.
Chris did not answer, taken aback, but nevertheless advanced until he stopped in front of him.
"It wasn't an order. You just look like someone ready to do something stupid, and as the
defending champion of bullshit, I feel like telling you that maybe you should stop and think
for a second."
Alfred grimaced and turned his head, showing him his profile. "Funny the simplicity of
human nature, I give you a few crumbs and immediately you take me to heart," he
commented, algid.
"That's not it, you could cover me in gold and I won't give the slightest fuck," Chris
debunked him. "Look, I know I'm not smart but there's something I value and that's honesty. I
still don't know what your plans are or what you want from me but I have to give you credit
for one thing: you have never lied to me. Do I trust you? Fuck no. It’s clear that what
happened in Raccoon City and to Birkin is not something you wanted. But going wherever
you're going to shoot somebody won't change what happened and it might be a mistake."
"I don't recall having sought your opinion."
"You said I was a guest. Not a prisoner. Not a lackey of yours. Speaking my mind is within
my prerogatives."
Alfred thinned his eyes. "Here it is, the scent of summer. You are arrogant after all, but what
you are implying will not happen."
"And what am I implying?" Chris asked him, as that talk was becoming one-sided.
"Some kind of alliance. It is not my interest, nor my intention, to bring more harm to the
company than has already been done to it. I only intend to purge my island of whatever rats
currently reside on it."
He made to turn away but winced, shocked, when Chris grabbed him by the arm and forcibly
restrained him. "And in doing so alert whoever sent them, making you a target along with
your island?"
Alfred considered his words carefully but from his face he let no emotion seep out. Suddenly
he broke free from his grip and put the rifle in his arms. "You will do it for me, then."
"Huh?!"
"At Umbrella they know you and underestimate me. Suffice it to say that you escaped me and
killed my men in an attempt to leave the island."
"Forget it! I won't be your executioner!" He protested, tossing the weapon to the ground.
"So your desire to see us all burn is not that strong, I presume," Alfred hissed at him,
narrowing the distance between them and looking him straight in the eye. "They lied to me
when they requested my operatives for that mission. And later, they lied to me by telling me
that it was you, the S.T.A.R.S. survivors, who broke into William's lab and killed him! It is
not a matter of trust, Mr. Redfield, it never was, but nothing would have happened in
Raccoon City if I had been told what was behind the request to have H.U.N.K.-
"Don't try to make me think you give a shit about the city!" Chris thundered, outraged.
Alfred didn't blink. "Oh, you're right, so right, indeed. I couldn't care less. Just like I wouldn't
be bothered if the whole world rotted beyond the confines of my little corner but William was
my friend! And I will not let his death stand unpunished!" He shrieked, beside himself.
Chris hesitated. Being confronted by someone more impulsive and crazier than himself was,
absurdly, making him feel like the most reasonable man left on Earth, and Alfred seemed to
realize this. He closed his eyes and retreated, shattering the tension between them.
"Forgive me," he whispered, picking up the rifle, "I am a terrible host. You don't have to kill
anyone for me. Go back inside, finish your dinner."
Chris looked around. "If I only knew how," he confessed. He would have found a way but for
some absurd reason, he didn't want to leave that lunatic alone. His resentment seemed
sincere, more than that, in truth, and it was something he could work on. It was no longer a
matter of cooperating or not cooperating to save his own neck, he had the key to the whole
deal in front of him and, although he hated the idea of playing cool with that asshole, he was
aware that he could not pass up such a unique opportunity.
"Of course, I'll accompany you," Alfred told him, turning back and motioning for him to
follow.
"While you're at it you might as well stay and finish eating with me."
Alfred shot him one of his enigmatic glances, then gave him an even more disturbing little
smile. "You should be more careful about the doors you open, it could be dark inside, my
dear guest."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
The only response he got was a short chuckle.
They actually finished eating without further incident and talking about nothing salient.
Alfred told him about the frescoes that adorned the room and other aristocratic bullshit, all of
which Chris did not even bother to record. Yes, the palace was beautiful. Whatever. Next.
"Let's move to the parlor to get more comfortable, please, follow me," Alfred told him, rising
with his usual grace, and Chris hoped it wasn't on the other side of that fucking place because
he was exhausted. Fortunately, it was only the next room. It had more somber tones, a green-
hued damask tapestry wallpaper, and spacious, antique-looking black leather sofas.
"Help yourself," Alfred offered him, opening a small wooden box where fine cigars and
cigarettes were neatly placed.
God, what an urge he had to smoke! So he didn't think twice before taking a cigarette and
sticking it in his mouth. Alfred lifted the precious silver lighter and lit it for him.
"You could have asked for one earlier," he remarked to him, amused, in hearing his delighted
sigh after he had taken the first drag.
Chris abandoned himself on one of the couches, intending only to enjoy his damn cigarette
and not to think about anything else for at least five minutes. All the fatigue and lack of sleep
seemed to suddenly collapse on him because, whether he wanted to or not, he was relaxing.
"Something to drink?"
He merely shook his head. He didn't want anything alcoholic. He intended to remain lucid
but watched him pour himself a glass of whiskey whose bottle cost, probably, more than his
departed car.
"May I ask you something?" Alfred questioned him.
He nodded distractedly as the landlord put a vinyl into the gramophone.
More classical music, bollocks! He thought but his attention was rekindled when he heard it:
"Who is Leon?"
"No one!" He growled at him, instantly straightening up.
Alfred sat down on the opposite sofa and crossed his legs, fiddling with the whiskey in his
glass. "Now that's an interesting energy," he commented, slyly. "The kind one reserves for an
enemy or a lover. Which one is it, I wonder?"
"How do you even know about him?" Rebutted Chris, soundly ignoring his desire to ferret it
out.
"Oh, I know absolutely nothing about him. It is only the name by which you called me when
you arrived and this, my friend, is what makes me curious."
"We are not friends."
Alfred smiled again. "Of course, forgive me, it was just a figure of speech." He paused
briefly. "He's left you with quite a scar, and I'm not just referring to the cut you're touching.
Your soul is torn. He must certainly be an interesting fellow."
"We're not going to discuss him. In fact, I actually have a better question: are you also a W-
child?"
Alfred took a sip and shook his head softly. "No, I was manufactured from the very scratch,
and for what it's worth, I can be described as a failure."
Chris winced, once again taken aback by the naturalness with which he spoke of it.
"My dear father combined his DNA with that of our most illustrious ancestor in the hope of
obtaining the perfect offspring to uplift the fortunes of the Ashford family," Alfred explained
to him, and something in that 'dear father' screeched horribly, allowing a resentment that had
never been quenched to seep out. "That was also a secret, of course. Revealed in the cruelest
of ways. Fear not, I have no superhuman strength or even the cleverness that my father so
dastardly wanted to bring to light. I am just an average man."
He was a man but he was not average. Chris had felt it deep in his skin from the very
beginning. There was something magnetic about him that attracted and frightened him at the
same time. There was also something missing, something his host was gracefully dancing
around without mentioning. As if that were not enough, everything seemed crazier to him.
Alfred could go from melancholy to mass murder in the blink of an eye, then go back to
discussing frescoes and decoration as if nothing had happened. He was completely unstable.
Perhaps that was precisely why he had been confined to that forgotten island. However, if it
was true that he had been born through an experiment, wasn't he himself a victim? And what
about Albert? He pushed that thought away quickly because he did not want to spare any of
them.
They were all guilty.
They were all monsters, created in test tubes or not.
It was so surreal that that revelation had not shaken him at all; by now even he was becoming
accustomed to the fact that it was the norm and probably would be for the rest of his life.
Despite how awful it was.
His mind returned to the picture of Wesker as a child, to the hatred that was already present in
his gaze. Would he have been a different man if Umbrella had not tortured and indoctrinated
him from early childhood? Would he have been the good man he had always thought he was?
And what about that aristocratic little shit in front of him? Who would he have turned out to
be if he had grown up in the middle of the world and not there, alone and forgotten?
He put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table and stiffened again. All those
questions did not matter and neither did the possible answers. Every man, sooner or later, had
the opportunity to make his own choices despite what had happened to them.
And what is the one you made? The voice in his head took a different form this time, it was
not vague, and it was not even like Wesker's. It resembled Leon's. A shiver shook him and he
found himself, once again, running his fingertips over the cut the rookie had made.
"You look very tired," Alfred distracted him from his thoughts. "I think you'd better retire to
sleep. We'll talk again on another occasion." He rang a bell hung on a string along the wall,
and shortly afterward Mr. Harman knocked on the door.
"Please be so kind as to escort our guest back to his room," Alfred ordered him, after giving
him permission to enter.
"At once, sir."
Chris got up from the sofa and joined him.
"I am grateful for your company, Mr. Redfield," Alfred addressed him to bid him farewell.
He glanced back with a snort. "Just call me 'Chris'."
Alfred smiled and bowed his head a little. "Very well. Good night, Chris."
"Alfie," he replied with a nod and nearly burst out laughing when he heard the shocked gasp
of the bloody penguin.
"Still mad at me?" Nicholai asked, approaching Leon, who, after drying off, removing his
stitches, and eating, had parked himself in front of the lit fireplace without a word, wrapped
in his blanket.
"A little closer and you'll end up in the flames," he joked, settling on the floor behind him. "I
guess this will soften you up a bit," he added, handing him a steaming mug. Leon grabbed it
with a grumble but winced a little when he realized it was not tea but hot chocolate. He did
not turn around, however, and greedily took a sip.
Nicholai snorted a smile. He was cute, all pissed off. "I'm not really into comfort food and
sweets. I got it for you because I thought you might like it."
"And you forgot the coffee," was Leon's whiny reply.
"You didn't remind me either," the Russian objected, "busy as you were making eyes at that
aviator jacket," he added, not resisting the temptation to fiddle with the hair at the back of his
neck.
"Which you never let me use."
"Because it's heavy and gets in the way of your movements during training. Speaking of
which, you're slacking off today."
"Maybe that's because someone pushed me into a frozen lake?" Leon protested but shivered
when he felt his fingertips inadvertently graze the skin on the back of his neck.
Nicholai chuckled, "It's not frozen. Not yet. The water will be around three degrees, I guess.
And no, I won't make the effort to convert it into your fucking Fahrenheit bullshit."
"It's thirty-seven point something, and then I'm the lazy one."
"I simply don't want to bow to your American nonsense. If the whole world calculates
degrees, distances, sizes, and quantities one way, it really takes your arrogance to do
otherwise."
Leon finished drinking his chocolate and turned sharply to remark to him what a judgmental
asshole he was but the words choked in his throat when he noticed how close they really
were. Just a couple of inches away. He had always been surgically good at knowing if
another man was into him, he could tell on the fly. The only blunder he'd taken had been with
Chris and it had been catastrophic, so much so that it had made him so insecure. Should he
jump again and risk breaking all his bones? Those damn green eyes that now glowed with the
amber light of the flames did things to him. It wasn't just lust, or even the need to erase what
had happened in Raccoon. They made him feel safe and secure. Cherished and appreciated.
No one had ever made him feel that way before. Was it possible that he had finally found
what he was so desperately searching for, or was he just deluding himself for the umpteenth
time?
Nicholai sneered, amused, but he had no real intention of taking things to the next level. He
had already gone too far, and although he had hoped Leon would never reciprocate, the fact
that he did upset and flattered him at the same time. He was a grown-ass man, not a late
teenage victim of the first winds of passion, though, so he wasn't going to be tempted, was
he?
"You're not so cold anymore, good," he teased his flushed cheeks, bending the arm he had
resting on the ground to give himself the momentum to get up. What he had not anticipated
was how brash Leon actually was for his age, and how unwilling to be toyed with. In the
blink of an eye, his cat claws gripped the fabric of his T-shirt to hold him where he was,
catching his mouth with his, and Nicholai found no strength to push him away.
Chris had fallen asleep as soon as he touched the bed. He had the sensation of waking up but,
in a remote corner of his mind, he was somehow aware that he was dreaming. He squinted
his eyes, feeling the fiber of the cheap sheets of the bed of his house on his bare skin, and it
took him a moment to focus on the person lying next to him because of the bright light
coming from the window. Out of the whiteness quickly emerged Leon's features and
something inside him quivered with panic and alarm but not to the point of shaking him out
of the illusion that made everything seem so comfortingly normal. He even felt happy when
he met Leon's cerulean eyes, as bright and joyful as a clear spring sky. He had his cheek
resting against the pillow and bent his lips, realizing that he, too, was awake.
"Finally," the kid told him with a small grin that did not bode well, "you snore like a dying
bear, you know that?" He teased him, jokingly.
Chris rolled on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, towering over him. "Oh, really?"
He questioned him, feigning resentment.
Leon gave him a naughty look and rose a little. "Sulk all you want, you don't scare me at all,
big guy," he breathed on his lips in a tone of voice so low and husky that it turned his
morning wood into a proper one in the blink of an eye. With his free hand, Chris grabbed him
behind the nape of his neck and extinguished the minimal distance that separated them,
assaulting his mouth with a kiss that had nothing chaste about it, and Leon, for his part,
greeted it with equally shameless impudence. Their tongues clashed, stealing both of their
breath, and Chris felt completely overwhelmed by the desire he had to kiss him, lick him,
touch him, and take him until he lost himself into oblivion. He had never experienced such an
utterly consuming and overwhelming desire, not even in dreams, much less while awake.
Everything seemed so tangibly real. Leon's body was warm and quivering, moistened by a
veil of sweat, undoubtedly alive, under his hands. The scent of his skin filled his nostrils,
kindling his senses, and his broken, labored breaths as he tried, just like him, to catch air in
the fury of their kiss were the most arousing sound he had ever heard. Reluctantly, he pulled
his head back so he could look at him and Jesus, how indescribably beautiful he was with his
flushed cheeks, his swollen, rosy lips, his blond hair, always so perfect, all messed up, and
those blue eyes liquid with desire. And Leon knew he was gorgeous, he sure did! It was clear
from the sly look he was giving him, pleased by his absolute adoration.
He placed his palm on the base of his neck and brought it up in a caress strong enough to
choke him a little, and the muffled moan that Leon let escape as he reclined his head back,
closing his eyes, completely surrendered to him and full of trust, almost made him cum
instantly just by looking at him.
"My goodness, Leon..." He whispered, moved by such perfection. "My goodness..." With the
base of his thumb, he traced the line of his windpipe until he reached the dimple at the base
of his chin.
"Leave that ugly thing alone," Leon complained, annoyed, slapping his hand away.
Chris chuckled, leaning over him. "It's lovely."
"I hate it."
"It is not you who has to like it," he blew on the skin of his neck, before settling his lips right
on the mean dimple, not resisting the urge to nibble it gently. It was so stupid of him to
dislike it; it was as flawless and exquisite as everything else about him. He closed his eyes,
giving in to a dull moan when he felt Leon's hand slide up his back until it sank into his hair.
"Ow, easy!" he protested when the grip became painful until it turned into a tug and he found
himself with his back against the mattress. A fatigued snort came out of his chest as he found
himself crushed by a heavy weight, but, when he looked up to ask Leon what the fuck he was
thinking, everything around him crystallized for an instant. He opened his eyes wide, terrified
and shocked when he realized it was not Leon imposing over him, but his captain and his
nakedness was so intimidating. Leon was thin but had soft roundness and was delicate in his
ephebic beauty but Albert... Albert was the perfect embodiment of a predator's build: strong,
defined down to the tiniest muscle toned like the cog of a war machine yet without losing the
grace of a sharp, slender line. Chris ran his feverish, anguished eyes along his abs where,
from below his navel, a thin line of blond hairs that glistened in the morning light descended
until they thickened into his groin where towered, proud and unapologetic his erect
manliness.
He was paralyzed with panic but could not look away, as if mesmerized. How could he be so
strikingly beautiful and dreadful at the same time? How long had he been contemplating
him? An instant, a minute, a month, or the whole eternity? He did not know. He didn't know
anything anymore, until a choked sob escaped his mouth, as painful as a stab wound and as
wanting as the hunger of a man who was dying of starvation.
Wesker let go of his grip on his hair and placed two fingers on his lips, chuckling viciously.
"Quiet," he ordered him, pulling his chin back a little, haughty and predatory.
Chris could see his terror reflected in the dark, shiny lenses of his sunglasses, the only thing
he was wearing, but despite all the horror he was experiencing, he was still hard, perhaps
even harder than before.
"Well done," Albert praised him, "I like you better when you obey, but you already know
that, don't you? I've never seen a sheep so eager to be devoured." He pressed his fingertips
more firmly to his lips until they opened wide so he could slip them into his mouth. "Suck on
them," he commanded him.
The panic in the back of Chris's mind grew significantly but not enough to awaken him from
what was happening. Part of him wanted to fight back, but he didn't have the strength; what
he was feeling was so incredibly intense that it left him devoid of any real will, lost in a
whirlwind of shame, lust, and confusion. Why was he dreaming such a thing? Why did he not
want to wake up?
"I hate repeating simple instructions," Wesker hissed, bringing him back there, but before he
could pull his hand back, Chris grabbed his wrist and bent his head forward, taking in those
long fingers until they were almost down his throat. He stroked them with his tongue,
sucking greedily on them as his shame was stifled by the pleasure of making him fulfilled.
He had always wanted to make him proud. He had always wanted to please him.
The sneer on Albert's lips widened. "You are such a pathetic sight," he told him, smugly,
pulling his fingers out of his mouth and tracing a wet line of his saliva from his chest down to
his lower abdomen. He lowered his hand even more until it went to grip his erect cock. Chris
jerked on the bed, shaken by a spasm, and closed his eyes, giving in to a long moan of relief
and anguish, but the captain let go soon after, far from willing to satisfy him.
"What am I supposed to do with you, huh?" He asked. "You utter disappointment."
Chris blinked, stunned, and tried to reach up to grab him, but Albert's hand clamped down on
his neck like the talons of a bird of prey.
"Who said you could touch me?" He growled at him, bringing his face closer to his as Chris
felt tears sting his eyes.
"P-please don't leave me," he moaned in a desperate, choked sob, proving that his
subconscious gave absolutely no fucks about Umbrella, their horrible experiments, or even
his dignity, for that matter. "I'm b-begging you. I'm so lost without you, please!"
Wesker sighed, pushing him back on the bed with brutality. "I thought I did a better job with
you."
"I love you!" Chris cried out with the strength of a heart attack. "I fucking love you..." He
whimpered then, curling up on his side, hiding his face behind his folded arms, as fragile as a
child.
Albert's laughter began softly until it became so boisterous and cruel that it shook the bed.
With a tug, he rolled him onto his stomach, and Chris was shaken by a tremor of fear and
anticipation. He felt the mattress give way under the weight of his captain's knees as he drew
back to spread his thighs. He gasped when he felt his fingers slide between his buttocks and
his eyes glazed with tears of shame and longing.
Wesker snickered again, taunting. "I will not be gentle," he informed him, feasting on his fear
as if he drew nourishment from it. "After all, you let me die, didn't you?"
He was like a cat playing with its prey, and despite everything, Chris was worshiping every
moment like a moth burning with light instead of fleeing it. He had indeed let him die. He
deserved pain and punishment.
He groaned loudly when he felt his cock breach in a single thrust deep inside of him, and
although his mind knew neither in theory nor in practice what those sensations really were
like, he invented them with devastating intensity. It hurt because he imagined it did, but it
also gave him an indescribable feeling of fullness, and with each thrust Wesker impressed he
was rocked by waves of heat and pleasure that drenched him in sweat. He was completely at
his mercy, and it was all so unbearably overwhelming that he kept on sobbing, hanging
between pleasure and grief. He moaned shamelessly when Albert grabbed him by the hips to
sink even more fiercely inside him, and Chris almost imagined he could rip him apart. He
wished he could. Maybe that way he would not feel anything anymore and would be at peace
at last. His cock throbbed painfully against the mattress, crushed by their weight, while all his
senses were short-circuiting, overstimulated.
"Look at you!" Wesker ordered him, pulling his head back to force him to stare at their
reflection in the mirror of his room's hand-me-down wardrobe doors. "What do you see?" He
whispered in his ear like a venomous snake, as with the thrusts of his hips he continued to
claim his body like it was his to dispose of.
And Chris found himself confronted with a version of himself that he never even imagined
could exist, nor would he have wanted to.
A kid.
A lost, lonely, miserable kid who, despite how big, thick, and perfectly trained he was, was
crying his soul out, panting and moaning like a whore in the clutches of a monster he could
not, nor wanted to, get rid of because he had taken root inside him as a pest he could no
longer do without.
"G-God!" He groaned, almost coughing, when a wave of pleasure more intense than the
others almost swept over him, setting his loins on fire.
Albert grinned, harried and ravenous. "I like this pet name," he purred over the skin of his
shoulder blade, "it seems fitting. Don't you think?"
The incoherent slimy mess of moans, sobs, and gasps that he managed to wrest from his
throat were, for him, answer enough. So he laughed, and then stretched fully on top of him,
squeezing him against the bed and pulling his hips straight back. "I'm so, so proud of you, I
shaped you so perfectly, Chris," he told him, panting while imparting a final, rough, soul-
crushing thrust that made him squeal and shattered his psyche.
Chris came painfully, emptying himself with the devastating surge of a raging river, and
continued to tremble for long moments, rubbing his pelvises against the bed to squeeze out
every last drop of that pleasure, until he was as drained and lifeless as an empty sack.
"N-no!" He whimpered as he felt Albert pull out of his body, leaving him empty and cold. He
turned sharply to grab his wrist in a desperate urge to hold him back but blood froze in his
veins when he saw Leon. He was dirty and covered in blood again as he had been in
Raccoon.
"You are such a hypocrite!" He heard him hiss with eyes full of loathing and disgust. "I hate
you!"
Before Chris could say or do anything, Leon jumped on him with ferocity and with a swift
gesture slashed his throat from side to side.
That, too, was incredibly real and Chris plummeted with his back into the blood-soaked
sheets, quickly feeling himself drowning.
He jolted awake and, terrified beyond measure, brought his hands to his neck, still struggling
to catch his breath because of how devastating his panic attack was. A clap of thunder broke
the silence and he sprang out of bed, fleeing down the hallway and then from room to room,
slamming into furniture and objects until he crashed into a French window, flying through the
glass and landing badly on all fours on the patio. The freezing rain, the burning of the cuts,
the dull ache of the bruises he had suffered, and the sharp one of the stitches he had torn in
his mad rush, slowly brought him back to reality. Gasping and shaking he lifted his gaze as
the lightning illuminated the sky, and, for a split second, he glimpsed her again, that blond
woman, behind the opposite wing window, judging him with a stern expression.
"Fuck!" He shouted as he saw a beam of light behind him and leaped to the side, crashing
into the marble balustrade, and bumping his head.
Mr. Harman gave him a confused and dismayed look from the threshold. "Are you…" He
cleared his throat. "Are you all right, sir?" He asked him, illuminating him with the flashlight
in his hand.
Chris curled up and clutched his knees to his chest, covering his face with his hands before
bursting into a desperate cry as the rain lashed his body. "I-I'm losing my mind," he sobbed.
"I'm losing my fucking mind! Please, h-help me! Please!!!"
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, thank you so much to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers,
and bookmarkers!
What the fuck just happened? - You must be, rightly, wondering, and: 'I don't fucking
know' is the most honest answer I can give you XD. This chapter is about 12k words of
absolute delirium. As I anticipated to the kind commenters, NOTHING of it is as
planned. Absolutely nothing at all. This is what happens when I have too much time on
my hands and take medications that cause me insomnia (cortisone for my chronic hives,
nothing to worry about).
Let's start with order, as much as we can, or at least try to put some in:
I'm sorry but I didn't get a chance to include scenes of Claire, or the Carlos, Jill, Barry,
and Sherry group because I was literally absorbed by the other characters. I promise to
make up for it in the next chapter.
Nicholai and Leon were still supposed to be tender with each other but they were
definitely not supposed to kiss here and now but that's not a big deal. I mean, it's not a
big deviation from my original plans, so I can work with it without panicking too much.
However, Leon, from the bottom of my heart: you are an insufferable little slut!
Alfred, all things considered, is the character who stayed most on the rails, good boy,
although even he should have reacted with a little more measure after learning the
dynamics of Birkin's death, instead of just slinging his rifle and going off on the attack
like the madman he is. Beyond that, however, he did everything by the book, giving
Chris what he needed (?) but, at the same time, also going out of his way to undermine
his already cracked mental equilibrium by whispering suggestions in his ear. Alfred is a
character who, though he doesn't feel the need to flaunt it, is really, really smart and has
pretty much figured out everything about our S.T.A.R.S. dummy already.
Oh, thumbs up also for Mr. Harman who, though a second-rate character is so much fun
to write.
With Chris... -I don't even know where to begin. It was kinda expected that he would
have a wet dream but not that it would turn into fifty shades of WHAT THE FUCK,
CHRIS?! He should have had his cute and puppy-erotic moment with Leon, then the
abrupt change and waking up after seeing Wesker.
Only he didn't and things definitely got out of hand.
I don't think it needs to be specified that his unconscious sexual fantasy is fucked up,
totally unhealthy, and completely Wesker's fault. The real one who, just as Jill suspects,
has spent years manipulating Chris, like the narcissistic piece of shit he is, in a vicious
cycle of alternating gratification and contempt all aimed at wrapping him around his
own finger out of pure, ruthless vanity. Although Chris, awake and alert, rejects this
status quo with all his might, his subconscious has shown him, in the most brutal way
possible, that things are not as he thinks. He is not strong. He has no control over
anything and, ultimately, he is really just a kid at the mercy of the storm and shady
figures far superior than he is. The issues surrounding the acceptance of his sexuality are
just the tip of the iceberg, and his wounds are incredibly deeper and more heartbreaking.
Even his perception of Leon has not emerged pristine because, if at the beginning of his
dream, their approach is tender, cute, and completely healthy, by the end of it, it is
tinged with hatred and murder. Probably because Chris (funny that I write "probably" as
if I were not the one writing him, but whatever, don't mind me XD) embodies in Leon
all the disgust and anger he feels towards himself and what he has just discovered.
I really don't know what else to say. I hope this very long mess has entertained you,
somehow XD. Oh, there's one important thing I wanted to tell you: until September I
won't be going back to work, so I am letting myself go and I'm writing much longer
chapters than usual, partly because I think they are more appropriate to the pace of this
arc. If this bothers you and you prefer that I return to shorter ones, please let me know.
Thank you so much for being here and forgive my madness XD!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 60
Chapter Notes
Mr. Harman rushed out and took off the heavy night robe he wore over his pajamas and
wrapped it around Chris' shoulders with sensitive resolve.
"I'll help you back inside, at once," he told him, drawing out an unexpected gentleness as he
grabbed him from under his arm and levered to lift him up.
Chris went along with his effort because the penguin would never be able to pull him to his
feet on his own, but he continued to shake, deeply rattled and cold
"Don't rush, sir. Be careful of the broken glass," Mr. Harman warned him, sweeping it away
with his slipper so that he would not step on it with his bare feet. "That's good, we're almost
there," he encouraged him, pushing him over the threshold.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, wondering how to keep the storm from flooding the room
through the broken window but quickly decreed that it could wait. "Let's get out of here," he
guided him, grabbing him again under his arm and prompting him to follow into the next
room. As he crossed the threshold, he pressed the switch and turned on the light that blinked
unsteadily. "Please take a seat here, sir," he added, moving the cushioned desk chair in the
center of the hallway for him.
Chris obeyed without question, keeping his head bowed and his back bent with shame and
discomfort as he slouched on that chair. His body was shaken by violent chills and he felt as
if he had a fever. He was confused, shattered, and barely understood what was going on
around him.
Mr. Harman asked him what had happened, and that normal, dutiful question plunged him
back into the blindest panic. He could not breathe, he could not think, he could do nothing
but continue to plunge into terror.
"My goodness, are you all right?" Alfred asked, rushing over, harried.
The butler looked at him, desolate. "I... I don't know, sir," he admitted, "I heard some
commotion and found him on the terrace in this very state."
"Stand aside," Alfred commanded him, slipping lightly past him.
"Sir-
"It is fine," the master reassured him, "please, go get him something strong to calm his
nerves. We'll be good on our own. Don't worry about it," he gave him a warm look of
reassurance, touched by his concern, no matter how misplaced it was, but quickly returned
his complete focus to his guest.
"Eyes on me," he commanded him, while Mr. Harman left. "Eyes. On. Me," he repeated,
more authoritative but without losing softness.
Coy, Chris lifted his gaze and winced in horror, crashing his chair against the floor and
ending up on his ass beside it. Instinctively, he brought his hands to his neck as if desperate to
protect himself and crawled back until he bumped against the wall.
Alfred frowned at his reaction but it took him only a moment to interpret it. Lightly on his
bare feet, he walked over to the window and opened it wide to bathe his hands copiously in
the rain before tucking them into his disheveled hair and slicking it back, away from his face.
Only then did he return to him and kneel in front of him.
"Better?"
Chris blinked, blushing with shame. How could he have mistaken him for Leon? They looked
nothing alike. He brought him into clearer focus and felt discomfort and embarrassment as he
ran his gaze over the bony white portion of his chest left uncovered by the snowy robe he
wore which made him look almost faerie. Was he naked under that thing? Just wondering
about it made him gag.
"No-no! On me," Alfred reprimanded him, grabbing his chin to keep him from turning his
face away, and Chris focused on the one thing that was different from anyone else he knew:
his odd, violet eyes and this slowly calmed him down, restoring him to an almost regular
breathing pattern, albeit interspersed with a few gasps.
"Come with-" Alfred paused and huffed as another lightning bolt plunged them into complete
darkness. "My apologies. Just a moment."
Chris heard the ruffling of his robe as the only indicator that he was moving away, and he
jerked when he caught the dry rattle of a lighter's caster. The warm light from the flame eerily
glowed in the hallway, and Alfred used it to light the three candles on a nearby candlestick.
He then lifted it with his left hand and returned to him, stretching out the right. "This house
can be cruel. It conjures up the nightmares of tormented souls and feeds on them. Please
allow me to guide you out of it," he urged him with haunting tenderness.
Chris stared at those slender musician's fingers made longer and thinner by the sharp,
glimmering shadows, and if he had had the feeling that Lord Ashford was a different,
unfamiliar creature since he had known him, at that moment it seemed almost supernatural to
his troubled spirit. He took that hand, without questioning whether he really wanted to trust
him or not, though. He did so because he was drowning and it was the only thing that could
keep him afloat.
A moment later he was on his feet.
"Don't be silly," Alfred whispered, as he could read his thoughts. "It was your strength that
got you up, not mine," he remarked, loosening their hold and proceeding down the corridor.
Chris said nothing and followed him as one follows a phantom, in other words, without
understanding it at all.
Before long they reached a round bedroom where the bed was unmade, and the power started
up again, turning up the lights.
Chris hissed, closing his eyes tightly, dazzled.
"The backup generator has been activated, they took their bloody time," Alfred commented,
absentmindedly and a little annoyed, "have a seat," he told him, shifting the desk chair just as
Mr. Harman came over with a bottle of liquor and a metal medical case so modern-looking
that it shattered the ghostly, ethereal atmosphere that had been created by the storm.
Chris recoiled, still frightened but more lucid, and realized with certainty that he had a high
fever.
"I have alerted one of the base doctors to come and provide the necessary treatment,
gentlemen," the butler informed them. "He's waiting outside."
"Dismiss him. I'll take care of it," Alfred objected. "As for you, leave everything there and go
back to sleep, it's late and you need rest."
"Sir, thank you but-
"Go. I may not be my sister but I think I'm able to take care of a couple of scratches and
stitches."
Mr. Harman hesitated again but then surrendered. "Of course, sir. Goodnight."
"Sister?" Chris asked when they were left alone.
Alfred, who was preparing the necessary tools to care for him, winced. "Yes. I had a sister
once. She died, a long time ago," he explained, hastily. "Take off that robe, please."
Chris hesitated and by instinct tightened it on himself more solidly. He didn't want to be half-
naked in front of another man.
His host chuckled. "Fine, let's start with the forehead but then you'll have to stop
misbehaving." He approached him and gently dabbed the cut he had sustained by banging his
forehead against the balustrade with a disinfected rag. "I am sorry-
"It's okay," Chris interrupted him. The burning was tolerable and he wasn't a child, but he
gritted his teeth a little when the other pressed harder.
"Any wound needs to be well purged in order to heal. It must regurgitate out all the rot. It is
always painful, I'm afraid."
And Chris realized that he was not referring to the wounds on his skin but to those inside of
him and felt a shiver of anxiety.
"Can you read my mind?" It was an incredibly stupid question but it just slipped out of his
mouth. The very idea that someone might come to know what he had dreamed annihilated
him.
"No," Alfred sighed with another little giggle. "But I'd be lying if I told you that this is the
first time I've been asked such a question. I don't know if it would be of any reassurance," he
continued, beginning to place patches on his cut, "but nothing currently produced or under
study in our laboratories can read minds."
"What a relief!" Ironized Chris, grimly.
"I really need you to take off that robe now," Alfred resumed, crossing his arms over his chest
and giving him a kind but authoritative look.
Chris sighed, tremendously awkward, and as his host walked away to fetch clean towels, he
did as he was told. He was soaking wet, terribly cold, and felt as exhausted and confused as if
he had climbed the highest mountain in the world without oxygen or ropes. In the disaster, he
was heartened that even his pants were drenched with water. At least that way, they hid the
sticky wetness with which he had flooded them that would otherwise have been rather
evident. Because he had cum for real, not just in his nightmare, and it made him more
ashamed than anything else. He could accept showing himself as fragile, scared, and
defeated, but that... That was something he didn't want anyone to know. Ever.
He was so grossed out. How could his mind have imagined such a thing? How had he been
able to fool himself to the point of physical fulfillment? The submission, the pain, the
humiliation! He felt like throwing up and gulped, straining to swallow an acid regurgitation.
Alfred returned with his light step and slight nonchalance. He was asking nothing of him, and
Chris was incredibly grateful for that silent kindness. He looked at him and continued to
wonder what made him so peculiar. It was not his spoiled aristocratic appearance, nor the
revelation that he had been created in a test tube.
"Your shoulder wound has reopened," he heard him analyze, "may I?"
Chris nodded and let him dry his chest with the towel, finding comfort, somehow, in his light
touch.
"Why are you doing this personally?" He questioned him.
"Are you afraid I'm not good enough?"
"No, you clearly are but I thought you would find it... I don't know, debasing?"
Alfred sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he cleaned his gunshot wound. "In truth, I've never
been useful for anything because I don't ... I don't know how to say it. I have none of the
characteristics that were expected of me. I am the head of the household and this base just
because I am the only one left of the family. I don't think treating you is debasing, though.
You are my guest, after all."
Chris gasped when the other removed a piece of glass that had lodged in his other shoulder,
but Alfred paid it no mind and, after putting the shard down, contemplated the blood trickling
down his fingers.
"I always thought this was the most beautiful color of all," he admitted, disturbingly. "But it
doesn't last. Funny, don't you think? What a wonderful machine the human body is,
regardless of all its fragile imperfections."
Chris kept quiet because those last few comments of his had freaked him out, as if he was
facing a shining, icy alien ready to vivisect him out of pure curiosity and not a fellow human
being. There was this duality in him that made his skin crawl, how could he be nauseatingly
sweet and then as algid as an automaton at the same time?
"Do you want to hurt me? If so let's cut the games short," he growled at him, "and kill me."
As much as he had tried to sound brave, his desperation was more than evident.
Alfred finished bandaging him and sat down on the desk; he was so light that the wood did
not even creak. "I'd like to help you, actually."
Chris stood up and took a few unsteady steps, needing to increase the distance between them.
"Then do something concrete, damn it! Tell me where Spencer is! Tell me how to wreck the
whole damn thing!"
Alfred lifted his gaze. "But that's not what you need, and besides, what happened in Raccoon
City is more than enough. The company has already sunk. Nothing can save it, at this point,
and nothing can truly destroy it. The rats will disperse like many tiny metastases and
contaminate this world unchecked. You think Umbrella was evil, which is endearing, but the
truth is that at least there were rules and hierarchy under it. You will quickly discover that
chaos is a far more fearsome and uncontrollable phenomenon. In any case, in your present
condition, you would not last more than a day. You must strengthen your wings before you
fly into the storm and it might not be enough anyway. Not as long as you have his claws
lodged in your soul.
Chris flinched back and crossed his arms, shaking his aching head.
Alfred sighed, swinging his bare feet a little under the desk rhythmically as if following a
piece of music in his head. "I know, I know. You don't want to talk about it but please listen.
We don't decide who to get fond of. It just happens like an overflowing river or a pierced
heart that bleeds. You can't restrain it with the point of your judgmental finger; it will sweep
over you and drown you. William taught me that, a long time ago." He jumped down from
his desk and walked over to the piano, playing a short melody absentmindedly with his left
hand. "There was a time when this palace was not so empty, desolate, and restless. No one
paid much attention to me, it's true, but I liked watching people live and breathe these halls.
Brilliant minds discussing evolution in the dining room, philosophical implications in the
parlors, bickering, and frivolity in the bedrooms. Dreams, ambitions, and grand plans! It was
magnificent and I was happy in my contemplative solitude. Yes, occasionally, I wished to
take part in it but I knew my place and I did not want to bring shame on my family by
offering my opinion as the ignorant failure that I am. One night, I was in the ballroom,
playing the violin during a storm on my own, and I caught William spying on me. He was
quite a proficient pianist, you see."
"He still had it. Your sheet music," Chris confirmed to him, answering that lingering
question. "The Four Seasons."
Alfred smiled, wistfully. "Yes, a child's game," he confirmed, playing a few notes of Vivaldi's
Winter on the piano, before shooting him an intrigued look. "You're a musician, too, don't
think I don't know that!"
Chris blinked, taken aback. "No! I mean, y-yeah, but not ... Like this."
Alfred approached him, amused. "Why so shy all of a sudden? It may not bring concrete
benefit to science, but it's not something to be ashamed of."
"What the fuck?" Chris uttered, confused because he couldn't keep up with him. Alfred was
constantly opening new topics without ever coming to a conclusion on any of them. How on
earth had they ended up talking about music? And why were they doing it, to begin with?
They were enemies who wanted opposite things! And what the fuck did the advancement of
science have to do with music, by the way?
"I definitely want to hear you play!" Trilled Alfred, pleased as a child, grabbing his hands and
making him wince.
He is as mad as a hatter! Chris thought. Completely, beyond repair bonkers!
"Not now, dummy," the other laughed. "You need rest. Tomorrow, though!"
Chris looked at him, surrendered and incredulous. He didn't understand anything anymore.
Of absolutely nothing. He was exhausted, feverish, a prisoner of a madman on an island near
Antarctica, and had just dreamed the most horrible thing of all. He staggered back as Alfred
pushed him along.
"Go ahead and use my bed, I'm not sleepy anyway," he heard him say lightly, as his legs
already gave out. He closed his eyes as he found himself on the bed and, whether he wanted
to or not, sank into sleep with a sweet piano melody accompanying him.
Nicholai found himself holding his breath as Leon covered his mouth with small pecks, shy
but also so insistently determined. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart beat faster and his
blood begin to pump, and a feverish sigh escaped him as Leon became more insistent and
went so far as to have the impudence to nibble his lower lip before caressing it with his
tongue. He was young but not inexperienced. He knew very well how to tease.
"Lev..." He tried to restrain him, eventually brushing his forehead with his but lost what little
control he had left when Leon silenced him with his mouth. So he kissed him back. Slowly.
Passionately.
He gripped him firmly behind the nape of his neck, guiding him toward himself, and felt him
melt under his fingers like butter in the sun as their tongues pressed against each other,
searching and finding the most perfect rhythm almost instantly.
They wanted each other so much.
But it was a mistake. Nicholai knew it was a mistake. Most sweet, arousing, and compelling
but a mistake nonetheless.
"Leon," he tried again, employing all his willpower not to follow the movement of his mouth
and pursue their kiss.
It was wasted breath.
Leon assaulted him this time, straddling him, and his weight on his growing heat sent him
into confusion. Nicholai's hands moved on their own, grabbing his hips and sliding under the
blanket to grope his back and then his ass to apply friction between their bodies. He was
made of flesh and blood, too, after all.
Leon quivered, moaning softly, on top of him and arched back a little, exposing his neck,
giving him room to explore it with his mouth and taste his skin, without violence, without
blood, without the urge to rip him apart and devour his flesh like a soulless monster.
What are you doing? The voice of his conscience asked him. What the FUCK are you doing,
you swine?
That kid was young, traumatized, and clearly had no idea what he really wanted.
He couldn't.
"Stop," he told him, and it was worth as little as all the other efforts, but this time he forcibly
held him back. "I said stop," he repeated, more sternly. A little too much, maybe.
Leon blinked, and Nicholai saw his eyes go from the blissful thrill of arousal to confusion
and then panic, and before he could even formulate a thought to handle the mess he was
responsible for, the kid pushed him back and ran away.
"Wait!" He exclaimed, but in the time it took him to get back on his feet, Leon had already
disappeared beyond the hallway and probably flown outside.
He was damn fast. So fast that when he dashed out the front door he was just in time to catch
sight of him disappearing into the trees. He rushed in that direction, distressed and worried.
He had screwed up. He had screwed up big time
"Leon!" He called out to him, slowing down to try to figure out the direction he had taken.
The weather had turned bad and although it was only afternoon, it was already very dark and
very cold. "Leon, answer me!"
He looked around and wished it had snowed already, that way it would have been much
easier to follow his trail. He froze altogether, forcing himself to stop thinking like an idiot and
remember who he was. A highly trained special soldier. He had all the tools to find a damn
kid in a forest he knew like the back of his hand, for fuck's sake! He examined the terrain.
The tracks were not many but they were substantial enough, especially when he began to find
small traces of blood. Leon had injured himself, running barefoot. It didn't look like anything
serious but his heart clenched all the same.
He hurried his pace again when, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard him sobbing in
the distance. First, he found the blanket that had ended up hooked in the low branches of a
tree, then him, crouched behind a large rock, panicking.
He made noise in approaching because he did not want to catch him by surprise. He wanted
him to hear him and see him.
Leon reacted badly anyway.
"Wait!" Nicholai grabbed him from behind and lifted him by weight to stop his fleeing. He
endured his elbowing and flailing, but the kid didn’t seem anywhere near reasoning.
"Calm down! It's me!" He told him, harried, but Leon continued to fidget, making his grip
more and more uncertain by the second. He was effectively countering him. For fuck’s sake,
he had taught him too well. Eventually, he managed to break free and in trying to catch him
again so that he would not run away, Nicholai crashed into him and they both ended up
tumbling to the ground. He grunted in pain and for a moment his breath failed him, pierced
by a twinge of his unhealed ribs. One moment too many.
Leon, who was pacing back and forth between the here and now and Raccoon City,
screamed, hysterical. Irons' hands, groping him to throw him on that desk, were on him again,
and he didn't want that to happen again. No. Not again! He was not safe. He had to run, and
to run he had to strike. "Let me go! FUCKING LET ME GO!" In a combination of panic and
despair, he managed to roll on his side and throw back a kick that hit Nicholai squarely in the
face, sending him flying backward and crashing to the ground on his back.
Panting, Leon looked at him and finally snapped out of his waking nightmare just enough to
recognize him. Nicholai was sprawled there, breathless and in pain, and it was his fault.
He had hurt him.
He had made him bleed.
The blood.
There was so much blood, on the floor, on the walls, on him.
The knife in his hands.
The blood of that pig.
Nicholai's blood.
He had hurt him.
He had hurt him!
"I-I'm sorry!" He sobbed, shocked, flinching back until he slipped and crashed against a tree.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" And he kept repeating it, sticking his hands in his hair and
pulling on it until it hurt. Nicholai, still rather dazed from the violent blow to his head,
managed to kneel in front of him. "Leon, stop!" He ordered him, clamping his wrists firmly
down. "Stop," he repeated, more calmly. "It's ok."
"It was all my fault! Both times! I knew what he wanted to do to me! I knew it! And I did
nothing! I had it coming, and now I am disgusting and dangerous!" Leon continued with his
delirium, sobbing.
Nicholai shook his head, heartbroken. "You are wrong-
"No! You can't even kiss me! I gross you out! FUCKING SAY IT!"
The other sighed and tugged him by the wrists to get his attention. "I need you to calm down.
We'll talk about this. All of it but not here and not now. It's getting dark, and cold and we're
far from home. We need to go back."
Leon stood motionless for a few moments, mortified, then nodded and let himself first be
wrapped in the blanket and then pulled to his feet.
"Can you walk? I can carry you," Nicholai worried, apprehensive, heedless of his bloody
nose and left eye that would soon become bruised and swollen.
"I… I'll manage. Let's go…" Leon replied but he got close to him to make him hug him while
they walked back.
"All done! You did great!" Rebecca smiled, pressing a cotton ball into the crease of his arm
from which she had taken several tubes of blood.
"See, she didn't kill you, chicken," giggled Jill, who leaning against the closed doorframe had
been enjoying the scene with a certain sadism. Carlos had freaked out a little at the idea of
being examined, not violently, but enough so to still look like a poor beaten puppy.
"Leave him alone, you meanie," Rebecca scolded her, turning to reach for a band-aid but, by
the time she returned to look at his arm, the needle hole had disappeared from his skin. "Oh!"
She mumbled, surprised and intrigued.
"Yeah, that's how it works," muttered Carlos, grimly, withdrawing his arm and massaging it a
bit. "I hate it..."
Rebecca gave him a sweet, sorry look but said nothing. She had no idea what was happening
to him and did not want to give him false hopes before she had definite answers. Jill, on the
contrary, approached and, from behind, sank a hand into his dark curls, cuddling him a little.
"We'll get to the bottom of it, don't worry," she tried to hearten him.
Carlos sighed, pouting, and remained silent.
He had been like this for days now, and Jill did not know what to do with him. It broke her
heart to see him so dejected and deeply frightened. The only times he seemed like the Carlos
he used to be, the one she had met in Raccoon and who had supported her all along, was
when he was with Sherry.
And it was an act.
"How long will it take to know anything?" She asked Rebecca, who was already neatly
arranging the samples in a refrigerated case.
"I don't know exactly. A couple of weeks. Maybe more. I'll leave the samples in the
university lab but I'll have to run the tests inconspicuously."
"You're not risking anything, are you?" Carlos raised his head. "Because if you're going to get
in trouble, then I don't want you to-
"It's okay," Rebecca smiled. "My professor lets me do almost anything I want. He couldn't
believe his eyes when I came back and immediately offered me a position. He had told me
from the beginning that it was crazy of me to join a special police team. Well, he was right..."
Jill softened. "You were a great rookie," she remarked, making her blush a little.
"Is..." Rebecca cleared her throat. "Is Chris around, by any chance? I'd really like to say hi to
him." She knew it was silly but since he had rescued her at Spencer Manor she had developed
a bit of a crush for him. Even before that, he had always been very nice to her. Always kind.
Always ready to snap in her defense whenever one of the other guys made some joke that
crossed the line and made her uncomfortable. It had made being the second girl in the group
easier for her. She didn't have Jill's temper or her ability to put them back in their place with a
snarky quip, so Chris has always been some kind of knight in shiny armor in her eyes.
Carlos felt Jill's hand, still in his hair, stiffen in a spasm of annoyance, so he moved his head
to preserve his scalp.
"I think you'd better move on to the backup question, hon," he joked, standing up.
Rebecca blushed even more because she was obviously aware of all the rumors about their
relationship. "I didn't mean anything by it, I swear!" She hastened to say, embarrassed.
Jill huffed and looked away. She was so tired of being pissed off all the time. "I'm not mad at
you. Only at him," she clarified to her. "I've no fucking clue where he is. I suppose he's doing
some investigations on his own somewhere. I'll say hello to him if he deigns to show up."
"Before or after you chop off his balls?" Carlos chuckled.
"That's to be seen."
He paled a little. "Has anyone ever told you that you are terrifying?"
"Pretty much, all the time," she retorted, turning a snicker on him. "Don't play with fire.
You've got balls, too."
"Well, maybe, now, they grow back!" He answered her.
She stood dumbfounded for a second looking at him then burst out laughing at how
absolutely tasteless that joke was. "You are such, such an idiot!"
He smiled, snorting through his nose, but a shadow of anguish and sadness remained in his
eyes, although he was happy and even a little proud of himself for cheering her up a little.
"If I may give my medical opinion, don't do these kinds of experiments, okay, children?"
Rebecca interjected, before slipping her jacket back on and grabbing her briefcase. "I'd better
get on the road. I'll let you know as soon as I can."
Carlos advanced and held her tightly in his arms to say goodbye.
"Thank you so much," he told her and was really grateful to all of them for the help they were
giving him without asking for anything in return.
Rebecca let out a surprised little squeak but did not retreat.
"Yup, he's a bloody hugger," Jill huffed, yanking him back. "Leave her alone, moron, you're
squeezing her!" She barked at him, annoyed, stepping between them. "We'll stay in this hotel
for a few more days, but then we'll have to move. I'll let you know, okay?"
"Roger that," Rebecca smiled and then reached over to pat her cheek. "Try to get some rest,
you look really tired, okay, Wonder Woman?"
Jill nodded with a smirk. "And you go out and get some fresh air, lab gnome."
Rebecca chuckled. "You just can't bring yourself to let someone else have the last word, can
you?"
"Nicholai managed to shut her up, a couple of times," Carlos said, backing away cautiously.
The doctor gave him an intrigued expression. "Interesting! Who is he?"
"No one," Jill hissed. "An asshole. Screw him. And screw you too, fanboy!" She added when
Carlos whispered: 'a really smart guy' in her friend's direction.
Rebecca gave them a final farewell, and Jill followed her outside to accompany her to the
elevator, leaving Carlos alone.
"Hey, how are you doing?" She asked her. She had not wanted to do this in front of what was
a stranger to her but she knew she was itching to get something out.
Rebecca sighed. "Pretty good, all things considered. I still have a hard time sleeping
sometimes, especially when it rains but I manage. I like the work. It is peaceful. I could
never..." She frowned, apologetic. "I mean, I could never get back into action, I-
Jill grabbed her by the shoulders and looked at her in an almost motherly way. "No one's
asking you to, sweety."
Rebecca blinked and sniffed. "I know but... You are all so strong and brave while I-
"We have the muscles," Jill interrupted her again, "but someone's got to have the brains and
inside that pretty little head of yours you really are a genius."
The other moved forward and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Jill. I will do all I can to help
your friend," she murmured then paused. "And I really didn't mean anything about Chris,
earlier," she felt compelled to add, still awkward.
Jill laughed. "Go, before I kick your ass, you little slut!" She joked.
As soon as Rebecca had disappeared past the elevator doors, Jill walked back to Carlos's
room. She entered and was surprised to notice that he had crawled into bed, even if it was the
middle of the afternoon.
"Hey..." She said to him, walking over and sitting on the mattress behind his hunched back.
"Tired already?" It was a stupid question. Carlos was not tired. He was anguished and
depressed. He had never been afraid of the needle itself, but of the fact that doing those tests
made his problem even more real. Clearly, it had stressed him a lot and, for that very reason,
she did not want to address the problem too directly.
He, predictably, did not answer her and pretended to be asleep. So she stroked the back of his
head again.
"It will be all right," she told him.
"You don't know that."
"Maybe but I can hope so," she sighed, continuing to cuddle him.
He crept back a little, bringing his back into contact with her bent legs, even though there
were blankets separating them.
"If... If the results are... Will you take care of Sherry?"
"Carlos-
"No, please!" He pleaded with her in a broken voice. "I know what it means to grow up
without parents, without anyone. I want her to have someone beside her who will love her
and protect her. T-that will let her have a normal life, go to school, hang out with boys... Jill,
please."
"I promise," she decreed, feeling a lump grew in her throat. "But you must not put yourself
down like this. We don't know anything yet. You must fight-
"I'm sick and tired of fighting!" He snapped, turning to look at her. "I was taught to kill a man
before I could read! To hold a rifle before a pen! I can't take it anymore!"
"Shhh," Jill shushed him, covering his mouth gently with one hand. "That's not what I meant.
That's not what I meant at all, okay?" She corrected herself because the last thing she wanted
was to upset him even more. "I just want to see you smile, I need to see you smile. You are
Mr. Brightside who sees chocolate when it's pouring shit! I need some of your dumb optmism
in my life, ok?"
Carlos hesitated, shooting her a weary look. "For you, I will try..." He sighed.
"No!" she blurted, hitting the pillow with a fist. "I don't want you to pretend!"
Carlos huffed out a laugh. "Ordering me to be happy regardless is a whole new level of bossy,
even for your standards" he joked, "you know that, right? And I really like it." He grabbed
her wrist, so small and bony in his hand, and kissed her fingers gently, caressing them with
his lips, looking straight at her with those black eyes of his. "And now you'd better get off
this bed before I make you stay in it 'til morning."
Jill snickered with a snort, withdrawing her hand and shaking her head. "Tsk! You blowhard.
You'd last five minutes. Tops."
"Who's playing with fire now?" He asked her, propping up his elbows to rise a little.
She wetted her lips, sustaining his gaze like the goddess she was in his eyes, and laid her
hand on his chest, sinking her fingertips into his breastplate from above his T-shirt as she
leaned onto him. "Always you," she blew on his mouth, ruthlessly pushing him back between
the pillows when he hinted at wanting to kiss her. If Chris had not been in the picture she
would have fucked him on the spot. No, she would have fucked him well before, just to fuck
him again at that very moment. Instead, she simply got off the bed.
"I meant it, Carlos," she said, moving toward the threshold. "You don't have to pretend."
"If I toss aside this blanket you'll realize that I'm not pretending anything and that there's a
really solid honesty underneath it," he retorted, snidely.
"Give it a rest, dickhead!" She huffed, annoyed. "It's all right to be sad or worried."
"Just to hear myself ordered to be happy?" He teased her without resentment.
Jill, however, winced all the same, realizing how stupid and selfish her claim had been. She
wanted to see him happy because it saddened her to see him miserable, and she had thrown it
in his face without considering how much it cost him to always maintain that carefree mask.
"Sorry..." She whispered.
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay, I don't like being sad either. You've lifted my
spirits. Not only that, to be fair, but it is what it is. One can't have everything."
She rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable!"
Claire bit her lip, continuing to stare insistently at the pile of notes she had pinned to the wall
of her motel room. Nothing was consistent. Not for her real goal, which was to find her
brother, not to nail Umbrella. She had also run out of the money Barry had given her. She had
just enough change left to pay for the room one more night then she would have to leave
there too.
She sat on the bed, exhausted, and ran her hands through her hair. They were dirty. She had to
take a shower but as time passed her apprehension had risen to the point that she did not want
to move away from the door even for a second, afraid of missing the moment when Chris
would knock on it.
Only he hadn't yet and wouldn't.
Jill was right, it was all her fault. She should have sucked it up. She should have realized how
badly her brother was hurting, but instead, she had attacked him and chased him away. She
had replayed their argument in her mind to the point of exhaustion, and each time she noticed
with increasing accuracy how desperately Chris had tried to get her to stop. To talk some
sense into her. To make her understand that he loved her and that he was mortified.
She recoiled, clenching her fists. She was not going to solve anything at all by standing there
feeling sorry for herself. The only lead she had, however cold and remote, was France, and
only because Jill had let it slip that she had gone there before hurrying back to Raccoon City.
A laboratory near Marseille. Surely Chris knew these things too, and better than she. and if
he had indeed gone off spontaneously, it was possible that he had decided to follow that lead.
But what if he had been caught instead? Why only him? Jill was right. It didn't make much
sense.
"France it is," she decreed, getting up and beginning to undress to take the shower she so
desperately needed.
The only problem was finding money for the plane ticket. She didn't want to ask Barry for it.
Somehow she was going to make it. She had to get back to campus and then pick up from
there.
"Sit on the table," Nicholai said, once they were finally back in the house.
Leon obeyed by keeping his head bowed and being silent. He was so sorry. He had messed
up, and now Nicholai was going to send him away. He was going to be alone again.
"Pull up the hems of your pants," the Russian continued, kneeling in front of him with a basin
of lukewarm water. Gently he submerged his feet, and Leon hissed in pain both from the cuts
and because they had become so cold, outside.
"It will be better in a little while."
"Think about your nose first. I'm… I'm so very sorry…"
Nicholai shrugged his shoulders. "It has already stopped bleeding on its own." He proceeded
to wipe his feet with a clean cloth. Fortunately, the kid had not hurt himself particularly
badly, but he could have and he had not prevented it. He was such a dickhead and he was so
pissed at himself! He disinfected his cuts, not daring to raise his head to look him in the face,
and bandaged them, before getting up and going to wash his hands, pouring the bloody water
into the sink.
"C-can I move now?"
"Sure."
Leon leaped off the table and went to curl up on the sofa without adding anything else.
The situation was tense and there were many loose ends that neither of them had the courage
to bring up. Nicholai lit a cigarette and, after taking the bottle of vodka from the windowsill,
went to sit in front of the sofa on the floor, his back to him. He took a long sip, stretching his
legs toward the fireplace.
"I will only talk about this once and then never again, understood?" He said gravely.
"I-I'm sorry I kissed you a-and hurt you," Leon fretted, "I swear that-
"That's not it," Nicholai silenced him. "Just let me speak." He pointed his gaze into the
flames, frowning. "When my mother was killed I was nine years old. We were very poor, she
had fled to Moscow from a godforsaken village in the hope of finding work. She was
pregnant. I don't know who my father is. Never had a clue. Maybe she would have told me
about him if she had lived a little longer. I don't know and, in truth, I don't care. I just hope he
died of hardship and suffering for letting her go like that. She was a little girl, just sixteen
years old when she had me." He took another sip. "Unfortunately for her, she was very
beautiful. She worked her back off in a factory to try to support me and give me an education.
In order to round up and have something extra to eat, she also whored herself out in the
communal house where we lived." He closed his eyes when he felt Leon gasp and grab his
shoulder to comfort him. He didn't need it but he didn't shake it off. "One of her clients raped
and strangled her, and I found myself on the street. No more food, no more school, no more
protection from anyone. I had to engineer myself to survive. Eating rats, cats, and stray dogs,
stealing what I could steal. In time I became a pretty skilled pickpocket and I was also good
at burglary, I like mechanical things. Understanding how they work, disassembling them. I'm
less good at constructing them, as you never fail to point out."
Leon was immediately saddened. "Hey, that's just me fucking around!" He objected, letting
himself slip to cling to him even more firmly. "This place is incredible."
"I got myself caught in the dumbest way of all," Nicholai continued, softly abandoning the
back of his head against his arm as he smoked his cigarette. "I wanted to see a movie at the
theater. I had never seen one, and for what it's worth, it still is. Poor prick that I was... While I
was at it, I also tried to swipe some wallets and watches, and a guy who weighed three times
as much as me knocked me down. I was arrested, tried as an adult if we can talk about a trial,
convicted, and sent to prison." He paused, feeling Leon wince behind him, already sensing
where this was going. "I think you can well imagine what happens to a fourteen-year-old kid
who weighs less than forty kilos in a men's prison-
"Nicholai-
"Don't interrupt me. The first six months were awful. I was used and abused like a toy
practically every night, day, whatever, it didn't make much difference. I wanted to die but
then one morning I woke up on the floor, almost frozen to death, bloody, and filthy. It was
snowing outside and the sky was white beyond the bars. Something changed in me and it
posed to me that in order to survive, I had to change again. Adapt again. I realized that if I
cultivated, so to speak, the attention of some rather than others I could guarantee myself a
certain level of protection. In other words, I did what my mother did, I became a whore in the
true meaning of the term. To this, I added my quick hand. A good thief always comes in
handy in prison, especially in one of that kind where no one has anything and the little one is
able to snatch is a luxury. I was still getting humped on a daily basis but at least it was
beginning to look on my terms. I even managed to get some of them to kill each other, not
with my ass, it wasn't that valuable, but by stealing small things and having them found just
in the right places, fueling suspicion and infighting. You see, in prison, it's like walking on
gasoline, sometimes all it takes is a small spark to cause a fire, and I got pretty good at that
game. I even began to be liked by some inmates. I cultivated friendships and things got…
better. A point came when I was respected enough to live my life in relative peace. A few
beatings, random violence, and some unpleasant fucking to swallow but there was balance in
place. Also, after a year and a half, I no longer counted as fresh meat. Kids weren't coming in
every day, but they weren't that rare either, and among them happened to be Dmitri."
Although he was doing his best not to give his voice any particular inflection, at the mention
of his name his tone trembled, lowering.
"Y-you don't have to tell me all this," Leon intervened, distressed. "I-I mean… It's horrible
and I'm so, so sorry for you! I don't know what to-
"You don't have to say anything," Nicholai stopped him, harshly, without even turning to look
at him. "I don't want your pity and it's not the point anyway. Mitia was breathtakingly
beautiful. He had long, ash-blond hair, wavy and elegant. He looked like a little lord out of a
coming-of-age novel. He had green eyes and a slightly aquiline nose," he was describing him
wistfully, as if drawing him before him, hauling his features out of the mists of his memory. It
was clear that he had loved him madly. "He rarely smiled and I don't think I ever saw him
truly happy." He tossed the butt of the cigarette in the fireplace and drank another sip of
vodka. "How could he? How could we both?" He commented, bitterly. "Just by looking at
him, I realized that fucking men was not just a matter of survival but that I could really like
them, maybe even love them." He recoiled a little, hardening his pitch again to sound
imperturbable. Unsuccessfully. "Of course, someone like him got it even worse than I did.
For a while I left him to his fate, better him than me, I told myself, until I could no longer
ignore him. His crying, every night, was heartbreaking, drilling into my brain. I kept asking
myself: how fucking long does it take that screeching little cunt to figure out how things work
in here? I couldn't stand him because I had been like that too, in the beginning, and I couldn't
detach myself from seeing my own reflection in him. In his pain. In his utter helplessness. He
had been targeted particularly by another group, and one day, I simply got in the way, solving
absolutely no shit and ending up beaten to a pulp. I was a bony, untrained, and disgustingly
weak boy, barely sixteen. What the fuck was I thinking? I almost got killed over a little shit
who, before ending up there, had everything. Rich kid, well-fed, well educated, fucking
beautiful while I had had to fight tooth and nail for every goddamn breath taken in my life."
He clenched his fists, bent his legs nervously, and shrugged off Leon's arms. He did not want
to be touched anymore. He closed his eyes, inspiring hard, trying to keep his shit together.
There was a reason he was telling him those things, a goal to pursue, he should not let
himself be distracted, no matter how agonizing it was.
He couldn't carry on, though. He just couldn't do it. He was getting angrier and angrier with
each word he spoke, hating himself more with each syllable. He turned sharply, shooting a
look that made Leon tremble and flinch back against the backrest, cowed.
"I have a question for you, more than one actually, but I’ll start with one," he hissed at him,
blatantly hostile and stern. "Do you think we had it coming?"
"What?!" Leon exclaimed, frowning, shocked.
"Let me articulate further: did I deserve to be raped? After all, I might as well not have gone
into that fucking movie theater, I might as well not have stolen anything. I-
"You were a kid!" The other interrupted him, outraged.
Nicholai snorted, standing up. "And what the fuck do you think you are?" He hissed at him,
and his sentence had exactly the effect he expected. It shattered him. He saw his full lips
begin to tremble and his sky-blue eyes tear up as everything tumbled in his mind. "If you
really believe that what happened to you is your fault, then I also brought it on myself. It's as
simple as that. Think about it."
Without adding anything else, Nicholai grabbed the bottle from the floor and disappeared
upstairs, slamming the hatch behind him and leaving him there, alone, crying his heart out on
the couch. Life really did have a mean sense of humor; to help Mitia he had almost gotten
himself beaten to death, and, now, with Leon, he had dug his nails so deep inside his soul that
the idea of sticking a gun in his mouth and getting it over with seemed a merciful solution.
Instead, he would just get rotten drunk, hoping to pass out quickly.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
Here we are again, surviving even the hacker attack of the past few days (fuck 'em). As
always, my heartfelt thanks to readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmarkers.
This was a bit of a panic chapter - including mine since I had to deal with the mess I
made in the previous one XD.
Let's start with Chris being in a situation I wouldn't wish on anyone, Not only the one
relative to his repressed sexuality and his nightmare about Wesker but also the fact that
he is a prisoner in a golden cage. It is true that Alfred is very nice to him, hyper-
available, and very caring but he has his creepy moments. Chris, as we know, is not the
brightest of the litter but nevertheless, he is beginning to be fully aware that there is
something wrong with that damn palace. As well as in himself but he is not yet ready to
ask the right questions and give himself the equally right answers about his nightmare.
Let's say he is rolling, despite himself, in the right direction.
Carlos reaffirms himself as the best boy around. Poor guy, he is so scared of what is
happening to his body, and in all honesty, I don't feel like I can blame him. Nevertheless,
with Jill, he doesn't give up the bone XD. He's always hitting on her in his own way, and
she's starting to waver a bit in the face of his innuendoes and compliments. Will she give
in sooner or later? That's a really good question.
And now we come to the real mess, Nicholai and Leon. As I anticipated in the last
chapter's notes, their approach was not planned as it happened (in my original plans they
were both supposed to be drunk), so their parts are the ones on which I had to adjust the
most. That resulted in a PTSD crisis for Leon and a kick in the face for poor Nicholai
that, in my opinion, oscillates between saintliness and idiocy.
The main crux is that there is a major age gap between the two and, in his mind,
Nicholai is convinced that he is taking advantage of a fragile kid (no, Kolya, don't worry
- Leon is traumatized, he is young but he knows exactly what he wants, believe me, you
are so screwed XD). Also, the situation itself puts him in a kind of existential travail
where he wants to help Leon but not in the same way he helped Mitia because, of
course, he's scarred for life by what happened between them. So he is incredibly hard in
wanting to tear Leon out of his sick feeling of responsibility for what happened to him.
Doing so, however, costs him great effort and, in the end, he cannot even get to the
bottom of his story because it hurts too much, far more than the kick in the face he
received. Also, we pretty much know everything about him now. His backstory is pretty
much completed.
Thank you all so much, as always!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 61
Chapter Notes
Nicholai winced when he heard the hatch open. He had been lying on the bed for a while and
it was, by now, almost dark outside. He had not managed to fall asleep and the vodka had not
yet kicked in properly.
He said nothing when Leon came up to the room, nor when, lifting the covers, he slipped into
bed beside him and clung to his chest.
"You shouldn't crawl into the bed of drunken men," was his laconic comment.
"What could possibly happen? That we fuck?" Was the moron's prompt reply, and Nicholai
was tremendously annoyed. "Sorry," Leon whispered, realizing, "that was inappropriate."
"What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to be near you. Do you want me to leave?"
Nicholai hesitated, conflicted, but the truth was only one. "No."
"Okay..." Leon leaned his cheek against his chest and clutched tightly at his T-shirt, but then
reached out an arm to grab the bottle from the nightstand and take a sip. "Christ, it really
tastes like shit," he mumbled, unable to hold back a cough. He took another one and this time
it went better. Once his throat was anesthetized from the burning, he felt again that warm
feeling in his chest and the dizziness he had experienced when, before Mike's arrival, he had
gotten drunk at his house.
"Take it easy," Nicholai scolded him, hoisting himself up to try to get it out of his hand.
"Says the one who drank half of it," Leon objected, backing away.
"I'm sure I can handle it a lot better than you."
"Get off my ass," retorted the kid, taking another long swig. He settled cross-legged, letting
go of the comforter, and lowered his gaze. "I feel so stupid..."
"Sometimes it's good," was Nicholai's brief reply. "You said 'both times' earlier, what did you
mean?"
Leon was shaken by a tremor and paled. "H-he-he raped me twice. Once at the police station,
the other when you found me."
The Russian winced, clearly remembering their encounter in that alley behind the diner
where he had eaten with Carlos. If only he had restrained him nothing would have happened
to him but he couldn't change the past.
"I should have listened to you and gotten the fuck out of town," Leon commented, gravely,
before drinking again. "You tried to warn me."
"I didn't expect that to happen to you."
"Of course not." Leon blinked, staring blankly at an imprecise spot on the blankets. "When I
met him, I immediately felt that something was wrong. The way he stared at me, how he tried
to put his hands on me... It was disgusting, it made my skin crawl. Holy shit, he even
followed me into the shower, spying on me like a creep! And I... What the fuck did I do? N-
nothing! I followed him to his office because..." He was shaken by a gag and, whether he
wanted to or not, began to cry again. "Because I didn't think a police chief could... Oh, God!"
He hid his face in his hands, sobbing. "I've been so fucking stupid!"
Nicholai moved forward, clasping him tightly against his chest to give him refuge.
"At the orphanage…" Leon resumed, "I didn't reload the gun, he had Sherry in his arms, I
couldn't shoot him with the shotgun, I would have hit her too! H-he gave me a choice. Her or
me. There was nothing else I could do!" He sobbed.
"You saved her," Nicholai pointed out, forcing him to lift his face. "You were brave and there
is absolutely nothing for which you should feel ashamed. Nothing. Do you understand?" He
reiterated, wiping the tears from his cheeks.
"B-but what he did to me-
"What he did to you, what anyone did to you in life has exclusively the power you give it. It
can be a giant monster or a flea. You decide."
"I can't decide! It just crush me!"
"Sure, you can and you will. As I did. It will not be easy but it will go away, in due time,
coming back to haunt you now and then but you will survive this because, in fact, you
already have."
"I am not as strong as you!"
Nicholai froze. One of Mitia's recurring phrases, only in another language and from another
mouth. It burned him like a glowing blade in his flesh, but he was not going to make the
same mistake. He was not going to tell him that he would protect him. The kitten had to learn
how to walk on his own legs.
"You are stronger," so he replied.
Leon scoffed, annoyed. "Cut the crap!" He hissed, pushing him back. "I'm just lucky you
were around! Every time."
"And how many others are because you were? Redfield, the little girl-
"Are we really having this conversation? After an entire city has been nuked, killing one
hundred thousand people under my watch?!"
Nicholai sighed, leaning his back against the headboard. "You know? My mother was always
terribly frightened of a nuclear war with you crazy Americans. Obsessed, even, poor thing. I
never cared much but, trust me, if you had the faculties or the power to stop a nuke, I would
be more than impressed, I'd shit myself where I stand, Lev, like my poor, dead mama." He lit
up a cigarette dismissively and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Raccoon City was doomed well
before you set foot in it. You can't blame yourself for something so out of your control. It's
plain stupid."
"So that's all I am to you? A stupid kid?" Leon asked, resentfully.
Nicholai tilted his head, shooting him a look full of fondness. "Actually what I see is great
potential. When you finally get your head out of your ass, maybe you'll see it too. The one
earlier was a great kick, for instance, that told me a lot about you. Why do you hold back
when we practice?"
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Bullshit. Try again, maybe the new lie comes out more believable."
Leon sulked, annoyed but at least he had stopped crying.
"Fine, he huffed, "you always say this situation is temporary. I don't want it to be fucking
temporary. I want to stay here with you. I like you. No, that's an understatement. I've never
met anyone like you-
"Thank God," Nicholai ironized. "I am beyond bad, and you have really poor judgment."
"Maybe, but it's my fucking choice to make!" Leon hissed. "And there is nothing your
entitled snottiness can say to change my mind."
Nicholai hesitated, feeling a weight growing in his chest. "You are not safe with me. The
longer I keep you here the more I risk putting a target on your back. That's why I stopped you
yesterday."
"Well, fuck you," Leon insulted him, "what is the point of being safe if you have nothing but
a miserable life?"
"Don't be melodramatic now."
"I have nothing, Nicholai. No family, no friends, no lover. People don't like me as much as
they don't like you but it's pretty clear that we do like each other. So why deny it?"
Nicholai stiffened, beginning to lose his patience, and put off his cigarette. "I'm not denying
it. I'm just preventing it."
"By what right? I don't care what you do for Umbrella. I should, maybe, but I don't!"
"You don't know the half of it."
"You are the only person who has given me any value and it means the world to me!"
"I killed Mitia," Nicholai growled, and saying it out loud had a disruptive and heartbreaking
effect on him. but if he wanted to stop that madness, if he really wanted to stop Leon from
getting too dangerously close, it was pretty much the only card he had at that point. He felt
the ground drop out from under his feet, and for a horrible instant he found himself back in
that crappy apartment, with him begging to kill him. "I put a bullet between his eyes," he
articulated better, pointing his finger to the center of Leon's forehead to push him back
hardly. "That's the kind of monster I am," he concluded. He felt ashamed and hated himself,
bared as he was before the kid's shocked gaze. There were no secrets now, but he did not feel
liberated in any way. His vision blurred and he sniffled as he shook off the covers to leave.
He didn't have the strength to watch his kitten's affection turn into disgust.
Leon grabbed him, pushing him back down. "Did he ask you to do that?" He investigated,
after piecing together all the clues he had gathered about that absurd incident. Nicholai had
reacted badly when he had asked him to shoot him, at the hospital in Raccoon and, a few
nights earlier, had expressly begged him never to ask such a thing again, while he thought he
was asleep. At the time he had not understood the meaning of it but now everything was
beginning to fall into place.
"Did he ask you to?" He repeated, circling his face with his hands, determined to get to the
bottom of it.
Nicholai trembled under his touch, and as he closed his eyes he wondered why that damn kid
just wouldn't give up.
"Yes..." He confessed, and it felt like tearing his heart out of his chest with his own hands. He
had never said it out loud. To no one. He found himself enveloped in the warmth of his
embrace and collapsed in silent grief. "I-I didn't want to but he was so scared of ending up in
prison again… I panicked!" He explained, confusedly.
"It wasn't your fault," Leon whispered and although he did not know the details, he was sure
of it. He could feel it, but Nicholai flinched back, suddenly furious.
"I don't want absolution!"
"I don't give a shit what you want," the kid retorted and, having said that, lunged forward and
seized his mouth with his own.
Maybe it was because of the vodka, of his utter desperation, or perhaps because of that little
bugger's damn stubbornness which was far stronger than his shaky resolve, but Nicholai
could not push him away. He welcomed his hungry kiss as if it were a safety rope separating
him from plunging down a dark abyss.
"We can make this work," Leon whispered to him, barely pulling his face back to look into
his eyes. "Please, give us a chance, we've already gone too far to throw it all away
Nicholai huffed sadly, shaking his head. Then he wiped away his eyes, regaining some
control. "Stop it, you could have anyone just by blinking your eyelashes, and if you don't
know yet, you'll soon find out. What do you need an old wreck like me for?"
Leon forced himself to smile. "Well, the old wreck is playing particularly hard to catch for
being the only guy around for miles," was his sharp response.
"You insufferable, pretentious little shit..." Nicholai sighed, pulling him by his sweatshirt to
kiss him again. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but he wanted so badly to be happy again even
for a little while. He pushed him down softly, and Leon made no resistance to being eased
onto the mattress, nor did he protest when he rolled on top of him, settling between his open
legs. He just huffed at finding himself under his weight but arched up with a weak, lustful
moan when their groins brushed against each other, separated only by the fabric of their
pants.
"Are you sure about this?" Nicholai asked him.
Leon glared at him. "If you back out now, I swear I'll chop your balls off, so at least you'll
have a good excuse," he threatened him, and a wave of heat that went beyond mere lust swept
over him as he felt Nicholai's chest vibrate in a shy chuckle. "I really like everything about
you, you know?" He told him, caressing his cheek, and it was his turn to giggle when he saw
him get all embarrassed. "What?" He teased him a little. "If one compliment is enough to
send you sprawling, I'll never lose in any training section again." He lifted his lips a little,
going to gently brush against his black eye. "I'm really sorry I hurt you."
"Don't. For once you've proven that those long legs of yours are not just for show - Ouch!"
Protested Nicholai, when he received a slap on the back of his head. In reaction, he grabbed
his wrists and pinned them above his head, while with his hips he pressed himself more
between his thighs. Leon's entire body quivered under him, and if, for a split second, he
feared he had frightened him, it was enough to look at his face to see that it had only turned
him on more. It was incredible, almost magical, how their closeness was succeeding in
driving away their demons as if they were miraculous medicine for each other. Nicholai
kissed him again, continuing to wonder if it was a mistake in the back of his mind. Could he
keep Sergei in the dark about his existence? That was his main concern. If that was really the
path he intended to take, he had to find a way to break free from Umbrella and kill that son of
a bitch. Change again. Adapt again. The story of his life but, for the first time, it seemed to be
for the better and not for the worse. He was so conflicted. Too many things could go so
tragically but a thrill of pleasure erased all the thoughts from his mind when Leon, once his
hands were free, slipped them under his T-shirt, lifting it up until it was off him.
He was so blatant and straightforward. It was not something he was used to, partly because
the last man he had been with had been Mitia, who had always been extremely shy. He felt
his fingertips sink into the skin of his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, and this
wrenched a gasp out of his throat that died against his tongue as their kiss gradually lost its
sweetness and turned into hunger and passion. Reluctantly he abandoned his full lips and rose
to his knees, looking down at him. He wanted to be sure he wasn't scaring him, that he wasn't
going too far, and that Leon wasn't doing it just to please him. That was what was making
Nicholai hold back, otherwise, he would have been deep inside him already. But was he
ready for that?
He seemed to be the only one who had the scruple.
Leon followed his movement and lifted himself up in turn.

"Can you stop it?" He asked him with a shadow of annoyed sadness in his eyes. "I don't like
being treated like I'm made of glass. You said what happened to me may be a monster or a
flea, how can I perceive it that way if you are the first one to fill the room with it?"
Nicholai stiffened his jaw, tensing up. He had a point. A reasonable one. Should he really let
go and stop being convinced he knew better? He was so afraid of doing him more harm than
good.
"Whatever," Leon huffed, fed up, and got out of bed. "I'm going back downstairs."
"Wait."
Leon turned to shoot him a furious, hurt look. "Why?" He asked him with a hiss. "You may
not be disgusted by me but all you see when you look at me, when you touch me is what that
pig did to me."
"That's not true," Nicholai sighed.
"Yes, it is. Just… Just leave me alone," he concluded, disappearing down the hatch.
Chris woke up groggy and for a moment did not remember where he was. He focused on
Alfred's room and slowly the events of the night came back to his memory, filling him with
shame and confusion. At least his fever seemed to have broken since it had probably risen
just from stress. He got up. His pajama pants had dried on him, were sticky, and smelled
damp. He desperately needed a shower.
The housemaster, of course, was nowhere in sight, and he decided to take advantage of his
absence to look around. There was no pc, no phone, nothing that would allow him to get in
touch with the outside world. To say what? That he was on an island whose coordinates he
did not know, somewhere near Antarctica? Even assuming Jill and the others could locate
him, how could they have come to rescue him? By swimming? Barry had some money saved
up, but not that much.
He walked over to the desk and lifted a snow globe laid in the center.
Cute, he couldn't help but think. He had had one like that when he was a child, with the little
house, fir tree, and all. He wondered where it had gone. Probably in some landfill or sold for
pennies to a pawn shop after their lousy landlord had cleared out their house leaving them
with nothing. That piece of shit. He shook it a little, rattling the snow inside that swirled,
gracefully, around those two dancing blond children. In his had been a single, dark-haired
child playing with a big snowman because his mom had bought it for him well before Claire's
arrival.
A sister. Alfred also had a sister who had died.
Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine. He would not have survived a single day if
anything had happened to Claire. No, he would have followed her soon after because his life
would no longer have any meaning without her. His mind went back to their last fight, how
could she even think that he did not care about her? That he just wanted to ditch her? She was
his baby girl, his reason for living, and one of the few joys he had in the world. He should not
have snapped so badly at her.
Would he ever see her again? He really couldn't tell. Although Alfred seemed well-disposed
toward him, he was still a freak. What would happen the day he got tired of him? How was
he going to kill him?
"Please be careful with that."
"Fucking hell!" Chris growled, jerking back and turning to look at the damned butler. He was
as quiet as a snake, goddamn him! "You're really enjoying scaring the shit out of me!"
Mr. Harman let loose a tiny wicked smile. "Maybe a wee bit, sir," he confessed, amused.
"Well, go fuck yourself."
The other approached him. “'Pardon me,” he said, taking the glass ball out of his hands and
placing it back in the center of the desk. "My young master is very attached to it; he would be
heartbroken if it shattered. How are you feeling, sir?"
"Tsk! Like you give a shit..." Muttered Chris, crossing his arms over his chest. Although he
had to admit that the butler had seemed genuinely concerned when he had found him on the
terrace the night before and had immediately rescued him, covering him with his robe in an
almost fatherly way. It was so disturbing. It was easy to think of the members of Umbrella as
ruthless, faceless monsters, but as he spent time on that island he realized more and more
they were just… People. And the same was true for Albert. Just brushing his memory with
his mind brought back the nightmare he had had and nausea returned. "I need a shower."
"Of course, follow me, sir."
Mr. Harman diligently accompanied him and bid him farewell, saying he would bring him
breakfast in half an hour. Chris locked himself in his gigantic en-suite bathroom and, once in
the shower, rubbed his body so vigorously that his skin reddened, while trying his best not to
get the bandages Alfred had made for him wet. As much as he wanted not to think about it,
he could not shake the sensations he had suffered that night. He could still feel Wesker's
weight bearing down on him to crush him against the mattress and his manhood sinking into
him over and over again with the echo of his own moans deafening his ears.
What the fuck...
He just couldn't understand how his mind could even conceive of such a nightmare. First
Leon who had then turned into Wesker. It had probably been the discovery that his captain
had had an affair with Birkin that had upset him, in addition to that kiss Leon had stolen from
him, and even though he was not into men, his mind had built the rest. He needed help. By
now it was clear, but he could not imagine any scenario in which he would be able to say
aloud the contents of his nightmare. Not even to his sister.
We don't decide who we get fond of. Alfred's voice echoed in his head. Did he know? How
the fuck did he know? It was impossible. Yet he had assumed that he might have had a
relationship with both of them. Why on earth? He was a man! The normal thing would have
been to imagine him with women!
He was just a weirdo, created in a test tube and raised on an island far away from everyone.
He obviously had problems with social interactions. In fact, it was probably Alfred himself
who had influenced him and his frayed nerves had just cracked. Period. Yes, that was
definitely what had happened. It was a reasonable explanation. A reassuring one.
He went back to his room and made sure the door was securely closed before taking off his
bathrobe. He picked up some random clothes and huffed. Christ, were a pair of jeans, a T-
shirt, and a hoodie too much to ask? Why should he have to dress like a damn dandy?
Like a Swiss watch, Mr. Harman knocked on the door.
"Come in," he answered him, turning the key to unlock it.
"No ritual waiting on the threshold this morning, sir?"
"Very funny..." Chris sighed.
Only at that moment did he realize that his bed had already been made and he felt panic
clutching his stomach. Had he stained it? Had it shown what had happened? Even if it had,
Mr. Harman was giving no signs of acknowledging it, which calmed him somewhat. He was
grateful for his discretion.
He sat down to eat. "Don't run off," he told him. "We need to talk."
"I wasn't going anywhere, Mr. Redfield. I have not been dismissed." The butler kept silent for
a while then he huffed, annoyed. "For heaven's sake, don't stay so bent over and get your
elbows off the table! Didn't your mother teach you how to sit properly?" He could not stop
himself from scolding him.
Chris arched an eyebrow, shooting him an incredulous look. "Excuse me?"
"No, I'm not excusing you," retorted Mr. Harman, stepping closer and practically forcing him
to straighten his back with a yank while pushing his arms off the table. "Please proceed with
your breakfast, sir," he then invited him as if he had not just punished him as if he were a
naughty little boy.
"What the fuck?"
"Your language also needs improvement. Lord Ashford may be magnanimous enough to let
your filthy rudeness slide, but I am not."
Chris was so taken aback that he did not know what to retort, so he resumed eating.
"See, you can make improvements if you put your mind to it," the butler complimented him.
"You're still not perfect but we can work on it."
"Never cared about being perfect," Chris muttered, then decided to get straight to the point. "I
saw her again last night. The woman who 'doesn't exist'. Blonde, dressed in purple. She was
looking at me from the windows facing the terrace."
Mr. Harman did not flinch. "I'm afraid I know perfectly well what you saw, and if you wish,
after breakfast I will show you, sir."
Chris frowned, a little confused because he expected the other to rehash his earlier statement
about there being no women on the island, but he did not comment and stood up.
"Sure, let's go."
"First I have to clear away your breakfast."
"It's not going to rot if we leave it there for a while," he objected, and the stern, annoyed look
Mr. Harman gave him reminded him of Leon's reprimand regarding the condition of his car.
Despite how upset he was about how things had ended, between them, that was a good
memory. His cute little nose wrinkled at how disgusted he was that he had eaten those
expired chips... Chris had never been good with strangers and had serious difficulty getting
along with those outside his small group of affections, but, with Leon, something had clicked
incredibly fast, despite the nightmare they were experiencing.
And then everything had fallen apart.
A collapse to which he had actively contributed, although he still did not feel completely
responsible for what had happened between them. The asshole had a lot of nerve to call him a
liar when he had done nothing but tell him bullshit in the first place. He had asked him over
and over again about Nicholai, given him a thousand chances to build a dialogue but he had
stubbornly told him that he knew no one at Umbrella. Only to find him sleeping in his arms
on that goddamn fucking train. What had happened after the derailment was something he
was deeply ashamed of. Leon had surrendered to him and was in tears, begging him for help.
He should never have laid hands on him but had been so blinded by anger. To this date, he
still did not understand anything about that huge mess with him or even what Leon's
affiliation was at the end of the day. He remembered when he had caught him talking in the
alley with Nicholai. Leon was in pieces and sobbing, desperate that he couldn't take it
anymore and that he didn't want to do it anymore. What was he talking about? What had
upset him so much? Was that his fault too? Of the fact that he had pushed him away when he
had tried to kiss him? If so, had the kiss itself been part of his act? To achieve what? Nothing
made the slightest sense. Surely, he and that Russian asshole were tied by a deep bond. In the
face of his pain, Nicholai had immediately moved to take him to safety, soothed him, and
cuddled him. He had probably been the one to treat him, and Leon had repaid his devotion by
risking everything to cure him back.
Chris sighed. It had never been his intention to make him break the vial -fuck, he didn't even
know he had one- it had just happened. That had marked the point of no return between them,
and Leon had shown his true colors. Some terrifying ones.
"That cut's never going to heal if you keep rubbing it with your fingers," Mr. Harman dragged
him out of his lucubrations, and he lowered his hand sharply. Touching that wound had
become like a nervous habit for him. He kept doing so without realizing it, whenever he was
agitated or frightened.
"Are you done with that tray?" He asked and took it from his hands when the butler nodded.
"Sir?" The latter gasped, confused and shocked.
"I don't like being served, just tell me where I need to go."
"Give it back."
"No."
Mr. Harman gave him an extremely annoyed look but then decided to let it go. It was always
a losing battle with that oaf.
"Come with me, please," he told him, and it sounded as sharp as a 'fuck you.'
They went downstairs to take it to the kitchens and then from there ended back into what
looked like a large entrance hall. Mr. Harman looked quite fatigued from the up and down
stairs.
"Hey, sit down and catch your breath. I don't want you to die in my arms," Chris taunted him
for his short breath.
"Nonsense-
"I insist," Chris stubbornly argued, jostling him toward a small sofa. "I won't tell Alfie you
laid your ass down, don't worry."
The butler grew gloomy and went to sit down, fatigued.
"Loosen that thing up a bit, too. It's hanging you," Chris added, pointing to the starched collar
of his uniform.
"Now let's not go too far," was Mr. Harman's calm reply. "Simply my health is not what it
used to be."
"Does Alfred know you struggle to walk two flights of stairs?"
"No, I don't see why I should bother him about something so silly," retorted the butler,
defensively.
"I think he should, instead, so it would make you take more rest! As soon as I see him-
"Please don't," Mr. Harman interrupted him, lowering his gaze resignedly. "I recently learned
that I have a heart condition but it's nothing to worry about or that our doctors on the island
can't handle."
"Ah, if those butchers take care of it, we're sitting pretty!"

"I appreciate your concern but I don't need any advice on the matter. As for the 'butchers' on
this island, there are some of the most brilliant scientists on the planet."
"Yeah, the crazy ones."
"May I trust that you will keep this conversation to yourself?"
Chris made an annoyed grimace.
"Please, I really don't want the young master to distress himself unnecessarily."
"Fine, but if you get worse, even by a little, you tell him right away or I will. Clear?"
"Yes sir," smiled the butler. What a strange fellow that American was. His concern was
sincere and visceral in its hostility. He slowly got up again. "Let's continue."
He led him to another room that, although Chris did not know it yet, was the very one
opposite the terrace where he had ended up the night before.
"Please take a look," he invited him, fully opening the barely ajar curtain.
Daylight illuminated a large painting in the center of the wall that depicted a woman with
long blond hair perfectly coiffed, a thin necklace clasped on her long elegant neck, a long
purple evening gown decorated with ruffles inlaid with black pearls, and snow-white gloves
that covered her up to her elbow.
She looked a lot like Alfred. No. She looked exactly like him. She had the same slender,
longish figure, the same pallor, the same absurd eye color. Only she was a woman.
"I think this is what you saw last night," Mr. Harman told him in a sympathetic tone.
It was possible. Chris could not rule it out. That painting depicted her well beyond natural
size, and perhaps from the terrace she had appeared to him at the window. She also had the
same stern, judgmental expression he remembered.
"She was his sister," he commented, shooting him an anguished look because there was
something about that painting that distressed him tremendously.
"Not quite," sighed the butler, "she would have been Miss Alexia if she had reached
adulthood. She died when she was very young. The master wanted to portray her that way
using himself as a model. They were twins."
"What happened?" Chris asked, somewhat curious.
"It is unclear. An accident in a laboratory, during an experiment. A specimen killed both the
past master of this estate, Lord Alexander Ashford, and little Lady Alexia. Only traces of
their blood were found, streaks on the floor and signs of the creature's passage, scratches, and
bite marks on the walls and equipment. After days of searching, little Lord Alfred was found,
starving, dehydrated, injured, and almost dead in one of the underground passages. He was
twelve years old."
"Jesus Christ..." Chris commented, shocked, because, in spite of everything, he just couldn't
stop himself from feeling pity for him.
Mr. Harman bowed his head, saddened. "Yes, it was indeed a horrible experience, and he
almost followed her to his death. Not only because of his injuries but because he refused to
eat and drink. He did not utter a word for months and never spoke about the incident. They
had a very special, unique bond, you see. It was more than brotherly love. It was as if their
souls were intertwined and interdependent. They completed each other on a level no one can
really comprehend. He was sweet, gracious, and ready to give her the moon as a gift just to
see her smile, while she was haughty and algid, cruel, even, but there was no doubt that she
loved him back, although he was the only one she was capable of loving. She was so
incredibly intelligent, a genius scientist even though she was just a child. Her death left a
void in little master's heart. This is the reason why he is always so restless. He seeks the other
half of himself, aware that he can no longer have it. I am surprised that he mentioned her last
night. For some absurd reason, he must really like you."
"Did Wesker have anything to do with this? With the accident?" Chris investigated.
Mr. Harman pondered for a long moment. "It may be," he replied, "although not personally
because he had already been banished from the island some weeks prior, along with Dr.
Birkin."
"What happened between them?"
Alfred startled both of them when he entered the room. "There you are!" He exclaimed. "I've
been looking for you two, you could have told me you wanted to play hide-and-seek."
Mr. Harman bowed his head. "My apologies, sir."
Alfred shrugged his shoulders, not really annoyed, and turned his attention to Chris. "I hope
you feel better," he smiled at him then winced and took off his uniform jacket with the
badges. "I know you don't like it," he clarified in front of his confused gaze, tossing it into the
butler's arms. "So what were you talking about?"
Neither answered, nor had the readiness to lie, but Alfred understood anyway. His eyes grew
wistful. "Oh, I see. My beloved Alexia." He turned to look at the painting. "Isn't she
beautiful?"
Chris hesitated, unsure of what to answer. "You look very much alike," he said, neutral.
Alfred chuckled. "You're a brother in your own right, don't worry, you can say she's beautiful
if you think so. I won't get mad."
The point was that Chris did not find her attractive at all. Yes, she was objectively a good-
looking young woman, but her expression gave him the creeps. She looked so mean. Of the
two, Alfred was definitely the prettier one. His eyes were sweeter. That thought crossed his
mind uncontrollably but Chris quickly chastised himself. It was just an unimportant
consideration with no implication. Mere aesthetics. Nothing else. He did not find him
attractive either. Why should he? Nonsense! He stopped looking at him and walked over to
the window to look at the terrace. Yes, it was definitely possible that he had seen the painting,
however, even before that he had heard her singing, and paintings did not sing. It did not
seem prudent for him to ask for explanations at that time, much less to Alfred. He had to
continue buttering up the butler. He had several possible scenarios in his head, including the
possibility that he was definitely losing his mind, but the one that seemed most plausible to
him was a Lisa Trevor-esque one. That would also have explained Mr. Harman's elusiveness.
"Can we take a walk outside?" He asked, eager to get out of those halls for a while. He felt
stuffy in them.
"Certainly," Alfred agreed. "Where would you prefer to go? To the beach or to the training
center? I can also show you the labs if you prefer."
"No," Chris replied instinctively because, humanly, the last thing he wanted after Raccoon
City was to be inside another damn lab, but he was glad that was a possibility. He could have
investigated it better. "The beach is fine. I need some fresh air."
"May I suggest you both put on proper coats? It's cold outside," Mr. Harman sternly
intervened, as if he were dealing with two children.
"Yes, mommy," Chris retorted, rolling his eyes and making Alfred laugh heartily.
They returned to the hall, where the butler gave him a snow jacket with the Umbrella logo
printed prominently on its back and a smaller one on the front.
"Don't we have anything else?" Alfred questioned him, noting the obvious annoyance on his
guest's face as he held that jacket as if it were something revolting.
"'Of his size, I'm afraid not."
"Never mind," Chris huffed, putting it on. "Let's just go."
Alfred put on a long black coat with a white fur collar and leather gloves of the same color,
and, leaving Mr. Harman behind, they slipped down another hallway to a service exit that led
to a balcony overlooking the cliff. At the far end was a small gate that opened onto a long
flight of stairs in the rock and then, at the edge, a wrought-iron elevator that looked ancient
and decidedly unsafe.
"We're taking the stairs, aren't we?" Chris asked.
Alfred scoffed, amused. "You do as you like, but I won't. It's 981 steps. Believe me, I counted
them," he decreed, opening the elevator door and stepping inside. "So?"
Somewhat reluctantly, the other imitated him but jerked when the mechanism that was
lowering the cabin began to squeak horribly.
"I'll take the stairs on the way back."
"You're so funny," Alfred chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the view
beyond the elaborate floral decorations of the iron bars. "I won't let you fall, just relax."
A gust of wind made the cabin sway a little. "Yeah, you'll catch me and we'll fly away on the
back of a fucking unicorn!"
"Wimp."
"No, it's called common sense, something you clearly lack!"
As soon as they touched land, Chris launched himself out, sinking his feet into that stony
beach, but he blinked, surprised at the desolate beauty of that cove. It even managed to
silence his complaints. The sea was rough that morning and had a dark, leaden color. With its
waves, it vigorously whipped the shoreline and also the cliff to the right. In the distance, a
large, sharp-tipped iceberg sailed drifting along with other smaller ones.
"Do you like it?" Alfred questioned, flanking him.
"Yes. Very much," Chris replied, honestly. "Is it ever warm enough to take a swim?"
"I'm afraid not. Even in summer the temperatures barely reach ten degrees."
"Too bad..."
"I suppose with a proper wetsuit it would be possible but, personally, I don't see the appeal of
such an activity. Besides, there are killer whales in these waters. Let's take a walk, I'll get
cold quickly otherwise."
"No wonder! You weigh ninety pounds barely!"
"Someone woke up rude this morning," was Alfred's resigned comment as they began their
promenade toward the cliff.
Chris was silent for a while, conflicted, then gave up. "Leon S. Kennedy, that's his full name.
Is he one of you?"
Alfred pondered, frowning. "It doesn't ring a bell. He's certainly not from this center. I don't
know all U.B.C.S. enlistees, however, keep in mind that they are not true loyalists. The vast
majority of them are just mercenaries employed on minor missions and, as a result, are kept
in the dark about the real activities of the company. So he could be on the payroll but be as
unaware as a janitor cleaning the offices of the trading headquarters. I'll look into it for you,
anyway."
"He is associated with another guy, Nicholai Zinoviev."
Alfred snorted, amused. "No. That's not likely."
"For fuck's sake! Is it possible that everyone wants to make me seem stupid on this island? I
know they are connected because I saw them! Leon almost cut my throat because of that
asshole!"
"You are definitely summer..." The other commented, laconically. "What I meant was that
Zinoviev is part of the Soviet division, headed by Colonel Vladimir. He would set fire to
everyone in the room and himself before enlisting an American in his closer ranks. There is
just no chance that this Kennedy is one of them."
"What can you tell me about Zinoviev?"
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "Code name Silver Wolf. Born in November 1960. Humble
background. Criminal from an early age. Incarcerated for four years in a Moscow prison for
theft and later for three more in a labor camp for terrorism and crimes against the state.
Enlisted by Colonel Vladimir at age twenty-one. One of the few survivors of his training
platoon. Medium-high intelligence, largely above-average combat skills, proficient strategist,
ruthless killer, expert Monitor. Success ratio in operations in which he was deployed of
98.8%. In fact, I studied his file at length."
"Why?"
"Rockfort Island is a training center for Umbrella Special Ops. My inept father almost put it
out of business. When I found myself in charge of the base, in order to ride it back to its
former splendor, I studied the files of Umbrella's best men to replicate their level. Zinoviev
was at the top of the list and recently returned to being the best operative, after the departure
of H.U.N.K."
Chris winced. That was the guy who had attacked Jill and Carlos.
"What?" Alfred questioned him.
"Nicholai killed him. In the sewers of Raccoon City."
Lord Ashford did not flinch. "Clearly he wasn't strong enough. A lesson for taking orders I
would never have given him." He closed the matter with ruthless levity. "What do you want
from me regarding Zinoviev?" He asked, casting him a limpid glance. "His file? Talk to him?
His head on a platter? The last thing would give me some scratching, but I don't think it's
infeasible."
Chris stopped abruptly, dismayed. "Can you... Can you stop bringing up murder as if it were
a normal topic of conversation?"
Alfred gave him an intrigued look, tilting his head a little. "I understood you despised him."
"And I do but-
"So why do you hesitate?"
Chris lowered his eyes, uncomfortable. "I almost killed him, in Raccoon City-" He confessed.
Alfred arched his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. " Impressive!"

"No. He was in bad shape. Pretty much in the last stage before he turned into a zombie. He
was saved by the skin of his teeth."
"So you want a fair fight? You'd lose and he doesn't play fair anyway, he plays efficiently."
"No! I just want him to stay away from Leon!" Chris blurted out, clenching his fists.
"This Leon again..." Alfred murmured. "What is your story? Who is he to you?"
Chris turned his back to him and walked a few steps away toward the shore. "Just a guy I met
in Raccoon. Nothing more."
Alfred walked past him and crouched on the ground, starting to fiddle with the sea-smoothed
stones. "You don't need to lie to me. Just tell me you don't want to talk about it but know that
if you do, I won't judge you," he told him softly. "I am the bearer of far more horrible secrets
than you can imagine, much less perpetrate."
Chris hesitated because he needed to talk to someone about it but it was surreal that he was
doing it with one of the Umbrella heads of all people. Wasn't Alfred a victim himself,
though? The company had taken his father and sister away from him and then probably
raised and indoctrinated him to be a puppet.
"I fucked up with him," he sighed, pained, "from the first moment."
He told him everything, starting from their first meeting at the motel to how Leon had
disappeared into the woods after their escape from the city, and he did so honestly, confessing
how hurt and confused he was by Leon's behavior but also admitting all his mistakes and the
wrongs he had done him. He was never good at venting and getting out what he had inside,
but Alfred had the incredible ability to make him feel… At ease, He really believed him
when he said he would not judge him, or maybe it was because he really did not fear
judgment from someone like him. A little freak. A laboratory test. A corrupt shiny little thing
capable of committing horrible crimes with the innocence and purity of a child.
"I just wish he would have given me a chance to talk to him and make things right! Instead,
he just ran away, and now I can't get him out of my head."
"Have you tried to put yourself in his position?" Alfred asked while he kept playing with
pebbles. "Because I doubt that telling him anything will solve the situation if you don't do it
first. From what you say, I also believe that he tried to give you a chance, while you didn't go
all the way. 'Almost' is the word that sets you apart. You almost killed Zinoviev, you almost
trusted Leon. I may be all too quick to take my decisions, be they death sentences or mercy
calls, but you seem incapable of making any. I think you were scared of him from the very
first moment because you were casting someone else's shadow on him," he lifted his face a
little to look at him tenderly. "Am I right?" He sought confirmation with candid rhetoric.
Chris made a tense and sad grimace, feeling he was being laid bare.
"Do you want to tell me a little about him?" Alfred pressed him.
"No."
"Very well, then I will," Lord Ashford sighed. "When I realized that William, nightly, kept
sneaking over to listen to me play I was intrigued by him. Things were not exactly relaxed
between him and my sister. They both hated each other, afraid that their respective genius
might cause their demise. Oswald made attempts to get them to work together, but both of
them stubbornly resisted and, in fact, it was a very foolish idea. In any case, I wrote that
poem and made a piano transcription of the Four Seasons because I thought it could serve as
an olive branch. Not so much for William's benefit, but for Alexia's. It was heartbreaking to
see her so angry and sad. I was surprised when, the next night, WIliam joined me in the
ballroom and asked me to play with him. Initially, his intentions were not entirely honest; it
was quite evident that he was trying to see if he could somehow use me as leverage to harm
my sister, but at the same time he was as intrigued by me as I was by him, absurd as that was.
He was a scientist, while I was a mere useless little boy. Very quickly we became friends,
and, you see... I had never had a friend. He made me feel so special for once. Then Albert
found out."
Chris was shaken by a shudder, remembering the desperate tale Sherry had given Leon about
how Wesker had first beaten her and then threatened to kill her just because she was
William's daughter and he loved her. "What did he do to you?" He asked breathlessly.
"He broke my violin and flung me down a flight of stairs," Alfred said lightly as if it were an
ordinary thing. "Then, while he was beating me, my sister shot him with a crossbow. She had
aimed for his heart but fortunately for him, he moved and it stuck in his ribs. William got so
mad at both of them, but especially at Albert, he ripped it out of his flesh with his bare hands.
Then finally the adults arrived to put an end to all that commotion and my father banished
them both from the island." Alfred stood up again, quivering with anger. "A couple of weeks
later I received a letter. It was from Wesker, although he had used a different sender to get it
to me. That filthy excrement had analyzed my blood, which was left on his clothes, and he
revealed to me that I had been created in a laboratory, that I was nothing but a failure, an
object without purpose, a monster just like my beloved sister. I was already broken enough
from losing my only friend, so that truth shocked me. I told Alexia about it, and she
confirmed Albert’s discovery and that caused… The incident at the lab where she and our
useless father both died." He turned to shoot Chris a fierce and pained look. "Albert Wesker
destroyed my life and everything I held dear just because I dared to spend some innocent
time with his lover. This is why I hate him, dead or alive it makes no difference, and, forgive
my impudence, especially since I have already told you that we have no control over who we
become fond of, but the question haunts me, how could you love him? How could anyone in
his right mind love him?"
When Nicholai awoke, his head ached excruciatingly. He grunted, massaging his temples, as
he rose to sit up and the empty vodka bottle rolled off the bed.
"Черт...:" He gritted between his teeth, quickly remembering what had happened the day
before.
It was so late. Probably early afternoon. He could not remember ever having slept so much in
his entire life, and part of him wanted to go back to it, but he could not avoid his
responsibilities any longer. He laid his bare feet on the floorboards and stood up. The kid
probably had not had a better night than he had, so he opened the hatch and went down the
stairs. The house was silent as a tomb.
"Leon?" He called out to him.
No answer.
He smelled cleanliness, and when he looked around he noticed that the hall and kitchen were
in flawless order. The kid had even scrubbed off the floor the bloody footprints he had left
there the night before. He had certainly kept himself busy. Nicholai had always considered
himself a neat and tidy man, but the house was obsessively manic that morning.
Leon was not there, though, and that sent him into turmoil. He hurried outside, feverishly
searching everywhere for him. He was not in the bathroom and he was not in the valley. Nor
was he on the shore of the lake. The car was still there, though, so he couldn't be far away,
could he? He approached the cabin and, at last, heard noises. He felt relief but his heart did
not hint at slowing its beats in his chest.
He peeked through the small window. Leon was in there. He was training, or more correctly,
he was exhausting himself. He saw him furiously hitting the punching bag recklessly and
incorrectly. He was going to hurt himself, going on like that, so Nicholai immediately entered
and as soon as Leon heard him, he froze. They both stood motionless for a long moment, then
the boy slowly turned to shoot him a coy, hostile look. It was clear that he had cried for a
long time; his eyes were still red and his skin chafed.
"I... I did the routine you scheduled for me. Twice," he murmured, not knowing what else to
say, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, immediately looking away from him.
"Good," replied Nicholai, equally uncomfortable, "but I'd rather you didn't do it alone. Not
yet."
Leon stiffened, clearly still enraged. "You know what? Why don't you make a nice list of
things I can do without you holding my fucking hand? Because, clearly, I can't do shit on my
own!" And he hit the bag with another punch, making it sway violently.
Nicholai remained quiet. He understood him. Bringing up what had happened in Raccoon
City had come at a price, and it was anger. Leon was angry, not at anyone in particular, he
was angry at the whole world. He had been there himself, at several stages of his life, so he
did not intend to give particular weight to his arbitrary and venomous outbursts. His
shoulders were broad, he could take some shit, but that anger needed to be channeled
properly, now that, finally, it had come out.
"Leave that sack alone. Fight me," he urged him, advancing to the center of the room.
"Not in the mood," retorted the kid, trying to get closer to the door.
Nicholai pushed him back. Hard. Causing him to bump into the bag. "It was not a polite
request."
Leon gave him a fiery and somewhat betrayed look as he rubbed his sore shoulder.
"What?" Nicholai challenged him, intent more than ever to get under his skin. "Are you made
of glass now?"
It made him snap. With an angry growl, Leon threw himself at him, and the Russian used his
momentum to flip him back to the ground. "Can you do me the courtesy of not making it look
like a bar fight? I've taught you better than this," he commented, sternly, backing away a few
steps as Leon struggled to stand up. Nicholai gave him enough time to be steady on his feet
before doing something that, until then, he had always held back. Attack first. He did it in a
measured way, however, giving him a bloody eternity to see the direction of his punch. Leon
did not disregard him and dodged the blow promptly but, instead of getting out of the way,
became greedy and tried to strike him back in what he thought was an opening. Nicholai spun
him around and then delivered a kick to his ass that sent him flying to the other side of the
shed. On all fours on the ground, Leon snarled in frustration. Nicholai was just toying with
him, and that, if possible, pissed him off even more. More out of instinct than strategy he
lifted his forearm, pushing his arm away before he could grab him, and then, giving himself a
leg boost, he somersaulted back to leap to his feet again.
Nicholai raised his eyebrows, surprised and a little incredulous. "Are we also doing ballet
now?" He asked him, mockingly.
"Go fuck yourself!" He snarled at him, and as Nicholai moved forward to attack him again he
pointed his right foot forward and then pivoted, avoiding his lunge and even managing to
smack him on the hip with the heel of the kick he had tried to throw at him with his left leg.
Nicholai chuckled, moving out of range while Leon stumbled to keep on his feet. "Contact,"
he remarked, "well done. Now do it again. Slower. Don't lose your balance and try to look
where you want to hit."
Leon did so but not slowly, and he had to parry with his forearm to keep from being struck by
it.
"You're mad at me, I get it," he tried to moderate him into turning that chaos into an effective
training session. "But-
"You're such an asshole!" Leon shouted at him. "I didn't even want to fight! It always ends
the same way anyway!"
Nicholai sighed. "You literally knocked me down last night. If I had been an attacker you
would have had plenty of time to kill me. So, no, it doesn't. But you are erratic, moody,
imprecise and you move around too much, wasting accuracy and energy. Also, your balance
sucks and these are all mistakes that need to be righted."
"I don't give a shit! Is that so hard to understand?" Leon barked at him.
"I can't allow you to be around me if you can't defend yourself," he answered him more
sternly.
"All excuses. You don't want me anyway, one day or another you're just gonna dump me!"
He moved to leave the shed but groaned in surprise and pain when the other slammed him
with his back against the doors. He cast him an alarmed, almost frightened look.
"Why don't you even try to make the effort to understand how important this is to me?"
Nicholai hissed in his face, losing his patience. "Why does everything always just have to
revolve around what you want, huh? Am I not also entitled to have my own time and needs?
My fucking right to choose? Grow up, you spoiled little prick!"
"I'm not the one who asked you to shoot him in the head, so don't turn it back on me!" Leon
let it slip out of his mouth without his sifting through how unfair and tremendously cruel that
statement was, and he regretted it immediately afterward when he was swept by shame and
guilt.
There you go, just like your dear, old mom! She'd be so proud! Snikered the voice inside his
head.
Nicholai, deeply shaken, stared blankly at his face for a moment that seemed interminable
then flung him behind him and left the shed.
"Wait!" Leon wailed, "I'm sorry!" He shouted, running out but Nicholai had already gotten
into the car and he could do nothing to stop him from driving away. He collapsed to his knees
in the grass and burst into tears. "I'm s-so sorry! Please!!!" He sobbed.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always a thousand thanks to all of you readers, commentators, kudoers, subscribers,
and bookmakers for still being here.
I apologize for not including a scene with Jill and Carlos but this was quite a
complicated chapter to write, especially the parts between Nicholai and Leon. I swear, I
had every intention of writing a sex scene between them but, as I went on with the
chapter, I simply realized that it didn't click. It wasn't the right time for either of them.
Nicholai must first come to terms with his fear of bonding with someone again and
potentially risking losing him. He has always lost everything in life, in horrible ways,
and since he works for one of the most dangerous men in the world, it is obvious that he
has scruples before jeopardizing the life of his hypothetical future lover. He is also
particularly respectful and attentive to Leon's true needs as well, which may not
necessarily coincide with what he claims (because Leon does not ask, he claims).
Coming to him, by the end of the chapter I wanted to throttle him with my own hands.
Damn ungrateful little shit. Rationally speaking, Leon has every reason in the world to
be on the edge. As even Nicholai rightly acknowledged, now that Leon has finally
gotten his trauma out, he is full of rage and projects it onto everything and everyone
around him. Only he is particularly subtle and cruel in doing so.
I told you that, sooner or later, we will also have begun to see Leon's real flaws, which
are, in large part, a direct inheritance from his mother who emotionally abused him for
years and he has had virtually no other examples. In a sense, he is also aware that he
reacts as she did. In this particular case, however, as emotionally devastated as he is, he
just couldn't control himself and, as a result, achieved the last thing he would have
wanted, which was to push Nicholai away from himself.
Chris, in contrast, is beginning to feel at home on Rockfort Island. He jokes with the
'damn' butler, worries about him, and stubbornly refuses to be served. At the same time,
he vents to Alfred about Leon, and his kind host sees right through him, as usual.
Although in the strangest possible context, we are beginning to get a glimpse of the real
Chris who is not an unscrupulous murderer, is not even violent under normal
circumstances, and is the first to be upset at the levity with which Alfred offers him
Nicholai's head (poor guy, leave him alone!) on a silver platter.
By equal and opposite reaction, since Chris has finally given him trust, Alfred also
opens up to him about what happened when he was twelve years old, highlighting, for
the umpteenth time, the possessive and violent traits of Wesker who, at the time, was
twenty-three years old (can you please stop beating children, Albert? It's so disturbing).
Two final words about Alfred, I feel so sorry for him, both in his canon story and in my
retelling. Obviously, in the canon, there was never any friendship with Birkin (I told you
that our dear William would be central to many parts of this story) and the fact that I
included this variation makes his past even more tragic. Both in the canon and in my
story he was always put second to Alexia who was his whole universe. For once he had
found his first and only friend, and Wesker not only snatched him away but ruthlessly
destroyed his life by revealing the truth about his and his sister's birth.
Of course, there is more behind this, and those of you who know the game may already
imagine what paths I intend to take, although, as I said, I will change quite a few things.
Thank you all so much for your presence and affection!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 62
Chapter Notes
Nicholai had spent the entire night in the car, unable to sleep, and not because of the bitter
cold. He was used to that.
Simply, his mind had not stopped spinning, not even for a moment. Leon had been an asshole
but he was not really angry with him. In fact, in a way, he had to acknowledge that he had a
point, even if he had exposed it in the worst possible way.
He was not Mitia but he was the first in decades who had been able to make him feel
something. Not only that. He had revolutionized his life, leading him to be dumber and more
unscrupulous than he had been in a very long time. He lit a cigarette, yet another, unable to
make a decision. The kid needed him but he was also right in saying that by now things had
gone too far to pretend otherwise.
Fuck, how had he allowed that mess to happen?
He had always been a greedy and selfish man but this time he had outdone himself. The point
was that he already missed him, even though he was a spoiled, venomous, arbitrary little
snake who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
And it had only been a night. In fact, he even knew how many minutes had passed but there
was a limit to how pathetic he wanted to feel. He was too old to fall in love like a fucking
teenager.
He looked up at that white morning and saw the first snowflakes begin to fall. Like that
morning so many years before, only there were no bars to spoil his view.
"Fuck it," he huffed, starting the car. How many more signals did the universe have to send
him? He wanted to be together with that little shit, he wanted him more than anything else.
More than caution itself, and it had been so long since he had felt that way.
He could make it work.
He had not gone that far. In a couple of hours, he would be home, and he had just
maneuvered when the satellite phone in his pants pocket began to ring.
His heart missed a beat.
Why now of all times?
"Zinoviev," he replied in a flat tone.
"I'm calling on behalf of Colonel Vladimir," yet another faceless voice told him. "He has a
mission for you."
"I haven't fully recovered yet."
"He's aware of that."
And he doesn't give a shit, Nicholai thought. "Instructions?" He simply asked. There was no
point in getting into an argument, especially since he had never done so in almost two
decades and it would be suspicious to start now.
"Your target is scientist Bernt Kirsch from the Europe Laboratory Six. He has escaped to
Cancun. He must be terminated and the data in his possession destroyed. Flight AYX287
from Denver to Cancun will leave at 9 p.m. this evening. At the airport, you will be given the
file with all the specifics."
"Roger that. Zinoviev out," he concluded the call. "Fuck!" He vented his frustration by hitting
the steering wheel. It was already past nine in the morning, and to get all the way to Denver
was about an eight-hour drive from his location, he knew because he had done it a thousand
times before. He was the one who had flagged that airport for international missions. Going
back to warn Leon and then leaving again would have required him four more. He could not
afford it. Not without screwing up the mission.
Leon would have freaked out but he had no choice. Christ, he should have charged the phone
he had taken from the mercenary to give to him but it was too late for that too. He had given
up on the idea of contacting her client the moment he had taken that kid home. The last thing
he wanted was for Leon to get caught in the crossfire between Umbrella and whatever
organization Wong was working for.
He turned the car around again, the sooner he finished that mission the better, and if leaving
the tranquility of his home had always been difficult for him, it had never been more so than
at that moment. He should not have left. He should have sucked it up as he promised himself
he would, for fuck's sake! Instead, he had been carried away by his emotions. An
unforgivable mistake under any circumstances. He hated himself so much. It was all his fault,
of his inability to make a decision that was already more than clear. Once he returned he
would give him everything he wanted, even all of himself if necessary.
Chris took a step back, feeling his breath halt in his chest. Alfred was so intimidating at that
moment, standing upright with the waves crashing violently against the shore just behind
him, and those eyes of his that now more than ever seemed to want to dig into his soul like
the talons of a hawk.
"I was not... in love with him," he protested in a choked voice, still stubbornly unwilling to
accept that atrocious truth. "I considered him a friend, a mentor, a father figure maybe, but I
wasn't fucking in love with him!” He thundered with more anger.
Alfred made an expression of annoyance and turned his face away, before piercing him once
again with his stare. "Call it whatever you want, I don't feel like getting lost in semantics, my
question doesn't change."
"What do you give a damn?!"
"Because I need to know in order to help you."
"I never asked for it!"
Alfred softened the stern expression that made him look so much like his long-lost twin sister
and approached him to stop in front of him.
"Yet you just did, and believe me, you won't solve anything at all with Leon, or with your
whole life, for that matter, if you don't dig into yourself first. And before you say I'm doing
this for revenge, how could I possibly retaliate against a dead man? I missed that chance and
the least I can do is to cleanse this world of his revolting remnants." He leaned in further,
placing a hand on his chest and rising on his toes to whisper in his ear. "When I had you
brought here, I thought you were an heir. His legacy. In that case, I would have extirpated you
without hesitation, but you are just another victim, and I will right this wrong. So, please,
allow me to do it and when we're done, you have my word, I'll give you a safe passage back
home."
Chris held his breath, feeling profoundly uncomfortable having him leaned over him like
that. "Why would you?"
Alfred turned away and began to walk toward the cliff. "Because, as I have now repeated to
you to the point of exhaustion, you are a guest, not a prisoner. However, it would be
irresponsible of me to fly you out of my nest with the broken wings you have." He paused,
turning away only partially. "You know, my sister really enjoyed seeing how animals were
made inside. She asked me to tear them apart hundreds of times, and I did it most diligently.
Just for once I'd like to heal one."
Chris clenched his fists, not even registering how fucked up that confession was. "So I'm a
pet now?" He growled, offended because it reminded him too much of the 'little piggies’ with
which Wesker had described him and all his friends.
"No, but you are an animal, just like any human being. The most ruthless and dangerous of
all."
"And what are you, looking down on me like that?"
"Me? Just a freak. And I don't look down on you, Chris. Only through."
He waited for Chris to respond something to him but his guest seemed to be adamant about
his furious silence. "My apologies, maybe I'm pushing too hard. Clearly, you're not ready."
He continued his walk until he reached the rocks that started the cliff. Somewhat awkwardly
since he was certainly not athletic he climbed over them to continue beyond.
"Get down from there before you fall off and break a leg," was Chris's sighed comment that
fell totally on deaf ears because Alfred had not listened to him at all. "Come on!" He
exclaimed, seeing him disappear beyond the rocks.
He ran in that direction and, once on top, saw that Alfred had ventured onto what had once
been a path in the rocks but was now nothing more than a narrow strip of stone eroded by the
sea, without a parapet, without any protection, overlooking the churning sea by about six feet.
"Turn back now!" He ordered him, and this too was promptly ignored. Perhaps Alfred had
not even heard him because the wind was very strong and loud in that spot.
"Holy shit, damn that fool!" He blurted out through gritted teeth before following him.
His heart slammed in his throat as the rock crumbled under his weight and he was forced to
grab onto the wall with his hands to keep from plunging straight into the water. As soon as I
catch him I'm going to kick his bony fucking ass! He thought, irritated and frustrated,
proceeding with extreme caution.
A particularly strong wave came lapping at his ankles, as violent as whiplash, making the
path on that narrow passageway even more difficult and slippery. God, how he wished he had
his boots and not those fucking loafers! He looked ahead to realize that Alfred had passed the
corner of the cliff and was out of sight.
He hated him with all his heart.
Why the fuck was he even following him? Couldn't he just let him croak on his own?
No. He couldn't. He just couldn't.
He got a move on and sighed with relief when he discovered that, around the corner, the rock
widened until it formed a small natural terrace overlooking the sea, and beyond it, the
passage was too narrow to continue without climbing. Something that Alfred couldn't do.
The jerk was on the edge of the cliff, with the strong wind whipping his coat flaps hard. It
reminded him of a painting that Irons had had a fit about because he could not buy it. The pig
had once called him into his office to rebuke him for some bullshit he couldn't remember, and
Chris had found him howling on the phone with a book with a reproduction of that painting
open on his desk. It was called… Something 'above a sea of fog', for some absurd reason, it
had stuck in his mind, only what they were facing was not a sea of fog but a fucking stormy
sea.
"Come back, dickhead!" He yelled at him to overpower the roar of the wind as tiny drops of
icy water whipped his face.
Alfred turned, shooting him a confused look, as if he did not know what fear was at all and
was unable to recognize the danger of the situation. "Over there," he told him, pointing to the
mouth of an underwater cave across the bay. "There is where I killed my father and doomed
my sister."
Chris frowned, but before he could register the meaning of his words he saw the wave
approaching. Instead of stepping back to safety, he surged forward, grabbing him and
swiveling to shield him. As the water broke against his back with the force of a speeding car,
he felt the ground being ripped out from under his feet and then the sensation of dizziness
clenching his insides as they were thrown over the edge of the cliff. It was not so much the
impact that took his breath away, but the frigid temperature of the water. A strong current
swirled him and he lost his grip on Alfred. Survival instincts, however, led him to swim to the
surface. He gasped, shocked, looking around in horror. Fortunately, the swell had carried him
a few feet away from the cliff instead of causing him to crash against the rocks but where was
Alfred?
He had to find him!
He looked around hoping to catch a glimpse of him, doing his best to stay afloat, but he was
nowhere to be seen. Trying to contain his panic, he took another deep breath and, after
kicking off those useless shoes, dived in. The saltwater burned his eyes and so did the
scratches he had gotten the night before, as well as the gunshot wound in his shoulder, but the
most terrible thing of all was the cold that tingled on his skin like a shower of hot needles.
Struggling against the current he swam even deeper, turning in on himself to look for any
trace of the damned idiot. With his lungs pulsing painfully, he held back the instinct to come
back up, and his effort paid off. Still, further out to sea, he saw Alfred floating underwater,
motionless. Striving not to think of the worst and what Alfred's death would mean for his
fate, he struggled against the current to reach him. He grabbed him firmly and then kicked to
bring them both back to the surface.
"A-Alfred!" He gasped, pulling his head back to check his condition.
He was bleeding from one of his temples because, unlike him, he must have bumped against
the rocks during the fall but, tossed as they were by the violence of the ocean, he was unable
to tell if he was breathing or not. What was certain was that the current was dragging them
farther and farther away. With the waves violently trying to throw them back under, Chris
began to swim desperately toward the shore, holding on to him with one arm. His muscles
were rapidly atrophying from the cold and he was dreadfully aware that adrenaline could not
make up for it forever. Moreover, if Alfred was not breathing, he was on borrowed time. If he
had died, his people would have killed him but, absurd as it was, that was the least of his
worries. He had no intention of admitting that he was becoming attached to him, but the very
idea that he might die from something as stupid as a walk filled him with anguish. He did not
want anyone to die on him. Ever.
It was so tremendously tiring to swim in those conditions, and there were many times when
they ended up tumbling underwater again, swept away by conflicting tides. Chris drank
whole gulps of water, trying to catch his breath every chance he got as he proceeded with
Alfred clutched to his chest, but in the end, his desperate determination not to give up
allowed him to reach the shore.
Although Alfred was light, in lifting him out of the water he felt him heavy as a boulder for
his exhausted muscles, and he collapsed on all fours on his knees, gasping for air, just beyond
the shore. He nearly collapsed on top of him but still managed to lay him gently on the rocky
beach, and the heart hammering hard in his chest stopped for a horrible instant when he
realized that no, Alfred was not breathing. Shaking like a leaf from cold and anxiety, Chris
unfastened his soggy coat and began to compress his chest.
"Come on, you little son of a bitch!" He gnashed between chattering teeth.
Without dwelling on how awkward it was, he parted his lips and leaned over him to blow air
into his lungs, feeling a chill grip his stomach, then began compressions again. He had to
repeat the procedure several times, and although it was only a few moments before Alfred
coughed and rolled onto his side to throw up water, it seemed like a bloody eternity to Chris.
With a gurgling groan, he heard him gasp for air, continuing to cough terribly, until his
breathing, though wheezing, returned to near normal. Chris, however, was still gasping,
mostly from panic, and he was so relieved to realize that he had made it that he nearly burst
into tears.
Weakly, Alfred lifted just enough to lean against him and cling to his soaked jacket, seeking
warmth or perhaps comfort. They were both so frazzled.
"We..." Chris closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his throat parched and burning from all the
salt water he had drunk. "We can't stay here. It's too cold. W-we have to go back in."
Alfred nodded and propped up against him to rise to his feet but when he tried to get up, his
unsteady legs gave way, and with a whimper, he collapsed back to his knees.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, fatigued, "I'm so sorry. I need a moment."
Chris sighed, then firmly grabbed his arm and passed it over his shoulders, before rising and
pulling him up with him. "Better not risk freezing," he determined, starting to walk toward
the elevator.
"Don't take the stairs, though..."
An amused and exasperated snort escaped Chris, despite the absurdity of the whole situation.
"All this effort to be killed by a crumbling elevator."
"It won't fall."
"You barely walk but you still have the strength left to argue."
Alfred smiled, keeping his gaze down. "Well, I suppose some talent has fallen to me too."
Chris did not comment but felt sadness for him now that he knew more about his past. Even
though his sister had been extraordinary, that did not mean it had been right for everyone to
ignore her brother. He seemed to him anything but untalented, but that was not the time to
talk about it. He opened the elevator door and slipped inside with him, holding him close as
Alfred showed no signs of wanting to move away.
"Well, to look on the bright side, you managed to make your swim, in the end," he murmured.
Chris was not expecting a joke and, despite himself, burst out laughing, nervously. "You're a
real piece of work. Try to pass it off as a favor, mind you!"
Alfred chuckled, finally lifting his gaze, albeit weakly. "Why? Wasn't it?"
"Give it a rest, you utter idiot."

Alfred sighed. "Don't be mad at me, I just wanted to show you where it happened. I feel so
tired," he admitted and as soon as he took a step out of the elevator, he lunged and would
have plummeted to the floor if Chris had not caught him on the fly.
"Hey, hey, come on, we're almost there!" He told him but was forced to pick him up when he
realized he was unconscious. He hurried his pace and almost burst inside the building.
"I need help!" He called out loudly, worried about the blow to the head Alfred had taken
when they had fallen off the cliff.
Jill, sitting on the park bench, watched Carlos and Sherry from a distance. Barry had had to
leave for a few days to visit his daughters and his wife, so they were in the same hotel where
they had met Rebecca. None of them, however, could stand being cooped up inside four walls
anymore, and since it was nice weather and not particularly cold-except for Carlos, who had
not failed to complain about it-they had decided to get out a bit. The park had seemed a fairly
safe destination.
Jill had brought a book with her but had really barely managed to read a page, too distracted.
Carlos and Sherry were at the swings and he, being the big child he was, had challenged her
to see who could go the highest. They were so incredibly sweet together as if they had known
each other their whole lives. The little girl had bonded with him quickly, and Jill was not at
all surprised. Carlos would be able to bond with anyone. He was adorable, perhaps a tad
manipulative, as she had already noticed in Raccoon, but never in a mean way. If they had
not been so ill-matched and, the two of them, so young, they might even have been mistaken
for a family. The thought crossed her mind, making her feel uncomfortable, somehow. She
was a woman who did not want children and, by and large, did not even like them. She
detested babies and teenagers in equal measure, and perhaps that was the reason for her
constant conflicts with Claire. If she had been her sister, in Chris's shoes she probably would
have told her to fuck off years earlier, abandoning her to her fate. She loved her very much
and knew the little shit reciprocated, but they had to take each other in small doses. In any
case, now that she too was an adult, things had improved, although Claire was still more than
capable of making her lose her mind. Chris had not raised her the right way. Choked with
guilt, he had always allowed her whatever she wanted, and the results could be seen in her
being an entitled stubborn brat who believed, at nineteen, that she had all the answers in her
pocket. Despite this, Jill could not help but be concerned about her. After entire days of
wallowing in resentment, she had decided to call the motel to try to build a bridge with her,
only to find that Claire was gone. She did not know how else to track her down, and although
she was smarter than her imbecile brother, she was still a Redfield, and that meant trouble.
Sherry was different, though, and despite her being a child, Jill enjoyed her company. Maybe
it was because she had not yet reached that critical age when anyone becomes an arbitrary
jerk, male, or female. It made no difference.
She pulled out of her backpack the cell phone Barry had given her. She wasn't used to having
one, and even though the ringtone on the damn thing would wake up an entire neighborhood,
she was always afraid she wouldn't hear it. She checked for missed calls or texts from
Rebecca, but there was nothing. Carlos had not touched the subject again, and she had not
pressed him, but she knew he was frying with anxiety. She was almost tempted to call her
first but then decided just to text her. She didn't want to be seen on the phone.
- Hi, 'Becca, is there any news?
She answered her quickly.
- Unfortunately, I need a little more time. There is a constant coming and going of students in
the lab.
Jill sighed, distressed.
- Don't worry. You're doing too much already. - She hesitated before sending it and then typed
some more. - Would you mind telling me the results first? I'd like to be the one to break the
news to him.
- Sure! I'll call you as soon as I know anything!
She sighed, throwing the phone back into her backpack, and looked back to the swings but
the situation had changed. They were no longer swinging and there was a woman in her 50s
with them. Not an agent of any kind, she was definitely ordinary and seemed harmless except
that she was shouting something. From there, Jill couldn't quite hear what. Carlos had a
confused and agitated expression and stood between Sherry and the stranger, trying to explain
himself but being overcome and silenced each time by the other's fury. The little girl also
looked frightened, and Jill did not think twice before grabbing her backpack and hurrying in
their direction. As she got closer, the bitch's words became clearer and clearer, making her
see red.
"There's no way this child would willingly follow you!" The woman was shrieking. "She's
obviously too scared to say otherwise but I'm going to call the police and have you arrested!"
"I said he's my friend, leave us alone!" Sherry yelled back, now red in the face from anger,
and jumped back when the stranger tried to grab her by the arm.
"Leave my sister immediately!" Berated Jill, jumping between them.
The woman winced, surprised, but recovered quickly. "You should be grateful that I stopped
this Mexican thug from touching her! When I got there he was sticking his hands under her
shirt! You should be ashamed that you left her alone in the park with all that goes on with
these pigs!"
It was a blatant falsehood, and Jill made an inhuman effort to restrain herself from kicking
her ass.
"I-I would never do such a thing!" Carlos stammered, shocked at such a serious and
undeserved accusation.
"She is a liar, a lying old bitch!" Thundered Sherry.

"I know honey," Jill reassured her, keeping her eyes fixed on the woman like a pointing dog.
"I demand his papers!" She thundered. "Or I'll call the police right now!"
"He owes you nothing and you're full of shit," Jill hissed, "as for the police, I am the police,"
she added, waving Barry’s badge in her face without, of course, opening it. He had given it to
her just in case because people tended to shut up in front of a badge. "And I suggest you get
the fuck out of here before I arrest you for harassment." Indeed, it worked enough for her to
turn to the other two. "Let's go, guys."
She grabbed Sherry's hand and started walking with Carlos following her with bowed head
and casting a few intimidated glances back at the woman who stared at them with disgust and
disapproval, as if they were something dirty, while she continued to scream at Jill that she
should be ashamed of herself.
Such a thing had never happened to him. In the ranks of the U.B.C.S., those kinds of
behavior were not tolerated, so he had never been exposed to such sudden and arbitrary
episodes of racism.
Sherry was ranting to Jill about what had just happened, angry as hell, but he did not feel like
taking part in the conversation, not even when they were away from the park and safely back
at the hotel.
He even refused to go out to dinner with them, asking only to bring him a sandwich or
something if it was not too much trouble.
"I think Carlos was hurt," Sherry said, bringing the subject up over a generous plate of fries.
Jill sighed, absentmindedly disgorging her steak. "I'll put you to bed later and go talk to him."
Sherry looked at her with those intelligent, slightly mischievous eyes of hers. "Can I ask you
a question? Promise you won't get mad, though."
"It's not like you're getting off to the best start, young lady."
The kid chuckled. "Please?"
Jill scoffed, taking a sip of beer. "Fine. I promise."
"Is Chris really worth it? Hey, you said you wouldn't get mad!" She quickly chastised her
when she saw her pouting. Sherry took a deep breath and cast a sad glance at the table behind
Jill's back, where a father was laughing with his daughter, a little older than her, and her heart
clenched. She blinked, trying to chase away the bad thoughts. "At the end of May, my dad
took me out to dinner to celebrate the end of school, the restaurant was a little nicer than this
place but never mind. He told me that I was getting older and would soon start looking at
boys differently. He explained to me that love was not always a beautiful thing and that even
when two people love each other very much, there are many ugly moments, fights, and
misunderstandings. He also admitted that there was no point in telling me to judiciously
choose the right person because that was often not how things were. Sometimes love simply
happened, others it was like a disease. He told me that he had met a boy, long before, with
whom he had befriended, who was in love with the cruelest, most unpleasant girl he had ever
known. When he asked him how he could love her, his friend replied that every humiliation,
every abuse, every tear he shed was well worth the joy of seeing her smile. So, dad advised
me to be careful and to always ask myself the question of whether the suffering I was
experiencing was worth as much as the person I was feeling it for and that if even for a
moment, the answer turned out to be no, I should cut everything off at the root. He said,
looking me straight in the eye: Sherry, my darling, suffering for someone unworthy is the
worst abuse we can do to ourselves. I suppose Uncle Albert was worthy enough, for my
daddy, though I don't quite understand why. Maybe it’s because I never really fell in love."
Jill remained silent, taken aback by the maturity of that speech that went far beyond Sherry's
age. For fuck's sake. Why on earth had her father said those things to her? That little girl
should have been thinking about playing with dolls and dreaming of Prince Charming, not
worrying about the couple's struggles, which, certainly, could obviously have moments of
major tension, but not necessarily with such pathological extremes. Well, after all, he had
been Wesker's lover and only a madman could have loved such a monster. It was all so
fucked up.
"Who was your daddy's friend?" She asked her, letting her investigative side take over.
Sherry shook her head. "I don't know. He didn't tell me his name but he must be special. You
know, my daddy was a little arrogant. He usually didn't listen to almost anybody."
Jill was not surprised but restrained herself from making snide remarks. At the end of the day,
William Birkin was dead, he couldn’t do further damage.
"You didn't answer," the little girl pointed out to her.
"Of course, Chris is worth it," she tried to cut it short.
"Why?" Sherry insisted. "As I told you in the elevator, I really don't like him. I think you
deserve better."
"You don't have to like him. If you're done eating, let's go back."
Once she was done eating, Jill got up and went to the counter to pay, too annoyed to wait for
the waitress to bring the check to their table. It was clear that Sherry, in her own way, was
pleading Carlos's case, but she had no intention of tolerating it.
"Hey, you forgot dinner for Carlos," Sherry pointed out to her, quickly catching up.
Jill huffed. "Pick something," he told her, handing her a menu. "And hurry up."
They stood in silence waiting for her to wrap her food and also for much of the walk back to
the hotel.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Sherry whispered.
"You didn't."
"Don't lie to me."
Jill forced herself to smile. "I'm not. It is just hard to think about Chris. I'm worried about him
and would like to know where he is and if he's okay. That's all."
Sherry grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. "I'm sure he's all right."
"Thank you, kiddo..."
They entered the room they shared and Sherry turned on the TV. "Go before his dinner gets
cold. I'll be fine. I'll watch something."
Jill nodded and returned to the hallway. Carlos was staying a few rooms down the hall. She
knocked on the door and when she lowered the handle, she found it locked.
"Hey, it's me! I've got dinner!" No response, so she knocked again, a little louder. "Carlos, is
everything okay in there!" He usually did not close the door at all. "Carlos, for fuck's sake!"
She panicked. Was he ok? Has the virus kicked in? “Let me in, damn you!”
Suddenly the door swung open and an alarmed Carlos, dripping with water, a towel clumsily
tied around his waist and his gun in his fist, appeared on the threshold.
"What? What's going on? Someone from Umbrella?" He asked her, tense, making her move
to check the hallway. He hadn't understood a word she had shouted at him from outside, so
his first thought had been of immediate danger.
"Put that thing away, nothing has happened!" She hastened to clarify, pushing him back into
the room. "I was just worried because you weren't answering," she added, closing the door
behind her.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, calm down. It's okay."
Carlos stepped back taking a deep breath. "Jeez, you scared the hell out of me!" He groaned,
tossing the gun on the dressing table and pulling back his soaked curls to take them off his
eyes. In doing so, the already ill-fixed towel came completely undone, drooping at his feet
and leaving him butt-naked, "Mierda!"
Jill knew she should have turned away; instead, she continued to stare at him as he bent down
to pick it up. He was hot.
"You're making this awkward, you know," Carlos notified her, feeling her gaze burning on his
butt cheeks as he readjusted his towel.
She simply sneered, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm not the shy type."
"Neither am I, do you want a show?"
Jill huffed. "No, I've seen enough, thanks. Seven and a half out of ten."
Carlos raised his eyebrows, shocked and mortally offended. "Seven and a half?!" He echoed
her. "I don't claim a ten but, puta madre, I'm at least an eight!"
She burst into a hearty laugh. "I'm messing with you, you're pretty. You know perfectly well
that you are."
"You know what? You don't deserve any of this good stuff! Not at all!" He hissed, grabbing
clean clothes from his duffle bag and locking himself in the bathroom, muttering an annoyed
'seven and a half' as he slammed the door, followed by another giggle from her.
To make it up to him, she set the table for him, arranging his dinner. Sherry had even gotten
him a slice of chocolate cream pie.
"Don't pout at me now," she told him when she saw him return to the room, dressed from
head to toe. "Come on I was just playing around."
He sighed and sat down to eat. "Has Sherry calmed down?"
"Yes, she gave me some fuss but about other things. How are you?" Jill inquired, sitting
down on the free portion of the table.
His playful, stymied pout turned into a genuine sad expression. "I should have handled the
situation better it's just that woman caught me so off guard. Why was she so mean to me?
What did I do to her? I'm not even Mexican! Not that there's anything wrong with that. I... I
don't get it."
"You didn't do anything wrong. Some assholes speak only because they have the mouth to do
so. Believe me, I know something about that." Commented Jill bitterly.
Carlos gave her a confused look.
"I know it doesn't look like it," she continued, "but I'm biracial. My mother is Japanese."
"Really? Cool!"
"Nah, she's a bitch," she cut in short, "but that's not the point. When I was growing up, my
life was peppered with comments along the lines of 'how lucky you are to look like your
daddy,' 'what beautiful blue eyes you have, who knew?" from a lot of rich upper-class cunts.
Sometimes they would say it right to her face, or even though they knew very well that she
was my mother, they treated her like she was my nanny. I hated them so much, even though I
was the only one who seemed to care. She was okay with that, as she was okay with
submitting to whatever my father decided, never expressing an opinion, or taking a stand.
When I told her I didn't want to marry the lame, slimy son of my father's business partner, she
replied not to be absurd and that it was my duty. Fuck her. When I was little, however, I could
not realize what she was really like. I loved her and, just like you, I couldn't understand why
so many people were mean to her. There is no real answer, except that you will always find
pieces of shit like that woman at the park. The best you can do is make yourself a good
armor."
Carlos sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Under normal conditions, I wouldn't have minded. I
would have been saddened there and then, maybe, but then I would have let it slide. It's just
that I have a lot on my mind right now. In any case, it's better if you and she go out alone
from now on."
"Cut the bullshit!" Jill immediately reacted badly, extremely displeased.
He remained calm and looked into her eyes. "No, listen to me, before you catch fire. I don't
give a damn about that woman but we can't afford to attract attention like that. If she had
called the police for real instead of going on her rant, we would have been in deep shit. I have
no ID, I don't even know if my presence in the country is still legal, and Sherry has no ID
either. If I were to be arrested it is possible that even Umbrella could get a trace of our
whereabouts. I can't risk all this just to take a walk with you. We already risk enough with the
bribes Barry extends to hoteliers to turn a blind eye."
Jill bowed her head, bitter but defeated. "You can be incredibly reasonable when you want to
be." And she was sincere, even a little surprised.
Carlos stood up, going to check through the window that all was quiet. "I had to grow up very
fast. When I can I do my best to forget it."
"Anyway, when Barry comes back, he'll bring us some papers for you and the little one and
we'll move to Canada. There you can start over again, and if you don't want to fight anymore,
no one will force you to."
"Yeah, right..." He turned to give her a fragile look. "It would be the first time in my life. If...
If this shit in my blood doesn't kill me first, or turn me into something horrible."
Jill approached him, worried. "Are you experiencing any symptoms? Has something
changed?"
"No, I would tell you right away otherwise. I would never put you in danger. In fact, I've
never felt better. I've hardly slept since Barry left, to stand guard, and I'm not affected at all. It
is as if it is becoming... stronger."
"Stop testing yourself!" Jill scolded him. "First the cuts, now this! What will it be next? Shoot
yourself in the head to see if you die?"
Carlos smiled. "Nicholai says there's nothing in it anyway."
"Fuck you and him."
"Why are you so mad at him?"
"Duh! Because he ghosted us? Because he stayed with Umbrella in spite of everything? You
pick your own answer."
Carlos sighed. "If we need him, he will come. I have no doubt about it but I sincerely hope it
doesn't come to that."
"I really wish I had some of your optimism... I just can't understand why he's sticking to a
sinking ship," she mumbled, sitting down on the bed.
Carlos moved beside her. "He was scared of something. He told me his life was his to bet, but
that he wouldn't put ours on the line."
Jill huffed. "I hate how entitled he acts. When we teamed up to find the vaccine for you he
was a constant 'do this!', 'don't do that,' he reminded me of my father. Fucking unbearable but
when I thought he was dead I... I felt so lost. By the way, the asshole still owes me an
explanation as to how the fuck he survived a fall into a bottomless pit."
"Be honest with yourself. You're mad at him just because he didn't stick around."
She nodded, but then recoiled and gave him a glare. "Try telling him this and I'll slit your
throat."
Carlos chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me, but know that I find it super sweet," he teased
her and moved to the side to avoid a nudge from her.
They heard a gentle knock at the door, and soon after, Sherry peeped in. She was very pale
and looked agitated and her eyes were swollen with tears. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered in a
low voice. "I dozed off in front of the TV and had a n-nightmare. C-can I stay here with you
for a while, please?"
"Sure, honey, come on," Carlos invited her, and she threw herself into his arms, starting to cry
again. He sat her on his lap and held her close, while Jill gently stroked her hair.
"My abuela once told me that the best way to make nightmares vanish is to share them with
someone who loves you so they can chase them away," he whispered to her, cuddling her, "do
you feel like telling us?"
Sherry said nothing and hid even more against his chest. Carlos cast Jill a worried and
resigned look. They had been trying since after the operation to get her to open up and vent
about what had happened, even with Barry's help, but the child had always shut herself up in
a shell.
"I dreamed m-my mother..." She whispered, unexpectedly. "And the lab where she d-d-died.
She dragged me there, and I think she wanted to use me as bait, and in my nightmare, she
was succeeding, and that monster was tearing me apart!" She sobbed. "W-why did she hate
me so much?!"
Jill took a pained breath. "She didn't deserve you, honey. Remember what you told me at
dinner about being worthy?"
Sherry nodded, looking at her with her desperate blue eyes.
"Well, she wasn't. She didn't deserve your love and she doesn't deserve your tears now.
Sometimes parents aren't any good, even though they should be." And that was reductive
because, sooner or later, Sherry would find herself questioning even that father she put so
high on a pedestal and who, instead, had been just a monster from well before injecting
himself with that virus.
"What happened in there, Sherry?" Carlos gently prodded her to keep talking. Jill was right,
of course, but he was not convinced that her tough approach was the best solution at that
moment. He believed Sherry's mother was a bitch, too, from what little Jill had told him, but
that was not what the child needed to hear. No, what she desperately needed was to get out
what had happened so she could begin to accept it.
And Sherry did.
Barely breathing through sobs she told them how her mother had taken her to that horrible
place with the display cases full of monsters, how she had acted like a madwoman, how the
monster had caught her, crushed her, and then thrown her away like a broken doll.
"I-I didn't help her! I ran! There was an explosion and then the bulkhead closed!" She
shouted, wracked with guilt. "I let her die! I'm w-worse than she was! She was my mom even
though she hated me!"
Carlos made her lift her face and restrained himself from starting to cry with her. "No, you
did everything you could do. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes bad
things happen and there's nothing we can do about it."
It wasn't true that it wasn't anyone's fault, Jill thought. It was Umbrella's fault, it was Birkin's
fault, but, for the child, they were just her parents and she had lost them both in the worst
possible way. She stroked her back and winced when Sherry grabbed her by the arm to draw
her to herself, but she didn't resist and went along with it, hugging her from behind, getting
closer, as a result, to Carlos as well.
They remained like this, holding each other tightly until the little one had let off steam
completely.
"Come on, sweetheart, let's get you to bed," Jill told her, when she saw that she was
beginning to slouch, totally exhausted. Sherry, however, resisted. "C-can we... Can we all
sleep together, just for tonight?"
Carlos stiffened. "We've already talked about this, Sherry, I'm not sure it's safe. You know
that I-
"Give it a rest," Jill shushed him, "nothing will happen. You're fine."
He sighed, concerned, but then nodded, "Okay, then. Let's get ready for bed!"
Jill went back to her room to change, and when she returned, the other two were already lying
down, Carlos on the left and Sherry in the middle, already asleep. She walked over to the bed
on the right and reached out to turn off the lamp.
"No, stop," Carlos whispered to her, "she asked to keep it on."
"We're spoiling her too much."

"Don't be a bitch, now, and thank you. I know it's awkward."
Jill shrugged, slipping under the covers. "I've done worse. Like stripping to pick a lock with
my bra underwire."
Carlos chuckled. "What a great moment."
"Good night, you idiot," she huffed, turning onto her side.
After a while, she also heard Carlos's breathing become regular and peeked over her shoulder
to watch him sleep. He was just so cute, and his freshly washed hair was, if possible, even
more fluffy. She, on the other hand, had a hard time relaxing. That situation made her uneasy
but not for the reasons Carlos thought. She never imagined becoming a child's reference
point, much less along with a stranger. Although Carlos had not been a stranger for a while
now, she liked him more and more with each moment they spent together, even if she was not
yet ready to admit it.
Nicholai left the Cancun airport late at night and walked confidently to the parking lot, where
a car had been set up for him. He had tried to get some sleep during the flight but had failed
to do so, so he tried to read the assignment file but had been unable to do that either.
Whenever he tried to focus on something else, within thirty seconds his mind always went
back to Leon.
He was tremendously distracted and that was a fucking problem because it was risky to work
under those conditions, with the added bonus that he was also far from being physically okay.
His ribs were still a major point of vulnerability, as the scuffle with Leon in the woods had
amply demonstrated to him.
Christ, was he all right on his own up there? He hated that he could not contact him in any
way. He wanted to tell him he wasn't mad at him and would have been back long ago if they
hadn't given him that fucking job. Why him, anyway? He was usually employed on far more
complex missions than that. It didn't matter. He had to get a move on killing the son of a bitch
so he could get home as soon as possible.
He started the car, after glancing at the city map and his victim's address. He was in the
suburbs, fortunately, not too far from his current location.
As he drove, his mind inevitably returned to Leon and how little it had taken for him to fall
head over heels for him. For a kid who was almost half his age. For fuck's sake, he had
always looked down on those imbeciles who lost all dignity for younger women, and now
that it was happening to him he felt like a poor sucker. Apparently, the midlife crisis came for
everyone, even die-hards like him. Yes, the situation was not easy, and there were indeed
many critical issues on both sides, but now that he found himself apart from him against his
will, the possibility of staying that way distressed him tremendously. Maybe he needed to
stop being on guard all the time and trust him more. Maybe what Leon wanted was also what
he needed.
What they both needed.
To have a lover after so long... It was a thrilling and terrifying prospect at the same time
because he did not know what he would do if he lost him. Christ, it had been a little more
than twenty-four hours since he had left him, and Leon was a fixed nail planted in his mind,
so why the fuck hold back?
He almost missed the house and decided, once and for all, to get his act together. Getting
himself killed there would in no way improve the situation. He parked in a side alley, very
dark. It was in a very poor part of town, far from the white beaches it was known for. The
lighting was minimal and there was not a soul on the street.
That’s good, he thought, opening the trunk and looking at the assortment of weapons Sergei's
subordinates had made available to him. Nothing to object to, they were always very
thorough, although, as a rule, he preferred to use his own weapons. He was reminded of
Kendo and his little girl and his heart clenched. He wondered if he had left town. Probably
not; he was a man who had lost everything.
Nicholai sighed and began to arm himself. If leaving Carlos behind had been easy and doing
it with Leon had been impossible, he still felt guilty about leaving Sherry behind. He had
grown very attached to that child but, for the same reasons that had led him to try to keep
Leon at a distance, it was for the best. She would have been much safer with Carlos and Miss
Valentine.
He fixed the silencer on the gun because he was in a populated area anyway and did not want
to attract too much attention, grabbed his tools, and after hooking a combat knife to his belt,
he closed the trunk. According to what he had read in the file, that was all he would need. He
approached the house remaining in the shadows. No lights were on but he knew someone
must be awake. He would not have closed his eyes in their place either.
The place looked uninhabited if it were not for fresh tire tracks on the topsoil of that
overgrown garden.
Getting inside was easy; all he had to do was break into the back entrance and slip quietly
into the hallway. A beam of light filtered through the closed door on the other side, probably
a blind room that was not visible from the outside. He approached slowly, avoiding a cable at
ankle height with hanging jars put there to make noise in case someone entered. A naive
solution, he should have fixed it to the handle. He bent down to peer through the keyhole and
saw his target. He was asleep in an armchair, with a sawed-off shotgun in his arms, clearly
collapsed from exhaustion. He was in his early 30s, with short, dark disheveled hair and an
unkempt beard. Who knows how long he had been running?
Not fast enough, at any rate, was Nicholai's mental comment as he delicately lowered the
doorknob and entered the room.
His victim did not wake up. He was in bad shape, his shirt drenched in sweat, his eyes circled
and his glasses had fallen onto his lap. Poor guy. At least he would go without suffering.
Without any hesitation, he pulled out his gun and shot him in the forehead, and although the
sound of the shot was very muffled by the suppressor because he was using a small caliber, it
seemed deafening to him in the complete silence around him. He heard a door close,
somewhere else in the house, so he retreated into the hallway.
"I've brought you this far but from tomorrow we go our separate ways, comprendes, Kirsch?"
Said a young male voice, approaching from the door at the side of the hallway. "So you're
free to do all the shit you want. What the fuck were you thinking calling your girlfriend? It's a
miracle we weren't kill-
The coffee cups he was carrying slipped out of his hands and shattered on the floor as soon as
he saw the body. His first instinct was to run from whence he came but he yelped in pain
when a strong hand grabbed him by the hair, holding him back.
"I wouldn't do that," he heard that deep voice with a distinct Russian accent say as he lowered
his hand to reach for the gun in his belt, so he stopped immediately.
"Look," he said, harried with fear, "I don't give a shit that you killed him. We weren't even
friends, just colleagues, and he was an asshole. He just got the money to run. So, Mr. cliché
Russian movie hitman, please let me go! I didn't even see your face - ouch!" He whimpered
as the other disarmed him and slammed him with his back against the wall.
He tightened his eyes. "I'm still not looking at you!"
Nicholai huffed. "I don't care if you see me," he commented, pointing the weapon under his
chin. "What's your name, fellow scientist?"
“Mierda!" The poor guy groaned, cursing his loose tongue. He was really shitting himself and
Nicholai couldn't blame him. He was very young, a kid around Leon's age, clearly Latino,
with thick, long, wavy brown hair. He pressed the suppressor harder on his windpipe and saw
him open those panic-filled hazel eyes wide.
"Sera!" He grunted, shrill. "Luis Sera. Por favor, don't kill me! I'm nobody, I wasn't even
good at my work!"
Nicholai stepped back and lit a cigarette without taking his eyes off him but lowering his gun.
"Very good, Luis. I am Silver Wolf, my pleasure"
"Should i-it ring a bell?" Luis frowned, confused.
The Russian chuckled. He was a nobody for real if he had never heard his name whispered
through the hallways. "Yeah, the apocalypse one," he enjoyed startling him. "So, Luis, before
you even think of lying to me, know that, at the first bullshit, I'll burn the house down with
you in it. Alive. Think twice before you answer. Where is the data?"
Luis swallowed with a sweat-soaked face. "Upstairs in Bernt's room."
"Is there anyone else in the house?"
"No, it's just us. I swear!"

"Then be a gracious host and lead the way."
Luis nodded and reached out a hand to turn on the light. "Anyway, it's the trumpets of the
apocalypse. Not the bell," he mumbled, still agitated.
"You're the kind of guy who just can't keep his mouth shut, huh?" Nicholai questioned him,
as they climbed the stairs.
Luis merely shrugged his shoulders without looking back. "If I'm going to croak anyway, I
might as well do it with a good line."
He opened the first door on the left. "It is all there. On the desk," he pointed to him gloomily.
"Our research."
"Why did you run?" Nicholai questioned him, checking that he was telling the truth about the
data. According to what was in the assignment file, there were supposed to be two pen drives
and five paper files. It was all there. Sera was cooperating. Good kid.
"Well, it was that or being locked up working in some godforsaken lab not knowing if we'd
ever get out," was his harsh reply. "Hey, can I have one?" He asked, pointing to the cigarette.
"You know, since I'm going to die."
Nicholai snorted, amused, that guy was obnoxious but funny. "Help yourself," he replied,
tossing him the packet, which Luis failed to catch on the fly from how much he was shaking.
He bent down to pick it up and finally lit one. "Dios, I was dying for it!" He exclaimed,
puffing out a cloud of smoke. "You're kind for a goon," he told him but winced when he saw
him throw alcohol on their research and then set fire to it. It was he who had tipped off
Umbrella about Kirsch's location but, maldita puta, he did not expect that they would be so
quick to send someone to kill him. They had not even given him time to make a copy of the
data. All that hard work and for what? To end up in a crumbling house in South America and
see all his research burned right before he went six feet under? "Qué mierda..." He
commented, dejectedly, watching the fire spread across the curtains and wallpaper. "So how
are you going to kill me? I mean… There's no point in torturing me, I've already given you
what you wanted. Please, keep up being gentle, if you can, Que sea rápido."
"You're not even worth the cost of the bullet," Nicholai mumbled, taking back his pack of
cigarettes and leaving the room.
"Qué?" Luis exclaimed, taken aback because he already expected to suffer a swift execution
but, no, that guy was sparing him, and that gave him confidence. He followed him down the
stairs. "You mean you're not going to kill me?"
"If you insist, I will."
"Thanks but no thanks!"
Nicholai rolled his eyes. "Why are you following me?"

"In case you missed it, the house is burning and you started the fire," Luis retorted, taking a
detour to retrieve his fancy leather jacket and a duffel bag full of cash from the kitchen. Not
that he had much else with him.
That done, he followed him to the garden. "Hey!" He called, trotting toward him. "I almost
didn't see you, you blend in with the darkness."
"Keep your fucking voice down," Nicholai hissed at him, "and get lost."
"Yeah, because you've actually been really subtle up until now," Luis mocked him, pointing
to the flames now peeking out of the upstairs windows. "Un último favor. Pequeño, I swear,
and then I'll leave you alone. Would you give me a ride?"
Nicholai looked at him shocked and incredulous. Was being shameless clingers a thing for all
Latinos regardless of which continent they came from?
"No," he sentenced, resuming walking briskly.
"Come on, señor, that imbécil made me park three kilometers away! I haven't slept in days!"
Whined Luis, continuing to walk behind him. "I'm tired!"
Nicholai stopped, growling gutturally. He had never regretted so much about not killing
someone. And why hadn't he? So he was leaving a witness! It simply had not felt natural for
him to do so and he wasn’t in his paycheck. Besides, he was tired of killing, he realized only
now, as he restrained himself from reaching for the knife to slit his noisy throat. Leon was
having a disastrous effect on him, or maybe it had been the experience in Raccoon City. He
snorted through his nose like a bull and shot him a threatening look.
"Will you shut up?"
Luis smiled broadly, raising his hands. "As una pared de ladrillos."
"Whatever the fuck that means. Get a move on."
Luis had the decency not to open his mouth again, although he was tempted to on more than
one occasion, and once in the car, he no longer felt compelled to keep quiet.
"So what does someone like you do when he gets off work? Do you go home to your
señora?"
Nicholai sighed, exhausted, starting the car. "Something like that."
"Uuuh, I know that face! Is she mad at you?"
"I don't feel like chatting."
"Oh, I see, she's really mad at you," Luis chuckled. "Listen to me, bring her some flowers-
"Not the flowers type, and for fuck's sake, will you shut up?" Nicholai snarled at him as the
fire truck sped past them with sirens blaring.
"I'm just trying to help you in turn, but okay, I'll zip it." He lasted less than thirty seconds.
"Just kiss her when you see her. Take her to bed. Give her pasión! Some fuego! Yes, there's a
fifty percent chance she'll chop your balls right off, but - hey, stop, stop! The car is over
there!"
Thank goodness! Nicholai thought, slamming on the brakes.
Luis got out but paused, leaning over to give him one last look. "I won't forget what you did
for me tonight. I owe you one, Señor Lupo d'Argentò. Good luck with your señora! Adiós!"
He concluded, finally shutting, the door.
"What the fuck?" Nicholai groaned, not quite able to explain what had just happened. The
world was full of crazy-asses and he seemed to attract them all as flies on a pile of shit.
He just wanted to go home.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As usual, the usual thanks to you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmarkers!
So, in this chapter, I took some space to tell about Jill, Carlos, and Sherry. Especially Jill
who, despite her rigidity, is starting to give in a bit to the situation she has found herself
in, even though they are not exactly shoes she is comfortable in. Sherry, moreover, is
quite determined for them to end up together more because she is attached to Carlos
than to Jill. Mischievous little devil.
That said, a small point of clarification: William's relationship advice is fucked up; he
was a man with a peculiar mind and a scale of values totally out of touch with reality,
and I will never tire of repeating how absolutely toxic his relationship with Wesker was.
Fortunately for Sherry, she will have other examples growing up. At the same time,
neither is Alfred's advice on the subject to be considered a good one because, in that
sense, William was perhaps the saner of the two.
I really have a lot of fun describing such characters but I also feel a moral obligation to
point out that they are sick and like them so is their view of love.
Sherry finally got to vent about what happened at NEST-2, and although she is not really
a protagonist on par with the other characters, it was still a step I had to take for her.
Fortunately, she also has two wonderful guardians ready to take care of her. They are
really starting to seem like a family, and Jill is a ruthless lioness in defending them from
an unpleasant wild 'Karen' at the park.
Chris, on the other hand, had his heart-attack moment and went for a swim in freezing
water. If any of you suspect that Alfred may have done this on purpose to get them into
the water--well, I don't have a clear answer on that. It is definitely possible. I said further
up that he is not sane, right?
In any case, Chris is much more ready to face a stormy ocean than his feelings for
Wesker, which is hilarious and tragic at the same time. However, Alfred told him one
important thing: that the moment he is 'cured,' if Chris wants him to, he will let him go
home.
And he also revealed to him that he killed his father.
They will really have a lot to talk about once Alfred recovers.
I apologize for Leon's total absence, but there was not much to tell about him in this
chapter. He is alone at Nicholai's house feeling sorry for himself, alternating between
moments of anger and moments of despair.
Nicholai, on the other hand, was forced to take time for himself and was able, finally, to
align his priorities. He needed to. He also realized that he has changed profoundly and is
really tired of his life.
A few final words about our guest star of the chapter. I would be lying if I said I saw this
coming. I wanted to put another person in the victim's house that Nicholai would spare,
and as I was writing the part where said person entered, saw the body, and broke the
coffee cups the thought of Luis crossed my mind. Sometimes my inspiration works in
mysterious ways, forgive me XD. So I went and changed the victim's general
information to have him be from the European branch of Umbrella.
As for the rest, Luis did it all by himself - talking about crazy people - and poor Nicholai
is still there wondering what the fuck happened. Poor man.
We will see Luis again, of course, but not before the right time. Or at least, I hope so
because I have no room for his fabulousness, right now XD.
I'm not sure how much longer the Code Veronica arc is going to be. I mean, from the
point at which things start going well for everyone, any time will be good to pull the
plug because, as I have already mentioned to some kind commenters, if, in the Raccoon
arc, there was a gradual slide toward ruin, in the Code Veronica arc everything will
suddenly collapse in pain, blood, and murder.
Again many thanks to all of you for being here!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 63
Chapter Notes
Chris snapped to his seat as soon as he heard a knock at the door. He had tried to sleep, after
washing off the salt water and getting patched up for the umpteenth time, but had failed. He
was distressed, and if looks could have killed, he would have collapsed in the hallway where
Mr. Harman had found them, hours before. On a rational level, he knew he was not at fault,
that it was Alfred who had put himself on top of that damn cliff but he still felt guilty.
"Come in," he said in an uncertain voice, wrapping the wool blanket he had added to the bed
around himself. The ice of the water had stayed with him and he still felt chills on his skin.
The butler opened the door and looked at him from the threshold with a stern frown.
"How is he?" Chris asked him. "He's all right, isn't he?"
Mr. Harman cleared his throat and it was obvious that he was doing his best to keep himself
professional. "Yes, and he wishes you to join him."
Chris got out of bed. "Okay, but... Shouldn't he be resting?"
The butler made an annoyed grimace. "It is what I suggested to him but, as your stay here
continues, you will realize that young Master Ashford is not the most reasonable of men. In
any case, he has corroborated your version."
"Why would I lie?" Chirs huffed, annoyed.
"Why wouldn't you?" Rebutted Mr. Harman.
“I’m not a bloody liar!”
“Follow me, please," he urged him but, after a second, he stopped and turned so abruptly that
Chris almost bumped into him. "I have served Lord Ashford all his life and I cherish him like
a son," he hissed in his face without blinking, "if anything happens to him in your presence,
whether intentional or accidental, I will hold you accountable and punish you accordingly.
Have I made myself clear enough, sir?"
Chris took a step back. "This is fucking unfair," he commented, hurt, "how could I know he
would be so reckless?"
"Now you know. Come on, let's not keep him waiting."
Chris clenched his fists but decided to let it go. Mr. Harman had just gotten scared and, fuck,
so had he. He understood. Sort of. He followed him in silence, barefoot again.
"May I... May I have boots instead of those ridiculous shoes? And comfortable clothes,
please? Not right away... I mean, for the next few days," he asked.
"Of course," was the butler's cold reply.
Chris sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I did what I could!"
Mr. Harman sighed in turn, realizing that perhaps he had been too harsh. "I know, and
although I remain of the opinion that you should have stopped him sooner, I am grateful that
you were there and brave enough to rescue him."
Chris made an almost amused smirk. "It is the first time you say something nice to me."
"And probably the last, sir," the butler answered him curtly, easing the tension between them.
"But, to be completely honest, I'm amazed that you know how to use may in a sentence."
Chris rolled his eyes. "Fuck you."
"There you go."
They both giggled, facing the door to Alfred's room, which gave them permission to enter
even before Mr. Harman knocked.
"I'm glad you're starting to get along," he complimented them.
"That's not quite the way to put it, sir," the butler politely objected. "I'll leave you, now. Mr.
Redfield, please don't tire him out too much. My young Lord needs his rest." He stepped
aside to let him pass and closed the door behind him.
Chris advanced slowly. Alfred was sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, bathed in
the glow of the flames and wrapped in a heavy fur blanket. He had not slicked back his hair
and it fell softly to the sides of his face, but now that he was calmer, he didn't remind him of
Leon at all. He still looked exhausted and was very pale, but at least he seemed in good
spirits.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked, taking a seat in the armchair across from him.
"Alive, for one thing," Alfred smiled, "and that doesn't happen very often. It has been fun."
Chris stiffened, taking a deep breath. "Fun?" He echoed him. " Jesus, sometimes I really want
to slap you."
His host chuckled. "And what's new? You want to lay your hands on me from the first
moment!" He pointed out. "However, I recognize that I can be annoying from time to time. A
little bit."
Chris reached out a hand to brush back his hair and check his wound, and Alfred let him do
so without flinching.
"It's nothing," he reassured him, "just a scratch that will disappear in a few days. I fainted
because I was very tired. I often can't sleep, and last night I didn't at all."
"And I am to blame for that..." Chris commented, gloomily, but before he could retract,
Alfred caught his wrist in his hands.
"You are too quick to load yourself with burdens that are not yours to bear," he told him,
caressing it with the tip of his thumb, while his other hand held up his palm. "Your back will
break if you are not careful."
A clap of thunder jolted Chris, and Alfred squeezed his hand even more firmly. "Always so
afraid of the storm," he commented, softly, trying to get him to ease up with more light
touches. "Why?"
Chris looked out the wide window at the rain whipping the wind violently. He abandoned his
back against the soft chair but let him hold his hand, lowering it gently on his knees covered
by that soft blanket, still cupped between his. "Because it was raining hard that night, too. At
the Spencer mansion," he confessed. "I walked down those corridors that reeked of death and
rot, and with every thunderclap I feared I wouldn't hear the grunts of those monsters, hiding
around every corner. Every time I hear one it takes me back there and… this place, so
luxurious, doesn’t help either."
Alfred looked at him with understanding and a tinge of sadness. "It must have been horrible
and I'm sorry it happened to you," he paused almost measuring his next words, "if I can
confess one thing to you, I really hate those wretched viruses. I understand the necessity and
purpose of the research but everything around it is absolutely deplorable. In any case, a
rumble of thunder is just thunder, it cannot take you anywhere. Your mind does the trick and
you can control it. At the next storm, which, on this island, will be very soon, I’m afraid, try
to reenact this moment, the crackling of the fire, a calm conversation, and the embrace of a
warm blanket. It is pleasant, is it not?"
"It's not that simple."
"Actually it is, you just have to want it." Letting go of his hand, Alfred stood up and went to
retrieve his violin.
"Hey, the penguin recommended not to make you tired," Chris objected, a little alarmed.
The other laughed. "Stop calling him that, it's so rude," he scolded him, placing the
instrument under his chin and then starting playing for him.
Chris frowned because that piece of music seemed familiar but not really. It was strange but
although he was not a fan of classical music, when Alfred played the atmosphere in the room
changed so much. It was so stunningly immersive. Like feelings took shape becoming
something concrete and yet untouchable.
He felt a void when he stopped.
"What is it?" He heard him ask.

"I don't know. I think I've heard it before but I’m not sure I actually did."
Alfred smiled, patiently. "It's familiar to you because it echoes Spring, which is much more
widely known. It is only Autumn, though. Do you know what the third section of Summer is
also called?"
Chris shook his head, again not quite following. Alfred played it for him briefly, just enough
to give him a taste that filled him with anguish.
"Storm," he clarified. "Precisely what you fear, but keep one thing in mind, my dear guest:
Autumn is always Summer's fall."
Chris sighed, uncomfortably. "You really like sound bites..." He was silent for a while,
bowing his head. "When I arrived in Raccoon City, I was so lost. At the time I thought I
would never hit a lower point than that. Well, compared to now it almost makes me laugh.
My... My parents died when I was fourteen, and as you already know from my file, I indeed
have a younger sister. For years it was nothing but a back-and-forth between institutions and
foster homes. I was constantly running away to get back to her because I couldn't bear to
leave her alone, or maybe I was the one who didn't want to be alone. I don't know. In any
case, after their deaths, my life went to shit. Every dream I had... Completely wiped out, but I
guess you can understand that very well."
Alfred put down his violin and returned to sit in front of him. "I wish I could say otherwise,"
he whispered.
"But I still had my sister and it was my responsibility to give her all the tools to realize her
dreams. So even though we were finally in a decent place together where we were treated
well, I dropped out of school and left her to enlist in the Air Force. Convincing our guardians
was easy; my grades sucked. I was never a good student, college was out of the question, so
the military career seemed the safest to start putting some money aside for her. Claire,
however, thought I had abandoned her. No, actually she still thinks so and it breaks my heart.
Maybe... Maybe I got it all wrong. Maybe I should have just stayed with her. At the end of
the day, even though she got a scholarship covering half her expenses, with my savings I
couldn't even fully pay her first year's tuition. She had to take on a student debt of twenty
thousand bucks, and now I'm out of a job, out of shit, and I don't know how the fuck I'm
going to help her in the next few years of the program. I-I'm sorry, I digressed."
"Don't apologize, there's no need," Alfred comforted him.
"In any case, I fucked it up in the Air Force too, getting kicked out."
"Why? If you don't mind me asking."
Chris smiled bitterly, still keeping his gaze down. "I've never been much for discipline.
During one mission, I refused to leave in the helicopter and went down to retrieve a fellow
soldier who had been wounded and would have died if I had left him there. This resulted in a
trial that drained me of strength and savings, and I had already had several reprimands since
the time I was a cadet, so, in short, screw you, Second Lieutenant Redfield, that's the door."
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "No matter how hard I try, I always manage to blow
everything apart and my sister pays the price."
"As I said just now, you load yourself with burdens that are not yours and it's a miracle that
you are still standing."
Chris lifted his gaze, filled with painful anger. "I killed my parents, too!" He finally threw it
out, feeling his chest give him a twinge of pain. He had never sustained that conversation
with anyone, not even his sister, partly because she knew full well how he felt about it. There
was no need for words with her. "And that fault caused all the others in a ripple effect!"
Alfred tilted his head a little, scrutinizing him with those violet eyes, but his expression was
more intrigued, almost confused, than sympathetic. "They died in a car accident, if my
information is correct, right?"
Chris turned his face toward the fireplace, nodding harshly. "If I hadn't forced them to take
me out for my fucking birthday, they would never have died and none of this would have
happened! I was selfish, a selfish fucking brat!"
Alfred stood up, huffing gently, and Chris followed him with his gaze, preparing to hear his
judgment pounce on him. He knew that, unlike anyone else, Alfred would not give him the
compassionate speech of absolution that he so dreaded to hear, and that, ultimately, was
probably the reason he had let himself go like that. He saw him generously pour the brandy
Mr. Harman had brought the night before into two crystal glasses and then return to him to
hand him one. He accepted it and took a small sip that still did not stem his tension.
Alfred remained standing in front of him, giving him his side, his eyes focused on the
fireplace. "You are so dreadfully mistaken," he whispered, contemplating his memories in the
flames. "I killed my father, which means that I personally planted a syringe in his chest full of
the experimental virus my sister was working on, so unless you purposely turned the steering
wheel to throw the car off the road - which I doubt you did - we are not the same," he
sentenced, shooting him an algid look. "He was the creature that attacked us in the lab. He
turned so quickly and I bear the mark of my mistake on my skin.” He opened the hand with
which he was holding the fur blanket he was wearing and let it fall to the ground, revealing
his bare torso beneath it.
Chris's eyes widened as he saw the scarred claw marks that started from behind his right
shoulder blade and continued down his side, until they tapered and disappeared under the
edge of his white silk sleep pants, below his hip.
“He did this to me when I got distracted by Alexia's entry into the laboratory. She knew I was
in danger, she felt it, so she came running to me, and I… I lost her." He emptied the glass in
one gulp and then threw it into the fireplace, raising a cloud of embers. He had a little jolt
when Chris touched him, running his fingers over the path of the claws on his side. "Why did
you do it?" He heard him ask.
"Because I was furious. Before I asked my sister to check our DNA I did some investigating
on my own and found my father's secret room and his diary... There were so many awful
things written about me. That I was a failure, an involuntary by-product of no value. Of
course, I had already realized that I was not like my sister but I believed that at least he loved
me, if only because I was his son. Instead, it was just a vile act to maintain the facade in front
of our guests. Nor did he love my dear Alexia, for that matter. Yes, she was what he expected
from his experiment, the perfect result but she was nothing more than that in his eyes! How
dared he?" He hissed, turning to look at him. "Both of us were things to him! He was the
failure, not me and I proved it! He was the thing to dispose of, not my beloved Alexia! He
deserved to die like the glaring failure he was!" He concluded with his chest shaken with
anger but when he saw Chris's dismayed eyes he did his best to regain control. He stepped
back and picked up the blanket from the floor, rewrapping it around himself. "I regret
upsetting you. I apologize," he murmured. "To return to your question of a few nights ago,
why should I fear you? I have suffered the wrath of Wesker, discovered I was a laboratory
creation, killed my father with my own hands, and doomed my sister. What have you ever
done besides slapping an undisciplined rookie liar out of desperation? You wouldn’t have
touched a hair on his head if he’d been honest with you. I'm proof of it. Look at me, the
fulgid symbol of everything you despise, and yet, here we are, after you risked your very life
to save mine and that’s because I never lied to you. Regarding the death of your parents, it
was a terrible misfortune on par with the arrival of my sister in the lab. It is not my place to
tell you whether it is right or wrong to feel guilty about it but I invite you to think about one
thing: isn't being apart from them punishment enough?"
Chris sniffed hard, fighting the lump in his throat that wanted to make him cry and did not
respond. He also did not because he did not have an answer, so he decided to continue his
tale. “As I said, when I got to Raccoon, I was a wreck. Barry, an ex-
"I know who Barry Burton is," Alfred interrupted him.
Chris nodded. "He was doing his best to keep me afloat, and he was the one who told me that
his captain was looking for personnel for his special police team. At first, I didn't even want
to go to the station. I was so bitter and distrustful. The last thing I wanted was to slip into
another military force, but I missed my sister. I wanted to have a home and a salary so I could
take care of her, and, in the end, the only things I could do were shoot and pilot. I don't even
have a diploma, so I gave it a chance. What else could I do?" He paused, collecting his
thoughts. "I didn't like him at first, he seemed like yet another, arrogant blowhard. He left me
for almost a month directing traffic in the cold but once he actually took me on duty he
started talking to me. Or rather to really want to listen to me, and slowly I began to open up
to him. He always seemed to have the right answer. He took the sorry-ass hothead that I was
and put me back on my feet. He gave me objectives and a way to reach them. I don't think I
would have ever been able to have the mental and economic stability to become my sister's
guardian if it hadn't been for him. He was everything I aspired to be and I desperately wanted
to keep up with his expectations. He meant so much to me. At Spencer Manor, it was obvious
almost from the beginning that he was hiding something but I never thought that... He had to
tell me he was a traitor and that he had led us there to die as his little piggies! He was
Umbrella all along and the data on my friends' deaths was his ticket out! Yet as he described
that monster, the Tyrant, to me, proud and ecstatic as if talking about a son, it seemed to me
that he wanted my approval and admiration. As if he wished to keep me with him and took it
for granted that I would follow him unblinkingly in the face of the slaughter of my
comrades!"
Alfred tilted his head again, grimacing. "Doesn't seem surprising from someone like him," he
commented without even making an effort to try to hide his contempt. "I also know for a fact
that he could be incredibly charming when he put his mind to it. Not to please, he clearly
never had any interest in that. He did it to achieve a goal, whether it was just the vanity of
always being the center of attention. Of course, before his outburst of violence he never even
dignified me with a glance but, as I told you, I liked to observe people and during his stay
here, he was one of our most vocal guests. He had an opinion about everything but would get
sullen if he was challenged. William was the exact opposite. He was usually very quiet and
shy. Being the authentic genius that he was, he didn't mind such nonsense at all, but he
suffered from the loneliness that follows being always the smartest person in the room. That's
why I was surprised he had taken such an interest in me. Anyway, he knew Albert very well,
his dreams, his nightmares, his aspirations, and his innermost fears, but he was also afraid.
Not of him. For him. He claimed that he was like on a spiral staircase separating madness
from divinity and that, depending on the moment, he would descend or ascend a certain
number of steps approaching one and moving away from the other, desperately trying to get
away from the mediocrity of the middle. It is fortunate that he died first because with William
gone, the only direction would have been straight down and who knows what monster would
have come out of that abyss. In his mediocrity, I don't doubt that he would have proven
dangerous."
"Mediocrity?" Chris asked him, uncertain.
Alfred stiffened his posture and looked him straight in the eye. "Of course, my dear. Unlike
you and William, my gaze is not clouded by affection. I have always seen clearly what he
was and how dark his soul was. You see, the best scientists cannot help but commit atrocious
cruelties, but they do it in spite of themselves because they do not perceive them, as in the
case of my beloved sister for whom every living thing below her was an irrelevant insect, or
because they deem it a necessary evil, as for William. Both of these types, however, aim for
an outcome that will benefit the many. In the end, they are benevolent gods. Albert, in
contrast, was animated by the resentment of the gregarious, willing to make scorched earth of
everything around them in order to succeed in shining. After all, even the most feeble light of
a candle would glow in the darkness, if you're foolish enough to destroy the sun and all the
stars. Clearly, he never knew his place and, unlike me, he refused to accept the state of things,
which was that he was little more than a rabid dog kept on a leash. I know this is upsetting to
hear and that in your mind you have a very different man from the one I am sketching before
your eyes. He clearly sold himself well to you, as indeed my father did to me before I
discovered the truth, but believe me when I tell you that he succeeded only because you were
tremendously vulnerable, naive and you were wandering in pitch black. You still are, in a
way, with your desperate fumbling for a light who can guide you and warm you. He did
neither, Chris."
"Fine, so what are you trying to do? Take his place for, I don't know, whatever it is you want
from me?"
"Absolutely not!" Alfred retorted to his provocation with firm disdain. "That would lower me
to his level. You are not a prisoner in my abode, and that applies to your mind as well. For the
moment, the only thing I seek is to help you find your voice again so that you can remember
who you are and enlighten your path for yourself."
Chris's mood swung quickly from upset to utter anger. "What is that supposed to mean?" He
asked, although in his heart he knew he already had the answer. It was just too difficult to
accept it.
Alfred, indeed, shot him a patronizing look. "Tell me, Chris, how often do you hear his voice
in your head? How often do you wonder what he would have done, what he would have said
to you, and how he would have judged you before you made your choice? And, most
importantly, how much weight do you think this has had in recent events? Especially with
Leon."
"This is absurd," Chris hissed, abandoning his still half-full brandy glass on the coffee table
and getting up to leave.
"If it is, why does talking about it make you so afraid?"
He paused at the threshold, without opening the door, unsure of what to answer mostly
because he didn't want to, and winced when he felt his hand rest on his back. "I'm sorry to be
so harsh," Alfred murmured to him, "but the rot has to come out. Not only for you but also
for the people around you. I don't think that Leon is entirely innocent, let's say your
responsibilities meet in the middle, but if you want to make up for the half that's yours you
have to face your demons, not turn away from them and flee."
Chris turned sharply away, pushing his hand away. "Leon is just a guy I met and will never
see again in my life! Who gives a shit!" He growled.
Alfred recoiled and burst out laughing. "My goodness, you are so tremendously stubborn!"
He commented, retrieving his glass and taking a sip. "Leon was the first name you uttered on
this island. Leon is the first person you told me openly about. He is certainly a crucial
element. Lie to yourself all you please, my dear not friend, but don't expect me to be
complicit in your delusion."
Chris scowled, feeling the anger mount within him. He heard his captain laughing in his ears.
Are you really going to let him treat you like this? My God, you are more pathetic than I
thought...
"How fucking dare you talk to me like that, you fucking brat?" He snapped, marching
forward and grabbing him by the blanket, under his neck.
In response, Alfred threw the brandy in his face and Chris staggered back, bringing his hands
to his burning eyes with a hoarse hiss. His host did not move away from him and remained
within arm's reach, not at all perturbed. "Here it is, the slimy parasite he planted in your brain
finally creeping in plain light," he remarked. "Forgive me for extinguishing the spark with
bluntness, but I won't tolerate any summer tantrum from you. Feel free to use my bathroom to
rinse your face and make sure to wear it when you return, as I have no desire for his
company."
Chris tried to cast a glance at him but his vision was blurred by the burning of alcohol. He
was so completely shocked, not only by yet another demonstration that Alfred seemed to read
his thoughts but also by his sudden reaction. So measured but, at the same time, so effective
in its simplicity. Clearly, Alfred could never compete with him in strength, but by blinding
him he had created an incredible advantage for himself. If he had wanted to kill him, he could
have. As Leon had almost done. The two of them had this in common, knowing how to seize
the moment to turn a dangerous situation to their advantage, and Leon had already amply
demonstrated this to him by adapting with incredible speed. Assuming, of course, that he was
not a trained Umbrella soldier.
Wesker was wrong. It was not a matter of determination or even luck, or expecting the
unexpected. It was a skill he did not have because his captain had not taught it to him. Albert
always looked down on those he considered weaker than himself, believing, in the end, that
he had the upper hand. What a dangerous, unacceptable lack of judgment.
Confused and upset, he fled to the bathroom, where he ventured to the sink and began to
rinse his eyes furiously. After a few moments, he sensed Alfred's presence behind him.
"Better?" He heard him ask.
He turned off the faucet and rose, shaking himself like a dog, and his guest giggled. "Here,
take this wonder of the modern age," he taunted him, "wiser men call it a towel."
"Go fuck yourself," he groaned, grabbing it and running it over his face.
"Well, Mr. Harman had set me straight about what a mess you left in the bathroom every time
you washed but apparently I had to see it for myself to believe it."
Chris did not respond and cursed under his breath, blinking. The burning had subsided but his
eyes still stung like hell and he was tearing up. He knew he had deserved it, but holy crap!
"Back on Leon S. Kennedy, as promised, I looked into him for you," Alfred informed him,
preceding him to the bedroom.
"What?" Groaned Chris aghast, following him. "I told you about him this morning and you
even half-drowned in the meantime! How?"
"A couple of phone calls, a few bribes, a handful of threats... A fairly tedious but not exactly
complex process." Was his mild reply.
Chris sat back in the chair, rubbing his eyes.
"Don't do that, you'll only make it worse," Alfred suggested to him, approaching the desk.
"Mr. Harman also told me you liked this one," he said, shaking the glass ball to make the
snow move.
"He just can't shut up, can he?" Puffed the other, but then a chill ran down his spine. If he had
stained the bed, during his nightmare, did Alfred know that too? The very idea filled him
with shame and discomfort. "I had one like that when I was a child," he decided to follow
that topic to stop thinking about it.
"I see." Alfred rested it on the desk and picked up a fairly voluminous file. "I'll go straight to
the point that matters most to you. Leon S. Kennedy is not, nor has he ever been, part of
Umbrella at any level."
Chris swallowed a bitter mouthful upon receiving confirmation that he had gotten it all wrong
with him from the very first moment. That he could be part of Umbrella was the only line of
defense he had left, the only possible justification for his actions. Why on earth had Leon
repeatedly lied to him about Nicholai? Why had he so foolishly escalated his suspicion?
Because you acted like an animal from the very beginning. And, this time, the voice in his
head was his own.
"Fuck..." He huffed, bowing his head.
Alfred looked at him sympathetically. "Do you understand now how dark the shadow
occluding your vision is? He put off every other light around and the only light you see is the
fading glow of his memory."
"I…" he whispered, exhausted and distraught, feeling turned inside out. How could Alfred
have that power?
"Don't take more blame than you deserve. Leon lied to you no matter what."
"Because I frightened him, then asked for his trust and failed to keep my word. What is asked
can be granted but is never earned." He snorted a laugh, miserably. "Surprising as it may
seem to you, Wesker didn't just give me bad advice, but apparently I managed to follow only
the bad ones. And that's on me, not on Leon, nor on Wesker."
Alfred tilted his head. "Probably true," he agreed. "Sometimes all it takes is to be blind for a
moment to see the world clearly again, but be careful, the fog is still thick. I don't want to
push too hard in one evening, but there is one more thing I think needs to be addressed." He
handed the file to him. "Here is his whole life, but the ending is a little concerning."
Chris looked up sharply, tightening his fingers anxiously on the folder. "Did something
happen to him? Is he okay?" He hastened to ask.
"I spoke directly to his fiancé."
"Ex," Chris felt the unimpeachable need to correct him abruptly.
Alfred gave him a long, penetrating look, but whatever he was thinking he did not externalize
it and continued. "At first he was very uncooperative, too frightened to talk, but let's say I
managed to persuade him. He confessed to me that while he was there trying to make peace
with Leon, around three weeks ago, his friends came over and started beating him up. At one
point, however, a silver-haired man intervened. One of the attackers died in the hospital; the
other two suffered serious disabling injuries. A fine job, though quite merciful, all things
considered. I don't think there is any doubt as to the identity of this individual, and, of course,
he took Leon away. From what you've told me, Zinoviev and Leon are close, so I don't think
he's in any danger at the moment."
"Where did he take him?"
Alfred inhaled deeply. "Their whereabouts are unknown, and investigating the matter further
could prove dangerous for Leon. Colonel Vladimir is unaware of his existence, but given the
bloodthirsty beast that he is, I firmly believe that he would not take kindly to any news
concerning the liaison of one of his direct subordinates with an American, least of all if that
liaison were of a romantic nature."
"B-but-
"Believe me, he has skinned people alive for far less than that. In any case, as a matter of
prudence and to ensure Leon's safety, I made sure that this information about Zinoviev's
intervention could not be disclosed to others. Discreetly."
Chris frowned. "What do you mean?"
Alfred bent his lips into a little smirk. "Oh, a series of very ‘unfortunate events’. The two in
the hospital had sudden complications that led to their untimely demise. As for the disgraced
former fiancé, I'm afraid the poor fellow couldn't handle the pressure of having his romantic
preferences revealed to everyone. He hanged himself in the bathroom of the motel where he
was staying after being chased out of the home of his betrothed and then his parents. A sad
end indeed, but I don't believe they will be missed by anyone."
Chris paled, feeling a knot of nausea tighten in his stomach. Three men were dead in a matter
of hours, just because he had asked him about Leon. How powerful was that little snob in
front of him, seemingly harmless and delicate as a nightingale?
"I'm sorry," Alfred apologized. "I know hearing about murder upsets you. I assure you, it was
my exclusive decision and you have no responsibility for it. Your conscience remains
spotless. As for mine, I don't think I ever had one. Besides, all of them were filth and your
Leon is much safer without them around. His former fiancé told me that his friends almost
killed him and he was too much of a coward to stop them. Don't waste energy in feeling sorry
for them. I probably would have given the order anyway, even if there were no dangerous
secrets involved, because, you see, betraying love is the greatest sin one can commit and
Zinoviev had been too soft in administering justice. Such a mistake had to be rectified."
Chris remained silent because as horrendous, ruthless, and insane as that speech was, it was
also incredibly rational. It was what had to be done, in all its monstrosity, and it strongly
challenged the scale of his values.
"I will continue to monitor the situation, and if there are any developments, I will inform you
at once," Alfred continued as if it was just ordinary business for him.
How could he? Well, after all, he had also confessed to him that he had killed his own father
without showing any kind of remorse but how could he be so detached, and, at the same time
so kind and caring toward him? He was not pretending to be; it was obvious that he had taken
him under his wing but just to wrong a dead man or for something else?
Alfred did not care about Leon; he had done all this for him.
He was so confused and frightened. At the same time, however, he no longer wanted to avoid
him, or not cooperate because he was fascinated by him and all the mysteries that surrounded
him. In some twisted way, he made him feel cherished and understood and he needed it. He
had needed it for so long that he had given up hope but why did it have to be an Umbrella
monster the one who offered him that helping hand to pull him out of the swamp he was
mired in?
He gasped when he felt Alfred barely brush his hair, timidly, as if he were trying to pet a
frightened animal.
"I realize I am scary, but you have nothing to fear from me," his host admitted, retracting his
hand and crossing his arms over his chest. "In truth, I hope we will become friends over time.
Of course, it's not something I can force to happen but I'm grateful that you gave me a chance
by opening up to me."
"As if you needed it," Chris muttered, defensive. "I mean, you probably know my life story
better than I do, with all the data you must have been able to get. Besides, you seem more
than capable to read me like an open book. Why do you need to hear me talk?"
Alfred sat down in the chair, beginning to show signs of deep fatigue. "Hearing something
from a living mouth is different from reading it in a stack of papers, and then it's not for my
benefit. You look at it from the wrong perspective. It's not me who needs to hear a story that,
for the most part, I already know or foresee, it's you who needs to tell it." He yawned and
curled up on his side, leaning his cheek against the padded backrest and closing his eyes.
"However," he added, wearily with an edge to his voice that made it sound almost feminine,
"I live half my life crystallized in an icy glass tomb that slowly ages me. It is pleasant to have
company after so long."
As soon as he had spoken these words, he sank into the armchair, deeply asleep, like a
machine that suddenly runs out of fuel.
"Hey, no, get into bed," Chris tried to intervene but got no reaction. If not for the relaxed
breathing that raised and lowered his slender chest, he would have mistaken him for dead. He
put down the folder with information about Leon's life and moved to pick him up and carry
him to bed, where he tucked him in as he had done countless times with Claire. She, too, had
always had an unhealthy habit of continuing to do things until she fell over exhausted.
He looked at him for a long moment, wondering about the meaning of all that was going on,
without finding an answer, then, taking up the folder, turned off the light and left the room. It
had stopped raining but Chris had no idea when. Since Alfred had turned him away from the
storm, he had paid no attention to it. He had swept away an anguish he had felt for months in
a few moments, just by playing a little on the violin after holding his hand. He had a way
about him that was magical, ethereal, and he was really able to see through him and mend his
wounds. What could he do to him if he wanted to annihilate him instead? How could he
defend himself? In no way.
After getting lost a couple of times in that labyrinthine palace, he managed to find his way
back to his room. He was very tired too, but he was also deadly curious. He lay in bed with
the abatjour on and opened the folder, beginning to quickly go through the papers. In there,
there was really Leon's entire life, starting with a copy of his birth certificate, his school
report cards, the competitions he had participated in, the ones he had won, contracts with his
past employers, an up-to-date report of his bank account, all the documentation from the
Police Academy, down to the letter accepting his request to be assigned to Raccoon City, and
much more. He continued to find it disturbing that Alfred had been able to find all that
information in such a short time, and he also felt somewhat uneasy about prying into Leon's
private affairs in this way, but he could not restrain himself. He wanted, greedily, to know
everything about him. He, therefore, stopped scrolling quickly through the pages to examine
them carefully. Gosh, Leon had been born on September 17, he was barely twenty-one years
old! He was a kid, for fuck's sake!
Christ, what a mess he had made...
Then he took a look at his grades. "What a geek," he commented, smiling, denoting that he
had always had all straight As, except for a B in Spanish and a C in Maths, but only for one
year. He dreamed of Bs in his school days. He didn't even do well in gymnastics because he
preferred to mind his own business instead of participating in activities. Especially if they
consisted of team bullshit. Certainly, changing countless schools hadn't helped either.
"Oh..." He muttered when he got a police report before his eyes regarding his father's death in
the line of duty. His gun had jammed, and the robber he was trying to stop got scared and
shot him. What a senseless fucking death.
It was not the only police report, though. There were also a few against his mother, brought in
for public drunkenness and assault. It surprised him that she had never gone to trial or served
a single day in jail. Probably, in a small town like the one Leon came from, as the widow of a
fellow officer, the local cops had always turned a blind eye, and that also explained why
social services had never been involved to take her poor child away from her. His heart
clenched when he read an emergency room report from a few months after Leon's father's
death. Fractured ulna in two places, caused by a fall down the stairs. "Yes, my ass..." He
commented, bitterly.
He closed his eyes and some of Leon's sentences began to buzz in his head in a painful loop.
Just don't hurt me, please, I've had enough... He had told him when he had dragged him in
handcuffs out of the alley where he had taken refuge.
You broke into my room! Did you see yourself? What else was I supposed to do? His
explanation of why he had run away from the motel. He was afraid he would lay hands on
him, which he had punctually done because Leon knew very well how to recognize that kind
of menace.
I want to help . His good faith and courage. I want to help you . And he had mocked him
immediately afterward for crying in the car. He had called him a little girl, and then spoiled
and other insults.
He was so disgusted and so disappointed in himself. Leon had been a survivor long before he
set foot in Raccoon City, and he had mistreated him from the first moment, like that monster
of a mother of his. And that had only been the beginning. He had done even worse after that,
as Leon had made every last effort to be a ray of sunshine to tame him, to get him to stop
being so fucking violent. He had consoled him in all his moments of discouragement, trusted
him in spite of everything, and saved his life on more than one occasion, getting to the
extreme of ending up infected for him. Of course, he had not dared to tell him about
Nicholai! How could he? If only he had tried, he would have jumped at his throat, since he
had been so blind in front of all the good Leon had done to him!
It was all his fault and, no, he really had no excuses for any of his bullshit. How had he
gotten like this?
With tears in his eyes, he looked at that photocopy of a local newspaper page with a picture
of Leon when he was a teen, around the age of fourteen, with a cup in his hands for having
won the running race. Of course, his account of being ugly as a kid was just fucking
nonsense. He had some dimples, right, but he was absolutely delightful. The problem was
that he was also skinny, poorly dressed, and with a tense, fake smile on his full lips. He had
won but there had been no one to celebrate with. No parents to cheer for him from the stands.
Chris knew what that meant. His mom had been the first to encourage him to play the guitar,
supporting him, chasing away his insecurities, investing the little extra money they had to get
him private lessons, and attending, heaven forbid, his every school concert. If Claire hadn't
been there to ask him to play their favorite songs as lullabies every single night, he probably
would have smashed his fucking guitar with his own hands as early as after the funeral. Leon
hadn't even had that. He had excelled at everything and no one had ever given him a
compliment, which was why his eyes sparkled at even the smallest recognition of his
abilities. Chris knew this. He had known it from the beginning and he had failed him as much
as anyone else.
He burst into sobs, ashamed as he had never been before in his entire life.
Leon was right. He was a liar and a monster.
He did not know how he got to that point. He did not know if Wesker had anything to do with
it, as Alfred claimed, but it was now clear that he was terribly guilty and needed to turn
things around. He had hurt everyone, not only Leon but also Jill and his sister, and he had
been such a jerk that he had even had the audacity of thinking he was right all along.
"I'm sorry, kid," he whispered, caressing Leon's face on that piece of paper. He didn't know if
he would ever see him again, but if he did, he would take all the shit he wanted to throw at
him, any punishment, even the cruelest, to make amends.
He owed him at least that much.
Nicholai cursed aloud, frustrated and exhausted. It was snowing hard and the layer on the
ground was high, which made driving especially difficult. He could hardly see shit and had
not slept, practically, since he had left Leon. The smart choice would have been to stay in the
valley until the blizzard had passed but he had not wanted to wait.
This is precisely one of the ways people croak, high in the mountains! He scolded himself as
if he didn't know better.
The engine protested vividly at the effort of moving forward in those dreadful conditions, and
Nicholai, at this point, could only hope that he was in the right direction and would arrive
near the cabin before nightfall. If not, he was going to have a very fucking hard time. He
slowed down, trying to be as cautious as possible because the last thing he needed was to fry
the engine and have to continue on foot with inadequate clothing. He had risked freezing to
death far too many times at the labor camp and even during his training under Igor, he did not
wish at all to relive the experience, but he was prepared to do so if necessary.
He was so terribly worried.
His home was not the most hospitable of places. Things were constantly breaking down, and
Leon was a city kid who had maybe seen a few inches of snow a year. He wasn't even sure if
he had managed to make himself something to eat in those days.
"Fucking finally!" He sighed, catching sight, in the flurry of snow, of the silhouette of the
shed just as the sky began to darken. He continued in that direction because he had to get the
car indoors in that weather and, over the next few days, he was going to do a complete check
of the engine to make sure nothing had been damaged in taking it so far to the brink.
He detested every moment lost and soundly ignored the violent lashing of the wind as he
ventured out of the car to reach the shed. Opening it was quite a feat with all that snow
against the doors but he had no time or inclination to shovel it, so he forced it open with some
old-fashioned brutality.
It was damn cold and he had only a sweatshirt on because although he had spare clothes in
the trunk, he had brought nothing warm with him. He hadn't thought about it, distracted as he
had been by everything else. He had to get his shit together because he could not keep
making stupid mistakes or, sooner or later, one would have been fatal.
Trudging through the snow that reached past his knees, he moved, head down, toward the
cabin, trying to shield his eyes from the icy wind. He loved the frost but it could prove
incredibly brutal.
Once he reached the door, however, he stopped, feeling a mixture of panic and anxiety
clutching his stomach. In what mood would he find him? What could he tell him to
apologize? How would he console him if he found him in pieces? And what if something bad
had happened to him?
Inside, Leon got up from the sofa. He felt as if he had heard something, but it was not the
first time he had deluded himself. He tried to peek through the window but with the swirling
snow it was impossible to see anything, and the whistling of the wind covered any sound.
Being in there like this was eerie, and although the weather conditions had persisted for quite
a while, he had not yet gotten used to the creaking of the house. On more than one occasion
he had even feared that the fury of the blizzard would uncover the roof.
At least, when he had been sober enough to formulate a coherent line of thought.
He had gone through various stages since Nicholai had dumped him there alone. The first had
been guilt, then despair, then anger at not even having a chance to apologize. Finally, he had
decided to drown all feelings with the vodka he had found in one of the sheds. He had drunk
so much of it that he had passed out on the floor in front of the fireplace and woke up, more
than half a day later, in a pool of vomit.
The spitting image of his mother.
From that point on, he had done nothing but feel disgust for himself. He had cleaned it up
over and over and over again. He had tidied up the whole house, moving stuff and furniture
and when there had been nothing more to do there, he had taken care of the sheds. All of
them, relapsing into that delusional coping mechanism that made him irrationally hope that if
he could put everything in the best place, then the rest would also get sorted out. It had never
worked out. Not once, but at least it could distract him, and the worse he was feeling, the
more rigorous and obsessive he was in doing it.
Frustrated, he walked briskly down the hallway, calling himself ridiculous, because that was
probably the hundredth time he rushed to the door to find absolutely fucking nothing. With
impatience and annoyance at himself, he grabbed the handle and pulled it to himself with a
snort, but his brain crashed when, instead, he saw that Nicholai was there.
Actually there.
The first feeling he felt was surprise, then panic, anger, guilt, joy, and all mixed together in a
mental hurricane that led him to be unable to do anything but stand there staring at him.
Nicholai did not look great; he was clearly exhausted, cold, circled-eyed, and with an
unkempt beard that, in a less tense moment, Leon would certainly have appreciated because it
suited his face so well.
For a moment that seemed interminable to both of them, they could do nothing but exchange
glances, caught off guard though both had desperately waited for each other for days on end.
Then, Nicholai blinked and broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Lev," he whispered barely hearable
over the howl of the wind.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
The usual heartfelt thanks to you readers, kudoers, underwriters, bookmakers, and
precious, kind commenters!
Okay, first of all, I apologize for not finalizing the scene between Leon and Nicholai and
only presenting it. I had several unforeseen events this week and couldn't finish writing
it. I have another piece ready but it was not cuttable, so I decided to truncate it at the
point where the chapter ended. I usually try to give better closings however this week,
unfortunately, that was the case. I'm really sorry.
Instead, I am happy with the turn Chris has taken in this chapter. He is finally coming
not only to a realization but also to an acceptance of his faults and responsibilities. I
know I have managed to make many of you dislike him but, from this point on, he really
will do his best, and I'm so proud of my dumb big boy. To write about a character for
dozens of chapters only to get to introduce him in the sixty-third is really bizarre. In fact,
this is the first time we begin to get a glimpse of the real Chris, the one Jill is in love
with, while he is poking his nose into Leon's life because he can't help but want to know
everything about him. He is so crushing on him, poor thing.
The acceptance of his sexuality is still lost inside the fog and, for the moment, even
Alfred has given up digging in that direction but that does not mean he has let it go
forever. All in due time.
Alfred is really a character that I love to write. He is so distinctive. Smart, sharp, sweet
but at the same time ruthless and incredibly powerful. Unlike all the other characters in
this story, however, he has a knack for making even the most brutal killings seem
graceful and elegant.
He also succeeded in the feat of leading Chris to think that Wesker had been wrong not
once but twice, and that is how he destroys an aura of infallibility, cracking it bit by bit,
walking on tiptoe.
Thank you all so much, as with each chapter!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 64
Chapter Notes
"I hate you so much," Leon whined, full of resentment and without hinting at wanting to
make him come in. "I was worried sick!" He finally snapped. "Where the fuck have you
been?!"
"Got a work call. Couldn't come back before the mission was over."
It was clear from his furious pout that the explanation had not satisfied him at all, but he saw
him move away. "Come inside it's freezing cold."
Nicholai winced. "Did you... Did you just invite me into my own house? For real?" He asked,
amused by his nerve.
"You're lucky there are no locks to change or I would have done that too. And, for your
information," Leon replied, moving away, "I fixed the damn generator. There was practically
nothing wrong with it, and you would have known it too if you had invested your time taking
the user's manual out of the cellophane."
Nicholai frowned. "I don't need a manual, I know how to use a generator!"
Leon snorted, hostile. "No, you just think you do," he hissed. Once at the end of the corridor,
though, he stopped. "I shouldn't have said that, in the shed. I... I guess I'm just jealous
because even though it ended tragically, he... Sorry, it made much more sense in my head," he
concluded, disappearing past the corner.
Nicholai sighed, taking off his boots. That was going to be another tough conversation but it
was not a valid reason to back out. He followed him but blinked, a little confused, when he
noticed that, in his absence, Leon had changed the arrangement of everything moveable in
the house, giving a completely different disposition to the furniture.
"If you don't like it, I'll put everything back," he heard him mutter, "I just needed a way to
take my mind off everything."
"No," Nicholai replied, looking around like an animal in unfamiliar surroundings. "It's nice."
"Yeah, now say it convincingly."
"Leave that table alone, I said I like it," he restrained him, physically stopping him before he
could get back to moving everything around. "It looks much more spacious this way and...
Empty. Where are my books?"
"Where they should be, on the shelves, upstairs, not all over the bloody place. This house was
such a mess."
It wasn't, but Nicholai decided to let it go because, really, he didn't care. Carrying on that
pointless discussion was just another way to avoid getting to the point and it was time to do
so. He opened the first kitchen cabinet to grab his kettle but, of course, it was no longer there.
"Over the sink. More efficient," Leon huffed.
"All right," he merely commented, a little cowed by the extent of his OCD. He had already
noticed that Leon was strict in keeping everything in order and clean, but what he was facing
now was on another level of fucked up. He didn't dare to address the matter and put, at last,
some water on the stove to make himself some tea. While he waited, he went to sit on the
sofa. "What did you want to say, earlier, about Mitia?"
"Something selfish."
"Well, I'd like to hear it anyway and judge for myself," he urged him, "and stop standing in
that corner. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of me.”
“Well, I’m not.”
Leon nodded, moving forward keeping his gaze down, and sitting at the other end of the sofa.
"I don't care about him, really," he whispered. "I mean, I'm not belittling what he means to
you. Just, as Leon, I don't care about him. It's not a competition, and if it was, I'd lose it." He
paused again, shaking with nervousness. "What I don't understand is why, for the hell of it,
no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I always give my all and beyond I ... I always
end up with nothing! You, obviously, chose to be alone, otherwise, you wouldn't be living in
this place, but I never did!" He looked up, and his sky-blue eyes were filled with anger and
sadness. "What is so fucking wrong with me?"
Nicholai sighed and did not sustain his gaze. "There is nothing wrong with you. Let me
finish," he restrained him, anticipating his objection. "Except for one thing: You have a
tendency to seek what you need from the wrong people who are unable or not at all willing to
give you what you want, and that is your mother's fault. You don't have to prove anything to
anyone; if someone is interested in you, they just are. Of course, this does not entitle you to
be an asshole, but you will never achieve anything by continuing to change color like a
chameleon in the hope of pleasing the current misfit you are trying to charm. If you keep
picking up broken people, you will only get equally broken results."
"I didn't pick you, though. It's the other way around," Leon objected.
Nicholai smiled, wistfully, closing his eyes. "Yeah, I suppose I did," he admitted, "although
damn cats like you are notorious for choosing who to be cared for by."
"I was running from a zombie bear!"
"Da, da, I know. I was there too, it was a joke," he placated him, getting up to go pour
himself some now-warm water. "Mind telling me where the tea and sugar are in this new
world order of yours?"
Leon approached him, finding what he had asked for at a glance.
"Would you like some?" Nicholai offered.
"Yes, thank you."
"I also bought you coffee but I forgot it in the car, I can go get it if-
"No. Tea is fine," Leon retorted, annoyed. "Don't you dare leave my line of sight!"
Nicholai sighed, handing him the cup and taking a sip from his own. Immediately regretting
it.
"What?" The kid questioned him.
"Taste it."
Leon obeyed and quickly rushed to spit it into the sink. "Fucking gross!"
Nicholai chuckled. "Apparently the Lord of order and efficiency just handed me the salt," he
teased him.
"I must have switched jars."
"You don't say!"
"Sorry..."
"Come here," he invited him, and Leon almost threw himself into his arms. "I don't regret
picking you," Nicholai told him, holding him close, basking in his warmth and breathing in
the scent of his that he had missed so much, "but I needed some time to adjust. I made so
many mistakes with Mitia, just as many with my life after him, and I don't want to repeat
them." He quivered as he felt Leon's fingers play with the short hair on the nape of his neck
and for a second lost focus. "I work for a very dangerous man, a man who could hurt you if
he learned of your existence. That was what I was thinking about the other night. Mainly.
However, I was also concerned about you because-
"I know what I want," Leon silenced him, lifting his head sharply to give him an annoyed
look. "Stop claiming to know everything! Like with the fucking generator!"
Nicholai did not hold back a laugh. "Does that mean you have an instruction manual
somewhere, too? It would come in handy!"
Leon let out a frustrated growl and wriggled out of the embrace with a 'fuck you, asshole!'
The other, however, did not let him go far and grabbed him again, this time from behind,
clutching his chest with one arm with enough force to blow out his breath in a surprised gasp.
"So you don't want me to try to find it?" He whispered, lowering the tone of his voice,
brushing his neck with his lips.
Leon felt a jolt go through him from head to toe, but the thing that turned him on the most
was the tingling of his shaggy beard rubbing against his skin.
"This is playing dirty," he protested weakly, trying to hold on to how mad he was at him but
the truth was that it had always been very easy to get pulled toward sex. He had often used it
as a switch that temporarily allowed him to forget about all his problems and doubts, at least
for the duration of intercourse. Even when it was shoddy and unsatisfying, as with Mike.
Jesus, practically every guy he had cheated with had fucked him much better than that
asshole ever had.
A moan of arousal burst from his throat when he felt Nicholai's hand press on his windpipe to
induce him to lean back, and as he abandoned the nape against his shoulder the kisses with
which Nicholai was sprinkling his skin grew hungrier and his breathing more labored. Leon
knew that, though not as much as the previous time, he was still holding back, afraid that he
might shatter in his arms, and he was sick of it. Slowly enough not to alarm him, he moved
one arm back and, without warning at all, lowered his hand to his crotch, and when he had
clasped it over his already hardening cock, he felt it swell under his fingers. The choked
surprised grunt that burst from Nicholai's throat amused him as much as the involuntary
forward thrust of his hips against his still clenched hand. With a giggle, Leon slipped out of
his arms, turning to look at him, and, God, the lust he saw in his eyes! Before it could fade
under the weight of his worries, Leon undressed in front of him, throwing off the sweater he
had on and walking off his pants and underwear, abandoning them on the floor. He lifted his
chin as if to challenge him from behind the strands of his blond bangs. He might have had
many doubts about his temper but he had absolutely none about how handsome he was, and
he saw his act of power reflected in the other's somewhat surprised, somewhat annoyed, but
definitely engaged smirk.
Nicholai stared at him for a second. If he were still in his twenties, such a show would have
sent him sprawling with a technical knockout. He was absolutely sure of it. At almost forty,
however, it mostly amused him. He knew exactly what Leon was trying to do, and although
he had the looks, he still lacked that extra bit of experience that would, one day, make him
able to bend even the most indomitable wills. That approach was scarcely less clumsy than
the one Miss Valentine had used when she had tried to go catty on him. The only difference
was that Leon actually meant it, and he had no intention of frustrating his confidence just as
he had done with her.
He moved forward and raised his arrogant face by propping two fingers under his chin. It did
not matter how massive and intimidating he was, in comparison, Leon did not blink.
Reckless stubborn kitten whit feisty little paws.
He still wasn't quite sure that was the right call, but he was no longer going to back down
regardless. He had made up his mind in a sense, and even if he hadn't, that was a losing
battle. He would not be able to resist him forever. He smiled at him, giving him a look filled
with affection, and slowly lowered his face to his, licking his lips until he parted them - it
didn't take long, in truth - to welcome him into his mouth. Their kiss took speed and passion
just as quickly but without completely losing that slow tenderness with which Nicholai was
directing it. He was just thinking that there was no reason to rush when he felt Leon's hands
fumbling with his belt. He was young and he was eager. Point taken.
He pulled his head back, interrupting their kiss, and shed his own sweatshirt and T-shirt just
as Leon dropped his pants down his hips. They exchanged another languid glance and
Nicholai knew immediately that there was turmoil going on in his pretty little blond head but
since he was not openly uncomfortable, he decided to simply let go of the reins and let him
do what he wanted with him. Leon moved closer to him, so close that he could feel his breath
condense on his skin, and placed his hands on his chest as if he wanted to assay that he was
really there. Once he had ascertained this silly doubt of his, he bent even further forward,
leaning his mouth over the fresh scars the licker had left him, kissing and nipping at the very
spot where his tattoo had been.
And he had even had the nerve to say that he didn't want to compete, the little shit! He
thought so but said nothing to him. It really didn't matter that much, he had every intention of
valuing Leon as Leon and making him realize his true worth as an individual rather than as a
lover. As painful as it still was to think about him, Mitia belonged to the past and there he had
to stay. He quivered, torn from his lucubrations, when he felt his mouth descend along the
line of his abs as Leon slowly knelt in front of him, holding on to his hips and taking down
his underwear. Nicholai flinched. He didn't like that image; it looked too much like
submission, and, for obvious reasons, he was not a fan of it, not even now that he was on the
receiving end.
"Don't," Leon silenced him even before he could voice his contrariness, feeling it rise in the
sudden tension in his abdomen. "At least once, let me do it. I'll explain later, please," he
added, shooting him a tense look. He waited, however, for Nicholai to nod first, albeit
uncertainly, before taking his boner into his mouth. At that moment, a flash of the blowjob
Irons had forced on him flashed through his mind, filling him with dismay and fright but he
was expecting it. That was exactly why he was doing it. He cherished giving pleasure to
others and had no intention of allowing that pig to rip it out of him. So he kept going even
though it was not at all easy. He winced, startled, when he felt Nicholai's hand in his hair but
he did not use it to pull it or to press his head against his groin choking him to near
unconsciousness after beating him. No, he was just stroking him, cuddling him with a timid
touch. Not that what Leon was doing was having any effect and he did not know if it was
because it was the worst blowjob he had ever given in his life, or if, simply, Nicholai was not
into it. He wasn't getting any harder and he wasn't moving at all, no thrusting of the hips.
Nothing.
In truth, it was a combination of the two.
When he was a kid, in prison, Nicholai had been forced to do so many and they had been so
unpleasant and degrading that he had never wanted to receive one. Not from Mitia, not from
the women with whom he had spent his nights of pure relapse over the years. He had not the
faintest idea how he had ended up allowing Leon, of all people, to do it but he could clearly
sense something in the back of his mind that simply did not allow him to take pleasure in it.
Then Leon lifted his gaze, looking for confirmation, reassurance or simply to make sure he
was not alone, and in the meeting of their eyes, mutual uncertainties and past sufferings
reverberated from one to the other, growing into an intimacy and bond they had yet to even
touch.
Leon's mind was the first to brighten. Irons was still there, in a sense, but he had never been
so far from his thoughts since he had abused him. Nicholai was at the center now, and he was
ready to do anything to make that misery disappear from his pale green eyes. He stopped
being so abrupt and hasty in wanting to give a good performance as if it were yet another race
where he just wanted to show how good he was. He pulled his head back, allowing himself to
catch his breath, and in doing so rubbed it against Nicholai's hand, still in his hair. He slid his
fingers from his hip down to his leg, tickling his inner thigh, and smiled as he heard the faint,
feeble sound of surprise coming from his throat. He squeezed his cock, holding it between his
fingers, and stroked it a few times before laying a kiss on the tip and running, shamelessly,
his tongue over his opening. All without ever breaking eye contact with him.
Nicholai was seized by a thrill and gasped, feeling his groin catch fire and his dick surging
erect in a wave of pleasure he had not expected or seen coming.
He had never been loud during sex but could not hold back a groan when Leon plunged him
all the way down his throat. What he had thought about him not being aware enough yet...
All bullshit. He could drive him crazy and so much more than that. He could drag him out of
terrors that had stuck with him all his life. With an inhuman effort, he moved his hand away
from his hair so as not to grasp it too forcefully since he had noticed his fearful reaction just
moments before and clamped it on the edge of the kitchen counter on which he was leaning.
He could not hold back the thrust of his loins, however, with which he accompanied the
rhythm of his mouth. It was all so consuming that for long moments he could do nothing but
capitulate to the pleasure of his burning mouth and his tongue rubbing his length
voluptuously as the tip of his cock slammed into his throat, bringing him closer and closer to
an oblivion he would not have believed possible. Not in that way.
When Leon paused for a moment to catch his breath, he found the strength to grab him and
pull him to his feet, before pouncing on his mouth for a voracious kiss that robbed him of
what little air he had taken. He wanted him so badly and it was time for him to start proving
it. Without giving up his lips, he reached out a hand to grab the oil bottle that Leon had
thankfully left in sight and spilled some on his hands. It was not ideal, especially to avoid
making a mess, but it would do the trick. That was all that mattered because the last thing he
wanted was to risk hurting him. Leon abandoned his mouth, quivering, when he felt his hand
leave an oily imprint on his ass and then his fingers caressing down the crack between his
buttocks, going to tickle his opening.
Slowly. Almost a torture to drive him insane.
He bit his lip, holding back the urge to yell at him to stop toying with him, and moved back
causing his index finger to go inside him. He gasped, clinging to his shoulders, when
Nicholai drove two fingers into him, indulging his eagerness, and moaned when he pulled his
head back to make sure he was okay.
"Take me, please!" He begged him. "Take me! I want to feel good, please make me feel
good," he added panting and with a hint of desperation. This was what he needed, to have
proven proof that it was still possible for him to share intimacy with someone else, especially
someone who really cared about him as Nicholai seemed to do. He did not want the
nightmare of what that pig had done to him to continue to haunt him and tear at his soul
every time he found himself in someone's arms.
He felt emptiness when Nicholai removed his fingers, after preparing him, but panic clouded
his mind beyond measure in a sequence of horrible memories that nearly annihilated him
when the other pushed him back. Terrified, he threw his arms around his neck with such force
that it hurt. "Not on the table!" He cried out, replaying how Irons had slammed him down on
it and then raped him. "Please, please, please! Not on the table!" He kept repeating
obsessively. "Please!"
Nicholai forced him to look at him. "Lev! Lev, listen to me. He is not here. You are and so am
I, okay? Breathe."
Leon nodded and, keeping his eyes fixed on his, he slowly managed to regain control. "D-
don't back down now," he whimpered, clinging to his face as he saw how shakily uncertain he
was, again. "I need this. I need you. Guide me out of this nightmare. Free me."
Nicholai kissed his forehead tenderly and then his lips, slowing things down to give him a
chance to soothe himself, and the caresses he gave him were more of cuddling than an act of
passion. He knew how he felt. He had been there personally, he had been there with Mitia,
and he also knew that if he decided for him to stop everything, it would have an even more
devastating effect.
"I'm so lucky to have you," the kid murmured to him. "And I'm grateful, even though I'm
horrible and can't show it. D-don't leave me again. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I'll be better. I-I'll
be perfect, I promise..."
Nicholai huffed, smiling sweetly. "You have no idea what a miracle you are, already," he
retorted, caressing his cheeks, chasing his tears away. One worth even dying for, but he kept
that to himself. Then he reached down to grab him behind the legs and effortlessly lifted him
up, resting his shoulders against the wall as Leon, to support himself, clamped his thighs
around his waist. Frantic they exchanged a passionate glance, both so swollen into the
moment that they had forgotten that the world was still around them. Leon gasped when
Nicholai pushed his hips forward, pressing their groins together, creating almost agonizing
friction, and nodded at his mute question because he wanted him so desperately. He had a
quiver of anticipation and awe when he saw him spill more oil on his hand and then lower it
between their bodies, pressed against the kitchen wall. Yet he also felt so safe, lifted so off
the ground, at his complete mercy.
He felt him douse his cock with oil as he gave himself a few strokes and couldn't help but rub
a little against the back of his hand.
Then, holding it firmly, Nicholai lowered it, directing the tip toward his opening. The head
popped in without finding any resistance or tension, proving to him that Leon really wanted
him and his body was really ready. A thrill of desire swept over him but he still restrained
himself from taking him brutally; instead, he proceeded slowly, inch by inch, ready to pull
back at his first sign of discomfort.
There were none, and Leon gasped in a series of disconnected moans and labored breaths
when he found himself thus pinned against the wall as Nicholai began thrusting into him.
Slowly, at first, then more and more vigorously. No one had ever fucked him that way, or
with that care, or in that position, but there was more to it than that. He had never really
experienced what sex was like with someone with whom he shared such an intense,
consuming bond. It was more than just a pleasurable fuck with a stranger in a hotel room, it
was much deeper than that and gave him a sense of wholeness that moved him. He hugged
him tightly, supporting himself even more firmly against his broad shoulders as Nicholai took
him, sinking completely inside him, sweeping him away with a rush of pleasure each time he
filled him. He cried out in pleasure when he felt his hand tighten around his cock and begin
to jerk it skillfully as with his hips he continued to pound his most sensitive spot with a
perfect angle.
And suddenly, before he could even formulate the thought to try to restrain himself to
prolong that moment, the pleasure of orgasm overtook him. With a yelp-like gasp, his body
began to shake as he poured like a flooding river over his hand and between their sweat-
covered bodies.
Nicholai, whose labored breathing was the only sound he had made up to that moment, let
out a labored moan. He grabbed his face, looking straight at him with those green eyes of his
as his chest jerked with fatigue, breathlessness, and lust. He sank inside him with a few more
thrusts, so vigorous they took his breath away, before staying inside him with one last lunge,
surrendering and filling him to the last drop. Stunned by his climax, he kissed him, making
him put his feet on the floor and had to lean to the wall with his arms to keep from collapsing
to his knees, completely exhausted from the sleepless days and all the anguish he had
experienced. Leon snuggled against his chest and burst into sobs, alarming him.
"N-no!" The boy restrained him, sensing his guilt raising. "It's not that. I-I just... I didn't think
I could feel so good again... I-I… Thank you!" He sobbed, clutching him as if he were the
most precious thing he had ever had.
And he probably was.
Barry was back and had, at Sherry's suggestion, decided to take her to the movies and give
the older kids a night off. He wasn't stupid, he knew something was simmering between those
two, and although he was a little conflicted because he knew Jill had something going on
with Chris as well, she was a grown woman and it wasn't his place to put his mouth on her
romantic choices. Not that Chris was making any effort to keep her anyway. He was just so
worried about him. During those weeks he had been digging through his address book,
reaching out to all the contacts they had in common since their Air Force days but no one had
seen or heard from him. He seemed to have disappeared into thin air, and how he had
managed it without money or help was, for him, cause for great distress. He was beginning to
reevaluate Claire's position but had not yet discussed it with Jill. She deserved a break. He
would continue to investigate on his own for a while longer, bringing her up to speed only if
he actually found something. As for Claire, he knew she was back on campus and was trying
to save up money to go somewhere. She had not wanted to scurry about any further details
and they had argued because, under those conditions, he had refused to send her anything. It
had broken his heart to tell her no but even though he considered her smart and capable she
was still a kid and Chris would never want to know her out somewhere investigating
Umbrella alone and, for what it was worth, neither did he. She had informed Jill of this and
she’d agreed that giving her money would be the worst possible call.
What a mess...
He left his room and proceeded, down the hallway, to Carlos'.
"Invite her to dinner, you dummy!" The little girl was urging him.
"Don't be ridiculous, come on," he retorted, uncomfortably, "I don't even have the money to
do that, stop it. And then-
"Barry, money," she interrupted him, seeing him appear on the threshold.
"Sherry!" Carlos exclaimed, displeased. "Don't be rude, you don't-
"Barry, some money, please," she corrected herself, giving a wide smile.
"That's not what I meant," Carlos sighed, massaging his temples. "Sorry about this nonsense,"
he added, turning to the other man with cheeks red with embarrassment.
Barry laughed, amused, and reached into his wallet. "Take her to dinner," he reiterated,
handing him a hundred dollars.
"But-
"While they're here, better spend them. Don't worry about it."
"See?" Trilled Sherry, pleased that her elaborate plan was going as smoothly as she hoped.
Her daddy had once told her that dealing with people was no different from playing with
dolls and that, with the right patience, one could move them in the direction they wanted. She
was still too young to realize the implications of that statement, so she lived that experience
as a game that distracted her from the horror she was experiencing. Besides, she really cared
about seeing Carlos happy, and Jill was not so bad. They had spent the morning shopping,
although spending much less than she was used to. Her daddy had never denied her anything,
no matter how much it cost but she realized that she could not expect the same from them.
For that very reason, she had not demanded anything for herself except a few treats but she
had been very insistent that Jill buy that cute dress she had seen in one of the shop windows.
Who knows, maybe she would wear it that night. If she had been in her place, she would
have. It was really super cute and looked so good on her. She moved toward Barry and
hugged him.
"Thank you, Barry, I really fancy going to the movies tonight!" She exclaimed happily and he
smiled at her, stroking her little blond head.
"Then let's get a move on so we can get something to eat, too," he answered her, patiently.
"Go put on your jacket, come on."
She grabbed Carlos by the arm to induce him to duck down to snap a kiss on his cheek before
running off with a giggle.
He waited until she had left the room before turning to Barry and handing him back his
money. "I thank you, I really do, but I can't-
"Nonsense. It’s the least I can do," he restrained him, refusing to take them and moving
toward the window. "After Spencer Manor, my priority was to take my wife and the girls
away. I sold everything we had and we moved to Canada to her parents. However..." He
sighed. "In doing so, I also dropped off another part of my family in Raccoon. Chris and
Claire are like my children to me, and Jill comes close. Helping them now is my way of
making amends for leaving them behind and letting them down. You and the little one are a
welcome addition to the pack," he comforted him with a wistful smile. "As I said, they're just
money and they're well spent."
Before Carlos could thank him again, Sherry came back, ready to leave.
"I told Jill you're going to dinner," she informed him, "she's taking a shower and then she's
coming to get you."
Carlos snorted, amused. "Behave yourself with Barry, okay?" He urged her.
"I always behave," she huffed, sticking her tongue out at him. "Let's go, Barry!"
The man gave him a parting nod, before taking her by the hand and leaving the room.
Carlos put the money in his pocket, still hesitant. He did not like living on someone else's
shoulders. He felt like he was a parasite, especially when he had a bank account, which,
however, it was best not to touch so as not to draw attention to them, since, of course, it was
tied to Umbrella. Not that he was rich, far from it, but at least he would have the money to
buy Jill dinner.
In the meantime, Jill had gotten out of the shower and looked at herself in the mirror,
thinking that she was an absolute piece of crap. She had lost a lot of weight and looked like a
broom with hair. She was also very pale, and although the bruises from Raccoon City had
been gone for a while now, her eyes were darkly circled and her high cheekbones looked
sharper than ever with that hollowed-out face. A few more pounds lost and she would look
no different from a zombie.
She glanced away from her reflection because it was too merciless a confrontation and blow-
dried her hair. Even those had lost some of their luster because she ate so little and shitty.
Maybe that was why she had let Sherry persuade her to buy that dress and, while she was at
it, she had also picked up a tiny makeup kit, eyeliner, and lipstick. Although she was a
tomboy and preferred guns to dolls, she had never wanted to give up her femininity. She liked
to be pretty and she liked to be looked at and wooed, if only for fun, as was often the case
among the station corridors. She had never been shy and had always had a sharp forked
tongue ready to turn off poor pricks who went too far.
The only one she had never managed to charm had been Chris himself. Well, and Nicholai,
but fuck him, that asshole. He could only dream of a woman like her!
She brushed her hair, trying to give it some semblance of order, and then looked uncertainly
at the kit she had propped on the edge of the sink. It was a small, disgustingly girly pink case,
the kind kids buy as a first set to start playing dress-up but it was also the cheapest she had
found and makeup was not on the list of necessities, so she had adjusted.
"Fuck it, why not?" She whispered, opening the damn kit; it wasn't a crime to want to be
pretty.
She needed so badly to feel like herself again and forget everything for at least one evening.
She put on eyeliner and some dark eye shadow to bring out her blue-gray eyes, nothing too
over the top, and then applied lipstick. Whoa, it was really red! Especially compared to her
pallor. Maybe a little too much. Her father, if he could have seen her, would have called her a
slut and that was a good reason not to wipe it off. She went back to the room and looked at
the bag with the dress. So made up she certainly couldn't wear a sweatshirt and a pair of
jeans, right?
Damn you, Sherry! She thought, pulling it out of the bag.
It hadn't even creased, so she really had no excuse she could cling to for not wearing it. She
put on a pair of ordinary black panties and then the dress. It was nothing particularly
exuberant. A strapless black sheath that fit her like a second skin and came to cover her until
about mid-thigh. She had no pantyhose to put on underneath it but, after all, cold weather was
for the fearful. She was a little sorry she didn't have heels, though. She had to make do with
her ankle boots but at least she made sure her socks didn't stick out. She completed the look
with one of the red biker jackets Claire had left her - practically all the clothes she had were
hers, although she had been careful not to give her the 'Made in Heaven' one - and walked
over to the mirror to give herself an overall look. Red was not her color, she had always
preferred blue, and she looked a little too aggressive for her taste with all those straps and
studs but, all in all, she had made tremendous progress since the scarecrow she had seen in
the bathroom mirror after the shower.
Without giving herself time to reconsider and call herself stupid for getting so dressed up for
any one night, she put her wallet in her pocket and her cell phone in the other and left the
room. She knocked on Carlos's door, obsessively fixing her hair because she felt so nervous
all of a sudden. She had never been the type to question her appearance, but perhaps she had
gone too far. The line between wanting to feel pretty and expiring in ridicule was always
tremendously thin.
She was about to tell him she needed one more minute when Carlos threw open the door and,
oh, boy, the look on his face when he saw her. Like a deer in the headlights and she felt her
cheeks flush.
He said nothing, his brain short-circuited, his mouth dry, and his blood definitely no longer
pumping in the right direction, completely stunned.
He cleared his throat. "I think I need a moment for myself in the bathroom," he tossed out a
line to defuse the tension, "maybe more than one."
Jill laughed nervously. "Stop it, jerk, I didn't do it for you but for me."
"Whatever, I'm just happy to enjoy it," Carlos retorted, staring at her from head to toe.
"You're a dream."
Jill clicked her tongue on her palate, giving him a mock annoyed look. "Best not to
investigate what kind of dream."
"Believe me, it would be the most easily solved mystery in history."
"Are you ready? I'm hungry," she cut in short, looking back at him. Carlos had also tidied
himself up, trimming his beard, and, dressed all in black as he was, he looked great. "Did you
shower with perfume?" She teased him as they walked toward the elevator.
He went inside first. "Well, maybe I can meet the right chick. One who doesn't just give me
7.5, you know."
She giggled. "So touchy over a simple comment, self-esteem issues?"
"Not at all, but I think you should have your eyes checked. So, have you thought about where
you want to eat yet?" He asked, opening the hotel door for her.
"What a gentleman," she taunted him, coquettishly, brushing his chest with her shoulder as
she passed him. "I don't care where we go, as long as it's nice and without too many people.
Fucking cold!" She hissed, shivering.
"You're going to have to kill me to get my jacket but I can offer you an arm around your
shoulders if you want," Carlos offered her with a sly smile but he was joking, and even
before she could give him a scowl, he had already taken off his jacket to settle it over her
shoulders. "I would never let my princesa catch a cold."
"I didn't say no to the hug, though," Jill pointed out, moving closer to him. She knew how
susceptible he was to the cold, he never failed to complain about it, so she didn't want to
leave that sacrifice unrewarded.
As they set off with no real destination, Jill couldn't help but think about how much that
evening felt like a date. Except it wasn't. They were just being silly, like two friends hanging
out. There was nothing wrong with that. She had been doing the same things with the
S.T.A.R.S. guys and Chris dozens of times long before she realized she was in love with him.
After years of being a pretty little doll to please her parents, Jill had wanted to kick out of her
mind all the inhibitions with which they had gorged her during her childhood and
adolescence. She leaned her head against Carlos's shoulder wishing, for one evening, to think
of absolutely nothing that made her feel sad. Which, unfortunately, included Chris.
The look Carlos had greeted her with when he had opened the door had made her feel good.
valued and appreciated even though she was emotionally drained and skinny
She peered toward his face just as he was doing the same with her and they both blushed a
little like children. Carlos was aware that Jill had set boundaries that he was not supposed to
cross, however, holy shit, she seemed to want to drive him crazy that night. She was so
incredibly gorgeous and if only he could have kissed her instantly he would never let her go
again. And to think that jerk Chris was just hanging around who knows where when he had
the love of the most beautiful woman in the world. For that was exactly how he saw her.
He had always been a passionate guy and it was not unusual for him to completely lose his
mind over a girl but Jill was really special in his eyes and it was not a statement made just to
get her into bed. He would have built himself a pair of wings to fly to the moon, pick it up
and bring it back to her if she wanted it. He really would have done anything.
"How about that Mexican over there?" Proposed Jill. "I've walked past it lots of times and it
smells so good."
He looked at the entrance with some uncertainty. He was not a fan of spicy foods and was a
little annoyed that South American food was often identified only with Mexico. The issue
had come up a couple of times with his platoon mates at Umbrella, but every attempt to make
them understand it had been in vain.
Jill sensed something and shot him a confused look. "If you don't like it, we can go
somewhere else, it's not a problem. I just thought that-
"I know what you thought," he sighed with a patient little smile, "let's go."
They crossed the street, but once on the sidewalk, Jill stopped. "No really, tell me what's up,"
she insisted, loosening their embrace and placing herself in front to prevent him from
opening the door.
Carlos laughed softly. "How can I explain it? You're half-French, right?"
"Yes, but it's not like I care much. My father is the obsessed one."
"Okay, now think about pointing him to an Italian restaurant, assuming they're the same
thing. Or a Chinese one to your mother."
She winced, blinking. Oh! I... I'm sorry," she smiled, a little awkwardly. "I swear I-
"It's okay, I know, and the Mexican is fine. Just promise to let me make something
Colombian for you sometime, okay?"
"Deal!" Smiled Jill, preceding him inside.
They were greeted by a middle-aged gentleman with a rubicund face and a sunny smile.
"Welcome to El Riconcito del Pueblo!" He said, joyfully. "María, una mesa pa' dos, rápido!"
He added, calling a young waitress out of the kitchen.
She smiled graciously, especially at Carlos, and Jill did not fail to notice how pretty she
looked as she escorted them to their table. Although she was wearing a rather anonymous
waitress uniform that consisted of a white T-shirt with the restaurant's logo and a pair of
black pants, she had a racy body with generous breasts, a narrow waist, and beautiful,
luscious, feminine hips. Her long hair, gathered in a ponytail, was inky black, her eyes a
piercing hazel color, and she had full lips. She wasn't even particularly made up, she was just
a natural beauty and this made her dislike her immediately, and even more so when she
noticed the nonchalant glances she was giving Carlos. She followed her with her eyes like a
lioness as she walked away to fetch their menus.
"The place looks nice," Carlos commented, obliviously looking around. The restaurant was
not very big but tastefully decorated in a Mexican style, soft lighting illuminated the room,
while Latino music played in the background. There were also a few other full tables but
since it was a midweek evening, the atmosphere was not stuffy and noisy.
Before Jill could express her opinion, the waitress returned and, of course, looked only at
him.
"Aquí tienen sus menús y una bonita vela para ti y tu novia," she said, laying the menus on
the table and a lit candle in a beautifully decorated glass holder.
Carlos smiled but his eyes grew a little dim. "Ay, muchas gracias! Pero ella no es mi novia,
somos solo amigos."
The waitress smiled and winked at him as if she had just received good news. "Disculpa la
pifia! Yo soy María, y tú? Eres colombiano, verdad? Me encanta tu acento!" She then purred
at him.
Jill decided to intervene. She had understood virtually nothing of their exchange except for a
few words, but being a slut was a universal language. "Thank you. We'll call you when we're
ready to order. And leave the candle, hon," she dismissed her in a cordial yet razor-sharp
tone.
Carlos chuckled when the waitress moved away. "What was that?" He asked, giving Jill an
amused look.
She glowered at him. "You're with me tonight. You can come back tomorrow and goof off
with her. "
His smile widened a little but he was careful not to comment lest he risk having his balls
kicked; besides, he liked that she was jealous. It opened up new scenarios of possibilities. "So
what do you want to order?" He prudently changed the subject.
They decided fairly quickly, and another catfight threatened to take place when Maria
pretended she did not understand what Jill was ordering.
When, at last, she had chased her off again, Jill turned to Carlos. "How come you have no
accent when you speak English?"
"Oh, an Umbrella thing. In the first six months of training, we had intensive classes. I don't
know why but they wanted us to speak perfectly. It wasn't easy; I basically started from
scratch."
"I think Nicholai missed all of them."
Carlos snorted. "Leave him alone, always badmouthing him, poor guy!"
"And you always defend him." Jill took a deep breath, sipping her margarita. "What would
you like to do when the situation has stabilized? Go back to Colombia?" She had to admit she
dreaded that answer a bit because, although she didn't want that flirting to materialize into
anything, she liked having him around. He was pleasant company and he was so sweet.
"In an ideal world or in reality?"
"You can say both if you like."
Carlos in turn drank some of his drink. "Well, things are complicated. If they weren't, yes, I
would go back to Colombia to hug my family again. I haven't seen them in such a long time.
They think I'm dead, you know?"
She frowned, confused, and he told her how he had been kidnapped at a very young age,
made a child soldier, and then a militiaman. He also told her that his mother had not yet given
up and stubbornly continued to search for him in every way possible.
"The problem is that I'm pretty much certain that I'm still registered as a criminal in
Colombia, plus the militia is not something you can just leave and walk away like nothing
happened. To get close to my family would mean putting them at risk and that's the last thing
I want. So, in a non-ideal world, I would be content to be in order here and have a normal job
and equally normal life. I know that must sound incredibly boring, maybe chickenshit but I
simply don't think I could handle another year with a weapon in my arms. Either way, I
would like to stay close to Sherry and help her grow but I'm aware I can offer her very little."
He lifted his dark eyes, pointing them into hers. "And then, of course, I would wait for my
princesa. As promised."
Jill felt her stomach tighten and herself blush. She blamed the margarita. "Not in chastity,
though."
Carlos chuckled. "That would be a bit much. How about you?"
Jill lowered her gaze, "I can't leave things half done. Umbrella has to be destroyed
completely. They have to pay for what they did. Besides, Chris would never stop."
He was silent for a while, reflective, and thanked the waitress when she served them their
dishes.
"Can I be honest with you? But, believe me, I don't want to judge or persuade you. I just want
you to be aware," he told her with that adorable puppy expression of his.
"Of course."
"I've been thinking about a lot of things in the last few weeks and... In lives like ours, there
are very few safe exits. I know what Umbrella did to you and Chris, and I understand your
desire for justice, less his for revenge, but that's not the point. This moment, this -- this limbo
we're in now is one of those exits. I know it and so does Nicholai. That's exactly why he told
me to take it and not look back. And as pissed off as you might be at him for ditching us, the
truth is he's still too tangled up in Umbrella to free himself, so to give us this opportunity he
really couldn't do anything but leave. What I mean is that you have to think hard before you
decide to go down this path because it may be a long time before you have another exit again.
If ever. This shit never really ends... For every terrorist militia, drug cartel, and other horrible
organizations that are broken up, within a few months, ten more are born and one really risks
spending his entire existence fighting to gain nothing. Of course, you don't owe me an
answer, just think about it, okay?"
Jill nodded, impressed. She knew that Carlos could be extremely mature when he wanted to
be, but since he usually preferred to play dumb, those moments always caught her a little off
guard. How much she had learned about him since she had stopped to talk to him at the
checkpoint. Maybe it would have been better if he had turned out to be nothing more than a
jerk and a blowhard because she was really starting to like him so much.
"What?" He questioned her feeling the magnifying glass being put on him, under her
beautiful eyes.
Jill recoiled. "Nothing, sometimes I wonder how many other sides you hide under that bush
of hair."
He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm actually a really simple guy with a mess of a life. Do you
want to try my soup?"
She smiled, understanding the implied request to want to return to lighter topics. "Gladly."
The rest of dinner went on much more serenely, they even ordered a bottle of wine, and then
another. Carlos managed to make her laugh several times, granting her the evening of
tranquility she so desperately needed. As they ended their dessert and a comfortable,
accepting silence had fallen between them, he noticed that Jill was keeping time to the music
by absentmindedly drumming on the table with her fingertips. With a playful smile, he
pushed back his chair and leaned over the table toward her. "May I have the impudence to ask
my princesa for a dance?" He asked, his hand extended towards her.
Jill blinked, taken aback. "I..." She hesitated, feeling her cheeks grow warm under the
intensity of his dark eyes. She had gone dancing a few times, and managed but would not
even know where to start with a Latin-American couple dance.
"Don't be afraid, I won't bite you," he urged her, placing his hand on hers and gently
caressing it. "And I'm out of practice, too. Just for fun, come on."
Emptying her wine glass in one gulp, Jill finally allowed herself to be persuaded and pulled
upright. If she hadn't been half-drunk, she never would have done it.
Carlos guided her to a spot among the empty tables where there was some room to move.
With one hand he continued to squeeze hers as he placed the other on the small of her back.
"Come on, Supercop, don't tell me you're scared," he teased her in a voice a little ragged from
the alcohol. "Follow my lead," he tried to reassure her.
As if it were that simple! As soon as he began to move, Jill was completely lost in trying to
watch his feet and follow his steps. He was unfairly good at dancing. Hearing Maria giggling
at the counter did not help her already poor concentration.
"Mira nomás a la gringa! Parece que trae una escoba en el culo!" She heard her comment
acidly to someone.
"What did the bitch just say?" She immediately snapped but before she could go to grab her
by the hair, Carlos caught her and pulled her to him, directly in contact with his chest.
"Hey, you're here with me, leave her alone," he whispered in her ear, pressing more with his
hand on her back, before he started moving again, practically all over her. That way
following his steps proved much easier, but soon she forgot about those as well,
overwhelmed by the sensuality with which Carlos was completely enveloping her. The way
his legs and pelvis rubbed against her, his scent, his breathing that, like hers, was becoming
more labored. Her breath was cut short when he pirouetted her and then grabbed her from
behind and pressed himself against her as one hand went up her womb in a voluptuous
caress. She clearly felt his growing desire pressing against her bottom before he turned her
around again. Dizzy with arousal, she found herself within an inch of his face and found
liquid flame in his black eyes that set her on fire. He leaned toward her as the last notes of the
song played, but stopped just a breath away from her mouth, respectful, nonetheless, of the
boundaries she had imposed as she wrapped her arms around his neck. They looked at each
other for an interminable moment, oblivious to everything around them, their chests shaken
with desire until Jill finally found the strength to step back and dissolve their closeness. With
somewhat shaky legs, she returned to sit at the table and poured herself another glass of wine,
her mind clouded by her desire to be humped by him like a cat in heat.
It was the wine's fault. All of it, but she drank some more anyway to calm her nerves before
she searched for him with her eyes and found him at the counter paying the bill. When he
came back to her he had that regretful, pained expression of someone who had made the right
choice by missing an opportunity.
"Ready to go?" He asked her.
Jill emptied her glass another time and nodded, getting up and putting on Claire's jacket.
"Keep mine too," Carlos offered her. "I drank so much I could probably walk naked through
Siberia without batting an eye."
"Thank you."
The walk back to the hotel was silent, and they did not hug or get any closer than was
appropriate.
"It was a beautiful evening," he murmured, without looking at her, once they were in the
elevator, "I'm sorry I screwed it up in the end and made you uncomfortable."
Jill's heart clenched. "You didn't," she hastened to deny it but got only a sad smile from him.
When they reached the floor, he was the first one out and his hands were shaking so badly
from nervousness and drunkenness that he struggled to get the key into the keyhole of his
room door. When he finally succeeded, he turned to cast one last glance at her. "Good night,
princesa."
"Night," she whispered, feeling cold as she found herself alone in the hallway. She took a
couple of uncertain steps toward the room she shared with Sherry but could not reach it. Yes,
in the back of her mind, the voice of her conscience was pawing at her not to fuck up but she
was too obnubilated by alcohol and whole weeks of anguish and loneliness to be really
reasonable. So she marched back and broke into his.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
The usual heartfelt thanks to you readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmarkers, and
awesome commenters!
So, this chapter, especially the sex scene between Leon and Nicholai was a breech birth
to write. I'm no stranger to smut, although it's not my workhorse, but in this case, I really
had a thousand drafting doubts because it had to be incredibly delicate, I had to take into
account the traumatic baggage they both carry on their shoulders and, most of all, I
didn't want to debase the situation of both of them by implying that everything could be
solved with a snap of my fingers. I hope it lived up to that.
Nicholai and Leon, in any case, have finally overcome that huge stumbling block that
divided them, and this will make things much better between them. Personally, I think
they are so sweet. Nicholai is incredibly patient and caring while Leon, although a little
snake, is trying to keep his bad temper under control because, for the first time, he is
matched with someone with whom he is creating a deep and close relationship.
In the other part, Jill is going to screw up big time but I don't feel like putting all the
blame on her. As even Barry acknowledges, Chris is acting like an asshole toward her
(from their point of view, since they don't know he was kidnapped) and she feels
abandoned and alone with Carlos, who, besides being a really good-looking guy, courts
her and treats her like a queen. Sherry, moreover, is dangerous. She has created the
perfect trap and she is just a child XD! William, for fuck's sake, it's your fault, you only
had to play doll tea with her, not teach her how to manipulate people! Jesus Christ,
father of the year!
The scene at the restaurant was fun to write (and I take this opportunity to apologize to
any Spanish-speaking readers, in case I made mistakes, don't be shy to correct me, I'll be
grateful!), especially the part where Jill gets jealous like a lioness because the waitress is
hitting on Carlos. She is much more into him than she wants to admit.
Carlos, on the other hand, reaffirms himself as the absolute saint that he is, poor thing...
Thank you all so much for being here!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 65
Chapter Notes
Hello everyone!
Small communication in the opening. At some point in the chapter, there'll be a music
box, the same as in Code Veronica, so I am putting the link here if any of you would like
to listen to it while reading.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?
v=GIyV8ACqE7k&ab_channel=WhoamIbutwhoareyou
Kisses, see you further down!

Lady S.
Carlos, who had already taken off his shirt and unzipped his pants to get ready to throw
himself into bed, turned upon hearing the door open wide and when he spotted Jill he gave
her the most desperate and hopeful adoring look, but, other than that, he did not move
because, despite dreaming of nothing more than having her in his arms, it was not his
decision to make. No, it was hers and hers alone but, God, how he hoped she would choose
him! He would never leave her. He was ready to treat her like a queen without neglecting her
even for a second. He would devote himself entirely to her, trying to rebuild from scratch the
family nest that he so desperately lacked and needed.
Jill extinguished the distance between them animated by much less deep feelings. Yes, she
liked him very much and had grown fond of him but it stopped there. If she had not been
drunk, and if she had not felt so forlorn and alone, she would never have given in. She was in
love with Chris, only, he was not exactly at the top of her intoxicated mind at that moment.
With her trademark impetuosity, especially when she was yearning for something, Jill did not
get lost in any unnecessary preamble. She threw her arms around his neck and rose on her
toes. Carlos, in a last, heroic flicker of lucidity because he too was far from sober, flinched
his face away.
"J-Jill," he hesitated, "are you sur-
Any strength to try to be rational was extinguished when she grabbed his chin, almost forcing
him to accept her kiss. He capitulated, crushed by his own lust and the transport he felt for
her. Letting go completely, he clasped her to him, passionate and possessive, and as their
mouths explored each other with increasing hunger, he removed both of the jackets from her,
throwing them to the ground. Jill moaned, languidly, when she felt his hands, running down
her back, one groping her ass and the other reaching for the zipper of her dress.
"On the side," she guided him, closing her eyes as she rubbed against him. She sank a hand
into his very soft hair as she tasted the skin of his neck with her tongue. Carlos smelled so
good. She could not hold back the urge to give him a hickey when she heard the sound of the
zipper being undone and the fabric of her dress sliding down from her hips to her ankles.
He didn't even wait for a second to take one of her boobs between his fingers and squeeze it,
eliciting an amused and excited giggle from her. Ever since he had seen them in the police
station jail, he had never been able to get them out of his mind. He was so goofily sweet.
Utterly adorable.
He shifted his face back to turn one of his confused puppy eyes on her. Jill chuckled again,
cupping his hand and making him grope her boob once more as she bit her lip.
He leaned down. "You know, I've got the feeling you don't take me seriously," he whispered
in her ear, and perhaps due to drunkenness, perhaps due to excitement, his Spanish accent
popped out blatantly.
And it was so hot.
"Why don't you give me a reason to?" She taunted him, lifting her chin and sneering. She saw
the bruise she had made on his neck disappear in real-time before her eyes, and something led
her to think that perhaps it was not prudent for them to fuck, since they did not yet know the
results of his blood test. It was a thought that crossed and disappeared from her clouded mind
as fast as a shooting star, though, when he picked her up and laid her on the bed. With
growing anticipation, she let him take off her boots and then watched him throw away his
pants and underwear.
Feeling a wetness moistening between her thighs, she admired him with eager eyes. Carlos
was handsome and thick. His muscular figure was a feast to behold, defined and graceful, and
his masculinity was also remarkable. It towered, already upright and willing but this was not
exactly a surprise.
"Still think I'm a 7.5?" He asked her, in a husky voice.
Jill smiled, amused, running her own hands over her belly, stroking herself seductively. "The
final grade depends on how you use it, don't you think?" She taunted him, bending her legs to
slip off her panties in a fluid motion and then throwing them off. "You still have to prove to
me you're not just a blowhard," she concluded, lying back and spreading her thighs wide in
front of him. He huffed, amused, and knelt on the bed, imposing over her. "You just don't
know what you're in for," he replied curtly, lowering his face to hers.
"What I do know is that if you keep talking I'll have to handle it on my own."
He laughed. "Always so bossy," he complained, before kissing her and as he distracted her
with those sweet cuddles, he drove himself inside her with one impetuous thrust.
Jill moaned loudly, gasping over his mouth as she arched her back, caught off guard. It had
been so long since the last time she had got laid. Just before the mission to Spencer Manor,
with a guy she had picked up in a pub. An insignificant one-night stand and not even that big
of a deal, if she had to be honest. She desperately needed it and felt so, so good. Especially
after being neglected so much and, in her inebriation, it seemed right to her. She bent her legs
back so that he could pierce her deeper and clung to his back when doing so directed him to
the right angle.
"G-God, yes!" She panted, scratching his skin, leaving red marks on his back that
disappeared almost as quickly as they were imprinted.
Contrary to what many men did when encouraged, Carlos did not increase the speed of his
thrusts, nor did he try to change anything to become leading. No, he kept going exactly as she
wanted, driving her crazy. She was so wet that his cock kept sliding into her without meeting
any resistance, while the sides of her cunt tightened around him in spasms that were not
always deliberate. With each lunge of his loins, waves of pleasure set her skin ablaze, leaving
her breathless, and his hands were all over her, first in her hair, then on her breasts, finally
one under the small of her back to make their intercourse even deeper.
"F-fuck!" She cried out, feeling his entire shaft slamming into her once more, and then
everything went white in her mind as heat radiated from her groin throughout her body with
pleasure running under her skin like electric shocks. She arched, breathless, driving her nails
into his shoulder blades as her toes curled, twisting the bedspread, and her pussy squeezed his
cock with more erratic spasms.
Carlos grunted, almost to the edge, but he held back until she fell limply back onto the bed,
before pulling out of her and cumming on her belly with a couple of last strokes of his hand.
He propped himself up with his hands to keep from collapsing on her, and as the last waves
of orgasm left him, he admired her. God, she was beautiful, her chest still shaking with
breathlessness, her body drenched in sweat, and a few wisps of disheveled hair stuck to her
shining forehead. Some of the makeup she had put on had run down the sides of her eyes, but
that only made her more breathtaking. It would take him a little while to be ready to go again
but that did not mean he wanted to take a break from her. He was reasonably sure he had
succeeded in making her cum but it was not something he wanted to leave to chance.
Jill frowned as she saw him move, not quite understanding what his intentions were, dazed as
she was by the wine and the effects of one of the best orgasms of her life up to that point, but
she winced as she saw him kneel off the edge of the bed.
"What?" She asked, confused but a little cry of surprise escaped her lips when he grabbed her
legs to pull her toward him. Carlos chuckled and gave her a long look with an arrogant,
mischievous sneer. "My princesa is about to receive a gift," he murmured languidly, caressing
her inner thigh.
He was so sure of himself that it almost made her want to slap him. He was so different from
Chris in practically everything. Where he was shy, awkward, and completely incapable of
catching a hint, even the most glaring one, Carlos was brash, always over the top, and more
than aware that he could handle himself like a god between the sheets. She had
underestimated him. Thinking about Chris brought out a hint of guilt from the mists of
alcohol but the thought was quickly driven away when he lowered his face between her open
thighs and began to go down on her. She emitted another very undignified little yelp and he
snorted, amused, tickling her clit with his hot breath.
"Not bad for a 7.5, huh?"
"Go... FUCK!" She gasped as he began to lick her, and with his hands groped her thighs.
Jill concluded that it was not the time to argue and clawed at his hair to crush his face against
her wet pussy with brutality. This would shut him up and she would get what she wanted
even if it burned her pride to have to admit how good he was. Carlos did not mind and
continued his work with passionate diligence. The smell and taste of her fluids were almost
aphrodisiacal, on par with the moans he was wringing out of her and the convulsive
movement of her hips, while her hands clawed at his hair and at the bedspread stained with
her wetness. He felt she was close and, from experience, knew that the second orgasm was
always easier to achieve than the first for women who enjoyed to keep going.
Jill looked like it.
So he continued, tirelessly, sucking, licking, and slurping her womanhood to the point where
more raging tremors shook her off until they left her, exhausted and satisfied, on the bed.
He lay down beside her, smiling slyly. "Do you need a break, pincesa?" He asked, alluding to
the bulging erection that had grown as he engaged down on her.
Jill did not answer right away because she was still recovering, but then she turned her face to
shoot him a look and seeing him so smug irritated her. She had been completely
overwhelmed by his initiative but the time had come for her to drive him crazy, too, and then
leave him limp and exhausted on the bed.
She pushed him with his back against the bed and followed his movement by straddling him.
He reacted with a surprised snort and his dark eyes shone with desire and anticipation. In
truth, he loved being dominated between the sheets so he was more than happy to have, at
last, succeeded in awakening Jill about it. He tried to sit up to kiss her but she pushed him
back with an imperious, "Down!"
He chuckled, "Yes, ma'am!"
Damn, how she wanted to wipe that grin off his face! She moved back, settling herself better,
then guided his cock inside her, rejoicing at the grunt she ripped out of him. She slapped his
hands away when he tried to grab her hips. "Still," she ordered him, and she could tell by his
panting and the total adoration with which he looked at her that he was loving it. Not that she
needed reassurance, but this turned her on even more. She began to ride him, at first
exhaustingly slowly, raising and lowering her hips, and it was her turn to giggle when she
saw him quivering with lust and impatience.
"You're such a good boy," she praised him wryly, running her nails over his chest, not enough
to scratch the hell out of him or really hurt him, but enough to leave marks, and he arched his
head back with a grunt, thrusting his pelvis upward to sink into her, tearing a moan from her
mouth in response. He was so exquisitely attractive and the way he adored her, as if she were
his goddess, was an incredibly irresistible nectar. In the euphoria of drunkenness and sex, he
seemed to her the most desirable man in the world, the most perfect.
She increased the speed of her hips, being a victim, in turn, of her willingness to be the
executioner, arching, panting, over him as she felt the heat grow inside her a third time. In her
memory, it had not happened so often that someone could make her cum three times in a row
in such a short time. She whimpered when Carlos, oblivious to the order he received, lifted
himself up to hold her in his arms and then kiss her passionately, smothering the cry of
pleasure of her climax with his mouth. She sagged against him, breathing heavily against his
shoulder with his hard cock still plunged inside her. They were both dripping with sweat and
exhausted.
"Move over..." He sighed in exhaustion, "or I'll fill you up," he warned her.
Jill nodded and moved back, sliding him out of her, before leaning over him and sprinkling
kisses on his chest as she crawled back to his groin. She cast a glance at his face, finding him
almost as disheveled as she wanted him to be. The time had come to finish the job. Although
she was so tired, she did not hesitate before taking his cock in her mouth, stimulating the base
with her hand with firm, quick squeezes.
"J-Jill!" He warned her because having reached that point, he was unable to resist any longer
the heat of her mouth or the lapping of her tongue.
She, however, did not hint at moving, and he happily accepted the gift of being able to cum
down her throat until he emptied himself completely. For a few moments, he blacked out and
awoke only when he felt her move and then collapse beside him. He turned to look at her and
tenderly caressed her cheek. He felt so happy that he was finally able to have her close to him
as he had wished from the very first moment. He hoped with all his heart that he could be
hers forever.
"You are the best thing I have ever had the privilege of holding," he told her, in love,
watching her fall asleep.
Leon and Nicholai were together in the bathtub, and neither of them seemed particularly
willing to get out, not least because leaving the bathroom would have meant braving the
blizzard to reach the house.
Nicholai, for his part, was almost asleep, his back resting against the edge, Leon over his
chest, and the warm water relaxing his muscles.
"So where have you been these days?" The Kitten roused him from his stupor.
"Huh? Oh, I went to Mexico. I had to kill a scientist who had stolen some data. A simple job.
And I spared a moron," he replied wearily.
Leon winced to hear him speak so lightly about a cold-blooded execution, but he had
promised himself that he would never bitched about his work, so he focused on the second
point.
"Was he pretty?" He inquired, shooting him an inquisitive look from over his shoulder.
Nicholai chuckled, and pulled him tighter to himself, caressing his bare chest under the
water's surface. "I only have eyes for you," he whispered in his ear, kissing the side of his
neck.
Leon elbowed him, not hard but firmly. "That's not really an answer to my question," he
hissed.
"A little possessive, huh?" He taunted him, amused. "Nothing special. I doubt I'll ever see
him again in life."
"You better!"
Pestiferous jealous kitten, so adorable. "Stop puffing up your fur. I don't have a line of suitors
outside the door. Never had. You can sleep easy, no one will steal me from you. Although to
be honest, I still don't get what you see in me," he admitted.
Leon sighed, abandoning the back of his head against his chest. "Mainly, you make me feel
safe. I know, it's not much of a compliment but let me explain," he whispered, grabbing his
hand to clasp it in his. "No one has ever made me feel safe. Ever. Well, maybe my dad but he
died too early to really count. My mother was horrible. She was always so mean to me...:"
"Did she beat you?"
"No. Well, at first yes but after she broke my arm she stopped. I think one of my father's
colleagues talked to her, probably warning her that if it happened again there would be
consequences. In hindsight, maybe I would have preferred that she would have smashed my
other one too, at least I would have been out of that house. After that, some occasional
slapping but nothing major."
"She's dead now. She can't hurt you anymore."
Leon smiled bitterly, looking at the bite mark he had left on Nicholai's arm and caressing it
with his fingertips. "She has corrupted me like… Like a virus for which there is no cure to
make me exactly like her. When I am crossed or really mad I become cruel. In the shed, you
got a taste of it. That's what I meant when I told you I'm afraid of me.”
"Lev-
"No," the kid interrupted him, turning to look at him. "You are so good to me and I'm so
grateful but I'm worried that the fear I have that you may abandon me will ruin everything!"
Nicholai stroked his wet hair and sighed. "I can't tell what the future holds but I promise I
will do everything I can to protect you. Many believe that the strongest feeling is love, but
they are wrong. It is grief because there is no return from it. And I will die rather than feel
that kind of pain again. And the first step to avoid it is to teach you how to defend yourself. "
"This man you work for and fear so much, what is his name?"
Nicholai hesitated. "The less you know the better."

"No," Leon objected, looking at him resolutely, "if I have to defend myself. If I have to
defend us, I need to know."
"Colonel Sergei Vladimir but we'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? I'm really exhausted," he
confessed to him and it was clear that it was not an excuse because by now his eyes were
closing. "And the extra activity didn't help but I don't regret it," he sighed, kissing his lips.
With some reluctance, they left the warmth of the bathtub, dried off, and got dressed.
"Ready?" Nicholai asked him, approaching the door.
"No, I'm actually considering whether to sleep here," Leon retorted, snuggling into his aviator
jacket.
"Let's go," the other snorted and squeezed his shoulders with an arm before they both
ventured out into the snow.
"H-holy shit!" Leon gasped, feeling the cold seep right into his bones. The blizzard was still
raging and it was pitch black; if it weren't for the lights from the oil lamps inside the house,
he wouldn't have even known which way to go.
"Aren't you glad you can finally use your jacket?" Nicholai teased him once they were inside.
"My fucking brain froze!"
"That's because your hair is too long. I can cut it off if you want."
"Over my dead body!"
Nicholai chuckled because he had expected such an answer. They took off their boots and
continued into the kitchen.
"Go ahead upstairs. I'll clean up this mess," Leon sighed, seeing the oil stains on the floor.
"Do it tomorrow-
"No chance in hell."
Nicholai looked at him tenderly. He wanted Leon to go upstairs to rest as well because he too
was clearly very tired. It had been a burdensome few days for both of them. "I would really
like to fall asleep with you beside me," he told him, and it was amazing to see the effect of
that sentence on Leon, who blushed, taken aback. "Please?" He added, holding out his hand.
The kid snorted, deeply annoyed. "Just this once," he relented, clasping his hand and letting
him lead him up the stairs.
"Jesus, did you move the bed too?" Nicholai commented in surrender and bursting into
laughter.
"This way the sun doesn't get in my face in the morning. You always get up before dawn but I
don't.
"I'm surprised you were able to move it, to begin with, it weighs a lot."
Leon made one of his little grimaces. "I'm resourceful and stubborn."
"No objection to that," Nicholai sighed, amused, reviving the fire in the stove before taking
off his sweater and lying down.
The kid did the same beside him. "If you don't like it I'll put it back," he reiterated,
regretfully. He had indeed been acting arrogant and entitled. That was Nicholai's house, not
his. He had crossed the line and only now realized it.
Nicholai reached out an arm and drew him against himself with a tug. "You can do whatever
you want. If it makes you happy that's fine with me, but for heaven's sake, don't ever switch
sugar and salt again."
Leon snuggled against him, resting his head on his shoulder. "I'm terrible in the kitchen," he
said.
"Have you been eating these days?"
"Kinda. You have a lot of canned stuff in the sheds, I've been able to warm it up."
"Fucking hell..." Nicholai sighed. "I'll teach you how to cook something, too."
"Don't bother," the other retorted dryly, almost hostilely, "I don't need nor care."
The Russian, who was already doing his best not to give in to sleep, made another effort not
to collapse. "What is the real reason?" He investigated, immediately feeling him stiffen
against him.
"Does it matter? I don't want to do it, period."
"Kot..."
"It was her room, okay? Before my father died she was always cooking, and even then I
wasn't allowed to go in there because she hated me touching her things and making a mess.
After that, it just got worse. I don't like to be at the stove for longer than strictly necessary,
even if it's not her kitchen. I don't see that as a huge issue! I have survived until now, haven't
I? I'll make myself useful in other ways, don't worry!" He blurted out, even trying to get away
from him but Nicholai did not allow him to move even an inch.
"The point is not to divide the household chores. You might as well do nothing, I'd take care
of it. I don't need you to make yourself useful and I don't care for you to get better, much less
perfect, apart from your training. In that, I expect your all and beyond. I like your shitty
temper," he murmured, kissing his forehead, "your tantrums, your stubbornness, that quick
mouth of yours, and your hard-working little brain, so bright when you don't short-circuit it
yourself."
"You sure know how to flatter a guy!" Retorted Leon, acidly, but in truth, he was deeply
touched. Usually, the compliments partners gave him were all superficial: 'How handsome
you are!', 'I can't wait to fuck you!' and things along those lines.
No one had ever wanted to go beyond that because the ultimate goal was not to get to know
him but only to fuck him. Even Mike. Especially Mike. He also knew that Nicholai was
sincere in his caring for him, in his appreciation of his best and acceptance of his worst, and it
brought him to the point of tears again. He could not believe that after all the horrible things
that had happened to him, something so good could come in his direction. He raised his head
to look at him. In the dimness of the room lit only by the oil lamp on the bedside table.
Nicholai had succumbed and fallen asleep. Gently, he lifted a hand to caress his face, running
it over the shaggy beard that, for now, he had managed to keep him from trimming, and it
made him smile to see him frown a little, bothered by the annoyance but not enough to wake
up. Leon admired his hard features, finding them more beautiful than he ever thought
possible when they first met.
He could fall in love with him, perhaps he already was since that gruff Russian, so surly and
frightening in appearance, was really giving him everything he had ever hoped for and more.
He laid his head on his chest and closed his eyes, letting the relaxed rhythm of his heart
soothe him.
"Please don't leave me...:" He whispered. "I'm really falling for you and I don't want to crash.
I couldn't get back up, not without losing myself."
Chris opened his eyes with the eerie feeling of being watched running over his skin. He had
fallen asleep while still going through Leon's file without even realizing it.
A violent clap of thunder startled him, sending his heart into his throat, and when he looked
around to see if anyone was there he noticed that the door was wide open. He was sure he had
closed it, not so much because he remembered but because, in his life, he had never been able
to fall asleep in a room with the door open. He had always had an irrational fear that some
stranger might come in and mess with him or his things. His experiences in foster homes had
made this fear much more concrete and real to the point that for about a year before he got
custody of Claire, he had even slept with the door locked, both at Barry's and in his
apartment. This was not because he distrusted Barry or his family. He simply had reached a
point where he could not manage to get to sleep unless locked in. He had made considerable
progress from there, thanks in part to Claire, but it was mathematically impossible for him
not to have closed the door before going to bed. Not even distracted as he had been by his
wanting to read the file as soon as possible.
"Is anyone there?" He asked, trying to peer into the darkness beyond the open doorway, but
he got no answer other than the rush of rain slamming against the windows. A shiver ran
down his spine but he tried to fight the fear. It was all in his head and he could control it, as
Alfred had told him. When, however, yet another clap of thunder plunged the room into
darkness, his panic began to gallop again.
He decided to get his shit together. He was a grown man, trained and potentially lethal, he
couldn't just sit there afraid of the dark like a brat, for fuck's sake! He reached down to the
end of the bed to grab the pants he had thrown there and rummaged in his pockets for the
precious silver lighter Alfred had gifted him.
He lit it and stood up, proceeding out of the room in his underwear, intent on figuring out
what the fuck was going on. He still had that ominous feeling that someone was keeping an
eye on him, but he continued to move forward resolutely, heartened by the memory of his
mom who, when he was a child, had reassured him for months when he began to be afraid of
the dark or, rather, what might be hiding in it. God, having talked about the incident had
greatly unsettled him.
Ghosts don't exist, silly! He recalled her voice from a memory he no longer even thought he
possessed, when, as a four-year-old, he had wet the bed in the throes of a nightmare and she
had been awakened by his shrieks. She had not been angry at all the mess he had made, and
after washing and changing him, she had taken him with her to the big bed in her room, since
her daddy was out with the truck, and held him tightly to her. And if they existed, you would
just have to go straight in front of them and punch them in the nose!
The memory was so sharp that it almost felt like he could smell the scent of her long auburn
hair, the same Claire had inherited, and feel the warmth of her arms. He missed her and
marveled at how long it had been since he had thought of something so dull and obvious. The
accident and the suffocating guilt that had followed it had engulfed everything else, leading
him to convince himself that he had no right to feel nostalgia since he had been the one
responsible for their deaths.
He swallowed, moving past the antechamber and stopping at the threshold of the hallway. A
flash of the storm outside the windows gave him a glimpse of a silhouette at the end of it.
"Is anyone there?!" He asked again.
He did not really expect an answer and winced when he heard a female voice reply, "Yes,"
followed by a sharp, unpleasant laugh soon overpowered by the rumble of thunder.
He stood motionless, and as much as he wanted to convince himself that he was not
frightened, he was. "Alexia?" He called to her, shyly.
This time he heard only the whistling of wind and rain, and despite every part of him wanting
only to go back to his room and lock himself inside to hide under the bed like when he was a
child, he forced himself to continue.
The secret passage Alfred had used the first time they met was open, and in the distance,
Chris could hear the distressing notes of a music box that made his blood run cold in his
veins. He felt like one of those dumb horror movie protagonists who refused to believe in
their gut instincts and, instead of running as far away as possible, kept going headlong toward
their punctual horrible demise. The dim flame of the lighter barely allowed him to see an inch
from his nose, and he was scared. Not a concrete fear, like the one he had had at Spencer
Manor, where he actually knew he could meet a monster around every corner. No. It was
more subtle and insidious, creeping into his mind to the point where he doubted his own
senses. The events in Raccoon City had shown him that his perception of reality was clearly
distorted, but if he was now also beginning to talk to ghosts, then the situation was indeed
critical.
He took a leap back when, once in the hall of illusory mirrors, he found himself facing his
own reflection.
"Fuck!" He huffed, bursting into a short, nervous laugh, and felt ridiculous for having
frightened himself like an asshole. All he had as his only justification was that, by the glow
of the lighter alone, he had only recognized himself at the last second. The tense smile on his
lips, however, died suddenly when he saw the same silhouette he had glimpsed in the
hallway, reflected in the mirror, right behind him. He turned sharply, paling and finding
himself facing another mirror in which only he was reflected.
"It's not funny!" He protested. "Alfred, is that you?" He asked, deciding to question himself
altogether. Perhaps that 'yes' and laughter had only been a fruit of his imagination. "I don't
like this game!"
Still silence, but as he proceeded through the labyrinth, the notes of the music box grew
closer and closer. He could hear around him the mechanism that controlled the mirrors
rotating to the rhythm of the music. If he had heard it at any other time and not in the middle
of the night, completely in the dark during a thunderstorm, he might even have been able to
find it beautiful, instead, it only made him increasingly anxious. He found himself facing a
small table as the mirrors rotated once again, creating a circle around him, practically a cage.
He looked apprehensively all around to make sure there were no silhouettes in the reflections
before approaching the small table but, more importantly, the wooden box above it. The notes
came from there and slowed until they died down. The lid clicked open, showing a note
written on fine stationery. He unfolded it and had to bring his lighter closer to it to be able to
read. It was another poem but it was not in Alfred's sophisticated, baroque handwriting, the
one in the score he had examined at the Birkin home. It was much more ordinary, feminine,
but the content was much more disturbing.
Hush-hush, little child, in foul shadows thy tread,
Through void echoing halls the restless souls spread,
A phantom so frigid, with eyes filled with ire,
She deems thee intruder, her vengeance, a pyre.
In his eerie abode, 'neath the storm's wild wail,
She spies through the dims of a lost bridal veil,
Beware, luckless child, her deep whispers of spite,

For she hungers for thee on this tragic night.
Be still, little vermin, her say like a pin,
The dear king now rests, the kindest of my kin,
No armor, no sword, no shield, shall guard thy life,
I'll steal it from thee, with a strike of my knife.
His protection wanes in the shroud of his dreams,
While I haunt these dark halls with sinister schemes,
The gloominess I bring, the fear I inspire,
"Shall choke your fair light, quench your innocent fire," blew a cruel female voice into his
ear as she slapped the lighter out of his hand with one hand, plunging him into darkness.
Jill awoke and, still in a stupor, thought that she had not felt so relaxed and fulfilled in ages,
but then memories of the past night began to flow through her mind. Anguished, she sat up,
not daring to look to her side. The light was still on because neither of them had had the
thoughtfulness or perhaps the strength to turn it off.
What the fuck had she done?
Her nausea rose but she restrained herself from running to the bathroom to vomit. She dared
not move for fear of waking him up. She did not want that confrontation. Not at that moment.
She was not ready. She was in love with Chris and now that she had finally been able to make
sure he reciprocated, she had slept with a guy she had known for less than a month! A guy
who, as if cheating on Chris wasn't bad enough, might as well have been the healthy carrier
of one of the most horrible viruses on the face of the planet!
She raged at herself for being so stupid and so slutty but also at him. Why hadn't Carlos
stopped her? Why had he taken advantage of her?
She had to get out of there. She had to get away from him but, in order to do so, she had to be
sure not to wake him up. So she looked at him. Carlos was sleeping prone, completely naked,
his muscular body completely relaxed and limp, his face half sunk into the pillow and his
fluffy hair more disheveled than ever. If at any other time before that night, she would have
found him adorable, now she felt only anger and disgust for both of them. Part of her knew
that she could not really blame Carlos but she was far from being able to make such a
sensible argument. Besides, she wanted to give herself extenuating circumstances and it was
easier to shift all the blame onto him. With her legs shaking, she got out of bed and her heart
jumped into her throat when he mumbled something unintelligible, stretching out an arm
where she had been lying until that moment. Fortunately, he did not wake up and she
hurriedly put her dress back on and grabbed her jacket. She did not even bother to put on her
shoes, just grabbed them in her hand and rushed first out of the room and then into hers in a
panic.
Sherry was still asleep because it was very early in the day and that was the only good news
in that whole, horrible, situation. She did not want anyone to see her in that state, least of all a
child. She locked herself in the bathroom and after tearing off that fucking dress, she slipped
into the shower. Once under the jet of hot water, she burst into sobs, feeling horrible and
disgusting as well as beyond stupid. Chris was out there, alone somewhere, suffering, and
what the fuck had she done for him? Nothing and she had even cheated on him!
She rubbed her skin with more than desperate brutality to erase every trace Carlos had left on
and in her body and, now that she was sober, she felt tremendously ashamed for having
enjoyed herself so much in his arms.
When she came out of the shower, she felt no better but at least she had reached a decision
about what she wanted to do. She phoned the hotel lobby to have a cab called, got dressed,
and haphazardly stuffed some clean clothes into her backpack. She cast a guilty glance at
Sherry but could not wake her to say goodbye. She would have overwhelmed her with
questions and would have done anything to hold her back, to make her feel guilty. She would
have started crying. No, she could not allow that. As for Barry, she would have called him
once in the cab. She had just reached the elevator when she heard a door open behind her.
"Jill?" Carlos called her, and there was anxiety and concern in his voice.
She ignored him, pretending not to have heard him, and rushed into the cabin, managing to
get it started before he could reach her. She breathed a sigh of relief but when she came out to
the ground floor she realized that she had underestimated him. Carlos had taken the stairs and
got there before she did. She still avoided him as much as possible, proceeding at a brisk pace
out of the hotel but the cab had not yet arrived.
"Jill, are you ok?" He asked her, finally catching up with her. He reached out a hand to grab
her, but when Jill winced back, he immediately desisted. "I-I... I don't understand," he
stammered.
She glowered at him. "What don't you understand?" She growled at him. "That you fucked
me while I was drunk?!"
"W-what?" He paled, shocked by that accusation. "It was you who came to my room. I tried
to stop you but... I was drunk too!" He defended himself.
He was right. Jill was well aware of this and the fact that she could not take it out on him
made her feel even worse.
"I'm sorry," groaned Carlos, who cared much more about clarifying than being told he was
right. "B-but we... I mean, it was a good night, we-.
"We ain't shit!" Jill interrupted him brutally, and part of her felt herself dying to see how
much that lapidary statement had hurt him, and she could add nothing more.
Carlos blinked, feeling a lump grow in his throat because the one in front of him was not the
same woman he had laughed and played with between the sheets only hours before. "I know
you're confused and that it was sudden but... We could be happy together if you would just
give me a chance, we-
"Don't start with this crap, I'm in love with someone else and you know it!" She thundered.
"It was just a fuck of no importance, get it through your head! We are not and never will be
anything, ok?! Not now, nor in fucking fifty years!”
This time Carlos took the blow, his lips trembled a little and his eyes glazed over. He
swallowed, refusing to burst into tears. "So much for being the one who should have left you
alone in bed the next morning," he commented, bitterly.
Now that she had accepted the idea that she was the sole culprit, she was torn to see him like
this because she cared for him and she would have never wanted to delude him or make him
suffer. Carlos was a good guy, kind, handsome, and very sweet, but she had to find Chris. She
could read in his dark eyes how disappointed and how heartbroken he was and it was her
fault. Her cell phone rang to let her know a message had arrived. She took it because, really,
any excuse was good to stop looking at him.
Hi Jill, sorry for the timing but I pulled an all-nighter in the lab and wanted to give you the
happy news right away. I finished all the tests. Your friend's DNA is altered but he is stable
and there are no indicators that he may develop future instability. There are no traces of
viruses, neither G nor others in his blood, so he is not contagious. Go tell him, make him
happy!
Jill looked up again. "It is Rebecca. You are clean and your DNA is stable," she informed
him.
Carlos did not flinch and commented with a cold, distant "Great."
The arrival of the cab spared Jill from the painful obligation to answer anything. Without a
second thought, she opened the door.
"I am in love with you," Carlos told her in a last, agonizing attempt to be given a chance.
"Please stay. Please, my princesa..."
"I am not your princess," she retorted in a low, pained tone. "Please take me to the bus
station," she instructed the driver, locking herself in the cab.
She did not look back because she could not bear the sight of Carlos watching her drive away
standing still at the curbside, least of all now that it had also begun to rain.
She had made up her mind. She wanted Chris and she was going to go through with it, even
if it meant stepping on the feelings of that poor sweet puppy.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, the usual thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmarkers,
and fantastic commenters!
Well, a lot happened in this chapter. First: fuck you, Jill, you are such an asshole! I get it
all, she was drunk, she's confused, she feels guilty, she's worried about Chris but Carlos
is a cinnamon roll who didn't deserve to have his heart broken like that. I completely
disapprove of Jill's choice, poor, poor Carlos. I feel so sorry for him, not least because,
unlike the other males in this story, who all have their shitty edges and tempers, he is
really good, sweet, and understanding. Bad Jill! You and Chris are morons, and in that
sense, you are perfect for each other.
Nicholai and Leon had, at last, a quiet time to be sweet and in love. Bless them!
Chris, on the other hand, stubbornly went through the scare of his life and was a lot of
fun to write. I can't elaborate much on Alexia because I have a whole project in my head
that will become clear with time (although, those who have played/know Code Veronica
maybe have an idea). I'm really enjoying giving this gothic horror novel slant, though. I
even ventured to write the second poem of my life (I'm terrible at it, I beg forgiveness
from anyone who can really write poems) to highlight the hostility Alexia feels towards
Chris.
Beyond that, I am beginning to place my pawns in the boxes I will need when it all
starts to fall apart.
Thank you all so much for being here, as always!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 66
Chapter Notes
When faced with danger, humans can react in three ways: paralysis, attack, or flee. Chris was
usually the type to attack, although in Raccoon City he didn't quite succeed every time. He
rarely paralyzed and almost never fled.
That time, however, the idea of fighting didn't even cross his mind and the last thing he
wanted was to stand there with whatever that thing was, so he ran away, slamming into
mirrors, completely blind in that utter darkness. He found himself at a dead end, but instead
of turning back, he pushed with all his might against the surface, sliding it and he continued
on. He cast a glance around and saw a faint flame reflected all around him on the mirrors.
"Fuck you!" He shouted, pushing more panels away until finally, he stepped out of the circle
that bounded that room, stumbling on the first steps of the staircase. He climbed up in the
dark, waving his arms in front of him, searching first for any obstacles. He stumbled badly
and the bump to the knee he took against one of the marble steps made him see stars but,
miraculously, he managed not to fall by clinging to the handrail. He remained on all fours for
a moment, trying to rationalize and catch his breath but blinked when he heard the cog of the
lighter click. Bewildered he looked up and there she was, a step away from him, on the
landing.
This time he froze.
She was exactly as Alfred had portrayed her in his painting, down to the smallest detail, the
purple dress, the long white gloves, the perfectly tidy blond hair, and that austere cruel
expression that became even more unpleasant when she smiled, tilting her head, looking at
him as if he were an insect.
"Vermin, and a boring one indeed," she addressed him in that thin voice of hers, and before
Chris could do anything, she reached down to slap him. Hard. He jerked back, completely
losing his footing on the steps, and fell backward, rolling down the staircase, and before he
hit his head on the floor he heard her laugh once more.
When he opened his eyes it was daylight and, before him, he found Mr. Harman's worried
face. He did not focus on him right away and, terrified, crawled back, half-naked and
shivering from the cold. His head hurt so much it felt like it had been chopped open with a
hatchet and he was horribly confused.
"Sir, please be still," the butler immediately worried, flanking him. "The doctor is coming, lie
down."
"Where is she?" Chris gasped.
Mr. Harman frowned, shaking his head, more bewildered than he was. "She who?"
The other looked around like a hunted animal. "That damn bitch! Alexia!"
The butler sighed and took off his uniform jacket, rolling it up to make a pillow. "You are
clearly confused and upset."
"I'm not fucking confused!" Shouted Chris, grabbing him by the shoulders, hysterical. "I saw
her! She spoke to me! She threw me down the stairs!"
"Sir," Mr. Harman insisted, looking him straight in the eye, "what I'm doing is trying to put
you in a safe condition. You suffered a bad fall, you may have a head injury, and you need
medical attention-
"Stop bullshitting me like I'm crazy! I'm not fucking crazy!"
"I'm sure you believe-
"Get out of my way!" Chris pushed him hard enough to knock him to the ground and,
struggling, got back on his feet. "She..." God, his head was spinning tremendously and he felt
like throwing up. He staggered as if the floor under his feet was swaying and he could not
find the words to explain himself. He remembered that bitch on the staircase but not why he
had gotten there. The thoughts were there but he could not put them in line. He also failed in
his attempt to keep himself upright and collapsed on all fours, vomiting.
"About time! Did you build the stretcher bolt by bolt, you incompetent bunch?!" thundered
Mr. Harman when, at last, the doctor and two uniformed guys arrived. It was clear from his
tone of voice that he was more concerned than angry. "Don't answer me, you fools, help him
now!"
However, the two soldiers soon realized that this was easier said than done. When Chris saw
the Umbrella logo on their vests, he freaked out completely, and although he was stunned by
dizziness he was still strong as a bull. He took the first one off his back as soon as he tried to
grab him to load him onto the stretcher, flinging him away from himself, and hit the second
one with a punch that sent him sprawling and knocked him unconscious.
"Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me!"
The doctor promptly prepared a tranquilizer as Mr. Harman stepped back, frightened.
Chris retreated all the way to the wall of mirrors, seeking stability. "Put that thing away or I'll
kill you!" He growled, noticing the syringe, and when the one remaining soldier tried to
tackle him, he clearly demonstrated that he was not joking. His body reacted automatically,
tempered by years of training, blocked his attacker, and used his momentum to crash his face
into one of the mirrors, shattering it. The doctor tried to take advantage of his distraction to
give him the shot, but when he was within arm's reach, Chris first snatched the syringe out of
his hand and then grabbed him by the neck. He was a small, slight man so he practically
lifted him off the ground, not unlike how he had done with Leon in the S.T.A.R.S. office. The
doctor's efforts to free himself were of little use; Chris had no intention of letting him go.
"I AM NOT YOUR FUCKING LAB RAT!" He thundered, seeing him gasping for air.
Mr. Harman watched his master descend the staircase in silence and waved him back. Alfred
ignored him, an annoyed expression on his icy face at that unacceptable early morning
commotion. He approached the two, and Chris was so busy looking hatefully at the doctor
that he did not notice him, but he winced when he heard his voice command him softly:
"Enough now."
He turned his head, which gave him a dizziness that almost made him throw up again but
still, he did not let go of the grip on the doctor's neck. Alfred was wearing a white suit that
gave him an even more ethereal appearance than usual.
"I said enough," Alfred repeated, lifting a hand to rest it on his outstretched arm. "Put him
down."
Chris obeyed not without some hesitation and finally let go of his grip. The doctor sagged to
the ground, coughing desperately.
"Can you get it over with? You're bothering me with all this noise," Alfred hissed at him,
then, after little more than a moment, he stole the syringe from Chris's hand and plunged it
into the poor man's neck, who collapsed asleep shortly after. "Much better," he huffed. "Can
someone explain what the hell is going on here and why my guest was attacked before I start
chopping heads off?" He snapped, casting a fiery glance at the butler.
"Sir," Mr. Harman cleared his throat, "no one was assaulting him, I swear. I found Mr.
Redfield unconscious at the bottom of the staircase. I think he fell during the night. We were
providing medical assistance."
On Alfred's face was a clear anger at how badly the situation had been handled but he
decided to overlook it, for the time being, and returned his focus to Chris who, pale, was
clearly in distress. "You need help," he told him, "please let me give it to you." Without any
fear, he offered him his hand and smiled when Chris squeezed it, letting himself be guided to
the stretcher. "Never a dull moment with you, huh?" He mocked him, softly, once he had laid
down. "Mr. Harman, go get someone else and, for heaven's sake, have them put up something
without the company insignia."
When they were alone, he again focused his undivided attention on Chris, who tried to speak.
"No, you need to rest," he stopped him, "now I'm going to have you taken to the infirmary,
where other doctors will take proper care of you. Not like these imbeciles. Nothing bad will
happen to you, you have my word. You trust me, don't you?"
Chris nodded weakly, calmed by his presence, and closed his eyes, too exhausted to speak.
He did not react badly when the second team arrived and even allowed them to sedate him,
relying completely on his host because, as long as he was there, he was safe.
"Claire, there's a girl looking for you!"

She huffed, far from willing to leave her room. All her plans to find money had gone up in
smoke. When she had returned to campus she had found out that the two guys she was seeing
had found out about each other and, as a result, neither of them wanted anything to do with
her anymore, let alone lend her money. Barry had been a jerk and refused in turn. She had
found a little job but it would take time to raise the necessary amount and she was growing
restless and impatient as well as worried.
"Claire, are you deaf?!"
"Coming!" She relented to answer and, making her chair screech on the floor, finally got up
and went downstairs. "Oh, that's a face I didn't expect to see so soon," she hissed, sourly,
upon seeing Jill beyond the front door. "What the fuck do you want?"
Her roommate swept her gaze from one to the other and, sensing that very bad air was
blowing, decided to get out of the way and go to the kitchen.
"So?" Claire insisted, still standing on the second-to-last step of the staircase. Jill looked like
shit. She was pale, skinny as a rail, and looked like she hadn't slept in two thousand years. It
was not enough to pity her, however. Claire knew she hadn't heard from Chris, or Barry
would have phoned her by now.
Jill lowered her gaze, feeling guilty, as if anyone could read what she had done written on her
forehead. She cleared her throat, before deciding to look at her again. "I'm sorry," she
confessed, "I should have listened to you from the start."
Claire snorted an incredulous, mean laugh. "Why the change of heart so suddenly?"
"Because I'm fucking in love with Chris! Isn't that reason enough?!" The other shouted in her
face, trembling with anger, shame, and panic.
Claire sighed. "Come on up," she surrendered. There wasn't much point in sulking at her
forever; besides, she could be very helpful in her research. "Do you have the money with
you?" She questioned her once they were in her room.
"I have some, I don't know if it's enough for the projects you have in your head, though," Jill
admitted, looking at the wall covered with articles, clues, and leads. "You're going to be a
great investigative journalist eventually."
Claire gave her a crooked look but then decided to soften a bit because her compliment was
sincere. "What happened to you? You look like shit."
"Can we..." Jill's voice trembled. "Can we overlook it please?"
"No, we are friends and I care about you."
"The last time we saw each other you yelled at me that I was nobody."
Claire tilted her head. "I was furious and we Redfields have a bad habit of shooting our
mouths off. Can we just start over?"
Jill sat on the bed, avoiding looking at her, her lips bent in a miserable pout. "There's no
fucking way around it," she growled, angry with herself, "I slept with Carlos," she confessed,
failing to hold back tears. "I-I don't even know why. I was so lonely and he was so present,
so-
"Let me guess, he dumped you the next morning?"
"No!" Jill hid her face in her hands. "I left because it was just a stupid mistake! I am in love
with your brother!"
The doorbell downstairs rang again but neither of them paid any attention to it. Claire crossed
her arms over her chest, leaning against the closet with a stern, annoyed expression. "So?
What do you want from me? If you need absolution, look for a priest. As for punishment, I
have no time or inclination for this crap. The only thing I care about is finding Chris, and
besides, you're not even officially a couple yet. In other words, whatever."
Jill gave her a dismayed look. "But-
"Look," Clair interrupted her even more firmly, "in this huge mess where the dead walk the
earth because they're infected by a virus created by a company that has locations all over the
world and probably as many secret labs in each of which my brother might be held captive,
who you got fucked by is the least of my worries. Clear?"
Jill nodded, gravely, too ashamed to add anything else.
"We have work to do, and the first thing you can do is to talk to me in more detail about the
laboratory you were keeping an eye on in France. Yours is the same intel that Chris had, so
it's possible that - what now?" She asked when she heard a knock.
"A registered letter has arrived, it is for you," replied her roommate, "It is from the
university."
"Fucking hell," Claire growled, throwing open the door and taking the envelope, before
closing it back in the poor girl's face. She ripped it rudely open, already imagining it to be a
reprimand pertaining to all the classes she had missed and the assignments she had not turned
in on time. "What?" She uttered, confused, reading the letter.
Jill frowned, worried, and got out of bed to stand beside her. "Anything serious?" She
inquired.
Claire, still in disbelief, blinked, rereading those lines. "No... Do you know if Barry had
anything to do with this?" She asked her, handing her the letter.
Jill quickly scrolled through it, learning that Claire had been awarded a lifelong scholarship
to her university, for the present and any other course of study she wanted to pursue. "I don't
think so. I mean, he loves you but I doubt he could afford such a thing. Especially with all the
money he's spending now."
"So who the fuck did?" Claire took the paper out of her hands and began marching back and
forth across the room. "Could it be Chris?"
"How? After robbing a bank? Are you sure you didn't apply for-
"I didn't do anything. Think about it, Chris is the one who damned his soul for not being able
to set aside enough money for me to study without going into debt. He must be behind this
somehow, maybe it's his way of apologizing to me. "And if so, this could be a lead."
Jill was not convinced. There wasn't a chance in hell that Chris had been able to raise that
much money, and besides, something like this wasn't just a bank account thing. Assuming he
was behind the whole thing, at most he could have paid off his sister's debt and saved the
money to pay for her following years of study. The letter she was holding stated much more
than that. She read it once more to make sure she had it correctly but it was unequivocal.
Convincing an institution like that to grant such an absurd scholarship was a matter of power
and influence. She felt an unpleasant tightness in the pit of her stomach. Those were the kind
of clients her father's firm used to deal with, and, after all, that was her hometown.
"Is there any way to find out more from the university?"
Claire shrugged her shoulders, completely shocked. "I can go to the administration and ask."
"Then let's go."
"No, I'm going. You get some sleep."
"Bullshit- Jill interrupted when the other unexpectedly hugged her.
"You need to rest," she reiterated more gently, then sighed, stepping back. "And about what
you told me, Chris doesn't necessarily have to know. You made a mistake, it can happen, even
to a Miss Perfect like you. I know you love my brother, otherwise, you would never have run
to me swallowing your bulky pride. It only proves that you are human, and under the
circumstances, thank goodness you are. That said," she added, shooting her a sterner look, "if
it happens again when you are actually a couple, I will personally sew that fucking cunt shut
for you, got it?"
Jill nodded, looking away.
"And now get into bed. As soon as I get back I'll tell you all about it. Get everything you
need from the closet and also down in the kitchen, among my things, if you want to make
yourself something to eat."
Jill watched her leave and obeyed because she was exhausted. Yet when she found herself
between the covers she realized that although Claire had given her words of comfort, she still
felt bad. Not only for Chris, about that his sister was right, officially they were still nothing,
but also for Carlos. Now that some time had passed and she was much more lucid and present
to herself, she could not get his desperate expression out of her head.
I am in love with you. His statement kept ringing in her head. It was not the first time she had
broken someone's heart but there had always been something - an attitude, a crooked word, a
bad performance in bed - that had made her feel right to do so. That time, however, Carlos
had done nothing wrong at all. He had been patient, and understanding; he had listened to her
whine about Chris countless times without ever letting her weigh how much he ached to hear
her talk about a man who was not him; he had cheered her up when she was firmly convinced
that nothing could; he had pampered and coddled her like a queen; and he had always
remained respectfully in his place until she had practically jumped all over him. She had even
had the nerve to accuse him when she had been the one to use him from the very start, first as
moral support then as a casual partner. It had been she who had taken advantage of him all
along like a leech, and she was anything but proud of it. The thought of calling his hotel room
crossed her mind but she really didn't have the courage and then what could she possibly say?
That she was sorry for being an insensitive slut? And the most horrible thing was knowing
already that Carlos would have swallowed up, poisoning himself, everything, every sadness,
every anger, every nastiness that, rightly, he would have wanted to address to her and would
have simply forgiven her. Because Carlos was like that. Carlos was the poor kidnapped child
who wanted nothing more than to give up the gun, and that not only concretely but also
metaphorically. Conflict repulsed him so much that he preferred to step back and take on all
the shit around him without ever defending himself because, at least then, he would have
peace around him. The only bad thing he had managed to say to her was that outburst about
who would leave the other alone in bed the next morning, and that was nothing. He could
have destroyed and humiliated her if he had wanted to, but instead, he had just begged her to
stay, to give him a chance. Christ, if someone had described a guy like that to her, she would
have labeled him a poor pathetic idiot with no self-love incapable of surviving a no but she
knew Carlos, she knew him well by now and would never dream of calling him pathetic. He
just had a pure, very rare, and precious heart. He also loved himself very little, though. This
was true, otherwise, he would never have even given a look to someone like her who only
brought trouble. Jill hoped with all her heart that he might, someday, find the right woman
who would love him as he certainly deserved but, at the same time, wishing for that made her
feel a painful emptiness in the pit of her stomach because, after all, she was still the spoiled,
arrogant brat who wanted every nice thing for herself that she had always been before she left
the golden cage that had been her parents' home. And she hated herself for it.
It was going to be different with Chris. She was determined to be selfless and give him
everything he needed, putting up with all his daemons and his shit. She was going to be there
for him like she’s never done with anyone else.
"Wake up."
"Ugh, nooo."
"Leon…"
"Let me sleep, I'm tired! Go away!"
Nicholai laughed to see him hiding completely under the covers as if that would miraculously
make him invisible.
"It's after ten o'clock, I've been awake since five."
"Good for you, now fuck off."
"We have to resume your training," he insisted and Leon didn't even answer him anymore.
Lazy cat. "Okay, let's try another way."
He walked over to the window and opened it wide, letting in the frigid mountain air. It was
sunny that morning, but still very cold. Leon did not notice it right away, but it took him a
short time. He pulled his head out from under the comforter just enough to shoot him a look
that was both sleepy and murderous. "Close it," he hissed.
"No. It's good to air the rooms at least once a day. You who are so precise should know
better."
Leon huffed, as displeased as a spoiled child. "Well, you go downstairs. I'll be there in a
jiffy."
"How stupid do you think I am? Get your ass up."
The boy surrendered. "At least hand me the sweatshirt--fucking mornings are supposed to be
illegal," he mumbled, incredibly annoyed.
"Come on, I made breakfast," Nicholai comforted him with a hint of mockery in his voice,
tossing him the sweatshirt.
Leon put it on and, finally, got out of bed. The first thing he did was close the window again.
"I swear I'll nail them all shut," he threatened him.
"Move it, whiny."
Enduring a few more mutterings, Nicholai managed to be followed all the way to the kitchen.
"You cleaned up," Leon noted, checking.
"Did I do a sufficient job by your standards?"
"Hmm, acceptable."
Nicholai chuckled. "You have a problem."
"Oh, I have the whole book. You have no idea what a mess you're in. Aw, no tea?" He asked
as he reached for his cup of coffee.
"Excuse me? You've been whining for weeks about me forgetting coffee and now you want
tea?"
Leon gave a grimacing smile and shrugged. "Well, you got me used to it, didn't you?"
Nicholai rolled his eyes, appealing to his patience, and reached out a hand to take his cup but
Leon stepped back with a chuckle. "I'm just teasing you!" He clarified, taking a sip. "But you
are absolutely adorable in putting up with my tantrums."
"So I passed the test?"
"I guess, I would have told myself to fuck off, long ago - what are these? They smell good!"
He investigated, pointing to the plate in front of him where there were bizarre doughnuts
filled with ... cream?
"They're called vatrushki, they're some… I'm not sure how to translate it. Sweet kind of bread
things, I think, baked with cheese and raisins, but I also put little pieces of apple. I don't make
them very often because-
"That has to change," Leon interrupted him abruptly taking the first bite, "they're really really
delicious!"
Nicholai sighed, watching him eat greedily and feeling a little pathetic in his inclination to
want to indulge this pestiferous little boy's every whim. The fact was that what Leon
demanded were all little things. They seemed to make him so happy that it was a mortal sin
not to give him his way. It was also risky because he was aware that, in doing so, he was
going to reinforce his more manipulative traits, so he had to be careful not to overdo it.
"Only if you are there too," he posed a condition, and he immediately stiffened.
"I told you that-
"I know. And I didn't ask you to cook them with me, just to keep me company, otherwise no
more vatrushki for you."
Leon gave him a suspicious look, then nodded. "But I'm not going to help you, got it?"
"Understood. Now hurry up and eat. It's already very late."
"Can't we take it easy for today? You just got back. I missed you. "
"Out of the question."
"Phew... Anyway, I continued to practice while you were gone. In the shed mostly. I'm not a
slacker. I just don't like to wake up early, that's all."
"The daylight hours are few and you're not ready for dark training sessions yet."
"Dark what?!" Leon exclaimed, getting up to wash his plate and cup. "I'm not gonna train at
night in this fucking cold, forget it!"
Nicholai sneered. "This is non-negotiable. I laid out the rules for you before we started and
you accepted them."
"Rules suck," Leon commented, "and you know what else sucks?" He asked, wiping his
hands dry, pulling him closer, and laying a hand on his chest. "That you cut your beard and
you haven't given me a kiss yet, sir.”
Nicholai snorted, amused, and lowered his face a little to tenderly greet his soft, already ajar
mouth. He felt a quiver when Leon's hands ran down his neck and then through his hair and
closed his eyes, letting him direct the game. The kid was very good at kissing. Not that the
rest was unsatisfactory, far from it, but there was something special about his kisses. He
alternated between sweetness and temptation, shyness and control. He was irresistible. His
breath became shorter as he slipped one hand through his blond hair and stroked his back
with the other, rushing down to his ass to draw him against himself. He wrenched a moan
from him that made the movement of their tongues more erratic. Leon was hard and he was
getting so, too. When those mischievous little paws of his crept under his t-shirt, however, he
grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled his head back, breaking their kiss.
"Practice," he told him, a little harried, and it amused him to see those lust-loosed eyes tinged
with an annoyed light.
"Oh, come on!" The kid voiced his protest but Nicholai backed off anyway.
"Don't worry, the cold will take care of your eagerness," he joked, slipping on his sweater and
preceding him into the hallway.
"I demand at least a full day spent in bed, though!" Leon protested, joining him.
Nicholai laughed again. "I appreciate your confidence in my resilience, but I'm almost forty,
Lev."
"You'll just have to make something up and get creative," retorted the other, unblinking,
tucking into his aviator jacket and bending down to slip on his boots.
"Are you always this brash?"
Leon winced, fearing he had gone too far. "Does it bother you?" He asked, looking up at him,
showing all his uncertainty.
Nicholai shook his head. "No, I'm just not used to it. It's never been ... a topic of
conversation. Not really. Between Mitia and me there was always this wall of shame, fear
that it would be too obvious and that it would get us in trouble again. It was more from his
side than mine but I'm not very vocal by nature either."
Leon lowered his head, annoyed but not with him. "I hate this," he confessed. "I hate having
to hide, I hate having to worry about what the fuck people think! We don't do anything
wrong, anything different from a man and a woman! Why-
"Lev," Nicholai interrupted him, causing him to look up, "I am not ashamed. Things were
different then, it was another context, another country with other laws and other
consequences."
"But you are afraid of your colonel!"
"He is a psychopath. A sadist who enjoys torturing and killing everything that is not in line
with his worldview. And I'm not afraid of him, only of what he can do to you to punish me.
For what it's worth, I would have similar fears even if you were a woman, that you are a guy,
an American nonetheless, just makes it more complicated."
"Yes, point taken. Now tell me more about him," Leon prodded him, opening the door and
grimacing despondently at the sight of all that snow. "How do we bring him down?"
"You won't," Nicholai quickly turned him down, "if he ever appears before you, you must run
as fast and as far as you can and let me deal with him. The plan, however, is not a direct
confrontation because I would lose."
Leon turned to give him an incredulous look. "You? You can't lose. I mean-
"I would. Ruinously," Nicholai reiterated more sternly. "He is bigger, stronger, and hardly
feels pain.
"Another good reason to be two-
"You haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. In any case, you will never meet
him. End of discussion."
Nicholai passed him and retrieved the shovel to start removing snow from in front of the
shed, feeling Leon's displeased look burn on his back. The very idea that Sergei could touch
him tensed him up, and the fact that that idiotic kid thought he had a chance was sheer
madness. It had been a mistake to even mention him. When he was done, he planted the
shovel on the pile he had made. "I want you to swear me something. More than one thing,
actually." He told him, shooting him a serious and stern look.
Leon frowned. "Well, tell me. I'm not promising anything sight unseen."
"If someone were to kill me, Sergei, or anyone else, which can happen in my line of work, I
don't want you to seek revenge. I don't want you to be attached to any company, paramilitary,
military, private, and least of all espionage organization. What else you do is up to you to
decide. Will you want to fight the B.O.W.s that will spread like wildfire? Do it with your own
strength and rules alone because being below anyone else will drain you. You would be just a
tool for any of them, something to be used and thrown away when no longer needed. In other
words, I want you to promise me that you will not make the same mistakes as me step by
step."
Leon blinked, distressed at the mere idea of losing him. "I... I don't believe in revenge. It does
not solve anything. I'm not Chris."
"No, you are smarter but less in control than you think. In the beginning, I was not much
different from him. In fact, I was actually worse because, on some level, I was aware of how
wrong what I was doing was. I simply didn't care about other people's lives, much less my
own. He is just stupid and lost, he couldn't do otherwise but you, with that bright little brain
of yours, could do a lot worse than him and maybe me. Especially to yourself but not only
because, you see, the moment you let them put the puppet strings on you, you'll never really
know what's in the agenda of those who make you dance, nor what's hiding behind their
alleged best intentions."
Leon was silent for a long moment, pondering. "All right, I promise."
Nicholai turned a half smile on him. "And now to work."
"Easy, easy."
Alfred's voice was the first thing Chris heard when he woke up again and followed the
advice. He opened his eyes slowly, finding himself facing the frescoed ceiling with the naked
blond guy crying in despair. He still felt tremendously groggy but at least his head had
stopped hurting; they had probably given him something for the pain. He sat up slowly,
meeting Alfred's gaze.
"How are you feeling?" His host asked him, getting close to sit beside him. "You gave poor
Mr. Harman quite a scare."
Chris did not answer him. Mostly because he wasn’t quite sure what to answer. He knew that
what he had seen had been real, but he had also taken a blow to the head. Moreover, his
instincts told him that Alfred was not the right person to talk to about Alexia's supposed
ghost. He probably would not have taken it well.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
"No," Alfred corrected him, "it is I who must apologize for the unforgivable treatment my
men gave you before I arrived. Tell me, how do you wish them to be punished? No
punishment would be too harsh. It is purely at your discretion. I will act accordingly.
Chris frowned, confused. "Punishment? For what?"
"For being incompetent idiots."
"I... I don't believe that punishment is necessary. I was out of my mind and not thinking
straight. When I saw their uniforms and the syringe, I thought the worst."
"Understandable," Alfred reassured him, "they should have known better. I can bring you
their heads if you wish."
"N-no, thank you. No heads for me."
The other laughed amused. "You have a very delicate soul for the work you do but there is no
doubt that you know how to fight. I am very impressed with your skills. You see, I personally
saw to it that my men had the best training and yet you, confused and wounded, knocked out
two of them. The doctor doesn't count, he had no real training, nor did Mr. Harman."
"Did I hurt him too?" Chris immediately worried, vaguely remembering pushing him. "Oh
my God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Is he okay?"
"He'll have a sore back for a couple of days, nothing serious," Alfred downplayed. "You'll
have to rest too. Why were you walking around in the dark?"
Chris hesitated, not eager to tell him the truth but afraid to lie to him. "I thought I heard
someone and went to see. I thought it was you at first. Another one of your games but,
clearly, I was wrong. I got lost in the hall of mirrors and then fell down the stairs when
thunder startled me."
Alfred gave no sign that he did not believe him and put his hand in his pocket. "I found this
on my nightstand. I think you forgot it last night," he told him, handing him his lighter. "It
was empty; I had it refilled for you."
"Thank you," Chris whispered and, to be inconspicuous, took the packet from the nightstand
and lit a cigarette. How had the lighter gotten into Alfred's room? Had that bitch entered in
there, too? Was she a danger to him?
Alfred stood up and looked out the window toward the sea. It was afternoon and, although it
was not raining, the sky was gray and bleak.
"Have you ever thought of leaving this place?" Chris questioned him to change the subject of
the conversation.
"No," was the other man's dry reply, so unusual for him who always liked to make long
speeches.
"Why? I understand it's your home but, I mean, it's not exactly the most hospitable place on
earth."
Alfred blinked, pensive. "The thought never crossed my mind. In any case, I have duties to
attend to."
"For whom? A late father who never valued you and a company that left you alone here,
doing dirty work for them and exploiting your people for their agenda?"
"You don't waltz around things, I appreciate that. I suppose it's because I don't want to leave
my sister here alone."
"She is-
"Gone. I know, but being here still makes me feel close to her."
His grief and sadness were sincere, it was more than evident. Could it be that he did not know
that his late sister was wandering around the building at night? No, it was impossible that he
did not know. He was the master of the house and an attentive one. Given the circumstances
and his altered mental state, Chris supposed that it was far more likely that he had been
hallucinating or having a particularly lucid nightmare. Could posttraumatic shock have given
that, too? He had no idea because, until his arrival on the island, he had stubbornly refused to
even accept that he had a problem.
"Is there nothing you are curious about in the world?" He kept investigating.
Alfred smiled, again displaying that somewhat childlike manner that Chris was beginning to
cherish. "Oh, many things indeed, from the noblest to the most foolish. I would really love to
attend an opera at La Scala in Milan, or a ballet, or an orchestra concert. To listen to gifted
musicians play live in front of me. Learning from them."
"Well, I'm no expert, but I think you have nothing to envy in that regard."
"I'm just a clumsy autodidact. I had to fill my time somehow as a child."
Chris sneered, a little incredulously. "Don't be modest now. It doesn't suit you. What else?"
Alfred thought about it for a while. "I'd like to know what it feels like to be outside in a warm
place, any warm place, it doesn't matter which one. To really feel the heat on my skin. To
smell the flowers without being in a glass cage. Yes, I think I would like that," he admitted,
dreamily. "And I'd like to try a burger and fries, at least once; go shopping in a mall; get
drunk in a pub; or just walk down a busy street," he chuckled, a little uncomfortable. "I must
sound so silly to you."
"No, not at all," Chris replied, who actually felt sad for him. What right had his father had to
bring him into the world to keep him there like a bird in a cage? It was inhuman. "I can make
you a burger and fries if you want. I don't think I can match my mom's, but I can manage."
"Would you?" Alfred's eyes lit up with joy.
"Yeah, in a heartbeat. It's not that hard. Why haven't you ever asked the guy who cooks for
you for one?"
"Well, Mr. Harman would disapprove."
"Screw him," Chris sentenced, " rather! We were talking about punishment before, he was
included, right?"
"I suppose," Alfred replied, a little hesitant. He was clearly fond of his dear butler and,
understandingly, would have preferred not to do him any harm.
"Then the penguin will dine with us, in civilian clothes, no sir, no master, no Mr. Lastname-
"Oh, Lord!" Alfred laughed, relieved.
"And no cutlery. Not even one tiny fork."
"I can't do that to him! It is too cruel, poor Mr. Harman, you're so mean!"
Chris did not take pity. "You said it was up to me, are you going back on your word, Lord
Ashford?"
Alfred sighed, extremely amused but also a little concerned. "He won't like it. Not at all. "
"What punishment would it be otherwise?"
"Consider it done but I don't want to tire you out," Alfred surrendered and got close to the
bed again. "The doctors said it's nothing serious but you suffered a bad fall. You must rest for
a few days. Did you find anything interesting about your friend's account? I took the liberty
of rearranging the file while you were asleep."
Chris lowered his gaze. "Besides the fact that I'm an asshole? No. He's had a tough life, and
I've been tremendously unfair to him. If only I could go back to the start, I..."
Alfred sat back down beside him. "That, unfortunately, is a luxury no one can afford but I'm
sure when the time comes, you will be able to make amends. You'll succeed even better if
you're smart enough to figure out what he needs."
"I don't think so. The last time we spoke he tried to kill me."
Alfred rolled his violet eyes. "Are you aware that there is no such thing as 'trying to kill'?
Especially in a situation like the one you described to me." He lifted a hand, grazing his now-
healed cut at the level of his carotid artery. "Killing is incredibly simple, in this case, a flick
of the wrist," he explained, scratching it softly with the tip of his thumbnail. "If he really had
the intention, I would never have had the pleasure of your company. I don't doubt that he was
furious with you and probably still is but he never meant to kill you. Rather, I think he saved
you."
"Can you stop?" Chris asked him, pushing his hand away because it was beginning to make
him feel uncomfortable, as was the fact that they were on the same bed.
"My apologies," Alfred retorted with an odd little smile.
"What do you mean he saved me?"
"Didn't you notice? Ever since we started talking about him the thought of Wesker hasn't
crossed your mind. Not even once. This Leon must really be an interesting fellow to be able
to cast off such a cumbersome shadow."
Chris sighed. "He is... a handful. Capricious, stubborn, a public menace behind the wheel,
always thinks he's right but then he flashes that smirk that lights up his whole face, and it
becomes so hard to say no to him. He is so smart! When we found your poem, in the sheet
music at Birkin's house, while to me it was just a meaningless jumble - no offense, I'm not
good with poetry - he had it all figured out. Without knowing you and barely knowing who
Birkin and Wesker were, he interpreted it perfectly, assigning the seasons, grasping the fact
that you had tried to befriend Birkin, that you didn't like Wesker, and that you adored your
sister. He... What?" He asked, noticing that the smile on Alfred's lips had widened into a
softened expression.
"Nothing," he chirped, "you're really passionate about describing someone you like. I wonder
how you will picture me when you tell him about this stay of yours on my island. No-no,
don't tell me. Please go ahead."
"There was a line, a... verse, I think? That confused him."
"Really? Which one?"
"Your fall into treason, or something like that."
"Oh, I see," Alfred nodded, " It didn't mean anything. Or rather, it was just the child me
arrogantly trying to predict the future. A future that, incidentally, happened. I was a kid but
they were also so young at the time and already their ambitions were far greater than they
were. I was afraid that one day submitting to Spencer and his agenda would become too
narrow for them. I don't know what I meant. Maybe I would have wanted to offer him my
protection if that happened but William never accepted it," he concluded sadly. "If you don't
mind me asking, did my sheet music have a purpose?"
"Yes, if played it opened the passage to a secret room."
"Did you-
"No, I can't play the piano. Birkin's daughter, Sherry, did."
"Where is she now?" Investigated Alfred with sincere interest.
"With my sister and the others. I have no doubt they are taking good care of her. She is a
bright child," Chris reassured him.
"Well, she is her father's daughter, after all."
Chris winced, remembering something else. "There was an empty briefcase in the secret
room that had contained a syringe with a compound, at some point." He tried to remember its
name but the effort only gave him a twinge of migraine. "Whatever it was, did he send it to
you?"
Alfred frowned, shaking his head. "No. I haven't had contact with William in over fifteen
years."
"Leon had found part of the cipher, PW..." He interrupted himself, massaging his temples
with a groan.
"Never mind." Alfred stood up sharply.
"What is it?" Chris asked him, alarmed.
He smiled at him. "It's nothing, just a feeling but you don't have to worry about it. Rest now, I
have disturbed you too much. No, I insist," he added, seeing him become agitated,
Chris, however, did not want him to leave because, rational or not, he was now convinced
that as long as Alfred was near him, nothing bad would happen to him in that damn place.
"Will you come back later? We could eat here together."
"Only if you get some sleep now. Oh, right! It was very kind of you to put me to bed last
night. Let me reciprocate." Alfred approached him and once he had induced him to lie down,
tucked him in.
Chris gave him one last look and part of him really wanted to tell him what had happened the
previous night but felt in his gut that would be a bad choice. After all, he would not have
reacted very well to being told by someone that they had met the ghost of his mother either.
If, however, Alexia was alive, as she seemed to be, and Alfred had no knowledge of it, he
wanted to understand what the bitch wanted before he told him about it.
"Stop fussing," his kind host scolded him, and Chris gave him a tired smile.
"All right," he obeyed, closing his eyes and settling on his side. "Can you close the door on
your way out? Please."
"Of course."
When Claire returned to her room, Jill immediately awoke and snapped sitting up, tense as a
violin string.
"So? Found out anything?" She immediately questioned her.
"Hello to you too," Claire huffed then shook her head, clearly annoyed. "They are not at
liberty to share such information with me, which makes me even more suspicious because
my brother would have no reason to hide it from me. I also called Barry to make sure he had
nothing to do with it and he confirmed it. Also, Carlos, in the background, asked if you were
okay. He seemed really concerned. I told Barry to pass on to him that everything is fine. Poor
guy, he's really smitten with a bitch like you."
Jill sighed and did not comment further. What could she possibly say? Nothing.
"Sorry, that was gratuitous and uncalled for," Claire apologized, tossing her biker jacket onto
the chair in front of her desk, as messy as her brother. "But I didn't leave the administration
totally empty-handed. I was able to get the business card of the law firm that handled the
mediation and - what a coincidence! - it has your last name on it," she concluded, tossing it to
her.
Jill caught it on the fly and felt a thrill of disgust as she read: Valentine & Sanger LLP on that
piece of elegantly paginated paper.
"Are you related?" Claire inquired.
"He's my father.'"
"Well, I hope you're on good terms because we're gonna have a talk with daddy right away.
Get yourself together, I'll wait for you downstairs."
"Fuck it! Fuck it all!" Snarled Jill, throwing the damn card away as soon as she was left
alone. All that was missing was her asshole father to top off that shitty day! However, Claire
was right, that whole situation stunk and was a lead they couldn't ignore so she had to put on
her big girl pants and suck it up.
She abandoned the bed and fled to the bathroom, where she tried to at least give herself a
presentable air. Not that it would do any good, her father would notice that she was a mess
right away, and that would immediately put her at a disadvantage but there was little she
could do about it.
Claire was already waiting for her on the driveway beside the motorcycle that Chris had
jumped through hoops to gift her. She immediately noticed that something was wrong with
Jill. "If you prefer I'll go by myself," she offered.
"No. He wouldn't even receive you. Let's just go, I don't want to talk about it."
The ride to the center was not particularly long, but she felt the tension growing inside her
with each passing moment, and by the time she stepped off the motorcycle in front of the
building that housed her father's office, Jill was, by now, a nervous wreck. Without saying
anything to Claire, she marched into the hallway and pressed the button to call the elevator.
"When we're inside," she finally decided to say, "leave it to me and, for heaven's sake, don't
freak out or we'll be sleeping in a cell tonight because he will definitely call the police on us
and press charges, got it?"
Claire shrugged her shoulders. "As long as we get what we want to know, I don't care."
It was not exactly what Jill would have liked to hear but she let it go as the elevator doors
opened. With less bravado than before, she approached the glass entrance to the office where
her last name towered in large letters. Once inside, the secretary at the counter, a young
woman in a designer suit whom Jill had never met before, peered at them with ill-concealed
confusion because they certainly were not the usual type of clients she was used to receiving.
Nevertheless, she kept herself professional.
"Good afternoon, may I help you?" She inquired politely.
"We need to see Mr. Valentine," retorted Jill, flatly.
The secretary became even more puzzled and glanced at the agenda on her desk. "Do you
have an appointment?" She asked. "Because if not, I'm afraid I can't accommodate you, but I
can book you one for..." She quickly scrolled through the pages. "Two months from now, on
December 22 at four o'clock, otherwise-
"Just tell him his daughter is here," Jill hissed out of her teeth.
Chapter End Notes

Hello, my darlings!
Again a thousand thanks to all of you for being here: readers, commenters, kudoers,
subscribers, and bookmarkers!
First a not-so-pleasant communication: summer is coming to an end and, as of

September, I will presumably (I'll spare you the nonsensical mess that is the teaching
system in Italy) start working again but I don't yet know where and I don't yet know
exactly when. What is life without a little thrill (also, fuck them all)? I will still keep the
weekly update to Wednesdays but I doubt that I will be able to write such long chapters,
so we will go back to an average of 3.5k-4k words per chapter.
The good thing is that we are approaching the final part of the Code Veronica arc. In a
few more weeks (I don't know how many exactly, I'm not good at making predictions,
and when I try I always get them all wrong XD) we will have to start the RE4 one which
will also include elements of Revelations 1, I think. I'm not entirely sure, though.
Having said that, let's come to the chapter, Nicholai and Leon are continuing their
honeymoon in the mountains relatively undisturbed but Nicholai has made Leon
promise one very specific thing. Who knows if, in the future, our kitten will be able to
keep it.
Chris has had it rough with Alexia and it is clear that in that situation the math does not
add up but it is still too early to talk about it in depth. What has emerged instead is that
the relationship between Chris and Alfred has taken off and they have now really
become friends. Chris feels reassured by his presence and Alfred really seems to have
grown fond of him. Although it is not a romance, personally, I find them really very
tender. They are two lonely souls who find comfort in each other. Also, Chris, my boy,
when you speak of Leon your eyes sparkle, get a grip XD!
Of course, it's not much of a spoiler because it's pretty obvious, it was Alfred who
granted Claire that scholarship, simply because he could. He did not even reveal it to
Chris because he considers it a minor kindness. In doing so, however, he also left an
open lead for Jill and Claire to investigate, and our two determined girls have no
intention of letting it slip through their fingers.
Jill is a mess. She feels rightly guilty about what happened not only to Chris but also to
Carlos (I did not put in a scene with him but, for the sake of clarity, he spent most of the
time locked in his room crying. And he still worries for her, precious puppy, this ugly
world doesn't deserve you). Claire, in this, has been very pragmatic but it hasn't helped
much to make her feel better. Probably because I didn't want Jill to feel better. I have my
own concept of karma and when characters behave badly, I don't hesitate to exercise it. I
did it with Chris (who is still a long way from serving out all the shit he did in the
Raccoon City arc) and I am doing it with Jill as well. Being forced to see her father
again is just the beginning.
God, the end of this arc is going to be nasty.

Thank you so much to all of you who are still here!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 67
Chapter Notes
Jill felt a tightness in her stomach when, after being informed by the secretary, her father
rushed out of his office with a shocked expression on his face. He had changed a lot since the
last time she had seen him. He was still slender and elegant but had aged. His short, perfectly
combed hair was no longer a vibrant brown but dark gray and had whitened over his
sideburns, and even his goatee was streaked with white. He was still a handsome and
charming man and it was beyond obvious that he was her father; he and Jill looked like two
peas in a pod. What he did surprised her more than anything else because she never expected
it from him. Not after the mess she'd made the last time they'd seen each other. He sprang
forward and hugged her.
Jill did not move, paralyzed like a pillar of salt.
"Thank God you weren't in Raccoon City," he sighed, clearly relieved, in his marked French
accent. He could speak perfect English and, in court, he usually did, but, otherwise, out of
stubbornness, he refused to do so. Then he stepped back to look at her, keeping his hands
firmly on her shoulders. "I tried so hard to reach you. I even tried to go into town but the
military wouldn't let anyone through. I searched every refugee camp, and every quarantine
hospital for weeks. I... I thought you were dead."
Jill winced because she had never seen her father like that. He had always been algid, stern,
unflappable in the face of everything. She was not surprised that he knew she had moved to
Raccoon but it had not even occurred to her to call home to inform her parents that she was
all right.
And now she was standing in front of her father who looked like he was one step away from
crying.
"No, I was there. It was hell," she denied him with more desperation than she would have
liked, "and I need your help."
He struggled to regain a little of his natural composure. "Of course," he then turned to the
secretary, "Samantha, please cancel all appointments for the day. Come, let's go to my
office."
He walked back to the door and opened it for them, letting them in.
Claire did so with the confidence of a soldier marching with her head held high, Jill with
much less boldness. She had expected coolness, yelling and screaming not that.
"I'm Claire," she heard her introduce herself.

"Oh, pardon!" He apologized. "Etienne Valentine," he replied, shaking her hand briefly.
"Please have a seat. Are you hungry? Would you like me to order you something? Anything."
"We're fine," blurted Jill. "And what the fuck is this? You've never been like this in your
whole life!"
Etienne winced and a shadow of guilt darkened his face. "I never believed I had lost my
daughter before," he retorted with equal bluntness. "Besides, many things have changed since
you left."
"Starting with the disappearance of your wedding ring and the top model you have as a
secretary."
"Your mother wanted a divorce and moved back to Japan. I only accommodated her, and no, I
don't sleep with my secretary, but this nonsense can wait. You look miserable. What do you
need? Money?"
"I don't want your fucking money!"
"Well, actually..." Claire tried to interject.
"You shut your mouth!" Snarled Jill, fuming with rage.
Etienne sighed but did not retort, another unusual thing for him who had always acted as the
sole holder of reason. "Then tell me, I'm listening."
Jill took the letter Claire had received out of her pocket and slammed it into his hands. "Who
is your client?"
He stepped back to get his glasses from the desk and read it, clearly recognizing it. "Are you
Miss Redfield?" He asked Claire, who nodded, then turned back to look at Jill. "My client has
requested to remain anonymous. You are a cop. You know as well as I do that I cannot
disclose this kind of information."
"Then go fuck yourself," Jill hissed, "Claire, let's go."
"Wait," her father stopped her. "Why do you want to know it? Bon sang, Jill, you reappear
out of nowhere to ask me a name without giving me even a shred of explanation?"
She laughed joylessly. "For what purpose? To hear you call me crazy? No thanks!"
Etienne rubbed his face, clearly upset. "I'm sorry, all right? For everything. I've been a bad
father. Absent for the most part and controlling for the rest. I should never have allowed… I
didn't know you weren't into Mark, otherwise, I'd never forced you into a marriage you didn't
want and to pilot your life. I..." He cleared his throat with his eyes moistening and avoided
blaming her mother for having given him false information regarding all that mess. She was
still her mother and he had been too absent to notice what was going on, so he was anything
but innocent. "I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. A few years ago I even came to
Raccoon City. I saw you leaving the department with a guy. Both of you were in uniform and
you looked so happy together. You especially were beaming. I didn't want to spoil that
moment for you. I followed you for a while from a distance, watching you dine from outside
the diner window and then walk Kujo out together along the river."
"Kujo is dead."
He winced. "I'm so sorry."
"You always hated him."
Etienne shook his head. "No, I just wanted him to stay out of my home office and not run
around barking while I was working. I never hated your dog. I gave him to you as a gift. He
was a lovely puppy," he corrected her.
"We're wasting time," Jill huffed, trying desperately to ignore the whirlwind of feelings she
was experiencing. She never expected an apology from her father, and the fact that he was
making one in front of a stranger, laying himself bare, dispelled any doubt. He was sincere.
He was repentant. "I want that name."
"No, you want a fight and I'm not going to give you one. What I'm willing to do is listen and,
eventually, consider. You have come this far. You're an adult, I can't stop you. What do you
have to lose?"
"I think you should give him a chance," Claire intervened. "Don't make the same mistake I
did with Chris."
Jill was tempted to blow up in her face and say that all she cared about was knowing that
name and that she didn't give a shit about anything else but that wouldn't be true. Claire loved
her even though she acted like a bitch far too often. She probably felt uncomfortable and out
of place in that situation. Jill could not blame her. She did not react when she saw her get up.
"I'll wait for you at home. Take all the time you need."
She had not even given her time to agree; she had taken it for granted. Jeez, how badly Chris
had raised her! Still, she did not stop her when she left the room neither and went back to
look at her father.
"Just make a face I don't like and I'll disappear forever," she threatened him.
"Why don't we take a walk while we talk? We could go to the park, like when you were
little."
"I'm not here to get lost on memory lane."
Etienne nodded, sadly, and went to take a seat behind the desk. "As you wish," he
accommodated her.
Jill still looked at him suspiciously then decided to sit down in turn. "It all started last July..."
She spared him nothing. She told him everything that had happened at Spencer Manor down
to the most horrific, truculent detail, then continued with the investigation she had conducted
in France until her return to Raccoon City and their desperate escape, leaving out Carlos,
Leon, and Nicholai's names, and removing Sherry from the picture entirely. He would have
freaked out knowing a little girl was involved in that mess, regardless if he believed her or
not.
Etienne never interrupted her, but it was clear that there were many points that made him
doubt not so much his daughter's sincerity but, rather, her sanity. He was careful not to call
her crazy, however, given her reaction just before. He kept his sphinx expression firmly in
place even though he was extremely worried about her. His little girl was clearly distraught
and physically exhausted.
"After that, Chris disappeared. Initially, I thought he had gone off on his own because he and
Claire, his sister, had had a bad fight but too much time had passed. Something must have
happened to him and that led me to you. Chris has always been racking his brains about to
put aside enough money to pay for his sister's studies and now, coincidentally, along comes
this insane scholarship."
"He is not my client."
"No shit, he's broke!" She snarled. "You didn't believe a single word, did you?"
Etienne stood up. "You must indulge me that you have not told me the most credible story."
Jill lowered her gaze. She was aware of it, all right. She had gotten called a nutcase by the
entire police station. "Do you really think Raccoon City exploded because of an accident at a
plant like they say in the news? The whole fucking city?"
"No. I don't," he conceded to her. "And while I was looking for you, I realized that plenty of
dust had been thrown under the rug institutionally. However, between that and zombies on
the loose…"
"Fuck, it's history repeating itself! No one believed it even in Raccoon, and look how it
ended! I'm not crazy! It is all true and-
No. Jill interrupted abruptly because it crossed her mind that she could prove it to him by
having Carlos go there and show him what his body was capable of doing, but she couldn't do
that to him. Least of all to convince her asshole father. She felt dirty for even considering it.
She was really creative in wanting to ruin the poor guy's life! If anyone had known about the
way his tissues regenerated, they would have locked him in the lab to throw away the key.
She was prepared to do anything to find Chris, but not to throw Carlos under the bus. She had
already hurt him enough. She wiped her eyes and stood up. "Forget it. I'll find out that name
one way or another."
His father opened the top desk drawer and lit a cigarette. The first in months, since he was
trying to quit.
"No, you won't," he retorted, massaging his temples. "Whoever this person really is, they
work through intermediaries of which my company was just the latest. It would be hard for
me to track them."
"But will you?" Jill pushed.
Etienne sighed a puff of smoke. "No."
"Then we're done," she stood up, striding toward the door.
"Not for the reason you think," he told her, making her stop. "You're right. I don't believe in
the existence of zombies and monsters and I beg you, Jill, go to a clinic where they can take
care of you. I'll gladly pay for it. Whatever happened in that mansion and in Raccoon City
has clearly upset you. No, I've listened to you, now let me finish. That doesn't mean there
aren't other monsters, far more real and concrete, flesh-and-blood men who could tear you
apart in ways you can't even imagine-
"Then defend me!" Jill thundered in a voice trembling with rage. "If you are really so
remorseful, represent me and all the victims of Umbrella and crumble it to ashes! Or at least
tell me that name so I can find the man of my life! The one who was there for me when you
failed me miserably!"
Etienne did not respond, barricading himself behind one of those silences she knew all too
well.
"Fuck you," she concluded, walking out and slamming the door.
When she was on the street, she did not call Claire to be picked up. She walked it, hoping in
this way to get all the turmoil out of her system. She only succeeded in making herself more
tired. When she finally reached the campus, she was exhausted and more desperate than
before. She was this close to getting a clear lead, and the only man who could give her an
answer was also the only man who never would.
She communicated about her failure to Claire as soon as she crossed the threshold, and she
took it strangely well. If she had not been so absolutely exhausted she would have
immediately found it suspicious but the only thing she managed to do was to throw herself
into bed in the hope of gathering the energy she needed to think of something the next
morning.
What Jill did not know was that she and Claire were not, after all, so different in the way they
reasoned, the difference being that the latter, as she was less emotionally involved, had not
set herself any particular qualms. It had only taken her one look to realize what Jill's father
was like, and she had guessed that he would not believe a word about what had happened in
Raccoon City. So the first thing she had done as soon as she got home was to call Barry to put
Carlos on the phone.
For that very reason, Barry had driven all night and was, by now, around five in the morning,
parked in front of Attorney Valentine's house. Carlos was sitting by his side and had barely
opened his mouth for the entire trip; Sherry, on the other hand, was sleeping, wrapped in a
blanket, in the back seats. It was pouring rain outside.
"You don't have to do that," Barry said when he saw him reach for the handle to open the
door. Carlos hadn't told him anything about what had happened with Jill, but it had taken very
little to connect the dots.
"I know," was his laconic reply, before getting out and crossing the street in the rain. He
looked shyly at the wide gate of that massive three-story American cottage and felt out of his
element. He had never been in such a place before, and generally, people like him who tried
to approach one ended up with handcuffs on their wrists. The garden was extremely well-
kept, with perfectly mowed grass, a driveway with white stone slabs that reflected the pale
light of the street lamps, and a facade of the same color. It was modern and surely must have
cost more money than he would ever see in his entire life. He plucked up the courage and
rang the doorbell. A light came on on the second floor, and he had to wait a short time before
a male voice asked who it was.
He cleared his throat, tremendously uncomfortable and also cold from the rain that was now
soaking him. "M-my name is Carlos, I'm a friend of Jill's," he stammered. "Hello?" He asked,
then, chiming in again.
The front door opened shortly after, and Etienne marched out barefoot wearing only a
nightgown. He was not really sleeping, and he had strongly hoped to hear the doorbell ring.
Only he had been expecting his daughter. Not a stranger who supposedly knew her. He had
never felt the need to keep a weapon in the house and had often been more than opposed to
what he considered nothing more than an all-American mass paranoia but, at that moment, he
would have liked to have one. Not to use it. He would not have known where to begin. Just as
a deterrent. As his bare feet sank into the soggy grass, he took his time to study the guy,
unable not to feel concerned about the thugs his daughter apparently hung out with. The
stranger was a big South American bloke wearing a worn second-hand sweatshirt. Was his
daughter doing drugs? That would have explained both the zombies, the monsters, and the
guy at his gate.
"If you're looking for her, she's not here," he told him, clearly hostile and defensive. He knew
that maybe that was the best way to catch a bullet, but he didn't care. He wanted to keep her
safe. "If you want money to stay away from her, just tell me how much."
Carlos winced, as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world, and shook his head.
"O-oh, no sir!" He exclaimed with shocked candor. "She doesn't even know I'm here. Claire
called me. Jill... Jill told you things today," he went on, looking around nervously. "I can
prove to you that it's all true and she’s not delusional."
Etienne hesitated. Now that there was only the gate separating them and he could see him up
close, he realized how young, scared, and miserable that boy was.
"I mean no harm, please."
"Merde..." Etienne sighed, before pressing the button on the remote control to open the gate.
"Come inside."
That was the stupidest idea he had had in his entire existence, but he was an analytical man
who did not like nebulous situations, and, above all, he was a father who had a lot to make up
for. Tensely he paused when he saw that the stranger had stopped on the doorstep, reluctant to
enter.
"What is it?"
Carlos winced. "I... I don't want to mess everything up. This place is so beautiful."
"Just come in," Etienne ordered him, having to acknowledge that if the guy was a drug dealer,
he was the most harmless one he had ever seen. He preceded him into the kitchen and
motioned for him to take a seat at the counter. Both of them were soaking wet.
"You said you have evidence, show it to me," he went straight to the point.
Carlos nodded and sat down where he was directed, trying to appear as harmless and tame as
possible so as not to frighten him. "In Raccoon I was infected with one of those viruses and
treated but my DNA came out of it… changed, I think. I'm sorry, I'm not a scientist, I don't
know the technical terms and it's easier to show than tell. I'm going to pull a pocketknife out
of my jeans pocket now, but please don't be scared. I won't use it against you, okay?"
Etienne frowned and, despite himself, nodded, increasingly frightened and winced when he
saw him lift the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "What the fuck are you doing?!" He exclaimed when
he saw him cut the inside of his forearm from the wrist up to the elbow crease. Instinctively
he sprang forward to stop him but Carlos pulled back.
"It's okay!" He hastened to say, snapping his pocket knife shut. "I just need you to look."
Absentmindedly, since, absurd as it was, it was becoming a normal thing for him, he rubbed
away the blood with his thumb to show him the skin had already closed up. Etienne opened
his eyes wide, confused, and shook his head. "Is this a fucking joke?" He accused him.
"No!" exclaimed Carlos. "It's not a trick, I swear." He turned to pick up one of the kitchen
knives that were neatly hanging above the stove and handed it to him. "Go ahead, you try it!"
Etienne stepped back, outraged. "I'm not going to stab you, you idiot!"
"I insist, please. Otherwise, you won't believe me and you won't help Jill. Just not too deep, if
you can. It would heal but it would take longer, and, well, it still hurts."
Etienne remained motionless for a long moment, then suddenly grabbed his other hand and,
with a somewhat trembling grip, made a small cut on its back.
Exactly like the previous one, it too closed in a few moments. The lawyer staggered back,
dropping the knife that planted itself in the oak parquet floor of the kitchen, and he shook his
head, pale as a sheet.
"How..? How is this possible?" He groaned.
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "I'm too stupid and ignorant to even imagine an answer.”
"I need a drink," Etienne muttered, taking a glass from the cupboard and pouring himself a
couple of fingers of bourbon, which he downed in one gulp. "So the rest is just as true?
Everything Jill told me?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Carlos confirmed, lowering his gaze. "P-please, if you could keep to
yourself that I... I-I mean, they would lock me up somewhere to do horrible things to me. A
friend of Jill's tested my blood, I'm not contagious, I swear! Please... I just want you to help
Jill b-but don't tell her anything. She would be so furious at me! And… and at Claire for
calling me!"
Etienne regained his composure. "Don't worry. I won't run around screaming that some guy
has a miraculous healing factor. They'd lock me up well before you," he reassured him,
sternly. "Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yeah, we'll manage-
"We?"
"I can't believe you have a poor little girl with you, you reckless fools!" Etienne howled,
rushing out of the house toward the car parked outside the gate after Carlos had briefly
explained the situation to him.
Barry gave him a quizzical look but relaxed when he saw Carlos behind him.
Etienne invited them inside, an invitation that sounded very much like a 'if you don't do it I'll
have you both arrested.'
Sherry barely woke up when Carlos took her in his arms.
"Take her to the third room on the right on the second floor," the host instructed him, and he
obeyed without a word. Jill had always been very harsh in describing her father but to him,
he did not seem so bad. Sure, he was agitated but who wouldn't be in his place?
He winced, however, when reaching the door to the room, he realized it was Jill's. There was
a plaque with her name on it, the kind made of wood for little girls, topped by a small fox in
low relief whose fluffy tail embraced the name. He felt like crying again but restrained
himself. He had to put Sherry to bed. Clumsily, since his hands were full, he managed to
lower the handle. He laid Sherry down and removed her shoes before putting her under the
covers.
"Sorry for all this trouble, estrellita," he whispered to her, tenderly kissing her forehead and
reaching a hand toward the bedside table to turn on the abatjour, before rising again. "Blue
walls..." He commented, wistfully, glancing around.
He knew not to pry because Jill would not be at all happy about it, so he respectfully
restrained himself from doing so. After all, she wanted nothing to do with him. She had been
more than clear about that. Brutally so. People's pasts were an intimate and private thing,
something to share with a loved one or a true friend, and he was just some guy she had
drunkenly fucked with. After spending a whole day crying and cursing himself for burning
the chance to have her as a friend, talking to Claire had at least given him purpose and
straightened out his priorities. He had committed himself to helping Jill find Chris and had no
intention of reneging on that promise. He just didn't feel like seeing her. He would not know
what to say to her at this point. He was not entirely stupid and was well aware that it was Jill
who had treated him badly and unfairly accused him but putting his foot down to be right,
mortifying her until he received an apology would not make him feel any better. He didn't
want a fucking apology, he wanted her and she was in love with someone else. He had known
it all along and getting so carried away was his responsibility, not Jill's. He stood there for a
while, with a lump in his throat, looking at those blue walls covered with posters of American
actors and musicians. Some he knew, most he did not. In the jungle, the most he and his
comrades had as entertainment was a half-burnt guitar but, fuck, Chico was a god playing it
to make them sing and dance. The first thing they had done to him when they had caught
them was break all his fingers, which had soon turned black from gangrene. Yet until almost
to his last breath he had continued to mumble a few tunes, trying to make their imprisonment
more bearable.
Two tears escaped and ran down his cheeks. He was a pathetic, barely literate, miserable ex-
militia man who had spent his whole life trudging through the mud like a pig. What could he
possibly offer a woman like Jill? Educated, intelligent, headstrong, beautiful, born into
luxury... She had always been out of his league - it was already a miracle that she had slept
with him.
He hurried to wipe his face and turned around when he heard the door open. He expected
Barry but instead found himself facing the confused and still suspicious eyes of a man who
looked so much like her. He seemed stern and haughty, as she had described him, but he was
also much more human than he had ever expected. It was clear that he was a man used to
taking charge of a situation, no matter how shitty it was, and never losing his head. In a way,
this made him similar to Nicholai, and it was now much clearer why Jill had always stroke
him against the grain. He reminded her of her father in attitude. Carlos could not help but
find it touching.
"Is she all right? Does she need a doctor?" Etienne questioned him. He was not blind and
realized that the boy had just cried but making sure of the child's condition was the priority.
Downstairs, he had spoken briefly with Barry and, as soon as he was made aware that he was
also a former member of S.T.A.R.S., had asked him a few focused questions to make sure
that his version and Jill's version about the Spencer Mansion matched. They did and he had
enough experience to know how to spot both a liar and an agreed-upon version, part of his
job was to instruct witnesses to lie or tell the truth in the right way to be believed, so he had
no doubt about it but the situation was so surreal that he couldn't entirely run out the option
that he might be the one who had gone off the deep end.
"No, she's just tired," Carlos replied to him, casting a gentle glance at Sherry. "Her hand is
almost healed, I'll change the bandage tomorrow."
"Let's talk about it outside," the other instructed him, "don't disturb her."
Etienne listened to him tell how the little girl had lost her little finger and how she had been
subjected to surgery, and it shocked him. "Why on earth did Jill not bring you here to me?"
Carlos grimaced, looking away uncomfortably. It was not his place to tell him what his
daughter thought of him but Etienne understood anyway and huffed, massaging his temples.
"What is your history with her?" He moved on.
"Sherry or-
"Jill."
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just some guy she met along the way," he replied,
evasive.
"Yeah, right..."
"Look, I know. I just want to help her find Chris. Nothing else," Carlos downplayed, looking
so miserable.
"And what kind of guy is this Chris?"
"He, uh, he's okay, I guess. I haven't really had a chance to get to know him well."
Etienne settled for those half-answers. Unresolved romantic issues did not interest him; they
were just background noise in a far more concerning situation.
"Now I'm going to pick up my daughter and her friend, and together we'll decide how to
move from here," he stipulated.
Carlos paled. "I would really rather she didn't know that I-
"Irrelevant. I'm not going to let you bunch of crazies keep tossing a poor little girl around the
United States from one lousy motel to the next. If you don't want to cross paths with my
daughter, the house is big and it's at your disposal."
"I'm not that childish..." Carlos sighed, dejected.
"Good," Etienne concluded before disappearing into the next room. In less than five minutes,
he returned, perfectly dressed in a suit and tie. Carlos was sitting on the couch in the living
room downstairs, leaning forward with his hands in his hair, while Barry had dozed off next
to him. He paid them no particular attention and went out to get into the car. He did not like
the idea of leaving perfect strangers in his house, where there was no small number of
valuables, but seeing that young man's skin heal miraculously before his eyes was something
he could in no way ignore.
Despite the fact that it was barely dawn, with a couple of phone calls he managed to get an
accurate account of where Claire Redfield was staying, so he knew exactly where to go when
he parked in front of the campus. It hadn't stopped raining yet, but he didn't worry about it
and simply turned up the collar of his raincoat, hurrying his pace.
Jill opened the door even before he rang the bell. She was waiting for him as much as he had
been waiting for her at his house but she said nothing and crossed her arms over her chest,
waiting. He was not intimidated by the fire in her gaze.
"Let's throw them down," he told her, succinctly.
"Why did you change your mind?"
"Let's say you have some really persuasive friends."
Jill winced, then seemed to connect the dots and retreated inside the house and then up the
stairs.
"What the fuck did you do?!" She thundered, bursting into Claire's room.
The other, awake in turn, did not flinch and finished tying her hair into a ponytail before
shooting her a haughty look. "Nothing more than what needed to be done."
Jill gave her a shove that sent her crashing into the mirror, which miraculously did not break.
"Do you have any idea what Carlos has been through and what he's risking? HOW
FUCKING DARED YOU?!"
Claire rubbed her shoulder without reacting but was just as irritated. "My priority is to find
my brother and you say it's yours too, so stop making half decisions and start going through
with it because I'm going to do it whether you like it or not. It's not my fault you couldn't
keep your thighs closed and fucked Carlos! So-
"This has nothing to do with-
"Ladies, please," Etienne intervened, breaking up that shouting match before his daughter and
her friend got physical. Jill took a step back, fuming with anger.
"As soon as we find Chris, you and I are done," she hissed.
Claire hid how hurt she felt with a shrug and a toothy 'Fine' before proceeding headfirst out
of the room and then down the stairs.
"Don't fucking look at me like that," Jill admonished her father.
"I'm not looking at you in any way."
"Just say that you think I'm a slut!" She insisted.
Etienne shook his head. "You're not, and even if you were, I wouldn't care."
Jill winced, the lump in her throat more painful than ever. She had hoped so much that,
sooner or later, her father would notice her - the real her - for years, but he had always been
so busy with his goddamn job, and she had simply stopped deluding herself. The only thing
he had only cared about was that her grades did not drop and that she had decent little
princess behavior. She was done with him, her mother, and their entire family. She was not
ready for that or even to forgive. "I just want that fucking name."
"And you'll get it, but it won't be easy or immediate. Let's go home, I need to hear, note
down, and review all your statements."
"Fuck! I'm sorry!" Leon exclaimed when Nicholai crashed to the ground on his back, caught
off guard by one of his kicks. "I didn't mean to, sorry!" He groaned, leaning over him to
check that he hadn't hurt him too badly. A choked cry escaped his throat as the Russian
kicked the ground out from under him with a sweep of his leg. He landed butt-first against
the floor of the shed, and, within a split second, he felt himself being grabbed by the neck and
slammed down hard.
Nicholai now towered over him. "When we train, I'm not your lover, I'm your enemy," he
scolded him. Severely, squeezing that swan-like neck with his palm. "Otherwise-
His correction was abruptly interrupted by the rapidity with which Leon levered his legs not
only to free himself from his grip but to reverse their positions. He found himself straddled
by him, and although he was usually the one who maintained discipline, during training
sessions, he could not help but remain contemplating him. He didn't know, exactly, what it
was that turned him on so much, whether it was seeing him so disheveled, flushed, and
sweaty, their constantly being over each other in a rather physical way, or the fact that Leon
was becoming incredibly fast at learning. It was not the first time this had happened while
they were practicing hand-to-hand combat, but it was the first time Leon noticed it.
He saw him sneer.
"Something tells me I've won..." Leon murmured, languidly, pressing his butt against his
hard-on in a slow movement that took the breath out of his chest.
Nicholai grabbed him by the sweatshirt and dragged him down, plugging the little bugger's
brazen mouth with a passionate, hungry kiss to which Leon responded with equal lustful
ferocity.
It had been a couple of weeks since his return from Mexico and the official beginning of their
affair. They had laid together several times, and as they did so, their baggage of trauma and
uncertainty faded, allowing them to fully enjoy their intimate closeness. Leon was a
demanding lover between the sheets and outside, but young as he was, it was just normal,
and, sometimes, Nicholai had really had to get creative to keep up with him. Not at that
moment, though. Oh, no, at that moment he was ready to take him without any mercy. He
grabbed him by the wrists when he started fumbling with his belt, though, stopping him.
"There's no point in undressing here to have to go back into the house," he pointed out.
"We don't have to," Leon corrected him, reaching out an arm to grab his jacket and pull out a
little jar in which he had poured some oil. "Did you really think I hadn't noticed how you
look at me sometimes?" He asked, grimacing, before leaning down to whisper in his ear.
"You're more of an open book than you think." He accompanied his words with a movement
of his pelvis on his turgid cock, turning his amused snort into a wanton gasp.
"So, sir, what do we do now? Shall we get on with the training, or...?" He left his question
lingering, continuing to rub himself against him, slowly torturing him.
Nicholai chuckled, "You are a petty little shit."
"Oh, you have no idea!"
The other looked him straight in the eye defiantly. "I'll make you scream," he told him, in that
deep voice of his, managing to make him quiver with anticipation.
Nicholai was an attentive and caring lover, but Leon really wished he were a little less so,
that he would let himself go, stop treating him with excessive gentleness, and finally fuck
him like an animal. Their intimacies were, progressively, going in that direction, as he
tirelessly provoked. It wasn't always easy, and a couple of times, he had abruptly woken up
screaming and crying, but Nicholai had always been there, patiently calming him. He truly
looked forward to the moment when he would give him all of himself without any filter. That
was what he needed to really move on. Besides, he loved to wipe off his face that stoic,
measured expression and force him to lose his mind but, most of all, he could not do without
his adoring eyes that silently sought him out at all times as if he were afraid that he might
fade away. He had always thought he had been in love with Mike but what Nicholai was
making him feel was far beyond anything he had ever had with that asshole and it was
beautiful.
"Are you waiting for a written invitation?" He continued poking him and barely had managed
to finish his sentence when Nicholai slammed him again with his chest against the floor but
this time Leon did absolutely nothing to free himself. He let him rip all his clothes off him
until he was completely naked., as tame as a lamb that couldn't wait to be devoured by the big
bad wolf. He felt his presence behind him but it did not frighten him. He trusted Nicholai; he
knew he would never hurt him. He closed his eyes, shivering when he felt his knees on either
side of his thighs and his hands propped beside his face as his mouth covered the part of skin
between his shoulder blades with kisses, following the line of his spine.
"Purring already?" Nicholai giggled, nipping at the back of his neck.
"I want your weight on me," Leon replied, casting a glance over his shoulder.
"And what else?"
Leon sneered. "I thought my being brash made you uncomfortable."
Nicholai shook his head. "I never said that. Always so unattentive..." He scolded him, biting
him a little harder on the shoulder.
The kid groaned but didn't even think about pulling away; on the contrary, that little pain
made him even more eager.
"So are you," he protested. He rotated on himself, leaning his back on the floor, and tilted his
head, watching him towering over him, unfazed and unashamed. "Remember the alley? I like
it rough and, by now, you've bought me both coffee and dinner, I'd say. So, in other words, I
want you to fuck me so hard I'll be walking funny for days, and something tells me you want
that too," he concluded, lifting a hand to caress his massive chest. "Am I wrong?"
No. He wasn't. Nicholai admitted to himself. Perhaps the time had come to put aside any
qualms he still had about being too harsh and, simply, give them both what they wanted.
"On all fours," he commanded as if giving him just another training order.
Leon gave him an intrigued little smirk and, perhaps for the first time since he had known
him, he followed the directive without question, treating him with an enviable view. His
beautiful slender body had slowly begun to change, thanks to all the exercise he was putting
him through. His natural softness was giving way to a more toned and defined musculature
that made him, if possible, even more exquisitely graceful. They were still far from the result
he wanted him to achieve but, at that moment, it was an irrelevant consideration. He
undressed himself, and knelt behind him, pushing his legs to the side to make them spread
further apart, then unscrewed the cap of the little jar with the oil. Jesus Christ, he still couldn't
believe he had taken some to go, that little devil!
Leon yelped and gasped, taken aback when Nicholai slipped two fingers inside him without
warning, going for his most sensitive spot with the precision of a sniper. An electric shock
went through him from his ass to his head, making his cock spurt well straight up and he
started to gasp when those fingers began to go back and forth in and out of him at a faster and
more ruthless pace than usual, occasionally spreading to prep him.
And he absolutely loved it.
He moaned in protest when, just as suddenly, Nicholai stopped altogether without following
up with anything else.
"Sorry, what?" Nicholai teased him, leaning over him to snap a peck on the nape of his neck.
He stroked his back upward with his greasy hand. "You know, you still have a lot to learn
about how to tease." He blew on his skin, running his palm first over his hip and then down
his belly, descending slowly without ever reaching his cock. "And most importantly,
sometimes being rough is going slow. Especially with impetuous brats like you."
He nipped his protest in the bud, tightening his fingers on his throbbing boner, snatching
another yelp and a jerk.
He saw his hands clench into fists on the floorboards as he jerked him off just as slowly. He
didn't want to make him come, just torture him a little, going so far as to lock his hips with
his other arm to prevent any unintended movement. He too could play that game.
"A-asshole!" Leon gasped, throwing himself back toward him to grab his wrist in hopes of
inducing him to increase his speed.
In response, Nicholai began to slide his cock between his butt cheeks and laughed as he felt
him quiver with impatience. "Isn't that what you just asked?" He questioned in a deep, husky
voice. I'm sorry, I must have lost it in translation. Care to repeat?"
Leon cursed and tried to hit him with a clumsy elbow that went into the void. He was so
aroused that it was beginning to hurt. Nicholai let go of him, and he crawled back on all fours
on the floor, sweaty and eager as a cat in heat.
"In hunting and pleasure, fulfillment is not in the ending but in the chase, and only when you
have exhausted and drained your prey do you strike," and, at that point, after pouring what
remained of the oil on his manhood, Nicholai thrust into him brutally.
Leon cried out a moan that burst sharp and shrill from his throat. It had hurt a little but he
was so painfully horny that he hardly realized it. He totally lost the strength in his arms as
Nicholai began to move quickly and mercilessly, just as he had asked, and he would have
fallen face-first to the ground if his lover had not held him in an embrace as strong and
suffocating as the coils of a python. Any coherent thought lost consistency in his mind,
completely swept away by the pleasure mounted inside him, unchallenged, every time one of
those thrusts seemed to want to break him apart. Then something unknown and totally
unexpected happened, he felt a wave of heat form from where Nicholai was savagely
impaling him and then radiate throughout his body, contracting his muscles and abruptly
squeezing the air out of his lungs in the loudest cry he had ever uttered.
Every part of his body twitched in spasms of pleasure so prolonged and overwhelming that
he lost all perception of reality. Only after what seemed to him a marvelous eternity did his
untouched cock violently spurt out a squirt of semen, plunging him back into a whirlwind of
sensations so intense that they blacked him out. That magnificent orgasmic climax did not
seem to leave him and kept going every time Nicholai slammed himself deep inside of him
with that perfect angle. His mind short-circuited completely, so much so that he barely felt
him fill him up with one last thrust and then lay him gently on the floor, before crashing on
his back at his side. He closed his eyes, slowly recovering a bit of lucidity as some oxygen
was reaching his brain.
"W-what?" He sucked in more air. "What the fuck was that?" He asked, shocked and
dismayed.
Nicholai, who was staring at him with an attentive, adoring gaze, burst out laughing.
"Come on, cut it out!" Leon still found the strength to protest. "Jerk!"
Nicholai turned on his side, pulling him closer. "That, moy lyubimyy Lyovochka, was you
cumming from your cute little ass," he explained, tapping him on the nose with his index
finger.
"I... I didn't even know it was a thing!" Leon was astonished. None of his previous lovers had
ever made him feel such a thing, not even close!
The Russian chuckled again. "It's not so easy to achieve, but of course, it's a thing."
"It felt so... Wow!" The kid exclaimed. "Don't blush, I mean it!"
Nicholai kissed him tenderly on the lips. "It only worked because you were really, really into
it. I mean, I was trying but I wasn't sure I could… Well, make you reach it."
Leon gave him a radiant, fulfilled smile before snuggling against him.
"You are such a cuddly cat," Nicholai teased him, sinking his hand into his sweat-soaked hair.
"Look who's talking," was Leon's prompt reply. "I simply don't pretend not to. By the way,
we're running low on oil and I'd really like to buy something more suitable that won't leave
me as greasy as a freshly fried schnitzel every time we make love." He winced at the
naturalness with which he had uttered those last two words. 'Making love.' In his memory, he
did not think he had ever used them. He had always referred to it with terms like sleeping
together, sex, fucking, and other far less noble synonyms. He felt butterflies in his stomach
and shyly lifted his head to shoot him a look full of insecurity. Talking about love after less
than two months was childish but that was how he felt and he couldn't help it. He found in
Nicholai's eyes the same questions but then he pulled him even tighter to himself and all
doubts were dispelled.
"Are we gonna sleep here on the floor?" Leon asked, after some time, beginning to feel cold.
"Probably. I'm not getting up now. I can't," was the Russian's sleepy reply. "I'm too bloody
old, have mercy on me..." He added.
"Umh, nah. I don't think I will," Leon retorted with a sneer, and, after quickly dressing
himself, threw the door of the shed wide open, letting in a gust of icy wind. "My zealous
teacher said that airing the rooms is healthy. I wouldn't want to disappoint him. He's quite
strict and bossy, you know?"
Nicholai laughed, without opening his eyes. "Go fuck yourself, you petty, nasty thing!"
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always the usual thanks to all of you, readers, kudoers, commenters, and
bookmarkes!
So, for the time being, I haven't been called to work yet and I still don't know what
school I will end up in, if I will have to relocate somewhere and I am mentally all over
the place. I suffer from social anxiety and it's already a feat for me to do this job, and
this circus every year annihilates me. Sorry, not your problem, but I needed to complain
like Leon XD.
In this chapter, we get to know Jill's father a little better who, although he has his faults,
is not as bad as she presented him. This is because a person and someone else's
perception of them do not always coincide, especially since Jill was barely 18 when she
left home. Of course, at first, Etienne puts up some resistance because, in a normal
context, no one would be ready to blindly believe in the existence of zombies (except
Claire, apparently) without ever having seen one. This was demonstrated by the absolute
saint Carlos who, once again, trampled on his own feelings in order not to break his
promise to Jill.
She is more adrift than ever because even her certainties of regarding her father as an
aloof and disinterested asshole are faltering.
Etienne, however, is now on the case and will take it forward. I am not saying that we
are going to go step by step on the criminal case against Umbrella, but I wanted it to be
manifest, at least on a superficial level, that there is also this in my story.
Of course, such a decision will have consequences.
Two words about Claire, who's coming off as particularly bitchy. The point is that she is
very angry at the whole universe, including herself, and as the way I pictured her
character, she is really willing to do anything to find her brother and until Jill knocked
on her door, she was also the only one who was actually looking for him. She has no
intention of letting Jill's sentimental dramas get in her way, so she overrides her and
calls Carlos (and Jill rightly gets pissed as hell). It's not that she doesn't care about other
people's feelings but she cares more about saving Chris's life.
Nicholai and Leon were not supposed to fuck. I had planned a cute little walk in the
woods since I need to put in a few more elements but whatever, by now the characters
do what they want. At least they are cute, what can I tell you? XD
Side note: moy lyubimyy Lyovochka means 'my beloved Another Very Long And
Intimate Nickname for Lev/Leon'
I'm sorry I didn't write a scene in Rockfort Island with Chris but I just didn't have time
to do it. It will be in the next chapter.
As always, my heartfelt thanks!

A big hug,
Lady S. now running off to buy food for the cat before there is massive feline retaliation
(yeah, I spoil my Leon-kitty so much XD).
Chapter 68
Chapter Notes
Chris and Alfred were walking through the barracks of the training center, and Chris was
relieved to finally be out of his room. His host had been exceedingly zealous in making sure
he recovered not only from the blow to the head but also from the shoulder wound that had,
at last, healed entirely just as all the others. As he had predicted, under his chin, where Leon
had cut him, he was left with a nasty scar also because he had continued to torment it to no
end, and he still did, from time to time, when he was nervous.
In any case, he had been mortally bored of being locked in his room all that time and was
genuinely glad to be out, even if it was cold and gray as usual.
"There's the firing range there," Alfred told him, pointing toward a closed gate from which
numerous gunshots could be heard. "Would you like to show off? From what I read in your
file, you could take a lot of my men back to school."
Chris blushed a little. "I-I don't think that-.
"Oh, come on, please!" Alfred took him by the hand and he let him drag him toward the gate,
which was promptly opened by the man on guard as soon as he saw them.
"Here is the armory, take whatever you like," Alfred continued, leading him inside.
Chris looked carefully at those racks, where many weapons were neatly stored, from pistols
to assault rifles, shotguns, and sniper rifles. "You have models made by Kendo!" He
marveled.
Alfred took a quick look. "Oh, yes. I heard a lot of good things regarding the gunsmith in
Raccoon City and commissioned something from him."
"All our guns at the S.T.A.R.S. unit were made by him, each one perfectly personalized to
our needs. He's really a genius..." Chris seethed. "He was, I guess."
"Oh, no, he still is," Alfred corrected him. "He managed to get out of town before the
bombing."
"Really?" The other exclaimed, relieved.
His host nodded. "We kept track of all the survivors," he answered him distractedly. "Too bad
he won't work for us again. He lost his whole family in Raccoon City." He immediately
noticed that Chris resented that comment. "My apologies," he added, "I still need to improve
my ability to show empathy during small talk."
"Empathy is not something you can fabricate and falsely display," the other replied in kind.
Alfred tilted his head, stroking the weapons on the rack with his fingertips as if he were
plucking the strings of a harp, pensive. "And what, in your opinion, should someone who is
born with a deficiency of it, do, plunged as he is into a world not made to his measure?" He
asked, shooting him a neutered, vaguely alien look. "Pretending or showing himself to said
world for what he is in order to be singled out as a monster? Don't get me wrong, there are
things I care about so much that it tears at my soul, some we have talked about. However, it is
not my fault that I cannot bring my heart to bleed for the grim misfortunes of a hardly
familiar gunsmith. Moreover, I firmly believe that, to some measure, this is true for the whole
human race. If an adverse fate befalls a loved one, our grief is genuine by virtue of the
connection we share. Conversely, the tragedy of an acquaintance more often than not leaves
us indifferent but it is good custom to show sorrow because of an unwritten agreement. I am
clearly deficient in the latter aspect and there is more. Are you familiar with Hobbes' work?"
Chris frowned and shook his head. "Is he another one of your Umbrella goons?"
Alfred could not hold back a mocking laugh. "Sorry," he hastened to say. "No, Hobbes was a
17th-century British philosopher."
"Never heard of him."
"Clearly," he chuckled again.
"Yeah, I'm ignorant. I know. Can we move on?" Chris muttered, crossing his arms, but his
resentment softened in the face of his repentant smirk.
"In one of his works, Leviathan, he argues that every human being belongs to a primitive
state in which they live a life strained toward a natural drive to overrule their fellow man in
order to gain personal benefits. Bellum omnium contra omnes which, translated from Latin,
means the war of all against all." He approached him and grabbed the lapel of his jacket,
playing with it a bit. "In simpler terms: I like this, I'll kill you and take it. All clear so far?"
"Yes, but-
"In order to counter and overcome this primitive natural state, multitudes of men must build
and, consequently, submit to a society that, through a set of rules and regulations, has as its
priority the maintenance of peace and the preservation of the lives of the people who,
relinquishing their natural right to prevarication, rely on it. In other words, a social contract
for mutual benefit that prevents us from killing each other for futile and not-so-futile reasons.
Then Hobbes goes on to the organization of states, to the never really resolved issue of the
division between temporal and spiritual power but it is not relevant to our conversation. My
point is that you are the fruit of the contract under which you were born, of the norms and
values that have been imparted to you from the very first moment of your existence."
"With all due respect because I don't know anything about either Hobbes or philosophy, but it
just sounds like a big pile of crap to me," Chris objected, irritated. "I don't need a law to
distinguish right from wrong."
"Are you really so sure about that?" Alfred asked him, rhetorically. "There is no such thing as
right or wrong, or good or evil. They are not absolutes but merely a myriad of different
variations tending to infinity. Imagine being born and raised on the other side of the world, in
a culture with values not only completely different from your own but potentially conflicting.
In that circumstance, you would consider it right, for example, to sell your sister to marry her
off to a wealthy man, whether she wants it or not; or that a man could be imprisoned,
tortured, or killed for his beliefs, or, let’s say, his personal preferences,” he went on, giving
him a disturbingly penetrating look. “On the other hand, people with different birthplaces and
regulations from yours might consider it barbaric and inhumane that rights to affordable
education or health care are not guaranteed in your country, for instance. And in any case,
time will doom any current customs, supplanting them with entirely new ones to the point
that what we portray today as progressive and avant-garde will be nothing more than yet
another stain of an obscurantist past. Another point of influence is, also, social and economic
status - excuse me, may I have your lighter?"
"Yes?" Chris hesitantly handed it to him and with equal confusion watched him loosen the
beautiful red silk tie around his neck.
"This insignificant piece of cloth costs, roughly, as much as the piece of scrap metal you used
to drive," Alfred continued, taking a can of gun oil and spraying some on it. "It is nothing to
me," he concluded, setting fire to it and throwing it, carelessly, at his feet. "And no doubt you
think me a capricious fool for destroying it like this."
"I'm not a big fan of ties," Chris shrugged. "But yeah, if it really cost as much as my car
you're kind of a jerk who really loves theatrics."
Alfred smiled. "From your point of view, not mine. I can have as many as I want."
Chris scoffed. "I'd love to see you living off a regular paycheck at the end of the month."
"Why, do you think you would be able to manage an estate of billions? Taking care of the
investments, the organization of the training center, the research inside the labs, the necessary
supplies, the bureaucratic compartment, the secrecy, the security, and the management of the
partners... I can go on endlessly. Money only makes money if you know how to wield it. It
has no value in itself but only as an instrument of power and, trust me, it could crush you in
ways you can’t even imagine. Apologies, we are getting away from the point. What I mean is
that you have your own scale of values, your own sense of right and wrong just because you
were born where and when you were born, and you are what you were taught and what you
experienced. What would you be like if you were not from your neck of the woods? If you
were born a hundred years ago, or a hundred years from now? What if you were not born at
all and you were nothing more than a ghost out of a test tube, king of an island not marked on
any map, raised alone in a bubble outside of all civilization and outside of time? Are you
really sure that your values would be exactly the same? I really think not."
"All this fine talk to tell me yours are better?" Chris hissed, defensively.
Alfred shook his head fervently. "No, you keep missing the point. They are just different.
True ignorance is not not knowing Hobbes and his political philosophy. It is being so blinded
by our own beliefs that we do not realize that the people in front of us are not merely two-
dimensional. They all have their personal lives and struggles and also a centuries-old, if not
millennia-old process behind them that will survive them, their children, and their children's
children 'till everything will fade away at the end of humanity. Assuming that, after going
through this process of mutual understanding, you still believe your resolve is better - mind
you, for their benefit, not yours - you will never achieve anything by taking offense and
stomping your feet to force it on them. The only path you will be able to take is to try to
persuade them. Dialoguing. Not your most pronounced gift but, humor me."
"Exactly what are we talking about?" Chris investigated feeling a chill run down his spine,
frightening and exciting at the same time.
Alfred smiled at him again but more enigmatically. "You know perfectly well what we are
talking about, my dearest enemy."
"Are you considering helping me destroy Umbrella? Really?"
"No. As I said, Umbrella is already destroyed."
"Yes, but the experiments are going on, here and in who knows how many other places in the
world!"
Alfred blinked his long blond eyelashes. "And what would be wrong with that?"
Chris winced, feeling anger mounting inside him. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"
"Don't put your foot down like a stubborn donkey. Speak to me. Don’t bark."
"You're..." He took a deep breath. "Fine. Countless innocent people die every day for what
you call progress. An entire city has fallen victim to it."
"Your city. Would it make a difference if it had been any other one?" Alfred intervened. "Not
generally speaking. For you. Would you be willing to throw your life away to pursue revenge
for a tragedy that, in that case, would not have touched you personally?"
"I would still find it a just cause, and besides, I'm a soldier-
"No, you're not."
"Okay, a cop, whatever!"
"You're not that either and never have been," Alfred contradicted him again. "By your own
admission, you only enlisted to provide for your sister's needs. A noble, touching gesture that
does you much honor but you are a dreadful soldier indeed. Not technically, you shoot
splendidly, you are a good pilot and you have excellent skills in the field but none of this
makes you a soldier. You are undisciplined, stubborn, and arrogant. You have too many ideas
in that muddled head, and an irrepressible need to externalize them. You may become an
excellent commander, even a living legend, someday, but you will never be a good trooper,
not even a decent one. So don't play the 'sacred duty' card, it's not credible from your foul
mouth."
Chris remained silent, uncertain whether he had just been insulted or praised, and Alfred
continued.
"Regarding the death of innocents... Well, people have been dying for progress since...
Forever. Just consider, what do you think happened to the first fool who tried to get on the
back of that big wild animal that wasn't even called a horse back then? The wretch was
probably kicked to death but maybe someone else saw him or her and while not wanting to
risk it themselves, they still thought it was a good idea and pushed another someone else to
try. A few more deaths, a few probably fatal injuries, at such a remote time, but then they
could ride and that was progress. Nothing we exploit nowadays is truly bloodless. Wasn't the
second poor fellow who tried to mount a horse as innocent as any specimen in our
laboratories? What about the third? The tenth? And after this unspecified list of dead or
injured, maybe someone had the nice idea that it would be better to start feeding the damn
thing to gain its trust instead of continuing to try to jump on its back. Of course, the risk of
randomness is directly proportional with the times and the advancement of progress itself, but
do you really believe that, if one day a serum came out of these laboratories able to prolong
human life and cure every disease currently known, human beings would worry about
fatalities? Don't you think that, rather, they would enjoy the pleasant ride on the back of
Umbrella? Moreover, how many lives would be saved by such a serum in proportion to those
sacrificed to obtain it?"
"You use human beings to make weapons!"
"Nothing more than another tool to achieve a result. Returning briefly to Hobbes and
extending his reasoning: if human beings, by nature, are prone to prevarication, what is a
state if not the collection of innumerable voices expressing more and less freely, more and
less consciously - since, of course, the masses can and are controlled in predetermined
directions - the same disproportionate desire to take what is others' for necessity or whim?
The world wants weapons and we design them for it. If it wanted flowers, we would do just
that. Market laws existed before Umbrella and, I fear, will exist long after."
"Your sister is dead because of this gruesome circus of yours!" Shouted Chris, clenching his
fists, and Alfred winced as if he had just slapped him.
"I would request that you leave my beloved Alexia out of this conversation."
"Why? Is she too close for comfort?" Chris insisted, continuing to press that obvious rift in
his snooty, verbose logic. "Raccoon City was my city, the dead in Spencer Manor were my
friends, and I will walk barefoot to the deepest, scorching depths of hell to do them justice!
How fucking dare you minimize my pain and the righteousness of my resolve? I don't give a
shit about theorizing what I would have done if it had happened somewhere else or to other
people. It happened to me! TO ME!" He painfully caught his breath, and spread his arms
wide, surrendered and saddened. "And the most tragic thing is that it happened to you too,
you just don't want to see it." He gulped down the throb in his throat. "I'm tired. I want to go
back in."
Chris did not wait for his reply and had almost reached the door when he heard him prophesy.
"You will thrive, but also suffer and inevitably die if you continue to pursue this path and be
the offspring of Summer. And you will bring many others with you. They will follow your
light, bright as a flaming beacon burning in the sky, and they will meet their demise way after
you are consumed by your own fire. Everything is bathed in blood in this world, even justice
and your struggles will also be for nothing. You can't stop the snake from biting his own tale
and devouring himself."
"Are you threatening me now?"
Alfred shook his head and looked at him, his violet eyes filled with anguish, turmoil, and
sincere apprehension. "No! I would never, Chris! I... I'm just analyzing the facts, projecting
them, playing fortune teller... But you don't listen to me, just like William!"
Chris huffed, equally upset and he almost felt like crying. "Then it means I will die on my
own terms, just as he did, while you remain here in your chrysalis, undying and unmoving
but also completely alone because you're too scared to claw your way out of your delusion
and fly away from this…" He looked around with contempt. "This fucking prison.
And with that said, he left, profoundly shaken.
Nicholai entered the house after a long hot bath that had restored him to the world. Leon was
neither at the kitchen table nor on the couch in front of the fireplace, so he deduced that he
was upstairs. He decided to join him to ask if he had any preferences for dinner more out of
courtesy than real need. Food was the one thing Leon was not picky about. On the contrary,
he was always incredibly grateful just to have something warm and good on his plate for
every meal.
He climbed the stairs silently, and even that was not intentional. For his job, he had had to
learn to be quiet, so it had simply become his natural way of moving around. He frowned,
confused, to see the kid sitting on the floor cross-legged with his back to the burning stove,
facing a book and a notebook balanced on his knee where he was jotting something down. He
was so focused that steam almost came out of his ears from exertion.
"What are you doing?" He asked him, curious.
His kitten jerked as if he had just stepped on his tail. "What the fuck!" He protested. "Why do
you sneak up on me? Don't sneak up on me!"
Bizarrely defensive. He was also blushing, which, for someone like him, who was able to
externalize his sexual fantasies without batting an eyelid, was certainly suspicious.
"Da, sorry," he replied, moving forward after noticing that Leon had nonchalantly tried to
hide both the book and the notebook behind him. "What were you doing?" He repeated.
The boy shrugged his shoulders, pretending that everything was okay. "Nothing. Just passing
the time."
"Okay."
Nicholai pretended, in turn, to lose interest and opened the closet to get some clean clothes he
rapidly put on, but as soon as Leon moved, he pushed him onto the bed and snatched from his
hand the items he so wanted to keep hidden from him.
"No! No! No! Come on, give them back! Please!!!"
He kept him at bay with another push, and when he opened the notebook and recognized the
book, he burst into incredulous laughter. "Fuck me!" He exclaimed, covering his face,
extremely amused.
Leon let out an annoyed groan and sat back down on the bed, with an awkward, look on his
red face and a visible pout. "I was just trying, okay?"
"You were just - you are something else! You really-
"Stop it, asshole!" Leon barked, throwing a pillow at him.
Hard. No. Impossible. Nicholai could not even remember when was the last time he had
laughed so heartily. It was almost painful. He breathed in with tearing eyes. "I just- I can't
believe you - from my old grammar! Do you realize that doesn't make any fucking sense?"
"Why?"
"Why?! The explanations are in Russian!"
"I can still read the English parts!"
"Well, isn't that great! A true achievement to remember!"
"You know what? Fuck you!" Leon growled at him, moving quickly from embarrassment to
anger, but before he could get out of bed, Nicholai pushed him back into his seat once more.
"Sorry," he said tenderly, placing himself beside him. "I didn't mean to make you really
angry. Peace?"
"I'm not stupid! I managed to learn the alphabet on my own, even though that page was torn!
That grammar is in terrible condition, did you drive over it in the mud?"
"Something like that." Nicholai took another quick look at the first page of the notebook and
grimaced with amused discomfort. "And no, I'm afraid you haven't," he sighed. "Besides, this
is truly so unnecessary. I already know English so, reasonably, that's the language you and I
should speak to each other. Still..." He smiled and softened. "This is the sweetest thing
anyone has ever done for me," he confessed, genuinely touched, pulling him closer to give
him a peck on the neck.
Leon allowed it but still shot him an offended look. "I want to learn it and I wanted it to be a
surprise. I mean, not give a whole speech but maybe be able to tell you a sentence.
Something! The only words I know are the commands you give me when we train!" He
complained. "It's part of who you are and I want to embrace it."
Nicholai sighed, shaking his head, and grimaced in disbelief. "It doesn't matter what language
we speak in. Russian... Forget it, it's pointless."
"Just give me back my stuff," Leon hissed, reclaiming his notebook and book. "Thanks for
nothing." He got up to go downstairs and Nicholai, following him, saw him settle down at the
kitchen table with the oil lamp lit to scribble again, mortally offended.
"Are you hungry? Do you want to eat right away or can I prepare something that will take
longer?" He questioned him but only got the silent treatment in return. He sighed, rolled his
eyes, and went out again to get ingredients from another shed. When he returned, Leon did
not even glance at him. He prepared the dough and filling and set the pelmeni to cool outside
the window to freeze a bit before he grew impatient. He approached his stubborn lover and,
with a quick flick of his hand, took his notebook from him, tore out all the pages he had
already written, and threw them into the stove. "Wanna learn Russian?" He asked him,
nipping his outburst of anger in the bud. "Then the least you can do is not convince yourself
that dozens of mistakes are right from the start. You said you grasped the alphabet. Write
me... An 's'," he instructed him, placing the empty notebook in front of him again.
"Um..." Leon uttered, uncertain. "I'm not really sure with the 's'," he admitted reluctantly
because he hoped he could show him that he had made some shaky progress, but, of course,
Nicholai had to ask him one that wasn’t in that wretch of a book anymore!
"I don't know, this one?" He mumbled, tracing the з with uncertain strokes, intimidated by his
looming presence behind him.
"Niet, eta ne 's'. Eta 'z', kak 'z' v slovie 'zoo'," he corrected him, softened.
Leon cast him a bewildered look. "Huh?"
Nicholai huffed a brief giggle. "I said, нет - no, это - this не -not "s" . Это..." He paused,
nodding to him.
"This is..." Leon ventured.
"No-no, no is. Forget is. We don’t use the verb to be in the present tense.”
“What? Why?!”
«Because. We’ll get there,” Nicholai shrugged. “So, what’s это?”
"This."
“Good. This как ' з ' - as 'z' в - in слове - word " zoo. "
"Oh... I see. Kinda," Leon whispered, frowning. "How do you spell your name?"
The other took the pen from his fingers and jotted it down.
"Like this: Николай."
"The 'h' is an 'n'?! And that kind of backward 'n' an 'i'?! Are you shittin' me?" He whined,
dumbfounded.
"No, I'm not, and the first 'backward' 'n', as you called it, sounds like a long 'e', as in knee.
When it’s topped by that little sign, it’s a shorter ‘e’."
"N-i-k-o-l-a-i," Leon muttered, reading letter by letter.
"Not quite. The correct pronunciation is Nii -ka- lai."
"Oh, fuck off! That's a bloody 'o'!"
The Russian chuckled. "It is but the 'o' sounds like an 'a' if it's not stressed."
"You're making this up to fuck with me, come on!"
"On my honor, I swear I'm not," Nicholai purred, writing another letter. "And this one here,
which looks like your 'e,' sounds like a 'ye' if stressed and like an 'e' if not. That's why 'no' is n
-ie- t even if it's written like this нет."
"And the one with the two dots? I saw it somewhere but you burned my notes!”
"That one is a 'yo' as in yours," he absentmindedly explained while checking the boiling
water. "Can we continue after dinner? I'm starving."
Leon shook his head stubbornly. "No. Rather, niet. Why did you never tell me that I
mispronounced your name? I would have corrected myself!"
"I did," Nicholai retorted distractedly, opening the window to grab his freshly frozen pelmeni.
"No, right, no. I told Carlos." He immediately realized he had made a mistake as soon as he
ended his sentence but it was still too late.
"Oh, you told Carlos?" Leon echoed him in a sharp, accusatory tone. "I see. Did you also see
dear Carlos during your little trip to Mexico?"
Nicholai cast him an entertained look. "No, and he's not Mexican. He is-
"I don't give a shit. He's pretty, isn't he?"
The Russian snorted. "I've crossed minefields less insidious than this conversation. Yes, I
suppose you could say he's good looking but I've actually never looked at him that way."
"What a holy man!" Leon sarcastically praised him. "Dear Carlos, though, seems very fond
of you."
Nicholai chuckled, pulling the cooked pelmeni up from the boiling water and beginning to
season them with melted butter and sour cream. "Can you stop calling him 'dear Carlos' as if
you were going to dissolve him in acid?"
"A delightful suggestion."
Nicholai arranged the dishes on the table and leaned over to kiss him on the head and ruffle
his hair. "You're making a fuss over nothing," he said, lifting his face with two fingers. "I
only have eyes for you, stop being a jealous fool," he softly scolded him. "And know that I
consider myself very lucky to have yours on me."
Leon's jealousy suffered a severe jolt because if he was used to receiving spicy and explicit
compliments, the same was not true when they bordered on the romantic side. No one had
ever been romantic with him. He felt himself melting under those green eyes and his face
caught fire.
"Fuck you," he mumbled, pushing him away, embarrassed, but his heart beat faster when he
heard him chuckle again. From behind his bangs, he watched him sit at the table and truly
thought he had found the best man in the world. He wanted to tell him but didn't have the
nerve. "Before we go to sleep, I want to learn the whole alphabet," he decided instead.
"The wake-up call is at four o'clock, we have to go to town," Nicholai reminded him.
Leon shrugged his shoulders. "Your shit to bear, I can always sleep in the car while we go."
The situation at Attorney Valentine's home was tense. At all times. For a myriad of different
reasons. No one wanted to talk to anyone, which caused quite a few diplomatic incidents in
the transit and convivial areas. Barry, after a few days of supervising the situation, had left to
return, temporarily, to his wife and daughters in Canada. He had wanted to take Carlos and
Sherry with him, but getting them across the border with false documents could have put
them at serious risk, so they had discarded the idea practically as soon as they had considered
it.
Claire went back and forth, becoming more and more insistent on receiving the name she so
coveted. Carlos spent most of his time with Sherry, and although he was civil, he had never
sustained an entire conversation with Jill since they had been under the same roof again. He
barely looked at her, clumsily trying to hide how hurt he was. Sherry, on the other hand, was
openly hostile and never missed an opportunity to be standoffish and rude to her. Jill did not
know, exactly, what she knew and was fairly certain that Carlos had not told her anything, but
she was a bright little girl. Surely she had gotten a clear picture of the situation and had taken
his side. Well, how could she blame her? Even Jill would have picked it.
As a result, she hardly left the attic, where there was a second guest room twice as big as the
apartment she had had in Racoon, and did so only to fetch something from the fridge, since
she also had a bathroom to herself. She had never felt so lonely and miserable in her entire
life.
She looked at the clock, it was about three a.m. A good time to venture downstairs, so she got
out of bed and sneaked down the stairs, silent and stealthy. Everyone seemed to be asleep
except for her father, who had the office light still on and filtering from under the door. At
least he was back to his normal self: a man so totally absorbed in his work that he did not
notice or care about anything else going on around him. To be perfectly honest, he had tried
to talk to her but Jill had not let him.
Arriving on the ground floor, she turned on the kitchen light and winced when she saw Carlos
sitting at the counter. Clearly, he had not expected her to appear in front of him so suddenly
either, and he jerked, paling.
"I... I-I'm just getting a couple of things from the fridge," she stammered.
He immediately sprang to his feet, moving to let her pass. "Sure."
"No! I mean, you can stay. I'll go," she hastened.
"Eat here, don't worry. I wanted to try to sleep anyway."
He walked past her with the consistency of a ghost. He did not touch her, did not look at her,
did not smile at her, did not even show her his eyes, shielding himself behind his bushy raven
curls.
"Wait..." Jill sighed, following him with her eyes, and she felt like crying when he stopped in
the doorway without turning around. "I... I wanted to tell you that you didn't have to do all
this. To expose yourself so much. I would never have asked you."
She warily watched the curve of his broad shoulders rise as he took a deep breath.
"It's okay," was his laconic reply.
"No, it's not, for fuck's sake!" She exclaimed, nullifying the distance between them to yank
him around. "Why the fuck do you always have to be so good? So damn helpful? Can't you
see that everyone takes advantage of you?!"
"Just leave me alone, okay? I really don't think there's anything we have to say to each other
and it's not because I'm upset with you. I'm not. Really, Jill."
"But you fucking should!" She ranted. "Because I took advantage of you! Claire did!"
Carlos lowered his head, shaking it a little. "You just don't get it, do you?" He huffed,
wearily, and pulled away from her touch abruptly with a hint of annoyance. "I have
systematically lost everything, over and over again. Do you think I really care at this point?
No one forced me to do anything. Not Claire, not your father, and least of all you. What do
you think I can lose more? My family? Gone. My closest friends? All dead. Nicholai? God
knows where he is and if I'll ever see him again! I'd like to take care of Sherry but there's a
better chance of me becoming the first man on fucking Mars! Why should I be bitter? Why
should I be mean? I'm not and I don't want to be! Can I at least have the right to be myself
without being shouted at? It is the only small chance I have to be happy, and assuming
someone takes advantage of it, that is none of your business, okay? I don't have to justify my
choices to you. Jesus Christ, you think I am a dumb jerk who is fooled by everyone! Free to
do so but that's not how I feel or what I am. For fuck's sake, Jill, I am not naive! Do you
know what my role back in the militia was? Taking care of orphaned children and those torn
from their families. Not only to make them feel better but to convince them that the cause
was right and that it was okay that instead of dolls and toys, they were holding guns!" The
more he spoke, the more upset he became, showing, finally, some anger. "I don't need to be
told that the world is shit! Least of all from someone like you! I mean... Look at where you
grew up and the life you had! What the fuck do you know!"He took a painful breath,
straining to the point of exhaustion to close that box of wrath and sorrow he so stubbornly
kept closed. He knew he had just hurt her and, despite everything, he was sorry. "Sometimes
silence really is golden. Learn to cherish it."
Jill, having been so hardly put back in her place, did not have the strength to try to keep him
there any longer, and, for that matter, she would not have known what to say to him either.
So, with her heart in her throat, she watched him disappear up the stairs in the dark.
"Fuck!" She shrieked, under her breath, sitting down at the counter and bursting into tears.
Chris was sitting on the shore of the beach below the palace, cold and lonely. It was, by now,
late afternoon and the sky was already turning gloomy. He had no clear idea why, but he felt
as if he were heartbroken. He had grown fond of Alfred and was so confused about it. He was
one of the heads of Umbrella, a laboratory-created freak, and yet...
He was reminded of the speech Leon had given him in Raccoon about not being interested in
people's affiliation as long as they were doing good. Was this what he had seen in Zinoviev?
A man who wanted to do the right thing despite being evil? Or rather the Asshole was just a
beast that Leon had tamed and persuaded to do good?
Could Alfred be persuaded? Or were they destined to remain enemies? He didn't want to. He
desperately didn't want to.
The ocean was remarkably calm before his eyes as if to mock the tumultuous state of his
soul. He jerked when he felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned around, finding the
focus of his thoughts standing behind him.
He looked regretful.
Chris glanced at him briefly and then turned his gaze back to the shoreline.
Alfred cleared his throat. "I want to apologize," he said, "I was unpleasant and out of line. As
I said initiating the whole speech, I am lacking in empathy but that is not sufficient
justification."
Chris maintained his silence even though part of him wanted to just forgive him. He was so
tired of arguing with everyone, and as bizarre, moody, and ruthless as that aristocrat was, he
had also been the only one who had offered him a helping hand. He had ignored all his
insults, his threats, and had broken down his walls with nothing but kindness. He liked him.
He liked him very much. In spite of everything.
"You're healing well," Alfred resumed, looking at the ocean, too. "There's still some fog to
clear but it won't take long for you to be ready to sail away. This place has never been a
prison. Not for you, at least."
Chris felt a dull ache in his chest that deepened when, by turning around, he saw him faintly
smile but only with his lips because his eyes were an abyss of sadness and longing.
"Come with me," he told him in a pained whisper that had all the sentiment of a plea. "See
the world. Get to know it!"
Alfred's smile faded and his eyes fled. "I cannot," he replied in a wistful voice. "Both my past
and my future belong to this forgotten island but the present is still yours if you wish, so that
I may know it through you."
Chris blinked, saddened by his rejection. Sad for both of them but especially for him. That
was precisely why he managed with disarming simplicity to extinguish his anger. He smiled
in turn, equally sorrowful.
"I still have a dinner to prepare for you," he reminded him.
Alfred's eyes darted to him feverishly and anxiously like those of a child about to be forgiven.
He was bathed in such purity in those moments that Chris could not begin to fathom how
special he was. He was not a freak. He was a unique, unknown, beautiful creature who, for
some absurd reason, had lowered his gaze to him.
"Tonight, if you feel up to it," he offered him.
"Of course!" Alfred trilled, incredibly relieved. "It would make me so happy!"
Chris smirked, rising to his feet. "So what are we waiting for?"
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dearest ones!

As usual, my heartfelt thanks to all of you for your support of this story and my shaky
sanity. Readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and bookmarkers! <3
Real-life side: Finally, today, I was assigned a school where I can go to work, so until
June 30 I will have a job and money to buy Leon kibble, which makes me regain a few
points in sanity. As, however, I had already anticipated, it is possible that this will result
in shorter chapters (still 3.5k and up, anyway) because I will start working again very
soon. In addition, I have also resumed, as a student, the Russian language course and,
darn it, they have put me in a group a bit more advanced than the one I came from and
these days I am catching up on my own on all the grammar I am missing (for my
Russian friends here: the accusative case for inanimate subjects, past tense and the very
first verbs of motion, I am still a noob but I am working on it).
On that note, I wanted to talk a little bit about the scene where Leon approaches the
Cyrillic alphabet and the pronunciation of the letters. I needed them to experience a cute
scene that seems, and in part is, filler but that Leon learns Russian will be important
much later in the story. However, I wanted to make it clear that if I offended anyone
with this scene, that was not my intention at all. Personally, I love the Cyrillic alphabet
and didn't find it that difficult to learn (however, in the past, I did classical studies in
Latin but also ancient Greek - I don't remember a lick of the latter but I can still read), so
my brain was already tamed to switch to a different alphabet, compared to those who
only know the 'Western' one). In any case, really, if anyone was offended by how Leon
reacts to certain notions, I apologize in advance. I find that any language has not only its
difficulties but also its funny aspects, and while I enjoy joking about it, I realize that this
may have been annoying and I do not wish to have come across as disrespectful. Please
know that for what little I know of it so far, I love the Russian language, I find it
incredibly fascinating, and I really hope I can get to be fluent in it sooner or later.
Coming, however, to the actual events. For Nicholai and Leon, basically, I needed to
drop this little seed about the Russian language and also point out that Leon is a jealous
little shit. He doesn't like Nicholai's unclear relationship with Carlos, and if you
remember correctly, dear Carlos, as he calls him, was also a hell jealous of Leon.
This will be helpful.
Chris and Alfred, on the other hand, had a little discussion and a considerable clash of
views. On the one hand, Alfred has this aseptic worldview based solely on second-hand
experiences, had from books and other kinds of reports, while Chris, who has nowhere
near the same cultural background as his aristocratic friend, has much more concrete and
visceral experiences.
Our Chris has also made remarkable strides. If, at any other time in the story, he would
have approached this talk with a thundering fuck you and a couple of punches, here,
with Alfred, and thanks to his influence, he stops and reasons before articulating a
speech and responding. I venture to say that they both came out of this bidirectionally
changed and enriched.
Finally, Carlos got a little pissed off too, a more unique than a rare occurrence that
happens once in a blue moon. One of Jill's problems is that she feels tremendously
entitled, and although she is often right, there are situations, like this one, where she
ends up talking nonsense. Carlos is a good guy but, as he himself points out, he is not
naive. Someone with an experience like his cannot have come out untouched, candid,
and completely unaware. His is a choice and whether others like it or not, they have to
respect it also because staying consistent with himself is the only thing he really has left.
Let's say this is kind of the chapter where the entitled characters had their asses handed
back to them in a basket.

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 69
Chapter Notes
"The kitchen was this way, right?" Chris asked. By now he was getting his bearings pretty
well in the palace, especially in the areas he walked through daily but that place was so big
that he still had doubts. Also, he had never been right inside the kitchen.
"Yes, but there is a quicker route. Come, it's from the antechamber to the dining room,"
Alfred replied, guiding him. "Here, look," he pressed a decorative element and a picture
clicked, revealing an opening to a down staircase. "The dishes would get cold if they had to
go all the way around," the host explained with a shrug as if secret passages were the most
normal thing in the world.
Chris sighed but let it go. "Go inform Mr. Harman about the evening. Remember: civilian
clothes and no bullshit, tell him just that."
Alfred hesitated. "I think I'll phrase it less… bluntly but make sure he understands. You have
my word."
"Then join me in the kitchen."
"Yes, sir."
Chris snorted. "See you later." With a nod, he trotted down the stairs, and, past another
hallway filled with cupboards that housed enough silverware to feed a small army, he finally
reached the kitchen, which was gigantic. A little man in a cook's uniform was sitting at one of
the counters, intent on reading a magazine in a bored manner, but he leaped to his feet upon
seeing him coming.
"Did you take a wrong turn, sir? Can I help you?" He asked.
Chris had noticed during his stay that there were other staff members in the house but they
were so discreet that they moved through the halls like ghosts with Mr. Harman as the only
bridge between them and him and Alfred.
"Oh, no. I plan to use the kitchen this evening if it’s ok with you."
"I beg your pardon?" The cook replied to him, shocked.
"I'll prepare dinner. Don't worry, take the night off. Just show me where the stuff is."
"The...? Sir, please tell me what dish you want to eat and I'll be happy to prepare it in no
time! There is no need for you-
"Nonsense. I promise I'll clean up my mess later."

"T-that wasn't the point!"
"Don't worry. Just... Well, do whatever you do to relax in this godforsaken place. I got this."
"Fine... I suppose. What do you need, sir? Follow me, I'll be glad to show you everything."
The cook was extremely zealous in explaining to him where the ingredients, tools, and
machinery were. He described everything as if a proud parent, clearly passionate about his
work. It reminded him a little of the passion his mom had had as well, and it softened him
and made him feel a lot of liking for him.
"Are you really sure you want me to leave?" The poor man asked him when they had finished
their tour in front of the cold storage room.
Chris smiled at him and nodded with conviction and a hint of amusement.
"I can help you if you want."
"Thank you but I've got another cooking second in mind for the evening," he chuckled.
"Aside from that, you really need to give me the recipe for those brioche you made for
breakfast a few days ago. They were incredible!"
The cook winced, clearly not used to being complimented on his good work. His tense face
lit up in a radiant smile. "I will be honored, sir! I'll have it delivered to you first thing in the
morning along with some freshly baked brioche!"
Chris thanked him and dismissed him.
"Fraternizing with the servants?" Alfred's amused voice caught him off guard because, as was
often the case, he had not heard him coming. He turned but before he could retort promptly
and snarkily that he was much closer to servants than to masters the words choked in his
throat when he saw him. Alfred greeted his stunned reaction with a smug little smirk.
"I thought the rule applied equally to me, was I wrong?" He asked, raising his chin a little as
if to show off.
Chris was silent for a very long moment. Alfred was dressed normally, in a simple black
long-sleeved crew-neck shirt and a pair of jeans, and he looked so... strikingly handsome. He
could think of no other words to describe him. That outfit, so simple and mundane,
completely devoid of his usual frou-frou lace and extravagances, went to incredibly
emphasize his androgynous features. He felt his throat go dry and his stomach twist, just as it
had with Leon and his captain, and it frightened him to the point that he shut those thoughts
off immediately.
"I-I didn't think you had clothes like those," he mumbled, and his uneasiness deepened when
Alfred moved toward him with his usual elegant lightness.
"In fact, I didn't have any. Let's just say they're on loan."
"From whom?"
Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "The possessions of a prisoner."
"I hope you didn't lock him up for a pair of jeans!"
Alfred chuckled. "No. I'm arbitrary but not that arbitrary," he clarified, stopping in front of
him. "So what do you need me for?" He asked, and his voice, so melodious, ran under Chris's
skin in a shiver.
He did his best to let it pass and sneered. "It has come time for his lordship to get his noble
little hands dirty."
It was Alfred's turn to be startled, and Chris saw his thin eyebrows bend in an expression of
confusion that made him even more graceful.
"I don't know, quite literally, where to begin," he confessed with some shyness.
Chris approached the pantry, motioning for him to follow. "From the bun dough," he guided
him, starting to hand him the ingredients. "We have bread but it's not very suitable, so we
make it ourselves."
"We?"
"Yup! Don't make that face, it's not hard!"
"I..." Alfred hesitated. "I just feel that to ensure the success of the evening it would be
appropriate for those who can do things to do them."
"Well, you feel wrong. Point one, it's fun to do it together. Point two, if I teach you, then
you'll know how to do it too. Double win."
"Fine..."
Chris laughed at seeing him so bizarrely uncomfortable. "'Come on!' I realize the ingredients
look scarier than a book but I assure you they won't bite you!"
"I know, silly," the other retorted. "It is only that I wish it to be perfect."
"All your fine talk about there being no absolute right and wrong, and now you come up with
perfection? A little incoherent, don't you think? What is perfection? That the food come out
well? That we have a blast preparing it? It depends on what you want to prioritize.
Personally, I want us to have fun. The worst that can happen is we end up poisoning the
penguin. And that, by the way, would be a third win."
Alfred gasped, outraged. "You are so mean! Poor Mr. Harman!"
"How did he take the invitation?" He chuckled.
"Poorly. How else?"

"Let's get the ball rolling. Otherwise, maybe we'll eat for breakfast. Put everything here,"
Chris drummed his fingers on the steel counter, before moving to the stove to put some water
on to heat. Alfred followed him with his eyes, intrigued.
"What?"
"Nothing. You seem to have everything under control. It is good to see you so confident. I
thought I would make you comfortable by taking you to the range but, clearly, I was
mistaken."
Chris smiled. "I like to cook. It relaxes me and then people like what I do. Or so it seems."
"You also cooked breakfast for Leon in Raccoon, right?"
Chris hesitated, feeling a little embarrassed. "Yes, for him and for Sherry."
"Did he like it?"
"Yeah," he replied sadly. "Very much." He washed his hands at the sink and instructed him to
do the same, before taking the pot off the stove.
"I'm absolutely sure you'll be able to make things right with him," Alfred reassured him.
"Maybe you could prepare another breakfast for him when you see each other again. That
would be a good way to build a bridge."
"I'm afraid it will take more than a few pancakes for that."
Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "Even the most impressive buildings always start with the first
brick."
"Maybe," Chris closed the conversation. "Will you make me two and a half cups of that flour
and one of the other?"
"Cups? Shouldn't we use more precise measurements?"
"Nah. We manage by eye."
Alfred chuckled nervously. "You, maybe," but obeyed his directives.
"Throw some flour on the top, please."
"How?"
Chris rolled his eyes, took the bag from his hand, and spilled some on the counter, then took
his wrist and made him place his palm on it for him to spread it around. "Like this."
Alfred did so, still hesitantly, and curled his fingers when he was done, annoyed by the feel of
the flour on his skin.
"Don't bother," Chris admonished him when he saw him looking in the direction of the sink.
"You'll get them even worse in a sec anyway."
"I'm not sure I like this game."
"Because it's not a game. We're working," the other corrected him, then grabbed a small
handful of flour and tossed it to him, "This is a game."
Alfred leapt back with the same disdain as a cat splashed with water and clumsily tried to
clean up his shirt but with his hands already floured, he only succeeded in making even more
of a mess. "Why did you do that?!"
Chris burst out laughing at those big violet eyes full of betrayal. "Come back here."
"No."
"Come on... I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," Alfred hissed, moving forward, circumspect, holding himself ready to run
away from another possible viscous attack.
"See what I did?" Chris questioned him.
"A little flour volcano?"
"Yup. Now let's put in the yeast, which, fortunately, your cook already had ready, and start
mixing it with the flour, then slowly add the other ingredients. Remember, it is important that
the water is lukewarm. Once it is done, you start kneading. Like this. The more you work the
dough, the softer the bread will come." He showed him the movement for a few moments.
"Now you try it."
"Uh-uh, it looks sticky," Alfred objected, shaking his head.
"Oh, it really is," Chris scoffed, amused. "But if someone wants to eat burgers later, they'll
have to tame this glue with their cute little musician hands."
"Well, I suppose it's a necessary sacrifice..." Groaned the master of the manor, stepping in
front of the whitish shapeless mass and barely touching it.
"With more strength, you won't hurt it."
"No, but I am afraid that it will hurt me or trap me forever like some murderous blob." Was
Alfred's prompt reply.
Chris settled behind him, almost hugging him, and covered his hands with his own, better
guiding his movement and making his kneading more vigorous. "Wet it a little," he instructed
him, proud that he was gaining some confidence.
Alfred smelled good. He had never paid particular attention to it but, whatever he used - a
cologne, a soap... he scented like lily of the valley. A somewhat feminine smell. Maybe too
feminine but on him it didn't clash at all. Chris found himself realizing that it did not bother
him to have him so close; in fact, he liked it. He narrowed the distance further, causing his
chest to lean against his back. It was necessary to impart more strength to the dough, after all.
Alfred let him but in glancing over his shoulder he made an odd little smirk that made Chris
blush and feel warm. So he stepped back, clearing his throat, desperately trying to keep the
nightmare he had made about Leon and Wesker from his thoughts.
"Okay, I think that's fine. Let me check," he managed to distract himself by taking the dough
in his hands. He gave it a couple more solid kneads before arranging it in a bowl with some
flour and carving a cross with a knife on it.
"Why did you do that?" Alfred questioned him, curious.
"Because it will rise better this way." He arranged it in a fairly warm corner of the room and
covered it with a tea towel. "Now we have to let it rest for a couple of - no, don't you dare!"
But Alfred dared indeed, and, since he had sneaked up on him, he swung the package of flour
at him, covering him from head to toe.
Chris wiped his eyes with the back of his hand with his delighted, trilling laughter filling his
ears. He smiled, softened but also menacing, shooting him a piercing look with his dark blue
eyes. "Do you know that this means war?" He asked, just before snapping forward and
tackling him, practically lifting him up by his weight and dragging him toward the counter.
Playing like mischievous children, they engaged in a no-holds-barred battle as they kept
throwing flour, scraps of dough, and, at one point, even water at each other.
"Enough! Enough! I surrender!" Alfred exclaimed, finding refuge under a table and raising
his hands.
Chris held tightly to the glass of water in his hands and looked at him, snickering. Alfred was
a mess, he was dusty from head to toe, and although he too was in not dissimilar condition,
the dandy was clearly the loser. All that movement had given redness to his diaphanous
cheeks and he looked graceful so harried and disheveled. He also seemed so incredibly
happy. Chris knew that Alfred was a couple of years older than him but he did not look it in
either appearance or attitude. He always had these incredible moments of wonder at the
silliest, most trivial things that really made him special.
"Hmm," he commented, "you'd better not try any more tricks or I swear the next step will be
greasing you up and frying you in a pan."
"That would be a waste, I have so little to eat, on me."
Chris chuckled, offering his hand to help him up from under the table. "Jeez, what a disaster,"
he sighed, looking around. There was flour and pieces of dough scattered literally
everywhere. "We'd better clean up before we think about the meat."
"Did I hear a 'we'?" Alfred intervened, shocked.

"Yes, little prince. We. Don't worry, the broom is just as tame as everything else."
"I should throw you in a cell for even suggesting such nonsense, you unrepentant
loudmouth," the other argued. "I have people I pay for these tasks."
Chris shook his head. "No. You have people you pay to keep the kitchen up and running, not
for this bloody mess. It would be disrespectful to have it fall on them."
"It means I'll pay them more!"
Chris did not listen to him and approached the closet. "No. We'll clean it up," he sentenced,
putting the broom in his hand. "Get started. I'll take care of the counter."
Alfred followed him with a look somewhere between bewildered, lost, and offended
however, he also had to admit that that afternoon was proving to be incredibly fun. Perhaps
the most fun of his life. It would have broken his heart to let him leave but he would not hold
him against his will. Chris was the kind of bird who would just die in a cage and he would
never allow it.
"This makes you so cheerful," he told him, beginning to sweep to the best of his ability,
which was poor. Chris was truly in as good a mood as he had ever seen him before. He even
hummed under his breath as he cleaned the top.
"I like cooking even more when with good company. I used to do it with my mom and then
also with my sister. She's pretty bad at it, actually, but it was fun. It's not the first time I've
reduced a kitchen to this state."
"You should consider it."
"Consider what? Hurry up with that broom!"
"Open your own place. Forget about all this. Start over."
Chris paused and turned to confront him. "Afraid I might become fearsome?"
Alfred shook his head, not holding back a sneer of mockery. "You ask it like that?" He
taunted him, laughing at his being so covered in flour that his hair was white. He quickly
composed himself, however. "Scared that you might be miserable for the rest of your life.
Look, if it's a money issue, I would gladly sponsor-
"No," Chris stopped him firmly. "Thank you but no."
Alfred lowered his gaze, taking a severe deep breath. "I don't want to stop you. Or rather, I
want to but not to preserve our experiments. As I got to know you a little better, I discovered
a man very different from what I expected."
"Sweep while you talk," Chris scolded him, and for a second he thought that, at last, Alfred
would tell him to fuck off. For as long as they had known each other he had never heard him
be rude. Not once. Not even when he was angry.
"What I mean is, just because you know how to fight doesn't mean you should. You are
sinewy, imposing, and properly trained, and I think many fear you at first glance but in truth,
you are of the mildest disposition. You bark and bite only when cornered. You are actually
shy, and awkward but very sweet and easygoing when you finally decide to come out of your
shell, like today."
"I won't stop until it's all over."
"Then you will never stop."
Chris huffed. "It would only take a quarter of what you know to end it all with a snap of your
fingers."
Alfred shook his head, displeased. "Why don't you listen? Umbrella as a company is already
collapsing. Sure, we're reorganizing and we'll be able, for a while, to keep some of our labs
active around the world in a sinking ship. We are currently trying to eliminate anyone
attempting to steal data or sell themselves to interested third parties, but it is like shooting a
gun at a swarm of cockroaches running in all directions. It doesn't take a genius to realize that
we cannot, physically, exterminate them all. The survivors will continue to work for others.
New projects will spring up, potentially even more horrific and unchecked than those we
initiated and, for the most part, constantly monitored. The Spencer Mansion incident and the
Raccoon City incident will completely change the face of the world, making it, if possible,
uglier than it already is. Do not doubt my anger about how both emergencies were handled
and not just because my dear William was killed by my men without my knowledge. I may
be stuck on this island but I am proud of my lineage and my work and, when it comes, I will
act in harmony to administer the proper punishment. Heads will roll for my delight-
"Even mine if I end up getting in your way?" Chris interrupted him.
Alfred blinked and shrugged his shoulders. "I can ask you the same question. Would you put
a bullet between my eyes in pursuit of your crusade?"
Chris winced. "Let's change the subject..."
"Just one more thing," Alfred insisted. "I have neither the intention nor the power to stop you
from doing anything but I want you to be able to make an informed choice. If you decide to
fight, you will fight until the moment you take your last breath long after Umbrella has
departed and when you finally die you will leave everything exactly as before. You will not
make a difference, nor will you be a martyr. Just someone's instrument to prevent a danger
that will be strategic and not at all humanitarian. Whoever you decide to work for, there will
always be an agenda behind it. Yes, formally the more civilized states will ban the production
of biological weapons but secretly they will continue to fund them too afraid that ancient and
not-so-ancient enemies might do so at their expense. You will not be so naive as to think that
the U.S. won't do it if they fear Russia will, or China if the U.S. does. Not to mention
smuggling, power wars in so-called third-world countries, bio-terrorism, and so on. In other
words, William was forced to open Pandora's box and now all evils are roaming free around
the globe. They will feed on the fears, ambitions, and hubris of men, and you will be there
without an umbrella to shelter you from the storm anymore, pardon the pun. If your intention
is to swim, rather than watch everything from a distance, then you better brace yourself for
untameable currents. And in any case, all this will claim a price sooner or later. Don't answer
me. Deciding whether you are ready to pay is your call alone, and I will respect it without
judgment. As friends do. May I call you a friend now?"
Chris nodded, saddened, thoughtful, and even frightened. Not by Alfred but by the
implications of his speech. He was right. He had no doubt about that. He was more the type
who acted on impulse, without much reasoning, but undoubtedly pursuing Umbrella and the
other organizations that would form after it would put not only him but also the people he
cared about at risk. His sister, Jill, Barry and his family...
He had to do it alone. Cut off contact with everyone, taking advantage of the fact that, in a
sense, he had already done so. The idea of never seeing any of them again, especially his
sister and Jill made his heart clench painfully, but he really didn't have a choice. "We need to
start preparing the meat. Leave the broom. I'll finish later," he changed the subject because,
for some absurd reason, he didn't even want to spoil the moment that was so light and
beautiful.
Alfred nodded with one of his enigmatic smiles and joined him in the cold room.
Dinner preparations continued without any further incidents, either of a diplomatic or playful
nature. Chris was very thorough in teaching him the various steps. Alfred listened patiently,
and they both succeeded in reinstating that light and joyful atmosphere.
"Good heavens! What on earth happened here?!" Mr. Harman's voice made them jerk with
fright. "What happened to you two?!"
His shocked and annoyed expression made them burst out laughing like naughty children.
"Relax, we were just having a little fun," Chris mocked him with a sneer. "You rather are not
dressed appropriately," he pointed out to him, hinting at his immaculate livery.
"We're not at dinner. Yet," the other blurted out to him, ruffling his feathers like an irritated
owl and straightening his back strutting.
"Is there a problem?" Alfred questioned him since he had specifically requested not to be
disturbed.
"I'm afraid so, sir. My apologies. May I have your attention for a moment? In private."
His master nodded and approached him. Chris, on his own, began to caramelize the onion for
the burgers, giving it no particular thought. It was not the first time something came up while
they were together.
He heard Alfred sigh and imagined him rolling his eyes even though he was not looking at
him. "Excuse me, Chris, I'm afraid I have to make a phone call. I won't be long."
"May I also suggest a dusting while you're at it, sir?" The butler interjected.
"Uh, how very impudent!" Chuckled Alfred. "You've already gotten into the spirit of the
evening, good! Very good! I'll be back as soon as I can."
"No, you stay," Chris said to the butler when Alfred was gone.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
Chris removed the pan from the fire and turned off the stove, before retrieving the broom and
beginning to sweep up the work his friend had left undone. "I think you should take
advantage of this evening."
"For what?" Mr. Harman questioned him, keeping defensive.
"Alfred doesn't need servants - well, he kind of does, he can't even hold a broom. What I
mean is that he needs friends and people who love him. You clearly do. All this is not just to
piss you off - even if I adore to do so - but to give both you and him a chance to be
yourselves. You are practically a father to him and he also loves you tenderly-.
"Nonsense!" The butler interrupted him abruptly, upset. "I am not his father."
"Why? The one who pulled him out of a test tube and then set him aside because he was not a
satisfactory result was?"
"The late Lord Ashford was-
"A piece of shit. Don't worry, I'm saying this for you. You have raised Alfred since he was in
swaddling clothes. You educated him. You were there for him when he was happy and to
comfort him when he was in despair. At every important step of his life, you were there. You
are his dad, and, all things considered, you did a great job, too. I know you think I'm just a
rude, uncivilized jerk, but I had to raise my sister alone, too, and I know what that means. I
know what it feels like to have doubts, to know you're a parent without really being one. It
took me a while to accept my role but doing it was the best thing in the world and, in the
tragedy of losing my parents, also the best thing that happened to me. You should not deprive
yourself of it, much less deprive him of it. For what? Ceremonious bullshit? A caste system?"
"Sir-
"No, please," Chris went on like a flood. "He is alone here and miserable, and he will be even
more so when I am gone. I've tried to persuade him to leave the island, but he just won't listen
out of that ear. This surely has to do with his sister who, dead or alive -as I suspect she is
since she threw me down a flight of stairs - is a wicked influence on him."
"As I have told you countless times, Lady Alexia-
"Whatever," Chris interrupted him once more. "It's not my mystery to solve. If Alfred didn't
want to put me on to it, he must have had his reasons. I can and want to respect his
boundaries. I learned that the hard way in Raccoon City where I let my paranoia and
resentment lead me to make the worst possible choices, including hurting my sister. You
know what I am talking about, though, and you can act on it. Please do so. Think... Think in
perspective. How many more years of life do you have ahead of you? Thirty? Forty at most?
He will outlive you, and since he is not a normal man, we don't even know by how much!
You have to teach him how to live in the world. He doesn't deserve to be in prison for his
entire existence!"
Mr. Harman was silent for a long time, deeply touched. He took a deep breath. "You are an
uncivilized oaf indeed, but you are also a good man," he told him. "And for that, I am very
grateful. I don't know what I'm going to do yet but I will seriously consider your words. I
have to ask, though: if I should, in some way, persuade him, will you be there to extend a
hand? I have also lived out of the world for a very long time."
Chris nodded with conviction, moved. "Of course. I'll be there for sure."
Jill hid her face in her hands when she saw her father enter. He was just what she needed...
Surely he had heard everything she and Carlos had said to each other.
She remained still like a statue. Etienne, on the other hand, opened the refrigerator, grabbed a
vanilla yogurt smoothie, and slid it in her direction on the counter. Jill gasped when it
bumped on her elbow and in peeking at it her heart sank into her chest. It was her favorite
when she was a kid.
"I... I didn't even know they still made them," she sighed, taking it in her hand. "They
changed the designs. The cow was prettier before."
"Do you want me to file a formal complaint?" He joked.
"They'd deserve it."
"Well, if the cow is too ugly you can always give it back to me. You don't have to drink it."
He smiled, softly, when Jill pulled back with a glare, holding onto her smoothie tightly. His
child was a woman now, but there were still traces of girlhood in her.
"This's playing dirty," Jill pointed out to him, shaking the smoothie. "A viscous little trick."
Her father shrugged his shoulders. "I'm a lawyer."
She punctured the film with the straw and took a sip. "God, it's so good!"
He sat across from her on the other side of the counter. "Disgustingly sweet, if I may give my
opinion."
"Why? Have you tried it?"
Etienne nodded. "Over the years I've become a bit nostalgic. I always have some in the house
even though they gross me out."
"I don't know whether to consider it tender or pathetic on your part," she huffed.
"I think the truth lies somewhere in between."

"Why did mom ask you for a divorce?"
"We had our disagreements."
"Meaning?"
Etienne shook his head. "Never mind."
"Was it because of me?" Jill investigated.
"No. It was my fault. A long list, actually. In any case, it didn't matter much to either of us.
We had fallen out of love a long time ago."
"Why are you so damn evasive?"
"Because my opinions might compromise your idea of her."
Jill scoffed joylessly. "Do you think she would be objective?"
"No, but I want to be. Have you tried contacting her?"
She nodded sadly. "Someone answered pretending not to know English. Whatever. Fuck her."
"Hey, it's your mother!" He scolded her more sternly.
She huffed and resumed drinking her smoothie.
"I will try to keep Carlos out of the trial," he changed the subject since he had indeed heard
what he and his daughter had said to each other. "Even if it's strategic suicide. That kid is our
strongest evidence."
"He can make his own choices. Even the stupid ones," she muttered, hurt.
"Let me guess: fuck him?" Etienne anticipated her.
Jill shot him a look between annoyed and entertained. "And fuck you, too, while you're at it."
"I guess that's your new favorite word," he chuckled. "What about this Chris? Anything you
want to tell me about him?"
"To hear you say that he's not the man for me and that Mark is? No thanks."
"To quote you: fuck Mark," her father replied. "I also kicked him out of the studio, for the
record."
"Why?"
"He was an incompetent idiot. His father understood that very well, too, after he lost us an
important client. He cut ties with everyone and now works for a rival firm, which is great
since it significantly lowers the quality of their performance."
"And you wanted me to marry him."
Etienne sighed. "I didn't want anything. I had been presented with a fait accompli by your
mother. I thought you had chosen him. I should have asked you."
"Well, mom said you were the one who came up with the idea and that you would disown me
if I didn't obey."
"Still surprised that I got divorced?" He asked her, saddened. "Still doesn't absolve me from
being so absent and absorbed in my work that I didn't notice what was really going on. For
that, I'm incredibly sorry, and I hope you'll give me the opportunity to make it up to you."
Jill looked away, gurgling through her straw at the now-empty jar of her smoothie. "Chris is...
Chris. He usually never makes a good first impression because he is often silent and
awkward. The fact that he's the size of a tank doesn't help either, but once you dig a little
below the surface, he's really a sweet guy. When I was recruited into S.T.A.R.S. I was the
only girl and he, without giving it away, immediately had an eye for me. Sometime later,
Richard, another colleague of ours, told me that Chris had kicked his ass when he heard him
joking about peeking at me while I was changing. Rich would never do that and was just
fucking around but Chris made sure he didn't even think about it ever again. At that height,
he and I hardly spoke to each other. Just a greeting when we walked into the office or in the
evening when we left. I was the one who made the first move, one night after a somewhat
rough mission but even then it took a lot to get him to open up."
"Have you been together long?"
Jill sighed. "No. Technically we're not. I mean, I've been crushing on him for years but he's
always managed to miss all my signals. It was tragicomic and I was starting to feel like an
idiot then, during the mess in Raccoon, we kissed but before we could talk openly about what
we wanted, his bitch sister rubbed him the wrong way and everything went to shit."
"We'll find him. I guess he's the big bloke I saw you go to dinner and walk Kujo with." She
nodded. "I look forward to meeting him," he tried to reassure her and also to let her know that
they had his blessing, whether she wanted it or not.
"I shouldn't have slept with Carlos..." She whined, putting her hands in her hair. "I may have
screwed it up after years of waiting for nothing more than to end up with Chris. Claire says I
don't have to tell him, but how else can I look at myself in the mirror? And Carlos didn't
deserve it either. He's such a good guy."
"One problem at a time. Now you need rest. Come on. Have another smoothie if you feel like
it."
He smiled to see her open the refrigerator and they had just reached the halfway point of the
staircase when the phone in his study began to ring. Odd. They exchanged a glance and
Etienne preceded her into the room. Jill moved forward stopping at the threshold,
unconsciously following the rule she had been taught since childhood about not setting foot
in her father's office.
He hurried to answer the phone. "Attorney Valentine, who is it?
He winced when he heard an ambiguous voice on the other side of the handset. It sounded
like that of a young man, or the one of a woman but with a more masculine timbre. He
motioned Jill to get closer and activated the speakerphone.
Oh, I think you can guess who I am since you are so assiduously looking for me. I apologize
if I leave out the introductions. You see, I am a very private person. Don't bother to explain; I
have a pretty clear picture of how things went. The fact that my subordinates turned to you, of
all the lawyers they could have chosen, was really short-sighted on their part. Fear not, they
have already been punished for their foolish incompetence.
"Where's Chris, you piece of shit?!" Jill thundered, losing her composure immediately. "What
did you do to him?!"
At the other end, there was silence for a brief moment. He is my guest and know that I will
not tolerate any interference from you in his healing process. If he wishes, you will meet him
again soon enough. He replied without concealing his coldness. Discussing him is not the
reason for my call, at any rate. Consider it a courtesy from a non-belligerent agent. Cease
your investigation. Personally, I have no intention of retaliating against you but the cloud of
dust you are raising with your clumsy machinations has been noticed. My associates may
decide to wipe you off the face of the earth, and they will not hesitate nor will they have the
thoughtfulness to warn you.
"Let me talk to Chris or I will find you and personally come and rip your heart out of your
chest!" Jill threatened him.
The voice on the other end laughed, as annoying as the screeching of fingernails on glass.
Oh, Miss Valentine, it would be my pleasure to see you try but that would sadden Chris, I'm
afraid, so let's keep it civil. Do what you most prefer with my warning. Your fates are and will
remain out of my hands. I bid you farewell.
"Wait!" Jill thundered but it was useless, the mysterious asshole had already hung up.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As usual, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers,
and bookmarkers!
So, school starts on Friday and it's shaping up to be a particularly tiring year (I can't talk
about it for obvious privacy reasons but they kinda put me between a rock and a hard
place). I apologize for not finishing the Chris and Alfred part but, already halfway
through the chapter, I realized that I would not be able to cover it entirely because it
involves dinner and also an after-dinner. I'll make it up for it next week.
The absence of a scene between Nicholai and Leon, however, is quite deliberate because
it would have been merely filler. I will try, time permitting, to write something about
them in the next chapter.
Chris and Alfred are so sweet, they are such big babies! I find it extremely endearing
how they care about each other and how they are constantly trying to convince each
other that they are on the wrong path. Unfortunately, they are also so stubborn that they
remain roughly immovable in their positions.
Moreover, between the lines, we are also witnessing several crunches of Chris's self-
proclaimed heterosexuality. His being so deep in the closet that he does not even know
he is gay is, for Chris, still a nebulous mystery but Alfred, on the other hand, noticed
this characteristic of his practically at first glance. Let's say that, among Chris's various
issues that Alfred intends to solve, he is also working on this.
The phone call Alfred makes to the Valentine family, on the other hand, is structurally
important. Let's say it's a bit of a point of no return and that, although I don't know
exactly when yet, things are going to start going south very soon.

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 70
Chapter Notes
Alfred trotted back to the kitchen nonchalantly.
"It smells so good! What did I miss?" He asked, peering into the pan.
"Not much, don't worry. Trouble?"
"No. Just a little nuisance that needed to be handled. Where did Mr. Harman go? Not in the
hamburger meat, I hope."
"Oh, no! It's not like I want them to taste bitter! I sent him upstairs to change. He will join us
for dinner, as planned. Let's go check the dough, it should be ready by now."
Alfred stood on tiptoe, clinging to his back to peer over his shoulder. "Oh, my God! The
killer blob has grown! I said it would kill us all!"
Chris burst out laughing a little at the joke, and then because it amused him to have him so
perched on his shoulder, as if he was genuinely afraid that the rising dough might attack him.
"Don't worry, we'll cut it up first and then bake it properly."
"Then proceed, my valiant knight, slay the monster," the other spurred him on.
"No-no, the valiant knight will show you, and then you will do it."
Alfred turned away from him with a plaintive whine. "I am tired," he protested. "And I don't
want to get dirty again."
"I won't throw anything at you this time, I promise," Chris reassured him with a small smile
that was met with a suspicious look.
"You better!"
They returned to the counter, where Chris had already prepared the pan to bake the buns.
"Okay, you have to take a small portion of the dough, about like this, and you make a ball,"
he explained, "then you put it in the baking pan and squish it like this, especially in the
center. All clear?"
Alfred nodded with a sigh and was incredibly precise in repeating the whole operation.
"Very good!" Chris complimented him. "You're going to be an accomplished baker," he

added, tousling his hair with a brusque pat.
"Very funny," Alfred huffed but failed to hold back a smirk.

"Now we'll let them rest a little longer and in the meantime think about the potatoes."
"Is there more to be done?!"
"Certainly. They need to be peeled and cut into sticks and then fried."
"I could never cook for myself... Too much effort. I'd rather let myself starve than do it at
every meal."
"You're just lazy and spoiled. After a while, it comes naturally."
Chris gathered several potatoes from a sack in the pantry and grabbed a knife. "I do this
myself anyway. I wouldn't want you to cut yourself."
"How thoughtful of you," Alfred practically purred, hoisting himself up on the counter and
looking at him. "You know, I complain to keep up a facade but it was really nice working
with you today. I've never done anything like this before. I used to play games with my sister
but... They were different."
"Yeah, if I remember correctly she was asking you to vivisect animals."
"You make it sound like a bad thing."
Chris incredulously looked up from the potato he was peeling. "Oh, no, it's a totally normal
pastime, especially for children!"
"And what are children supposed to do, mister know-it-all?" Alfred questioned him,
somewhat annoyed by his sarcasm.
"I don't know, school? Play an instrument? Play with dolls or toy soldiers? Hide and seek?"
"We played hide and seek. Besides, I could already play seven instruments perfectly at the
age of six. My sister got bored of hearing me play after a while, so I used to make things with
her to make her happy when she wasn't busy in the lab."
"Wait, what?!"
"What?" Alfred echoed him.
"Seven instruments? At six years old?!"
"Yes? Violin, viola, piano, organ, harpsichord and harp. I didn't have any others at the time
and it wasn't a priority for my father to get me more, or new things to listen to and learn.
Which was kind of annoying since they almost always left me on my own."
Chris was dismayed. "You've got to be kidding me," he blurted out but the confused look in
his host's eyes was enough for him to realize that, no, he was absolutely candid, sincere, and
unaware. "If what you say is true, even half true, you're on the level of a genius!"
Alfred frowned. "Don't be silly, my sister-

"Fuck your sister and her freaks! Fuck your whole bloody family tree of assholes! No, no,
look at me. It took me years and years to be able to be decent at strumming the guitar-
"And you haven't played it for me yet."
"And I'll never do it under these conditions, I'd only make a fool of myself!"
Alfred winced, suddenly very hurt. "You're not going to play for me?" He asked him like a
child who had been denied a much-desired gift.
Chris blushed, deeply uncomfortable. "I could but, I mean, I'm mediocre at best, while you-
"Nonsense!" Shrieked the other. "I can't cook at all but I did it for you," he objected
capriciously and resentfully. "That's not fair!"
"Okay, fine, you win. I'll try but don't blame me if I let you down," he decided to give him the
upper hand because, otherwise, they would not have moved an inch from that point. "I just
wanted to say that you are not mediocre, or lacking in talent. You are incredible-
"I'm useless."
"No, for fuck's sake!" Thundered Chris, raising his voice to the point that Alfred tilted his
head in confusion and awe. "Sorry," he quickly adjusted his pitch, "assuming and not
conceding that being useful really does serve a purpose, it's not like the only important talent
in the world is to be good at bioengineering! Least of all for what you do in your damn labs!
You have no idea how many assholes out there would take joy in hearing you play. Not me,
just any jerk. You, who have no idea what you are really worth! You can be another fucking
Mozart, and the fact that no one has acknowledged it to you is insane and cruel! It's lucky for
him that your father is dead because if I had him in front of me I would kick his ass until
judgment day!"
Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and ran a hand through his hair, awkwardly. "I... I
thank you, I suppose," he murmured, before looking up again. "But I still command you to
play for me," he added with a hiss.
"All right," Chris sighed, feeling like he couldn't deny him anything, despite how much the
mere prospect sent him into a panic. "It's not that I don't want to is that I'm, well, a little shy,"
he admitted.
"Good that I'm bold enough for both of us, then. So, this dinner party? I'm hungry."
"Not yet. We have to wait for the little offspring of the killer blob to leaven some more. In the
meantime, I'm going to get cleaned up. Do you happen to know where to get some beer?
There's none in the pantry."
"I'll see to have someone bringing some from the barracks, the soldiers drink it on their days
off. Sometimes even on their days in but I try to pretend I don't know," Alfred sighed.
"How magnanimous of you..."

"Isn't it? I am such a benevolent king! How much do you need? A couple of bottles?"
Chris grimaced. "Make it at least three or four packs, okay?"
Alfred smirked. "Somebody wants to get serious tonight," he purred. "So be it, all for my
beloved guest."
"Then I'll see you at dinner, here I'll finish preparing. Let's make it for... 8:30. Tell the
penguin, too."
Leon let himself fall beside Nicholai between the sheets, sweaty and fulfilled.
They had managed to go into town but the weather had suddenly worsened, forcing them to
stay there for a few days already. Not that he minded. He was glad to be among a little bit of
civilization for a change. They had taken a room in a motel, the fact that it was only one had
raised some concerns in the owner, as had the fact that he had no papers but these had been
quickly put to rest by a bribe from Nicholai. The man's ability to not give a shit and to solve
every problem in the most practical way possible made him feel so protected and pampered.
He gave him an adoring look as he stroked his bare chest with his fingertips, nibbling his lip
nervously.
"Huh?" Nicholai uttered, sensing his tension. "Is everything all right? Bad thoughts?" He
inquired, moving his head to look at him.
"W-what? Oh, no, nothing like that," the kid reassured him, still with that awkward air. "I... I
mean, Я... Я любю ты," he whispered, in nervousness, and Nicholai did his best to hold back
a laugh.
"Did I say it right?" Leon worried, blushing flamboyantly.
The Russian chuckled, touched by his tenderness, and patted his cheek. "Not even close but it
was very sweet," he replied.
"O-oh, I'm sorry!" He groaned, pulling back. "I made a fool of myself!"
Nicholai followed his movement and stopped him before he could escape from the bed. He
encircled his hips with one arm, dragging him on top of him, and nibbled on his neck,
holding him close.
"Ya," he blew on his skin in a husky voice as he stroked his back, "lyublyu tebya."
Leon gasped, overwhelmed by an emotion that heated his whole body. It was not just
rekindled arousal but pure joy. He took his face in his hands and kissed him impetuously. "I
love you so, so much," he repeated in his native language to make sure the message came
through loud and clear. He felt so relieved that Nicholai had not teased him about such an
important statement after such a short time.
He found himself with his back pressed against the mattress and him between his thighs. He
gave him an intrigued look and gasped, reclining his head back with a groan when the other
pushed back his legs and took him. It was not often that Nicholai could do it twice in a row
with such a short interval but who was he to complain about it? His clumsy declaration
seemed to have had an effect on him as well. Leon absolutely adored having him all over
him, it made him feel so tremendously safe. He clung tightly to his broad shoulders, going
then to sink a hand into his silver hair. Accepting his deep but slow, gentle thrusts without
trying, as he often did, to rush things to make them a little rougher. Over time he was learning
to viscerally appreciate that different way of making love. It had actually been a discovery for
him, since no partner he had ever had had given him even a tiny fraction of all that attention.
He groaned when Nicholai grabbed his cock, starting to masturbate it but what sent him
straight into oblivion was hearing him whisper, in that deep, beautiful voice of his: "I love
you too, Kitten", in his ear. His entire body was shaken by quivers of ecstasy as he came
intensely, totally overwhelmed not so much by the physical pleasure but by the deep bond
that had been established between them. It was so rare and special, so new to him.
His soft body passively accepted his final thrusts until Nicholai too followed, pouring into
him. Then the Russian came down on him laboredly.
"Someday you will give me a heart attack," he wheezed, kissing the base of his neck. "And,
all things considered, that would be a wonderful way to go." He raised to move but Leon
buckled his legs behind his back, forcing him to stay on top of him.
"You're not allowed to leave, much less die," was his lazy reply as he held him close, still
keeping his eyes closed.
They lay in silence, sleepy and tired, cuddling for a few minutes, then Leon squinted his eyes.
"What did I do wrong before?" He asked.
Nicholai burst out laughing against his chest. "You're asking me that now?!" He exclaimed in
disbelief, propping his chin against his sternum to look at him incredulously with his green
eyes.
"Yes, sir, I take this very seriously! Stop laughing! There will come a day when I will speak
Russian even better than you!"
Nicholai gave him a sly look and smirked. "You are so feisty..."
Leon retorted with a guttural growl. "So? ты is 'you'. What was that tebya? And любить, 'to
love,' is a verb of the second group and it sounded the same to me as you said it, ya lyubyu."
Nicholai scoffed, shaking his head, tremendously amused by his stubbornness. "Okay," he
relented, "two rules. The first: to love is transitive, so it wants an object complement, which
in Russian is expressed with the accusative case. We have already glimpsed this with 'menya
zovut' which I had you translate as 'my name is' for convenience and without elaborating. It is
not entirely correct. The literal translation would be 'they - implied - call me-menya Nicholai.
With любить it is the same thing, it answers the question 'who?' or 'what?' so it has to be
expressed in the accusative. As far as lyubit is concerned, you are correct. It is a verb of the
second group but once you remove the infinitive ending, you are left with lyub-. When you
have a labial letter, it should be followed by the epenthetic л before the sound -y_, except for
-ya. I said should because this is not always the case but it is in любить."
Leon covered his face in a motion of frustrated despondency and with a beginning headache.
"I told you it wasn't the time to talk about it," Nicholai chuckled. "Besides, you tend too
much to rush things. Russian has a lot of grammar, and a ton of rules, far more than English,
and as many exceptions. Take it slowly. You'll get there, you're smart," he reassured him
gently.
"You bet I will," was Leon's reply, "and, even if he's a bit of a jerk, I have the best of
teachers!"
He saw Nicholai wince and smile with a bit of wistful sadness. "Did I say something wrong?"
He worried.
The other rose a little to place a kiss on his forehead before lying down beside him. "No," he
whispered, abandoning his head on the pillow. "When I was a little boy, things at home were
not great. My mother did the best she could but we were poor and it was not easy to, well, see
or hear her entertain her clients. I was always a bookworm and I loved going to school. I was
really good at it and in my childhood dreams, I really would have liked to be a teacher of
some kind. After she died, of course, I lost all illusions and until I met Mitia I had also
convinced myself that all that crap I had filled my head with was just useless. Certainly being
good at history, or grammar didn't help me find something to eat. I spent a good part of my
adulthood making up for it, at least, in my spare time. Thank you for being my student. I
never thought I would have one."
"You're kidding, right? You've taught me more in these two months of training than in the
entire course at the police academy! And believe me, I am very demanding and selective, it's
not something I allow everyone."
Nicholai smiled fatherly. "That's because you're an arrogant little shit," he scolded him,
tapping him on the nose with his index finger. "Everything around us, everything that
happens to us, even everything that bores us can teach us something. Don't be so arrogant and
arbitrary in your judgments or you risk losing opportunities."
"I will leave wisdom for when I am older. Right now I am happy as I am. Truly," he replied,
grabbing his wrist to give his palm a peck.
"Oh, right, I got you something," Nicholai pulled away from him to get off the bed. He went
to get an envelope from the desk from which he pulled out a book and tossed it to him.
Leon caught it on the fly and looked at it, his face lighting up. "A grammar, thank you!" He
chirped. "Where did you find it? I went to the bookstore but they said they didn't have
anything from English to Russian!"
Nicholai smiled, heartened to see him so happy about such a silly thing. "You'd be surprised
how many unusual stuff can be found in junkyards and pawn stores. It is practically new,
Whoever had it before you practically stopped at the alphabet."
"Thank you!" He repeated, leaping out of bed to hug him and give him a kiss. "I'll get right
on it."
Nicholai watched him go back to take refuge under the covers and chuckled again, rolling his
eyes. "My God, I've created a monster..." He commented, exhilarated. "Don't put too much
stuff on your pretty head or you'll only end up making a big mess! Do one chapter at a time
and then we'll comment on it together, okay?"
"Shut up, you're annoying me."
"Okay… I'll take a shower, then."
"Quietly."
"Ты грубый маленький говнюк..." he commented, approaching the bathroom.
"What was this?" Leon's voice followed him, inquisitive.
Nicholai sneered wickedly. "Nothing, a compliment," he lied.
Leon cast him an annoyed look. "Oh, really? Do you know what else is a compliment?" He
asked, before giving him the middle finger.
The ringing of the satellite phone made them both wince, unexpected and a harbinger of bad
news.
Leon lost interest in his precious book and followed him with his gaze. Nicholai had stiffened
but after he answered in English he clearly saw all the muscles of his massive naked body
tense.
"Приветствую вас, товарищ полковник Владимирович," he said in a far more serious tone.
He took a long pause, listening, followed by a short 'да' that was almost the only thing Leon
was able to understand. It was so frustrating! "Другой информации нет? Даже имени нет?"
He heard him ask, a little confused. "Понятно. Да, сэр, я немедленно выезжаю на цель. Я
буду держать вас в курсе. Давай. До свидания."
Nicholai ended the call and cursed. "Твою мать!" Placing the phone on the desk harshly.
"It was him, wasn't it?" Leon asked him, pale in the face. "I heard you say Vladimir-
something."
"Vladimirovich, that's his patronymic. He never wanted to use his last name because he didn't
want to hear it mispronounced by foreigners. To Umbrella he's just Sergei Vladimir, but
Vladimir was his father's name.... Whatever, it's a useless explanation right now. I have to go.
Time for a shower."
Leon's eyes filled with dismay. "What about me?" He asked, following him to the bathroom.
"You stay here. I'll pick you up when I'm done," the other minimized, slipping under the still-
cold shower spray.
"No!" The kid protested. "I don't want to be alone, please!"
"Lev, come on, this is no time for tantrums."
"It's not a fucking tantrum! What if something happens to you and I never find out?" Without
even posing a scruple he slipped into the shower as well. "Let me go with you-
"Don't be stupid!"
"I'll just stay in the car. I don't want to stay here! I don't want to be alone! Last time I drank
until I was sick for days! I don't want to be like that, please, I beg you!" He whimpered,
frantically, clinging to him.
Nicholai knew that this was not just a play to manipulate him, Leon was genuinely one step
away from a panic attack, and that was a terrible failure for which he was solely responsible.
He had promised himself not to make him dependent on his presence, and instead, he was
repeating the same mistakes he made with Mitia, only in a different way... He hugged him
tightly, deeply sorry and frustrated with himself.
"Okay," he gave it to him, "but you're going to have to do exactly what I tell you. No
suddenness, no bullshit, okay?"
Leon nodded against his chest. "Just don't leave me alone!"
"When we're in the car we'll talk about it because this is an issue."
The kid nodded again, surprisingly tame, and then they both washed up to be ready to leave
immediately.
Alfred was the first to sit at the table, and although he had been eating alone for most of his
life, he felt strangely uncomfortable that time. He was distressed by the prospect that soon
that would be his normalcy again, even if, in truth, only for a short time, if everything went as
it should.
He didn't want to think about that, though, because he wanted to enjoy that evening and,
besides, if his predictions were right, Chris was almost ready to take another major step
forward.
He pricked up his ears when he heard footsteps and recognized the gait of his beloved butler.
"Oh, my goodness!" He could not hold back a chuckle when he saw him walk through the
doors wearing a gray pullover with a light blue shirt underneath, no tie or bow tie, and beige
slacks.
The poor man cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and looked around for Chris to glower at
him. Only he didn't find him. "Of course that boar is late," he mumbled to himself, before
settling his eyes on his joyful young master. "Good evening, sir."
"No-no, no sir, tonight. It's the rules," he reprimanded him.
"The dinner is not yet-
"Let's not get lost in these quibbles. It is an order and a pleasure, Scott."
Upon hearing himself called by his first name, the butler's heart jumped. He smiled
genuinely, approaching the table and moving a chair to sit by his side.
"Should we open the beers to decant like wine?" Alfred wondered, turning the can in his
hands without quite knowing what to do with it.
"No. Or rather, certain fine beers require some breathing and are served in special glasses.
These... These are just beggar's swill."
Alfred sneered. "You have much more of a snotty nose than I do. Aren't you curious to try
it?"
Mr. Harman shook his head haughtily. "No. Not particularly, I should say," he cut him short
and then studied him better. "You're glowing this evening."
"Yes!" The master confirmed with a big smile. "I'm also dead tired, actually, but I think it was
the best day of my life, you know? Besides my dear Alexia, I was so happy only with
William but Chris, in his simplicity, is much more engaging. You can't say no to him."
"Especially when you end up throwing flour all over the kitchen, am I right?" The butler
asked him rhetorically, arching an eyebrow. "Brats."
"Brats?!" Alfred gasped, shocked at such impudence.
"Naughty," Mr. Harman further reiterated.
"Are you mad at me?" Alfred asked him, a little apologetically.
The butler smiled, tenderly. "No," he replied, laying a hand on the back of his arm. "If it
makes you feel good, you can spread flour all over the palace."
"Not if I have to clean up afterward," retorted the other, paling. "Chris is very strict about
that."
"We can always send him to the cell for a while after dinner," the butler proposed.
"Oh, you two are unbearable, two children!"
"To be perfectly honest, my l-Alfred, I kind of like that boar. Don't tell him I said that. His
speech is colorful and his manners are a mess but he is strong-willed, stubborn but good-
hearted. Besides, he's given you back some peace of mind, and for this, I'm especially
grateful."
Alfred blinked. "I'm sorry to have worried you. After William's death, I felt so miserable. I
really wish I could have seen him again, at least once."
Mr. Harman squeezed his arm fatherly, letting go a little as Chris had suggested he do. "You
have nothing to apologize for. My greatest privilege is to be here, one step behind you so that
I can better support you. Know that whatever you need, even the wildest thing, I will be
there."
Alfred scoffed, a little uneasy. "Do you want to make me cry tonight, Scott?"
"No, my dear child, I think you have cried more than enough already. If it were in my power,
I would move the stars just to bring you joy."
"May I give you a hug?" The kid asked shyly. "Like when I was little. I've wanted to for a
while but I always thought you wouldn't appreciate it."
Mr. Harman stood up. "Come here."
Alfred threw his arms to his chest impetuously and pulled him close. "I-I'm so scared," he
confessed to him in a trembling voice. "Things here are about to change terribly. I... I-I have
secrets. Secrets I haven't told anyone but I'm going to need your help. Will you give it to
me?"
"Of course I will," the butler reassured him.
Alfred took a step back to look into his eyes, so incredibly grateful. "Then I will tell you
about it. Not tonight, when we have some time, just you and me. I hope you won't get too
upset. I wanted to tell you a long time ago but, you see, I made a promise I couldn't break in
any way. No, no, no, don't look at me so worried. I swear it's something beautiful."
Chris, outside the glass door, was already looking at them with a soft smile on his lips. He
couldn't hear what the two were saying to each other but it was clear that they had grown
even closer and that warmed his heart. He could not linger there any longer, however, or
dinner would get cold. He made sure to make enough noise, especially in opening the door.
"About time," commented the butler, dryly. "If you were in my service I'd have you fired."
"Go fuck yourself."
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Can you two try to be civil?"
"He started it," Chris defended himself, setting the tray down on the table. "Dinner is served!"
He exclaimed, lifting the lid and setting the plates with burgers and fries in front of them. His
was a very simple and spartan but effective plating for the type of dinner. "Unfortunately,
there was no time to make ketchup for the fries, so I made some mayonnaise. It's not very
American but, personally, I tried it and it's not bad."
Alfred cast an ecstatic glance at his plate and one at him. "Are you nervous?"
"Yes. Very. Thank you for pointing that out," Chris blurted out to him without returning the
glance and making him laugh heartily.
"Can I have a knife and fork?" The butler interjected.
"You wish! Absolutely not and put those elbows on the table."
"Never!"
"Are these my murderous blob progeny?" Alfred investigated, looking at the buns almost
lovingly. "They're so cute now!"
Chris chuckled, sitting down after cracking open a beer and taking a long sip but he dared not
taste first. If, after all that work, dinner ended up sucking, he didn't want to be the first to find
out. Not that the prospect of one of the diners doing it was any better. Why was he like that?
He was reasonably confident in his abilities but every time it came time for tasting he felt like
a child on the first day of school. Uncomfortable, he watched Alfred study how to bite the
hamburger like it was some complex geometric problem but looked away when he finally
succeeded, finding himself facing the sly gaze of the butler. The asshole loved seeing him on
the grill.
"Oh, God!" Alfred mumbled. "It is the best thing I have ever eaten!"
"Now he won't want anything but this for at least six months," was the butler's surrendered
comment.
"I hear you!" Rebutted the young master.
"Oh, I am aware. So let's try this culinary prodigy." Wrinkling his nose at the idea of getting
grease and oil on his hands, Scott lifted the sandwich and bit into it. "Um, I'm disappointed,"
he commented, startling poor Chris. "'Disappointed that I can't find a flaw. As incredible as it
seems, you really can cook."
Alfred would have liked to scold him for his rudeness but he was too busy eating to do so, so
he let them handle it themselves. It was endearing, that cat-and-dog relationship of theirs,
after all.
Sufficiently reassured, Chris also began to eat, and dinner continued amid lighthearted
chatter, less-than-healthy food, and several cans of beer. The icy cold splendor of that giant
dining hall was tinged with the colors and warmth of an intimate family environment, where
everyone was on the same level and had full freedom to joke and play with each other. Chris
considered this an incredible victory and was truly happy, as happy as he had been in a long
time.
And it was all thanks to Alfred. He watched him laugh and chat with the butler and had
confirmation that he was not at all wrong about the nature of their relationship. He hoped that
the little nudge he had given them would allow them to stop pretending.
"Oh, dear!" Groaned Alfred, when a large drop of mayonnaise dripped onto his shirt as he
brought a chip closer to his mouth.
"Come on!" Chris teased him. "Really swear, for once!"
Mr. Harman barred his eyes like a predator and slammed his fists on the table. "Don't you
dare!" He growled at Chris. "You won't turn him into a foul-mouthed troglodyte like you!"
"Fuck..?" Alfred whispered, a little hesitantly, almost giving the poor butler a stroke.
"What was that? A chirp? More conviction! Just like this: fuck!"
"Fuck!" Repeated the other.
"Are you two done?!" Thundered Mr. Harman, making them jump in their chairs, before
causing general hilarity.
They finished eating taking their time, not rushing things, and lingered chatting and drinking
beer until late in the evening, until Mr. Harman got up.
"I think the time has come for me to retire to bed. Unlike both of you, I get up early to run the
show." He smiled at both of them. "It has been a peculiar evening and, in spite of all its
eccentricities, a pleasant one as well. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, you rascals.
With permission-oh, right. No. I'm just going to leave. Carry on."
Alfred let out a brief affectionate chuckle. "Good night, Scott," he waved him off.
"Careful you don't get the room wrong, with all the beer you've been drinking!" Chris barked
at him, amused.
"Look who's talking!" Alfred scolded him, before going around the short side of the table and
taking him by the hand, tugging him a little to get him up. "Come, I want to take you
somewhere!"
"Weren't you tired?"
"Yes, but I can forget about it."
Chris lit a cigarette and stood up, making him happy. He was a little light-headed. Perhaps he
too had gone a little overboard with the beers. Whatever. Alfred was sober for both of them.
He had just tasted it and clearly did not like it. He realized with a few milliseconds delay that
the other had handed him his jacket. "Shall we go outside in this cold?"
"Don't be a whiner, move!" Alfred spurred him on, slipping into his long white coat.
"I like it when you bully me," Chris found himself saying with a smirk as he admired his
sharp profile. He again allowed himself to be taken by the hand and dragged into the garden.
It was a beautiful evening, very cold indeed but, for once, there was not a single cloud in the
sky. The storm was far away.
"Hey, slow down, what's the hurry?" He asked, pulling him toward him.
Alfred, who was not expecting it, practically bumped right into his arms. He looked at him
with a surprised little smirk that Chris found lovely.
"Sorry, I got a little too rough," he apologized, caressing his features with his gaze.
"You are forgiven, but I still want you to follow me. It is a very special place. My favorite on
the whole island."
Chris felt some annoyance and a sense of abandonment when Alfred moved away from him,
so he followed like a moth attracted to light. They passed the entire garden, coming along the
east wing wall where they climbed up a steep iron spiral staircase. Chris even tripped on one
of the steps but still managed to avoid ending up face-down on them.
"Are you all right?" Alfred worried, stopping and peering back.
"Yeah, don't worry about me," he replied a bit awkwardly.
He was aware that perhaps he should have stopped a few beers earlier, but the evening had
been so pleasant that he had gotten carried away. He wasn't drunk anyway. Just a little tipsy,
and that was a good feeling, too.
"Hey, where are you?" He asked once he reached the terrace, trying to catch a glimpse of him
in the dark.
"Here, just a second."
Chris heard the sound of a generator starting up and then spotlights flashed all around,
dazzling him a little. Narrowing his eyes he could see the stained glass windows of a
beautiful winter garden.
"Come," Alfred invited him, approaching the door. "Let's hurry, I don't want any of them to
slip out."
Chris hurried a little confused and, once inside, was hit by an intense scent of flowers. The
place was, now, brightly lit and it was beautiful, as well as warm. There were all kinds of
plants and even an artificial stream that looked real through and through. His attention was
drawn to an intense buzzing all around, and when he raised his head he saw dozens of
dragonflies hovering in the air.
"Aren't they beautiful?" Alfred asked him.
"Yes. Very much so."
"They are my favorite animal. My sister used to make me tear their wings off but I prefer
them free to fly around. Outside of here, they would die, though. It's too cold for them but I
like to think they're happy anyway in their artificial freedom."
Chris approached him, stopping just a step away. "You're not a dragonfly, though."
"Sometimes I wish I was. Oh! Right on your heart!" He exclaimed, surprised when a red one
landed right between them on Chris's chest. He smiled with a little anxiety. "These are very
rare! I didn't even think there were any still alive!
Chris watched him place his hand on his breastbone slowly so as not to startle it and let it
walk on his index finger, then lift it.
"Look at it, so light and elegant. Its wings are so thin and yet so strong. Dragonflies are said
to indicate change, and I'm sure it will be for the best for you."
Chris was not really listening to him. His attention was all focused on his face. At how his
violet eyes shone as he described that little thing, and how his enigmatic smile concealed so
much more than he was saying. He felt breathless as he contemplated him, and he was too
tipsy to be ashamed. He wanted to be close to him. Closer than they were, even though only
one step separated them. As soon as the red dragonfly took flight, Chris moved forward,
wrapping an arm around his hips and lowering himself onto him, letting go and capturing
those lips so full of mystery. He felt an irrepressible thrill as he slid his tongue into his mouth
and felt as if a huge boulder had been lifted off him and he too was, at last, free to fly. He was
almost moved to tears when Alfred, albeit with some stiff uncertainty, returned his shy kiss
but when passion began to overwhelm him and his hands moved to explore his body, his
sweet friend stepped back, restraining him with a palm.
"Sorry, Chris but my heart is already devoted to someone else."
This was enough to suddenly break the spell, and Chris realized what he had just done,
plunging into panic and confusion.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, my heartfelt thanks to all of you! Readers, subscribers, commenters,
bookmarkes and kudoers!
So, a lot of things are coming to a head in this chapter because as I think I said, Alfred's
phone call to the Valentines in the last chapter was a bit of a turning point.
I can't say much but Nicholai has received a mission, this time from Sergei himself, and
it's a very nebulous one. Nicholai has only a destination, no name, no information. Leon,
on the other hand, is particularly clingy (don't worry, this fragile aspect of him will
disappear when he becomes an adult) and has convinced Nicholai to take him along.
We will see in the next chapter whether or not this was a good idea.
Chris.
Chris my darling! It took us SEVENTY CHAPTERS to get you to make the first move
with a guy! I'm almost moved, there would be banners to hang, you little star! Holy shit,
I didn't anticipate it would take us this long but, at least, here Chris became aware. It's
too bad he did it with someone who doesn't reciprocate his crush because, of course,
Alfred doesn't reciprocate it but we have to give him credit that he's gone really far to
help Chris understand that side of him. Now he will have to pick up the broken pieces of
his psyche but, of course, he is prepared to do that as well.
One last thing, I chose to use 'winter garden' instead of 'greenhouse' just because it's so
much more romantic, even though I think it's more British than American (sometimes I
messed them up a bit but this time it was intentional).
Oh, keep the red dragonfly in mind. It will be important sooner or later.
Thank you so much, as always, for being here to keep me company and give me the
confidence to carry on this very long delirium!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 71
Chapter Notes
Chris leapt back, deeply troubled.
What had he done? What the fuck had he done?!
He was about to run away when Alfred stood in front of him, cutting his escape route.
"Chris, please calm down," he whispered, laying his long violinist hands on his chest to hold
him back. "It's all right."
No. Nothing was all right.
Instinctively, Chris just wanted to push him away and run but the memory of how he had
thrown Leon against the train station console ripped through his mind like lightning. The
groan of pain he had uttered from the blow and the hurt and terrified look on his face. Then
later, in the subway, when, in a panic, the rookie had begged him to stop because he thought
he resented him for that stolen kiss.
L-look, if it's because of that kiss, I'm sorry! I swear to you, I swear on my life it will never
happen again! Please stop!
He didn't want to hurt Alfred the same way he had hurt Leon. He didn't want to hurt anyone
he loved again!
"Here with me!" His friend reiterated, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes to disenchant
him from his panic.
He blinked, feeling a lump in his throat. "I-I don't know why I did that!" He groaned. "I'm
sorry, I'm so sorry!"
There was a cacophony of feelings swirling in his head but the most dominant of all was
shame. Shame for the act itself. Shame for the rejection he suffered. Shame for the way he
had treated Leon. Shame for the urges he clearly felt and did not want.
He moved back with nausea clutching his stomach. He wanted to blame the beer but knew he
was not drunk to the point of doing something completely irrational and senseless. He winced
when the other took him by the hand.
"Come sit with me," Alfred told him, calm and placid with all the understanding in the world
in his violet eyes. "We have a lot to discuss."
Meek, Chris allowed himself to be guided to a wrought-iron bench under a magnificent

flowering arbor but at that moment he couldn't care less about the beauty of the place. As
soon as he was seated, he leaned forward, hiding his face in his hands.
"I'm losing my mind!" He almost sobbed.
Alfred chuckled, raising a hand to stroke the hair at the back of his neck tenderly. "On the
contrary, you're finding it," he contradicted him.
"N-no! Everything that has happened has screwed with my brain, I-
"Wrong, again. Why is this side of you so hard to accept?"
"Because I'm not like… that!"
"That? What do you mean by that?"
Chris lowered his hands a little to shoot him an annoyed look. "You know perfectly well,
don't beat around the bush!" He hissed at him.
"In truth, the only one who is dancing around it is you," Alfred scolded him. "Besides, my
island, my laws. There is no such thing as that in my kingdom."
Chris frowned, shaking his head. "N-no. I mean, it's not that I have anything against it - I
just… I'm not-
"Oh, you have everything against it. Look at yourself, so stubborn in rejecting the obvious.
Let's play your game, shall we? You say it's not a problem if others are but it becomes such if
you are. Why is that?"
"Because I'm fucking not! I'm just confused, okay?"
Alfred huffed. "English must be very different in the U.S. if being homosexual is referred to
as being confused," he commented, caustic, and took the floor again before Chris could snarl
some more nonsense at him. "What else happened with Leon?" He inquired. "There was
clearly a missing part in your account. At the train control center, you said you had a
disagreement. What really happened?"
Chris felt himself being laid bare and he almost started crying. "I don't want to talk about it,"
he mumbled, looking away.
"Please."
"Why the fuck do you care?!"
Alfred looked at him haughtily. "Because I committed myself to getting you off this island
after mending all your wounds. Including the ones you inflicted on yourself. I just left this
one for last."
"There is no wound! I-
"Then why does it sting so much? You can fool yourself all you wish but it won't work on me
and it won't on anyone who wants to use this to hurt you either. We'll deal with this later,
though. What happened with Leon? Did you kiss him too?"
"No!" Chris cried out, tense and desperate. "He... He kissed me," he admitted, painstakingly.
"Very good. Then what else?" Alfred prodded him.
"I pushed him off. Hard. He fell, got scared, and ran away. Look, I’m aware I shouldn’t have
reacted so ba-
"No-no. Not so fast. What did you feel?" The other brought him back into the spotlight,
preventing him from hiding.
Chris stood up, rubbing his temples nervously. "I don't know! I was shocked... Disgusted!"
Alfred crossed his arms over his chest, shooting him a condescending look. "Think better."
"I felt... Scared and threatened," Chris corrected himself, after a few moments of silence.
"Why are we talking about this? Of all the things I've done to him, this is nothing!"
"Oh, you are so sorely mistaken, my dear. That was the moment you lost him. Everything that
happened after was just a consequence."
"N-no..." Chris tried to protest weakly with glazed eyes. "It was afterward, in the tunnel..."
"No," Alfred corrected him again. "After that kiss, something broke in both of you. You
closed in on yourself, succumbed to paranoia and, I fear, to jealousy as well, though without
realizing the latter. He, on the other hand, felt rejected and insecure. The fact that you beat
and shot at him only widened the rift but he still would not have been the same around you
even if you had helped him. Let's see, how can I explain myself..." He tilted his head a little,
thoughtful. "You send some pretty unequivocal messages, actually, but you don't quite know
it. When you like someone, your attitude changes. The way you stare, how you seek contact,
how you get embarrassed when the shadow of arousal touches you. There are times when you
are so clumsy and shy that you can barely utter a word. I realized that you found me attractive
long before you did, and I encouraged you discreetly. That's what Leon failed to do.
Seduction is a slippery language, hard to manage, and prone to misunderstanding. You indeed
seduced each other but you were not ready and he was too eager. A tragedy destined to be
fulfilled."
Chris looked at him, shocked. "Why on earth did you encourage me if you are not
interested?"
Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "You have no idea the extremes I'm willing to go to just to
prove a point. Especially if it's to help a beloved friend."
"No, no, no, you're messing with my mind!" Chris still resisted. "I'm not like that and-
“Again with that. Is it too hard to call things by their proper names?”
“And if I were, I don't want to!"
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Too bad. I wouldn't have wanted to be born in a test tube either, and I
really would have liked to be taller, but that's life," he retorted. "One thing I can say for sure
is the longer and harder you reject what you are, the less happy you will be. And more. You
risk making everyone who wants to be by your side just as miserable, and, in the end, you
will not be able to fight what you are anyway."
"How you like being an insufferable know-it-all!" Chris accused him. "What the fuck do you
know about the real world? About real feelings?!"
Alfred let the nastiness slide over him with a shrug. "Why don't we rather face the real beast
in the room?" He asked him. "Of course, you fear Leon and you really like him but someone
is missing. Someone much more imposing."
Chris retreated, feeling cornered as never before. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "No,"
he sentenced.
"Come on, you want to fight so stubbornly, how do you think you can manage if you don't
shake off the chain that's been put around your neck? I can show it to you but only you have
the power to break it and free yourself." He rose from the bench and walked in front of him,
completely unconcerned about his threatening posture. "Let's talk about not-so-dear Albert."
Chris grew gloomy, wondering how it was possible that such an insignificant wren as Alfred
could, once again, make him feel so desperately small and helpless. He refused to answer him
because he didn't want to open that damn door, so his friend spoke again.
"As slimy and cruel as he was, he too was very adept at reading people and exploiting their
weaknesses. However, this is something you already know well. What you refused and still
refuse to see is how systematically he groomed and seduced you over the years. Tell me, my
dear, how many times have you found yourself wondering if anything between you had been
real? How many times, in spite of yourself, have you questioned whether something good in
him had existed?"
"W-why are you doing this to me?! It's just bullshit!" Screamed the other and winced when
Alfred grabbed his chin to look him in the eye with a firmness that seemed almost cruel.
"I've already explained it many times, for a wound to heal you have to squeeze out all the rot.
He has filled you with it, poisoning your mind and heart. You will die of gangrene if you
don't do something." On seeing him so frightened, he softened his tone again. "I hope I have
already proven to you that I have your best interest at heart. I know it hurts. I know you're
scared, but please trust me one more time."
Chris gulped to try to swallow that painful lump in his throat. In the back of his mind, he
knew Alfred was right. He just didn't want to accept or face it but his bizarre, unexpected
friend was also the only person he would ever have the courage to talk to about it. He would
not judge him. He could help him. "I-I... I think I loved him," he whispered and admitting it
openly was like receiving a painful stab in the chest. He still wasn't ready.
Alfred smiled, sympathetically, and moved the hand with which he still held his chin to
stroke his cheek. "You did. Very much."
"And I miss him..."

"I know and your love is so pure that it breaks my heart. You see, I really do value true
feelings, even those directed at monsters. Yours, however, is so tragically misplaced. He
didn't deserve any of it. What I am about to tell you will hurt, but it will be nothing more than
an echo of what you, in truth, have already understood. Albert was not incapable of love but
he never loved you. He may have felt lust for you but, even that, was not enough to end his
twisted little game. He fed on your fragility, on your adoration like a vampire drinking
blood."
"Before the Tyrant killed him, I had the impression that he wanted me to... follow him. Be at
his side."
"Then that Tyrant saved your life. Albert would have destroyed you piece by piece until there
was nothing left of you. You could never have replaced William, and that, in his eyes, would
have been your greatest fault."
"What the fuck was so special about that asshole?!" Chris growled. "Maybe if I had figured it
out earlier I could have tried to-
"Nonsense. No one but William has ever been able to get Albert to do anything he didn't want
to. Since your position was one of disadvantage, there was nothing you could have done.
Besides, he was a beast without a leash. Chaotic and cruel. Regarding William and anyone
else, for what it's worth, I don't think he had anything universally special, apart from his
genius, of course. On a more personal level, each of us seeks what we most need or think we
need, and that is what makes anyone who can give it to us special. For this very reason, it is
necessary that you know what you want so that no one else like Wesker, or me, can take
advantage of it."
"You didn't-
"Of course I did," Alfred interrupted him. "Only, unlike Albert, my intentions were not
malicious. Despite that, an apology is in order. I encouraged your interest in me, sometimes
deliberately teasing you, but I swear I only wanted to bring you to open your eyes. I wish I
could reciprocate because you are indeed a special soul and you are very dear to me but I
simply cannot."
Chris stepped back, making an inhuman effort to remain calm, deeply hurt, and, despite his
admission, still far from willing to accept the truth. "So you played with me? Like I'm some
shitty experiment?!"
"No!" Alfred cried out. "I just wanted to help-
"WHO THE FUCK ASKED YOU?!" Thundered the other, marching in front of him, shaking
with rage.
Unlike Leon, Jill, and anyone else, Alfred did not flinch but there was consternation in his
beautiful violet eyes.
"You've just been playing with me like a toy ever since I set foot in this shithole!" Chris
continued like a river in flood. "With your shitty tricks you've done nothing but fill my head
with bullshit! THIS IS YOUR DOING!"
Alfred shook his head sullenly, clearly displeased but not stopping looking him in the eye for
a moment. "So what do you want to do now? Hit me, if that will make you feel better."
"I just want to leave without ever seeing your face again!" Chris hissed, knowing full well
that this would hurt him and indeed it did. He saw him wince and lose his composure, getting
sad like a child ready to cry but he did not stop to listen to his whining. He had just reached
the door of the winter garden when he heard him speak again.
"I will make arrangements for you to be transported back on the first ship that comes to bring
us supplies. You have my word that in the days before your departure our paths will not cross
and I will not disturb you any longer."
Chris did not even answer him and simply left, carried away by the fury of his anger.
Once he had reached his bedroom he crossed his gaze with his reflection in the mirror and the
feelings he had experienced in his nightmare, how he had degraded himself, begging Wesker
to fuck him bombarded his mind. With a growl of frustrated helplessness, he pulled the damn
thing off the wall, knocking it to the floor where it shattered into a thousand shards. Then he
threw himself on the bed and burst into desperate weeping. His sexuality was just the tip of
the iceberg of what he could not accept because, to do so, would involve having to surrender
to the evidence that he had allowed himself to be manipulated and abused for years by a
monster who had done nothing but play with his feelings to the point of making him
dependent on him in everything. He wanted none of that. It was too much. It was way easier
and less heartbreaking to deny everything and continue to delude himself that Albert had only
been a father figure to him, a mentor to rely on who had betrayed him in a horrible manner,
yes, but still more acceptable, to him, than the crude reality.
The air in the car was tense. They had been on the road for several hours now, and Leon had
not taken Nicholai's rebuke at all well. He lay sulking, half-sunk in the passenger seat,
flipping through his grammar book without really having the concentration to assimilate
anything. Nicholai was stiff in turn, particularly tense, and kept casting glances at the
rearview mirror to make sure no one was following them. He was also pissed at his kitten. He
had listened to his reasons, and although he acknowledged, in part, their validity, theirs had
been a one-sided discourse in which he had even heard himself being called an insensitive
asshole. Perhaps he was an asshole, but he was also the only one of the two who had any
practical sense. In any case, he recognized that he should not have told him that he should
better start sucking it up and be able to be alone for a few days without whining like a brat.
Why couldn't Leon get it into his temperamental head that being miserable for a while was
still preferable to getting a bullet between the eyes? It wasn't such a hard concept to grasp, for
fuck's sake!
He shot him a sidelong glance and sighed because, although he was completely certain that
he was the one on the side of reason, he did not like to see him sad but before he could even
think of something to say to him, Leon snapped the book shut, threw it on the dashboard,
unbuckled his belt and turned on his side, his back to him.
"Put it back on," he huffed, annoyed.
"Go fuck yourself."
Nicholai inhaled deeply, feeling irritation run under his skin. He checked to make sure they
had no one behind them, and then he abruptly pressed the brake pedal, causing him to slam
against the dashboard.
Leon spun around like a rabid animal, shrieking at him again that he was an asshole before
throwing open the door and getting out of the car.
Nicholai pulled over and wrinkled his face with both hands, exhausted. He had no time for
this crap. With a growl of annoyance, he got out in turn.
"Where the fuck are you going?" He asked, seeing him marching deeper into the woods.
"Away from you!"
The Russian increased his pace, hoping Leon would not get the unfortunate idea to start
running. The kid was much faster than him, and he would probably have to shoot him in the
leg at the very least to stop him. Leon, however, was not really planning to leave, he just
wanted attention like the spoiled little shit he was. Or at least Nicholai hoped that was the
case because, otherwise, he would really have to consider ditching him there. He would not
have wanted it to come to that but jeopardizing a mission would have far more serious
consequences.
"Are you going to stop or not?!" He grumbled at him.
"Why? You couldn't wait for me to get off your fucking ass!"
Nicholai closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Has no one ever told you what a passive-
aggressive cunt you are?"
Leon turned around sharply. "Of course! I'm like my mother, remember? It's either the way I
want it or I make everyone live hell on earth!"
"Cut the crap, will you?!" Nicholai yelled at him, finally catching up to him and glaring down
at him. "You're like your mother only if you want to be! It's not something imposed on you
from above! And I'm beginning to get tired of hearing you use the same excuse over and over
again! And it goes for drinking too, do I really have to throw away every fucking bottle
because you can't have any self-control?! You are not a child! You're an intelligent young
man, dammit!"
Leon walked back, feeling as if he had been slapped. "I'm just afraid of losing you, okay?!
And I don't want to think about it!" He yelled back. "You keep throwing in my face that I
have no idea what it's like to suffer a real loss just because you're an entitled piece of shit! I
lost both my parents, and everyone else I've known has always turned their backs on me!
What guarantees me that you won't do the same thing?!"
"My word."
"I'll wipe my ass with your word, Nicholai! You... You just don't get it, do you? I held you in
my arms in Raccoon a breath away from death! And you had no intention of getting out of
that shithole alive anyway!"
"That's not true," the Russian refuted him, "I did my best to save my own skin. When I
realized that I couldn't stand on my feet anymore, I just accepted my fate and, da, I even tried
to shoot myself but only because I didn't want to turn myself into a danger to you bunch of
bleeding heart imbeciles! And I would have been right to do so since I tried to bite Miss
Valentine and ended up biting you! I'm sorry if my being rational hurts you, I really am but
you are so damn naive and arrogant! Despite everything, you always think you can save the
day but this life doesn't work that way! People like me do not reach retirement! Now get back
in the car or, I swear on your beloved dickhead, I'll dump you where you are because if I
don't do my job I die and, more importantly, if you're by my side you croak too."
Leon did not answer him but went back as he was ordered. He did not open his mouth for the
rest of the trip and even refused to eat when Nicholai stopped to buy something on the fly at a
diner.
On entering the city the Russian's attitude became even more suspicious but there was really
no indication that they were being followed or kept under surveillance. The truth was that he
couldn't wait to finish that fucking mission and head back into the mountains. He was also
aware that he had not handled the situation with Leon to the best of his ability and for that he
was sorry but he could not let that distract him at that moment. His focus had to be on the
mission, especially since the only information he had was to get into a house and kill
whoever was inside. It was not entirely unusual for this to happen but going in blindly always
unnerved him.
He parked in a secluded stretch and when he turned off the engine, Leon finally showed signs
of life. Agitated, he grabbed him by the arm before he could even open the door.
"I'm sorry!" He whimpered, looking at him with those wide-open blue eyes of his. Then he
hugged him tightly. "Please be careful!"
Nicholai sighed and placed a peck on the side of his neck, before ruffling his hair with a
caress. "Sure," he whispered to him. He pushed him back in his seat. "Now you listen to me
well. You are to wait for me here, understand?"
The Kitten nodded rather convincingly and did not interrupt him.
"Just in case, I'll leave these with you. If I'm not back by dawn just leave."
Leon immediately grew panicky. "But-

"No buts," he shushed him, putting the keys in his hand. "The thing I want most in life is to
know you are safe. There's a duffel bag with money in the double bottom of the trunk. If
anything goes wrong, go back to the motel where we've been these past few days and wait for
me. If I don't show up in, say, seven days, get out of there too."
"Where?"
"Your place."
Leon frowned. "I really don't want to go back there but okay..."
"Bravo Kot," Nicholai smiled at him.
The kid took his face in his hands. "I love you. I meant it," he reiterated, looking him straight
in the eye.
The Russian kissed him passionately, before opening the door and getting out. "So do I, and I
expect you to have memorized the entire third chapter of the grammar for when I come
back," he joked.
"No, the next lesson will be you teaching me how to tell you to fuck off in Russian."
Nicholai chuckled. "That can be done."
With a heart full of anguish, Leon watched him take some equipment from the trunk and then
walk away. When he saw him disappear around the corner, however, he was quick to open
the door. Waiting, meekly, in the car had never been his intention. In complete silence and
implementing all the lessons Nicholai had given him about being stealth, he closed the door
and followed at a reasonable distance.
He knew he had to be perfect in his execution because if Nicholai noticed him, he would bite
his head off. So he took his time, blending into the shadows, as cautious as a cat stalking
prey. If he still had unquestionable weaknesses in hand-to-hand combat, being silent and
quiet was, besides speed, the aspect in which he excelled most, and he had already managed
to creep up behind his mentor on more than one occasion. So there was nothing that could
make him fail now, least of all when he was so determined and focused. Under pressure, he
always gave his absolute best. He watched him fiddle with a strange handheld device that
was probably meant to bypass the alarm system of that villa, and he found himself wondering
who was in it and why, in the eyes of Umbrella, they deserved to die. He really would have
liked Nicholai to stop that life but, however capricious, he fully realized that that was not a
job from which one could quit with a two-week notice. He flattened himself behind a car just
in time to avoid his gaze because, of course, Nicholai had not believed him at all and had felt
the need to double-check. In hypocrisy, his lack of trust irritated Leon. They were a couple,
they had to trust each other, right? From the car's rearview mirror, he saw him, finally,
climbing over the wall, leaving him a clear field to move forward.
Nicholai landed in the garden with light feet, perfectly in control, and sneaked up to the
house, avoiding the front door. There were always other entrances. He peeked toward the
garage but the shutter was closed. He discarded the idea. In opening it he would have risked
making too much noise, and besides, the driveway was well-lit. Too risky. He then moved
around the perimeter until he got in front of the kitchen, which had a nice gazebo for having
outdoor meals.
There you are! Nicholai thought as he approached the glass door. Opening it was a piece of
cake. God, he had to go back to being a thief. He was good at it and it amused him.
On entering, he did not immediately put his hand to the gun because he wanted to get a feel
for the situation first, as the house was very large.
It was a mistake.
As soon as he had stepped inside someone jumped on him.
Big. Male. Trained.
This was the first information he got as soon as he freed himself from his grip and the punch
he tried to throw at him was blocked. He lowered one hand to reach for the gun but the other
kicked it away from his fingers and then came down on him again. They crashed violently
against the sink, knocking over everything on the nearby counter, causing a big racket.
Nicholai suffered an elbow to the face that, for a moment, made him see stars but he managed
to scrap to the side before the other stabbed him with one of the kitchen knives. It was so
dark in there that he could not see his face and he was clearly at a disadvantage because his
opponent knew the environment and he did not. He blocked his wrist with the side of his arm,
stopping his second stab, and just as he was grabbing a bowl to slam it into his face, his
attacker took a blow from the side, probably a kick that sent him flying into the kitchen
island. He couldn't see him but he already knew who had kicked away his aggressor.
That darn idiot!
The light suddenly came on, and Nicholai was just in time to see a female shadow in the
doorway with a handgun. He flung himself at Leon, knocking him down with him as the
bullet crashed against the plate rack behind him. Thank God the lady had a really shitty aim!
They fell ruefully beside his attacker and finally could look each other in the face.
"Nicholai?" Carlos uttered, surprised and then brightening up like a sun. "Nicholai!" He rose
to his seat in a rush and after pushing Leon aside, threw his arms around his neck in a bear
hug.
Jill, who had heard him, cursed aloud. "You didn't know how to ring the fucking bell, did
you?!" She barked at the Russian, then stepped back. "Don't call the police, it's okay!" She
shouted to her father, who had gone upstairs to get Sherry. "He's a friend!"
She went around the counter, still with the gun clutched in her fist. "Because you're still a
friend, aren't you?" She questioned him, pointing it at him.
"Come on, cut it out!" Carlos intervened, shooting her a shocked look while still holding him
tight. "Of course he is!"
The Russian winced, deeply disturbed at discovering the identity of his targets, and, not
surprisingly, Miss Valentine had read right through him.
"Лев, стой!" He intimated when he saw his damned kitten ready to attack her. He pushed
Carlos off of him and got back on his feet, moving a few steps away. "FUCK!" He yelled,
punching the kitchen cabinets to release some steam.
"Hey, what's going on?" Carlos immediately became concerned. He tried to approach him but
Leon barred his way, glaring at him.
The Poodle winced, finally putting him in focus after all that commotion. "Wait a minute, he
was with you the whole time?" He asked, a little hurt, to Nicholai.
Leon practically got in his face. "Why? Do you have a problem with that?"
"What if I do, gringo?" Carlos growled back at him, sustaining his scowl.
Nicholai split them with brute force, giving his very idiot mate a fiery look. "Cut the crap
both of you or you'll need a wheelchair to get out of here. Am I clear?!" He thundered. Carlos
took a step back, raising his hands in surrender, but he was clearly annoyed.
"Lev?"
"Fuck you," the kid replied, hiding behind his bangs and crossing his arms over his chest.
It wasn't much of an accomplishment, but Nicholai settled for it. He ignored them both and
turned his attention back to Jill, who had lowered her gun.
"I didn't know it was you," he admitted, harsh in the face but saddened. "I wasn't given any
names. Just the address."
She softened a little and let go of the weapon. "I'm glad you're okay. The last time I saw you-
"Nick!!!" Sherry's squeal of joy covered her voice, and soon after, the child rushed forward,
throwing herself into the arms of the Russian, who lifted her by the weight and held her
tightly.
"My very brave devochka," he told her, squeezing her a little.
On seeing her, Leon winced but, despite the flashes that had filled his mind, he managed to
keep his shit together. He went to check the window but outside all was quiet. He turned
around only when attorney Valentine also joined them in the kitchen, harried because the
little girl had escaped him.
"I'm angry with you," Sherry protested when Nicholai put her down, "and with you too!" She
added, turning to Leon. "Why did you leave like that without saying anything, huh?"
Leon sighed and reached out to caress her little blond head. "You're right, I misbehaved," he
admitted, "and I'm so sorry."
She sulked at him for a moment longer before clasping his waist with her arms. "I'm letting
you get away with it just because you're cute," she pointed out with mock sternness,
succeeding in the great feat of making him chuckle. His joy, however, faded quickly when he
remembered Chris's existence. He looked toward the door, waiting to see him coming and
bracing himself for an inevitable unpleasant encounter. He did not want to see him.
"Don't be so tense, there are no monsters here," the little girl who had felt him stiffen in her
embrace reassured him tenderly.
"Are you sure?" He asked, lowering his eyes to her.
"Yes, sir! Carlos makes several rounds every night to make sure."
"What a great guy," Leon commented with so much acidity that he grunted, hostile.
"What's going on?" Jill questioned Nicholai seriously.
He shot a glance at Sherry, and Leon caught his hesitation.
"Why don't you show me your room?" He asked the little girl, taking her by the hand.
"Of course! Etienne has given me so many things! They are all beautiful!" She moved toward
the exit.
"Hey, Lev," the Russian called to him, asking the mute question if it was okay for him to stay
with Sherry for a while, his kitten reassured him with a nod, before being dragged upstairs.
"Let's sit down," Etienne finally intervened, lifting from the floor the stools that had toppled
over during the confrontation.
Nicholai refused and, just like Leon, checked outside. "You are all in danger."
"Yes, we already knew that," Jill stepped in. "We got a warning call a couple of hours ago but
we didn't expect it to be so soon, and neither that you'd be our executioner."
The Russian frowned, confused, and she gave him an account of what had happened with
Chris, and the lawsuit they were filing. "Do you have any idea who this guy might be?"
Nicholai shook his head. "Someone inside Umbrella, clearly."
"He had a distinctive voice," Etienne added details. "He almost sounded like a female. At
first, I thought it was a woman."
"Ashford," the Russian speculated. "It could be Ashford. Don't antagonize him, he's not
mentally stable."
"Where is he?" Jill pressed him.
"What did I just tell you?" Nicholai huffed.

"I don't give a shit how many psychiatric conditions he has, he's got Chris! Where do I find
this son of a bitch?!"
"Jill, if this man sent a hitman to kill us, perhaps it would be more prudent-
"No. He didn't send me. He is not my direct superior who in any case does not answer to him
but to Spencer. Ashford is... Let's say the second head of Umbrella."
"Give me coordinates!"
Nicholai shook his head. "You can't go against him. It would be suicide, and I won't let you
do it," he turned away from the window. "What you have to do is run as far away from here
as you can and, of course, drop the lawsuit."
"That will never happen, least of all now that Umbrella has entered my house uninvited,"
Etienne countered him. "This is a declaration of war and I will end it."
"Stubbornness is clearly hereditary," the Russian sighed.
"Take us," Carlos whispered. "Me and Sherry. Protect us. Please," he begged him. "Fuck
Umbrella, fuck it all, let's get the hell out. You said it, it's not my war but it's not your war
either. On neither side, Kolya."
Nicholai hesitated, there were too many question marks in that situation but the fact that one
of the colonel's squads had not yet broken in to take them all out gave him hope that it was all
a coincidence. "All right," he relented. "Let's go."
"You're not going fucking anywhere until you give me what I want!" Jill shouted, pushing
him back. "I'm begging you," she then whined with true desperation. "He's all I have."
Carlos did not react well to this statement and with his head down he left the room, walking
past her. Nicholai followed him with his gaze.
"You are making a series of mistakes one after another, Miss Valentine," he pointed out to
her. "But if you want a location, I can tell you. Not that you can reach it anyway." He picked
up a napkin and scribbled down the coordinates. "It is an unmapped island near Antarctica in
the Drake Channel. It is Ashford's stronghold, his kingdom, as he likes to call it. I only know
where it is because I was invited, several years ago, and declined."
Jill threw her arms around his neck, quivering with emotion at finally having answers.
"Thank you!" She whispered in his ear, moved, then stepped back sniffling up and wiping
away tears. "What do you think he did to Chris?"
Nicholai shook his head, feeling sorry for her. "Hard to say. If for some reason he is
interested in him, the absolute best. If not... He has his own integrity but he is not a man of
half-measures and he is... I don't have a better way to say it, mad as a hatter. In any case, he is
not the problem. He has a training center on his island and his men are absolute loyalists. The
one we met in the sewers and almost killed you, H.U.N.K., was one of them. Ashford had
him trained by following me as a model. In fact, he would have wanted me as a trainer but
my superior would never let me go. I just counseled him from a distance for a while. Don't be
silly. You're nothing but a bug to him, like everyone else. As for you," he added, speaking to
Etienne, "find a safe place and forget all about this. You have no proof either way, I'm afraid,
and there's no point in dying senselessly."
With that said, Nicholai went out into the hallway where Carlos was waiting for him and
together they went upstairs to inform Sherry and Leon of the new situation. His kitten was
not going to like this one bit, and, he had to admit, even he was terrified of not reporting to
Sergei and disappearing into thin air. He would search the globe for him until one of them
was dead but perhaps he at least had a slight advantage. He would have made it count.
Carlos helped Sherry put all her things in a duffel bag while Leon drove the car to the front of
the house. Before leaving Jill's old room, Carlos took one of her old blue hair bands with a
small yellow plastic star from her desk and put it on his wrist as a keepsake. When they came
downstairs, Etienne was no longer in the kitchen and Sherry went to look for him. Carlos
leaned across the kitchen threshold to bid Jill goodbye, despite the confrontation they had had
a few hours earlier, but when he saw that she was busy on the phone with Claire, he could not
find the strength to say farewell. He watched her for a long moment to imprint her well in his
memory.
"I hope you find him, Supercop..." He whispered, under his breath, before following Sherry
and Nicholai outside with a broken heart.
On another side of the palace, in the much more modest rooms designated for servants, Mr.
Harman awoke after hearing a knock at the door. He hurried to turn on the bedside lamp and
slipped on his robe before granting access. Seeing his young master on the threshold
surprised him. He had expected it to be one of his subordinates; for the lord there was the
bell. Had he not heard it? No, it was impossible. He was a light sleeper.
The kid threw himself into his arms in tears.
"What in heaven's name happened?" He asked him, worriedly.
Seeing that he made no sign of calming down, the butler made him sit on the bed and offered
him a glass of water. The fact that Alfred was reacting like that was almost completely
unprecedented. Whenever something upset him, his most natural reaction was to shut himself
away, stop talking, and play the violin for days without drinking or eating. The only other
occasion has been after the death of his father and sister, and in any case also following a
long period of muteness, his young master had indulged in a desperate cry in his arms.
Otherwise, he had never actively sought him out for comfort, but that night, there he was.
Without pressing him, he sat down beside him, letting Alfred lay his head against his
shoulder.
"It is about what you wanted to tell me?" Scott ventured to ask when he felt his breathing
normalize a little.
"N-no," Alfred sighed. "And I'm sorry to have disturbed your more than deserved rest..."
"No worries, sir, I-
"Can we screw the 'sir', please?"
The butler winced, touched, mostly because he felt an emptiness inside whenever he saw him
sad. "Alright but I still don't appreciate this colorful terminology," he commented, managing
to wring a brief chuckle out of him. His cheerfulness, however, lasted a blink of an eye, and
after taking a deep breath, Alfred gave him an account of what had happened after the dinner
was over.
"It was necessary but it still hurts so much," he whispered, wringing his hands nervously.
"That damned imbecile, I'll go right away to-
"No," Alfred stopped him. "His reaction was expected. I can't heal this wound of his. Only he
can and he will. Far from here in time and space. Leon is the key to the lock he's hiding
behind. I'm not crying over how he treated me. I forgave him for that as soon as I met him. It
is just... I am not ready to see him go but he has to. My time with him was limited from the
very beginning. I was aware of it but-
"Why don't you consider his offer?" The butler interrupted him. "I can come too if you wish."
Alfred smiled sadly and clung to him. "You are always so sweet to me," he murmured,
fondly. "I cannot. Not even if he could forgive me before he leaves. I'll tell you the reason but
you must promise not to repeat to a soul. I know I don't need to ask and it is not my intention
to insult you but I have been keeping this secret for fifteen years. It is not easy to let it go."
Mr. Harman clasped his hand with tenderness and determination. "Your secrets are my secrets
until my last breath, and if it is in my power, I will help you with everything I have, child."
"And I am so grateful to have you. I'm sorry I-
Alfred fell silent immediately when there was another knock on the door. He wiped his face
better and stood up, before mentioning to Scott to give permission.
A captain entered and was surprised to find them standing there together but did not point it
out. "I apologize for the time but we have located Leon S. Kennedy and Sergeant Zinoviev.
What should we do, sir?"
Alfred felt a disruptive relief but maintained his haughty composure. "Follow them discreetly.
Do not engage. Do not threaten them in any way and, above all, do not expose yourself. Leon
Kennedy is a valuable asset. In the event of an attack, he must be protected at all costs and by
any means by anyone or anything. Even our own."
"Yes sir, at once."
With a salute, the captain withdrew and Alfred and Mr. Harman were able to return to their
conversation.
Elsewhere, Colonel Sergei Vladimir was looking at a large screen with a map where two
bright dots were moving rapidly.
"The traitor Zinoviev is located," the subordinate at his side informed him. "Shall we strike?"
Sergei sneered sinisterly. "No," he said, "now he would expect it. Let them go, we won't lose
them now anyway. Let's let them relax for a while and let their guard down. I am a very, very
patient man and my revenge will be so sweet, am I right, Igor?" He asked the tyrant standing
still in the corner like an immobile statue. "You won't have to wait much longer to finally see
your favorite rookie again and I'll be at your side."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always the usual thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmarkers! You are the soul of this story!
I will be brief with the notes because I literally just finished writing the chapter and re-
reading it and it is so late.
Don't get too upset with poor Chris. He is a creature of habit and emotionally immature
but no matter how hard he tries to deny the evidence, the step, by now, has been taken
because he was the first to seek intimate contact with another man. The fact that he is
aware does not mean that he will make the right choice right away, not least because
some very gloomy clouds are appearing on the horizon.
Alfred is endlessly tender to me. He has gone far beyond what would be expected of a
friend to help Chris and genuinely cares about him, to the point that he is so sad to see
him go and be alone again. He breaks my heart, poor thing but he also has secrets.
As for the other characters, well, I'm starting to arrange the pieces of the chessboard
exactly where I want them. Carlos has said his silent goodbye to Jill and it will be some
time before the two of them meet face to face again.
Leon is pissed off. Leon is SO SO pissed off. He is very insecure and does not
appreciate at all that Carlos, now, is with him and Nicholai. There is some trouble in
heaven.
Moreover, Sergei now knows where they all are. He really never cared about Jill and her
father; he clearly used them as bait to test his attack dog. A test of loyalty that, clearly,
Nicholai has failed.
However, Alfred is also interested in Leon's survival and well-being, obviously for
Chris' benefit, so we are faced with a pretty tense scenario.
As if that were not enough, there is also another major actor in this tragedy who has yet
to reveal himself. You already know who I'm talking about, don't you?
Do like Leon, buckle up because things are going to go south very quickly.
Thank you all again from the bottom of my heart!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 72
Chapter Notes
As he drove, Nicholai was nervous and furious. With Leon, of course, but he didn't want to
yell at him in front of the little girl. He had ordered him - no, for fuck's sake! He had begged
him to stay in the bloody car, and the little shit had lied to his face like it was nothing! And he
was an absolute asshole for believing him!
Things had turned out okay in the end, but if there had really been someone in that house
intending to hurt them, it could have gotten a lot worse.
He looked in his direction and Leon did not look back at him. He was leaning against the
door staring out the window with his cheek resting against his clenched fist, sullen and
hostile.
He was jealous, the imbecile.
Nicholai let out an impatient snort and checked, for the umpteenth time, the rearview mirror.
All seemed quiet. Just an ordinary December morning with nothing special.
"I have to pee," muttered Sherry, rising from Carlos's chest on which she was sleeping.
The Russian sighed.
"And I'm also hungry."
This made him immediately rule out the possibility of pulling over and letting her do her
business on the side of the road.
"It's not long before the next town. Can you make it that far?" He asked her, turning around
briefly.
"Sure. Thanks," she smiled at him but he knew she was no fool. The little girl could feel the
tension in the air.
He found himself wondering what Carlos's problem was. Usually, he was the one ready to
entertain everyone. Instead, he too sat in silence, depressed and brooding.
He sped up a little but not too much so as not to be conspicuous. The situation was critical
and he had no clear idea how to move forward from there. He had disassembled, destroyed,
and thrown away the satellite phone without even trying to contact Sergei. He had about a
twelve-hour head start because it could happen that an agent like him would go no-contact for
a while before showing up during a mission. After that time was over, the colonel would
probably send someone to check that the job had actually been done, or he had died trying
and Nicholai really hoped that, by then, Miss Valentine and her father had gotten their asses
well away from their house and she wouldn't get the fucking idea to head for Rockfort Island.
He should not have given her those coordinates. He had been weak and stupid. He had
allowed himself to be fooled by the desperation in her eyes and had felt compassion. In her
place, he too would have said and done anything to find Leon if he had disappeared.
However, he knew that Redfield, with the shitty temper he had, had probably been guillotined
within half a day on the island. Lord Ashford was not a patient man. And he might have just
sent Miss Valentine to her death as well. He crinkled his eyes, exhausted, because he had
been at the wheel for a freaking eternity.
After Raccoon City he had promised himself he would not make any more mistakes, but
apparently, the ones he had already made continued to haunt him. He was okay with the idea
of dying for them but much less okay with them dying with him, or in suicidal ventures.
He turned to enter the parking lot of an anonymous diner but stopped at a reasonable distance
from the entrance.
"I'll get out first," he notified them.
He opened the door and took a careful look around. The feeling of being under close
monitoring did not leave him, although there was nothing to make him suspicious. Apart
from an elderly man walking his dog, there was no one around either. He knocked on the
glass, giving them the signal that they could come out, and opened the trunk.
"Carlos," he called to him.
The kid immediately flanked him. "Are we robbing the place?" He joked as Nicholai put a
gun and a full magazine in his hands.
"Just hide it on you," was his cold reply.
Leon approached in turn but pouted, hurt when the Russian closed the trunk.
"What about me?" He voiced his displeasure.
"You get nothing until you learn to respect a fucking order," Nicholai snarled at him in a low
voice.
"Whatever! I'm taking a walk, I'm not hungry anyway," hissed the other.
"You haven't eaten anything since last night. Besides, we're not splitting up. Come inside or
I'll drag you in!"
Leon muttered another 'fuck off' and then increased his pace toward the diner, leaving them
behind.
"Can we just dump him on the side of the road?" Carlos joked though not entirely.
Nicholai sighed. "Don't start with the bullshit, too."
"Why do you put up with his shit? Come on, he's insufferable."
"It's a long story..." The Russian sighed, following his kitten with his eyes. "Let's move, I
don't like us being out in the open like this."
They ate quickly and the food was not great anyway. When they came out, Sherry lit up with
joy to see that, across the street, a couple of ladies were already decorating their store
windows for Christmas.
"Uh, look! They're so lovely!!" She chirped, trying desperately to brighten up the gloomy
atmosphere. "What are we doing for Christmas? I'd like to have a nice lunch and a ton of gifts
and sweets! We're like a family, aren't we?"
"That's almost a month away, we'll think about it when we get there," Nicholai answered her
distractedly.
"More than a month? It will be like in two weeks!" Protested Sherry.
"January 7?!"
She frowned, and even Carlos and Leon looked confused. "What does January 7 have to do
with it?" She asked.
Nicholai froze and did a quick count in his mind. "Shit, sorry. In Russia, Christmas is January
7."
"What do you mean?" Leon inquired, still angry but nonetheless eager to extend an olive
branch. He really just wanted to hug him, apologize, and cuddle a bit but with Carlos there,
that was not an option. Besides, he had every intention of getting to the bottom of the
relationship that his man and the handsome Mexican asshole had.
Nicholai opened the door and got them into the car before giving them an answer. "It has to
do with the Orthodox Church. I admit I don't know much about it. It's been ages since I've
celebrated Christmas. My mother was very religious, but I'm not," he said, putting the wheels
in motion. "Back at home, the Orthodox follow the Julian calendar, not the Gregorian one. So
the counting of days is different."
"Well, it means that we will celebrate two Christmases!" Sherry exclaimed, perky. "One ours
and one Russian."
Leon turned toward her, placing his knees on the seat. "I think that's a very good idea, too,"
he backed her up and exchanged high-fives with her
"That would mean two tons of gifts, you little devils," Nicholai commented with an amused
grin.
"That is an unfair accusation!" Sherry exclaimed, blushing at being caught. "It is only for...
Out of cross-cultural respect!"
"My ass…"
"Go girl, keep pushing," Leon whispered to her.

"I heard you. Stop teaching her how to lie, you snake. While you’re at it, sit back properly
and put that fucking belt on before I glue it on you," snorted the Russian.
"It's uncomfortable!" He protested. "Fine, you win, mom…" He surrendered at his growl,
slamming his back on the seat and buckling up.
"Besides," Nicholai resumed, "the real event is not Christmas but Novyy god, which means,
Lev?"
Leon winced and stretched his ravenous paws toward the grammar on the dashboard to look
in the small dictionary at the bottom, only to have his cruel teacher slap them down.
"You can figure it out. Use that little brain."
"Well, god is not God-.
Nicholai chuckled. "My-my, we're falling into philosophy-
"Fuck you, I'm thinking!" His lover snarled at him. "Year! It's year, isn't it?"
"Да, конечно. И что?"
"New Year!" Leon concluded.
Nicholai smiled more heartily and looked at him full of affection. "Very good indeed," he
complimented him, proud.
"Are you teaching him Russian, too?" Carlos inquired in a resentful tone, crossing his arms
over his chest. This was infuriating the hell out of him, and he was in no mood to let it slide.
Why the fuck did he always have to be the spare tire? First with Jill, now with Nicholai! Yet
he had always behaved well with both of them. Always helpful. Always taking charge of
their shit. Always soothing them. And for what? Being relegated to a corner?
Nicholai felt more than a twinge of guilt. "Do you want to try it too?"
"I'm not trying. I am succeeding," Leon intervened sour and jealous.
"Don't bother," was, instead, Carlos's cold reply.
The Russian sighed. Carlos had a point and he was beginning to feel like a father playing
favorites. He was well aware that the two types of relationships were completely different. In
the beginning, he would have liked to set himself up with Leon exactly as he had done with
Carlos - keeping him in check without getting involved, or rather, getting involved but from a
reasonable distance - only he had failed miserably. Carlos, for his part, had moved mountains
to become friends with him, but with him, the relationship was more of a paternal-fraternal
nature. On the other hand, he was in love with Lev, in short, he was fucking him. The idea of
having to put his private sphere out in the open drove him crazy and made him tremendously
uncomfortable. Not out of shame. He just was a private man but he had to say or do
something before those two jumped at each other's throats. Not in front of the child, though.
There was a limit to everything and he also felt like an imbecile for worrying about such
bullshit when everyone could die.
"I'd like to learn that!" Sherry interjected, trying to soothe him because she thought he was
hurt by Carlos's rejection. Priceless little thing.
"We'll see," he answered her, "first we have to worry about more important stuff. You're
skipping a lot of school. As soon as we're home, we'll see what to do about it."
"I don't care about school."
"Don't be silly. Knowing things is important, it helps us understand what is best to do."
Sherry gave a whiny moan of complaint. "The house is the one on the lake you told me
about?"
Nicholai's smile faded when he heard Carlos snort, hurt because, of course, he had never told
him where he lived. He had to make it up to him, give him some time, attention, and
affection, and Leon wasn't going to like it one bit.
"The one and only…"
"Will we be safe there?" She asked him, showing that she was well aware of the situation
despite their efforts to keep her in the dark.
"Yes," Nicholai replied even though, in truth, he mostly hoped so.
Chris awoke when he heard a knock at the door. He pulled himself up, cold, for he had
practically collapsed on top of the blankets. His eyes still stung. The last time he had cried so
much had been the first night after his parents' death when his mom had not gone to tuck him
in and he had remembered that, just the previous evening, he had complained to her because
he was a big boy and didn't need her to be such a clingy mom anymore. Now, at twenty-five,
he would have given anything to still have her there by his bedside pulling up the covers for
him, no matter how ridiculous it would be.
He crinkled his eyes, feeling the skin of his eye sockets burn.
"Come in..." He mumbled in a feeble voice.
Mr. Harman made his entrance with a haughty expression that grew more hostile when he
saw the shattered mirror on the floor. "It was baroque, mid-1600s. It has survived over three
centuries but not you, apparently," he commented, leaning over.
Chris jumped out of bed. "No, I'll pull it up. It is heavy," he hastened to say, feeling guilty.
Avoiding his gaze he lifted up the imposing mirror frame and leaned it against the wall. "If
you tell me where to find a broom I'll take care of the mess too."
"That won't be necessary, sir," retorted the butler, placing the breakfast tray on the desk. "I'll
call someone to do it. The cook asked me to give you his greetings. He prepared the breakfast
you requested and wrote the recipe you wanted."
Chris nodded. "Thank you and thank him too." He reluctantly sat down. His stomach was
clenched and he had no desire to eat but he didn't want all that hard work to go to waste. "You
know, don't you?" He asked, barely nibbling on the cream brioche still warm from the oven.
"I do." That statement was followed by a long silence. "If you prefer not to see me either, I
can order another member of the servants to attend to your needs in these last days of your
stay, sir."
Chris gave him a look so lost and desperate that it appeased his resentment somewhat. He
took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together and not get carried away with disdain at
how that oaf had treated his young master. After all, Lord Ashford would not have wanted
that. "If it pleases you instead, I will remain at your service personally."
The kid nodded with another shy "Thank you."
"Do you know what this bedroom is called?" Scott questioned him.
Chris merely shook his head and drank some coffee before lighting a cigarette.
"Hyacinth's room."
"Is it supposed to ring a bell?
"No. Of course, not," Mr. Harman said patiently. "He is a character from Greek mythology. A
Spartan prince, valiant, noble, and beautiful. Many loved him and sought his affection but the
one who loved him most of all was the sun god Apollo."
"Great, more gay guys," Chris complained in a half-voice, sucking in a drag. "I don't see that
ending well. Is that Hyacinth?" He asked, pointing to the naked blond fellow weeping on the
ceiling.
"No, that's Apollo."
"So even the gods weep."
"Indeed. and much more. They are selfish, petty, and vindictive, just as humans, maybe even
worse."
"Well, how did it go? Why is he crying?" Chris prodded him after some instants of silence.
"The myth says that Apollo was so intensely in love with Hyacinth that he not only carried
him to the skies in his chariot but also failed in his duties, eager to spend his every moment
with the young prince. However, the sun god was not the only one who was fond of
Hyacinth. The god of the west wind, Zephyrus, was as well and was jealous of their love.
One day, while the two of them were practicing the game of quoits, Zephyrus misdirected
with his blow the metal disk thrown by Apollo, which fatally struck the unfortunate
Hyacinth. The sun god tried every herb, every ointment, everything in his power, even
feeding him with ambrosia to keep him alive but the young man died in his arms for there are
fates that not even the gods have the power to change. In his desperation, Apollo turned to
the heavens, praying that he could become mortal to die by his side but his wish could not be
granted. Vowing never to forget his beloved Hyacinth, he created a flower from the spilled
blood of his lover, carving 'ai' 'ai' between the petals as an undying sign of his lament and his
grief. The fresco shows precisely this moment."
"And that's it?" Chris asked. "Didn't Apollo go and kick that fucker Zephyrus' ass?"
Mr. Harman chuckled. "If he has, it hasn't been told."
"Well, I hope he did. Thanks for the fairy tale even if it wasn't very cheerful," he sighed,
finishing his cigarette and breakfast. He gave a quick read to the recipe the cook had sent him
and then carefully placed it in Leon's file so as not to risk losing it.
"I'll take a bath, don't worry about lunch. I don't think I'll be hungry," he said, walking past
him like a ghost. "You may go, thank you."
The butler snorted. "If the price I have to pay to hear you be polite is to watch you crawl
around with that long face, please, sir, go back to being a bloody boar. I'm used to your, let's
say exuberant, personality by now."
Chris turned a really sad little smile on him. "Then fuck off, if it makes you feel better."
Scott smiled back at him, fatherly. "At once, sir," he replied with a bow, but before he really
left, he paused in the doorway. "If you need to talk, I'm at your disposal."
"So that you can run and report everything to your master like the rat you are?" Chris asked
him between joking and accusatory.
"Tsk! I am more than capable of discretion if requested," retorted the butler. "Only you never
did. Besides, I'm in your debt, since you never told Lord Ashford about my little medical
condition."
"How are you?" The other worried.
"Unchanged. I have done more tests and, so far, the situation is under control but thank you
for your concern. You are nice in your own way and I like you, although our weltanschauung
are radically different."
"Our what?!"
"It is German, It means worldview."
"Whatever, sometimes I wonder if you and Alfred make up words on purpose just to bullshit
me."
"We don't but it would be a splendid pastime. Have a good bath, sir." With a final bow of the
head, the butler left him alone, and if his presence had succeeded, at least a little, in lifting his
spirits, once the door was closed Chris felt like sinking. He locked himself in the bathroom
and turned on the water to fill the tub while smoking, nervously, another cigarette. He put the
pack, lighter, and ashtray on the edge before undressing and plunging in. It was one of those
days when a pack would last him a few hours, so he might as well make himself comfortable.
The warm water gave him some relief, at least to his body. His muscles were so tense that
they almost hurt. He huffed a puff of smoke and wiggled his neck, trying to relax and not
think about anything at all. He couldn't. Alfred's heartbroken expression kept appearing
before his eyes.
What the fuck had he been thinking when he had kissed him? More importantly, was it
possible that Alfred was right and he was..? He left the word 'gay' hanging in his mind as he
wrinkled his face with one hand.
He didn't know.
He didn't know anything anymore.
If he was, why the fuck hadn't he realized it until now? He had never had the slightest inkling
of it. Yes, he had never been very interested in girls and had sometimes had difficulties with
intimacy but he believed this was due to his being shy and particularly nervous about the
performance they expected of him. The idea that there might be more to it had never crossed
his mind.
Because there isn't! He tried to deny it again.
He leaned the back of his head against the ceramic of the tub and closed his eyes, letting his
arm dangle with his cigarette off the edge.
Yet, whether he wanted to admit it or not, that nightmare had been the most intense
experience he had ever had. He had never felt so... So tremendously aroused.
He tried to recall that feeling to try to understand it.
In his dream, he had woken up in the room of his apartment in Raccoon. Leon was lying
beside him, they were both naked, between the sheets, and in his oneiric delusion, that absurd
situation had seemed normal, comfortably ordinary, as if he and the rookie were a couple and
not two strangers who had almost killed each other.
He remembered, as if he were still seeing it, the reflection of the sun on his shiny ashen blond
hair and how the light caressed his rosy face. So beautiful he left him breathless. The lucid
part of his mind realized, perhaps far too many years too late, that although he could tell if a
girl was pretty, none had ever made him feel that way. It concerned not just lust but real
intimacy. The teasing banter they had exchanged had not made him feel anxious at the idea of
making a mess or not being able to get hard enough to complete the intercourse. He had not
had to commit to getting a boner. It was practically already there the moment Leon had
addressed him with his first lovely little smirk. When he had kissed Alfred the night before,
pretty much the same thing had happened. Maybe it had been the beer that had given him the
courage to follow up his fantasy, but by the time he had grasped him, he was already getting
aroused. And when, initially, Alfred had reciprocated him, Chris had felt confident in himself
and what he was doing. How far he would have gone if his friend had not stopped him?
It was such a frightening question, but his mind didn't really want to put a stop to those
thoughts, and he had neither the strength nor the will to object. Just thinking back to those
kisses, the dream one and the real one, had had an effect on him. He did not know whether he
wanted it or not but he could not deny it.
The cigarette slipped from his fingers and bounced on the floor before he dipped his hand
under the surface of the water and, with some uncertainty, slid it down his abdomen. When he
clutched the base of his cock his breath immediately became short. It was not the first time he
had touched himself but, even then, it had always been out of a physiological need to empty
himself than out of a search for hedonic pleasure.
But this time was different.
As his strokes intensified, becoming more abrupt and needy, he imagined he was still in that
bed with Leon, lying on top of him, between his welcoming thighs. It was not a coherent line
of thought, and sometimes Leon's cerulean eyes were overlaid with Alfred's violet ones, or
his scent of lily of the valley was covered by the rookie's indefinite one, and the thrill of the
impetuous kiss Leon had stolen from him mingled with the affectionate gentleness with
which Alfred had responded to his. It really didn't matter which of the two was driving the
rush of his desire, it did the same for him, as he, labored, red in the face and silently moaning,
quivered in the bathtub with his eyes tightly shut lest he break the magic of that illusion.
Waves of pleasure unraveled from his groin to his entire body, almost causing him to tremble
with each new jerk he gave himself.
And then, uninvited like a harassing guest, a voice crept into his mind.
"I've never seen a sheep so eager to be devoured," Wesker whispered in his ear, as close and
concrete as if he were standing there beside the tub just a step away from him. Chris let go
immediately, terrified. His arousal vanished as if he had received a bucket of ice-cold water,
and panic took hold of him again.
Hurried and one step away from crying, he washed himself quickly and brutally, deluding
himself that those violent scrubs might allow him to wipe away the shame that clutched his
throat like a garrote.
When he came out of the bathroom, his mood was no better than when he had entered it, but
he had reached yet another conclusion. Wrong on par with all the others. The accusation he
had made against Alfred was unfair and undeserved. It was not he who had played with his
mind but Wesker. The confusion and all the doubts he had were his own fault. He was not
like that. His captain had made him believe it and made him so dependent on him that he now
sought him in other men like Leon and Alfred.
He felt horribly guilty and longed to go to his dear friend to apologize but did not have the
strength or courage. He was tremendously ashamed that he had thought of him while jerking
off and, on a more unconscious level, he feared that Alfred would disprove his conclusion
that pointed Wesker as solely responsible, and he did not want that last certainty to be ripped
away from him.
No, it was better to leave things as they were and sail away without reopening that wound,
even though, in truth, the idea of leaving the island or, rather, of leaving him was tearing him
apart dreadfully. He had grown so fond of him and was afraid to be without him no matter
how absurd and contradictory it seemed.
He took refuge in bed again, this time under the covers, and tried to sleep, hopefully without
dreaming.
Carlos woke up slowly. At one point he had collapsed asleep after Nicholai had given Leon
the wheel to rest for a while - a change that had lasted less than half an hour because the
gringo apparently had his own idea of road rules and, at the third blown stop, the Russian had
barked at him to pull the fuck over and never get close to the goddamn wheel ever again, plus
some colorful insults in his mother language that no-one in the car could grasp.
After that, Carlos did not remember much and would not even be able to tell how long had
passed. He yawned and crinkled his eyes before even opening them but when he did he
winced at the sight outside the window, where everything was immaculately white.
"Is it snow?" He asked, in the dumbest, most childlike way possible.
Sherry looked at him oddly, Leon rolled his eyes and Nicholai snorted, amused.
"I hope so," the latter replied.
Carlos blushed, a little uncomfortable. "No, it's just... I've never seen it so closely," he
admitted. "I mean, in Colombia I was well away from the Andes and in these two years, I've
almost always been further south. Never mind, it was a stupid question."
"There's no reason to apologize. It took me forever to see the sea for the first time, too,"
Nicholai comforted him tenderly.
"Can we..." Carlos continued to keep his eyes pointed outside. "Can we stop for a minute?"
"No, in ten we'll be home," the Russian answered him, somewhat amused. "Don't worry,
there will be at least a couple of meters to shovel in front of the door and two more in front of
the garage. "
"Fucking hell..." Leon groaned at the very thought.
Nicholai had not lied, and soon after they were in sight of his cabin. Once parked he grabbed
his kitten by the scruff to keep him from getting out first and turned toward the back seats.
Leon saw him sneer in anticipation and did not understand why but waited just the same.
Carlos, as impatient as a child, flung open the door and jumped out of the jeep. He froze on
the spot, seized by the stinging frost which was, for him, totally unexpected, and tore the
breath from his chest with the strength of a Tyrant's punch. Within a nanosecond he was back
inside the car, slamming the door, shivering, and there he was greeted by Nicholai's
thunderous laughter.
"Welcome to my climate, jungle poodle," the Russian mocked him wickedly.
Poor Carlos rubbed his arms covered only by a sweatshirt. "Y-you could have warned me that
out there is not compatible with life! Puta mierda!"
Nicholai chuckled again, going to press on Leon's already frayed nerves. The kitten got out of
the car with an irritated snort and a, "so much fuss over nothing!" - Him! The one who
practically snuggled up to him every night because he was cold under a comforter, a wool
blanket, and with the stove on full blast!
"May I know what his damn problem is?" Carlos asked, equally annoyed. Normally he was
able to get along with just about anyone but he just couldn't stomach that snooty little shit.
Leon had not even apologized for that kick he had thrown at him in Jill's father's house. It had
hurt him, for fuck's sake!
"You two wait here, I'll leave the engine running for the heat," Nicholai sighed, already fed
up with that unbearable cold war between those two. He left the car and headed to the shed
where he retrieved two shovels outside the door. He gave one to Leon, also telling him to go
into the house and fire up the stoves as soon as he could. They had been gone so long that it
was probably an icebox in there as well. His belligerent lover obeyed without a peep, and that
was really the only positive aspect of his being pissed off - he whined a lot less. He had been
hard on him, especially after he had seen him drive but Nicholai was ready to put down the
hatchet. They were going to have to sit down and talk or, more likely, fuck and then talk.
Over time he had come to realize that Leon's relationship with sex was a bit like the one he
had with alcohol. He used them as tools for not thinking. Of course, this did not apply to all
the times they had made love, but there had clearly been some where Leon had initiated
intercourse just to interrupt a talk he did not like, or that touched him too close to home.
Except that fucking would have turned out to be far more complicated with a little girl in the
house and Leon's mood was the lesser issue in that situation anyway, so Nicholai chided
himself for not being able to stop thinking about it. As he shoveled he looked around. The
valley gave them ample viewing space if someone wanted to approach their position on foot,
the ridge behind them, on the other hand, practically made it difficult if not impossible to be
surprised, and the same was true for the frozen lake. What he feared was the sky. They were
at a decent altitude up there, but not such that they were unreachable by military helicopters.
The only defense they had in this regard was the rapid changeability of the weather in the
high mountains, but it was certainly not something they could blindly rely on. He had to start
moving weapons inside the house, teaching Sherry not to mess with them or, better, to use
what she actually could. Fucking hell, that child was not supposed to deal with such shit. She
should study and try to regain some peace of mind, not learn how to kill men! He watched
her playing and laughing with Carlos in the car and his heart clenched. The most important
thing, unfortunately, was survival, and that was what he had to prioritize. He shifted his gaze
to Leon, his precious boy, who had quickly cleared the snow from in front of the door and
started going back and forth to bring in wood for the stoves. Yes, he often infuriated him, but
he could not question how willing and skillful he was when he put his head to it. He would
not let him die or be in danger.
This time things would be different. They had to be.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, kudoers, bookmarkers, and
commenters <3!
First an important announcement: my Russian teacher has moved one of the two classes
I attend weekly from Monday evenings to Wednesday evenings. It is a problem only for
this month of October, from November things will be back to normal. I will try as hard
as I can to still keep the Wednesday update but it may happen that I am too
overburdened to keep it as such, so it will slip, simply, to Thursday. I apologize for the
inconvenience but I am in class with other people and the majority decided on
Wednesday instead of Monday.
In any case, from the second week of November, I promise it will be back to business as
usual. Why the second week? Because the first week of November is Lucca Comics'
week, and I will be gone for at least five days. I will still try to update and write the
chapter in advance for that as well, but eventually, we will talk about it when we are
closer to that date.
Coming to us, Wesker, for fuck's sake! What a party pooper you are even when you're
not in the room! Chris was really getting into the mood and you came running back into
his mind, dammit! Gosh, Chris is exhausting but when he is done blaming everyone and
their mothers for his gayness, finally, there will be a time when he will have nothing left
to hold on to and will have to come to terms with the inescapable. The fact, however,
that he has let himself go a little bit, so to speak, in the bathtub is certainly a big step
forward.
Nicholai has the patience of a saint because Leon, right now, deserves to be slapped in
the face (not on the ass because he might like it). This should be a time to be
cooperative, not to be a jealous little shit. I don't feel like making the same accusation
against Carlos because, poor Poodle, he is behaving all too well and only occasionally
responding to Leon's provoking. Besides, as I anticipated to some kind commenters, he
is beginning to be fed up with always being everyone's second choice. Nicholai has
realized this and genuinely regrets it, so he will try to make amends.
Sherry, on the other hand, is always most precious.
There will still be a little bit of calm before the storm. Actually, other things were
supposed to happen in this chapter that, unfortunately, will end in the next one. I would
have preferred to do just one because, as you may have noticed, this arc has rhythms that
require longer chapters but I just couldn't get it all done. I am so sorry!
Thank you so much for everything, I am excited and sad that this arc is coming to an
end. Excited because, with the new one, we will finally reach the Chreon (God, you are
my superheroes for still being here over seventy chapters from the beginning, I swear it
will be worth it for both the romance, smut, and angst aspects, I have delicious and, I
hope, unexpected, cruelties in store for you), sad because reaching it will come at a cost.
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 73
Chapter Notes
Hello, my dears,
I am sorry to disturb you in the chapter-opening notes but, although I am a person who
does not want to make excuses, this week's chapter is below the standard I usually try to
set for myself.
I have been very sick. A bad flu has gone to complicate some of my previous health
conditions, so I have been writing the chapter most of the time with a very high fever
and struggling to breathe even before I could concentrate (no, it's not COVID but being
asthmatic it can sometimes happen that I have respiratory failure and this time it was
pretty harsh). I know that writing fanfiction is not a job but I still take it very seriously
and I am the first to be displeased with myself when I fail to do what I planned. In other
words, I really care about all this and my first priority is to always be respectful of your
attention.
That's why I wanted to apologize to you if the chapter seems more confusing and
improvised than usual to you as well. Fortunately, my health is improving, so I hope to
be back in a semi-stable condition within the next week.
See you in the notes below.
Virulent kisses to all!
Once the house was warmed up, Nicholai heated up canned goods for everyone because he
did not have the strength to prepare anything else.
"There is no guest room. I'm sorry," he apologized as they ate.
"I'll sleep upstairs with you. They can take the couch," Leon coldly intervened, opening the
window to get the bottle of vodka. "Anyone wants some?" He asked.
"What is it?" Sherry became curious.
"Not you, hon. You're not old enough for this yet."
"Put it away," Nicholai told him gravely.
"No, it helps me sleep."
Carlos watched irritation grow on his friend's hard expression as Leon poured himself a
generous glass as if Nicholai had not said anything at all.
"Where's the bathroom?" He asked to deflect the conversation.

"Out there. Straight ahead from here," Leon answered him precisely, pointing to the darkness
beyond the window.
Carlos raised both eyebrows. "Are you serious?"
"Yes he is," Nicholai interjected with an exhausted sigh.
"Oh, well, it means I'll shit in a jar until spring," was the Colombian's prompt reply.
The vodka Leon was drinking went up his nose as he involuntarily burst out laughing at that
perfect punch line. He began to cough desperately, to the point where he had to lean against
the sink.
"Serves you right," was the icy comment of Nicholai, who took advantage of his moment of
distress to take the bottle away from him. "No one is drinking. Not now nor in the next
several days. Let's rest tonight, then we'll set up watch shifts. Is the couch okay for you? We
can give you the room if you prefer."
"Nah, it looks comfortable and we can both fit, right, estrellita?" Carlos asked Sherry.
The little girl nodded with a yawn.
"I'll bring you blankets right away. Lev, do the dishes. No complaining. Just get them done."
He ignored his grunts and went upstairs. In spite of his shitty behavior, Nicholai was really
trying his best not to go nuclear on him but he hoped it would pass quickly because his kitten
had long since passed his threshold in getting on his nerves. He understood that Leon needed
reassurance, but what the fuck else could he tell him more than repeating for the umpteenth
time that there had never been anything romantic between him and Carlos and, for what it
was worth, nothing sexual either? Moreover, the time had also come to address the issue of
his problem with alcohol. Even he, who had started drinking vodka as a child under the
illusion of warming up in the cold Moscow's winters and who as an adult certainly was quite
a heavy drinker, realized that the way Leon boozed was wrong. Fortunately, there was still
time to correct that bad turn he had taken. At the cost of throwing away all the bottles they
had. He had tried to broach the subject with him before, but Leon had always avoided the
topic either by being gauche and teasing him in bed or by making up some semi-plausible
excuse to get away. He would not let him do that again.
Whatever his intentions, nothing went as he had planned. Leon left downstairs as soon as he
was back and, when he joined him in bed, pretended to be asleep.
"Not so fast, we need to talk," Nicholai attempted, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.
Silence.
"Come on..." he sighed, stroking the back of his head.
Leon slapped his hand away without even turning around. "Leave me be."
"Lev..."
"Things have to be done the way you want them anyway. It would just be wasted breath."
"If this whole mess is because of Carlos-
"It's not just that asshole, all right?!" Leon snapped jumping up. "You-you didn't even ask me
if it was okay for them to be here, with all that implies!" His voice broke. "And I feel horrible
because she didn't do anything and she's lovely and I try so hard to be nice but - just fuck
off," he flinched far away when the Russian tried to hug him and clutched his knees to his
chest. "Of course, I would have said yes to taking them in, only it would have been nice if
you gave a shit about my feelings."
Nicholai lowered his gaze. "It was a call to take on the spot-
"And I would have said yes in a heartbeat! You know I would have! The point is that you
didn't even ask the question!"
The Russian's expression softened, understanding. "I'm sorry. I mean it."
Leon avoided his gaze and curled up under the covers, his back to him. "I'm tired," he
mumbled, hurt.
Nicholai laid down too and left the abatjour on because he knew Leon preferred to have at
least one light on when he felt that way. It had happened before.
"Can I hug you?" He asked him.
"No. Give me a break."
The Russian nodded and turned on his side. "That pig is dead. He can't do anything more to
you."
"Do you really believe this crap?"Leon provoked him, clearly hostile. He did not wait for a
response. "Let's discuss this again when I feel like blowing you."
Nicholai became tense in turn but kept his composure for both of them. He did not want to
escalate that exchange of nastiness into a major argument. "That was uncalled for," he merely
pointed out, bitterly.
"Go down to dear Carlos, maybe he can entertain you more pleasantly."
"There has never been anything between us and there is no way in hell this arrangement will
change."
"Whatever."
"Are you aware that you are totally irrational?"
"I want to sleep."
"Fine..."
A couple of hours later, Leon awoke suddenly, drenched in sweat and panicked. He had
dreamed of being alone training in the woods, falling into one of the cave shafts that filled
that region, losing consciousness, and waking up in a dark place with the air reeking of
formaldehyde and other chemical compounds. The same stench of the orphanage. He was
tied to a table, completely naked. Irons was standing next to him wearing a white lab coat and
groping him rudely as if he were nothing more than a piece of meat on a butcher's counter.
He hummed something under his breath, and the smile widened on his ugly, ruddy face when
Leon groaned in disgust and terror.
"Oh, don't worry, this filthy floppy thing doesn't interest me at all," chuckled the chief,
smacking his cock with a merciless slap. At his grunt of pain, he laughed with satisfaction.
"On second thought, maybe I should cut it off. Your whole figure would look much more
elegant without that useless ugliness. Don't cry, little bird, it will only take a moment.
Afterward, you will be my perfect, precious whore."
With eyes full of horror Leon had seen him grab a scalpel from a nearby tray but, fortunately,
had woken up screaming before it could cut his flesh.
Shaking like a leaf, he stretched an arm out to his right in search of Nicholai only to find the
bed empty. He was seized by an irrepressible sense of anguish but, despite everything, tried
to keep his shit together. He got out of bed and took a few steps in hopes of shaking off all
that adrenaline. Maybe Nicholai had just gone to the bathroom and would be right back.
Only, time passed and there was no sign of him.
He silently opened the hatch leading to the floor below and slowly descended the staircase,
taking care not to make the slightest noise.
His assumption had not been so wrong. Nicholai had managed to rest for just over an hour
and a half, and he, too, had had a nightmare. A lucid, terrifying nightmare in which he
helplessly had witnessed how Sergei tortured Leon before his very eyes. With his kitten's
squeals still echoing in his ears, he had dressed and made a full patrol outside, checking the
perimeter of the valley. When he had returned without having found anything but, despite
this, not at all reassured, he had found Carlos awake too, and it had seemed like a good
opportunity to talk to him a bit and explain the situation but he had not yet been able to tell
him anything because Carlos had gone off like a raging river, recounting everything that had
happened since they had parted after Raccoon. About how the G virus had changed him,
how he and Jill had grown close, and then she had dumped him. His poodle had even
apologized to him for being nervous and rude to Leon and was now a crying mess in his
arms.
And that was how Leon found them when he peeked from the staircase. It was actually
Carlos who had clung to Nicholai. Not that it made any difference either way. The blood
boiled in his veins and his fear turned to fury. He felt the almost irrepressible urge to go over
there and kick both of their asses, but he forced himself to reason until he gained enough
coolness to go back upstairs.
When Nicholai returned to bed a short time later, he pretended to be asleep. Whether he
noticed or not, the Russian did not say a word and soon after fell asleep again, exhausted.
Perhaps for the first time since they had known each other, Leon was the first to get up when
the light of day rose on the horizon from beyond the mountains. He dressed and went outside,
beginning, in a black mood, his warm-up routine. He had no clear plan as to what he wanted
to do but nothing good in any case. He had just finished the first lap around the valley when
he saw Carlos coming out of the bathroom, which he had finally surrendered to using. He
diverted toward the lake without slowing down since he had no intention of interacting with
him on any level. Too bad the asshole was not of the same opinion and promptly followed
him.
"Hey!"
He ignored his call.
"Come on, Leon!"
He stopped on the shore, looking out over the frozen surface of the lake. "The hell do you
want?" He snarled without turning around.
Carlos was not intimidated and flanked him. "I think we got off on the wrong foot," he told
him, smiling at him in a sign of peace. He didn't like Leon and still didn't quite understand
what was the bond between him and Nicholai, but if his favorite Russian cared about him,
then it was imperative to make an effort to get along. "And I'm sorry. It hasn't been a good
time and I'm kind of on edge all the time. That doesn't excuse me for being a jerk but, I mean,
do you want to start over?"
Leon gave him an algid, unnerved look before rolling his eyes. "No need to get all nice on
me, my mind won't change no matter how much you butter me up."
Carlos blinked taken aback by all the inexplicable hostility. What the hell had he done to
him? He rubbed his arms, watching in dismay as his breath condensed in the icy cold of that
morning that, surprisingly, was still warmer than Leon's attitude. "Are you sure this is a good
idea?"
He asked, alarmed, when he saw him advancing about ten feet on the ice. The damn cat only
answered him with a shrug and continued walking as if nothing had happened. Carlos looked
at him in dismay because he had never felt so far from his element in his entire life. He was
surprised that he could breathe, so high up and with the air so icy but he desperately wanted
to get to a clarification. The late-night chat with Kolya and a few healthy hours of sleep had
put his crazed compass back in order. He still didn't feel happy but at least he wanted to make
amends and the main problem was that blond gringo with the shitty temper. Without knowing
if the ice would hold him because, by the looks of him, that skinny ass weighed between 30
and 40 pounds less than he did, he moved the first step and almost ended up on his ass
because of how slippery the ice was. He heard him chuckle cruelly and that pressed on his
nerves. He tried to keep his balance and adjust his center of gravity, managing to get almost a
decent pace. "Is it normal for it to creak like this?" He asked, fearful.
"If you shit your pants just turn back. I didn't ask you to follow me," was Leon's dry reply.
However, he had stopped because as much as he wanted to get away from him, he was not so
stupid as to want to go straight to the middle of the lake, where surely the ice was thinner.
They were already far too far from the shore.
Carlos, however, flanked him again. "Listen... I shouldn't have reacted like that. It's just that I
really damned my soul to get close to Kolya and when I saw that he had taken you in and not
me I got nervous. Jealous," he corrected himself. "But there's no reason for that, we can share
him, can't we?" He did not know exactly what to expect as a response. He had tried to be as
playful as possible so he was not at all prepared for the punch that he directed at his face. At
the last moment, he managed to dodge it but this caused him to lose what little footing he
had. He slid, crashing backward onto the surface of the lake. The ice immediately gave way
with a loud crack and he sank into the water.
He had never felt such a painful cold in his entire existence; it was so intense and sudden that
it tore the breath from his chest and short-circuited his brain. He could not move, he could
not think, he only felt cold, cold, and more cold. He felt himself being grabbed by the hair
and found his head on the surface but this did not change his situation in any way. He tried to
breathe but could not and in a panic grabbed Leon's arms with his hands that were already
going numb.
"Fuck!" Screamed the rookie, holding him tightly as he lay on the edge of the ice. Their eyes
met and they were both shocked with terror. "I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to!"
In a spark of lucidity, Carlos realized that the portion on which Leon was lying was also
slowly sinking into the water and tried to let go.
"No, stay here!" Leon barked at him, clawing at his wrists. "Look at me. I need you to look at
me! I'll pull you out somehow, I swear!"
Days passed lazy and dreary for Chris, who barely left his room. Alfred was keeping his
word. He had not seen him again and missed him tremendously.
That evening, however, he had decided to take a walk and had gone down to the beach. The
temperatures were slightly milder and the daylight hours were interminably long now that
summer was approaching. It was so alien to him that summer could come close to Christmas
or that it was half past seven in the evening and as sunny as noon but that was how the planet
worked. In any case, it was so cold that it didn't feel like summer anyway. It was very windy,
but the air was crisp and sharp. The ocean was magnificently beautiful and unusually calm.
He gasped when he heard himself called and turned to Mr. Harman, who had been a bit of a
dad and a bit of a guardian angel for him in those days.
"There was no need for you to come all the way down here," he chided him, seeing him
struggling forward on the stony beach, and trotted toward him to spare him the effort.
"Thank you, sir," sighed the butler, harried.

"Are you all right? Let's go to that rock. Sit down for a moment."
Scott gave him a slightly exasperated smile but followed his direction. "This is so
unnecessary-
"Bullshit. You need to talk to Alfred about this."
"Nonsense."
Chris crossed his arms over his chest with a stern frown. "Stubborn penguin. What was so
important that it couldn't wait until I got back?"
The butler caught his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead, shivering. He had not
even put on a coat and was wearing only his immaculate livery. Chris took off his jacket and
put it over his shoulders.
"Sir-
"If you do so much as give it back to me, I swear, I'll throw you in the water."
Scott sighed, clutching it to him, grateful and displeased at the same time. "The supply ship
arrived this morning. It will leave again at dawn. You must have your baggage ready before
you embark."
Chris stepped back and his face lost color. "I-I see."
"I thought you would be happier, sir."
"I thought so, too..." The kid admitted. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to let the sense of
anguished dismay that had descended upon him slip away. "Alfred... I mean, does he know?"
"Of course."
"I-I..." He took a deep breath because as much as he wanted to stand firm on his decision, it
was actually not what he really wanted. "Can I meet with him?"
Mr. Harman sighed, saddened. " I'm afraid that is not possible. The master is on the far side
of the island, busy with other tasks. He won't be back until tomorrow morning," he
regretfully explained to him. It was a lie. Simply, Alfred had ordered him to say so because
he hated farewells. He cleared his throat, moved by seeing him so distressed. "I can take care
of your belongings if you prefer to stay here a little longer."
"No. I'll do it. You rest, I'll see you later." Chris turned away because he didn't want to cry
again, much less in front of him but he felt as if his heart had sunk to the bottom of his chest.
He almost ran up the stone stairs, certain that up there Scott would certainly not follow him.
When he reached the top his lungs felt like they wanted to explode but he still did not stop
until he was back within the four walls of his bedroom. He leaned his back against the closed
door, panting painfully, and covered his face with his hands, then went up to grab his hair in a
vice grip.
He did not want to go.
He desperately did not want to go.
It was insane, stupid, and childish, but that was how he felt. He had not wanted to think much
about his impending departure in the past few days, and now that the time had come he did
not feel ready. Sure, he felt bittersweet happiness at the thought of being able to hug his sister
again but... but what was he supposed to do with Jill? They had kissed, in Raccoon, and slept
in the same bed at the motel, exchanging other affectionate effusions. She had feelings for
him and he was fond of her, too. Should he tell her? Tell her what? He himself was no longer
sure of anything about how he felt! Was he to break her heart over a doubt? He could not do
that to her. In any case, she was his best friend; he did not want to lose her on the off chance
that he actually liked men!
A sour regurgitation rose in his throat and he allowed himself to slide down sitting on the
floor, as he had done in the bathroom of the Birkin house. Only this time Leon was not there
to console him and neither was Alfred because he had been an absolute jerk to both of them!
He felt so bad. He wasn't asking to be happy but even numbness would have been better than
all the pain and confusion he was suffering.
Why the fuck had Alfred decided to leave for the other side of the island that very day? He
wanted to talk to him. He wanted to apologize to him. He wanted to say goodbye to him. He
wanted to see him one last fucking time!
Friend, foe, confidant, crush... He didn't care anymore!
Sniffing hard he got back on his feet. He had to pack his bags. Maybe once on the ship, he
would feel better. He didn't really believe it but it cost nothing to try to delude himself. He
winced when, on the bed, he saw a case with an electric guitar inside. Not just any guitar a
Gibson Super 400 that, by the looks of it, must have cost at least ten grands. A dream he had
never been able to afford.
It was the straw that broke the camel's back and he burst into sobs aware that after all he had
done for him, Alfred had only asked him to play for him and he had not even done that!
He felt so horrible, selfish, and cruel, and for the umpteenth time in his life, it was too late to
fix it.
Hours later and without a wink of sleep on that short austral night Chris approached the
gangway of the launch that would take him to the ship with a duffel bag in his hand in which
he had placed spare clothes and the two files, and the case with the guitar slung over his
shoulder. Mr. Harman walked beside him and had insisted on driving him to the dock
himself. He stopped to bid him farewell as was appropriate.
"This is it," he sighed, dejected and pale.
Scott smiled at him but was sad in turn. "You've been a very challenging guest."
"Admit it, you couldn't wait for me to get the fuck out of your sight."
The butler huffed. "To tell you the truth, I think I'm going to miss your rude bluntness, you
uncivilized American boar."
Chris dropped the duffel bag to the ground and surged forward, almost crushing him in his
hug. Scott stiffened a little, taken by surprise, but patted his muscular back with affection and
more than a hint of apprehension.
"Thank you very much for everything," Chris whispered in a broken voice. "Please take good
care of him, and yourself, you bloody idiot," he begged him before moving back. "Is
something wrong?" He then asked upon seeing a shadow of concern that was not about the
sadness over his departure in dear Scott's eyes.
The butler hid behind a stunted, insincere smile. "Absolutely not."
"Don't bullshit me. It's your heart?"
"No, sir. My heart is fine," he reassured him.
"Then is it about Alfred? Is he ok? What aren't you telling me?"
Mr. Harman cast a glance at the soldiers guarding the dock and then at the crew members
who had been waiting for Chris on board for some time already. "Don't keep those gentlemen
waiting any longer. We will be fine. You, rather, try to stay out of trouble for a while."
"It's usually trouble that comes for me, but-
"Go," Scott urged him. "You deserve a happy return."
Reluctantly Chris put his first foot on the gangplank and crossed it quickly, deluding himself
that it was like a band-aid to be ripped off in one fell swoop. Once aboard, he turned toward
Mr. Harman who, motionless, was waving at him with his white glove.
Something was wrong.
Maybe it was just his paranoia but he had the distinct feeling that Scott had wanted to tell him
something but could not. As the engine started and the launch began to sail back, skirting the
marina, his bad feeling sharpened to the point of anxiety.
"Stop everything," he said and the sailor next to him gave him a hostile look.
"We don't stop shit. We're already late because of you," he hissed at him.
Chris wasted no time arguing and threw his duffel bag onto the dock, already about ten feet
away, then, following his instincts, took a running start and jumped into the gap.
He had many qualities, he was well-trained, strong, and capable but had never been
particularly agile. He landed badly on the side of the marina and it was by a miracle that he
managed to cling to the edge without plunging down into the water with a ten-thousand-
dollar guitar on his back.
"What are you morons waiting for?!" He heard the astonished Mr. Harman shout. "Give him
a hand, quick!"
A couple of soldiers rushed in just in time to pull him up before his hands lost their grip and
he sat on the ground with his heart pounding in his chest.
"What in Heaven has gotten into you?!" Scott attacked him. "You could have hurt yourself!
Hit your head and drown! Reckless donkey!"
Chris smirked. "Well, I tried to ask nicely but they said no."
"Of course they did! Do you have any idea what you just did? They won't be back for another
month at least!"
"It means I will extend my stay for a while. I don't think I'm done here," retorted the other,
looking him in the eye and, in doing so, saw him tighten his lips, worried.
Chris had no doubts anymore. He had seen right through him. At last, his head had begun to
work the right way again and to be able to distinguish what had a foundation and what did
not.
"Let's go back to the palace," the butler minimized, holding out his hand to help him up.
Chris accepted it but did not really strain him. They walked to the car together, an old,
beautiful 1930s Rolls Royce that looked like something out of a movie.
"Can I drive?" He asked.
"Over my dead body," was Scott's dry reply. "I'm more fond of this car than of you."
"Hey, I thought you might like to have me here a little longer. Were those just phonies
earlier?" He investigated, sitting in the passenger seat.
"It's not that."
"Then what?"
"Nothing."
"Come on, penguin! You're no good at lying!"
Scott sighed, starting the car. "I'm not at liberty to talk about it. I gave my word," he sighed.
"So there is something," Chris insisted.
"Yes."
"And it bothers you."

"Mortally."
"Do you think I can do anything about it?" Chris quickly became proactive.
Scott gave him a look filled with a feeling he had not yet seen him express since they had
known each other: fear.
"Maybe... No. It is too dangerous. Forget it. I will now inform the master of your sudden
change of heart and-
"No, please. I have half an idea of how to make my presence known. Just let me sneak in
without making too much noise. I'll put him in a good mood, trust me but I may need
assistance. As for the mystery, point me in one direction and I'll get to the bottom of it."
Scott turned a grateful and concerned expression on him. "Has anyone ever told you that you
are braver than smart, sir?"
Chris scoffed, amused. "Pretty much every day of my life."
Chapter End Notes
Hello everyone again,

as usual the usual thanks to all of you who are here to read and support my madness:
readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmakers, and commenters <3 <3 <3!
So, a brief review of the little that happened in this chapter. Fuck, I'm so pissed at myself
because we were supposed to reach a major turning point and I couldn't write it so I'll
have to put it off until next week. You guys think the real crazy people are the characters
I write about but you have no idea how strict and uncompromising I am with myself.
This is a very articulate story and although you are still missing a lot of elements to see
the full picture, I swear it is there, and today's chapter, as I see it, is empty and
inconclusive because it does not get to the point it should have reached (and, oh boy, I
hate fillers). That's why I'm so sorry. I will make amends, in the hope that the universe
will stop bullying me.
Leon fucked up. In his being a total victim of his own negative thoughts, paranoia, and
trauma, he put himself and poor Carlos (holy, holy, precious angel) in a pretty dangerous
situation.
Carlos reconfirms himself as the kindest character in this story and probably also in my
entire fan-writing career. It tugs at my heartstrings how he is always ready to step back
and turn the other cheek even with those who do not deserve it, like Leon, in this case. I
warned you, many chapters ago, that Leon, too, would begin to show the negative sides
of his character, and I can say with some confidence that we are right at the peak, at least
for this arc. He will have his moments of crisis in the future as well but they will be less
childish, partly because he will be older and adult.
Nicholai is an incredibly patient character, too. I don't think I could have put up with
Leon's shit for five minutes before telling him to fuck off. This is probably one of those
moments when the age gap he and Leon have comes to a head (and thank goodness one
of them is calm because otherwise things would have been explosive).
If in Leon's section, everything is going quite badly, Chris, after an initial moment of
despair, seems to have managed to get his priorities straight (or gay, forgive me for the
pun) and has literally jumped back from the boat to stay with Alfred.
This choice seems to have made him very happy, to the point that, perhaps for the first
time since the beginning of this story, although it is clear that there is something
dangerous in the air, he is able to look to the future with optimism and passion. I am
proud of him and for the maturation he is making. Yes, he is a big dummy who still
struggles to accept his sexuality but we are finally seeing him for what he is, which is
the gentle, generous, awkward giant who was able to win Jill's heart and whom Leon has
yet to get to know.
Too bad the tigers are lurking in the dark and are, by now, dangerously close.
Thank you all so much for being here and sorry again for this somewhat messy chapter
but between posting nothing and posting something incomplete, I still preferred not to
leave you orphans of the weekly update. I will have to go six feet under to skip it
without warning you (and no, universe, I am not challenging you, it's a hyperbole, don't
take me seriously I don't feel like resurrecting).
In case you notice gross errors in language, structure, or unclear passages, please let me
know. I will clarify any doubts you may have and correct where I need to do so.
A big infectious hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 74
Chapter Notes
Hello, my dears!
I will be super quick because I don't want to bother you at the beginning of the chapter.
Here's something for those of you who want to listen soundtrack when you get to the
music part of this chapter:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcBacsoVqYE&ab_channel=rocklive
Kiss kisses, see you down there!
Lady S.
The water was so frozen that it pierced Carlos's skin as if it were a myriad of glowing pins,
and he was well beyond panic. He was baring his teeth so hard that what little he tried to say
was utterly incomprehensible. Leon was calmer but not by much. He tried to point his elbows
to drag him up but the ice cracked, threatening to drive him face-first into the deadly water.
Since he had slipped forward, Carlos sank again and he had to pull him up.
"T-try to move your legs! Keep you afloat!" Leon had thought of shouting but what came out
of his lips was a choked hiss from the cold. He did not know what to do. He didn't have a
clue but he certainly wasn't going to let him go, even though he, himself, was half-soaked by
now. With an effort that seemed inhuman, he crawled back a few inches, pulling him back to
the edge. Carlos's face had taken on an almost scarlet hue and his lips were turning blue.
"O-o-ok, now a-again," Leon stammered, trying for leverage, to no avail and hearing another
distinct crack beneath him. One more such movement and he too would fall. "Fuck!" He
cried out.
"G-go!" Carlos gasped, straining to pull his chin up out of the water.
"I w-won't leave you, for fuck's sake!"
Sherry, at home, woke up on the sofa and looked around, confused by yet another new
environment. She remembered within a split second where she was, and the fact that she was
in Nicholai's secret place immediately made her more cheerful. Wrinkling her eyes, she
walked over to the window to see if it was snowing. She liked winter, it was her father's
favorite season because of a mysterious friend of his, but before melancholy could envelop
her, she gasped and then screamed.
Within five seconds, Nicholai rushed down the stairs as he was, sleepy and in his underwear,
tremendously alarmed. The little girl lunged at him.
"They're falling into the lake!"

"W-what?" He uttered, confused, before shifting his gaze to the window.
"Sherry, you go to the shed on the right and get me a rope!" He ordered her, storming out.
Without caring in the least about being almost completely naked and barefoot in the snow, he
gained the shore.
"Stop! Just stay still!" He shouted while keeping calm, even though his heart was exploding
in his chest.
Leon turned his head in his direction and tried to answer him something but he did not hear
his words.
"I'm coming! STAY STILL!" Reiterated the Russian, planning a strategy.
Sherry, bless her heart, joined him a short time later fatigued by the weight of the rope.
"Get back inside, gather all the blankets you can find, and wait in the living room," Nicholai
ordered her, hooking it over his shoulder before lying down on the ice and sliding in the
direction of the two imbeciles. How had they gotten down there? Why the fuck had they gone
there in the first place? Those were questions for another time, though. He had to take them
out of there before it was too late, furthermore, there were currents that could easily drag
them under.
Crawling on the ice like that burned and scratched his skin but he quickly continued without
blinking. It was not the first time he had been naked in the frost. He could hold on.
He stopped a five-footer from Leon, paralleling him, and one glance was enough for him to
realize that Carlos had been in the water for a while and, being totally unaccustomed to
freezing, was in shock.
"Lev," he said, "listen to me."
His kitten was shaking like a leaf and was so frightened but he nodded readily.
"Now you must slide back and then roll toward the shore. Don't try to get up, the ice is
cracked almost entirely behind you and can give way at any time. Distribute the weight."
"H-he g-g-goes down if I leave him!"
"No, he won't. Carlos, you have to hold on to the edge. As soon as he moves, I'll throw you
the rope and pull you up."
"C-c-can't!" Groaned the kid with desperate eyes.
"LEON NO!" Nicholai thundered, but the asshole had already put his bullshit idea into action
before he even finished saying it. Helplessly he watched him slide forward to plunge into the
water too, and for one terrible, interminable moment, they both disappeared beneath the
surface.
They reappeared shortly after, Leon had slipped around behind Carlos and, despite a pained
expression, was supporting him from behind. "R-rope!" He gasped.
Nicholai obliged because that was not the time to kill him with his own hands but he was
going to do it as soon as they were all safe. He watched him tie a makeshift sling under
Carlos's armpits as quickly as he could, numb as he was.
"P-p-p-pull!" Leon yelped, pushing Carlos from below, pivoting on the edge of the ice behind
him, which was more stable than the one toward the shore.
Nicholai did so with measure and then pulled the first real tug only when Carlos's chest was
completely out of the water, dragging him toward himself. Leon helped him as long as he
could and then clung to the edge.
"Stay there, I'll get him to shore and come back for you. Don't let go!" Nicholai intimated to
him with an angry, frustrated growl.
Leon nodded, groaning from the frost, hyperventilating, and watched them slowly move the
shore.
He could not stay there.
It was too cold.
He could hardly feel his hands anymore and his legs were going numb. He gave them his
back and essayed the sturdiness of the ice on the opposite edge. It was holding. It was
sturdier.
With a grunt he levered his elbows, kicking in the water to pull himself up and with extreme
desperation managed to scramble out, inch by inch, and lie down on the ice. Frantic he kept
still, stabbed by the lashings of the icy mountain wind that was almost worse than the water.
Keep your shit together! He imposed himself, furious with himself, heading slowly toward
the shore but making a wider turn so as not to go to the spot where the ice had already
cracked. It was the most exhausting and painful thing he had ever faced in life, and it seemed
an eternity had passed when finally Nicholai tossed the rope to him and he grabbed it as if his
life depended on it.
The Russian managed to pull him to shore with one tug and then he loaded Carlos onto his
shoulder. "Can you walk?" He asked, fatigued and cold.
"T-try," Leon stammered through gritted teeth.
"I'll be right back."
The kid nodded and crawled through the snow anyway to get closer to the house until he
collapsed exhausted. Nicholai helped him up a short time later.
"I'm... S-s-sorry!" Leon whimpered, clinging tightly to his arm. "I-I-I didn't-didn't mean to! It
was a-a-a-an accident!"
"Shut the hell up," Nicholai hissed at him, beside himself with rage, leading him into the
house.
In the living room, Carlos was snuggled in front of the fireplace, wrapped in several blankets.
His soaked clothes were abandoned on the floor.
"You need to undress, too."
Leon winced. "But-
"FUCKING NOW!"
His kitten obeyed without looking at him and covered his nakedness, tremendously upset,
with the hot air scorching like lava on his icy skin. His nightmare came back to him and then
what Irons had really done to him and he felt like throwing up. Despite his anger, Nicholai
came to his rescue with a blanket and wrapped it around him. "Wait for me upstairs. Sit by
the stove."
Leon nodded and disappeared without having the courage to say anything, and once in the
bedroom he was seized with despondency. He burst into silent tears, feeling tremendously
guilty about what had just happened and afraid to face his lover. He covered his face and
when, after a long time, Nicholai came over and slammed the hatch door shut behind him, he
began to tremble not only with cold but also with fear.
Fear that Carlos was worse off than he looked.
Fear that his man would not forgive him.
Fear that he would lose him because he did not deserve him.
He was just a stupid, vicious, petty little bitch who, out of his fucking jealousy, had screwed
everything up!
He was going to be alone again!
Even though he didn't want to, even though he was terrified he forced himself to look up and
the sharp, furious severity he found in his green eyes, usually so sweet and patient, took his
breath away.
Leon gasped with trembling lips. "Nicholai-
"Have you lost your fucking mind?!" Thundered the other who had not the slightest intention,
come to that, of giving him a chance to get pity, fool him, or seduce him. Leon was all too
skilled at being a manipulative creep, and he was beside himself with rage. "I-I don't even
know where to start!" He continued, seeing him take refuge with his back against the wall.
"I'm sorry!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Leon gasped, lowering his gaze with that damned look of an abused puppy but Nicholai gave
him no mercy. "I am so, so disappointed in you! Both of you could have died!"
"It was an accident! I did not ask him to follow-
"And do you really think that counts as an excuse? You knew perfectly well what you were
doing and how dangerous it was! I told you a thousand times to stay away from the fucking
lake! And that's just the latest of all the shit you've done in the last twenty-four hours
anyway! I-I, fucking hell!" He was so mad that he could not even construct the speech in his
mind. "You can't even stay with your ass on a car!"
"I wanted to help you!"
"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!" Nicholai completely lost his temper again and forced
himself, with extreme difficulty, to hold back his anger. "I'm almost forty years old, I've been
living this life for over twenty, and while everyone is dying around me like flies I'm still
bloody here, Leon! You're just a goddamn brat who thinks he knows everything and is
fucking immortal because he can throw a few kicks! The truth is, anyone could kick your ass!
Starting with Carlos, if he wasn't kind enough to put up with your constant shit! You don't
have a clue who we are up against, what that man can do to you, to me, even to the child
because he has no scruples or morals! And instead of focusing on what the fuck we have to
do - because I don't know! - I have to sit here and deal with your bullshit over and over again!
Why can't you understand that priorities have changed? Why can't you detach yourself from a
jealousy that has no meaning or basis? And even if we weren't in this situation, having other
people I care about is my fucking right, you asshole!"
Leon did not react and snuggled even tighter into the blanket, curled up on the floor between
the wall and the stove. He was sorry, but he had said it many times before; there was no point
in repeating it. He watched him open the closet to get dressed. "I-I don't know why I do it..."
He groaned in a feeble voice. "I just want to keep what I have. I need it. I need you!"
"I haven't moved an inch, Leon, and you're doing the fucking opposite of what you want,"
blurted the Russian sternly but also with a bleeding heart. He hated to see him in pain. On
some level, he was also aware that his kitten was broken and that he wasn't doing it on
purpose but that didn't mean he could allow him to destroy himself and everyone around him.
Starting a relationship with him had been a mistake, a wonderful, sweet, irresistible mistake
that now prevented him from helping him as needed because they were too involved, too
much in love.
"Now what?" He heard him ask, fearful.
"I need some time to myself," was Nicholai's laconic reply as he approached the hatch. "One
last thing," he added, halting, "if I see you again with a bottle in your hand I will dump you
somewhere and disappear. This is non-negotiable, do I make myself clear?"
Leon answered him with a pained groan of assent with the specter of his mother haunting his
memories. He began to cry again, silent, realizing that everything he had done and said in the
past two days was just something she would have done as well. He was just like her, a petty,
cruel, irrational, and vindictive person who destroyed everything beautiful around him.
Nicholai shot him a glance from over his shoulder, sensing his train of thought, and although
his intent was to leave the bedroom and let him wallow in anguish as a lesson, he failed to do
so. He couldn't. With a sigh he turned back and knelt beside him, reaching out a hand to
brush his hair, since Leon was hiding his face inside the blanket. His clingy little thing
practically threw himself into his arms, sobbing a mostly unintelligible apology.
"Что мне с тобой делать? Ты противный котенок…" Nicholai huffed, holding him close.
"Don't leave me…" Leon whined, pressing his ear over his beating heart. "I love you…"
Nicholai lifted his chin with one hand feeling like a sucker because, for the umpteenth time,
Leon had managed to make him desist from his stance. The fact that he never had the
strength to tell him no was a problem.
"No. You don't leave me," he retorted and an unnerved smirk escaped him as Leon's
eyebrows flinched in a spasm of confusion. "You haven't really been here with me the last
few days, Lev. And I need you just as much," he whispered, looking straight into those sky-
blue eyes. "You must be sharp, you must be quick, and you must listen to me. Please. When I
saw you throw yourself into the lake, I swear, I would have choked you with my hands,
dickhead."
Leon smirked, regaining some spirit. "Well, it worked, didn't it? We got the asshole up."
Nicholai huffed. "You can't always base the success of an action on blind luck. You have
extraordinary intuition, I noticed it right away in Raccoon but you are not yet trained enough
to keep up with your ideas. Sooner or later, you will come up short if you don't pay attention.
I don't want that to happen. I... I can't accept that happening. Let me guide you and there will
come a time when very few things will be able to hurt you but right now you are still in the
middle. Much more trained than others but nowhere near enough for the challenges we are
facing. You are the priority, davai?"
Leon blinked, very dejected, and nodded weakly but sighed, relieved when Nicholai placed
his lips on his cheek and then moved to his mouth in a slow, gentle, full kiss. Everything was
gonna be all right.
Downstairs Sherry and Carlos had been looking toward the stairs for a while. Although they
could not hear the words well, they had heard loud and clear the rant Nicholai had given
Leon and how hard he had handed his ass back to him.
Now silence had fallen, and they were startled and tense.
"Do you think he killed him?" Sherry whispered, flustered.
"No. Of course not," Carlos reassured her. Thanks to the G, he had recovered fairly quickly
from the shock of the frozen bath and was now moderately well, although he was still cold.
"Why don't you go take a look?" She urged him.
"Are you kidding? Then he'll give me a rant too!"

"Well, going on the ice was stupid, so it's what you deserve," Sherry scolded him,
mercilessly. "Come on, chicken, go!" She insisted, pushing him toward the ladder.
"Why don't you go? He certainly won't howl at you!" Protested Carlos.
"Because I didn't do anything wrong, move!" She reiterated. In fact, she was pissing herself
as much as he was because Nicholai was scary when he yelled, and she had no intention of
moving from the living room. She was also hesitant with Leon himself. He was no longer the
sweet guy who had rung her front door, promising to help her find her daddy. Yes, he was
always kind but he constantly seemed to struggle, as if he didn't want to have anything to do
with her at all, and that made her so sad. She could not help but wonder what she had done so
wrong as to deserve that unfriendly treatment. She had even thought of asking him directly
but had never had the courage. She knew that the people around her were not her real family,
but, still suffering from the loss of her beloved father, and her mother, she desperately needed
their affection. That was why she was always trying to be on her best behavior. Maybe then
they would really love her and not leave her alone. All except Leon, it seemed.
Carlos, now halfway up the ladder, took a deep breath before laying a hand on the hatch and
lifting it slowly and quietly.
He opened his eyes wide, dismayed, and for a long moment, he was frozen more than in the
lake. Of all the situations he had expected to see, in there, he would not have contemplated
even in a billion years the one he faced. Nicholai and Leon kissing, lying on the floor, the
latter practically naked with the blanket now covering him just the bare minimum, and the
former with a hand clasped on one of his bare thighs.
He closed the hatch again and sat down on the stairs, stunned. What he had said to Leon just
before popped back into his mind, and he covered his face with a faint "pfff" that soon
exploded into the most heartfelt, thunderous laughter he had emitted in a very long time. His
hilarity became a howl when, an instant later, Nicholai appeared from the hatch, mortally
flushed with embarrassment.
"Forget about sharing!" Carlos cried out, now in tears. "We're cool, gringo! All yours! Puta
mierda! Ah! Ah!"
Inside the room, after a moment, Leon also burst out laughing while a very confused Nicholai
passed his gaze from one to the other without understanding what the fuck was going on, or
what was so funny.
Chris rechecked the amplifier and then the guitar without making a single sound. His hands
were sweating and he was as nervous as a kid at his first school recital. He had played in
public before and received compliments but it had always been for a bunch of cops who
didn't know shit about music, the idea of doing it for what he now regarded as a new Mozart
made him shit his pants. He didn't even know what exactly to play partly because he hadn't
touched his guitar in several months, since before Villa Spencer. Yet even though he was
tremendously nervous, it was an exhilarating excitement that made him feel alive and happy.
A faint voice in the back of his mind tried to scold him for being so selfish as to further delay
his return home, but it was so feeble that he barely perceived it, choked as it was by the joy of
being with his special friend again. After so many days he really longed for him and wished
they could make arrangements to preserve their bond once the time to leave the island really
came. He did not want to think about his departure, though. Not yet. Now he only wanted to
see him again, assuming he found the courage to start playing…
What?
Fucking hell…
In another part of the palace, Alfred was in his bedroom, alone, miserable and regretful.
Although pleasing Chris and never showing up in front of him again had been the appropriate
and most decent thing to do, he felt an emptiness inside at not even saying goodbye. Not at
the port. There he would not have gone anyway because he would not have wanted to see
him go but maybe the night before they could have done something, spent time together, been
happy.
He clutched in his fingers the simple black shirt he had worn when they had cooked together
and wistfully lost himself in the memories that clutched his neck like a garrote.
Why did it always have to be this way? Why was it that whenever he found someone he
always had to let them go or have them torn away? The same thing had happened with
William, and then... He would not let Chris out of his sight, though. He had already instructed
the men aboard the ship to track his movements and make sure he was safe at all times. He
would not bother him or be conspicuous, nor did he intend to be intrusive or a stalker. Simply
the wound of William's death was still fresh in his heart, and he could not accept that another
friend of his should end up like that, far from him and his protection. Perhaps, one day, they
would even meet again. Perhaps one day he would leave the island.
An unpleasant female laughter rumbled through the high walls of his room, full of mockery
and cruelty, and he closed his eyes. Not even daring to turn around.
Your tastes revolt me. I mean, Birkin I could well understand. At the very least he was
intelligent but this oaf....
"You're just jealous," Alfred retorted in a feeble but firm tone as he poured himself a glass of
wine. "And your jealousy is misplaced."
Yet here you are pining for a cockroach when you should be happy. After such a long time. I
am very disappointed in your poor judgment.
He took a long sip. "My love for you is unchanged and everlasting, my beloved."
The female voice snorted superbly, and he felt her breath make the hairs on the back of his
neck stand up. If it were not so, I would have already cut off thy head and devoured thy heart,
my poet.
"And I would candidly offer you both. I have endured far worse pains for your loving.
Do I hear resentment in your voice? How dare you?
"You are wrong. I have forgiven you for hurting him. Mine was just an expression of my
feelings.
Indeed, you are full of those useless little trinkets. Such a waste of potential. I'll leave you
with them, then, since my company is so much frowned upon in comparison to your lost pet's
one.
"No, please!" Alfred turned sharply and searched the whole room for traces of life with
feverish eyes, finding none. The weight of his loneliness hailed upon him like thousands of
shards of glass tearing at his soul. "Why are you so cruel to me?!" He screamed at
nothingness. "You are the one who abandoned me! You come and go as you please and I am
always here! Always! Always! ALWAYS! ALONE! Don't I have a right to be happy too,
Alexia?!"
He collapsed to his knees and hid his face in his hands, letting his wine goblet fall to the
ground. Violent thunder startled him and then another sound rumbled through the halls of the
palace, loud, arrogant, unfamiliar.
It was a melody.
Alfred gasped, opening his eyes wide as he felt a wave of relief and affection sweep over him
like the high tide. Immediately he leapt to his feet and sprinted out of the room only to reach
back to grab his violin and bow, almost sliding ruefully to the floor because of how excited
and happy he was. Just like a child.
Chris, in the concert hall, continued to play nervously without having the courage to look up
at the door. He had asked Mr. Harman to leave all the doors open so that the sound would
spread throughout the palace but he was so incredibly shy and felt so guilty. Only when he
finished the piece did he dare, coyly, to look in front of him and see nothing but the hallway
in half-light.
Had he not turned up the volume enough? Or maybe Alfred had heard him but was too angry
with him that he didn't want to join him. Panic began to stir within him and he immediately
began to think of some other strategy to make it up to him with the noise of the storm that
seemed deafening and haunting as a bad omen.
Then, suddenly, the notes of Thunderstruck's solo were played back to him on the violin
beautifully. He felt a lump of relief grow in his throat and his eyes moistened even though it
was so unfair that that brilliant son of a bitch could re-play a tune he had spent ages on, many
years before, only after hearing it once. When he finally saw him appear at the end of the
hallway, Chris lifted the guitar from his shoulder and walked in his direction like a moth
drawn to the purest and most beautiful light of all. Alfred, in his high red uniform, was
glowing, and this vibrated from the way he played that hard-rock piece so off-beat for him
and, at the same time, so movingly perfect.
Chris had never seen someone more divinely magnificent in his entire life, nor had he ever so
ardently longed to hold and love a man in any way that was possible and acceptable to both
of them. He wanted to be close to him. He wanted to be blissful, and he made him so. He was
a living miracle.
When Alfred stopped playing, his emotional weeping echoed through the walls and they
exchanged the happiest and most intense smile that had ever been expressed, filled with
affection and mutual gratitude.
So they ran to each other to exchange a hug, a kiss perhaps, but before they could reunite as
they so much desired something violently impacted the outer wall of the palace, and a huge
explosion, louder than thunder, scorched the corridor to the ground, dividing them and their
passion.
Storm had come in full might and he was raging.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As is now a well-established tradition, my humblest thanks to all of you readers,
kudoers, subscribers, bookmakers, and commenters!
My health has improved, I'm still not at the top of my game, but I'm back at work and
back to my ordinary grind, so hopefully things should be back on track at least for a
while.
Coming to us ^^! On the Leon & Co. part, I admit I'm stalling a bit but pretty soon the
shit will hit the fan there too. In any case, the one between him and Nicholai is a
conversation that had to happen. Leon had to understand the extent of his mistakes and
our Russian's patience is not entirely infinite either. The moment his kitten went to the
extreme of physically endangering both himself and poor Carlos, he was justifiably
enraged and gave him a more than well-deserved rant. Nicholai, however, is also weak
with Leon because whenever the latter cries or makes puppy eyes, he punctually backs
down. Personally, I find it amusing that such an algid and ruthless man has this
vulnerability when confronted with someone he truly loves.
Carlos, by his own account, has reached hysterical laughter. Clarification, he is not
laughing because Nicholai and Leon are a couple, about which, as will be seen when
they talk about it, he does not care. He exploded because he realized that, on the frozen
lake, he proposed to Leon the stupidest thing he could think of and he understood why,
as a response, he received a punch XD. Bless him XD!
Sherry is invaluable as always and I feel sorry for both her and Leon. Theirs is a very
heartbreaking situation because she has become so attached to him, and Leon has made
an extreme sacrifice to preserve her from which nightmare he cannot detach himself.
In all this, Nicholai is probably dying inside. Poor man. He needs a break.
Now we come to the reasons why I am a bad person, which is the part of Alfred and
Chris. There are things happening that I cannot articulate but we will see how they
develop in the near future. The choice of AC/DC's Thunderstruck was a painful one.
This means that over the last two years, I must have listened to hundreds of songs
looking for the perfect guitar solo that could be just as good if played on violin, and then
I went back to my first choice which was precisely Thunderstruck. I wanted something
that was powerful and beautiful, and personally, I think Thunderstruck played in a
palace during a storm by an electric guitar and a violin could have a really badass effect.
Poor boys... They were so happy to see each other again. I swear, I would have loved to
make that embrace happen, have them have another quiet evening of being tender and
caring for each other but it would have gone to depower the cliffhanger and everything
that follows. In other words, even though I have wishes, the architecture of the story
always takes priority.
Storm has arrived and I am not ready. I hope you are. In any case, brace yourselves.
A big hug and thank you so much for everything, you are my rocks!
Lady S.
Chapter 75
Chapter Notes
"Come inside, you moron," Nicholai mumbled, grabbing Carlos and practically dragging him
into the bedroom. "Didn't anyone teach you how to fucking knock on a bloody door?!"
Both boys laughed at his embarrassment, and then Carlos cast an eloquent glance from one to
the other, crossing his arms over his chest.
"So-
"Do we have to talk about this? Isn't it clear enough already?" Nicholai interrupted him,
annoyed.
"Oh, no-no! I want all the details," sneered Carlos then however seemed to reconsider. "Well,
not all of them really. Only, I mean, he one can guess but you! You, I would never have said!"
He was really cheerful and seemed to be having a great time tormenting him.
Nicholai inhaled deeply and closed his eyes with more than the beginnings of a headache. "I
like both. Men and women. No big deal. Happy?"
Carlos burst out laughing again but with a little wistfulness. "Jill was teasing me that I had a
crush on you!"
"And do you?" Leon interjected harshly.
"Hell no!" Rebutted the Latino and then shot an uncertain glance at Nicholai. "No offense,
pal, but, really, if you were the last breathing thing on earth I still wouldn't bang you."
"Screw you!" Nicholai hissed at his unnecessary rudeness.
"Nope. I love you but from a reasonable distance," chuckled Carlos again, patting him on the
back. "And then at the very least your novio loco would cut my dick off," he joked, nodding
at Leon but quickly realized he had said the wrong thing again when he saw him wince,
uncomfortable. "Hey, I have a talent for talking shit. I'm sorry-
"No, it's okay," the kitten held him back, "it's just that I had a nightmare and - nothing. It's
fine."
Nicholai frowned, concerned and puzzled, and Carlos did not fail to remark on it. "Aww, look
at you! All in love and protec- FUCKOOOUGH!" He collapsed to his knees after receiving a
punch in the stomach as precise as a stab wound and as hard as a speeding truck. This
managed to distract Leon enough to make him laugh, and despite the pain, Carlos was glad.
Things were finally going in the right direction between them.
Nicholai huffed. "Can I leave you two alone without risking a fatality? I have work to do."
"As far as I'm concerned, we're cool," Carlos smiled, massaging his hurting belly.
"Lyovushka?" He asked.
The kid puffed a strained little smile. "This is new, it's amazing how many versions of my
name you can come up with. Yes, but later... I'd like a little talk if that's okay."
Nicholai's face softened, triggering another tendered yelp from Carlos, who also got a kick.
"Sure."
The Russian pulled the trapdoor wide open, finding Sherry at the bottom of the stairs with her
hands twisted with tension.
"Is everything all right up there?" She asked.
Before Nicholai could answer, Carlos preceded him. "Yes! They are boyfriends!"
The little girl's face lit up in a big smile as the Russian became a statue of salt before her.
"Really?!" She exclaimed, joyously, jumping on the spot.
Nicholai trotted down the stairs muttering "I should have left him in the fucking lake."
Sherry was not deterred and clung to him like a mussel to a rock, very curious and also a little
jealous because she really liked Leon a lot.
"Cover yourself if you come out with me," he sighed, tossing the snow jacket he had bought
her before going up the mountain over her head.
She obeyed with a giggle and slipped on her boots, before starting to pepper him with
questions. "Who took the first step? What about the first kiss? Is it as between a boy and a
girl? Have you already said 'I love you' to each other? Is he nice? Because he sure is pretty!"
Nicholai went outside as if to escape from a death trap, but she continued to assault him until
he answered all her questions. Only after quite a while of gathering weapons from the shed
did the little girl seem to calm down and give him some respite but that silence was
suspicious.
"What is it now?" He asked her, shooting her a look.
She, sitting on the ammunition crate, sighed sadly. "I don't know if I really want to know..."
She mumbled, uncertain, but then seemed to make up her mind. "Since you are so close you
surely know… Leon… is Leon angry with me?"
Nicholai sighed and placed the sawed-off shotgun he was carefully cleaning on the table to
light a cigarette. "No, солнце мое. He's not mad at you."
"Then why doesn't he want to spend time with me? Please don't lie, I really care about him!"
Complained Sherry.
He smoked in silence for a few moments and then sat next to her on the crate. "I can't tell you
everything," he agreed, "just something but you have to promise me that you will be patient
with him and that you won't tell him or ask him anything unless he wants to talk about it,
okay?"
She nodded with conviction, hanging on his every word.
"Do you remember that man who attacked Miss Valentine at the police station and put you to
sleep?"
"Not very well," she admitted. "I think he was the police chief. I had seen him before because
he worked for my daddy. Chief ... Irons?"
"Правильно, him," Nicholai confirmed. "He was a very bad man who tried to hurt you.
Fortunately, Leon was there to prevent it. He protected you as few would have done but he
still suffers deeply from the consequences of what that monster did to him. He is not angry
with you, nor does he hate you. On the contrary, he loves you very much but sometimes,
when he sees you, he remembers and it is hard for him to pretend that everything is okay, моя
любимая девочка."
She paled distressed. "I- I never wanted him-
"No, stop. What he did for you had nothing to do with you or what you wanted. He did it
because even though he is a grumpy pain in the ass, he is a kind and special young man. The
only one to blame for what happened is Irons."
"Is he dead?"
"Yes."
"'Good,'" Sherry sentenced in an echo of her father's cold anger, then, however, pouted,
distressed. "How - how can I help him?"
Nicholai lifted an arm to pull her tight against his chest and kissed the top of her head. "You
have to give him time. He doesn't know it yet but he is a really strong kid. You also have to
give him space. You know, sometimes one can love from a distance and I have no doubt that
he cares for you very much indeed."
"You are so lucky to have each other," she sighed. "I'm a little envious."
Nicholai chuckled, tousling her hair. "Don't be. He is a handful," he joked, then his gaze fell
on her small hand. "I'm sorry you lost your pinky."
Sherry shrugged her shoulders. "Never mind, I can always make promises with the other, and
I swear I won't tell Leon about this conversation."
"You're a force of nature," he complimented her fatherly, squeezing her remaining pinky.
"We'll start with your lessons later."
She flinched away from him, outraged. "Come on, no! I don't wanna!"
"No tantrums," he chuckled.
"I want to make a snowman!"
"Okay, but after class."
Sherry rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Fiiine."
At the same time, in the house, Leon and Carlos were sniffing each other like the little
creatures they were. Now that the misunderstanding had finally been cleared up even the
damn cat had genuine curiosity to get to know him.
"So how did you two meet?" He inquired as they walked down to the kitchen, having both
put on Nicholai's clothes. Carlos because of the size, and Leon because he wanted to have his
scent on him.
"He didn't tell you?" Carlos marveled.
"Not hhis storry to tiell," Leon retorted, imitating his deep voice and Russian accent.
The other laughed. "You are so good!"
"I've had many opportunities to hear him blabber. Tea or coffee?"
"Is this really a question? Coffee, of course!"
Leon smirked. "I prefer it too, but I often drink tea to make him happy. He is obsessed. A tea
addict."
They sat down at the table and Carlos told him about what had happened in Colombia,
patiently explaining why Nicholai was so important to him.
"That doesn't mean I want to screw him, ugh!" He specified for the umpteenth time because
he wanted there to be no more doubts in this regard.
"Yeah-yeah, point taken. I'm sorry for being a jerk and for the lake thing. Even though I just
wanted to punch you in the face. Nice dodge, by the way."
Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "I actually did it so well only because I slipped. The asshole is
training you, isn't he?"
"Guilty, but he keeps telling me I'm not ready yet and that I'm too reckless. The same bullshit
that asshole Chris told me in Raccoon."
At the mere mention of his name, Carlos stiffened.
"Did he do something bad to you too?" Leon immediately investigated, noticing it.
The other shook his head. "No, he and I hardly spoke. I just fell in love with his girl and lost,"
he bitterly admitted.
Leon huffed, annoyed. "She will regret it very much. I don't know you but you can't be worse
than that son of a bitch."
"My God, is he that bad?"
Leon nodded, gloomy in the face. "He was the one who beat Nicholai to a pulp when he
couldn't defend himself, just before you joined us and helped me take him away. Before that,
he tried to kill me just because he was deluded that I worked for Umbrella. He is much worse
than bad he is dangerous. An out-of-control paranoid who cannot tell friend from foe, victim
from perpetrator, and sweeps everything away without any distinction. I would warn my
worst enemy to stay well the fuck away from him."
"It is out of my hands," Carlos sighed, unable to help but feel concerned for Jill. He fiddled a
little with the hair band with the star he had stolen from her room. It was useless even to
think about it, she had made her decision and would die on that hill without listening to
anyone. "Like I said, I don't know him but I hope for Jill's sake you're wrong."
"I'm not. But you'll find someone better."
"Yeah..."
They both turned around when they heard the other two return. Sherry was the first to run in
and, without wasting any time, she rushed to hug Leon, squeezing him tightly in her arms. He
winced, taken aback but smiled warmly.
"Hey, to what do I owe all these cuddles?" He asked, caressing her head.
"I got so scared when you jumped into the lake," she whispered. It was a lie. What Nicholai
had told her had touched her deeply, and she wanted Leon to feel how much she loved and
was grateful to him, even if she could not talk to him about it openly.
"Excuse me?!" Carlos exclaimed, outraged. "I'm stupid and reckless and he gets a hug?!"
Leon made a truncated smirk. "I can't help it if I'm everyone's favorite. Deal with it."
"You're definitely not my favorite, lampara! " blurted Carlos.
"What did you just call me?!"
"Children..." Nicholai huffed, stepping inside and slamming the duffel bag full of weapons
onto the table. "The next one who pulls a provocation spends the night outside in the snow,
got it?"
"He started it!" The two yelled in chorus.
"Hell, give me patience..." Was the Russian's despondent comment.

Chris awoke with a pained grunt. He struggled to breathe; there was something above him
that was crushing him. Levering with his arms, he managed to lift that piece of ceiling and
roll back out of the rubble. He coughed loudly and for a long time, covered as he was with
dust and debris. His throat was parched and his head ached. Touching it, he realized he had a
cut on his temple, which, however, had since stopped bleeding.
How long had it been?
With difficulty he managed to clear his eyes and, in front of him, he saw only devastation.
The upper floor had collapsed entirely, blocking the corridor.
"Alfred!" He shouted, crawling back toward the pile of rubble. "ALFRED!" Desperately, he
began digging with his hands, trying to remember how far away the other was when... What
the fuck had happened?
"If you can hear me, answer me!" He pleaded with his heart filled with anguish and fear, but
no sound emerged from the collapsed hallway.
Tirelessly he continued to dig until his hands were covered with cuts and scratches but it was
a futile effort. Alone as he was it would take forever to get to the other side where Alfred
might be.
"He is alive," he said aloud, sniffing up, trying to give himself strength and comfort. "He
must be."
He had to find a way out of the music hall but how, with the hallway blocked? He looked to
see if he could climb to reach the upper floor but it was not a viable way, so he walked to the
French doors and out onto the terrace.
"Oh my God!" He gasped when, from up there, he saw that there were columns of smoke
coming from all around, especially from the training center and the labs.
It had not been an accident. The island had been attacked, but by whom and why? He had no
clue also because he knew nothing about what had happened in the outside world in the past
months. Had it been the U.S. government? Another government? One of the rival
organizations Alfred had repeatedly hinted at? He soon realized that, contrary to what his
morals would have liked to dictate, he didn't give a damn about the answer. He just wanted to
make sure his friend was okay and get him to safety. A gust of wind made him shiver, and he
realized he did not know what time it was. It was daytime but the sky was so dark and gray
that it looked like late evening. He looked toward the beach to check for landing craft but saw
none. Also, the bombing had been localized only in certain areas and not widespread. His
training and his captain's teachings came to his aid, for no matter what, they had always been
outstanding.
The goal was not to destroy but to hit the focal points to create confusion. They want
something. He considered as he went back inside to rip one of the imposing curtains from the
hooks to tie it to the balustrade and rappel downstairs to the first window he could break. The
research in the labs! He realized as he prepared his improvised rope even though he had no
intention of going to protect Umbrella's horrible secrets. However, if he had not found Alfred
across the hall, surely his friend would have done anything to protect what was his.
After pulling a few tugs to make sure the balustrade would hold his weight he began his
descent into the void. He forced himself not to look down because if he lost his grip, or the
curtain ripped, he would take a fall of dozens of feet straight down the cliff below the palace.
He managed to smash the glass of the window with a kick and, with his heart exploding with
adrenaline, went inside again. He found himself in a bedroom. A beautiful but unremarkable
guest room and his gaze fell on the mirror, where he saw his reflection. He was covered with
dust from head to toe, just like when he and Alfred had had that little flour fight in the
kitchens, but there was nothing joyful in his expression anymore. Half of his face was
covered with the dried blood that had dripped from his forehead, and his dark blue eyes were,
once again, full of panic and confusion.
He had been so happy to be able to hug Alfred again, and now everything had been swept
away in a split second. His friend might have been dead. An immense weight slammed into
his chest, and he felt furious and on the verge of tears. He was going to find the person
responsible and make them pay!
And then what, silly? An imaginary Alfred remarked in his mind in a bored and ironic tone
that hit him like a slap in the face.
He was right. It was a stupid goal.
What he had to do was find his friend, find the Penguin, and get their asses off that island as
soon as possible. There was no time for anger or bullshit like revenge. He had no certainty
that Alfred was dead, after all. There was still hope.
He went into the nearby bathroom to clean up his face and hair because the dust was making
his eyes burn and then proceeded out of the room to an area of the palace he had never
visited. It was amazing how unnecessarily large the place was, considering it was inhabited
by only one person and a handful of servants.
As he advanced, he also realized that the building had not been bombed in other areas, which
provided another element. Whoever had attacked knew Alfred's habits and that he spent
much of his time in the music hall. Was it possible that this was an internal Umbrella settling
of scores? Could it be Spencer?
Without paying too much attention, he passed a large inlaid wooden door that opened shortly
after he walked past it. The one who came out watched him from above descend to the lower
floor.
"My-my, if this isn't a surprise," he half-voiced commented with a grin on his thin lips as he
fiddled with the Ashford family jewelry he had just stolen from late Alexander's bedroom. A
vermilion sparkle lit his sunglasses from behind as he heard Chris worriedly call out for
Alfred and the butler, and he realized that the filthy rat had not yet learned to keep his grubby
little hands off what did not belong to him. He hoped he was still alive, and he probably was,
so he could teach him another stern lesson. One he would never forget again.
He watched his disloyal protégé disappear beyond the archway of the corridor below. He, too,
deserved a good punishment for being a shameless, phony slut. Oh, yes, he was really going
to have a great time with him.
Not right away, though. Duty first. He had two very important things to recover before he
could indulge in some well-deserved, yet unexpected, recreation.
Unaware of anything Chris continued his desperate run. He had to reach the entrance hall,
and once there, he would know which way to go back toward the music hall. He was almost
there when he saw the cook staggering out of the kitchen staircase.
"Hey, is everything okay?" He asked, walking up to him, concerned.
He slowed his pace, however, when he recognized that hissing, guttural growl, and his heart
jolted in his chest.
"N-no," he groaned, stopping altogether.
Not again! Not fucking again!
Whether he wanted to or not, though, that was the way it was.
"Please don't make me do this," he begged, when the cook turned to him, giving him a blank
stare. The poor man paid him no heed and lifted an arm in his direction, feverishly opening
and closing his fingers as a trickle of whitish drool dripped from his gaping mouth.
Chris took a step back and grabbed a heavy brass candle holder from the nearest table,
slamming it in his face as soon as he tried to reach up and bite him. The cook plummeted
unbalanced and uncoordinated to the floor with a dumb grunt, and he wasted no time in
smashing his head against the floor with his boot. Only it took more stomps because the body
was fresh. With shortness of breath and panic assailing him he looked at the pulped face of
yet another person he knew who had been good to him. Only a few days before the cook had
been all happy about the compliments he had received on his cooking and now he was lying
there on the floor in a pool of blood and brains.
Chris dropped the candlestick and ran his hands through his hair, falling prey to despair. Why
did that fucking nightmare that started at Spencer Manor never seem to end?! What had he
done wrong to deserve all that? Why was he always the one left standing? He couldn't do it.
Not again. Not for the third time in less than six months!
He felt like throwing up and had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing to his knees.
"Alfred!" He gasped when his mind was once again able to focus on a concept other than his
utter depression. Alfred was alone and did not seem the type to know how to defend himself.
He had to find him. He couldn't lose him. He had to protect him. Save him. Whatever the
cost.
He retrieved the candle holder from the ground because, in the absence of better weapons, it
was still better than nothing, and continued on. Whether he liked it or not, he was now a
veteran of those situations and, in spite of everything, he was aware that if anyone was
capable of getting out of that umpteenth outbreak alive it was him, and he would not do it
alone.
He had just arrived in the entrance hall when he saw the red beam of a laser pointer
illuminate his chest. He scrabbled to the side to throw himself behind a nearby column but
the shot had already gone off. He screamed, torn by the sharp pain in his side, and scrambled
to the ground.
"I-I am alive! Don't shoot!" He screamed, choked, leaning his shoulders against the column
as his forehead beaded with sweat. "Alfred, it's me!" He grunted, compressing his wounded
side with one hand. He was bleeding. It was getting bad.
A shrill female laugh terrified him to the point that, for a moment, he forgot even the pain
and shock.
"My useless brother is not home at the moment!" She informed him in her unpleasant voice,
before shooting toward the column. "It's just you and me, cockroach! Ah! Ah!"
Chris gasped, breathing heavily as he dabbed at his wound. "Fucking bitch!"
She inhaled noisily, outraged. "How dare you?!" She thundered. "I am Lady Alexia Ashford,
queen of this facility!"
"Screw you! Where is Alfred? What have you done to him?!" Chris gasped. He tried to peek
over the column toward the balustrade but quickly desisted when she fired again.
"You even have the gall to ask after what you did?" She accused him. "You tricked my poor
gullible fool of a brother to get your men here! Who are you working for?!"
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about! Alfred and I are friends! I don't work for
anyone!" Chris shouted back. "I swear! I just want to know if he's okay! I won't hurt him or
you!"
"I have tolerated your constant scampering around my palace for far too long, you revolting
insect! No more!" She fired again and this time blasted away a piece of the column a few
inches from his face.
Chris took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts but struggling to think because of the
pain and worry.
"There must be a way to prove to you that I had nothing to do with this attack! Please-
Her thunderous laughter interrupted him. "You talk as if I really care whether you are guilty
or innocent! You are a worse idiot than my brother, you sordid, inferior creature! Your life
ends tonight!"
Chris leaned the back of his head against the column, trying to think of a strategy but there
was little he could do. Surely he could shoot better than she could and, if only he had a gun,
he could have tried to kill her first, but he was unarmed and now wounded as well.
"I-I don't want to die," he groaned, and it was true. Despite everything. "And Alfred will be
very sad if I do," he added, trying to reason with her.
There was a door in front of him, perhaps he could reach it but if it was closed he would be
dead. He heard her laugh again and her high-pitched, shrill voice, so annoying and unnatural,
made his skin crawl.
"My stupid brother will get over it, don't worry. I must admit you are a very loyal little pet,
though."
"I am not a pet I am his friend and I love him!" He could not hold back a furious protest,
hearing her descend the stairs with a light step and a gait not too dissimilar to Alfred's.
"He doesn't need friends when he has me," she retorted and her voice, by now, was
dangerously close. "Who do you think told Albert about his clandestine meetings with
William? I was forgiven then, I'll be forgiven now."
Suddenly the door in front of him was thrown wide open. "Sir, this way!" Mr. Harman
shouted to him, before launching a flashbang into the entrance hall.
Chris did not let it be repeated twice and, as he could, leaped forward with a pained roar,
blinded by the glare. He did not see the steps and crashed face-first into the small warehouse
while Scott, behind him, bolted the door. A sniper rifle shot passed the wood from side to
side, missing him by a whisker, and the butler hurried to move away.
"TREACHEROUS SNAKE, I WILL RIP YOUR SKIN OFF FOR IT!" She thundered from
outside but Mr. Harman ignored her and crouched beside Chris.
"Oh no, he hit you!" He gasped.
"She," Chris corrected him with a hiss. "THAT DAMN BITCH!" He then howled, loud
enough to be heard on the other side.
"O-of course," stammered the butler. "Come on, let's get out of here."
He grabbed his arm and passed it around his shoulders, helping him to his feet, but Chris
staggered to the side. "No. You don't have to make any exertions."
"Sir, I appreciate your concern but that's the least of our-
"Just show me the way. I can manage."
"Stubborn as ever," Scott sighed, walking down the stairs first in yet another secret passage.
Halfway down, Chris had to stop and lean back. His wound hurt like hell and made even the
simplest movements atrocious, and it was also bleeding profusely. "FUCK!" He screamed,
frustrated, hitting the wall with his fist. If until a short while before he had felt reasonably
confident that he would be able to find Alfred and leave that shitty place, now everything had
changed for the worse. Mr. Harman, despite his shortness of breath, climbed back up to him.
"Courage, sir. A few more steps and then I can check your wound," he tried to encourage him
gently, masking, like a good father, all the anguish he had.
Chris nodded and resumed his descent, feeling a twinge ripping through his body with each
step.
"In here. We're almost there," Scott continued to give him strength, preceding him to the
second room on the right. It was a small infirmary. "Get on the crib. Do you need-
He paused when he saw that kid grit his teeth and make it on his own, so he ran to open the
cupboards to get some disinfectant, gauze, and suture material, hoping it would be enough.
Chris managed to undo his sweatshirt and take it off but when it came time to lift his t-shirt,
he shrieked like a dying eagle.
"Never mind, we'll cut it off, don't worry," Scott immediately rushed to him.
Wheezing, Chris abandoned himself on the crib, resting the back of his head on the pillow.
"What the fuck... What the fuck happened?!" He whined.
"We were attacked. I don't know by whom. Private soldiers, maybe mercenaries. They spread
the T-Veronica virus all over the island," he explained to him, proceeding to cut his shirt off.
Chris hissed as he tore the cloth that had stuck to his open wound from his side, and his eyes
began to water. "Alfred! Where's Alfred?!"
Mr. Harman visibly hesitated. "I caught a glimpse of him. He's fine," he cut in short, soaking
the gauze with disinfectant. "It's going to hurt," he muttered to him in a distressed tone.
"Go for it," Chris encouraged him, but he sobbed and gritted his teeth, wincing on the crib as
the other began to clean his wound.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm so sorry," Scott continued to apologize as if it were his fault.
"B-burn it!" Chris gasped, remembering Jill's account of how Nicholai had cauterized his
own stab wounds so he wouldn't keep bleeding.
"I beg your pardon?" The butler exclaimed, shocked.
Chris took a deep breath, trying to calm the jolts in his chest that were ripping through him. "I
can't do anything like this," he explained. "I-I have to find him! Please!"
"I... I don't think Master Ashford wants to be found at the moment, and it wouldn't be
prudent-
"I don't give a shit what he wants!"
"Besides, the wound doesn't seem to have affected vital organs but is deep in the muscle, sir-
"Just do it, for fuck's sake!" Chris yelled at him, putting the lighter in his hand.
Scott looked at it, trembling. "V-very well, let me find something," he stammered. "But we
have to make a deal, sir: where you go, I go too. The master is not… well and he is
dangerous. I know how to handle his crises. I will soothe him and then we can leave
together."
"What about that bitch?"
"She's… She's not our concern," Scott replied, starting to make the blade of a bone saw knife
incandescent with shaky hands.
"All right," Chris nodded, with his breath clenched with panic. He was so scared but at the
same time determined. "Now just do it."
His scream of pain echoed through the halls of the palace before everything went black.
His captain, hearing it from a distance, flinched, frowning. "Oh, come on," he half-voiced
commented, "no one is giving you permission to die, Chris. That's my prize. Don't you dare,"
and he chuckled in anticipation.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
My usual thanks to all, readers, subscribers, commenters, bookmakers, and kudoers
from the bottom of my heart!
Things are rapidly slipping into so much crap that I hope everyone here knows how to
swim. I still haven't unleashed the full arsenal of nastiness I have planned for the end of
this arc. I don't know if this happens to other angst authors, but when I get to describing
moments like this, I get mixed feelings. On the one hand unchallenged, sadistic power,
on the other feeling sorry for the characters.
I am, indeed, somewhat sorry for what happened to Chris but I am sorry with a sneer
because in truth I haven't even started with him yet. As I was also telling a kind
commenter, I have said to many of you, in the past, that Chris would pay dearly for
behaving badly in the Raccoon City arc and karma is coming to collect. However, the
more human side of me -- which is in the minority but exists -- regrets this because I
cannot deny Chris that, in this arc, he has made incredible strides and is genuinely
regretting the mistakes he has made.
Fate is cruel and I am more so, I'm afraid.
As far as Carlos, Leon, Nicholai, and Sherry are concerned, we are still in a moment of
unwinding. In truth even there I could pull the plug at any time but since there are going
to be very heavy chapters in the coming weeks where things are going to go very ugly in
both scenarios, for now, I am trying to balance with a quiet part and a part that is starting
to be critical.
Sherry finally got an answer, however vague, as to why Leon is acting detached, and this
is also very important for the future of their relationship.
Carlos and Leon cleared the air and finally began to have the almost brotherly
relationship I wanted for them.
Nicholai I think wants to run away XD. At the beginning of the arc, we talked about his
difficulties in having another person in the house because he is, as a rule, a loner, now he
pretty much has a crowd and Carlos is having the time of his life teasing him for being
in love. It would be a good setting for a sitcom if they too were not in danger of being
wiped out by Umbrella at any moment.
At Rockfort Island, the situation is much less joyous. Chris is injured, not severely but
quite disablingly, and will thus have to face the dangers that await him but he is
behaving in an exemplary manner. At times, he has exhibited the same toxic and
destructive attitudes that led him to make a mess in Raccoon City - and the same ones
Leon detests him for, yes, he will hold this grudge for a veeery long time -but he has
been able to defuse himself and find his way back to the right path. I am such a proud
mom! Scott is almost stealing the 'Dad of the Year' crown from Nicholai because he is
really sweet and caring but full of secrets. Probably those who have played the game
already know where I want to go with this aspect but... we'll see.
Now two last words about HIM. The King has arrived and has already got a clear idea of
the situation. I declare here my undying love for Albert Wesker who, unlike Nicholai,
will never have a redemption arc, Don't get your hopes up. Not in this story, at least, in
the future I don't know. I will use him very sparingly but be assured that whenever he is
physically present, he will leave behind him a crater bigger than the one in Raccoon
City.
He is here to do harm (and his off-the-cuff comments about Chris make me crack XD).

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 76
Chapter Notes
Hello, my dears!
Small service announcement: I am posting the new chapter today, Tuesday, because I am
leaving tomorrow and will be gone until Sunday night. I am going to Lucca Comics and
Games (for non-Italians, a kind of Comicon). Since I will not have time to write it is
possible that the publication of next week's chapter will slip or skip. I am so sorry but
this is literally the only vacation I get per year and I hope for your understanding. In any
case, I will try my best to at least publish something!
More explanations below,
Kisses!
Lady S.
Chris opened his eyes again with his side burning tremendously. "How long was I out?" He
asked, struggling to sit up.
"Just a few minutes," Scott answered him.
The poor butler was pale in the face and sweating. His livery, always so neat and pristine,
was all creased and soaked with blood, as were his white gloves. "I found some painkillers,
they should help you," he told him, handing him a small bottle with trembling hands. "I'll
also give you a bandage before we leave here."
Chris got to his feet. His side still hurt like hell but less than before, all things considered.
"No, I don't think the water is safe, sir," the butler stopped him when he saw him approach
the small sink in the corner.
"Fuck..." Chris sighed, before swallowing a few pills dry, hoping they would take effect
quickly. He looked down at the large burn he had just below the end of his ribs, to the right,
and noted that it would be another scar to add to the collection, along with the bullet he had
taken in the shoulder on the ship ride to the island, and the cut wounds Leon had given him.
He ran his index finger under his chin in what had now become a habit to calm himself in
moments of anxiety.
"May I?" Scott asked him, approaching. He nodded and hissed through clenched teeth as he
wrapped his waist in a tight bandage.
"You really are a handyman," he made the effort to smile. "Is this mess what you were so
afraid of?"
The butler shook his head, fixing the bandages with patches and hooks.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm not at liberty to talk about it," Scott cut it short, stepping back to pick up his sweatshirt
from the floor.
"Come on, don't you think the situation requires-
"No, sir."
Chris let out a frustrated growl as he put his sweatshirt back on. It was soaked in blood but it
was still better than nothing. "Listen," he snapped, "I don't function well with people who lie
to me or keep secrets from me. The last time I made a fucking disaster, so please-
"The young man in front of me," Mr. Harman interrupted him, "is very different from the one
I met months ago. It's not a question of trusting you but how trustworthy I can be. What
would you think of me, what would my master think, if, at the first difficulty, I betrayed the
secrecy he demanded of me? That would be a reason for suspicion, not the fact that I stand
firm on my values."
"Whatever..." Puffed Chris, annoyed, but there was some truth in what the damn penguin had
said. He was different. Much more in control than he had been in Racoon. If only he'd had
that lucidity with Leon. He longed to see him again and try to make things right with him but
that was a worry for a later time. "I need a weapon and ammunition. Is there anything here at
the palace without having to go all the way out to the range?"
Scott nodded. "This way."
"Let me go first," Chris preceded him out of the room after taking the same sawed-off knife
they had used to cauterize his wound. That had been a very painful but effective idea. He was
in pain, yes, but not like before, and soon the painkillers would kick in. He deprecated the
fact that he had used the same strategy as Nicholai because he still despised him deeply and
was a little ashamed that he had passed out since, according to Jill, the asshole had barely
made a peep when he had burned himself.
Why the fuck was he competing with him?
Because he is with Leon and I'm not.
That revelation went through his brain like lightning and hurt just as much. The point,
though, was not how good Nicholai had been to the rookie but how bad he had behaved. It
was he who had driven Leon away, him and no one else. He did not know if he would ever
get another chance to befriend him but he certainly still had one with Alfred, and he had
every intention of not wasting it.
"Turn right," Scott, who was walking behind him, almost perched on his shoulder like a crow,
guided him.
"How different is this T-Veronica from the regular T-virus? And who the fuck is Veronica
while we're at it?"
"I'm not a scientist, I don't know anything about the research," the butler admitted with
sincere candor. "As for Lady Veronica Ashford, she was the founder of the lineage. A
brilliant and capable woman who brought much luster to the family name. All the Ashfords
revere her and it was her DNA that the late Lord Alexander used in the conception of Miss
Alexia. Master Alfred was never in his plans. The creation of twins was incidental and the
young lord was always treated accordingly, even worse when it became clear that he had no
scientific talent."
"There's just so much to be proud of that bitch sister of his..." Chris growled hostilely.
Scott sighed. "Don't let the master hear you say such nonsense, he is very fond of his beloved
Alexia, and he would not react well to hearing her disrespected, not even by a close friend of
his as you are."
"And what do you think of her?" Chris inquired, shooting him a look.
The butler avoided his gaze. "I have the utmost respect for Lady Alexia."
"Yes, splendid, bloody butler of the year. Now cut the crap."
Scott took a deep breath. "I don't like her. She is a deeply disturbed damsel who has often
shown unmotivatedly cruel attitudes toward those around her. In a way, I understand her. She
is a very special and unique creature who was raised and educated for leadership. From an
early age, she was taught that she was superior to everyone else, and while that is
undoubtedly true, perhaps raising her in humility would have produced less tragic results."
"How could Alfred love her?"
"Are you jealous, sir?"
Chris winced. Yes, perhaps he was but that was still not the point. "Whether or not I am
makes her less of a cunt?"
"Again?!" Scott scolded him, looking nervously over his shoulder.
"It's just you and me here, I talk about her as I please. Is it true what she told me? That it was
she who ratted out her brother and William?"
"Maybe. I don't know. Master Alfred has always been short on details about that affair."
"How is she alive? Didn't their father kill her after he turned into a monster?"
Mr. Harman sighed. "Did Master Alfred ever say she was dead?" He circled around the
matter so as not to answer it directly.
Chris frowned, annoyed by his elusiveness but still focused on the question. In fact, now that
he thought about it, Alfred had always used terms like "gone" or "far away," he had never
clearly said "dead." "No but he implied it," he retorted, hurt by that lie.
"Oh, indeed. He did for fifteen years," Scott let go a little.
"You didn't know about it either?" Chris marveled.
The butler shook his head but did not articulate further.
"So it's her you're afraid of."
"Yes, but let me be clear: the issue is far more complex than you think."
Chris paused for a long time, continuing to move forward in that dark corridor, then sighed.
"Is there any way to get her out of our way without breaking Alfred's heart?" He inquired.
"If you are suggesting killing her, I will end your life even before you can think about it."
Chris turned to give him a scornful look but Scott was deadly serious. "Look, I have a sister
too but even if she's a bitch sometimes she's not even comparable to-
"You don't understand," Mr. Harman interrupted him abruptly. "They are much more than
siblings. They share an unfathomable connection, and the only reason the master has gone so
insane is because of their forced separation. I am convinced that Lady Alexia would manage
to survive without her brother, but the reverse is impossible. He loves her madly. He would
burn the world just to make her happy. A love like this cannot be extinguished not even by
the strongest of friendships. Do not embark on a fight that you would lose, and not only by
yourself. The master knows all the people you cherish from your sister to your fellow
survivors, including Officer Kennedy, and he has pledged to protect them only because of his
affection for you but if it were to fail because you hurt Lady Alexia, the things he would do
to them would reach depths of cruelty you cannot even imagine. Let me handle the situation."
"That crazy cow goes around with a sniper rifle shooting everything that moves! What's to
tell me she won't blow your brains out as soon as she sees you? She's already tried!"
Scott smiled sadly with tenderness. "Your concern for my welfare is touching, sir, but I've
been working in this palace since before you were born. I know both masters and how to
make my voice heard. Let's go. We're almost to the armory."
As soon as they turned the corner, they were confronted by a servant who apparently had the
same idea as them. He lay sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood and sewage because he
had pissed himself with fear. He did not look like he had been dead long.
"Oh no, Mr. Ferguson!" Groaned Scott, distraught, but when he moved to go to check on his
condition, Chris pulled him back.
He huffed, furious and defeated. "I'm sorry," he uttered to the butler, before advancing and
plunging the knife into the poor man's eye, going deep into the brain. He struggled to pull out
the blade and started to bash his head to the floor with his foot.
"Why all the fury?" Shouted Mr. Harman, shocked. "This is so unnecessary!"
Chris proceeded with his truculent operation and then turned to look at him. "At Spencer
Manor these... things would get up again, after a while, madder and faster than before. In
Raccoon they didn't but I'm not taking any chances. I know he was your colleague, maybe
even a friend but it is necessary."
"I... I understand," Scott whispered, pale in the face.
"Lucky you. I still find all this insane and surreal. I don't think I will ever get used to it."
The butler laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "I think you are one of the
bravest men I have ever met."
"And one of the dumbest," sneered Chris, remarking on all the insults he had addressed to
him.
Mr. Harman sighed. "Touchy."
The kid lowered his gaze, suddenly shrouded in despondency. "I'm... I know it's silly but I'm
glad I'm not alone this time. In Spencer Manor it was horrible and in Raccoon I pushed
everyone away from me. I… Just… Thank you for being here with me."
"You're going to make this poor old penguin cry if you keep this up."
"Alfred may be in more need, though. I mean, I can-
"The young master can take care of himself and is a much more dangerous creature than you
think."
"We need to find him and get out of here. If we have to we'll take his sister too."
Scott nodded without comment and pulled a key card out of his breast pocket. He looked
regretfully at the servant's fingernail marks on the wood of the door. "Yet you knew you
couldn't come in here..." He muttered, mournfully, swiping the card over the sensor.
There was a faint clack and the lock opened.
"I can move him if-
"No, sir. Never mind."
Scott preceded him inside the armory and turned on the light. Now that Chris thought about
it, it was the same room where Alfred had run during their first dinner when he had begun to
suspect that there was a spy among his soldiers. If he had listened to him and let him kill
whoever he wanted, would things have been different? Should he have killed for him? Maybe
that attack would not have happened, no innocent people would have died, and they would
not have been in danger. He wanted to find Alfred so badly because Scott's reassurances were
not enough to comfort him. His friend was puny; even the most tame zombie could
overpower him in strength.
He heard a familiar growl coming from the end of the hallway and then a furious bark. He
pushed the butler further into the room and shut the door abruptly just as the damn dog
crashed into it. He had been an idiot, he should have checked what kind of injuries the
footman had and where the thing that had inflicted them was!
"Get your shit together!" He scolded himself.
"You don't need to hold the door. It closes automatically," Scott informed him in a faint,
frightened voice.
It was not the first time he had seen B.O.W.s but it was different observing them in controlled
enclosures from having them around the palace. The same palace he had kept neat and clean
for so many years. It was breaking his heart and not just metaphorically. He had been feeling
a dull, mild, really persistent pain for a while but had no intention of telling Chris. The poor
kid had far too many anguishes on his mind. It was probably nothing. It had happened to him
before but it was better to be sure.
"I want you to be the one to have this," he said to Chris, intent on looking at the weapons
very carefully.
"Huh?"
"The master gave it to me recently. It opens all the doors on the island," he explained,
handing him the key card.
Chris hesitated, worried. "Are you feeling all right?"
Scott smiled, nodding. "Yes, but I'm still old and slow. I want you to be able to go wherever
you need to go."
"Okay..." Chris accepted it but hesitantly, before grabbing a black military vest with a flashy
Umbrella logo over the pockets, on the chest plate. He sighed, uncomfortable at the idea of
wearing it but fully realized it was bullshit. "Can you help me put it on and fasten it?" He
asked. "If I lift my arm too high the burn will kill me."
Scott chuckled. "I thought you were too bourgeoisly proud to ask a servant to assist you in
dressing, sir," he teased him.
Chris rolled his eyes and threw the vest at him. "Go fuck yourself."
The other sneered and ceremoniously bowed his head. "It will be a pleasure to be your
personal valet for the evening, Mr Redfield. I don't think the master will mind."
"Get a move on and give it a rest, clown."
"Would you be so kind as to lower yourself a little, sir?" Scott asked him after unfastening all
the buckles.
"How dare you? You are the one who should have brought a stool to stand on, I'll get you
fired for this!" He shot back at him in a snobbish tone.
The butler chuckled. "You've already learned how to be an arrogant squire, I'm delighted, sir.
Now lower that ass, s'il vous plaît."
Chris gasped and then exploded into a pained laugh. "Fuck, that hurts like hell, asshole!
Ouch!" He whined, gently holding his injured side with tears in his eyes. "I'm so telling
Alfred!" He added, leaning over enough to allow Scott to slip the vest over his head.
"Be my guest, he'll never believe you," Mr. Harman retorted with a sneer, before starting to
fasten the buckles on his waist. "If I hurt you tell me," he added, more gently but Chris did
not let out a breath; he had whined more than enough.
He looked with resigned hostility at the Umbrella logo on his chest and felt the childish urge
to rip that vest off but didn't and grabbed an assault rifle from the rack. He checked it
carefully but it was in impeccable condition.
"Oh, hello there!" He smiled, nostalgic to notice a 44-magnum revolver customized by

Kendo. "You are such a beauty!"
He fastened a holster on both thighs and in one put his friend's gun, in the other a more
ordinary 9 millimeter. That armory was really well-stocked to belong to a wealthy aristocrat,
especially one like Alfred, so delicate and refined. Yes, Chris had seen him slinging a rifle
before with his high military uniform, but no matter how hard he tried he could not imagine
him as a fighter. His hands were artist's hands, too elegant for a weapon, yet Mr. Harman
seemed absolutely convinced that his master needed no help, even in such a critical situation
as they were in. He was reminded of the cynicism with which his friend had tried to convince
him that he was only so furious with Umbrella because they had touched him personally, and
he wondered what he thought now that his precious island was under attack, but it was a
sterile consideration. He didn't really care about being right in that matter, he just wanted to
find him.
"Do you think Umbrella might be behind this mess?" He asked, picking up some ammunition
and putting it in his vest pockets.
"No, that would be absurd and unjustified. Master Alfred is very loyal to the company,
despite Mr. Spencer's low regard for him."
"Perhaps he did not appreciate his interest in me," Chris speculated.
Scott shook his head. "I don't mean to be insulting, but no one cares about you or the other
survivors of the S.T.A.R.S. unit. The company has many other problems at the moment. Like
high-ranking members who betray. Zinoviev, among many others."
Chris immediately was shaken by a terrible anguish. "Leon is with him!"
"Don't worry about Mr. Kennedy. The master has already ordered a team of his best men to
keep the situation under control. Should Colonel Vladimir attempt an attack, he will be
protected. The command has already been given. Should they fail to contact the island, they
will comply anyway."
"What does this Vladimir want from them?"
"From Mr. Kennedy, nothing. Zinoviev, however, was one of the men closest to him, and the
Colonel is not the kind to let an offense go unpunished."
"Where are they?"
"In an isolated location in the mountains of Wyoming, difficult to reach but, alas, not
impossible. It is only a matter of time. Worry not, an order from Lord Alfred is akin to a
divine command for the men raised and trained here in his kingdom. They will protect him."
Chris nodded, upset but aware that he could do nothing for Leon from there. "Why did Alfred
take all this on his shoulders?"
Scott smiled a little incredulously since the answer was obvious. "Because he's your friend,
of course. He firmly believes that Mr. Kennedy is a key person for you, and he is never
wrong about those kinds of observations."
Chris closed in on himself, frightened by a truth he did not want to accept. He just wanted to
be Leon's friend. Nothing else. He grabbed flashbangs and hand grenades and diligently put
them in his pockets.
"Okay, let's move, arm yourself, stay behind me, and, please, don't shoot my sorry ass" he
ordered.
"Aye-aye, captain," joked Scott, grabbing a gun.
"I'm not captain, and I'd be terrible if I was."
"No, I don't think so. You have such a distorted image of yourself, kid."
"Yeah, whatever."
Chris grabbed an extra hand grenade and barely ajar the door. "Come here, boy! Catch!" He
yelled to the dog and, as soon as the beast bolted toward the threshold, he removed the safety
clip and threw the grenade at it.
He closed the door again and took cover just before it exploded.
"Wasn't that excessive, sir?"
Chris gave him a patronizing look. "You've never tried to shoot one of them, have you?
Fuckers are damn fast," he replied, proceeding down the corridor with his rifle pointed. The
dog's remains were scattered on the walls and floor not far from poor Mr. Ferguson's body,
and nothing else seemed to be there. "Clear," he confirmed, signaling the penguin to follow
him. "Any ideas where he might be?"
"Probably still here in the palace."
"Looking for his sister?"

Scott merely nodded.
"Is she a danger to him?"
"No. Absolutely not," Scott asserted.
"Okay, let's go back up, hoping that 'beloved Alexia' doesn't kill us first."
In order to come back to the entrance hall, they decided to take the long way around, just to
be on the safe side.
Chris turned the corner and immediately opened fire when he noticed a small group of
zombie soldiers who had managed to penetrate the wing closest to the training center. He was
horrified himself at the coolness with which he managed to do this as if it was now a matter
of course, and he just as naturally made sure they stayed dead.
"Hey, are you okay?" He asked as he saw Scott leaning against the door, fatigued.
The butler nodded but he could tell he was struggling to breathe and was as pale as a corpse.
"Come, sit down for a minute." Chris was immediately concerned.
"Not here, please," grunted Mr. Harman. "Too many bodies."
The other nodded. "I'll check if the next room is free and take you there, okay? I'll be right
back!" He waited for his nod of assent before continuing but as soon as he walked through
the threshold he realized he was in the hall of mirrors. He hated that fucking place with a
passion, especially when the mirrors were not along the sides of the room. He looked to that
glittering, reflective hallway, the only way forward, and felt a chill run down his spine. The
last time he had been there he had ended up flying down the stairs because of dear Alexia. He
didn't want to repeat the experience but going back would be too exhausting for the poor
penguin, so he mustered up his courage and moved forward, hoping to quickly find the
damned lever to put the mirrors back in place.
Everything was eerily quiet but it was a a silence harbinger of doom, Chris could feel it in his
skin. He had already turned a few corners with his reflection repeated on the mirrors as his
only companion, and on more than one occasion he had the instinct to shoot.
"Back to my favorite room!" Alexia exclaimed, causing him to jump on the spot.
"Listen, we got off on the wrong foot, you and I, and I apologize," Chris said, but no matter
how much he spun around, he continued only to see his reflection more and less distorted. "I
don't want to hurt you, and this place is getting more and more dangerous. We need to find
your brother and secure all of us together!" He tried, again, to reason with her. He got no
response. "You sing really well," he decided to compliment her, remembering their very first
meeting.
"Don't be absurd, I don't know how to sing," she replied with annoyance, "only my brother
wastes time behind such nonsense! No, I have something else in mind for us, a little game for
Alfred's dear little piggy!"
Just hearing that word made Chris lose not only all desire to be diplomatic but also his wits.
"I'm nobody's piggy, you psycho bitch! DO YOU HEAR ME?!"
There was no response only a 'tlack' and the sound of one of the floor panels sliding. Chris
distinctly heard a guttural growl that reminded him of a Tyrant and retreated abruptly,
alarmed. He slammed his back against one of the mirrors and fired as soon as he saw that
yellowish-skinned monstrosity. It was not a Tyrant but an abomination just as big with one
very long arm.
Only what he had shot was just another reflection in that damned illusory room. A mirror
shattered to his left but he did not have time to move away. That hideous, giant hand that
reeked of decay grabbed his head and lifted him off the ground, shaking him as if he were a
broken doll. He screamed, feeling his skull crushed like a tin can under a press, and pulled
the trigger, causing a burst that missed its target entirely. He tried to grab those fingers in a
desperate attempt to break them or at least get them to loosen their grip but it was all in vain
and his scream died in his chest as, continuing to hold him tightly, that creature began to slam
him against all the mirrors around them.
Scott, startled by all the noise, staggered across the threshold with one hand clutched to his
chest, pierced by excruciating pain, and the other holding the gun. His legs felt soft as butter
and he lacked strength but when he saw Chris covered in cuts being tortured by that monster
he forced himself to do something.
"ENOUGH!" He thundered, gathering what little breath he had left, before stepping forward
and unloading the entire magazine of his gun at short range on that monstrosity.
The abomination howled in pain and let go of Chris, who crashed to the ground on the broken
glass.
"N-no!" He gasped as he saw that huge arm smack Scott squarely, sending him flying feet
away. He quickly got back up and fired, riddling that horror with shots first with the assault
rifle and then with the revolver until it collapsed to the ground dead in a shapeless mush of
muscle, slurry, and broken bones.
Complete silence returned and it was heartbreaking. Fearfully, Chris moved his gaze in Mr.
Harman's direction and saw Alexia advancing toward him with her head tilted and a confused
expression on that face of hers so similar to Alfred's. She was wearing her long purple dress
as in the portrait her brother had lovingly painted of her but she was barefoot and the long
skirt rubbed against the floor. If she felt pain walking on the shattered mirrors, she did not
show it. She seemed almost in a trance. Chris saw her abandon the rifle she was holding in
her arms, which fell to the ground, and she kneeled beside Scott.
"Get away from him now!" Chris growled, pointing the revolver at her.
She did not dignify him with a glance and continued to stare at Mr. Harman as if she did not
understand what had happened.
Agonizing, the beloved butler reached for a fragment of one of the mirrors as he raised his
other hand to stroke her hair. Chris winced when he saw him grab and tug at it but even more
so when that beautiful thick blond hair fell to the floor in his hand, revealing a short haircut
he knew more than well.
"W-what?" He uttered voicelessly.
She didn't seem to mind, at least until her gaze fell on the sliver where she saw his reflection,
and his eyes filled with panic and horror.
He was not her. She was never there.
As his breath broke in his chest, Scott grabbed his beloved master by the arm but no matter
how hard he tried to speak, he could not, so he smiled as if to whisper to him that it was okay,
that he loved him, he was proud of him, and he was happy to have served him until his true
last moment. Then his eyes went blank, dead and cold as two tears streamed down the sides
of his face.
"N-no, no no, NO!" Alfred cried in a broken, breathy voice while frantically touching his
face, innocent and grieving like a child. When he saw that the one who had really been a
father to him was no longer moving and realized that he would never do so again he curled
up on him and his chest exploded in a long, heartbreaking cry, so high and sharp that all the
mirrors that had remained intact exploded in shattering.
Gasping for breath he turned and faced his friend. Chris was motionless with one hand
pressed tightly against his mouth, completely distraught and in tears.
He had seen it all. Suffered it all. It was all his fault. All of it.
In panic and guilt, he rushed into the hallway and closed the secret passage behind him before
Chris could follow.
"Alfred! No! Please open up! PLEASE!" He heard him scream but did not stop and ran away.
Wesker, who, from the balcony, had been enjoying every moment of that senseless drama,
walked away before Chris could notice him. His little treacherous piggy looked good in his
fancy Umbrella vest, all covered in blood. What an inspiring sight!
"Pathetic little freak," he commented, mercilessly, thinking about Alfred before chuckling at
the sight of a crossbowed suit of armor at the end of the hallway.
“How was it? Oh, right! There was a friendly but naive king," he hummed, taking the arrow
and admiring its tip, "who wed a very nasty queen. The king was loved but the queen was
feared..." He sneered, "Not for much longer."
And his eyes sparkled like fire.

Chapter End Notes
Hello again, beauties!

The usual thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, commenters, bookmakers, and
kudoers. Lots of love to you all!
I will conclude the talk I started above. Last year, for better or worse, I had managed to
write two chapters just to avoid leaving you orphans during the week of Lucca Comics,
but this year I could not. I mostly write on weekends but last Saturday I had the whole
afternoon entirely taken up by my Russian exam which lasted a good three hours and
left me exhausted (I even had to write a letter and, yes, I addressed it to Kolya if my
teacher only knew XD). Anyway, I think I passed (I have yet to receive the result of the
writings) which means I may be an A1 in Russian, yuppy (Nicholai, be proud of me
since I started because of you, you ass)!
Now, as you may have noticed in this chapter there is no part devoted, precisely, to
Nicholai & Co., I actually wrote it, it is about 2k words, but I decided to take it out in
order to already have something ready for next week to start from. I think, barring
unforeseen circumstances, I will be able to add at least another 1k words to it between
Monday and Wednesday, so as not to leave you completely high and dry, but I don't feel
like making any promises. In any case, on Tuesday evening I will still respond to
comments from those who are kind enough to leave some, and you can find info on
Wednesday's update there.
I am not too happy about taking that scene out of this chapter because the Chris part
needed a break but I had to compromise with myself, I apologize again.
We come now to the commentary. Some of those who have commented have told me
from time to time how my story almost made them cry or really cry. So far, I don't think
I've ever cried, maybe a little at Birkin's death in the subway, however... Shit, when I got
to describing Mr. Harman's last moments last night, after the entire afternoon spent
trying to wrap up the chapter, I whined like a little girl. Of course, I knew from the
beginning that he was going to die but that didn't really make me ready to accept it. He
was such a sweet good man and he didn't deserve to end up like that. I'm so fucking
unfair. He was such a wonderful father figure to Alfred and, in a way, to Chris as well
and I'm really sorry that they had to let him go.
At the same time, the "plot twist" was revealed. Now, I wasn't banking much on this
specific plot twist because anyone who has played or watched Code Veronica knows
perfectly well that Alfred, in his desperate madness, has completely disassociated
himself by going and splitting into two personalities, his own and his sister's. From a
narrative point of view, I believe that the moment when this aspect is revealed in Code
Veronica is by far the highest peak of the whole saga and also the one that made me fall
for Alfred. In canon, he is mean and childish but I can't dislike him because he has
suffered so much in his life that his psyche has shattered.
I have really bad judgment when it comes to men, I know XD!
Fear not, however, this was not meant to be a plot twist but I have a couple up my
sleeve, one for the next arc and one for the final arc that will shatter souls.
I continue to be very proud of Chris who, in spite of everything, even went out of his
way to be diplomatic with 'Alexia,' although it is not his main quality. We finally get a
glimpse of the captain he will one day become, as poor, beloved Penguin acknowledges
to him.
Also, our Chris is apparently jealous of Nicholai, and Leon is always in his thoughts -
what a surprise! I swear to you, Chris, when you see your lost rookie again, it will hit
you as hard as a truck in the face.
Through it all, Wesker continues to study everything like a vulture ready to swoop down
on the carcasses of the losers. There were so many moments when I wanted to use
Alfred's lullaby for Alexia, Berceuse, but I always held back waiting for the right one (I
deeply love this OST, to the point that it is my cell phone ringtone). There is something
deeply wrong and cruel about hearing it hummed by Wesker, and that too is a harbinger
of doom.
Farewell, Scott, may you rest where heroes do.
Again many thanks to all of you for your presence and patience! Have a spooky and
happy Halloween!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 77
Chapter Notes
"I'm bored!" Puffed Sherry, throwing her pencil at the book she was studying. "It's all
bullshit!"
"Hey, language!" Leon scolded her, hunched over his Russian grammar in turn.
"Let her speak as she likes," Carlos intervened from the couch. "It's not like all that comes
out of your mouth is flowers and nightingale singing!"
"I'm not 12 years old."
"Really?" Carlos feigned astonishment. "Because it sure doesn't look like it."
"Go fuck yourself!"
"There you are!" Chuckled the Colombian.
"Can you cut it out?" Sherry asked, annoyed. "Where's Nicholai?"
That was a really good question. He had gotten up before Leon woke up and left without
saying anything to anyone. By now it was almost sundown and he was beginning to get
worried.
"I'm going to look for him," he decided. "You stay with her," he added, turning to Carlos.
"Sure, I don't even think about going out in this polar cold."
"Pussy," Leon disguised the insult in a cough.
"Tomorrow morning you practice with me, okay, imbecil? Let's see who's the pussy without
Nicholai treating you like a little princess."
To this, Leon replied with an arrogant smirk and a snort. "I'll kick your sorry ass sooo bad.
Don't go crying to him afterward!" He chirped, disappearing into the hallway.
"Yeah, keep dreaming, caremonda!"
"Boys are so dumb..." Sherry sighed, despite herself, resuming her reading.
Leon slipped on his aviator jacket, which had taken a bloody eternity to dry after his bath in
the lake, and pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt. He also grabbed a flashlight, in case he
lingered past sundown and went outside. In his months there, his ability to orient himself had
improved markedly thanks to Nicholai's teachings, and he was no longer in danger of getting
lost like a poor sucker as he had done in the Raccoon City woods.
It had not snowed that day, and although it was windy, Nicholai's footprints were still quite
visible, so he just followed them at a brisk pace. He hated it when his lover acted that way,
leaving without a fucking word. They had had a chance to talk, and now that he no longer
considered Carlos a possible rival, he had also been better able to rationally externalize his
distress and concern. Nicholai had indeed been very patient with him and incredibly sweet.
He loved him so much but his attitude still pissed him off. He had told him hundreds of times
that he wanted to know where he was and, if possible, accompany him!
He continued to advance tirelessly, first into the woods, then up to the foot of the ridge. It was
there that he finally caught a glimpse of him, hanging from the wall of ice and rock with a
rope slowly descending. In disbelief, he waited patiently for him to touch the ground,
although it took a while.
"What the fuck?" He asked, running up to him.
Nicholai gave him an exhausted and cold look. His face was all flushed from the icy wind,
and there was snow and ice on both his jacket and his gear.
"Have you been up there since this morning?!" Leon assailed him. "Why?" He unzipped his
aviator jacket.
"D-don't be silly, it doesn't fit," Nicholai tried to stop him in a trembling, hoarse voice.
"Just put it over your shoulders," the other growled, putting it on him. "You didn't answer
me."
"Later. Tired," muttered the Russian. He took his backpack off his shoulder to hook his ice
axes onto it but staggered in doing so.
"I'll carry it." Leon snatched it from his hands and struggled to put it on his back because it
was so heavy. "What did you put in it, bricks?"
The only response he got was a grunt.
"Come on, lean on me. Let's go home before it gets dark."
They had to proceed slowly because Nicholai was really at the end of his rope.
"Hey, you two okay?" Carlos' voice startled them but Leon was reassured to see him running
in their direction. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Nicholai whispered. "Cut it out. You shouldn't have left the child alone."
"Then you should learn to say where the fuck you're going," Leon hissed back at him. "Why
is it always like this with you?!"
"Divorce papers later, now let's go back in," Carlos intervened, more pragmatically, moving
forward to support Nicholai.
The Russian, however, pushed them both away. "I walk by myself."
Carlos cast a questioning glance at Leon, who shrugged his shoulders, annoyed, and both
followed closely behind.
As soon as in the house and after making an effort to greet Sherry, Nicholai abandoned
himself on the sofa where he collapsed asleep almost immediately.
"But… I had to repeat the history lesson to him..." She mumbled, sad.
"You can repeat it to me, if you like," offered Leon who was trying his best to get used to her
presence.
"Really?" She exclaimed, immediately soothed.
"Yes, while we tidy up and set the table. Carlos, can you make something for dinner? I am
completely incapable."
The other sneered. "Finally something his lordship the prince can't do!"
"No need to be a jerk every time," Leon retorted, resentful. "If you don't feel like it, let's heat
up a few cans and be done with it."
Carlos winced because that time the other had answered him harshly for real. "Sorry," he
hastened to apologize.
"It's okay. You don't have a crystal ball to know in advance what really stings me."
"No damn Russian slop, let's eat something real tonight!" He exclaimed, and Sherry seemed
to agree.
Leon frowned, displeased. "You are mean, poor Nicholai, I like his soup and stews," he
objected, taking the blanket from the armrest and wrapping it around his boyfriend.
"You're just blinded by love," Carlos chuckled.
While he was cooking and Nicholai was resting, Leon listened attentively to Sherry tell him
about the Middle Ages and congratulated her because she had been very good indeed.
Together they put all the books away, cleaned the table, and set it ready.
"In three days it is Christmas," she informed them. "Do you think I can convince Nicholai to
cut down a small tree and bring it inside and decorate it?"
Leon smiled. "I think you can convince him to do anything, honey, but if for some reason he
says no, I'll take care of it," he reassured her, giving her a complicit wink that made her heart
beat faster.
"At home, we used to make a really big one. Nanny and I would decorate it together. Mom
never cared and dad... He never liked Christmas. He told me that his parents forced him to do
very unpleasant things at Christmas but he always made sure I got a ton of presents. It's just
that… I never had those fancy meals with plenty of people around a table as in the movies. I
was usually alone with the Nanny." She lowered her pretty eyes. "I know I won't have any
presents this year and it's okay, I don't really mind but… I would like us to eat a lot of good
things and be happy together. Which means, no fighting between you two nasty brats," she
explained, casting a stern look at both of them, "and I would like Nick to be a little less
nervous too. He is so gentle when he smiles but he does it so little."
Leon sighed. "He has a lot on his mind lately but I'm sure things will get better." He wasn't
but he hoped so. He had tried to ask him for some more explanation about this Colonel
Vladimir but Nicholai had stubbornly refused to give him any more details than he already
knew. Leon did not know if he wanted to protect him or if, simply, the memories of what the
man had done to him were too painful or too horrible to tell. The night before, he had stayed
awake and while Nicholai slept through nightmares, he had stroked the large burn on his back
to try to calm him, and that was more than enough for wanting that monster dead. Leon had
never considered murder an appropriate form of administering justice but what had happened
to him in Raccoon City had drastically altered his perception of things. The moment when he
had stabbed Irons flashed before his eyes. He felt no guilt for butchering him. No, it was
something else, as if a stain had eternally soiled his conscience. He had lost himself in
Raccoon City and with those same hands had almost killed Chris as well. He hadn't but he
had had every intention to do so and that was what mattered. During his training at the police
academy, he had always hoped he would never have to kill anyone but, of course, he had
always been aware that it might happen. He had imagined that he would feel heartbroken but
that projection had been completely wrong. It was more a sense of filth and shame - shame
not because he had killed Irons who deserved it more than anyone else. No, it was because he
had failed to live up to the ideal he had of himself. He had always firmly believed in the
precept to serve and protect, especially the latter, but what was he now if not another beast
with blood on his hands?
"Are you okay?" Sherry's timid question made him realize that he had drifted away as he
often did when he was in her company and this, yes, made him feel guilty and extremely hurt.
The ability to love that little girl without reliving the abuse suffered reflected in her beautiful
innocent eyes was another thing that Irons had ripped away from him. He struggled to flash
yet another false smile.
"Sure, I'm just a little tired," he lied, then cast a glance at Carlos. "Hey, dummy, can you
come outside with me for a minute? We're running low on wood, and together we'll be
quicker.”
The other winced, confused, because he had just loaded the stove and they would be fine
until the next day but he moved away the pan anyway. "Heaven forbid you break a nail,
gatito," he held up to him. "Hon, in the meantime, will you peel some potatoes for me? Be
careful not to cut yourself, though."
Sherry nodded, silent, and as they left, she diligently set to work.
"Fucking cold!" Carlos cursed once they were outside. "So what's up?"
"Let's go to the woodshed," Leon whispered, laconic, lighting the ground with his flashlight
and walking away at a brisk pace. "Chop some. We can't go back in without it," he ordered
him, once there.
"Why don't you chop some yourself, mister, since we don't even need it?"
Leon huffed. "Don't bust my balls now. I... I'm only going to say this once," he said,
unconsciously beginning the speech just as Nicholai had done when he told him about Mitia.
"I won't give you more details than necessary. Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't want to talk about it. I
guess you remember the orphanage in Raccoon."
"Who can forget that shithole," was Carlos' confused reply. “But how do you know about it?”
Leon pointed his icy eyes at him. "There was never any woman Nicholai rescued. It was me.
It was always me."
The other went wide-eyed. "You mean-
"Yes. That pig put me in front of a choice: either me or Sherry. I picked me."
"Oh my God! What?!" Carlos was horrified and tremendously shaken. "I-I mean, I'm so sor-
"Stop it!" Leon hissed at him. "I didn't drown you in pity when you told me about Colombia
and how much you despise being a soldier. I expect the same from you now," he scolded him
harshly, before looking away and hiding behind his blond bangs. "That's not why I told you.
It's just..." For the first time, his voice trembled. "I can't be with Sherry without living that
nightmare over and over again. She is no fool. She's noticed it but no matter how hard I try....
I can't do it and it breaks my heart." He raised his gaze again and pointed it into his. "So I ask
you to take care of her, love her, and be there for her for me too when I can't. In return, I
swear I will do whatever it takes to protect you both. Do we have an agreement?"
Carlos winced, upset. "You don't need to promise anything, I-
"Do we have an agreement?"
"Of course we do, but-
"Then we're done here. Bring in some wood, I need some air," having said this Leon left him.
Carlos would have liked to follow him to tell him that he was not alone and that he could
count on him not only for Sherry but he knew that was not what the pestiferous prick wanted
to hear at that moment. They would get there in baby steps. Now those most obnoxious traits
of his character were beginning to make sense, and Carlos was determined to make his life
more peaceful, whether the bloody cat wanted it or not.
Chris paused, panting because no matter how much he wanted to, he was unable to knock
down a wall with mere brute force. He had tried hard to open that secret passage but to no
avail. Dismayed, he staggered back, covered in sweat and blood. If before, because of the
wound in his side, his sweatshirt had been soaked with it now the situation had even
worsened. He pulled a long shard of mirror off his arm where it had stuck when the monster
had knocked him around but he had no time to think about the smaller ones still embedded in
his flesh.
He had to find a way to reach Alfred.
The discovery that there had never been any Alexia had shocked him because it meant he had
been the one to shoot him and throw him down the stairs but, in truth, he didn't give a shit
about any of it. Knowing this changed nothing about his affection for Alfred. Yes, he was
crazy. Yes, he was dangerous. But he was his friend.
He turned and his gaze fell on Scott's lifeless body. Tears returned to cloud his vision. It had
all happened so damned fast. He sniffed hard, approaching him with slow steps. Only half an
hour earlier they had laughed and joked together, and that stranger, who owed him nothing,
had soothed and protected him with extreme gentleness. Now, he was only adding to the long
list of bodies weighing on his conscience. He approached him with a broken heart.
"Why the fuck did you have to come and save me?!" He grunted, bursting into silent sobs.
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He covered his face, trying to calm his crying.
Why did everything always have to end in blood and tears? Why was he never able to
fucking save anyone?
Alfred.
Alfred was still alive. He was alone and scared. Alfred needed him.
He wiped his eyes with his fingers and looked at the smile on the face of the poor butler who,
until the last, had tried to make his little master understand how much he loved him.
"I will protect him, I swear," he groaned, before leaning down to close his eyes. "Don't
worry."
Leaving him there alone was as difficult as it had been to leave the bodies of his S.T.A.R.S.
comrades in the halls of Spencer Manor but he did it anyway because the living mattered
more than the dead. It took him a while to calm down and as he wandered aimlessly through
those empty corridors looking for a sign of his dear friend he tried to imagine where he might
have gone.
Think, you jerk, think! He scolded himself, trying to get his shit together. His head was also
heavy because he had really lost a lot of blood. Not enough to sprawl on the ground but
enough to slow his reflexes and reasoning.
Something still didn't add up. It was clear by now why Scott had not wanted him to hunt
down 'Alexia' but it was also true that he had always talked about her in the present tense.
Alfred had kept it a secret for fifteen years.
It was this detail that kept buzzing in his mind. Scott had probably known long before about
Alfred's mental problems, was it possible that the real Alexia was actually somewhere,
perhaps turned, and that his brother had kept her hidden all that time? If so, where?
He was reminded of the cliff and Alfred's slender arm rising to point to a distant spot. Could
she still be where the incident with their father had occurred?
Chris had a direction, and although he did not know if it was the right one, he began to run
toward the terrace. It did not take him long to find bloody footprints on the rich white Italian
marble floor and they were still fresh. Alfred had definitely passed that way and continued
his run outside. This filled him with hope to the point that the icy wind that lashed him on the
terrace did not make him blink despite being wounded and drenched in his own blood.
He tried to follow the footprints but, as he expected, they did not go in the direction of the
beach but toward another wall and disappeared beyond it. Another damned secret passage he
had no idea how to open.
"Shit..." He hissed in frustration before marching at a brisk pace toward the stone steps
carved into the rock. The elevator had been lowered onto the beach. Had someone gotten
down, or was it just a coincidence? He seemed to catch a glimpse of movement in the
distance on the cliffs overhanging the sea but could not tell if it was Alfred or someone else
from that distance, so he hurried down.
The ocean was particularly rough but that certainly would not stop him. Once on the beach,
he retraced the passage where he had followed Alfred to the rock where they had both fallen
into the water. From there things would be much more complicated. He had to climb up and
continue horizontally to the opening of the cave that his friend had pointed out to him. It was
not a particularly complicated route; he had done worse on his hikes in the Arklay
Mountains, but in those circumstances, he had always had rope, pickets, and carabiners, and,
most importantly, he had never done it while injured. He carefully assessed the situation and,
albeit reluctantly, decided to abandon the assault rifle because he was in danger of getting
unbalanced and there were already wind and waves to make life difficult for him.
Leon approached the edge of the woods feeling dirty and dejected. He really would not have
wanted to mention Irons to Carlos but he and Sherry seemed to have formed a very strong
bond so he was the best person to take care of her. What had happened, however, was not the
only reason he had sought his help, only the most serious. Honestly, he did not feel up to that
task and would not feel up to it regardless. The only parental figure he had had in his life was
his mother - he could barely remember his father who was more an idea than an actual person
- and the last thing he wanted was to risk being like her with an innocent child on whom life
had already taken far too much toll. No, Carlos was definitely the better option. Despite their
quarrels that, most of the time, were a game, Leon recognized that he had a big heart and was
a good guy. Sherry would have been happier with him.
He pulled out of his aviator jacket the pack of cigarettes he had stolen from Nicholai. He
didn't really like smoking, or rather, he liked it once in a while but since he had promised not
to drink anymore he did it more often. After all, he didn't even like to drink but it was such an
easy way to stop thinking and be able to fall asleep when the nightmares seemed unwilling to
leave him.
Nicholai was right, though. Drinking made his already shitty temper drastically worse. He put
the cigarette in his mouth and inhaled deeply, letting the hot smoke burn his chest a little, and
his mind took him back to when he had snatched the cigarette from Chris outside the Birkin
house. Things were still going well with him then everything came crashing down. He was
furious with him but to a large extent, he was also furious with himself for trusting that
asshole. He had literally done everything in his power to help him because he had deluded
himself into thinking that there was another Chris under the mountain of shit he was
confronted with. A good guy, scared, tremendously traumatized, and manipulated by his
deceased captain to the point that he could no longer distinguish right from wrong. All
bullshit. He had saved his life countless times, got fucking infected for him, and, even after
Chris tried to kill him, he had continued to help him like a poor prick just because he
desperately wanted him to like him. All that pain just to impress a pretty face on a statuesque
body. He had almost lost Nicholai at his hands, the one man who had protected him from the
beginning and without wanting anything in return. He probably would have been able to
forgive Chris if he had not done that last atrocity. Nearly beating to death a defenseless man
who was in that condition only because he had helped everyone else, including his girlfriend!
Leon owed everything to Nicholai not only because he had saved him countless times in
Raccoon and even in his home but because he had shown him that healing was possible, that
loving again was possible. He had given him affection, protection, and understanding and had
patiently put back together the pieces of him that had shattered in Raccoon City. Chris had
not only done none of this but had actively helped to crumble him, and the memory of him
was a burning scar in Leon's memory. It was so fucking unfair that he had gotten away with it
like it was nothing, that he had a chance to live happily with his fiancée after all the pain he
had caused; and Jill was a poor fool for not realizing the monster she had beside her and the
damage he could cause. Leon did not know if he would ever see him again, but if he did, he
would do everything in his power to make him harmless once and for all.
He threw away the butt that went out sizzling in the snow and was about to retrace his steps
back to the house when something hard hit him in the back of the head and someone grabbed
him under the armpits before everything went dark.
Alfred collapsed on the floor on all fours in front of the door leading to the laboratory,
exhausted and fatigued. His lacerated bare feet were in great pain, and his splendid purple
dress had the skirt all torn and dirty. Alexia could not be just a figment of his sick mind - she
was real. She had put herself to sleep in a cryogenic capsule to let the virus adjust to her body
slowly without turning her into a mindless monster like their father He remembered her as he
remembered what had happened fifteen years earlier but he wasn't sure of anything anymore.
Scott.
Scott was dead and it was all his fault!
He had to wake her up. She would protect him and, with him, she would protect Chris as
well. His only friend.
With difficulty and a groan of pain, he rose to his feet and winced as the automatic doors
opened in front of him, already unlocked. How was this possible? They would open only
with his fingerprints or the magnetic card he had given Scott. Could it be that someone had
bypassed the security system? No, it was much more likely that his beloved butler had given
the key to Chris. Without further ado, he limped past the threshold. The laboratory lights
were already on.
"C-Chris, are you there?" He asked, intimidated, slowing his pace. "I-I... I'm so sorry!" He
groaned in a trembling voice. "I never meant to hurt you. I'll tell you everything and beg for
your forgiveness!"
He winced when he heard the music box begin to play the lullaby he had composed for her
and for which, defiantly, William had sketched out the lyrics without ever finishing it. He
turned the corner and was paralyzed with horror to see that the cryogenic tube had been
brought to the surface, something only possible with his biometrics or the family jewels.
However, how it had been done was irrelevant. The glass of the capsule was shattered and on
the metal floor lay the decapitated, lifeless body of his dear sister. His brain took a few
moments to register the information, and he was physically torn. His chest tightened in a vise,
clutching his breath as his heart sent a tearing pang. Unable to formulate even a single word,
he tried to move forward but his legs could not support him and he had to crawl on all fours
until he reached her head and placed it in his lap, clutching it as if it were the most precious
thing in the world. Only at that moment did air flow back into his lungs but it served only to
burst into inconsolable and desperate weeping. His body was weak, his mind in pieces, and
he felt as if he were already half dead.
Had Chris done that? Why? Why had he betrayed him so horribly?
He did not immediately hear footsteps approaching from behind one of the coolant drums but
he recognized the laughter and widened his eyes, his mourning suddenly transformed into
fury.
Wesker admired him as if he were a painting, so half reclined on the steps with his sister's
head in his arms, in a long elegant evening dress drenched in her blood. He despised him, but
he could not deny that the little freak had an innate elegance - it must have been this that
caught William's eye so many years before - and the powerless hatred in his gaze made it all
the more perfect. He fiddled with the arrow he had taken from the armor as he approached
slowly with the calmness of a victorious feline. He said nothing to him, and when Alfred
foolishly tried to throw himself at him, he slapped him hard, causing him to tumble back
down the steps. He grabbed him by that long swan-like neck, choking in his throat the words
he wanted to utter. He did not want that shrill, unpleasant voice of his to spoil the poeticness
of his victory.
"Till one day strolling in his court," he sang to him, intoxicated by his little guttural muffled
noises, waving the sharp object in front of his beautiful violet eyes, made even more stunning
by the dripping makeup. "an arrow pierced the kind King's heart," he continued, thrusting the
point into his chest slowly, excruciatingly as Alfred yelped, trying futilely to push him away.
"He lost his life and..." He let him go when he stopped moving and when he heard heavy
footsteps come running in. "His puppet love," he concluded, rising to his feet and turning
around with a smirk. "You always have incredible timing, Chris," he greeted his late protégé
who was staring at him from the corner of the hallway with terror-filled eyes.
Chapter End Notes

Hello, my dears!
I'm here! I made it to finish the chapter! As always, my heartfelt thanks to all of you
readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and bookmarkers for your patience and
support!
What to say about this chapter? Other than the fact that I am an unspeakable bitch, of
course XD. I really wanted to end it this way so these past two days I have been jumping
through hoops to get there.
Leon finally took a step to handle the situation with Sherry or, rather, kind of dumped
the whole thing on saint Carlos. Nicholai has gone to do something in the high
mountains and we will soon find out what. Actually, as you may have guessed from the
fact that Leon has been captured, things are about to go to shit for their happy little
group as well.
Chris... Chris, well, he's one step away from the trauma of his life. Actually, maybe, the
third real trauma of his life. The first one, of course, was the death of his parents, then
there's this one and another one that's going to happen much later on that's going to be
equal to this. I don't know whether this or the future one will be more traumatic for him,
but let's not put the cart before the horse. We are finally one step closer to a long-
awaited reunion with his dear captain who just killed his best friend with the coldness of
a snake.
I can't really anticipate much about the next chapter but it will definitely be brutal and
cruel from every angle. I don't know if it will be the last of the arc, it depends on where I
can get to but if not the last, it will be the second to last and then we will finally get to
the Chreon part but keep in mind that Leon is still very, very pissed off at him.
Thank you so much again!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 78
Chapter Notes
TRIGGER WARNING
Hello, my dears!
Excuse my presence here but, after careful consideration, I feel compelled to put trigger
warnings:
- Extreme violence.
- Narcissistic behavior.
- Serious injuries.
- Even some homophobic attitudes and comments.
Should anyone feel uncomfortable, there will be a brief summary of the chapter in the
endnotes. In this case, it would be really hard to tell where to start reading and where to
stop before running into sensitive topics.
Thank you for your understanding and buckle up.
See you down below (in hell, where I deserve to be), kissers!
Nicholai woke up and rose wearily from the couch, somewhat refreshed from the short rest
he had allowed himself.
"Oh, good!" Carlos commented, addressing him with a big smile. "It's almost ready."
The Russian nodded, wrinkling his face. "Where is Leon?" He asked, looking around and not
seeing him.
Carlos lowered his gaze, feeling uncomfortable. "He needed some air."
"In the dark?" Nicholai inquired, immediately alarmed. "How long has he been out?"
"I don't know. Maybe fifteen minutes."
"Forty-two," sighed Sherry, glancing at the wristwatch Jill's dad had given her. "Because of
me, right?" She asked sullenly.
Nicholai sighed. "No, little one, we've already talked about it."
"I know but I didn't do anything to him!" Protested Sherry who, although trying her best, was
still 12 years old. "It's not fair!"
Carlos and the Russian exchanged a look.

"I'll take care of it," the younger man said. "You go find him."
Nicholai nodded gratefully and ran for the exit with Sherry's desperate wailing in his ears
because she had asked for nothing more than to spend Christmas all together happily.
Nicholai understood her but he also sympathized with Leon's difficulties in being near her. It
was a bloody mess but one who continued to be second-rate in the big picture. Once outside
he moved his flashlight to see the tracks in the snow and trotted off in the direction of the
woods. He didn't like Leon wandering off into total darkness, and if he had done it just to
punish him for the fact that he had gone into the high mountains without warning him, well,
in that case, he would rip him another asshole without mercy.
However, he had a bad feeling that clenched his stomach. He had been on edge since they
had been back there but now that sensation was different, more acute and penetrating. Like
the tolling of a bell or the ticking of a timer running inexorably toward a horrible end. He had
not been so frightened in a long, long time but this time he was not a weak kid helpless in the
face of the fury of events. He was a wolf and he was ready to fight to protect his cubs.
Wesker sneered, tilting his head slightly. "My-my, you look like you've seen a ghost!" He
commented, sardonically.
And it was true.
Chris stood paralyzed, pale in the face from shock and in the throes of panic. His chest was
shaken by rapid, violent breaths, and his heart seemed to want to explode out of his rib cage
as he desperately tried to make sense of all the information that was tearing through his mind
like the claws of a monster. His captain was there, alive and well after he had seen him
pierced through from side to side by the Tyrant's arm at Spencer Manor, and if a revolting
part of him longed to feel relief, perhaps even joy, all the rest screamed and flailed in a
maelstrom of hatred and resentment. All the faces of his dead S.T.A.R.S. friends flashed
before his eyes, which soon ended up staring at the horrible scene before him.
"A-Alfred!" He uttered in a broken, feeble voice. His sweet friend lay on the stairs,
motionless, white in the face, his eyes closed and a trickle of blood running down from his
elegant thin lips. The last thing he had done was to clutch against his chest the head of his
beloved sister, which was still leaking blood from the white severed neck and soaking, even
more, the elegant dress that was now no longer violet but a dark crimson akin to black.
Albert's mouth curved into an annoyed expression and he frowned.
"You see me come back from the dead and your first word is Alfred?" He asked him in a hiss.
In receiving no answer he slowly advanced a couple of steps. "Enlighten me, Chris, what
magic trick did the little cunt use to make you an Umbrella militiaman?" His tone was now
calm, almost curious but with a cruel undertone that Chris knew more than well.
His captain was disappointed, but this time he didn't give a shit.
He put his hand to his holster and gripped the revolver, pointing it at him with the safety off
and his finger already on the trigger.
Wesker stopped a couple of steps away from him and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Really?" He asked him. "I thought what we had was special."
This was enough to increase Chris's trembling but more importantly to make him hesitate. As
much as he hated the man with every fiber of his being, as much as he had repeated to
himself that there had never been any 'we' and as much as this had been confirmed to him by
both Leon and Alfred, the fact that his captain had used we destabilized him. Why was a part
of him so crazy that he still wanted to have hope in him after all that death and madness?
Because you are in love with him. The voice in his head answered him.
Before he could feel dirty and ashamed of such horror, he grunted in pain when Albert
grabbed his wrist and deflected it forcefully, causing his shot to end against one of the display
cases, which shattered, flooding the stairs and floor with liquid that swept over the bodies of
the Ashford twins. Out of pure instinct, Chris hit him in the face with a backhand, sending his
sunglasses flying off.
And at that point, the real nightmare began.
Instead of the glacial, beautiful blue eyes that had so impressed him that evening long before,
in the office locker room, were two monstrous iridescent orange eyes that danced like flames
with a serpentine pitch-black sharp pupil in the center. They were not the eyes of a human
being but those of a monster!
He lost the revolver while he tried to wriggle out of his grip but all he got was Wesker's hand,
which, as if made of steel, tightened even more on his forearm. His captain seemed
enraptured by the situation and his sneer made the blood run cold in his veins. He wanted to
shout at him how much he hated him and how disgusted he was with him but could not find
the courage, terrified and devastated as he was.
"Oh, Chris..." Albert whispered, hissing the s as he had done a thousand other times. "Poor,
poor Chris. I bet you're realizing the mistake you made, aren't you?" He lifted his free hand to
stroke his neck, going up to the base of his chin, delighting in how his protégé tried to retract
like a scornful damsel. He sighed and, for a moment, his eyes glowed a vermilion, menacing
red.
"L-let me go!" Chris would have liked to sound authoritative or at least a bit confident, but
what came out of his throat was little more than a trembling groan. He was immediately
taken back to his nightmare when his sick mind had fantasized about being sexually assaulted
by his captain and he had seen himself for the first time for what he really was. Nothing more
than a scared kid.
"Chris, Chris, Chris..." Albert sighed, shaking his head like a displeased father. "What am I to
do with you? You are so pathetic that you make me look like a bad instructor." Slowly he
began to increase the pressure with which he was squeezing his forearm.
Chris yelped in pain and tried to break the grip by yanking back but everything he did was
completely useless. Despite his size, he had not been able to move Wesker even a millimeter.
"Don't be such a baby now, you know perfectly well how much I detest my expectations
being disregarded," his captain continued, repeating the same rebuke he had given him
hundreds of times. "Maybe I haven't been hard enough on you," he speculated, pensively,
feeling Chris's bones crunch between his fingers. "Yes, I think I should have been more-
What he was saying was covered by the high-pitched squeal from Chris, who crumpled in on
himself as his radius and ulna snapped cleanly. He collapsed to his knees trembling and, in
shock, clutched his broken arm to his chest, gasping in pain.
"Oh, dear," Albert chuckled, "I seem to have broken my toy, what a pity."
Chris gave him a look that was at once hurt and terrified then, as if he had wings on his feet,
got up and scampered away.
Wesker smiled and shrugged his shoulders. The little traitor couldn't go anywhere, and he
was far from finished with him. However, he first approached one of the freezers and opened
it wide, beginning to examine the blood tubes inside. "Here you are," he commented, taking
one. He turned it over in his hands, caressing the label with his eyes: "William Birkin 1983."
With extreme care, he placed it in a small cooler next to the T-Veronica sample he had
collected from the late Lady Ashford's blood and clipped it to his belt.
"Now I can give you my full attention, Chris. I hope you have treasured the little advantage I
have given you. Ready or not, here I come."
He left the room without looking back but, more importantly, without noticing that Alfred's
hand, still clasped in his sister's hair, had twitched.
Leon woke up with a heavy head and realized that he was being carried by a soldier dressed
in black. Another walked beside them, taking care to keep his flashlight low so as not to be
detected. He was also talking quietly on the radio.
"Target in custody. Prepare a helicopter downstream for extraction. We'll be there in half an
hour."
Leon did not move, trying to glean a little more information before making his move.
"What's so special about this fucker?" Asked the guy who was carrying him, clearly younger
than the other.
"Keep your voice down," the superior scolded him, looking around circumspectly. He was
tense but Leon didn't know exactly what for. Perhaps he did not want to find himself face-to-
face with Nicholai. "Besides, orders are not to be questioned. Lord Ashford wants this man,
we take him to him. The end. Stop being so curious or you'll find yourself in a pile of shit
sooner or later." There was affection in his harsh tone, the same one Nicholai had often
addressed to him in their training sessions. Certainly, the two of them were not a couple, but
their relationship was clearly that of commander and rookie. This made him hesitate. It was
one thing to shoot monsters who had now lost their humanity - and at first it had been
difficult to do even that - but hurting people was still a difficult choice for Leon to make.
Nevertheless, he took action anyway. Quickly and suddenly he slipped the knife from the belt
of the soldier who was carrying him and plunged it into his arm, causing him to lose his grip,
and wringing a squeal out of him. Like the cat he was, he landed on his feet and sprinted into
the middle of the woods, mindful of all the warnings Nicholai had given him about how
unprepared he was for a hand-to-hand confrontation with a trained soldier, let alone two but
he could beat them at speed and the darkness would help him. He heard a shot but the bullet
did not even fly near him, so he kept running.
"Damn fool!" He heard the commander thunder in the distance. "Lord Ashford wants him
alive and well! Do you have a death wish?!"
Leon had no idea who the fuck Lord Ashford was but the interest was certainly not mutual.
He kept running until he found the trail the duo had left in the snow and followed it a few
more steps before sticking the knife in his belt, clinging to the low branches of a tree, and
climbing up.
The two soldiers came running over and stopped just below where the tracks blended.
"Where the fuck is he?!" Hissed the younger one, continuing to turn around frantically.
The commander grabbed him firmly by the shoulders. "Now we'll find him but you need to
calm down."
"That asshole stabbed me!" Protested the rookie.
"I already told you to lower your-
He did not even have time to finish the sentence when two muffled gunshots downed, in a
split second, both him and his subordinate.
Leon gasped, unprepared but not moving from where he was. It could have been Nicholai but
he wanted to be absolutely sure.
There were several moments of absolute silence with the flashlight shining on the
commander's surprised face from which a trickle of blood flowed out of the hole in the center
of his forehead. Then something hard struck the trunk of the tree on which Leon had climbed
and broke it. He managed to jump down but, this time rolled in the snow with a grunt. He
wanted to get to his feet right away and run off into the dark before whatever was there shot
him too but a big, heavy hand grabbed him by the scruff of his aviator jacket, lifting him off
the ground as if he were really nothing more than a kitten. He tried to strike behind him with
an elbow, impacting against a chest as hard as granite, and when he turned to peek he was
confronted with the blank, dead eyes of a Tyrant.
"This was a deplorably short hunt," commented a voice in the darkness with an accent even
more pronounced than Nicholai's. Leon heard heavy footsteps approaching and glimpsed the
massive silhouette of a man stooping to pick up the flashlight from the bodies of the two dead
soldiers.
He already knew who it was, but his tension heightened when he could finally see him.
Colonel Sergei Vladimir was gigantic, with the same stature and might as a Tyrant. His face
was also horribly familiar and reminded him of those monsters although it was, if possible,
even more full of scars. One eye was clearly blind while the other was alert and cruel, and he
too had silver hair that shone in the pale beam of the flashlight.
"Игорь, иди на дачу, убей всех, но приведи сюда Серебряного Волка живым," Sergei
ordered the Tyrant, before turning a wicked sneer on the kid. "Я хочу, чтобы он увидел."
Leon did not understand everything, but he grasped enough to know that the son of a bitch
had told the Tyrant to go to the house, so when Igor let go, he put his hand on the knife. He
had it unsheathed and was ready to vibrate it forward when Sergei struck him in the abdomen
with a vicious kick while he was still in midair. He plummeted into the snow in a fetal
position with the air completely blown out of his chest as the monster quickly moved away.
Nevertheless, he still tried to struggle until a punch as powerful as a truck launched at full
speed crashed down on his face, causing the lights to go out again.
"Oh no, no no," the colonel told him, lifting him by the hair. "I want you awake."
Chris ran completely blind without having the faintest idea where he was going and without
being able to ask himself. He was not really thinking and was so panicked that he did not
even feel the pain of his broken arm. Instinct had completely taken over him, commanding
every fiber of his being to run as fast and far away as possible. Even his hatred and desire for
revenge seemed to have been completely swept away by terror.
He slipped into an elevator and desperately pressed the button for ascent, managing to draw a
painful breath only when the doors closed behind him. He leaned his shoulders against the
wall, and, as he managed to calm down, the more intense almost unbearable the pain in his
arm became. He tried to move his right hand but this only caused a twinge so intense that he
cried out. With a trembling body, he threw a fist with his left at the elevator wall and gasped,
fatigued and with blurred vision. He had to find a place to hide and seek help but from whom,
now that Alfred was dead? He was alone!
Alfred was dead.
A wave of shame swept over him. He had not only failed to protect his friend but had also
run away like a coward from his murderer! He was a useless brat who could do nothing just
like in his nightmare!
There is no way out. He realized but doing so scared him far less than it should have. He was
not surprised; after all, he had come to the conclusion that he had lived on borrowed time
ever since he had set foot outside Villa Spencer. He did not deserve to be alive, and the
horrible atrocities he had committed in Raccoon City had been nothing more than yet another
demonstration of this inescapable truth. He agreed to die, but if he had to, he would take that
horrible monster down to the depths of hell with him once and for all.
When the elevator doors opened, as desperate as he was, he had a plan and he intended to put
it into action.
With blurred vision, he staggered on down a narrow corridor lit by cold neon lights until he
reached a door and grunted in pain as he tried to pull the magnetic card out of his pocket with
his left hand. He swiped it over the sensor, drenched in sweat and feeling his head whirling
violently, and ahead of him, anticipated by a mechanical sound, the secret passageway
opened, taking him back to the terrace.
In being lashed by the icy wind and pouring rain even his convictions faltered. Did he really
want to die? How many things would he leave undone? He would never have a chance to
apologize to his sister or Jill or to see Leon again and get things right. Besides, Alfred would
have been tremendously displeased by his death, after all the work he had done to get him
back on his feet.
And he didn't want to die.
He felt it was right for him to die but he didn't want to.
Not anymore.
Maybe there was another way. Maybe…
He could not even finish the thought that a violent kick caught him in the middle of the back
sending him flying to the ground several feet away. He landed right on his broken arm, which
sustained even more damage, and cried he out in pain even before he noticed that the broken
fragment of his ulna had pierced his flesh and was now peeking out of his skin, white and
bloody.
"Yet I thought I told you somewhere along the line never to let your guard down. A little time
in this dump and you forgot everything I showed you. That's not how it goes, Chris," Wesker
commented as he strolled lightly beside him. He bent down to lift him by his short brown
hair. "But I bet you won't forget this lesson," he whispered in his ear.
Chris levered his legs up and threw himself at him, confusing him, but Albert understood his
intentions when he heard the sound of the safety catch of a grenade being slipped off.
Immediately he snatched it from his hand, threw it far away and then leaped to the ground
with him just as the device exploded in midair. A few fragments lodged in his back but he
gave it no particular thought. He would heal quickly. Very quickly.
He giggled. "Okay, I'll give you credit, this was some good thinking," he congratulated him,
taking sadistic pleasure in lying on top of him but, more importantly, in his frustrated, pained
expression. God, he was almost getting him a boner. "But not nearly hard enough," he
concluded, roughly caressing his face drenched in sweat, blood, and dirt.
"Get off of me!" Chris grunted, trying to retreat in disgust.
"Oh, you hurt my feelings!" Albert chided him, settling better between his legs and pulling
his head back by his hair. "I never wanted to indulge my urges about you but hell if you're
making it hard for me," he purred on his neck. "Will you tell me something I'm curious
about? Do you like blonds or psychopaths?"
Chris, despite the all-consuming pain in which his entire body was enveloped, distinctly felt
the hardness of his cock pressing against his groin, which terrified him even more. "Get off of
me! Get off of me! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" He cried out, trying to push him away but,
again, failing.
Albert's sneer widened and he purposely thrust his hips forward. "Oh, I will," he whispered,
stroking the skin beneath his ear with his lips. "And do you know why? Because if I fuck
you, you might even like it, you filthy submissive pig."
With that said, he lifted himself up and, in doing so, the small case in which he had placed the
test tubes came off his belt but he did not even realize it, intoxicated as he was by the thrill of
his total victory. Chris, however, noticed it and grabbed it with his healthy hand before
crumpling into a fetal position, trembling.
"Who said you could move?" Wesker asked him, amused, before bringing a foot down on the
side of his leg. His femur snapped cleanly as if it were a stick and Chris howled in pain,
losing his grip on the case that opened. Still, when he focused on what was written on one of
the test tubes, he began to laugh, mad and hysterical, even louder than he had done in the
secret lab at Villa Spencer.
Albert frowned, taken aback and equally annoyed. He hated being made fun of. "Have you
lost your mind yet? What's so funny?"
Chris carried on his hoarse laughter for a few more moments before casting him a glance. "I
control the winds," he said, quoting the Greek myth about Apollo, Hyacinth, and Zephyrus
that Mr. Harman had told him in what seemed like another lifetime. "And I know how to
make the gods weep!" He gave him a glimpse of the vial with Birkin's blood, before
clenching his fist and shattering it. He didn't know what his monster of a captain wanted to do
with it, whether to clone his dear Will or who knows what other horrible experiment, but he
certainly couldn't anymore. He was not strong enough to kill him, but Wesker would never
forget that wound, and Chris also hoped it would never heal and continue to devour his soul
as all his dead S.T.A.R.S. comrades, the citizens of Raccoon City and, last but not least, Scott
and Alfred mauled his.
Leon awoke, cold and in pain, with his arms and ankles tied and the flashlight beam glaring
into the only eye he had managed to open because the left one was already too swollen from
the punch he had received.
Colonel Vladimir was crouched in front of him with an expression filled with disgust as if he
were looking at a revolting insect or, worse, an excrement.
"I've wasted so much time nursing the sick inclinations of that traitorous son of a bitch, and
then you come along, with your little face, and ruin everything," he told him.
"Пошел ты!" Snarled Leon, spitting in his face.
Sergei slapped him so hard that he crashed to the side in the snow.
"Don't insult my sacred language with that filthy American mouth of yours!" He scolded him,
brimming with venom.
Leon moved his hands, trying to free himself but they were bound very tightly. He groaned
when the colonel grabbed him by the hair to pull him up.
"You know, I wonder if he'll still like you when I'm done with you," Sergei told him,
swinging the sharp blade of his long knife in front of his eyes. "Still no fear? That's
impressive," he commented.
And it was true. Leon was not feeling any fear. Not at the prospect of being tortured and
killed. He had been there before and certainly nothing worse could happen than what Irons
had done to him in Raccoon City. He knew, to some extent, that this wasn't normal, nor
healthy but he felt... Empty.
"Let's start with something simple," the colonel urged him, yanking his hair back violently,
"who the fuck are you?"
"Why? So you can write my obituary? How sweet of you!" Leon retorted, acidly.
Sergei, who was not expecting a joke, laughed heartily. "You crazy American. Better men
would have already crapped their pants in your place, including your filthy lover. At your
age, he whined like a little girl when we punished him. He begged for mercy but, alas,
treatment and re-education were necessary."
"Sadistic son of a bitch!" Leon, blinded by rage, kicked him with tied feet, levering against
the trunk behind him to try to gather as much power as possible, and struck him full in the
face, knocking him off balance in the snow.
Sergei raised himself up with a bloody nose, clearly broken, but he did not even wince, as if
completely impervious to pain. Nicholai had also always shown incredible resilience but not
at that level. Leon saw him chuckle and spit more blood on the ground.
"You are an interesting recruit. I would treat you too, if you were Russian but you are an
American pig. A purolent pustule without honor or values. Besides, you are my card to get
back at that dog. I will ask you again. What is your name?"
Leon did not answer, and the colonel pounced on him. "Never mind. He will tell me. He will
tell me everything and then he will die," he hissed at him, clamping his neck with his forearm
from behind. "Lesson one: a man shouldn't wear his hair this long, you dirty little whore!" He
scolded him, then with the knife began to summarily cut it off, dropping its long blond locks
into the snow. Leon tried to wriggle out but the arm on his windpipe was slowly choking him,
causing him to lose strength. "There, much better, you almost look like a man,” the colonel
commented with satisfaction, pushing him back against the tree. "Don't you think so?" He
asked him, using his long knife as a makeshift mirror.
Leon looked in horror at his unevenly cut hair, some strands so short they showed his scalp,
others less than half an inch long, and, as absurd and ridiculous as it was, he felt like crying.
He had always worn it long to use it as a shield, and now he felt stripped bare.
"Are you wavering already? What are you going to do when I’ll be cutting chunks of flesh
out of you?" He teased him, returning to crouch in front of him. "I guess I'll start with an
eye."
Wesker stood motionless for a long moment as if he too were suddenly one of the wonderful
neoclassical statues that graced the terrace.
Chris knew he was about to die and that it was no longer a matter of whether he wanted to or
not, assuming it ever was. Tears filled his eyes as he continued to laugh hysterically. Before
the events at Villa Spencer he had never thought that he could be willfully cruel, much less
that he could take satisfaction in being so but, for that matter, he had also never believed that
he could be betrayed so completely by someone he had loved so ardently. Yet, as he saw his
captain's massive yet slender chest shaken by the stirrings of purest wrath, and his monstrous
eyes grow increasingly vermilion, he felt that he had won. Yes, his body was broken as well
as his heart, but his spirit remained standing more stubbornly than ever, fueled by that love
which, now, had completely transformed into an even more powerful feeling: hatred.
And it was mutual.
Wesker's first reaction was purely animalistic when he lunged at him, crushing his ribs with
such force that it shattered them. The kick hit him with such force that when Chris impacted
against the balustrade he smashed through it and only by a miracle did not end up off the
cliff. Then his captain dragged him back by his unbroken arm and in doing so cracked his
humerus. Chris looked at him, barely conscious and although he felt suffocated because he
could hardly breathe, he grinned, triumphant.
Albert was on top of him again, shaken by a tremor of blind rage. "They are coming," he
hissed, looking straight at that detestable sneer, "Jill, your little sister Claire, Barry, even
Rebecca." He explained, seeing it disappear and be supplanted by fear. "Oh, yes, Chris. I've
intercepted their radio communications, they should be almost here by now! I'll destroy
everything you love and I'll be laughing when I rip their hearts out!" He pulled his arm back
but before he could lower it to smash through his chest Chris glimpsed a flicker of red light
wrapped in immense heat pass over his head and Wesker was ripped off of him.
Slowly and painfully Chris turned his head and did not immediately realize what was in front
of him because his vision was blurred and his breathing weak and hissing. A slender,
diaphanous figure towered above his captain, completely naked except for protuberances
resembling the shoots of a large climbing plant that glowed in gold. It had its back turned and
instead of long hair had what appeared to be flowers and foliage. Wesker looked as dismayed
as he was, and when he tried to fight back his arm was blocked as if it were nothing. All his
strength was futile.
"We share 99 percent of our DNA, you deplorable oaf!" Thundered the creature. "And you
will burn for what you have done!" A bundle of flames burst from his forearm, enveloping
Wesker, who cried out in pain.
"A-Alfr... ed?" Groaned Chris, so relieved and moved to know that he was alive though...
mutated.
His dear friend turned his gaze, showing a pair of yellow eyes on his ephebic face. His
expression became pained. "I swear to you that you will live and justice will take its course,"
he promised him in that sweet, caressing voice of his.
His distraction, however, allowed Wesker to hit him and get him off his back. Once Albert
was free, horribly burned on half his face and body, he did not attempt to fight in a fight that
he clearly could not win, so he darted to the side.
"You love him? Then go get him!" He shouted, full of rancor, catching up to Chris with
superhuman speed and throwing him against the damaged balustrade and thus, off the cliff.
Chris gasped as gravity embraced his battered body and closed his eyes. This is it. He thought
but in spite of everything he was happy that Alfred was alive, he loved him so much and it
was such a sweet note with which to leave life. Also, Claire, Jill, and the others would be
safe.
Then, before he crashed on the rocky beach he felt himself being grabbed and heard the warm
hum of insect wings. When he opened his eyes again he had been laid softly on the pebbles
and if most of his bones had not been broken and one of his lungs punctured, he would have
felt even more at peace. He could hardly still feel pain and everything was becoming muffled.
He focused on Alfred, lying on top of him, even lighter than he had ever been but also more
magnificent. His eyes were golden and transparent wings had sprouted from his back, shining
with a thousand colours in the light of the impending dawn. The arrow with which Wesker
had stabbed him was still stuck in his chest.
"I told you I wouldn't let you fall," he heard him say softly. "You'll forgive me if I'm not a
unicorn," he joked, touched, remembering the exchange they had had the first time they had
ridden the rickety cliff lift.
"Y-you... Did you kill-
"No, you are far more important than revenge," Alfred retorted, stroking his face with the
same hand with which, had he wished, he could incinerate him. Then, suddenly, he yelped in
pain and his body was shaken by violent convulsions. Chris did not have the strength to lift
his shoulders to peek but he realised that something was happening to his body. Something
bad.
His beloved friend collapsed on top of him and clutched at him, almost in an embrace. "Too
fast, too fast, too fast!" He groaned, suffering, before rising up sharply, inhaling in agony. "I-I
have to go..." he stammered in a voice that was already fading from its humanity. "B-before I
lose myself. Play for me... when it rains."
"No!" Chris grunted but, with a flap of his wings Alfred soared into the sky. He turned his
golden eyes in the direction of the rapidly approaching helicopter, fighting the bestial urge to
attack it. Chris's friends were on board. His only hope.
"I promised I wouldn't be long. I'm coming, Alexia," he whispered. Then he looked one last
time towards his friend lying on the beach and smiled through his tears, before clutching the
arrow between his fingers and ripping it from his chest. A gush of blood burst from his
wound and immediately caught fire on contact with the air.
"What the fuck is that?!" Barry, who was piloting the helicopter, asked.
Jill looked forward. "I don't know but go straight at it and be ready to shoot everything we've
got!"
"Roger that..."
Chris unable to move, kept his eyes on Alfred, who was a swirl of vermilion flames in the
austral red sky, as beautiful as the red dragonfly that had landed on him in the winter garden
just before they kissed. He had never been religious but that vision was as close to an angel
as he could ever imagine. Still, he wondered as his vision grew darker and Alfred's body
crumbled into sparks while he fell back towards him, if that was heaven why did it hurt so
much?
Chapter End Notes
Hello again, my darlings!

As always, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers,
and bookmarkers!
Let's start with the summary:
On Leon's part: Leon is captured by Alfred's men who would like to take him away, but
he manages to free himself and escape. While on the run his pursuers of Rockfort Island
are killed by Sergei Vladimir and his Tyrant. The colonel instructs the Tyrant (Igor) to
go and kill everyone in the house, then begins to lightly torture Leon and cut his hair
(he's going easy because he's waiting for Nicholai).
As for Chris's part: Wesker tortures him, physically and psychologically. He literally
breaks a lot of his bones and punctures his lung but, during the torture, Chris still
manages to destroy a vial of Birkin's blood that Wesker had taken from the lab. Before
Wesker, in a rage, can kill him, Alfred, mutated by the virus in his sister's blood,
intervenes and kicks his ass. Wesker, in order to escape, throws Chris off the cliff and
Alfred, diving in to save him, sprouting insect wings. On the beach, they have a brief
exchange, but Alfred's mutation is happening too fast, so he soars off and, ripping the
arrow from his chest, sets his blood on fire, signaling Chris's location to Barry, Jill,
Claire, and Rebecca who are flying over in a helicopter.
Okay, now that I have finished the summary I must confess that I did a little experiment
with this chapter, namely to abruptly interrupt each part at the moment of greatest
tension in a kind of alternate montage. The goal was to create a state of anxiety with
exponential increase but I don't know if I succeeded. You tell me, if you like, and if it
was annoying, I apologize in advance.
I cannot say anything at all about Leon's part because much has yet to happen, except
that his fearlessness and unflappability in the face of danger will be a characteristic he
will carry with him.
Regarding Chris's, however, I confess that I was literally sobbing when I wrote the final
part this afternoon. Even Leon (the cat) came over to check on me to make sure I was all
right and to this moment he is sticking to me like a clam. I loved Alfred so much and, of
course, it was never my intention to give him a short, anonymous death like the one in
the last chapter. That was a red herring so I could give him, in this chapter, all the stage
and that's also why I ended the chapter with just his death. In one of the early chapters of
this arc, Alfred had told Chris that he wished he could die saving someone he loved, and
I would say he did. I also told you to keep in mind the red dragonfly.
I promise you, knowing with extreme anticipation that this would be his end did not
make it any easier for me.
Of course, I guess it seems clearer to everyone now why there will be a hiatus of several
years at the end of this arc. Chris is alive but barely, and the injuries he sustained are not
the kind to be healed in a week in the hospital and a peck on the cheek.
Thank you so much for everything as always and see you next week for the painful
conclusion of this arc.
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 79
Chapter Notes
Leon did not wince and he continued to glare at him. The prospect of losing an eye scared
him, sure, but he didn't want to give that sadistic piece of shit the satisfaction of seeing him
cry or beg for mercy.
This attitude of his, however, did not bother Sergei; on the contrary, it amused him. The little
fag had guts to spare and would be an interesting creature to vivisect. After all, he didn't have
to kill him right away. He just had to hurt him enough to punish his dog. After that, he could
keep the American as a toy to see how long he would last before he died of pain, gangrene, or
hardship. He seemed to have a stronger temperament than Nicholai had had at the time but
his constitution did not seem as resilient. Yet, just as when he had pulled his little dog out of
that well where he had been left to croak in that forgotten labor camp, he realized perfectly
well that he was looking at an individual with interesting potential. It was such a shame to
have had to sacrifice poor Igor for Umbrella's scientific progress. Of all his clones he had
certainly been the most effective. He would have had so much fun with that kid in his hands.
What a pity indeed!
He incised a small cut under his left eye, millimetric and superficial. He smiled as he saw
him have a weak jolt and heard his breath break.
"You know, little American, many people think that torture is just a matter of inflicting as
much pain as possible to bend another person, when in fact it is a form of art." He explained,
widening the incision very slightly as a drop, like a tear of blood, trickled down the kid's
cheekbone. "You don't get anywhere by starting with brutality, breaking bones, cutting limbs
- that's the work of novice butchers. Too much pain can lead to insanity but a good torturer
wants his victim to remain lucid and present. Not only to get information but also to… Let's
say, appreciate the journey." He took the knife away and licked the tip. "You may think you
are very strong but, I guarantee you, you will break."
"Burning half Nicholai's back was starting off slow, asshole?" Leon growled, again trying to
hit him with a kick. This time, however, Sergei preceded him with a slap to the face,
knocking him over.
"Niet, niet, niet!" The colonel exclaimed, continuing his explanation as if that were a normal
conversation. "See, you don't understand the difference. Yours is torture, his was
punishment," he clarified, pulling him up out of the snow. "I don't know how it works for
inferior freaks like you, but I really think you would have wanted to burn it out of his flesh,
too, if you had seen it. It was... How can I explain it? A manifesto of eternal love between
him and that other revolting coward who had begged him to shoot him. Oh, da," he
commented, seeing a surprised light illuminate that little bitch's hostile expression. "He told
me all about it. I don't think he remembers it, though. Igor had gone hard on him. He had
almost killed him with hypothermia. In the delirium of fever, little Kolenka sobbed for days
that there would never be forgiveness for him and that no punishment would ever be enough
to erase the stain of his sin from his soul. He still believed in God, like the superstitious lout
he was, but I also erased that horrible flaw." He sighed, contrite, and his gaze grew sharper.
"He was my masterpiece before you, with your western lasciviousness, corrupted him, and
now I have to slaughter him as is done to a wayward dog."
Leon felt himself seething with anger but did his best not to react too blatantly. The asshole
really loved the sound of his own voice and the longer he stayed with him talking shit, the
safer the others could get. That was his only concern. He did not want Nicholai to get into the
clutches of that monster again and prayed that he was not looking for him.
"You call Mitia a coward," he retorted, straightening his shoulders, "and yet, big and strong
as you are, you felt the urge to tie me up. Who is the chicken, Sergeyushka?"
The colonel laughed genuinely amused by the imbecile's lack of judgment. A kitten trying to
roar at a polar bear. He wasn't very smart but he sure had balls of steel. He grabbed him by
the back of the head and sank his face hard into the snow. "Second lesson: don't make up
words. The nickname you were looking for to insult me is Seryozha," he explained with the
patience of a teacher while Leon's body was shaken by spasms because he was drowning in
fresh snow.
He held him down like this for about a minute before pulling him up, and as Leon gasped,
coughing painfully to catch his breath, he cut the ropes that locked his wrists and ankles.
"You want a fight?" He asked him with a malevolent laugh. "Then get up, pup!"
Leon managed to roll to the side just in time to avoid one of his stomping feet and, still short
of breath, got back on. He considered running away - which, in fact, had been his plan all
along - but the distance between them was too little and the risk of him grabbing him or
shooting him in the back was too great. He wanted to stall him as long as possible.
"Here," Sergei chuckled, throwing his long knife at his feet. "Go ahead, take it. If you can
make me shed even a drop of blood, I'll free you. You have my word," he urged him with a
sinister light on his evil face.
Leon slowly bent down without taking away from him the only eye he could keep open and
clutched the handle of the knife.
Without warning he lunged forward, vibrating the weapon in front of him. The colonel,
unimpressed, hurled to the side at the last instant, causing him to crash into the tree behind
him.
"Now try again like you mean it," he taunted him.
Leon tossed a blow behind his own back without looking, missing the target by a wide
margin.
You're getting carried away by your emotions. Nicholai's teachings came to his rescue.
Remember your training, Lev.
He moved a step back, taking a deep breath, searching for the right calm not so much to kill
him - he knew perfectly well there was no chance in hell - but to take as long as possible to
die.
Sherry was insistently looking out the large living room window, curled up on the sofa
wrapped in blankets. She had had a bad crying fit and now felt guilty for acting like a
wayward brat. She missed her daddy tremendously, and the only thing she wanted was for the
people around her to stay near her and love her. She knew Leon had his reasons for not being
able to do that but sometimes it seemed like he didn't try at all and that made her so angry.
Carlos had done his very best to console her but she had not wanted to hear reasons. Of
course, she would not say anything to Leon's face because she had promised Nicholai to keep
it a secret but she felt that a rift had been created between the two of them and she feared that
it would never heal.
In the grip of those bad thoughts, she frowned when she thought she saw movement outside.
She got off the couch and walked over to the glass pressing her small hands to the surface
and widening her big blue eyes.
"Oh no!" She gasped when a gust of wind shifted the clouds and the moon illuminated a
figure that was approaching the house in great strides. It was not Leon. It was not Nicholai,
either. He was bigger and... not human.
She sprinted toward Carlos, who was warmly fixing dinner for when the two lovebirds
returned and grabbed him with a firm, panic-filled grip by the arm.
"There's a monster outside!" She groaned.
He turned a gentle smile on her. "Estrellita, you fell asleep on the couch and had a night-
"No!" she squealed, tugging him roughly. "I saw him! He is more than six feet tall and bald!
He's coming! He was outside the window! There!"
Carlos stiffened it was possible it was nothing but, if Sherry was right, he had to get ready
right away.
"Stay behind me," he told her, "and if I tell you to run, you run, understand? "
"Y-yes!" She squeaked tremblingly. "Why is this happening again?" She then asked,
resuming crying. "I can't lose anyone else!"
"Go put on your jacket and shoes." He ignored her, quickly opening a chest that Nicholai had
set up at the end of the hall and filled with weapons. He hooked an assault rifle to his chest
and picked up a shotgun, keeping an eye on the window. There was no movement but now he
too felt that tension that always preceded an attack. He had experienced that feeling countless
times and it always was as if the air changed smell and acquired an iron taste of blood. It
made him want to vomit but this was no time to lose his mind behind bullshit; rather, he had
to once again bring out the soldier in him and fight tooth and nail.
Long, interminable moments passed, nothing approached from the window and he was
almost about to give in to the hope that poor Sherry had imagined it all when he heard a
violent blow smash the front door at the same time as a shriek from her.
He saw her rush back and, since he was still in front of the chest, he sank his hands in and
grabbed a grenade.
"He's coming in! He's coming in!" She screamed.
"Behind the sofa! Now!" He ordered her, before taking off the safety catch and throwing the
explosive around the corner, hoping that neither Leon nor Nicholai were back there.
The dull wheezing roar that overpowered the breaking of the wood made the blood run cold
in his veins because he recognized it. It was the same inhuman cry as the thing he had been
chased by at the police station and that had followed them to the orphanage: a Tyrant.
Without any more qualms, he threw, one after another, all the five grenades in the crate.
The monster still emerged from the cloud of dust, smoke, and shrapnel that had risen,
staggering and wounded but still advancing. Carlos unloaded all the shots from the shotgun at
it until he saw it collapse to its knees. Frantically, he stuffed as much ammunition as he could
into his pants pockets.
"Stay back, he's not dead!" He intimated to Sherry when he saw her peeking out from behind
the couch, then picked up an incendiary grenade and twisted it between his fingers, uncertain.
"Open the window and get out."
"And you?" She said, tremendously distressed.
"I'll be right back." He hurried to tell but only when she was safely outside did he prepare and
throw the incendiary grenade at the Tyrant who was immediately enveloped in fire that
quickly spread throughout the living room.
Leon staggered, groggy from yet another slap he had suffered, and had to lean against a tree
to stay on his feet. The colonel had never attacked him first. No, he kept deflecting his
clumsy thrusts like a predator toying with its prey.
"I notice he tried to train you," sneered the colonel in acknowledging his every technique.
"Apparently he must have forgotten to tell you that if your opponent is stronger, you must be
faster!" He sprinted forward to hit him with a punch. Leon was only able to partially dodge it,
and the swiping blow he received to the shoulder almost sent him sprawling. When he
glimpsed the second one coming, his instincts took over. He rushed a small leap back and
vibrated the knife through the air in a smooth, circular motion, hitting the target.
Something fell in the snow, and only after a few moments did Leon realize that he had
cleanly chopped off the tip of his little finger.
Sergei began to laugh as if it were something extremely funny. "Прекрасно, щенок!" He

complimented him, impressed but Leon had no intention of standing there and listening to his
bullshit.
That was his chance.
He moved quickly to the side and then sprinted off but it was in vain. The colonel was on him
with unexpected swiftness, way before he reached the right momentum, and, after grabbing
him by the collar unbalanced him forward, sending him tumbling into the snow. Before Leon
could even think of getting back up, Sergei clamped his neck from behind with his forearm in
a steel grip.
He tried to hit him with his elbows and wriggle out of it, but he seemed to be struggling
against a statue, unbreakable, numb, and immovable. Desperately he tried to stretch his hand
toward the knife that had fallen not far from him but still beyond his reach.
"I am a man who keeps his word," the colonel said in his ear. "At first, I thought I was freeing
you from your miserable life but now..." He paused, slightly fatigued because the kid was
really putting up a fight. "But now," he started again, settling down better and resuming
choking him, "I had a better idea. I'm going to take you with me, rid you of all the filth that
made you a beacon of immorality, and re-educate you without making the same mistakes I
did with that filthy dog of a lover of yours. You'll even forget you're a fucking American
when I'm done with you. I also have your new name ready for when you stop being a pussy,
Снежный Барс. What do you think?
That prospect was a nightmare and for the first time since he had been in the colonel's
presence, Leon felt fear. At the point of exhaustion and almost passed out, he desperately
tried to prop himself up with his feet on the ground and pushed. He was surprised when he
sensed the colonel fly back and let go but realized what had happened when he was
inadvertently kicked away by the fight that was just beginning.
He had not gotten that monster off of him, Nicholai had ripped him off.
"No!" He uttered with a faint edge to his voice, on seeing them with clouded eyes exchanging
blows that would probably have killed a normal man, like two beasts fighting for the kill.
He knew Nicholai was exhausted from spending all day on the cliffs, and that piece of shit
probably knew it too. He had been watching them and had chosen the best time to attack but
wondering how he had so accurately detected their location was a question for another time.
With trembling hands, he grabbed the knife and when he saw Nicholai fall to the ground after
suffering a sudden punch, he did not think for a second before rushing forward and jumping
on Sergei's back, animated by the same murderous madness that had possessed him when he
had slaughtered Irons back at the orphanage.
The colonel parried the stab directed at his neck with one arm and shrugged him off with
such power that Leon flew into a tree, knocking the back of his head hard.
When he awoke, everything was horribly silent. He brought his hands to the injury from
which blood was oozing profusely, still very fresh. He could not have been out for long but
that did not comfort him at all. He tried to get up and fell back to his knees, his legs shivering
from his wet jeans and the cold.
Get up, bitch, get the fuck up! He imposed himself, leaning against a tree to hoist himself on
his feet.
With a heart filled with anguish he moved a few wobbly steps like those of a newborn fawn,
and, with the same dismay, he tried to peer into the darkness around him.
"N-Nicholai?!" He called in a voice still hoarse from strangulation. "Nicholai?!"
No answer came from the forest, where everything was silent and frozen. "P-please answer
me!" He whimpered, feeling all the courage he had had up to that moment crumble like a
statue of salt.
He stumbled over something. A cold, stiff body, and with his hands he tried to figure out who
it was. His heart started beating again only when he felt a helmet. It was one of Ashford's
soldiers. He could not have said whether the rookie or the commander but the only thing that
mattered was that it was not Nicholai's dead body. He searched deeper and sighed with relief
at finding a flashlight and a gun. There was also an assault rifle, and although he had had a
few sessions at the range during the academy, he had never felt comfortable with heavy
weapons. In that situation, he had to be as fast as possible because that was his best quality.
The reflection of the blade of the colonel's knife shone under the beam of his flashlight but he
could not tell if it was in the spot where he had fallen. What was certain was that the blade
was stained with blood from the tip almost to the hilt.
Had he stabbed him when he had jumped on him? Yes, maybe in the arm but he wasn't sure!
He wasn't fucking sure!
It could be Nicholai's!
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" He grunted, feeling a lump close his throat and panic prevented him from
any form of clear thinking.
He couldn't lose him!
He looked around desperately, trying to figure out which direction to go but there were tracks
everywhere! He decided to follow the one where there was the most blood in the snow but
without really being sure it was the right one. How could two such massive and imposing
men disappear into thin air like that? Nicholai had trained him to be silent and more than
once Leon had even managed to surprise him but now he understood with disarming and
painful clarity what his lover meant by his tireless, 'You're not ready, Lev, give yourself time.'
His heart sank even deeper into his chest when having reached the edge of the valley, he saw,
in the distance, the house engulfed in flames. It was true that, at first, that place had seemed
isolated, uncomfortable, and hostile to him, but as the months passed he had come to
appreciate it because it was the only home where he had felt welcomed, loved, and protected
in his entire life.
It was their home. Their nest.
And now it was gone.
Was it possible that Nicholai had gone back perhaps to get weapons and was inside? Then he
remembered about the Tyrant.
"Oh God, Sherry, Carlos!"
He sprinted forward, beginning to run faster than he had ever had in the direction of the
cabin, and was a few dozen feet away when the living room wall was smashed in from the
inside by the monster who, with his body on fire, took a few steps outside before collapsing
to his knees again in the snow.
"I'll take care of you now, you son of a bitch!" Snarled Leon, turning toward the shed.
He threw open both doors in a huff and grabbed the hook with the steel rope that Nicholai
used to drag the wooden logs with the car so he could chop them close to home. He unlocked
the pulley and ran outside until he reached the Tyrant. Without wasting any time, and well
aware that that horrible thing could get back up at any moment, he wrapped the steel wire
around his chest by passing it under his armpits and secured the hook behind his back before
running right to the car again. Once inside the driver compartment, he didn't bother to
maneuver, and pressing the gas pedal to the floor, he smashed through the back wall of the
shed just as Igor was showing signs of recovery. From the rearview mirror, he saw him trying
to get back on his feet, but the tug of the cable knocked him back down on his ugly ass.
"What the fuck is he doing?" Whispered Carlos, who, from the bathroom window, was
carefully observing all that was going on outside.
"What?!" Sherry questioned, alarmed.
"Stay down," Carlos ordered her, blocking her with an arm. When he saw Leon speeding
away with the car, he knelt in front of her and pulled her into a tight bear hug. "I have to go
outside and see what that idiot Gatito is doing, but you have to stay here, okay?"
"No!" she shrieked, clutching his neck in her arms.
He tried to push her away with gentle firmness but it was no use. "I'll be right back,
Estrellita-
"I lost my daddy, I lost everything-
"You will not lose me. I promise."
Sherry nodded with tear-streaked cheeks and loosened her grip, letting him go.
Outside Leon was running toward one direction: the cliff beyond the lake shore. He had
learned a very important lesson from the Tyrants in Raccoon City. They were strong, very
tough, Nemesis was also fast but there was one thing they all had in common, they were
fucking stupid. The one tied behind the jeep was no exception, he didn't even know how to
break free and was letting himself be dragged along. He had no way to get leverage from that
position, and, should he try to rip the cable off himself, he couldn't do it without tearing his
arms off. That was why Leon had run it under his armpits. There again, he would have been
much less fearsome without two of his limbs. He continued to press the accelerator, taking
the engine to its exhaustion and exploiting the traction of the four-wheel drive to the limit.
Leon was so full of rage that he was clearly not thinking straight. He remembered that he
should slow down only when he was well beyond a rational distance from the edge of the
cliff. He pressed on the brake suddenly, having no intention of stopping the car altogether,
and flung the door wide open before launching himself out. The impact was hard and very
painful, and he rolled by feet and feet in the snow, which, fortunately, cushioned his fall
considerably.
The car flew off the cliff as he remained panting on the ground. He heard it crash, making far
less noise than he had expected, and when he found the strength to lift himself up and turn on
his flashlight he saw, to his horror, that the damned son of a bitch had clung to the edge and
with his arms half sawed off by the cable was desperately trying to climb back up. Suddenly
Leon noticed another noise that, until that moment, he had completely ignored. The blades of
an approaching helicopter. A large beam of light illuminated the Tyrant and someone on
board fired on him with a Gatling, causing him, finally, to lose his grip and plummet down
with the car.
"We are not hostile!" Exclaimed a voice from the helicopter using a megaphone as the beam
shifted to Leon, who shielded his eyes by lifting a hand. "We are here on a rescue mission
ordered by Lord Ashford. We'll take you all to safety and then transfer you to Rockfort
Island."
Leon did not want to listen to anything else and, deaf to all pain, got to his feet and began to
run toward the woods. He had no intention of going anywhere without Nicholai, much less
on a helicopter with the Umbrella logo on the side. He heard a frustrated 'fuck' from the guy
on the megaphone but didn't stop anyway.
He had just passed the first trees when someone tackled him from the side. Completely feral,
Leon immediately drew out his knife and struck him in the face.
"Puta madre!" Carlos pulled back, letting him go, and, stumbling, ended down on the ground.
Leon stood motionless for a moment, as if unable to register what had just happened.
Then it hit him like a truck.
"Oh, no, no, no!" He groaned, rushing to him.
The other backed away, almost feeling suffocated by the sudden attention. "Easy, it's going to
close in a little while. You just grazed me and luckily missed the eye."
Leon, who had not really listened to a single word, yanked down the arm with which he was
dabbing at the cut with a hysterical, "Let me see!" He shined the flashlight in his face. Carlos
had a deep gash that went from his jaw up his cheek, continued over his nasal septum, and
ended at the opposite eyebrow. In some spots, it was almost half an inch deep.
"I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed, freaking out. "I'll go find something to medicate
you. Maybe in one of the other sheds-
Carlos grabbed his wrist, restraining his leap before he could snap away like a bullet.
"It's okay," he reassured him. "Look," he insisted, rotating the flashlight for it to return to
illuminate his face.
"W-what the fuck?" Leon stammered when he saw that, in the most superficial parts, the cut
was closing on its own. He was so surprised and relieved that he too collapsed with his ass on
the ground.
"A lasting effect of when Sherry's father infected me. Sorry," whispered Carlos,
uncomfortably, without looking up. "I wanted to tell you but... We don't know each other well
yet, and it's not an easy conversation starter. Good morning, do you know that I am a freak
with regenerative powers, can you pass me the sugar, por favor? That doesn't sound very-
He interrupted abruptly as Leon surged forward and hugged him, so happy that he hadn't
really hurt him.
"I swear, I didn't realize it was you... I-I..."
"It's okay," reiterated the other, not shooing him away. "I'm glad you're okay, too. What
happened?"
Leon moved back, sitting on his heels, and when Carlos finally brought into focus how badly
he was hurt, his heart clenched in his chest. The Cat had his beautiful golden hair butchered,
the left side of his face swollen, the right side lined with dried blood, his neck dark and
bruised, and he was wet and dirty. "W-where is...?" He dared not finish the question.
Leon broke down. "I don't know!" He cried, covering his face. "In the woods, I was caught
first by two Umbrella men and then by Colonel Vladimir... He did this to me and I... I was
trying to keep him there to give you time to escape but then Nicholai found us and they
started to fight! I-I tried to kill that monster but he knocked me out and when I woke up they
were gone! There was so much blood everywhere! I couldn't find him! I-I…” He was
hyperventilating so hard that he was forced to stop in an attempt to catch his breath.
Carlos grabbed him by the wrists again and induced him to look at him.
"Deep breaths, do as I do. In. Out. In. Out," he guided him in a calm and patient tone.
Leon nodded and did his best not to completely give in to panic.
"Now listen to me," Carlos resumed, "Sherry is hiding in the bathroom. She is fine. Now you
go to her while I look for Nicholai and-
The other broke away from him abruptly, shaking his head violently. "No!"
"Leon-"
"I can't go to her now! I have to find him! FUCK!" He screamed. Then he took another
breath, making an inhuman effort to maintain what little lucidity he had left. "You can protect
her better, and if - if Nicholai is already dead, I don't give a shit what happens to me, okay?"
"But he would!" Protested Carlos.
"Dead people don't fucking care! They're dead!" Shrieked Leon. "You promised to look after
her for me! You pro-
"I also promised him to help you if anything happened to him. Yeah, the other night when he
was explaining the weapons around the house to us and you dozed off on the bed. You should
have seen the way he was looking at you. I always knew he wasn't the frigid son of a bitch he
wanted to appear but you! You really flipped him head over heels. What I mean is that I
promised to do both, and I will. Don't make me use force, okay?"
Leon nodded, feigning meekness, but as soon as they were back on their feet, he did not
hesitate for a second to kick him in the belly which sent him crashing backward into the
snow, and then running away.
"You are a stubborn bastard, do you know that?" Carlos growled but there was little he could
do to pursue him without a flashlight. " For fuck's sake!"
"The Tyrant is probably not dead but it's going to take a while for him to come back up!"
Leon yelled back at him, disappearing into the trees. "You only kill him by destroying his
heart!"
"Yeah, thanks for the information..." Carlos snorted, standing. "Asshole!"
To this, the Shitty Cat responded no more, and Carlos let it go. There was no point in chasing
him blindly much less barefoot as he was. His regenerative skill kept his feet from freezing
but it still hurt like hell, and besides, he didn't want to get too far away from Sherry. Plus, he
had to think of a way to get them all off that fucking mountain now that the car was no longer
an option.
Leon stopped to catch his breath when he found himself back at the edge of the lake, on the
opposite side from the cliff. His breath condensed in front of his face, and his lungs burned
like wildfire. Everything hurt and he still had no idea where the fuck he should go. He felt so
guilty. If, instead of charging headlong, he had reasoned better and maybe crippled the
colonel, maybe Nicholai would have been able to kill him there and now he would not be in
that vortex of horrible anguish not knowing where he was.
He was an idiot! A fucking useless idiot!
He didn't even know quite how much time had passed since he had gone off to smoke but the
sky behind the ridge was already clearing. It was almost dawn. Daylight would make it easier
for him. He would find Nicholai and kill the son of a bitch, or die trying.
As he caught his breath and tried to gather his thoughts, stunned by all the adrenaline
pumping through his body, he saw the glimmer of a flashlight across the lake that soon
disappeared. There was a cave complex there. Nicholai had told him this when he had asked
why they never used that slope for their night training. He had also promised him that after
the thaw in the summer, he would give him a tour of them. At least as far as he himself had
explored them. It was possible that he had made himself be chased all the way up there for...
what fucking reason? He had no sheds with weapons there! There was nothing there at all!
Only trees and rocks under the summit wall!
He didn't care. Someone was there and Leon had every intention of reaching them. The
quickest way was across the frozen lake and, of course, he did not even consider going
around it. With the sound of the helicopter somewhere buzzing over his head, he reached the
shore. Last time the ice had broken because there were two of them and because Carlos had
fallen, but with only him on it would hold. It had to hold.
He began to move forward as fast as he could, almost skating on the slippery surface that
creaked beneath his feet like a giant beast that could awaken at any moment to engulf him in
an icy abyss. He was beyond the halfway point when the helicopter's beacon dazzled him.
"Leon Kennedy," the man with the megaphone admonished him, "we are here to rescue you -
He interrupted himself when he saw that the kid had resumed running like the crazy ass he
was, and, still with the megaphone on he ordered, "Let's land and get this bloody idiot, I'm
sick of it."
Leon, continued with his head down on the ice with no coherent thought able to cross his
mind anymore. Only one directive dominated him: to reach Nicholai. When he got to the
shore he turned sideways to get away from the helicopter that was landing not far away and
kept going.
Nicholai fell to the ground, exhausted and with his heart exploding in his chest. He looked at
his right thigh in the incipient light of dawn. His pants were soaked in blood, he could no
longer move his left arm, which was probably broken, and he had bruises and contusions all
over his body but he had gotten there alive and that was all that mattered.
Leon was wounded but alive, and at a safety distance, and, while playing that deadly hide-
and-seek with Sergei, he had caught a glimpse of Carlos and Sherry running away from the
burning house. He was proud of his Poodle and also knew that he had surely also already
found Leon and was keeping him from doing some shit because he had the skills and training
to pull it off, even though his Cat was a tough nut to restrain. Together they would be able to
kill the soldier on the helicopter but perhaps there would have been no need, as it was
approaching his location.
The plan was working even if he hadn't had time to share it with them.
He heard Sergei's laughter as he approached quietly and with a somewhat limp step. He, too,
had seen better days. His long military raincoat was all ripped up, his face was swollen, he
had won another bright cut across his face, and he was badly moving the arm in which Leon
had stabbed him.
"That was a fun hunt," he commented, slipping the gun off his belt and twisting the silencer
away to throw it into the snow. He wanted that execution to be heard everywhere in the
valley. "And I know you didn't run all the way here because you're a coward," he went on,
stopping a few steps away. "But if you think that you having taken me all over the valley will
keep me from going back to look for your filthy pups, you are wrong, Silver Wolf. They
didn't run away. They're still there, on the other side of the lake. I've seen them. The blond
one is a really interesting little guy."
Nicholai chuckled softly.
"I'm glad you're taking it so well," Sergei congratulated, lifting his gun a little to point it at
his head. "I'll take good care of him after I slit the other two's throats. Although, perhaps, I
could sell the little girl to some eager pig. Is this what amuses you?"
Nicholai lifted his green eyes filled with a triumphant light. "No, I laugh because you are an
idiot and I knew that from the beginning. And, no, the men from the chopper you called as
backup will not get here in time. You should have trained me worse." With that said, he
pressed the button on the remote control he had been keeping hidden behind his injured thigh
for a while, and a dozen explosions reverberated across the valley from the summit wall,
filling the funereal silence of the mountain.
For the first time in almost twenty years, Nicholai saw the pallor of fear tint the son of a
bitch's face and it felt so good.
Sergei turned around and, annihilated, looked at the unstoppable avalanche of ice, snow,
uprooted trees, earth, and rocks that would soon come crashing down on him, and when he
peered over his shoulder, his Silver Wolf was gone and all that remained of him was the patch
of blood where he had been slumped until just a moment before.
In his anger at having been fooled, Sergei felt almost proud that his cub had managed to
unleash all the unstoppable fury of winter on him. Like a true Russian.
Just below, the Umbrella soldier who had jumped on Leon and, with the pilot's help, was
dragging him toward the helicopter, raised his head at the sound of the explosions.
"Fuck!" He shouted, but before he could make a decision, a burst of bullets riddled him and
his fellow soldier almost point-blank. Carlos, just a step away from the bathroom, had seen
the searchlight illuminate Leon while he was still in the middle of the lake, and, after picking
up Sherry, had circled the shore, catching up with him and his assailants just in time. He did
not give Leon time to get back on his feet, however, and hit him square in the face with the
butt of the assault rifle because he knew that the dickhead would run screaming into the
oncoming avalanche. He picked him up by weight and threw him into the helicopter and then
helped Sherry, hiding not far away, jump in, before throwing himself headlong into the
cockpit and taking the controls.
"Come on, puta, lift up! Lift up! Lift up! Lift the fuck up!"
The helicopter came off the ground with a squeaky protest and wobbled dangerously when
the air shock wave from the avalanche hit it but Carlos still managed to keep it stable and
bring it up high enough to be out of danger.
He turned and looked in horror at the devastation below them, with the avalanche ending its
violent course by plunging into the cracked ice of the lake. There was no chance that anyone
had survived down there, and when he heard Leon begin to hysterically scream, behind him,
he knew Nicholai must have been there.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
The usual heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, commenters, kudoers, and
bookmarkers!
So, I begin by apologizing: again, I did not get to where I wanted to go, which is to tell
the events following Chris's situation and Leon's situation. They will end in the next
chapter and are quite necessary before I can finally jump about six years (five and
something, actually) and enter the next arc.
I have been trying to get there but this chapter with its over 6k words really took me a
long time. As commenters know, I was around 4600 yesterday, so I wrote about 2k
today XD.
I need to improve my time management, I know. Sowwy =(!
I'm really frustrated because I really wanted to finish the arc today and I'm sorry to have
to delay for a week, also because as it is, I can anticipate very little.
Two words about Leon, tho: he's fucking nuts. I mean, Wesker was not wrong, in the last
chapter, to ask Chris whether his type was blonds or psychopaths. Leon is a landmine,
and if Chris has grown toward calmness and reasoning in this arc, he has become a feral
beast that attacks everything that moves. How the tables have turned, and even though
Leon, thankfully, is not paranoid, he is still incredibly dangerous. Poor Carlos knows
something about it - luckily he heals quickly!
Well, in the next chapter, we will see who stays and who leaves us, what falls and what
stands. We'll also see the arrival of a new character (not an original one -as a rule, I
always prefer to use characters from the canon - but someone who has been mentioned
here and there, and who has only popped up a couple of times so far).
I don't know how long the aftermath will be, personally, I'd prefer it to be in a separate
chapter from the first of the new arc, but if it comes out too short, next week we'll see
something from the future as well.
Thank you for being here and for your valuable attention!
A big hug,
Lady s.
Chapter 80
Chapter Notes
Leon had stopped screaming and was now kneeling on the floor of the helicopter with a blank
stare as if he was not really there. He was scary. Sherry was staying well away from him and
was ready to take refuge in the cockpit with Carlos at any time. She felt guilty and would
have wanted to try to comfort him but there was something about Leon's posture that no
longer made her feel safe with him. Even in the best of times, when he made an effort to talk
to her, he almost seemed to be disgusted. She did not believe he would ever hurt her, but,
after all, she had thought that about her mother as well.
This, she realized, was what filled her with dread and resentment: Leon's eyes were just as
unblinking and obsessive as her mother's had been when she had dragged her through the
corridors of the lab.
She wanted nothing to do with him and jerked when she saw him move to venture against the
window.
"Where the fuck are you going?!" He growled. "We have to go back and find him!"
Carlos inhaled deeply and pulled Sherry close to him as she climbed in beside him.
"We don't have a lot of fuel and it's very windy, it's not-
"Get the fuck back!" Leon thundered. "He planned this, maybe he thought of a way to save
himself!"
Carlos did not share his hope. He had been through this too many times to get his hopes up
again, but he was doing his best to be strong for everyone. Leon was completely out of his
mind. There would be time to mourn and grieve. In silence. Without making noise. Without
being noticed. As he had done for as long as he could remember because there had always
been another fucking problem to deal with first.
As in that moment.
After checking the fuel again, he decided to give it a go and take another lap over where the
avalanche had hit and he scanned that expanse of snow and ice in turn.
"He's dead anyway," Sherry whispered, hiding her face against his shoulder. "Like my dad..."
Carlos swallowed and blinked hard to chase away tears.
"We don't know yet, hon," he replied, trying to give her strength.
"Don't lie to me..." Was her feeble reply and there was such defeat in her faint voice that
Carlos had to do his best not to burst into sobs.
"There! Look over there, to the right!" Leon exclaimed from the back.
Indeed, there was something in the snow, and when Carlos had lowered the helicopter a little
they distinctly saw an arm stick out.
Only it wasn't Nicholai. It was Sergei.
The colonel, exhausted and wounded, slowly emerged from the snow. He had taken cover
behind rocks but still had a hard time.
Leon, in his blind fury, threw open the hatch, not caring about the strong wind that
immediately swung the helicopter.
"Shit! Close that thing!" Carlos thundered, trying to compensate.
The other ignored him and pushed forward the machine gun slide, beginning to fire
downward.
From the blind corner below them, the Tyrant surged forward, getting riddled with bullets in
his master's place until the weapon had run out of rounds. Only then did Sergei peep out from
behind him, and he and Leon exchanged a look filled with hatred.
"Dickhead!" Carlos hissed and with a sharp maneuver sent the idiot flying to the back of the
hull. The poorly secured cart brought the machine gun back and Sherry, without even needing
to be told, hurried to close the hatch. Leon was back on his feet in a flash and bolted toward
the cockpit.
"Land us! I'LL KILL HIM! I'LL FUCKI-
Carlos did not even bother to let him finish and turned abruptly, delivering a brutal and
unexpected punch right in his face that knocked him out. He was not happy with his gesture,
nor proud. He understood Leon's desperation but he could not allow him to endanger himself,
Sherry, and the whole damn helicopter as he had just done. He was out of control and it was
best that he lay unconscious for a while. He cast one last glance at the Tyrant and the monster
that had destroyed their lives for the umpteenth time, then turned and began to descend
toward the valley. Colonel Vladimir would have to call another helicopter of his own to get
down from there, and that would take time. It was critical that they land near a population
center, find a ground vehicle, and put as much distance between them as possible.
It was a fucking mess... Aside from Sherry who was okay, he didn't even have shoes on, and
Leon was almost unrecognizable from the beating he had taken and both were covered in
blood. If they had been phosphorescent they would have attracted less attention.
Nicholai reopened his eyes without knowing how much time had passed. After blasting the
charges he had placed on the ridge wall, he had launched himself down into one of the
mouths of the cave complex. He knew it was deep and with a broken arm, he had barely
managed to break his fall.
He was cold and completely in the dark down there because debris had covered the opening,
fortunately without penetrating deep enough to bury him alive.
"F-ck!" He imprecated in a feeble voice, his teeth chattering with chills. On paper that plan
had seemed easier and far less painful to him. The worst news was that what awaited him was
just as arduous in his condition. He hated tight, dark, icy spaces, and in an instant, he was
catapulted back to that labor camp pit where he had been left to die when he was little more
than a kid like Leon and Carlos.
Panic tightened his lungs and that distant past became so vivid that for long, endless
moments, he forgot who he had become and his mind swept him into a whirlwind of cruel
and disheartening thoughts.
He was going to die down there.
His efforts had been in vain and probably the others were dead too, buried in ice and darkness
just like him.
Sherry was just a little girl.
He had brought Carlos there only to croak.
He would never see Leon again.
Having held him close had doomed him.
He had always known it would happen but, out of selfishness, he had killed him too.
Just like Mitia.
He did not deserve to survive.
He was filth.
He always had been, and he had ruined everything good he had ever touched.
Not only was he filth. He was cursed.
His mother's face swollen and cyanotic on the bed. Mitia's cold, wide-open eyes with his
blood spread across the rotten floorboards behind the back of his head, soaking his golden
hair. All those he had killed over the years without making a distinction between innocent
and guilty.
Faces.
So many faces.
Too many faces.

But the last one was just right. He had brought Sergei down with him and this, to some
extent, pacified him.
He went in and out of consciousness over and over again before he was really able to regain
control and remember what he was supposed to do at that point. Helping himself with his
legs he began to crawl into that darkness, moving forward in that burrow so narrow he could
barely fit his shoulders into it. He grunted each time he found himself forced to compress his
broken arm and fainted more than once from the pain and exhaustion and then finally saw it,
the light from the opening of another shaft. He tried to stand up as soon as the rock opened
enough to allow him to do so, but his legs could not support him. He had lost too much blood
and dissipated too much energy. Holding on for dear life with his teeth and claws, the Silver
Wolf reached for the equipment he had lowered below. He had done so only that morning, yet
it seemed an entire eternity had passed. He pulled out the thermal blanket and wrapped it
around himself and then retrieved from his backpack the satellite phone he had taken from
that mercenary in Raccoon City. He tried to call his own but it was disconnected, more likely
destroyed, since he had had no way to warn either Leon or Carlos to get it, and he was seized
with despondency. In his current condition, he had no chance of walking down the valley. In
truth, he could not even climb those ridiculous seven meters that separated him from the exit
of that wide shaft. He was stuck. He had food for maybe a couple of days. Ten if he rationed
it well and could drink melted snow but how long could he get by, assuming the unboiled
water did not cause him dysentery? Who was he kidding? His injuries were serious and he
had a high fever. They would have killed him before anything else.
In desperation, he looked at the only number saved in the satellite phone. The number he had
never called because since he had met Leon, his priorities had been turned upside down.
It rang off the hook for a few moments before the call was answered.
This is an update that, by now, we were no longer hoping to receive, Miss Wong.
Nicholai gasped, feeling his heart beating faster in hope. "Please help me! P-please!" He
groaned, barely managing to give the coordinates of his exact location before he lost
consciousness again.
Leon opened his eyes that Carlos had already landed the helicopter a few minutes before. He
moved to get out but the other, outside with Sherry, pushed him back in and closed the hatch
behind them so that the little girl would not hear them arguing.
Before Leon could even start freaking out again, Carlos slammed him with his back against
the glass.
"Now you listen to me!" He growled at him an inch from his face, holding him firmly by the
lapel of his aviator jacket. "You have to come to your senses or you'll get us all killed!" He
soon realized that his words were not getting through to him, who seemed lost in a loop of
shock and desire for revenge. He cast his mind back, looking for something, a hook that
might shake him, and winced when he found it. "Do you remember when you told me about
Chris?" He asked, lowering his tone, and that seemed to give Leon a glimmer of sanity back.
"How out of control and dangerous he was? You're acting just like him, you must keep your
shit together. I need you, Leon!"
Carlos clearly saw his blue eyes arise with a light filled with despair and shame and then they
just filled with tears. He felt endless pity for him because if he, although he had never really
gotten used to it, was now on top of that mountain of shit, for Leon it was the first time and
he couldn’t help but be crushed by it. "Come here," he said, letting go of his lapel to hold him
in his arms just as he burst into uncontainable weeping. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed, tearing up
in turn because he knew there were really no words that could console Leon at that moment,
any more than there had ever been when he had had to cheer up one of his friends in the
militia after the loss of their lover in a firefight in that senseless, endless massacre that had
dotted his entire life. He could only hug him, hoping to let him understand that he was not
alone, but his cry, now almost inaudible because he had no voice left, broke his heart as much
as Nicholai's death. He supported him when his legs gave out and then sat him down, offering
him some water from a canteen he had found there on board. Leon refused it and curled up on
the ground with his gaze completely dead.
Carlos opened the hatch again to keep an eye on Sherry as well but did not urge him to get
up. Leon was exhausted and emotionally drained. He needed some rest.
"Don't wander off!" He exclaimed, jumping out of the helicopter when he saw the little girl
come out of his field of vision. "Hey! Wait!"
He had to run to reach her and grab her. He knelt in front of her, holding her with firm
gentleness. "Estrellita, what the fuck?" He asked her, straining to be playful. It had often
worked with militia children, but from the look she gave him he realized that, this time, it
was not the case.
"I don't want to be near him!" Sherry shouted, continuing to overlay Leon with her mother.
"He hates me and will use us as bait just like she did!"
Carlos winced and shook his head. "Hon, no, no no!" He hastened to say, squeezing her
shoulders tenderly. "I know you're upset but-
"He acts like he's the only one to whom bad things have happened! I lost my daddy, my
nanny, all my friends! I lost my whole life! You almost died!"
"Sherry, please-
"Nick is dead! It wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gone after him!"
Carlos leaped to his feet when, raising his head, he noticed that Leon had approached, silent
like the damn cat he was, and he pushed Sherry behind him. "She's upset, she doesn't mean
it," he justified her, ready to defend her if things went south.
But Leon did not move from where he was. His battered face was a portrayal of suffering.
His entire body was shaken by a tremor but then he clenched his fists, keeping his dismay in
check. He bowed his head and closed the only eye he could keep open, taking deep breaths.
In his head was a horrifying roundup of everything that had happened to him since he had got
in Raccoon City. The more immature and childish side of him would have liked to shout at
Sherry how she was nothing more than an ungrateful brat but… Wasn't that what his mother
had often called him?
Ungrateful brat, you should have died, not your father! She echoed in his mind in her
drunken rage when she shoved him down the stairs, causing him to break his arm.
"Leon?" Carlos called to him, stepping closer.
The other flinched back. "Don't you fucking touch me," he hissed, feeling Irons' filthy hands
on him again. The realization that Nicholai would not be there this time to hold him in his
arms to pull him out of that abyss overwhelmed him. And not only that time. He would never
be there again because Sherry was not wrong. He would still have been alive if not for him.
He was alone.
Alone as he had always been.
As he would be forever.
He was no longer afraid of it, though. He just felt empty. He gulped, regaining composure.
"Do you..." He gasped and clenched his fists even harder, piercing his palms with his nails
until blood trickled out. "Do you have anything on you that you had when you arrived?" He
asked, opening his eye again to look at them.
Carlos frowned, confused, and was unable to stop him in time when Leon sprang forward to
snatch something from Sherry's neck. A pendant she had clutched in her small hands
instinctively.
"Give it back!" She shouted. "Nicholai gave it to me! GIVE IT BACK, ASSHOLE! IT'S
MINE!!!" She threw herself at him, hitting him with her fists but Leon gave her his back,
cashing in on her blows in silence until Carlos yanked her off of him.
Finally free of her assault, Leon had a chance to look at what he had taken, and he almost was
torn by another panic attack when he saw Nicholai's name stamped on that plate. With his
fingernails, he pulled away the rubber cover that had been glued on the back and sides, and
when he turned the piece of metal over in his hands he saw that a small light was flashing
green on the back, half-covered by the dried glue. He showed it to Carlos, who paled, and
Sherry also realized that something was wrong and restrained herself from throwing a fit.
"Fuck!" Carlos exclaimed, flustered, slipping the other one off his neck and repeating the
same procedure, bringing out another tracker. "They knew all along," he gasped. "Jill was
right, maybe Chris was caught! I have to call her and-
"Screw them, give it to me," Leon shushed him, stretching out his bleeding palm.
"What, no! We have to destroy them now before they find us!" Carlos objected.
"That would be stupid," the other coldly answered him. "Give it to me," he repeated, "we
split up and I go in the opposite direction. That is what we all want."
Carlos let out a short, incredulous, joyless laugh. It was not easy to piss him off, but Leon had
a real talent for getting under everybody's skin. "No, hermano, get it out of your fucking
head."
"I'm not your brother and she," Leon pointed out, indicating Sherry, hiding behind him, "is
your priority."
"We've had this talk before," Carlos blurted out, putting the dog tag back around his neck.
"So, you have three choices: one, stop busting my balls and be a good boy; two, you can try
to take it from me, I kick your ass and we all leave together; or, you try to run away with the
one you have, I shoot you in the leg and we all leave together. Your fucking call, 'mano."
"What makes you think I want to go with you? That I want to go anywhere, huh?!" Leon
attacked him.
Carlos merely shook his head sternly. "I don't give a shit what you want. I care what he
wanted and it was not this shit. Besides, you too made a promise to me."
The other glared at him for a long moment before starting to walk in the direction of the gas
station they had seen from above. "Let's move, we're wasting time."
"What about the trackers?"
"I have an idea. Follow me and shut the fuck up."
Etienne Valentine was in an apartment across town that he had rented through a loaner. He
had not heard from Jill for some time now, since he had put her in touch with a former client
of his whom he had spared a couple of decades behind bars for various crimes related to
ocean oil extraction. He had offered to take in her daughter and her friends and even bring
them to the vicinity of this mysterious Rockfort Island but he had not heard from her since.
He had continued to work from the apartment to build his case against Umbrella. He had
even consulted with his partner who, fortunately, was a good friend and had not only taken
charge of the firm but also assured him of his support.
Too bad Etienne didn't have shit on his hands. Only the testimonies of his daughter and
friends and he had no idea where Carlos had gone, the only evidence he had.
So with a heart full of anguish, he sat at that cheap desk, in an uncomfortable second-hand
chair, in front of his laptop with a menacing and demeaning blank page, and the satellite
phone he had purchased next to yet another cup of now-cold coffee. He was just about to give
in to exhaustion when he saw an icon popping up at the bottom of the screen, followed by
several others.
They were emails.
Dozens and dozens of emails with as many attachments and from a single sender: Lord
Alfred Ashford. There was nothing written in any of them and it was clear that they had been
sent in an automated way. He opened an attachment at random.
"Oh, putain!" He winced, seeing that this was precisely the evidence he so desperately
needed. There were entire files in there, transcripts of experiments, locations, video material,
photographs, affiliations with governments... It was a gold mine.
The blinding light dazzled him but Nicholai's fever was so high that he could not even move.
At least a couple of days had passed since he had crawled all the way there but he wasn't
really sure.
It was so cold.
A man shaded him and, despite his blurred vision, he recognized the Umbrella logo on his
helmet. He took the knife off his belt and plunged it into his neck, lacerating his jugular, and
a splash of hot blood hit him. Two other men took the body off him but before they could try
to disarm him a woman's voice stopped them.
"Get away from him."
He heard light footsteps approaching in the snow but did not even have the strength to try to
turn his head, so he tightened his grip on the hilt of his dagger.
"Ma'am!" One of the soldiers exclaimed in an alarmed voice.
"Move over, I'm not scared of a dying man," she retorted, haughty.
When she came into his field of vision, Nicholai saw a woman in a snow-white down jacket.
She had pale skin with cheeks slightly flushed from the cold and lips as red as blood. A color
he would have found vulgar on many women but not on her. Whoever she was. He met her
blue eyes, illuminated by a curious light, under thin eyebrows. Golden as was the short tuft of
hair that peeked out, unruly, from under her mountain hat.
"Hush, now," she told him in Russian with the sweetness of a mother, taking off a glove to
place her small, warm hand on his, still tightly clutched on the knife. "No need to bite
anymore, Silver Wolf. You are saved."
Nicholai's chest heaved and, instead of feeling fear or hatred, the silly thought that he did not
want her to get blood on her elegant candor crossed his mind, then his eyes rolled back as he
passed out, lulled by the comforting sensation of her fingers caressing his.
Etienne jolted awake when the satellite phone finally rang.
"Hello!" He exclaimed, answering it. There was an agonizing silence on the other end, then a
faint, "Papa," broke it.
"Jill, oh my God, Jill, are you okay? I was dying of anguish!"

She burst into sobs but then tried to regain control. "I-I'm fine but Chris… Please, I need
help, please! I don't know what to do!"
She explained to him that they were in a town in southern Argentina. The nearest hospital
they had been able to reach. They had no money and although Chris had been rushed in, she
had no clue about how health care worked there and she didn't know any Spanish. Her father
guided her step by step, telling her to contact the embassy immediately and that he would
personally take charge of handling the situation in the States, as well as covering the
necessary medical expenses. He reassured her by telling her that everything would be all
right, and he was about to rush out of the house when the ringing of the doorbell startled him.
Afraid he looked through the peephole and saw two men in black suits who, at least, did not
look like Umbrella goons.
When he opened the door he discovered that they were worse. Government agents who had
somehow intercepted his communications about the case and were already aware of the
documents he had received. They were very cordial in ordering him to hand over the
evidence in his possession for national security reasons. Etienne immediately read between
the lines because he had already seen, among those files, irrefutable evidence of the U.S.
government's complicity with Umbrella but complied anyway because he was not a martyr
and his priority was to help his daughter. He watched them confiscate his laptop and all his
notes where, fortunately, he had never written anything about Carlos' mutation, and then
leave with the assurance that they would allow him to work on the Umbrella case again after
they were satisfied that the evidence was 'reliable'.
Jill stepped out of the phone booth and wiped her eyes. She would not have wanted to break
down like that, but when she had heard her father's voice she had felt like that little girl who
ran to him whenever she scraped her knee or something scared her. She had missed him even
though she had never wanted to admit it even to herself. Now, however, Chris's critical
condition had thrown in her face how horrible reality could be. He had always been her rock,
strong, protective, unbeatable. Finding him in pieces on that beach, broken like a cracked doll
had been the most horrible thing she had ever seen, more than the horrors at Spencer Manor,
more than those in Raccoon City.
As she turned the corner of the waiting room, Barry rose from his chair and ran to her to hold
her in his arms.
"How are you?" he asked her.
She closed her eyes, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. She wanted to answer 'like shit’
but was persuaded to be more neutral, "up again."
She had also been hospitalized, although she had not told her father because she didn’t want
to scare him even more. On the ship she had given her blood to Chris since she was the only
one with the same blood type. She would also have been ready to give him all of it if it had
been necessary. Rebecca had performed a true miracle in being able to stabilize him and keep
him alive all the way to the hospital; she was now sleeping, exhausted, on one of the chairs in
the waiting room.
Jill held on to Barry's warmth and comfort for a little longer before taking a step back. His
eyes were puffy, too, though he had surely been hiding to cry.
"My dad said we need to contact the embassy and he'll take care of the rest. Here's the
number. C-can you..?" She cleared her throat, running her fingers over her cheeks that burned
from how many tears she had already shed.
"Of course," he paternally reassured her.
Jill nodded in silent thanks. "W-where is..." She cleared her throat. "Can I see him?"
"From a window, come, I'll accompany you."
"No, just tell me where I need to go. Contacting the embassy is more important."
Barry nodded, sighing. "You have to prepare yourself, it's not pretty..."
She sniffed. "At least he's alive."
Three floors up, Claire was standing in front of the glass of the ICU room where they had put
her brother. She had not moved from there except to talk as best she could to the doctors
through the rudimentary Spanish she had learned in school. Her auburn hair was grimy and
summarily gathered in a frayed ponytail, she had deep dark circles under her eyes and a pale,
emaciated face, but they would have had to drag her away from there violently to get her to
move.
She wasn't going fucking anywhere.
She turned her head when she heard the now-familiar 'ding' of the elevator and instinctively
put her hand to her small revolver, well hidden in her jacket pocket. It was still too early for
medication and it wasn't visiting hours. She let it go only when she saw that it was Jill.
They exchanged a glance and both stiffened. They had not made up. There had been neither
time nor intention on either of their parts, and for a terrible moment Jill feared that Claire
would not allow her to see Chris but the younger Redfield said nothing and stepped back to
let her approach.
Jill did so with trembling legs and when she forced herself to lift her gaze, what she saw
beyond that damned window shattered her. Chris lay on a bed with his body covered in
bandages, casts from which peeked the nails they had used to set his bones back in place, and
there were so many tubes connected to his body. IVs, a blood bag, and that horrible ventilator
sticking out of his throat. She could barely see his face, and even that was swollen and
unrecognizable. She missed more than one beat as she covered her mouth with one hand and
grazed the glass with the other, shedding more painful tears. She gasped when Claire turned
her around and then pulled her into a hug, strongly, almost painfully.
"We will face and overcome this together," she told her with furious determination. "We will
get him back up. I swear to you."
Jill clawed at her jacket with her fingers, and together they indulged in a cry that swept away
all their disagreements and the horrible words they had spoken to each other.
Nicholai recognized the chemical smell immediately, even before he opened his eyes. He was
in a laboratory, and the whiteness surrounding him confirmed his fear: one belonging to
Umbrella.
Under the sheet he was completely naked but, although he still felt miserable, it was clear
that he had been medicated. They had stitched the stab wound on his thigh because he could
feel the stitches pinching his skin, and his broken arm was in a cast.
"Finally awake," said a voice from behind a partition put there for his privacy. How nice of
them...
It was the same female voice he remembered confusedly from the cave. She had spoken
Russian again, but it was not her native language. She was very good at it but there was still
something in her spelling that betrayed her. He stiffened, feeling threatened, and as he sat up
he realized that his healthy arm was handcuffed to the edge of the bed.
The mysterious woman emerged from behind the partition in a white lab coat over a pullover
of the same color.
"Just a little precaution, given the nasty creature you are when you feel threatened," she
teased him almost tenderly. "You managed to kill one of my men when we found you and two
others during transport. Quite impressive."
Nicholai paid no attention to her words but squared her from head to toe with sharp eyes. He
had no idea who she was, he had never seen her but the name tag confused him.
A. Wesker.
He knew an A. Wesker but he was dead and he was a man. Who was she? A wife? A sister?
They were both blond but didn't look much alike besides the fact that they both had short,
combed-back hair.
"My brother," she clarified his mix-up before he could voice it.
He threw a violent tug at the bar to which he was handcuffed, and she stopped her advance.
"There is no reason to be defensive, Nicholai. May I call you Nicholai?"
"You may not," he cut him short with a hiss, in spite of everything showing her the respect
that was possible in his native tongue and not in English.
She smiled, pleased. "Such good manners for someone who has been described to me as an
uneducated thug."
"I'm a thug, but I'm not uneducated, Miss Wesker," was his dry reply. When she moved again
he continued to follow her with his eyes, suspicious and hostile.
"Why were you in possession of Ada Wong's phone? Did you kill her?"
"No. She was already dead. Someone had shot her just past the entrance to N.E.S.T. The one
in the sewers."
"Why did you keep it?"
Nicholai sneered, huffing. "I thought it might be my ticket out of Umbrella. Clearly, I was
naive. What had she been sent to retrieve?"
"Irrelevant," Alex shrugged. "Why didn't you call earlier?" To this question, the only answer
was a stubborn silence. "Don't bother, I already know the answer. Colonel Vladimir is making
a real fuss, trying to find your lover and protégés. The former, especially, seems to have made
him lose his bloody mind. More than usual, I must say. He's a disgusting man and an imbecile
indeed. No wonder you wanted to quit."
Nicholai paled and she let slip a small smile, a little satisfied and a little sympathetic. "Of
course, he survived the avalanche you threw at him even though it will take him a while to
get back on his feet. You almost irreparably broke his spine. If his Tyrant hadn't pulled him
out of there, I doubt he would have made it. It's so unfortunate that such an incredible display
of fearlessness went in vain."
"Where are they?!" Nicholai growled, giving a sharp tug on the bar, which began to bend.
Alex did not blink. "For about a week they have been back in your lover's house. They're
fine, all things considered. Don't worry, your handsome boy - Leon has not even told the poor
colonel his name, so they are safe. For now."
"You bitch! If you do anything to them I-
"Hush," she shushed him, lifting her index finger. "I only enjoy hearing screams when they
come from terror, and believe me, you don't want me to scare you, Nicholai. In truth, I have a
proposition and I guarantee that I will keep my end of the bargain."
About ten minutes later Alex, who had left the laboratory, entered another room at the end of
the corridor.
She pressed the switch to turn on the light, and when the neon lights came on she was greeted
by a hiss and an expletive in a low rumble.
"Sorry," she commented, more mischievous than apologetic.

Albert, lying on the bed at the end of the room gave her a fiery look as he struggled to sit up
and wear his sunglasses.
Alex approached him not at all intimidated and grabbed his chin to turn his face around.
"Umh," she uttered. "You didn't even have a single scar left. Amazing, considering little Alfie
had burned you to the bone."
He grabbed her wrist to get her off him.
"Let go," she admonished him, rotating it. "You're weakened, though," she analyzed, as he
opened his fingers, and immediately went to jot it down on the notepad on the nightstand.
"Yes, I already told you that but you were too distracted by your new pet. You are so childish.
Since Spencer has a useless Russian goon, you want one too."
She rolled her eyes, closing the pen and putting it back in her lab coat pocket. "I see you're in
a good mood today, too," she ironized. "How charming men can be..."
"I need another dose of the compound!"
"And I'm working on it, Al! It's not like our father keeps a sample of Progenitor in every
fridge!"
"He's not our father," he retorted, darkening even more. "Stop calling him that, you piss me
off."
"All this fuss over one word? And then I'm the childish one!" She laughed amused then
sighed. "Apart from weakening, do you have any other withdrawal symptoms? If you're too
proud to tell me you can always write them down when I leave. I swear I will be decent.
Cross my heart."
"Go fuck yourself," he huffed, looking away.
Alex sat down on the bed beside him and put an arm around his shoulders before snapping a
kiss on his cheek, leaving him with the smear of her lipstick, which he promptly rubbed off
with a grimace of disgust. She giggled, dropping her head on his shoulder, and he softened a
little, too.
"I must improve it," he commented, encircling her side with an arm. "Will's work is
incomplete. A temporary remedy whose effect fades faster the more my body is damaged."
"Yes, I came to the same conclusions and there is more-
"It is practically certain that I will develop addiction," concluded the thought for her, as if
they were of one mind.
"In approximately one year, the dosage to keep you operational could easily exceed our
current supply of the synthesis elements," she continued, then snorted a laugh. "Sometimes I
wonder why we bother to talk at all."
"It's not unpleasant."
"Aww, how sweet! Too bad your sweetness is venomous or, at the very least, instrumental.
What do you want from me, Al?"
He sighed, bowing his head and shaking it. "Nothing."
"You're not questioning yourself, are you? The little freak died, while you're still here. More
importantly, you secured the T-Veronica to the new company you work for. No bitching, it
looks bad on you. I guarantee the burns on your pride are not lethal."
Albert pushed her away abruptly but caught her just as promptly when she landed badly on
those damned heels she insisted on wearing, preventing her from an unpleasant fall. This
amused her greatly. Her brother had always been emotionally rough but had protected her
since they were children. He did not remember any of it, but she did. Perfectly. She settled
down better and adjusted her lab coat. "Now I have to go and see if my guest has decided
what he wants to do. Let's have lunch together in a while. Lamb, your favorite. Don't say I'm
not a caring figure."
"Don't trust Zinoviev," he admonished her, making her stop in mid-stride. "Once a traitor,
always a traitor."
She smiled without turning around. "This absolute tends to change when you know a person's
greatest fear."
"It is a mistake," Albert insisted. "Fears can be overcome."
Alex smirked. "Not when they are linked in double-strand to love."
"Can you explain what the hell is the point of all this? If you go to Spencer and bat your
eyelashes he will give you a whole army for your birthday. You don't need that idiot! You are
the apple of his eye!"
"Wrong. You are. Well, from his point of view, 'you were,' since he thinks you are dead,
prodigal son. Besides, I'm not looking for yet another mindless soldier. I want a Monitor and
he is the best. I won't find him hanging with a rope around his neck somewhere because he
can't handle the burden of assisting and cataloging my little experiments. And should I really
get the island I want from our father, a Russian could help me integrate better. This is not a
whim, it is practical reasoning, something you have always lacked. You are so
temperamental, Albert. So thank you for showing total disinterest in Zinoviev's talents just
because of some past tussle with his colonel. It is tremendously immature of you but it
benefits me and I am so magnanimous that if you ever need him, I might even lend him to
you. However, I want you to behave. To secure his cooperation I had to make him an offer, a
no-brainer, really, which is to guarantee that the three people he cares about will not be
touched by anyone under my direct observation which includes Umbrella but also you, my
dear. It is Leon Kennedy, his young boy toy, Carlos Oliveira, a former low-ranking soldier in
the U.B.C.S. and-
"Why should I give a damn?" Albert snarled, beyond annoyed by the futility of that
conversation.
Alex held back a laugh that would have exposed her. She knew his brother so well!
"So you give me your word that you will not kill or injure or experiment on any of them
should your paths cross, at least as long as I want to use Zinoviev?"
"Yes. Now leave me and turn off the damn light!"
"Good, since the third person is Sherry Birkin," she concluded, and her smile widened as she
saw his eyes light up behind the dark lenses. "You've already agreed. Temperamental."
She resumed her way to the exit but stopped after pressing the switch. Albert's word had little
value, even if given to her, so she had to reinforce their agreement with the trump card she
had been holding for just that. "Speaking of which, it is very likely that there are samples of
Will's blood in other labs besides Rockfort Island. You probably don't know this because you
hardly put your nose outside the lab during the academy, but following the enlistment of
Colonel Vladimir, Father pursued, for a while, cloning experiments. You know, just in case
something happened to the brightest minds on his team. He abandoned them not long after.
The outcomes did not yield the desired results since, apparently, genius is a matter not only of
nature but also of nurture. You know how the old man is, he never throws anything away. I
will find it for you but don't get in the way of my research. See you at lunch, get some rest."
With a feeling of triumph, she returned to her laboratory and was not much surprised to see
that the guard she had placed to watch over her guest was lying undressed and with a broken
neck beside the bed. Four bodies. Zinoviev was beginning to be almost as high maintenance
as her brother.
"So should I take this as rejection or acceptance?" She asked aloud, approaching the partition.
She wouldn't have entirely bet on it but still found him beyond it, sitting at one of the desks
wearing the poor man's uniform. The Russian had a hard expression on his face, hostile and,
in part, surrendered. Whatever Albert thought, he was not an idiot and although his first
instinct had been to kill and run, then reason had taken over and now he was there, ready to
talk as she expected.
She sat down next to him, on top of the desk, and did not force him to speak, and Nicholai
was struck by her recklessness.
"Aren't you afraid I'm going to kill you?" He asked her.
She shook her head lightly. "You're the kind of hitman who strikes without announcing it. Do
you want me to bring your dear ones-
"No. I have my own terms to put on the table."
"Reasonable," Alex nodded. "I'm listening."

Nicholai took a deep breath and it was clear he was in pain. "I don't want them to ever have
any contact with a member of Umbrella or be under surveillance. They must not learn
anything. Not even that I am alive. I want them to be free to go on with their lives away from
this pile of shit," he hissed. It had not been an easy decision to make, and his heart was
broken, but he had already once put their survival at risk, deluding himself that he could
protect them. He would not make the same mistake again. Whatever that woman wanted, he
would handle it himself. Leon had vowed that he would get himself out of that life if
anything happened to him. He was counting on that promise, and Carlos would help him get
back on his feet, and together they would take care of Sherry. "And I want Sergei. Dead, alive
for me to kill him. It makes no difference."
Alex shook her head. "I can't do that. Oswell still needs him. Especially now that Lord
Ashford has taken pity on one of his prisoners and, before he croaked, has dastardly decided
to send classified information to a lawyer preparing a case against the company, also leaving
the island and all its laboratories at the mercy of the U.S. government. I can prove to you,
however, that I will put that rat back where he belongs. I'll do it right now." She reached out a
hand to the phone behind her on the desk and dialed a number. She also put it on
speakerphone when Sergei himself answered and Nicholai was shaken by a tremor of pure
hatred.
"This is Wesker. I am calling on behalf of Mr. Spencer to order you to cease wasting
company resources in the futile pursuit of targets that are mere personal interests and have no
value for us. The order is effective immediately."
But-
Alex cut him off even before he could advance his protest. "It would be a shame to consider
you another dry branch to be chopped off, considering the progress of the construction of the
new Ural laboratory," she said. "You are a valuable asset only if you stay in line but don't
think of yourself as irreplaceable."
Yes, ma'am. Sergei replied gloomily, and although it was clear he was infuriated, Nicholai
knew him well enough to be certain he would not disobey that order. Not right away, at least.
"Very well. I will not repeat these instructions a second time. Should they be disregarded, the
appropriate action will be taken." Alex did not care to listen to his reply and closed the phone
call in his face. "Any other requests?" She asked.
Nicholai could not deny it. He was impressed but tried not to give it away. "You better hope
Spencer's shadow continues to protect you, or he will do unspeakable things to you for this,"
he could not stop himself from warning her. "You are a beautiful woman. His type."
This externalization of his seemed to irritate her because her gaze grew annoyed. "I don't
need any man's protection and I didn't get where I am because of my pretty face."
"It was not meant as an insult, Miss Wesker" he retorted. "I've seen him do horrible things for
mere amusement, or because a waitress brought him the wrong drink. He is a misogynist, a
psychopath, and a rapist. If you think he appreciates being bossed around by a woman, you
are sadly mistaken."
Alex burst into thunderous laughter. "My goodness, you really have no idea who you are
looking at! A little girl crying for help! Oh, no! No-no! You are so delusional and
chivalrous!" She commented, exhilarated. "Now I almost hope he tries something so that I
can show you how hard I can crush him. You see, I don't seek his respect but rest assured,
should he be so foolish, he will be the one to fear me. Any other demands?" She repeated the
question.
"No." Nicholai raised his green eyes. "You want me. Take me. I don't give a shit what you
need me for. I'll do it. Like the good dog I am," he huffed bitterly.
She got off the desk and walked to the door. "First, stop killing people, it's a ton of paperwork
every damn time. Second, rest, I'll train you on your duties in the next few days, and third but
not least, I have no use for a dog. I need a man, be one," she concluded, before leaving the
room.
Once left alone, Nicholai succumbed to the tension he had accumulated up to that point and
his breathing became labored. He had done so much only to find himself still with that
fucking collar around his neck. In despondency, he flipped the desk and everything on it over
before collapsing to his knees with his broken arm giving him excruciating twinges tight
against his chest.
He had been so stupid to delude himself that he could have a normal life with Leon and be
happy again. His torment was not over and would never end. He knew that. He burst into
silent weeping that tore at his soul. He would not rebel against his fate. No, he would follow
the orders of yet another tormentress to perfection. He would not let her down. He would not
give her reasons to break their agreement. It was his punishment for killing Mitia. He
deserved it, and if it was the price he had to pay to ensure Leon, Carlos, and Sherry's safety,
he would bear it until his last breath and the last drop of the blood his heart stubbornly still
pumped. Even at the price of not seeing them again, or holding him in his arms ever more.
Back in Leon's hometown, things had acquired a bleak yet ordinary everydayness. They had
had a miserable Christmas, and although Carlos had done his best to try to soothe Sherry, at
least that day, it had all been in vain. As for Leon, he hardly left his room, and if he did, it
was to take a shower or get another bottle from his late mother's now nearly empty glass
cabinet. He expressed himself in monosyllables and did so unwillingly whether he was
completely drunk or not. The last time Carlos had heard him give a full speech was two
weeks earlier, when, in the process of stealing a car, Leon had hidden the trackers on a
logging truck headed who knows where, after extracting a USB drive well hidden in one of
the dog tags. After that, he had merely given him brief directions on which way to take. It
had been a long and interminable journey, they had stolen multiple vehicles, being careful to
leave the previous one in areas where it would be difficult to find them again. It had been a
real odyssey but now they seemed to be finally safe.
Alone in the living room, Carlos cast a glance at the blanket he had summarily nailed above
the fireplace. He had tried to wipe away that horrible homophobic writing because he was
really afraid Leon might decide to kill himself and the last thing he needed was a constant
reminder on the wall, but in the absence of paint, that was the only way he had found to cover
it. Leon had not commented. Not that he wanted a thank-you, but at that point, after days of
entire silence, Carlos would have been fine with anything, even if he got pissed off or used
him as a punching bag.
He was trying to give him space, to wait for him to want to vent, but Leon had barricaded
himself in his own head and their situation was tragic. They had no money and in a few days,
they would also run out of the supply of frozen precooked shit that Leon still had in his
freezer.
He was going to talk to him that night.
Sherry had been crying all night and would probably sleep until the afternoon, so Carlos to
try to fill the silence of yet another horrible morning, turned on the TV just to have some
voices in the background. He didn't really give any thought to the broadcasts until, on the
news, he recognized a familiar face. Jill's father was being interviewed on the steps of a
courthouse and dozens of reporters were bombarding him with questions. Etienne, however,
did not seem to be disturbed. He was not a fighter but he was a man who knew very well how
to instill respect and fear.
As you know, the trial is being held behind closed doors and I am not allowed to divulge
information about the ongoing proceedings. However, I, as appointed counsel for the U.S.
government, will frame Umbrella and make it pay for the senseless massacre that caused the
destruction of Raccoon City and the demise of about a hundred thousand people. I guarantee
that none of them will go unpunished, and justice will come upon them like Doomsday.
"Yeah, kick their asses," Carlos commented with a sad smile but looked away when he heard
Leon coming down the stairs and, for the first time in days, saw him decently dressed, with a
baseball cap and a hood on his head that he had shaved completely so his hair could grow
back evenly. Clearly, he hated that new look, but he had said nothing about it either.
"Are you going out?" He asked him.
Leon laid his eyes on him. He still had half his face completely purple from bruising. "I'm
going to see that guy who came by the other day. The cop."
"The one you shut the door on?"
"Yes."
He offered no further explanation and before Carlos could investigate, he left the house and
walked away at a brisk pace. It seemed to him that he noticed a strange guy in a car parked
nearby but, at the moment, he did not give it much thought and continued for fifteen minutes
to Douglas's house. He rang the doorbell and his wife Amber welcomed him. He did not
know her well but she recognized him immediately.
"I need to talk to Doug," he said first to avoid pleasantries. Her distressed look had been
enough for him.
She hesitated for a moment and Leon clearly heard the children's voices coming from inside.
"He is in the garage, fixing the car. Go ahead. Would you like something to drink or..?"
"I'm fine. Thanks." He came down from the patio and found the other waiting for him at the
garage entrance since he had heard him talking.
"Son, I was so worried about you after what happened to Mike and his friends! Look, I don't
care if you are... I mean..."
"A faggot," Leon ruthlessly helped him find the word he was desperately searching for.
"Don't bother," he stopped him, on seeing him pale.
"I... I don't want to be the one to break the news to you, but you know that Mike. He... He
committed suicide. When it came out that you two... Well, the incoming marriage blew up,
his parents kicked him out of the house..."
Leon did not know but finding out did not make him feel anything at all.
"What happened that night?" Doug immediately fell into professional bias. "If you know
something, you'd better say it. The last thing I'd want is for you to get in trouble."
"In trouble?" Leon laughed cruelly. "You've left me in deep shit all my life and you're worried
now?" He hissed at him, full of resentment. "Where was all this concern every time you
covered up my mother's crap? You let her abuse me all these fucking years until she
croaked!" He shouted.
Doug took a step back, plagued by guilt. "I thought she would get better and I didn't want you
to end up in foster care," he clumsily tried to justify himself.
Leon bowed his head and tried to regain composure. "It doesn't matter anymore. I need some
money. Enough to buy me something to eat for a while until I get a job. I'll pay you back as
soon as I can, and after that, I never want to see your face again."
"Okay, but-
"No buts. If you don't want to help me, that's okay. I'm used to it by now."
Doug gave him three hundred dollars, all he had in his wallet and that was it. On the way
back, Leon noticed the same suspicious guy again. This time on foot.
Something was off.
Carlos heard the doorbell ring and opened it with circumspection, finding himself confronted
by a man in a suit.
"Adam Benford, DSO," he introduced himself, waving a badge in his face. "May I have a few
minutes of your time, Mr. Oliveira?"
Carlos plummeted in fear. Was this about the trial? Had Etienne mentioned him? He did not
want to spend the rest of his days locked away as a guinea pig in a laboratory. What would
become of Sherry?
When Agent Benford explained the situation, he realized that things were even worse. The
government did not know about his mutation but they knew he was a trained soldier and
wanted to enlist him.
"S-sir, please," he groaned with tears in his eyes. "I have been fighting all my life. I can't take
it anymore. Please don't make me pick up a rifle again!"
Benford sighed, pretending to be sympathetic. "I have read your file, and although I
understand your situation, we fear that bioterrorism will become a real threat in the coming
years and many innocent people are at risk of becoming collateral victims. We need
competent soldiers, and as a former member of the Umbrella militia, you are our best
candidate. Also, your citizenship here was closely tied to the company, without it you are just
a criminal to be extradited and in Colombia you are looking at life in prison, assuming
someone there doesn't cut your stay short."
Carlos covered his face with his hands, bursting into silent tears. He did not want to do that.
He didn't want to!
"Cut the crap," Leon's voice made them wince. When had he come back and from where? He
had probably climbed up the eaves next to his room as he had done to get in when they had
arrived. "Leave him alone. Take me."
"L-Leon..." Carlos tried to intervene.
"You shut up," the other silenced him.
Benford squared him with little enthusiasm. "We're not interested in a rookie cop. We need
someone already trained."
"This rookie kicked a couple of your men's asses," Leon retorted, throwing him the badges of
the officers he had brought as backup. "And I have more to put on the table."
"Leon!" Carlos got up from the table, more than willing to stop him.
"I have Nemesis antibodies in my system," his friend continued, pushing him away, "I trust
you know what it was. It infected me here," he added, lowering his sweatshirt to show the
scar. "I am in possession of the T-Virus vaccine formula and I will give it to you but with
conditions. Take me and leave him alone forever. You grant him citizenship and legal
guardianship of Sherry Birkin until she comes of age. In addition to that, I want Colonel
Sergei Vladimir's head and I want to be the one to take it off his neck. If you do not know
who he is I will be glad to enlighten you."
Benford had now given him his full attention. "I have a couple of phone calls to make," he
said, excusing himself outside.
"What the fuck are you doing, you moron?" Carlos attacked him, panicking. "I can't let you
do that! It is madness!"
For the first time in days, Leon flashed a feeble smile. It was not joyful but at least it was
sincere. "We are brothers, aren't we?" He asked him, tilting his head mischievously. "And I
protect my family."
Carlos, completely taken aback, found no words to answer him and threw himself on him to
crush him in his arms, bursting into uncontrollable sobs. That was the most generous and
selfless act anyone had ever done for him and he did not know where to begin to thank him
because of the guilt he felt.
"I want this, Carlos. Don't worry. It's okay," Leon reassured him, returning his squeeze. Yes,
he had made a promise to Nicholai but, as he had already stated: dead doesn't give a shit
anymore. "You will protect her for me, okay? And of course, the house is yours. Transform it
any way you want. Burn it to the ground if you like. I hate it."
The other nodded, trembling against his shoulder. "T-thank you... You have no idea... I will
never forget this. Never." He grabbed the back of his head, forcing him to look into his
passionate dark eyes. "But don't you dare disappear. We will keep in touch and you will come
to us whenever you can because, yes, we are family and as a brother, if you don't I will kick
your ass, tú entiendes, gatito?"
Leon nodded but when he saw that Benford had finished his calls and was about to return in,
he put the three hundred dollars and a grenade they had retrieved from the helicopter in his
hand. "Plan B: In case he doesn't accept my proposal, blow it up and run away with Sherry.
I'm pretty sure you could survive a grenade."
"Don't talk shit, Leon, what the fu-
"Just take it, cunt!" He hissed at him, getting between him and the DSO. "So?" He asked with
an incredibly innocent look.
"Your proposal has been accepted. Pack your bags and as soon as they bring his papers, we'll
leave," he said briefly. "I have personally vouched for you but should your performance be
unsatisfactory, our deal will be off."
"Tsk," Leon huffed. "With all due respect, I'll be the best fucking agent you've ever seen, sir,"
he retorted, climbing the stairs.
After about two hours of driving and three of flying, they arrived at a training center in a
segregated location where he handed over the USB drive, and they questioned him
thoroughly for what seemed like an eternity. Leon was not short on details; on the contrary,
he recounted in great accuracy everything that had happened in Raccoon City, who he had
met there, people and B.O.W.s, and how things had gone. The only elements he omitted were
those related to Carlos, the fact that he had been infected by Dr. Birkin, and what Irons had
done to him.
"Come, I'll take you," Benford offered, when he and his colleague were, at last, satisfied.
Leon had not brought much with him, some underwear, a few clothes, and Vladimir's long
dagger with the Communist star chiseled on the blade. He was going to use that to pierce his
heart.
Benford accompanied him to a gym and after a brief farewell left him there. He did not have
to wait long before a blond bloke in a khaki uniform and red cap joined him. He stood at
attention and did not blink when he examined him closely.
"How's the other guy?" He asked him, curling his lips at seeing his face still livid. "Still
standing?"
"Yes, sir!" Leon replied with shame and anger reflected in his eyes.
"Predictable," was the officer's comment, "after all, you are only a rookie. I am Sergeant
Krauser and starting tomorrow I will be your best friend and your worst nightmare. You are
two weeks behind in training I expect you to keep up because if you don't, there will be no
second chances. In the unlikely event that you succeed, I guarantee that the other guy won't
ever be up again by the time I'm done with you. You will no longer run from your demons,
you will slit their throats."
"Yes, sir!"
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always the usual thanks to all you readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmarkers, and
commenters for all the strength you give me!
This week even Covid tried to get in my way and I had a high fever but managed to
finish the chapter and the arc. I am such a joke. Last week I was afraid this part would
be too short to cover a whole chapter and it ended up coming in over 10k words. I have
often told you that I absolutely suck at predicting the length of things and this is
irrefutable proof of that XD!
Some end-of-arc considerations.

The least complex situation is Chris'. He is in a hospital bed but I guarantee we will see
him back on his feet soon since the next chapter will be several years after the current
moments. Fortunately, his sister, Jill, and friends are there for him.
Nicholai has found himself up to his neck in the quicksand of Umbrella once again and
with a new employer. He is heartbroken, poor man, and he has truly made the greatest of
sacrifices.
I know his romance with Leon has passionate many of you but don't be too hostile
toward Alex for that. I love my queen very much and I hope, with time, to make you
appreciate her as well. Come on, she also gave us a chance to see a little more tender
and human side of Albert. The two of them really love each other very much and we'll
see other interactions between them, from time to time, even if Albert is quite an elusive
creature.
Leon, on the other hand, broke his promise to Nicholai partly because he was blinded by
the desire for revenge but not only that. Although he can't show it, he has become really
attached to Carlos and, of course, Sherry, and I find these acts of selfless sacrifice very
much in line with his character. He will no longer be a boy when we see him again in the
next chapter. He will be a man. And don't worry, his beautiful hair will also return (the
really important details XD).
Don't be too hard on Sherry. Poor thing, she is just a child and has been through way too
much. At least she will have Carlos by her side from here on out but her relationship
with Leon, well, is and will be compromised for quite some time.
As you may have noticed some details have also resurfaced that I had sown, dunno,
maybe some forty chapters ago like the USB where Nicholai had saved the vaccine
formula at the university. The dog tags, moreover, were really a key item. It was through
those that Sergei knew the location of Carlos and Sherry at the beginning of the story. A
location that he provided for Alfred to capture Chris and start the whole arc. I play this
game a lot in my stories, it's a bit of a perversion. So don't be surprised if things named
dozens of chapters earlier turn out to be crucial. Take pity on me XD.
Even though I will miss Scott and my dear, dear Alfred (who because of his love for
Chris also decided to torpedo Umbrella to death before he died by sending the
documentation to Etienne which, once confiscated, gave Benford a way to find Carlos
and Leon) I am very thrilled (and scared because I am always anxious with new
beginnings) to start the new arc where the Chreon part awaits us and also quite a lot of
angst. Not right away, tho. First I have to get you all recovered from all this pain. If your
hearts don't heal how could I break them again?
Thank you all so much for giving me strength every single chapter,
a big hug with social distance,
Lady S.
Chapter 81
Chapter Notes
It was late April 2004 and, hell, if that year had started out shitty.
Even though the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance had, not only, been created by
Jill and Barry, and, subsequently, carried on by Chris as well (after the nearly three years it
had taken him to recover and get back in shape), and, over time, it had also expanded, thanks
to the involvement of Chief Clive O'Brian and the British government, the Terragrigia
disaster that happened in February had caused an abrupt setback for the organization. Morgan
Lansdale, the commissioner in charge of the Federal Bioterrorism Commission, due to his
disagreements with Chief O'Brian concerning the management of the emergency in
Terragrigia, had written a very harsh report on the B.S.A.A., calling it an amateur association
whose operational usefulness was to be considered completely worthless. He had therefore
discouraged the presidential committee from providing it with the means to open an
operations center in the United States and the related recruitment camp, effectively blocking
a negotiation that Chief O'Brian had been pursuing for years. Clive, however, was not a man
to be easily discouraged. Since he had taken the Terragrigia tragedy very personally and was
very suspicious of Langsdale, he had been actively working to find a way around him and the
fucking F.B.C., and perhaps something was beginning to stir again.
Jill had recently returned from a mission in France to their English countryside home not far
from the B.S.A.A. training center where she and Chris had been living since late 2003, in
other words, since Jill had risen up screaming in Chris's face that she was beyond fed up with
living their life as a couple in a lousy dormitory overcrowded with smelly dudes who had
never been taught how to take a shower, nock on a bloody door, or lower their fucking voice
down. Chris had found that stance exaggerated, and the argument had escalated to the point
of Jill yelling at him, only to regret it immediately afterward, that Wesker, as a captain, had
shown him what discipline was, and that was not what he was teaching to that circus of
stragglers. Chris had not taken it well at all and had not spoken to her for a couple of weeks
until Claire had phoned him to put yet another patch on a relationship that was treading water
on all sides. After the umpteenth apology from Jill, he had accepted to transfer to a tiny
cottage near the base where most of their things were still stuffed in boxes messily misplaced
all over the bloody rooms since none of them seemed to have the time or the will to make it
look like a proper home. Despite being engaged they had mentioned getting married no more
than a couple of times in the past year. Jill was eager to take the plunge because she was
under the illusion that this would make things better. Chris wasn't against it but wasn't
proactive, either, and even when he had given her the ring, about six months earlier, his
proposal had come off as jarring as fingernails scratching on a chalkboard. As if he just
wanted to keep her happy and get her to stop complaining every time they saw each other,
which didn't happen quite so often now that they were both field agents.
In that very moment, they were in bed and things were going catastrophically bad.
"Fuck it!" Jill hissed, getting up abruptly and wrapping herself in her nightgown.
Chris covered his face with his hands, abandoning his head to the pillow with a mortified,
surrendered sigh. It was not the first time he had failed to get hard. It happened, from time to
time, especially if Jill wanted to have impromptu sex.
"Wait, I'm sorry," he sighed, sitting up because, naked as a worm in the sheets, it wasn't like
he could hide somewhere and pretend nothing was wrong. "I can... I mean, I can do other
things to you, please. Come back here."
She left the bedroom pissed as hell and he slipped on a pair of pants, chasing her to the
kitchen.
"I don't want to hear your bullshit, okay?" She yelled at him. "Leave me be!"
"Jill..."
She, who had decided to pawn her hands to make herself a cup of coffee so as not to throw
them on him, slammed the mug down on the counter furiously, turning on him like a
wounded animal. "What's your fucking problem, huh? You don't like me anymore? Have I
lost too much weight? Is it this long hair shit? What the fuck is wrong with me? Tell me!"
Chris leaned against the doorframe, massaging his temples, distressed. "Please don't start
again. You're beautiful but you know that-
"If that's true why don't you go see a goddamn doctor and solve the problem, already?!" Jill
didn't even let him finish because she was worn out. The first times it had happened, when
Chris was still recovering and weak, she had obviously been understanding. She had
consoled and comforted him and had continued to swallow the shit without giving it away
even for much later but now she simply couldn't take it anymore. Not after over five years of
relationship. She no longer believed his excuses about his previous medical history, which
had been atrocious, yes, but they had overcome it. Together. It wasn't just about fucking,
either, she wasn't so low and trivial. Chris was a very sweet guy who showered her with
attention, cuddles, and gifts, made her delicious dinners, and a lot of other little romantic
niceties that many women would have killed for.
He just didn't desire her. Period. And he was increasingly beginning to seem more like a
devoted roommate than her boyfriend and future husband. If at first, she had appreciated the
effort, now she didn't care how good he had become at compensating for his wobbly boners
with toys, his hands, or his mouth. He didn't give a shit about her, nor did he seek intimacy
with her. Ever. Hell, he almost seemed to suffer from it! And, despite this very obvious red
flag, whenever she got pissed off at him, she ended up feeling like a bitch when he looked at
her with that miserable hangdog look. Just like at that moment because she had dared to
mention a doctor and it had triggered him. She could not blame him. He had spent three years
of his life among hospitals, doctors, and rehabilitators. He wanted no more of it but that
situation needed to be solved
She leaned her back against the counter and huffed, feeling like crying.
"Tell me the truth," she told him almost in desperation, "are you fucking Jessica? I'm not
blind, I've seen how she rubs up against you like a cat in heat every chance she gets. Just
come clean with me at this point."
The rapidity with which Chris's eyebrows shot upward in a wince of shocked confusion
confirmed to her that Jessica had nothing to do with it even before his absolutely honest:
"What the fuck are you talking about? I would never!"
Chris was great at many things but he had always been a terrible liar, and he still was
completely incapable of reading women's signals. He probably hadn't even noticed that
Jessica was a bloody slut, so Jill believed him right away.
"Then what is it? Talk to me!" She pushed him.
"I don't know," he uttered, proving that he wasn't such a bad liar, after all.
He knew. Of course he did but he hadn't the slightest intention to reopen that sorrowful door
after having locked it years earlier, with Alfred's death. "I love you, Jill, but… I'm so messed
up! I swear that I don't do it on purpose and it's not your fault that sometimes I just can't! I'm
sorry, okay? I'm so fucking sorry!" He rolled to abandon his back against the door frame and
covered his face with his hands, shaken by a tremor.
He was so dreadfully unhappy.
To this day, he still had no idea how he had ended up in that situation. Since the very first
moment he had opened his eyes at the hospital, everyone had assumed that he and Jill were a
thing and he hadn't been in the condition to take a step back, or try to slow things down, at
the time. From then on he had just followed the flow because, along with his sister, Jill had
been his rock for all that time and he owed her the happiness she deserved. Moreover, it was
true that he loved her to the point that he couldn't even imagine a life without her by his side.
She was great, brilliant, funny! They had everything! They were fine! They knew each other
to the T, and he was really trying to do everything in his power to grant her all she wanted.
Why did Jill have to always crucify him for his only lack? Why was sex the only important
thing for her? He didn't understand and he was so profoundly hurt by her insensitivity and
superficiality. Why did she not see, or give a shit, about all his efforts? He had personally
picked her up at the airport that afternoon and had left the training center earlier to be with
her. He never took time off except for her. To surprise her, he had gifted her with that dress
she had given up buying, before leaving for the mission, because money was tight, now that
they also had to pay rent and save for later, which meant, marriage, even though neither of
them dared to say the fucking word out loud anymore. Once home, he had prepared a hot
bath for her, and while she took her well-deserved rest, he had cooked her dinner and
everything had gone beautifully. She was happy. He was comfortable. And now he was so
mortified and resentful but, being the non-confrontational person he was, he said nothing. He
pulled his back away from that damned doorframe and left the kitchen with her gaze burning
on his bare back.
Play for me when it rains...

It had taken Chris forever to realize that Alfred hadn't meant when it actually rained but,
more metaphorically, whenever things went wrong and he needed his memory of him for
comfort. Not that it made any difference. It rained all the time now and had little to do with
the weather, which almost always sucked anyway. He continued down the narrow corridor he
could barely get through, since half of it was packed with boxes full of god only knew what,
and opened the door to what should have been a studio but was merely another squat
agglomeration of skyscrapers made of stacked cardboard bricks. He grabbed the pack of
cigarettes he had abandoned there and lit one with the lighter he had given him that he still
treasured. He sat down on the amplifier, defeated, and looked wistfully at the small stylized
flying red dragonfly he had tattooed on the inside of his right wrist. He had never explained
to anyone, not even Claire, the story behind it, just as, for that matter, he had never told
anything about what had happened on Rockfort Island except the bare minimum, which was
that Wesker was alive and had mutated into a superhuman monster.
The last memory he had of Alfred was his fiery body dispersing in the wind in petals of
sparks. So flamboyant and unapologetic until the very end. So authentic in being true to
himself. His eyes grew cloudy. He had overcome that grief but there were times, like that,
when the lack of him and his embracing gentleness was almost unbearable. The one with him
had been the most authentic relationship he had ever had, be it amicable or romantic. It didn't
matter, in the end. Alfred had seen him for what he truly was and, not without resistance on
his part, had led him to show his true colors. To be free. In retrospect, those had been the
happiest months of his entire life, and he was crushed by suffocating regret that he had not
lived them to the full. He would have given anything to go back in time and change things,
especially the ending, but not only that. He had never given Alfred back even half of the love
he had so selflessly bestowed on him. He had never understood the well-hidden misery
behind his uncanny violet eyes and how Alfred also needed to be saved from himself. He had
failed him, and he knew, though he did not want to admit it entirely, that he was continuing to
fail him, as he was living the exact opposite of what he had advised him to do. He could not
and it was not just a matter of will. He just couldn't. He had never looked to any other man
after him, even though he was surrounded by them, too traumatized to even take the risk. He
didn't want to leave Jill. He loved her and that was the main point, but there were many
others. He was terrified at the prospect of feeling such a visceral and uncontrollable feeling
again, and even more paralyzed by the possibility of falling for it and losing everything
again, or, even worse, finding himself in the claws of another Wesker. Moreover, even if that
were not the case, he would not even know where to begin in courting someone, man or
woman. The very idea filled him with so much anxiety that it made him sick to his stomach.
Life with Jill was not perfect, but at least he was completely in control, and that made him
feel safe. He did not aspire to more but he really would have liked it if they at least did not
fight so often. He had to make up his mind to marry her and speed up the process. As soon as
he had some time on his hands, he was going to start looking for venues to propose to her and
speculate on plans for the ceremony and guests. Surely she would have wanted her father to
attend. Yes. It would have pleased her to see him invested. Things would work out for the
best at that point.
He put out the butt in the ashtray but did not even have time to plug in his headphones and
connect the electric guitar to the amplifier when the doorbell rang. He frowned because it was
late and dropped everything to go to the door where he found Jill already opening it. Beyond
the threshold was an enthusiastic O'Brian.
"I did it! I managed to get around that son of a bitch and convince the committee to give us
another chance!" He was saying, perky, but when he saw their gloomy expressions he
dampened his glee a bit. "It is a bad time? I can come back in the morning. But... Well, I
wanted to get things in motion as soon as possible."
Jill huffed, closing her robe better. "It's okay, come inside."
Clive did so and addressed Chris a reproachful look as if silently wanting to ask him what he
had done, again, to piss the poor girl off. He ignored him and lit another cigarette, following
them into the kitchen. It was the only place that had at least three chairs to sit on.
"Sorry about the mess," Jill sighed even though, by now, everyone was used to it. "Can I get
you something?"
"No, thank you," he replied, after noticing the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He gave them a
brief recap of the intricate bureaucratic web he had climbed through to get that result. "Now,
however, we must be impeccable. I'm leaving for D.C. tomorrow morning on the first flight,
and I'd like you to come with me, Jill, to help coordinate their review of our documentation. I
know, it's a crappy job and you also just got back but-
"Don't worry, count me in," she interrupted him with a shrug.
"We could be there for weeks, even months. It's not even certain they'll start right away, and
when they do, it's going to be long and cumbersome. They'll also want to know how much
hair we have around our asshole and what shade it is."
"Whatever."
Clive turned his attention to Chris.
"I don't need his approval to decide. I said I'm coming," Jill hissed, making him flinch.
The poor man cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable in that minefield. "Of course," he
mumbled, "But he has work to do here, too. It is possible, indeed, practically certain that the
committee will send supervisors here to see our training methods and field operations. I know
you keep the boys more than on track when you train them, and I like your soft approach in
letting them free to do what they like in their moments of disengagement, but that dorm is
wild. Fix them before someone who won't like all this freedom comes along. You can even
tell them to pretend for as long as it takes, I don't care, but we absolutely must not burn this
opportunity. Shit, if I know Langsdale, he'll get in the way and send you the strictest asshole
he can get. You're our best training officer, I'm counting on you."
Chris merely nodded, not particularly alarmed by this. The rookies he was currently training
had recently arrived and were green but worked well together. Furthermore, Parker was
already perfectly trained from his years in the F.B.C. and Jessica wasn't that bad either. He
would tell the rest to make less noise in the barracks and everything would go smoothly.
O'Brian left them shortly thereafter, failing to keep for himself the recommendation to make
peace with each other, and adding that he would take care of Jill's ticket.
As for them, they slept apart without addressing each other. Her in the bedroom. Him on the
couch.
Leon was in a hotel room enjoying, so to speak, a blowjob. The guy administering it was
trying his best but he wasn't very talented, or maybe he was just too bored, not drunk enough,
yet, and definitely not nearly as into it as he should have been. After all, it was hard to get
excited when by now he had seen more cock than a porn director. This, however, did not keep
him from getting annoyed when his cell phone started ringing because he had been on
vacation for roughly three hours. He had barely had time to take a shower, hit on the poor
prick - C-Something, Cody, Charles, whatever his name was, he hadn't paid attention - and
undo his pants fly, for fuck's sake!
"Kennedy," he picked it up, after taking the bloody thing from the nightstand.
His poor date looked up, shocked, and he imperiously gestured for him to continue because
no one had told him to stop. Then he started to listen to what the guy on the other end of the
phone call was babbling about. He knew who he was but did not know him personally, nor
had they ever spoken to each other before.
"Look, sir," he interrupted him, containing his wheezing because, at last, C-something had
gained a good rhythm in sucking him off. "I am an operative. I work on the field. I don't deal
with - Yes, and I hope you're finding it an interesting read but -
He fell completely silent and with a swipe of his knee pushed the poor fellow off the top of
his legs, blind and disinterested in his being hurt by his lack of tactfulness. He rose to his feet
and, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear, fastened his pants back on over his
now stone-dead cock. His gaze had become particularly intense and his eyebrows had
furrowed into a rigid expression.
"Screw the compensation. I accept. No. Not tomorrow. Tonight. I'll be at the airport in half an
hour. And I'm bringing my bike." He ended the call, putting the phone in his pocket, and then
picked up his bag from the floor. He hadn't even unpacked it. Fucking hell…
The feeble throaty gasp of confusion that echoed in the silence of the room reminded him that
he was not alone.
Fuck... He thought as he felt uncomfortable in front of that brunette's hazel eyes.
"Look, something came up. Work. Sorry, gotta go," he said without really being so and
hesitating way too long on his name.
"It's Chris. D-don't worry, it's ok, we just met!"
Leon huffed out a short, harsh laugh because the universe really did have a twisted sense of
humor. He shook his head, moving his blond bangs. "A piece of warning, Chris," he told him,
"stay away from the likes of me." He tossed him the room key. "Enjoy it, it's paid for the
whole weekend but bring in a good guy, okay?"
"Wait! Can't we see each other again? I like you very much and-
Leon closed the door behind him even before he finished the question. The answer was no no
matter what. He wasn't dating anyone twice. No exceptions.
He exited the hotel and approached the motorcycle, before donning his aviator jacket. It was
already too hot for that but, like every year, he was reluctant to put it in the closet until the
next winter. Not that he had time to stop by the house anyway.
"Shit," he huffed, remembering something, and he put the earpiece to his ear and set off the
call before getting into the saddle and riding away.
That was quick. Carlos, whom he had told not to bother him for at least 48 hours, answered
him.
Didn't find anyone to fuck, yet? You're gettin' old, loser! Holy puta-
Leon heard him cursing in Spanish along with a banging of pots and pans and giggled at
imagining him in the kitchenette of the bar where he worked.
"That'll teach you not to be a jerk!"
Go fuck yourself. The other insulted him. And please don't let it be what I think it is. I won't
forgive you this time.
"Then start hating me. Work. I'm going to the airport now and I don't even know when I'll be
back. Nothing dangerous, though, for once."
Carlos's resigned snort made him feel guilty.
"You know I don't decide."
Duh, but you promised to be there this year, Leo! You know how much she cares about having
you on her birthday. I asked you for one dinner! One bloody one, for fuck's sake!
"Well, shit happens. Tell her I'm sorry."
No! You can't get away like this! Where are you going and-
"Bye, 'mano."
"Hijo de perra!" Carlos thundered, slamming his cell phone on the stove. As he turned to
begin picking up all the stuff he had dropped, he saw Sherry in the kitchen doorway. He
looked at her with death in his heart because, although she was now a teenager with the shitty
temper typical of that age, she was still his little girl to him.
"He's not coming, is he?" She asked him. "Better this way. I really didn't want him." With
that said, she turned and left the kitchen.
"Estrellita..." Carlos followed her to the hall, at that hour still deserted because it was early
and that was a dive bar where people preferred to go to get drunk well after dinner. He
stopped her as she was putting away the schoolbooks in her backpack. She was still in high
school despite being college-age because, well, life had sucked and she had lost both time
and desire to study after what had happened in Raccoon City, and to Nick. Carlos had done
all he could to raise her well. There had been times, before Leon's salary became high enough
to help them, when he had even worked three jobs, but, to his regret, he had never been able
to be that fatherly and, perhaps, somewhat authoritative figure that she would have needed.
The relationship between her and Leon was in disarray. He knew they loved each other but,
following Nicholai's death, they had never really reconnected. He had intervened a few times
to clean up some messes for her but from a distance, when Sherry would have only wanted
him to simply stop for a minute and ask her how she was doing. Leon, however, never
stopped, and the word 'work' had become, over time, his favorite alibi. Carlos knew that
Sherry was desperate to reconcile with him but was too proud and stubborn to admit it, while
Leon... Well, Leon didn't seem to give a shit about anything or anyone, starting with himself.
He jumped from one dude to another seamlessly, always drunk, always on the edge, unable to
create a stable relationship, or, more likely, too scared to do so. Carlos was his only friend
and, probably, the only person with whom Leon exchanged more than a few words beyond
the bare minimum, but he felt helpless in the face of his damned elusiveness. This, however,
did not mean that he would stop trying with all his might. He was an obstinate son of a bitch
too.
"I'm going home," Sherry sentenced, "the Bitch is coming soon anyway."
"Come on, stop calling her that!" He protested. The 'Bitch' was Allison, his girlfriend, whom,
for some absurd reason, Sherry could not stand. It was thanks to her that he had found that
job in D.C. and they had been able to get close to Leon. At least in the same town, and
transfer Sherry to a new school since she had not fit in at all at the old one in his hometown.
"I wasn't calling her, I was describing her," she huffed, throwing her backpack over her
shoulder as she walked toward the door.
He let it go because it was a losing battle. "As soon as you get there give me a ring and-
"Close all the doors and windows. Yes, you repeat it every single night. I know as you know
very well what would make me feel safe but you keep ignoring me. "
He stiffened. "No guns in the house," he reiterated for the umpteenth time.
"I'm not a child anymore!" Sherry blurted out, shooting him a scowl. "Leon always has at
least one on him!"
"So now he's a role model? The same guy you don't even want on your birthday?"
"Whatever!"
"Don't forget to... Ring." Carlos sighed, now at the closed door. He ran his hands through his
thick dark ringlets, despondent. What a fucking mess…
When he woke up, Chris found the house empty. Jill had crawled outside as quietly as a thief
because she clearly did not want to talk to him yet. They were going to settle it over the
phone as had happened in other fights in the past. He was not worried but he was in a bad
mood. He took a shower, disgorged something for breakfast, and then got into the car.
"Look at this dickhead!" He hissed, slamming on the brakes as a jerk on a black motorcycle
passed him on the wrong side of the road. Before the guy sped off, he noticed that the license
plate was not British, but that did not excuse him from being a goddamn irresponsible
asshole. Some people really shouldn't have been given a license.
He went through the manned gates but did not stop to talk to the boys there and parked in
front of the central building because he wanted to address the talk he had had with O'Brian
with the company's main troublemakers, and since it was going to take a lot to get some
reasoning into those two blockheads, it was best to start well in advance. He knew that Quint
Cetcham was stationed in the communications room and, probably, his pal Keith Lumley was
not far behind. Not surprisingly, he found them in the anteroom of the hall talking
confusingly to each other.
"Oh, Chris! Good thing you're here!" He was, indeed, greeted by Quint as soon as he had
crossed the threshold. "Can you explain to us what the fuck-
"Shut up," he intimated, "and you too," he added, glowering at Keith. He quickly and very
seriously summarized to them what O'Brian had told him.
Keith again tried to interrupt him. "Yeah, Chris, cool, but-
"Shut the hell up. When the supervisors come you two assholes need to act like normal
people. I'm not asking for the effort to look like two soldiers, for goodness sake! But a
minimum display of human dignity! This means: don't try to escape from the dormitory when
you're not on liberty, don't hack the town church radio to broadcast death metal-
"Chris-
"And you, Quint, you filthy pig, absolutely no porn during lunch breaks, least of all that
tentacle shit Jessica caught you watching! If it happens again I'll chop your dick off with my
own hands, am I clear enough?"
Quint was strangely pale, almost embarrassed, and that was positive. He seemed to get the
point.
"Y-yeah, crystal clear b-but, I mean..." The poor guy stammered, pointing behind him toward
the communications room.
Chris sneered menacingly. "Very funny, but we're not five years old. I don't have a monster
behind me. I'm dead serious, guys. Cut the crap or you'll see a side of me that's not pretty at
all."
Keith gasped, nudging him to finally get him to turn around, and when Chris finally brought
into focus who was on that threshold of the communication room he knew he was fucked
along with all the B.S.A.A.
He stood paralyzed like a deer in the headlights and, for a long moment, his mind went into a
complete blackout.
It wasn't true. It could not be true. This was a nightmare. The fight with Jill and rethinking
the past must have played some twisted game on him.
Except not. He was more than awake and Leon S. Kennedy was indeed on the threshold of
their communications room. He had grown up. He still had a slim, elegant figure but his
shoulders were broader under that aviator's jacket that was no longer too big for him. His face
had lost the softness of late adolescence and had acquired an almost marble edginess that
made him, if possible, even more strikingly attractive. And his hair was brighter and blonder
than he remembered, as well as at least an inch longer at the bangs. His eyes had remained
the same, light blue, intelligent, and, at that moment, stained with a glow of shocked disbelief
and reproach.
Chris felt the ground missing from under his feet and flinched back as the other advanced.
His involuntary retreat was rewarded by a sneer on those rosy full lips. "It looks like a
monster was indeed at your back. A ghost."
His voice had lowered a little. It was deeper and warmer, and Chris was startled and attracted
by it as by a siren's song, but it was the words so coincidentally similar to those Wesker had
used in Rockfort Island that triggered his panic.
Leon looked at him as if assessing an opponent's strengths and vulnerabilities, but he had no
fear. On the contrary, he was confident and stopped in front of the even bigger mountain of
muscle that Chris Redfield had become without batting an eye. "One more inch and you'll
never fit through doors again," he pointed out, arching an eyebrow. He was glad for the
reaction he was unleashing inside him, he could almost see him going over all the mistakes
he had made in his turd of life, and Redfield was right to take a hard look at himself because
that was what he was there for. To close the book on the last guy he had left still standing
behind him. When Langsdale had phoned him, he had really been one step away from telling
him where he could shove his proposal and shutting the phone in his face. He did not care
about the power games behind the various government agencies, much less the evaluation of
outside anti-bioterrorism organizations. His opinion was that the more people were there to
fight on the right side, the better, but when that slimeball had started telling him how useful
he had found his report on the Raccoon City accident and revealed to him that Chris Redfield
was now training rookies in Europe, well, that had made him see red. He had not thought of
him for many years, and yet one tiny spark had been enough to rekindle the fire of his
resentment. It had been the strongest emotion he had felt in quite a while, and it didn't seem
to fade now that he had him in front of him. On the contrary, he was more determined than
ever. Redfield was the complete opposite of what was needed in that war, and he was going
to knock him off the table just like a toy soldier. He looked at him better; he was more
hulking and menacing than in Raccoon but also as fragile as glass. Leon could recognize the
grip of PTSD's claws and now Redfield was right where he wanted him, back in that fucking
city. He had displayed his dominance and could be satisfied for the day. He needed booze and
some hours of sleep.
"As you were saying, your supervisor has arrived," he told him. "We're starting tomorrow.
This was just a look around the place." He walked past him with light feet and the look of
those two poor fuckers on him. Porn on the lunch break! Fucking hell… A meteor crossed his
thoughts. Jack wouldn't have given any second warnings for shit like that. He would have
chopped cocks right there and then. He wondered how his old sergeant was doing. They had
never been close or friends but he was grateful for everything he had taught him and sorry for
the way things had ended but, as he had told Carlos, shit happened. Especially in their line of
work.
He sat on the motorcycle he had parked around the corner when Chris rushed out and ran to
him.
"Can we talk?" He asked him, as stunned as a man who had just climbed the highest
mountain in the world without oxygen and had been kicked from the summit back to base
camp on his sorry ass. The poor thing was really in a panic. He nodded out of perverse
curiosity, putting on his helmet but lifting his visor to maintain eye contact.
"Leon-
"Agent Kennedy," he quickly corrected him.
Chris blinked, taken aback, and Leon found himself wondering if he had always been so
dumb or if he had gotten worse over time. He saw him lower his gaze and sulk. Christ, he
could almost hear the gears in his brain creaking. A rather pathetic sight.
"... If this is personal," Chris uttered, finally, "please leave B.S.A.A. out of it. You want me
gone, I'll quit. Don't... Don't screw up years of work just because-
"Just?" Leon scoffed. "Rule number one," he continued, surprised at how quickly the other
fell in line, "don't talk about Raccoon. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Or you'll piss me
off. Secondly, if I wanted you out we wouldn't be having this conversation. I would have
established that before I even got my ass on the plane. No, I'm not kicking you out, I'm going
to give you a chance to screw it up on your own. Have a little patience, I know you won't let
me down. I’m not the bad guy here. You are.” With that said, he turned the key in the ignition
and sped off, abandoning him there.
Chris could do nothing but watch him go, and he was so pale and in shock that when Quint
and Keith caught up with him, they were genuinely concerned about him.
"Okay, the porn is bad, but I don't think to that extent," the former tried to cheer him up.
"Yeah, it's not something we can't fix. It happened before he got here, not during," Keith
echoed him. “You and that guy know each other?”
Chris did not listen to either of them and, once back inside the building, locked himself in his
office.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
The usual thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, bookmarkers, kudoers, and
commenters! You are my beautiful rays of sunshine!
I know, I have thrown a roundup of new names in your faces but I want to reassure you:
I am not assuming that everyone here has played all the games. Most of these characters
are from RE Revelations. I also do not expect that you know the events of Terragrigia
and I promise that they will be analyzed in future chapters. I will use the canon as source
material but then take great distances from it. In a sense, I have already begun. In canon,
we are not told how the B.S.A.A. got the partnership with the United States of America,
so I am using all the gaps to build my very own house of cards.
Let us come to our characters.

Chris and Jill's relationship is a walking catastrophe and it's a miracle that it has gone on
for so long. I have sympathy for Chris because, in addition to his own reluctance to
accept his sexuality, he also has a lot of trauma piled over it. However, I don't feel like
placing any particular blame on Jill other than not wanting to see a truth that she had
already sensed at the beginning of the Raccoon City arc. She feels deeply hurt that Chris
is not as involved as she is in their relationship and experiences a lot of insecurity about
herself because she believes she is not enough for him.
If I had to decide who is the asshole between the two, I would probably say him but he
is also an asshole with all the extenuating circumstances. He is not with her to hurt her
or even to use her as a cover. He really loves her and what he has with her is a safe hide
while the rest is an unknown and frightening abyss.
Obviously, Chris, as gay and not bi, is not the least bit sexually attracted to her, and
although ace couples exist in the world, neither Jill nor Chris are so. Chris minimizes
sex only because he has never had a proper fuck in his entire life and has always
experienced it as a traumatic, anxiety-filled activity because he has always crucified
himself by doing it with women when he likes cock, to put it trivially. We know that's
going to change - wink-wink - and we'll see if he's going to be of the same minimalist
opinion that we've seen in this chapter. Spoiler: he won't be.
Carlos is his usual saintly self and, finally, has managed to have the normal life he so
longed for. He works in a bar, has a girlfriend, and is the mainstay of his family. Sherry,
poor thing, has grown up a bit turbulent (we will get to see why and how in the future)
and, on the one hand, she acts superior and pretends that Leon's aloofness does not touch
her, on the other, she pours out her frustration on poor Carlos who, between them, finds
himself is definitely between a rock and a hard place. As for his girlfriend, she is an
original character but will have a merely instrumental function in moving their storyline
forward, so don't mind her too much.
I know, Nicholai is absent from this first chapter but we will find him immediately in the
first scene of next week's chapter. As I confessed to a kind commenter last night, in my
very first draft of this story Nicholai was supposed to die at the end of the Code
Veronica arc just like Alfred, but even then I knew I couldn't kill him because I love him
too much (sorry Alfie, I loved you too but there just wouldn't be room for you, my
precious). Nicholai will have his own personal and complete storyline even though his
relationship with Leon ended tragically, and I hope that what I have to tell you about
him will continue to engage you. I am not in the habit of saving characters from certain
death but I really cared too much about this son of a bitch to let him go roughly halfway
through the full story.
Don't take me literally with the estimates. This arc will have less clear-cut boundaries
than the previous two and will end with a terrible cliffhanger leading to a long epilogue.
If the story were published novels, this arc would be the last big volume of the trilogy.
So, how many chapters will it be? Hell knows. Sorry XD!
Leon is a lightning-fast furball full of resentment ready to explode. Of all the characters,
he is the one who is most hurt and still broken. He is not in a good place mentally but he
has been in it for so long that he has furnished it and calls it home. In the Raccoon City
arc, a lot of you have come to hate Chris and I think, in this, you will despise Leon for a
while because he will do and say really abominable and sometimes even uncalled for
things.
I promised that this would be the Chreon arc and it will be. This time I wasted no time
bringing them together again but, of course, things are not simple or smooth and I feel
quite sorry for Chris because he does not know what is about to blow up in his face.
Thank you all so much, as always!

A big hug,
Lady S.
P.S.: I had to cut the notes! They were too long, fuck me!
Chapter 82
Chapter Notes
"Teacher! Teacher!"
He stopped and waited for the girl to run to him, that tiny little thing, and couldn't hold back a
smirk when, braking suddenly, she almost crashed into him.
"Easy, easy, I heard you. What is it?" He asked her, amused.
"I saw you through the window and ran straight down! I finished all the exercises you gave
me and some more, here!" She exclaimed, jumping on the spot as she handed him her pink
notebook with glitter.
She looked really cute with her pigtails and little dress all in order. So adorable.
"And I guess you couldn't wait until tomorrow in class to give it to me, right, young lady?"
He inquired of her, grabbing it with mock sternness.
"Absolutely not! Not after all the time it took me to do it, and I expect nothing less than an
otlíchno!"
He burst out laughing.
"Nadezhda, come here right now!" Her mother shouted, coming over, breathless and grabbing
the child by the arm. She turned a dismayed look at the man. "Professor Nicholai
Aleksandrovich, I beg your pardon, she is a rude little hag! We didn't mean to waste your
time," and then turned to the child. "Apologize immediately!"
Nicholai softened further. "There is no need, you have not caused me any trouble, Mrs.
Varvara Federovna. In truth, I am very glad that your little Nadyusha is such an enthusiastic
student. You should be proud."
The little girl let out a little squeal of joy at being called by a fond name. The teacher was
always so composed and serious in class.
"Proud? Of her?!" The woman gasped. "You are too good and patient with these little brats.
Let's go, Nadezhda, and excuse us again."
Nicholai departed from them with cordial formality but winced when as they walked away he
heard the mother say, "Didn't you see that the lady was waiting for him? You are so
incorrigible! Your father has gone back to work only thanks to her, you silly, silly girl!"
He turned his head and noticed Alex in her white long coat waiting for him on the threshold
of the building across the street where his apartment was. Their gazes met and when she
spotted the pink notebook in his hands she burst out laughing and anticipated him inside.
"What's so funny?" He asked her once in the hallway. "At least she can write in correct
cursive. I'm still waiting for you to show me yours."
Alex, standing by the incoming elevator, widened her eyes, outraged. "Some fool has chosen
violence tonight, I see," she commented, arching an eyebrow.
He smiled, quite happy to see her, actually. "You've been gone for a while."
"You know how Oswell is. A demanding old man," she shrugged her shoulders, stepping in
and waiting for the doors to close behind him. "Is there anything new I should be informed
about other than little Nadezhda's cursive?" She snorted because that thing exhilarated her. "I
still can't believe that out of all the cover jobs you could have picked, here on the island, you
actually chose to be the school teacher. I offered you an entire factory to run!"
"It was my dream job when I was a kid," he explained to her.
Alex rolled her eyes. "You were dreaming big!" She ironized.
He didn't mind and leaned his back against the wall. "I'm greedy but I've never been
particularly ambitious. My mom and I were poor, kind of like these people when we arrived
here four years ago, and I was always concrete, or too unimaginative. I didn't have time or
desire to picture myself as, I don't know, a cosmonaut," he explained to her, peering inside
the notebook as the cabin went up.
"Oh, no!" She snatched it from his hands and clutched it to her chest. "This is confiscated
until we're done."
Nicholai addressed her with a mute 'Come on!' with his green eyes.
"No-no, I want you to do the work I actually pay you to do, Mr. Teacher," she scolded him
playfully.
He graciously let her pass first as the elevator doors slid aside and opened the one to his
apartment for her, where he watched her take off her coat and her tall and decidedly
impractical stiletto shoes, place them on the mat, and then slip on his slippers. He had bought
a pair for her since their meetings were frequent, but she had never wanted to use them. She
preferred to steal his. Every time. He didn't know whether forcing him to remain barefoot
was a power move or simple teasing, but he couldn't help but find it cute in a way.
"Sooner or later you'll trip and fall and I'll laugh," he told her, watching her trail off in those
slippers far too big for her fairy feet.
"You wouldn't dare."
He chuckled. "I would dare all right," he retorted, finishing unlacing his boots.
When he joined her in the large room that was his apartment, he saw her already at the desk
checking the data from the experiments. She did not want him to forward them via email at
any time for security reasons. She was very secretive. He had never asked her why and never
would. To inquire too much would have been unwise even though their relationship was
oddly amicable. It had not always been that way, mainly because of him. It had taken him a
really long time to trust her and, even longer, to accept the idea that his life would still be
directed by a leash. Alex, however, was completely different from Sergei. She had never
punished him, corporally or otherwise. She had never even threatened him into obeying, nor
had she ever spoken of their agreement again since they had made it. In truth, her directives
were precise but also malleable. She liked to give him room to maneuver so that he could
express himself and was always open to suggestions. Nicholai was grateful to her for this,
although his work as Monitor did not delight him at all. Now that he had persuaded her to
carry out her horrible experiments on subjects who, in his opinion, deserved such a fate,
though, it did not weigh so heavily on him to torture them. He saw her shiver and, on the way
to the stove to rekindle it, slipped off his jacket, and laid it on her shoulders. Alex mumbled a
thank you without raising her head.
"Something to drink? Tea? Vodka?" He offered, as he shed the damn tie he wore to school.
He just couldn't get used to it, but he cared about looking appropriate for the context and not
just for personal decorum. He couldn't look too conspicuous. The good citizens of the island
had no idea that their children's too-patient teacher was watching people get slaughtered at
night, in the detention center, and things had to stay that way.
"Dinner," she replied.
Nicholai huffed a smile and opened the closet to put on something more comfortable. He did
not bother to go to the bathroom to change. She didn't care and neither did he, but he turned
his head when he heard her sigh and then slam the papers down on the table with a
despondent "It's not going anywhere..."
Of course, he already knew this since he had written those results and he was sorry. Not
because he feared repercussions. He did not deal with synthesizing viruses. He would not
have known where to start. He just had to put the subjects in a position where they could
operate in their systems. If they did not work as expected it was not his fault but, clearly, she
was growing frustrated.
"You seem very tired. Maybe you should look at them again tomorrow with a fresher mind,"
he advised her.
"Why, will they change overnight?"
"I'm afraid not," he answered her, starting to prepare dinner. "We could use a more immediate
method of control than post-mortem tests, though," he then added, starting to peel the
potatoes. She did not comment but he knew, even without seeing her, that she was listening to
him. "It's not my area of expertise. but if there was a way to keep track of the chemical
imbalance when the subjects are alive so that we could, I don't know, see who shows more
resistance and categorize them by biometric charts as well as by their experience and their
presumed resilience to traumatic events, maybe…" He stopped because he felt uncomfortable
while talking about things he knew so little about. "I mean, perhaps there is progress but it's
not empirically monitorable without a more sophisticated system." Faced with her silence, he
grew further discouraged. "Never mind. Sorry. I should stick to my duties without proposing
unsolicited nonsense."
Alex smiled as she watched him cook. Nicholai was a strange man. He didn't give a damn
about the project, it was obvious. She could not reproach him for anything, though. He was
precise, hell, he was perfect but there was no trace of even a spark of the passion he had
shown in receiving the notebook from that little girl in everything he did with the
experiments. Still, he seemed to care just because she did which was sweet of him. Totally
unexpected and unnecessary but sweet. When she had decided to make him work for her,
with only his file in hand, she had not expected that she would find much more than a clever,
meticulous, ruthless soldier in him. Instead, Nicholai was a deep, highly educated man who,
although he didn't understand a damn thing about science, had turned out to be a valuable
collaborator. She would not have hoped for them to last as long as they did, but she was glad
she had put up with his avoidant nature enough to bring him out of his shell. She hoped that
circumstances would never force her to dispose of him because Nicholai was also a
comforting figure to return to. The one between them was a very strange friendship that
managed to free her from the boulder of some of her worries. He gave the island a domestic
aura, and she enjoyed the time they spent together. Their interactions had also grown slowly
over time. At first, they lasted only a few minutes and he was the one waiting for her at the
lab with his long face and the hasty air of a man who would rather have been anywhere but
there. Now, however, he was making her dinner, and it wasn't even the first time.
"It wasn't such an absurd suggestion," she decided to answer him, moving to the couch and
snuggling down sitting on it. "I'll consult bioengineers," she closed the conversation, opening
the child's notebook. "You're right. Her cursive is better than mine, actually," she admitted, a
little annoyed.
He laughed, moving closer, after putting dinner on the stove. "We can correct that," he told
her, sitting down next to her with pen and paper. "If you'd like."
"Will you be strict?" Alex asked with mock fear.
His green eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh, very much so, Miss Wesker."
“Doctor.”
“Not in my class.” He was well aware that there was absolutely nothing of his there but they
were close enough that he could indulge in such lines without her getting upset.
Over time, Nicholai had adapted well to living on Sein Island and his was a very quiet
existence. He was well-liked there, respected and pampered by everyone. Not a week went by
without someone bringing him food or small gifts because it was he who had created the
necessary connection between the residents and Alex for the economic revitalization of the
area that had saved the entire island from misery. He was forced to be much more socially
inclined than he would have liked, and he missed his isolation a little, but he could not
complain. As for Leon, he had no idea where he was or what his life was like. During the first
three years, he had considered getting briefed by Alex but then had come to the conclusion
that it was not worth taking the risk of rekindling her attention on Leon. The farther he was
from him, the safer he would be. He often wondered what kind of man his feisty kitten had
become but ultimately hoped that he was happy with a decent man who loved him by his side
and who indulged all his sweetest little whims.
"That circle at the bottom is needed," he noted, casting a glance at the paper on which Alex
was scribbling.
"No, it's not, and besides it's ugly."
He laughed at the meaninglessness of that entitled objection. "I don't care if you think it's
ugly! It's not a beauty contest, that's how the letter was made!"
Alex looked up defiantly, definitely not used to being contradicted or not excelling. "Why
don't we talk about your accent when you speak English? I speak Russian like a native, the
same cannot be said about you."
"I never gave the slightest fuck about speaking like a bloody American," he retorted in
English, taking care to mark every damn hard sound even more just to be annoying.
"Where are you going?" She addressed him as he got up from the couch.
"To check that our dinner doesn't burn," he replied, smugly. "If you don't mind."
"Mh, I think I'll allow you."
He chuckled again. It was going to be a pleasant evening, they would talk some more about
the experiments, and then about literature. In the end, he was almost happy there.
On the morning following his arrival in the UK, Leon showed up at the training center very
early. It was practically still nighttime when he passed through the gates. Without any
hesitation whatsoever he marched into the dormitory barracks, showing the documents the
F.B.C. agents had given him directly at the airport to the guard at the entrance who let him
through without any problems, already aware of the situation.
It was a small place, clearly tattered, and it smelled damp and sweaty. What a shithole. The
B.S.A.A. definitely needed more funding but the survival of it was yet to be decided.
The decent thing to do would have been to inform Captain Redfield in advance of his
willingness to meet the recruits and test their level of readiness, but Leon had no intention of
being decent. He removed his gun from his chest holster and emptied the magazine loaded
with blanks into the air. The noise was excruciating and, he trusted, enough to wake them all
up. He decided to be generous before starting the stopwatch but the only one who appeared in
an acceptable time and fully clothed was former F.B.C. agent Parker Luciani who gave him
an alarmed look that turned hostile rather quickly. He was a big bloke, even taller than Chris
but less broad. Leon made a mental note to talk to him sometimes as he watched that
vociferous scant dozen of guys scurry out of the rooms, some half-dressed, some still in their
underwear, including the two morons from the day before. Their reaction times had been so
slow that it was plain ridiculous. Silence fell quickly, claimed by his stern gaze, and he was
about to introduce himself when a female voice burst from one of the rooms with a
thunderous:
"Quint if this is another one of your bullshits, I swear to God I-
The girl, a very pretty young woman with long wavy brown hair, provocative gray eyes, and
ruby lips freshly made up, stopped in mid-rant, taken aback by Leon's presence but did not
seem to mind having on anything but her lilac panties and a B.S.A.A. T-shirt knotted over her
belly button, clearly not hers. In fact, she recovered quickly, batting her long eyelashes.
"Oh, hi, stranger!" She chirped, squaring him as if he were a piece of meat on a butcher's
counter. "New entry? Name's Jessica."
Out of the corner of his eye, Leon saw Luciani's facepalming and he agreed, he too was
cringing. He hadn't had any particular expectations of Chris's team, but that scenario was
absolutely shocking.
And unacceptable.
QUIET!" He shouted to overpower their reborn mumbling, and they did shut up, surprisingly.
He had never been on the other side of the training barricade, nor would he have dreamed of
it. Being a training officer was not something he felt cut out for but desperate times called for
equally desperate measures. He glared at the disoriented group before him, with a mix of
annoyance and disbelief etched across his face. The room remained silent as he took a step
forward.
"What the fuck," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. Jessica's
attempt at a greeting had done nothing to alleviate the tension in the room. If possible it had
made an already bad situation even worse because she had annoyed him. Leon holstered his
gun with an audible click, his gaze sweeping over each recruit as if sizing them up. "Is this
the best the B.S.A.A. has to offer?" he asked, his voice sharp and unyielding. "My
expectations were low, but I've seen more discipline in a kindergarten class." He let his words
hang in the air so that they could penetrate those blank skulls.
Luciani, the only one who seemed to have any dignity, stepped forward and waited for his
nod before taking the floor.
"If I may, sir, some of us had not been informed of your arrival, nor that your involvement
would begin so soon-
"So you're saying it's my fault?" Leon interrupted him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, agent Luciani, that
the time and circumstances were not appropriate for your high standards. Next time I will be
sure to give you a call, maybe some flowers or chocolates depending on your tastes."
"No, sir, I-
"Don't interrupt me while I'm talking," Leon hissed at him, going in his face and then looking
back at everyone else as well. “Do you think any of this is acceptable?”
"I assure you, sir," Parker resumed, waiting his turn, "that we were just about to start our
morning drills."
Leon scoffed. "Drills? Right now, some of your teammates are still struggling to put on pants.
This is a disgrace! What if this had been a real mission? Lives would be on the line, and some
of you lot wouldn't even be able to find their cocks if they weren't attached to their groins!"
"This team is not yet operational, sir," Parker objected, stiffening. "Therefore-
"There's no such thing as non-operational," Leon answered him curtly, "especially after the
Terragrigia mess. And that's precisely what the B.S.A.A. did there: nothing."
Parker flinched, stung to the core, and Jessica mumbled to Quint that perhaps some of their
teammates would have preferred to have their dicks attached to her instead, loud enough to
divert the attention to herself and prevent the big dummy from doing a fuckup he would
regret, like punching Blondie right on his perfect face.
It worked only partially because Parker had no intention of letting it slide.
"Is that the bullshit Langsdale told you?" He blurted out, clenching his fists. "That the
B.S.A.A. didn't intervene because it wasn't ready? I was there, asshole, I know what really
happened! The F.B.C. prevented it from going into action! Langsdale-
"Maybe. Maybe not," Leon cut him short, uninterested, “not my circus either, to be truthful,
but these monkeys are and the only thing that's certain is that what I've seen so far certainly
hasn't impressed me. You are relieved of your duties and so are you,” he added, glaring at
Jessica. "I have no time for crybabies and wannabe hookers. Everybody else has 60 seconds
to get fucking ready and get in line! Starting now!”
Parker watched his friends, including Jessica, return to their rooms with a sullen look and
crossed his arms over his chest. He was tempted to resume the conversation with Kennedy
now that they were alone but the asshole wasn't even looking at him. Except, perhaps, for
Jessica, who, despite her appearance was anything but stupid and always knew something
without giving it away, no one else probably had any idea who he was, but he did. Kennedy's
reputation preceded him. He was a one-man army who had never failed a mission and had
left a long trail of dead bodies behind him. Not only of enemies but also of collateral damage.
He did not doubt that he was good at his job, nor was he fooled by his harmless cherubic
appearance. To have risen so high so young he had to be at the very least a psycho and a
maniac. One who had no qualms about how many bodies he would have to step on in order to
bring home a successful mission. The exact opposite of what Chris and, by extension, the
entire B.S.A.A. was. At first, he too had had his doubts about him when he had watched him
train. He had found him too soft, too understanding, too prone to listen to everyone's bullshit,
and had told him so plainly when they had found themselves in the mess hall alone with a
couple of beers and some cigarettes. Chris had not taken it personally and had replied that a
friend had told him that he was destined to be a beacon for many others and that he took such
responsibility very seriously so he would never leave anyone behind. It was a short,
somewhat cryptic answer but one that, as the months passed, Parker had begun to see the
point of. There was naiveté, of course, on Chris's part but there was also something so deeply
touching in his ability to bring people together not to build squads but families, bands of
brothers united together by affection and not by discipline and trauma. His methods were
somewhat unorthodox but they worked, and now that little blond prick was there to
jeopardize everything. The fact that Langsdale had been able to pull such an operative off the
field to play drill sergeant for him also spoke volumes about how much clout he actually had
within the tangled ball of American counterbioterrorism, and Parker was not certain that that
was a broadside the B.S.A.A. could sustain without sinking.
Trying not to be seen, he slapped Quint on the back of his dick head when, as he passed by,
he heard him snicker at Keith that there was nothing to fear from that jerk, that he was just a
little faggy-fag who barked a lot but couldn't bite. That was a very stupid thing to say.
Especially since Leon had heard it too.
Unaware of anything, Chris was still at home. He had spent much of the night on the phone
with O'Brian trying to explain the seriousness of the situation. He had begged him to send Jill
back as soon as possible and have him join him in D.C., but it had all been wasted breath.
Leon had anticipated this and had forwarded a formal request to O'Brian to monitor the work
of the chief instructor, which was him. So even if, absurdly, Clive had wished to make that
switch, it would not have been possible anymore. The chief had then recommended to him
that he bow his head, swallow the shit and take the result home, leaving Chris in utter dismay.
Jill had been more sympathetic when he had phoned her, to the point that they had even
managed to get over the previous day's argument in less than five minutes, from so much she
had heard him stressed. She had succeeded, after a while, to get him to rationalize and
convince him that, even if in a twisted way, Leon was giving him a chance. Yes, he expected
him to screw it up, fine, but a chance was still a chance. He just had to prove to him that he
was wrong about him, that he was no longer the loose cannon he had known in Raccoon City,
and show him all the good work they had done over those years.
Then why couldn't he even get the car keys? He really didn't want to see him. In the half-hour
or so that he had tried to get some sleep all he had done was dream on a loop about the time
Leon had attacked him and almost killed him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was
scared to death of that situation. How could he apologize to him? How could he even talk to
him without wishing to sink into the abyss of shame he still felt for the mess he had made
with him? He had no idea, and soon the time would come for him to leave the shelter he had
holed up in and begin morning drills.
When his cell phone rang, filling the agonizing silence of the kitchen, he jerked, as frightened
as if a grenade had just exploded beside him.
"Hey, Parker, is something up?" He answered, trying to pull himself together.
I think you'd better come quickly. The other answered him.
Even before he had finished explaining to him what the fuck had just happened, Chris was
already driving full speed toward the training center. As he passed the gates, he dumped the
car in front of the old barn they had refurnished as a gym and swept in through the doors.
There, the only one still standing was Leon, the others were all lying on the floor amid
shattered pieces of their equipment, some even bleeding, though not badly. Quint, especially,
was holding his nose that was spurting blood as he whined incomprehensibly.
This was enough to give Chris the wake-up call he so desperately needed to get going again.
Seeing his boys endangered.
"What the fuck?!" He thundered, advancing, and Leon greeted his wrath with a smile sharper
than a razor, raising his chin. He wasn't even disheveled.
"Just a little warm-up while waiting for your arrival," he told him with feigned politeness, "I
hope you don't mind, Captain."
"Is this your idea of training? Beating up rookies?" Chris immediately accused him, shocked
and outraged, looking worriedly at his boys. "Are you completely out of your mind?!"
Leon laughed, rocking his head a little. "How funny that sounds out of your mouth of all
people!" He hissed and then shrugged his shoulders. "I even offered them to omit this
morning's disaster from my report if even one of them managed to hit me. Sadly, that didn't
happen." Suddenly he unfastened his aviator's vest and took it off, dropping it at his feet.
"Offer still stands, Captain. Show me and them that at least someone can fight in this shithole
you call a base."
He could see that Chris was tense from the way he had stiffened his neck muscles. He was
getting on his nerves and that was precisely what he wanted to do. He remained frustrated,
however, when the other huffed and straightened his back.
"This is bullshit," Chris said, his gaze fixed on him. He could take him. Easily, but he was
missing the point. "I'm not fighting you, Leon. I am not your enemy and if you would just
give me a chance to-
"Didn't I tell you not to talk about Raccoon?" The other interrupted him, quivering with
resentment. "Well, since you felt the overwhelming need to inform everyone that I' a fag ,
why don't you tell the whole story, huh?" Leon ignored the expression of a poor confused
asshole that had arisen on his face and went on as straight as a bullet and as venomous as a
rattlesnake. "Start by explaining to them why you can't grow a proper beard under your chin
anymore, big guy, or that you're so scared, now, because you're no longer facing a kid crying
for your help, begging you to stop in the dark of a fucking subway, and not even a helpless,
wounded man you can beat to a pulp like the miserable coward I know you are!"
He waited for a reaction from Chris but all he got was to see his dark blue eyes tinged with
sorrow. "Nothing?" He provoked him, so eager to kick his ass in front of everyone but not
intending to throw the first punch.
Chris blinked, trying to gather his thoughts and, above all, keep calm. "I'm sorry about what
happened then," he told him, looking straight into those eyes so full of hatred. He had
pictured that scene so many times in his head when he was stuck on a hospital bed that he felt
strangely ready to bear it. "I really am and I will pay in any way you see fit but this?" He
asked, pointing to the rookies around them. "This is fucked up and I can't let you unleash-
He stopped when Leon laughed again. A cold, cruel laugh. "This?" He echoed him. "Your
team couldn't handle me for ten minutes, what the fuck do you think they can do out there?
Might as well throw a buffet for the monsters in honor of your crusade!"
Chris shook his head with an aching heart. "I'm not the man you remember," and Leon was
not the boy he remembered. There was no trace left of the brilliant liveliness with which he
had seen him handle situations far above his abilities like the incredible living miracle he
was. He was looking at an empty man still stuck in the past. Because of him.
"Assholes like you don't change," was his dry reply without even a hesitation or hint of
wanting to give him a clean slate to start with. "And what I'm seeing here proves it! Anyone
can enlist in this so-called organization as long as they have the fingers to pull the trigger!
Why give a fuck if they'll croak in a heartbeat? As long as they can do it for you and your
obsession, everything is fair, isn't it, Captain?"
Chris swallowed painfully. That was not how things were in the B.S.A.A. At all but there was
no point in insisting on his apology. Leon wasn't having it and he had to protect his boys from
him. Defend them.
"Some of them have just arrived," he tried to explain, "it's obvious they can't handle an
operative like you, and screw the committee, I'm not going to let you abuse them because of
what you think of me!"
Finally, some temper! Leon thought not at all convinced by the mild and reasonable Redfield
in front of him. The beast was still there, somewhere asleep, and he would do anything to
flush it out and crush it.
"Do you think they are green?" Chris continued. "I agree. Give me a hand getting them ready.
Let's work together."
Leon's eyebrows shot upward in an expression of annoyed disbelief, but at least his
belligerence seemed to have subsided. All the fights with Jill were proving useful, as over the
years Chris had become truly adept at defusing others' outbursts of anger.
"It's what I just did," Leon replied, bending down to pick up his jacket and putting it back on.
"And they are not green, they are pathetic. They won't last five minutes against a B.O.W. Or
you, in the likely misfortune that you might grow paranoid and try to slay them out yourself,"
he concluded, walking away toward the exit with his boots echoing in the tomb-like silence
of the gym.
When the door slammed shut, it took Chris a while before he looked up again. He wanted
explanations, and he had a lot more to give. He passed his gaze over everyone's faces,
shocked as if a hurricane had just blown through in there, destroying everything in its path,
and he couldn't blame them because that was just what had happened.
Chapter End Notes

Hello, my dearest ones!
As always, the usual thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, commenters, subscribers, and
bookmarkers!
We finally got to see Nicholai again! Many among the commenters were worried about
his fate, and this warmed my heart because I am glad that you care about him as much as
I do. Of all the characters, he is the one who is doing the best. He has a very quiet life
(well, if torturing and terrorizing prisoners can be called such but we all know how
Umbrella is XD). He even managed, thanks to Alex, to do his dream job and finally be
able to teach in a school however small. A note about his patronymic, Aleksandrovich:
obviously Capcom did not bother to let us know the patronymic of any of its Russian
characters. I chose Aleksandr because it is a name I like roughly in any language and
because Alexander the Great is one of my favorite historical characters. In Russian,
when you want to respectfully refer to someone, you use the first name followed by the
patronymic and the formal register, which, however, is untranslatable in English (and is
the same one Nicholai used the first time he met Alex, in one of the previous chapters,
making her surprised at his manners). I don't want to make it too long, in English it is
untranslatable because the second-person singular and plural coincide. It is always 'you,'
and 'you' is used whether you are talking to your drinking buddy or the CEO of your
company. In Russian and Italian, on the other hand, we have specific forms for referring
to someone formally, the 'lei' in Italian (although in the past we also had the hyperformal
form 'voi') and in Russian, they have Вы which is kind of the counterpart of the old
Italian 'voi' and, of course, the verbs are conjugated accordingly. In both languages, it is
used when talking to a person you do not know, or to the boss at work. In short, in those
circumstances when you are not friends with the interlocutor. I know it can be confusing
for native English speakers, but I am convinced that those who are native Neo-Latin
speakers understand since they also have this 'form of politeness'.
Sorry for the unsolicited explanation. Unfortunately, I'm a teacher too XD. Oh, and if
anybody is wondering what the fuss is about with Russian cursive, well, google it, you'll
see for yourself (and yes, I'm currently learning it).
Nicholai seems to be doing very well on the island and although he is still melancholy,
he has accepted that that is his life now. After six years, the walls he had erected against
Alex gave way and they were able to build this playful friendship.
Two words about Alex. Unfortunately, in Revelations 2 we get to know her when she
has now almost completely lost her mind, but we can tell from the documents that
before she accelerated the process by also using the islanders as guinea pigs for her
experiments, she was a benevolent figure adored by everyone. This is precisely what I
intend to show in my story, along with how Nicholai's presence at her side will influence
her fate and choices. Make no mistake, however, this storyline is also paved with angst.
We come now to our two imbeciles (and no, I am not talking about Quint and Keith
XD). Leon is showing himself a bit like a little Krauser, bringing out a sternness that
clashes with his true nature. These are the effects of years of training and the discipline
behind which Leon has entrenched himself to be able to stay on his feet. That said, our
kitten has not lost a drop of his touchiness, and when he mistakenly believes that Chris
has told everyone he is gay to belittle him, he explodes like a firecracker, leaving dismay
and devastation behind him.
Chris is a poor martyr. He is surrounded by morons who have no sense of when it is best
to keep their mouths shut but, at the same time, they are his morons and he is ready to
defend them like the protective mama bear he is, even from Leon, if needed. He has
finally realized that he cannot hide somewhere in the hope that the problem will vanish
into thin air and has finally put on his big-boy pants, taking in like a boxer all the
venomous nastiness Leon has thrown in his face without going down. It's funny, isn't it,
that they both think that they could beat the crap out of each other easily. They're both
delusional XD.
As I was also telling a kind commenter, yesterday, I haven't planned out perfectly how
their romance will evolve, I'm going to let inspiration wash over me, so I expect to be as
surprised as you are.
Two final words about Jessica for those who haven't played Revelations: I don't think
I'm exaggerating her characterization. I swear to you, there is not a scene in the game
where she doesn't try to throw her pussy in Chris's face, it's embarrassing, and I have
every intention of keeping all her cringe-worthy features intact.

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 83
Chapter Notes
Leon spent the rest of the morning reading reports of the various operations held by the
B.S.A.A. from the time of its founding until the present. He was neither particularly
displeased nor impressed by them. These were, for the most part, brief missions in Europe.
Small outbreaks and bonfires of former minor Umbrella laboratories abandoned all over the
globe.
By the end of the reading, he was gutted and bored out of his mind. He decided to leave the
base early because he had no intention of going back in front of that bunch of douchebags so
soon. He needed to clear his head a bit because the situation he found was different from
what he expected but no less critical. He reached, therefore, the nearby village where he had
been staying overnight. A tiny place with an utterly unpronounceable name, at least from an
American point of view, typical of the northeastern English countryside. It was cute. Cute to
spend an afternoon or so there as a tourist but at the mere thought of having to stay weeks or
more there, Leon felt suffocated. It was like he had been plunged back into his lousy
hometown where the people were petty, backward, and provincial with the only difference
being that Unpronounceable Place at least was nice to look at with all those old buildings.
Good luck to him in finding someone to fuck in that godforsaken hole! He might as well have
started liking rams or goats so high was the likelihood of finding another guy not so inside
his closet to wander in fucking Narnia, there!
He was discouraged and in a bad mood. This did not improve when he began to pay attention
to the windows of the small clothing shops around him; in fact, at that point, he also started to
feel like a complete, utter moron for leaving without even taking the time to pack a proper
suitcase. It was all cheap, ugly crap that he wouldn't wear for all the gold in the world. He
was aware that he was vain and fickle and that, in the grand scheme of things, those were
bullshits but what was the point of making so much money if one couldn't even buy nice
things? He hadn't had nice things for most of his damn life and wanting to dress up when he
wasn't sinking up to his knees in mud and rotting guts was certainly not a crime. Yet even that
was too much to ask!
Now he was also pissed.
He had to call Carlos to have something sent from his wardrobe, and he hated the mere idea
of that mess-with-legs getting his hands on his painstaking order. Besides, he was going to
start bugging him again like a broken record over the matter of Sherry's birthday. He couldn't
do it right away, and it was early morning in D.C. anyway. Not so early as to be rude, but
Carlos had probably come home around 4 a.m. from his shift at the bar. He didn't want to
wake him up. It was not an emergency, after all. He went to get a bite to eat and then got in
touch with the owner who would rent him a place to stay for his time there. She turned out to
be a sprightly old lady with such a thick accent and rapid speech that made him question
whether they even spoke the same language. She was absolutely lovely but he probably
understood half of what she told him. She led the way for him in her ramshackle van to a
cottage near the beach with absolutely nothing around it. Stunningly depressing. There, she
gave him a tour of the house, which was quite cozy and more than enough for him. The
kitchen, fortunately, had an old microwave that he could use to feed himself, otherwise, that
would have been the first thing to buy. Once he was alone, he cleaned and tidied the whole
place from top to bottom with manic precision. His OCD had gotten worse over time but, at
the end of the day, it wasn't hurting anyone, so he saw no reason to worry about fixing it. It
kept him busy and relaxed and fuck Carlos who always mocked him for it. Speaking of
which, he had to call him.
He lay down on the bed and initiated the call.
"Still in a coma, sleeping beauty?" He sneered when he heard him babbling confused
mumbles.
It's not even noon... Carlos protested weakly.
"Yeah, sorry," he sighed," but I need something." He almost could see him rise from the bed
like a ray of sunshine at that admission of his. Carlos loved to help, he was like a puppy
always ready to shower anyone he met with affection as he wagged his tail happily. Leon had
never understood where he found the energy to do that and he secretly somewhat admired
him for it. He did not like people. He enjoyed bedding some of them but the whole
interrelational part was an exceedingly overwhelming burden for him. He especially liked the
guys who would fuck him and then leave right after without him having to force them out
because he really didn't want to have to sleep with anyone, at least when he was still sober
enough not to collapse. This was the main reason why, when he had evenings off, he spent
them in hotels and not at home. Carlos had a point in asking him what he was paying rent for
if he rarely set foot there. "I need you to stop by my place and mail me some stuff. I'll cover
the shipping, don't worry."
If you want me to do that you'll have to at least tell me where you are.
"Stuck in the fucking Middle Ages," Leon huffed, clicking his tongue.
So I'm sending it to you by caravel?
He snorted a laugh and rolled onto his stomach. "Dickhead. I'm somewhere in the north of
England, a few hours from Newcastle. I'll text you the name along with the address."
And, for the life of me, what are you doing there?
"It's a long story."
No, it is not long. Carlos objected. This is your 'I don't want to tell you because otherwise
you'll get all hell break loose on my ass’ tone. And don't you dare claim it's classified,
because if it was, you would have said it right away. Answer me or I'm not sending you shit.
Leon scowled. "This is blackmail!" He protested.

At all.
"Fine. I'm here to supervise the B.S.A.A. on behalf of the U.S. government."
Which is?
"A private anti-bioterrorist organization."
And?
"Nothing else."
Bullshit. One more and I'll sell all your fancy stuff to the nearest pawn shop. I swear. Carlos
threatened him. Come on, we both know I won't like it. Let's take it off as fast as a band-aid.
You owe me an explanation.
"Fine. It is Chris Redfield's organization," Leon dropped the bomb. "Still there?"
You come home right now! Carlos growled at him, immediately losing his temper. You don't -
I can't believe you go looking for trouble like this! Why? Leave him alone! Get your own life,
don't mess it up any more than it already is!
"I'm fine-
Screw you! You haven't been fine for as long as I've known you! Not even for a second! And
this is gonna fuck you up even more! I get that you don't give a shit about your physical and
mental health but I do care and so does Sherry-
Leon rolled his eyes, pulling the phone away from his ear and holding it that way until he had
finished his rant.
"He trains kids. I can't leave someone like him around rookies," he told him when Carlos
finally stopped to catch his breath.
You can't fucking save everyone! Was his ranting response. Too many times he had ended up
picking him up off the floor of a bar where he had drunk himself almost to death after, in
some mission, someone had ended up killed. He knew the effect it had on Leon even if the
asshole never talked about it. His being superficial was just a facade, a defense mechanism to
delude himself into thinking he didn't care, when in fact every dead person, even the
hundreds of thousands of unknown faces of Raccoon City's victims, still tore at his
conscience. Carlos was constantly worried sick about him because he loved him like a
brother and also because he felt responsible. Leon was living that life in his stead. He had not
forgotten the enormous sacrifice he had made for him and, until his last breath, he would be
grateful, even if it meant lecturing him in the desperate attempt to put some sense in that
shitty blond head of his.
"I'll text you the things you need to send me. Bye."
Come on, 'mano, please-

Leon closed the phone in his face and ignored his next 12 calls. That was not bargaining. He
would come home, yes, but when the job was done. As he always did, wondering why he was
still standing.
Chris had seen to it that the wounded were medicated, then gathered everyone in the mess
hall and told them everything they did not yet know about his involvement in the Raccoon
City accident. Besides that stolen kiss, he spared nothing, admitting all his faults to Leon,
and, when he had finished that long heart-to-heart talk, he felt exhausted. He blinked,
ashamed.
"I know you thought I was a better person-
"Oh, come on, give it a rest!" Jessica huffed, "I stole a few snacks in elementary school too,
who gives a shit? No one here is a saint, and you were the only one who seemed to have a
halo. Thank God you don't! Fuck that hysterical pussy."
"A pussy with a deadly roundhouse kick," complained Quint with his nose all waxed up.
Parker sighed. "What Jessica is trying to say with her usual eloquence is that we all make
mistakes-
"All? Speak for yourself. I don't," she pointed out.
He merely sighed. "You are our captain and you are today, not six years ago. Don't get me
wrong, it was brave of you to tell us everything and we appreciated it but it doesn't change
anything, does it, guys?"
Hearing them all agree enthusiastically tore Chris a faint, touched smile that soon faded under
his frown. "Now, who called him a fag?" He asked and his glance went to Jessica.
"Oh, not me! Pretty-Boy grounded me before I could even think of doing that. I could have
since he called me a hooker first, but no."
"I did it," Quint admitted with a snort, "and because he is. I did some research on him after
yesterday's pleasant meeting. I didn't find much. His professional files are so protected it
would take me at least a year to hack them without getting caught but some of his personal
stuff was quite easy to find. Not just a fag, by the way, from his bookings on hotels he
probably has more traffic than Jessica, here."
She did not like the veiled insult at all but kept her composure and sneered. "Well, at least we
see some action. What do you do besides look at a screen with your cock in your hand,
Quint?"
Before the other could respond with anything even more raw, Chris stepped between them.
"Stop it, both of you!" He barked, shifting his gaze from one to the other deeply annoyed.
"The next one I hear who makes a comment like that ends up cleaning all the crappers with
their tongue, got it?"
"Yes, sir!" Quint mumbled.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Chris scolded him.
"It's not like I said it to his face! He heard me talking to Keith about it, I'm not that stupid!
The faggy bitch broke my nose, I'd say we're even, wouldn't you?"
"DON'T CALL HIM THAT!" His shout echoed throughout the mess hall, silencing them.
Chris did not often raise his voice, and they had certainly never seen him so angry. "He
doesn't deserve it," he added, regaining his composure. He clutched his temples in a vice,
trying to work out what the fuck he could do to fix that mess. He had to talk to him. Alone.
There was no other way, and the very idea made him want to throw himself out the window.
"You have the rest of the day off. Starting tomorrow Agent Kennedy will attend practice. I
want you to behave decently and respectfully in his presence. If I hear any more bullshit,
even behind closed doors, I'll cut you in two before he does."
Keith stood up, annoyed. "Fine, but it's not fair that he-
"I'll take care of him. He is my problem, not yours."
"We are a team, though," Parker interjected.
Chris gave him a grateful look. "Yes, we are, and the first way you can help me out is by
following my lead. Not for me but for the whole organization. We'll fix it." He didn't believe
it one bit but the last thing he wanted was to discourage them even more. "We'll show him. I
trust you. Clear all."
He watched them leave looking sad, some of them still sore and definitely in low spirits. All
of them, some more and some less, had already had military or paramilitary experience so
they tended to consider themselves not exactly newbies. Chris usually handled their bravado
with patience and understanding, trying to guide them step by step toward greater
empowerment and self-awareness, all while moving them forward. Sure, it would have been
a lot easier to kick their asses at the first session as Leon had done to prove incontrovertibly
how much they needed further training and that their previous results didn't mean shit but
Chris abhorred that system. He had endured it himself in the Air Force and hated it with all
his heart. Wesker, in the midst of all the horrible cruelty he had done to him, had shown him a
different path and Alfred had reinforced it, cleansing it of all his former captain's narcissism.
It was possible to instruct without mortifying, with kindness and care, without pressing on the
inadequacy of others and making them feel guilty or lacking. He did not know what Leon's
background was in this regard, or what had happened to him in those six years. Clearly, he
was in tip-top shape and Chris had no doubt that he knew his stuff on the battlefield, but part
of him still couldn't help thinking that he was too petite and delicate. Still, Leon had gone
into his face without blinking, trying to spark a fight as if he might actually have a chance.
This, in truth, did not surprise him. Leon had always been a blowhard, except when things
got ugly and then he freaked out.
A scared kid in the dark of a subway begging him to stop.
That had hurt. Deeply. Because it was true.

What the fuck had he been thinking, back then? He knew he had done those actions and was
guilty of them. He didn't seek justification or forgiveness but he couldn't help remembering
them as those of a stranger. Of a guy who wasn't him. Either way, it didn't change the fact that
he felt terribly guilty and not only that. The overwhelming horror he had felt when he had
held Leon in his arms and felt him go limp after the convulsions that had shaken up his tiny
body, came back to bite his throat and swept him from the present, taking him there, in that
tunnel. In the dark. Alone. It had been at that moment that Leon had slipped out from
between his fingers, snatched, though, in truth, rescued by Zinoviev. Were they still together,
the two of them? Had they ever been? Maybe Leon had actually succeeded in bringing him to
the side of the good guys, and now they were fighting bioterrorists together on behalf of the
U.S. government. He didn't know and didn't care but was it true that he didn't care? Quint had
said that Leon had many partners, so they had probably broken up at some point during those
six years. Not that it was a subject he had any intention of bringing up with him but it puzzled
him. Oddly enough.
In retrospect, Zinoviev had been right to take Leon away from him. First, because he had
been able to cure him when he still did not even know that a serum existed, and second,
because he did not rule out beforehand the possibility that he could have hurt him even more
if they had stayed together.
His own desperate gasp: Please don't take him away from me! flooded back to his mind.
What right had he had to make that request after he had almost killed him? And, in spite of
that, Leon had still taken the Nemesis' sting in his place. He had not revisited that scenario in
a long while because, when Leon crossed his thoughts, it usually happened in nightmares and
he found himself beaten to a pulp between his thighs again, with that piece of glass ready to
slit his throat and his blue eyes tearing at his soul. How selfish of him... Until that moment he
had always thought of himself, and how traumatized he had been by the unexpected ferocity
Leon had managed to bring out. He had never even tried to put himself in his shoes. Not all
the way, at least, and that, too, was an unforgivable mistake. He recalled that Alfred had been
of a different opinion. In the winter garden, after their kiss, he had clearly told that the
moment he had lost Leon was prior to the subway. That they had seduced each other and that
his harsh rejection had shattered their barely born bond. To this day, Chris didn't think that
was the case. He was still convinced that beating him up and shooting at him were both
actions definitely worse than pushing him away. The fact that, sequentially, he had unleashed
all his fury on Zinoviev had cemented that spiral of violence that had now reached too deep
to be healed. He had to try anyway, though. If only to secure the B.S.A.A.'s future on the
world stage. Yes, they had made a few agreements with the European Union and a few little
states in the former Soviet Union, but few among them had given them operational latitude.
The support of the United States was essential to ensure their international credibility, and
everything had to go through Leon. If he had not convinced him, he would have convinced
no one. Chris was aware that he was not bright and power plays were definitely flying over
his head but he was not so slow to fail to realize that Lansdale had sent Leon in his direction
because he probably knew of their shared past. His only hope was that the two of them were
not close, and he doubted that they were, otherwise, Leon would have made his presence
known much sooner, eager as he was to get even, which, as Jill had said, gave him a very real
chance. Even though he and Leon had known each other for a limited period of time and
under the worst possible conditions, Chris had a good sense of what kind of guy he was. A
hothead, someone who did not respect authority or orders, someone who wanted to think for
himself even when it was not appropriate, and while military training had perhaps succeeded
in instilling some discipline in him, that kind of attitude could only get worse with time.
Chris knew it well because, although, by now, in a less explosive way, he was the same too.
Therefore, if he could persuade Leon of their good work, he would surely take their side no
matter what that asshole Lansdale wanted.
Assuming that he was right and Leon was not, on the other hand, completely different from
the kid he remembered.
Assuming he was good enough to convince him, which he did not believe in one bit. He
always tried not to give it away because his role required him to make decisions and be a
leader but Chris was deeply insecure and Leon would have seen that, if he hadn't already.
How much he would have liked to trade places with Jill, she was much stronger and more
poised than him as well as more skilled with words!
He spent the rest of the day planning how to continue training from the next day onward,
reviewing the various sessions, and trying to avoid thinking about Leon as much as possible,
which, however, was easier said than done. By the time he was finished, dusk had long since
passed and he, almost completely sleepless since the day before, was feeling like a wreck. He
just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and pass out between the sheets. He would take
care of the rest the next day.
Outside, it was invariably raining which did not help his mood and when he sat behind the
wheel he felt tremendously sleepy. Fortunately, his house was only about ten minutes from
the base but he still turned on some music to help keep himself awake. He was almost there
when suddenly a shadow cut him off. He braked hard but it was still too late and caught the
poor runner squarely although, fortunately, not too hard. Terrified and now wide awake he
rushed toward the guy on all fours on the asphalt in front of his headlights.
The asshole was completely dressed in black and even had his hood up, but Chris was more
concerned than angry at that moment.
"Oh my God, are you okay?!" He exclaimed, dismayed. "Don't move, I'll call an ambulance!
It’s gonna be all right!”
He patted his pockets frantically looking for his cell phone but his heart stopped in his chest
when the man let out an irritated: "Un-fucking-belivable!"
As if in slow motion, he saw him lower his hood to show off that freaking blond hair. Chris
covered his face with one hand. There was never anyone walking on those godforsaken
bloody roads! No one! Just that fucker!
He wanted to disappear. Liquefy into nothingness.
"I didn't recognize you..." He mumbled, just to say something.
"That's too bad. You could have sped up and taken it off your hands," was Leon's scornful,
gloomy reply as he staggered back to his feet. Shit, his left ankle was busted. Probably a
sprain, but he played it cool.
Chris saw red. "What the fuck were you thinking?!" He yelled at him. "Going for a run at
night, in the dark, wearing black and in the rain! Did you even look before you crossed?!"
"Excuse me?!" Leon blurted out. "You run me over and it's my fault?! Learn to drive
instead!"
"If you make yourself practically bloody invisible, yes!" The other protested on the verge of a
heart attack. "You haven't changed at all, for fuck's sake! You're still the same unhinged ball
of chaos bouncing all over the place! And besides, you have to look left when you cross,
here, you dickhead! You did the exact same shit yesterday when you passed me on your
goddamn bike!"
"Stop mothering me, I know how to drive!"
"No! You never did!" Chris objected, remembering with terrifying clarity their first and last
car ride with him driving.
Leon sulked even more. "Forget it, I'm leaving," he blurted, limping toward the side of the
road. He also tore his headphones out of his ears and threw them to the ground with his iPod
in annoyance when he saw that everything was cracked. Three hundred dollars down the
drain, dammit! Chris picked them up without paying too much attention as he followed him.
"Hey, let me take you to the emergency room!"
"Fuck you and them! I'm fine! I was better before, but I'm fine!" He blurted, continuing to
walk away.
He grabbed him by the arm and Leon turned on him like an animal, slapping his hand away.
"Don't touch me!"
Chris took a deep breath, summoning back all the patience that that scare had taken from
him. "Let me give you a ride, at least."
"No, thank you. You've done enough."
"I'm sorry, okay?!"
Leon huffed and turned once more to pierce him with a glare. "Duh! You're always sorry!
Every fucking time! It's your refrain! I don't need your help, I can manage on my own! Screw
you!"
"Fine! Do as you please!" Chris gave up, unable to take it anymore, and mumbled another
'dickhead' as he got back into the car and drove off. He was tempted to look in the rearview
mirror before turning but held back, deeply annoyed. Christ, he had forgotten how irrational
and insufferable that jerk could be! Fuck it, a walk in the cold wouldn't kill him and maybe it
would even teach him a lesson, after all, he was the one who had gone out at night and in that
weather. When, however, it began to thunder and the rain turned into a downpour he felt like
a piece of shit. With his house already in sight, he turned around and headed back. He found
him after a while, sitting on a guard rail checking his ankle under a street lamp, soaked like
an abandoned cat on the side of the road. He saw him scroll the rain from his hair harshly and
couldn't help but find that little gesture utterly cute.
He rolled down his window. "Get in, come on," he reiterated. "Please, it can go on for days,"
he added with more gentleness.
If looks could kill, Leon would have incinerated him on the spot, but even so, after growing
even more annoyed he put his boot back on and hopped up to the door.
"No emergency room," he stated, dropping into the passenger seat.
After a couple of minutes of complete silence, Chris saw Leon begin to look around and
wrinkle that perfect little nose of his.
"One word about my car and I'll throw you back out," he admonished him. He knew perfectly
well that it was filthy with mud, ashes, cigarette butts, and full of shit. He didn't need a
reminder.
"I didn't say anything."
"You thought it."
Leon scoffed. "Go straight ahead for a while. I'll tell you where to turn."
More moments of tense silence broken by a sudden, adamant, grossed out:
"You're still a pig."
Chris huffed. "What did I just say?" He blurted out, glaring at him.
Leon shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't mention the car. And watch the road before you run
over someone else less fit than me."
Chris stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with annoyance. "You're goddamn
irresponsible," he scolded him harshly.
"Like you give a shit..."
The other blinked and then sighed. "I actually do," he admitted. "I-
"The rule about not talking about Raccoon still stands. Keep breaking it and you'll regret it."
"It wasn't me who told them that you..."
"I'm a fag," Leon concluded. How he hated it when people left those ellipsis dots, as if gay or
homosexual were forbidden words. He saw him wince with discomfort, and that improved
his morale.
"I didn't tell them," Chris repeated. "Why would I?"
"Because you're stupid," was Leon's lapidary reply.

"Not to the point of jeopardizing my entire organization just to piss you off! Also because,
let's face it, it's not like it takes that much effort to do it."
Leon gave him a sidelong glance as he leaned against the window with his elbow. He had a
point. It pained him to admit it, but he had it.
"So who did it?" He investigated. It wasn't a problem, really. That he was gay was pretty
much common knowledge. He wasn't ashamed of it, and even if he didn't flaunt it, he couldn't
care less if those around him found out. He was too good in his line of work for such a thing
to compromise him, and he had stopped giving weight to people's opinions long ago, but not
without continuing to feel a keen resentment for a world that ultimately continued to want to
deny or limit his entire existence. In that particular circumstance, however, the thought that it
was Chris who had revealed it only to undermine his credibility had made him react fiercely.
Too much. Perhaps.
The big guy was not responding to him, and he had expected that, too. He wasn't going to
throw one of his own under the bus. He could handle the good captain's act well, he had to
give him credit.
Chris puffed out a cloud of smoke, feeling like when he was called out by the principal, in
school, because his hotheaded sister had screwed up something. "They didn't mean it with
malice, or prejudice," he sighed, "sometimes they're just dumb heads. They saw you and
thought it, that's all."
Leon tilted his head and bent his lips into a sneer. "First lie," he commented. "You haven't
gotten any better at telling them point-blank," he huffed, displeased, then shrugged. "Well, I
suppose it's good that at least some of them know how to dig for information. However,
discourage them from poking their noses in the direction of my profession or they will find
themselves in a cell for the rest of their days in the blink of an eye, even if they're in another
country. Turn left at the next one."
"You run a lot."
"I wasn't even halfway through the route I had set for myself."
Chris shook his head and rolled down the window to throw out the butt. "I remember you're
not an early riser but fuck, right at night and black as a crow?"
"Can you cut it out?" Leon blurted out, annoyed. "Next time I'll stick a lit flare up my ass just
for blind jerks like you."
"Tell me the truth, you looked to the right, didn't you? If at all."
"Fuck off..." Leon blurted out, stopping to shoot him another hostile glance and crossing his
arms over his chest. "It's not like it's my fault that everything works backward in this place."
That pout. That adorable, utterly unreasonable bratty pout. Chris felt his chest warm at seeing
it, and although they were still fighting, he realized how incredibly easy and natural it had
been for the two of them to fall back into old habits. As absurd as it was, he was almost
happy to have run him over. It had been such an unexpected and sudden event that it had left
Leon with his guard down.
"How's the leg?" He ventured to ask him.
"Still attached. No thanks to you."
"C'mon..."
"It's nothing. In a couple of days it will be fine," Leon surrendered. It was a strange feeling to
hear him worried. In a way, Chris had always been protective, except when he lost his mind.
He was not to be fooled by his goody-goody air. Not again.
"There," he said, pointing, finally, to his secluded cottage down the road a stone's throw from
the beach. Chris knew that place, had fallen in love with it at first sight when he and Jill had
toured the houses looking for the perfect place to rent. She, however, had not been impressed,
and he had not even tried to pursue it. He thought about telling Leon but did not and slowed
down to get as close to the entrance as possible.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" He worried.
The other slammed the door without even saying a syllable, and Chris could only watch him
limping toward the door, as agile as a feline in spite of everything. "Bye to you too..." He
sighed, engaging reverse gear.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
First the usual thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmakers <3|
Before I forget I also wish you all a happy Christmas and, for those of you who are non-
believers, like me, or don't celebrate it for whatever reason, I wish you well-deserved
vacations! I know I need them XD!
I begin by saying that in my many years of plotting this story at no height was Chris
expected to run over Leon with the car. Never. Nowhere. This is the kind of
unpredictable event that happens in the less structured parts of this huge mess XD. The
characters do whatever the fuck they like and I have to deal with the consequences. At
this point, although I had at least two paths in my head, I have absolutely no idea what
the development of their romance will be. It will be a surprise to everyone, including
me, I'm afraid XD.
Chris is absolutely adorable in the way he worries and gets all pissed off because Leon
is still the same reckless ball of chaos from six years earlier. He is also finally showing
the best sides of his characters, the ones that were crushed by trauma and grief in the
Raccoon arc. He is good-natured and with his caring nature will hopefully tame our
blond kitten.
At the same time, now that the shock of seeing him again is wearing off, Chris is also
beginning to crumble on another side. He is beginning to notice how cute Leon is when
he does this or that, he is touchy if others insult him or are disrespectful, and, most
importantly, he doesn't care if he is still together with Nicholai. Right, Chris? You don't
care at all. You're cool with it. Totally. You big dummy. You haven't even told him that
you are engaged to Jill. Why, I wonder...
Leon is also beginning, much more slowly, to creak. He is still far from getting over the
resentment he feels, but a thin layer of his barrier came down when he accepted his ride
and, more importantly, when he showed a little piece of his past self with that: you're
still a pig.
Leon is a mess. As I anticipated to some kind commenters: have you noticed that he
never thinks about Nicholai? He still wears the aviator jacket he gave him, he doesn't
want to put it away even if it's starting to be too hot for it, and later there will be other
little things that will indicate how strong their bond was, however, he does not think
about him. This is because he has never dealt with grief and, as a result, has never
metabolized it. He threw himself headlong first into training and then into work, stifling
that part of himself that would and should have grieved Nicholai's death. This was at the
cost of losing the ability to interact with other people in a healthy way and cultivate
affection. The only friend-brother he has is Carlos but only because Carlos has never let
himself be pushed away and has never been discouraged in the face of his nastiness or
coldness (and Leon, though he does not admit it, is deeply grateful to him for this). Leon
also gave up his dream of having someone by his side to love and who could love him,
which was what he wanted from the very first pages of this story. There has been a kind
of reversal of the initial setup. If in the first arc, Chris was too crushed by his grief and
paranoia to act lucidly, here it is Leon who, although with a completely different
reaction, is still overwhelmed by the past. The difference is that, unlike Leon who sucks
as a caregiver, Chris was born for this and is almost finally ready to take care of this
pestiferous, needy cat.
Assuming he won't screw up.
Thank you all so much, as always, and happy vacations again!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 84
Chapter Notes
The next morning it was still raining. Not that Leon cared. He was not frightened by a few
drops of water. He finished getting ready, slipping into the clothes from the day before that he
had washed and left to dry in front of the fireplace. They were all wrinkled but there was little
he could do about it at that moment. His ankle hurt a bit but not enough to keep him from
standing. Fuck Redfield who hadn't even done it on purpose. The man was a walking fucking
catastrophe. He hobbled to the entrance, where he had left his boots and had just finished
lacing them up when he heard the sound of a familiar engine.
"Fucking hell..." He uttered, slipping on his aviator jacket and throwing open the door.
The asshole, of course, was there, under his patio with that dumb mama bear expression on
his face. He even saw him jerk and blush when their eyes met.
Chris cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck in discomfort. "I thought you might
need a ride."
"You thought wrong," Leon extinguished his enthusiasm, retreating behind his bangs. "Will
you get the fuck out of the way? You're wider than the door." He hissed at him when he made
no sign of moving from the threshold.
Chris actually stepped back, and when Leon walked past him, he was intoxicated by his
scent. "I have a peace offering in the car," he notified him.
Leon huffed a "Peace is not an option," pulling out his bike keys.
"Not even if it's breakfast?" Chris saw him stop, so he worked up the courage to insist. "It's
still warm."
"Did you make it?"
"With my own hands."
Leon turned his head, giving him a shifty look. "Do you think breakfast will solve things?
Really?"
Chris shook his head. He had no illusions it would be that easy but, just as Alfred had told
him, it was as good a way as any to take the first step. "I just want to make it up to you for
last night."
"So you admit it was your fault?"
"Not even in your wildest dreams," was Chris's dry reply as he sustained his gaze without
blinking.
He saw Leon twitch his full, soft lips into what looked like the hint of a spontaneous smile,
almost a laugh, and although he had soon extinguished it with his grudge, it had been there
and he had caught it. This discombobulated him more than he had anticipated and Chris felt
his stomach do a funny twist in his belly. He chased the feeling away with all the
determination he could find. "Well, if you don't want it, whatever," he shrugged, walking
back toward the car. "I'll see you at the base."
He hoped with all his might that Leon would stop him but he didn't, so he buckled up and
started the engine. He was about to move when Leon drove his motorcycle past him and
pulled sideways in front of him, blocking his way. He gave him a questioning look and his
heart leaped in his chest when he saw him move the motorcycle, get off, and open the door to
sit beside him.
"So, this breakfast?" Leon asked him in a drawling voice. "I would be very disappointed if it
was a lie."
Chris indulged in a strained, awkward snort and leaned toward the back seats to pick up the
Tupperware and lay it on his lap. "Here, there's coffee too," he added, handing him the
thermos.
"I only drink tea," Leon said, flatly, chasing away his offer with a slap.
Chris winced, a little hurt. "Oh," he uttered, putting the bottle away. Yet it seemed to him that
at the Birkin house, he had not asked for tea. Perhaps he remembered wrong. "Well, you're in
the right country for that," he decided to mumble just to fill the silence. He set off again,
feeling tremendously on his toes as he always did when cooking something for someone
other than Jill. He did not turn around when he heard him open the Tupperware. After all, it
was nothing special, just an English breakfast. Maybe he should have tried harder but he
didn't have much in the fridge.
"Knock it off," Leon blurted, jolting him onto his seat. "You know it's good," he said after
tasting a bit of everything. "To be precise, it's a slimy attempt at bribery."
Tense as he was, Chris let out a strained laugh at the unexpected joke, and it made him look
even more like the clumsy, awkward fellow he was.
Too bad it was a fraud or, at least, that was how Leon perceived him. He finished eating
rather quickly without really enjoying anything of that delicious breakfast, too lost in
thought. He could not quite figure out what game Redfield was playing in showing himself so
affectionate and well-disposed toward him. If he thought, in doing so, that he would turn a
blind eye to B.S.A.A.'s blatant shortcomings, he was sorely mistaken, but he was ready to
play his game to see how far he would go to kiss his ass. He arranged the cutlery in the
Tupperware and tossed it into the mess of the back seats.
Quick as it had come, Chris's hilarity had died down. "How's your ankle?" He decided to ask.
"I'll shove it up your ass if you don't knock it off," Leon hissed, "While we're here, I read
your team file but I want a description from you. Start."
Chris sighed, frustrated with himself and his delusion that things might improve at least a
little between them.
"Parker Luciani is my second in command as far as this team is concerned. He doesn't really
need training but I prefer to keep him under observation to better understand his strengths
and weaknesses."
"He is a former F.B.C. right?"
"Yes. He is very level-headed, he doesn't panic, and although there is nothing he is

particularly skilled at, he shoots well, fights well, and can make sensible decisions. Overall,
he is an extremely valuable element that I may, in the future, propose to Chief O'Brian for
promotion to captain. The other former member of the F.B.C. is Jessica Sherawat. She-
"Are you banging her or is O'Brian doing it? Otherwise, I really don't see the point of her
being here," Leon huffed.
"Always so quick to judge," Chris scolded him. "She is a clear example of how appearances
can be deceiving. A bit like you. She is without a shadow of a doubt the smartest of the
group, she can analyze situations with extreme swiftness and accuracy. In addition, she is an
excellent sniper."
"You're banging her," Leon concluded, bored out of his mind, but he pulled out his notebook
anyway to take some notes.
"I don't, for fuck's sake!" Thundered Chris, deeply offended. First Jill, now him! He never
even glanced at Jessica. "I would never!"
Leon arched an eyebrow and shrugged. "Whatever. I wouldn't put it in my report anyway. I
don't give a shit who you fuck. Move on to the next one."
Chris grunted, annoyed, but decided to let it slide. "Keith Lumley and Quint Cetcham-
"Dumb and Dumber."
"...Yes. The former has paramilitary training, he does not shine for intelligence or strategy but
if properly guided is able to carry out orders, and along Quint is very good at building tech.
Quint has no previous training but is an accomplished hacker-
"So much that he is wanted in at least two countries, including this one, and has seen fit to
earn immunity by enlisting in your organization. Yes, I have done my homework. I guess he
did the digging on me."
Chris said nothing but the way he had stiffened was in itself an answer.
"I already broke his nose. We're even," Leon downplayed.
"He's of the same opinion," Chris blurted out, "but get one thing straight: you can say and do
anything you want to me but you twist a hair on one of their heads again and I don't give a
shit what happens or what happened between us, I'll put you down, is that clear?"
Leon shot him an almost derisive look. "Free to try, big guy, I look forward to it."
Chris shook his head, disappointed. "The Leon I knew would never have-
"The Leon you knew is dead and buried, and even if he wasn't, you haven't gotten to know
him. Remind me how much time we spent together. Twenty-four hours? Thirty-six? You
don't know shit about me."
"Funny coming from someone who thinks to know everything about me."
"Oh, I really don't, nor I care, but I've seen enough to conclude that you are unreliable on the
battlefield, and, for your information, I didn't enjoy beating up your team. I just showed
everyone how inadequate they are. If they had any brains they would quit today but that's
why you pick idiots, right? So that they can do everything you say. Even die for you."
"I don't want anyone to die for me," Chris growled with again the image of Alfred's fiery
body vanishing in the wind. "Never again."
"I don't believe you. What are you going to do when you get suspicious that Luciani or the
beautiful Jessica are double-crossing you for Lansdale or whoever your enemy is now?"
"I trust my men, the two of them included, and if you had been to Terragrigia and seen what
they saw, you would know."
Leon huffed, shaking his head. "Go ahead with the theatrics, we both know that time will
show your true colors. Don't worry, I'm patient."
"You'll be disappointed."
"And what's the news?" He scoffed. "You always disappoint me," having said that, Leon did
not even wait until the car was completely stopped before getting out.
Chris watched him walk away and felt defeated and mistreated. If Leon despised him so
much why didn't he just force him out of the game? It would have been easier and less
troublesome for both of them. Leon, however, did not want him out of the B.S.A.A., not
precisely. It was clear that he wanted him to screw up so badly that his file would be stained
forever and no one would ever enlist him in their line of work. Smart and methodical. After
all, what else could he expect from him? To that day, Chris had never met anyone as quick as
Leon in making crucial split-second decisions, and although he was too inexperienced in
Raccoon to put his strokes of genius into practice, now his training was certainly up to par
with them. That made him tremendously dangerous from a purely strategic point of view, and
Chris knew from the start that he did not have the skill to sustain, much less win, that chess
match of theirs. As Jill had told him, he could only be himself and hope that would be
enough. He had his doubts about that.
Under his captain's directives, Parker had already got everyone ready, and they were now
standing in line under the canopy of the outdoor track, their B.S.A.A. uniforms in order and
their backs straight. When they saw Leon, however, they all became agitated. Some looked at
him with suspicion, some with resentment, some with plain dread.
As usual, he thought, examining them, I managed to make everyone love me right away....
"He limps," he heard Quint whisper, who clearly had not yet learned to keep his mouth shut.
"Do you think Chris kicked his ass?"
Leon turned his head in his direction, causing him to do a little hop back and pale. "Is it
common practice to call superiors by their first names as if they were drinking buddies?"
Keith intervened in his friend's defense. "Well, when we're off duty we kinda-
He fell silent when Parker elbowed him in the ribs.
Leon sighed. "He just hit me with his car."
"Cool," Jessica commented with a satisfied grin, winning a fiery glance from Parker.
"It was an accident," Chris hastened to clarify, overstepping.
"Because you don't know how to drive."
"No, you're the one who can't tell right from left."
Parker cleared his throat, ending their squabble. "The team has already warmed up. Ready to
go," he informed them.
Leon walked in front of them a couple of times keeping his gaze fixed on them.
"Since things took a downward turn very quickly yesterday, I will now properly introduce
myself." He shouted. "I am Special Agent Leon S. Kennedy of the United States Division of
Security Operation. If you don't know what that is, ask your superiors. You will address me
only as 'Agent Kennedy' or 'sir.' I have been assigned to this division to monitor and assess
your training. Whether or not the B.S.A.A. becomes a partner of the United States will
depend solely on your performance during my stay here. So after yesterday's disaster, you
better start getting into your heads that you have to at least show me the bare minimum. I am
more open-minded than you think. However, I was barely 21 when I shot my first B.O.W.
and I have been working in this field ever since. Unlike most of you, I know what is out
there, and no matter what your captain, or your chief, says, I will not let anyone who is unfit
for this job become operational. Not under the patronage of the United States, at least, and we
all know that without it this organization is doomed to fail."
"Yeah, no pressure…" Mumbled Keith elbowing Quint, but quickly zipped it when Chris
addressed him with a murderous look.
Leon noticed but decided to continue. He could not and should not be the one to intervene to
keep that sorry excuse of a team in line. It was their captain's job.
"The nature of my missions is strictly confidential, however I have been given the clearance
to discuss with you in detail the B.O.W.s I have encountered. We will talk about this later,
now I want to see some action." He nodded in Chris' direction and moved to the side, giving
him space. "Captain Redfield."
Chris did not dwell on long speeches. They were not his forte and he didn't need them. If he
wanted to tell them something, he would do it in private, so he unceremoniously started the
morning drills. Leon watched them run and do the drills with the eyes of a hawk but also with
that competitive first-in-class rookie glow that still made him wish he could do it all himself
to prove how good he was. It made Chris tender and sad at the same time and brought back
memories of that newspaper photo in the file Alfred had given him, where Leon had come in,
not surprisingly, first, but with no one there to celebrate him. He approached him, intrigued
and a little alarmed by all the notes he was taking in his thick notebook. His boys were doing
well. Sure, they weren't really fast or strong yet, but for their level of training those were
acceptable results. Trying not to give too much away, he advanced quietly, stretching his neck
to peek on the page and blushed when Leon turned those blue eyes of his to him with a stern,
mute 'really?'
He wrote some more, then tossed the notebook into his hands. "Have fun," he huffed.
Chris opened the last page, where Leon had left his pen, and frowned. "Is it some kind of
code?" He asked, flipping through the pages.
"No. It is Russian. I don't need it anymore but I don't want to lose it."
"Oh..." Chris uttered. "Did Zinoviev teach you it?" He knew immediately he had asked the
wrong question from the shadow that fell over Leon's expression.
"No. He didn't," was his icy reply. "I learned it in a special program in my first year of boot
camp. During the day I trained like everyone else, at night I studied."
"Sounds fun..." Chris tried to ironize.
The look Leon gave him was even more hostile, almost cruel. " Я не искал развлечений. "
He hissed. "Я хотел отомстить и я получил это. Перерезав горло моему демону.
Meaning: I was not looking for fun. I wanted revenge, and I got it. I slit my demon's throat."
Chris winced, taken aback because the word 'revenge' sounded so wrong in Leon's mouth,
especially after what had happened in Raccoon and how he had mistreated him. It alarmed
him. "So is that what I am to you? Another demon to slaughter?"
Leon laughed briefly, mocking him. "If you were, you'd already be on the ground gurgling in
your own blood." He turned away, stepping out from under the canopy to follow the training
more closely, heedless of the rain. Chris sighed, dejected. He had a gift: he always managed
to say the wrong thing. He looked back down at the notebook and if he hadn't fucked up just
moments before, he would have smiled to see that, at the bottom, Leon had jotted down in
very understandable English their captain's ability to sneak sucks! underlined three times.
Instead, he felt even worse because, with that bullshit question, he had turned off Leon's
playfulness. Why the fuck had he asked it? Why did he care? He knew perfectly well but he
didn't want to give himself time to overthink it.
He continued flipping through, going way back, and trembled, as if hit by a punch to the pit
of his stomach, when around halfway through he came across a picture of Wesker glued to
one of the pages. It was not from his time as captain in Raccoon City but more recent, as his
blazing catlike eyes were perfectly visible from behind the dark lenses. It was a somewhat
grainy enlargement of a still image taken from a surveillance camera but it was unmistakable
that it was him. He had not changed much since their last meeting in Rockfort Island, and
Chris felt his stomach twist in nausea, horror, and hatred. Leon had written pages and pages
about him, all neatly arranged in small paragraphs, and, under the photo, there was a date
circled in red 02/17/2003, the only intelligible thing for him. His gaze ran to Leon, who had
reached Parker, with whom he was discussing the performance of the others. Was he going
after Wesker? The very thought filled him with dread and worry.
Albert would kill him. He could almost see him snap his neck while laughing.
"Le-Agent Kennedy, a word!" He called to him.
Leon gave him a confused and somewhat annoyed look but trotted back to him anyway,
ignoring the pain in his ankle.
"Are you hunting Wesker?!" Chris asked him with a menacing urge dictated by panic that the
other didn't like at all.
"If not me, who?" He answered him curtly, taking back his notebook abruptly and shrugging
his shoulders. "In any case, it's none of your business." He moved to go back the way he
came but Chris grabbed him, forcing him to turn around with a yank.
This time Leon reacted violently, since repeating to him that he did not want him to be pulled
around was wasted breath, and tried to strike him, finding his fist promptly deflected.
Chris stepped back, raising his hands. "I just want to reason with you," he said, trying to
defuse him.
"Not putting your hands on me would be a good start to a dialogue." It was just like in
Raccoon. The asshole could help but touch him. All the time. It was so annoying!
"Okay, that's fine but you need to stop running away every time."
Leon raised his eyebrows, insulted. "I don't run away at all. Not from you nor from anyone
else," he pointed out. "I just don't care what you have to say about Wesker. Your opinion
would be anything but objective, given your history. I don't have time to hear you whine
again about how your captain betrayed you. It's been six years from Villa Spencer, find a
better excuse."
Chris stiffened because, while he was able to let a lot of his nastiness slide, the ones that
included his traumas with Wesker were beginning to anger him. "You will die if you find
him, or rather if he stops to wait for you."
Leon did not react in any way, remaining completely unmoved by that possibility. He tilted
his head, shooting him a look with those arrogant sky-blue eyes of his. "Do you have any
idea how many times this bullshit has been repeated to me? You can't do it, Kennedy! You're
too young, too weak, too whatever!" He replied, bored. "I'm still here. Still standing while
most of them are six feet under or retired."
"He's different. You didn't bother to read my file, did you?"
"No. I haven't. As I said, I don't need your whinings."
Chris kept a grip on the fury that was rapidly mounting inside him. "It's not a matter of
viewpoint or objectivity, and I'm not underestimating you," he resumed speaking in a grave
tone. "The last time I saw him, all he had to do was squeeze his fingers to break my arm. He
is stronger-
"So is a tyrant, a hunter, even a licker!" Leon interrupted him, impatient. "What's your
point?"
Chris shook his head, displeased. "You just never change, do you? Just because you're the
supposed first of the class that doesn't mean there's no one out there who can kick your ass!
And Wesker is among them especially if you underestimate him!"
"So what am I supposed to do, Chris? Hide under my bed and let him do whatever he wants?
Roll out a nice red carpet for him and let him destroy the world? Tell me, captain, what
would you do if you ran into him with your team?"
Chris sustained his gaze, more determined than ever. "I would order everyone to leave the
area as quickly as possible and I would stay behind."
Leon scoffed. "So I can't take him but you can? Don't make me laugh!"
"No," Chris growled, "I would just try to give them as much time as I can. What would you
know, you always work alone."
This seemed to silence Leon but Chris did not feel victorious. He saw him look away, clearly
in the grip of a memory.
"I work alone precisely because no one can keep up with me and people end up getting hurt
or not coming back at all." He sat on the bench, thoughtful, and lowered one hand to massage
his ankle. "Do you train with living B.O.W.s?" He asked.
"What? Absolutely not!"
Leon sighed. "I was of the same opinion until a couple of years ago. Not that anyone gave a
shit about it then," he murmured, continuing to look down at his ankle. "The last mission I
did with a team went horribly wrong. You see, there's a big difference between having seen
and fought monsters and having studied them in manuals, footage, and documentation.
Knowing everything academically about a B.O.W. is not enough. All my fellow soldiers and
civilians died there, and my commander who had been our trainer was badly wounded. The
man saw all his rookies die except for me. I could barely get him to safety. All because none
of them had ever seen a zombie with their own eyes before. When we arrived at that school in
the village, some of them failed to fire on what they still perceived as children even though
they were no longer so. Some of them were bitten, and we later found out that the T-virus
vaccine was not effective. They turned and rather quickly, infecting others, forcing the
Government to leave them all behind to die under the bombing."
"The T-virus is stable, it doesn't mutate spontaneously," Chris interrupted him confused and
tense at the same time. "They designed it that way on purpose."
Leon nodded without looking at him. "It wasn't the T, but a version of it."
"Which one?"
"Classified."
"Come on..."
Leon sighed again, still not looking at him. "Classified," he repeated. "That's not the point
anyway. Parker and Sherawat have already seen hunters, and that's good but the others? You
really should consider baptizing them in a controlled environment."
"There is no such thing as a controlled environment when B.O.W.s are involved," Chris
retorted defensively. "And if the US has training centers with them then they are dastardly
fools."
"I suggested their creation," Leon told him, lifting his gaze for the first time since that
conversation began. "And while I understand your fears, I don't regret it. This is also
confidential information, so don't jeopardize both our asses by spreading the news." He stood
up and gritted his teeth as he rested his weight on his sore ankle. "As far as Wesker is
concerned," he resumed, stepping in front of him, "what I do is not your concern. You're not
my captain. You're not my friend. You are nothing. If I die, I die, if I don't, he does. He's just
another freak. End of story," he closed the conversation, limping away.
"What if I'm not okay with it?" Chris hissed, clenching his fists.
Leon turned to him with that obnoxious air of superiority. "What are you not ok with? Me
dying or him dying? You want to kill him yourself, don't you? Fucking hell, you never
change."
And then he walked away. Again.
"That's nothing to do with revenge - Hey! We're not done!" Chris shouted.
"Yes, we are!"
"Interesting dynamic, don't you think?" Jessica asked, flanking Parker and nodding to their
captain and that detestable blond. Once she had learned he was gay she had lost all interest.
He gave her a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"
"Chris looks almost desperate. I've never seen him like that," she commented, more intrigued
than concerned, in truth.
"Well, you heard Kennedy. Everything depends on him and what impression we make on
him."
Jessica shook her head, swinging the braid in which she had gathered her hair. "I don't think
that's at the top of his priorities, you know? Or rather, of either of them. This is all personal
and yet, I'm confused. If Agent Pretty hates him so much, why not throw Chris out as a
necessary prerequisite?"
"I don't know," Parker sighed.
"I think he likes Chris, and, I mean, who can blame him? Have you seen him? I'd let him ride
me up the wall at any time! Maybe our charming little faggy wants the same. He'd certainly
be less hysterical after a good fuck. Yes, right now he's all grudges but I don't think he would
turn him down. Maybe something else happened in Raccoon. Do you think our captain
swings both ways? That would be unexpected news and unfair competition. Faggy is an ass
but he's gorgeous."
"Give it a rest and don't call him that," he huffed, irritated on several levels. First, she was
disregarding a reasonable request from Chris; second, she was talking shit; and, third, he
liked her. He really liked her but although they had a bit of a history immediately after
Terragrigia, out of the blue she had dumped him, and since they had joined the B.S.A.A. not a
day had gone by without her hitting on Chris, even though he was engaged to Jill. He was
okay with the fact that their brief fling had been nothing important to her. She was a goddess
while he was just an ordinary dude, but that she was going out of her way to try to ruin a
happy relationship on a pure whim infuriated him.
Jessica giggled, hugging his arm. "I love it when you get all jealous."
Parker broke free with a tug. "You haven't done push-ups," he remarked sternly to her.
"I don't even think about doing them in mud up to my elbows, it's bad enough I had to do
everything else in this fucking weather!" She protested, disgusted.
"But you will, otherwise consider yourself directly under disciplinary action."
She huffed. "Fine!"
"Everybody, fall in!" Chris called them back.
Jessica sneered. "Lucky me, my savior has come!" She chirped, patting Parker on the back,
before trotting toward their captain.
"Not you," Leon intervened, blocking her with an outstretched arm before she could return to
shelter under the canopy. "You're not done. Get a move on."
"Come on, I'm already soaking wet, plus I'm hungry, Chris!"
Leon shook his head, turning a hostile smile on her. "He can't help you," he admonished her,
lowering his voice. "And, before you embarrass yourself, know that your charm, so to speak,
doesn't work on me. Since I've been patient, now do the fucking push-ups before I feel like
leaving you in the rain for the whole day."
With a superb snort, she took a step back, and then she got down on the ground and began the
exercise.
"Oh, no no, not thirty. Make it fifty. Rest and another fifty and so on until I feel like saying
enough."
"Hop-hop, Jessy!" Quint commented with a wicked laugh.
"Since you're having so much fun," Chris intervened, "why don't you start too?"
"Nah, I think I'll pass. I've already-
"It wasn't a nice request," his captain pointed out.
Quint frowned. "Which side are you on, man?" He complained.
"The one of reason. Everyone else, inside. Dry off, get cleaned up, and go have breakfast!"
He ordered.
He stayed there with Leon to make sure he didn't overwork those two idiots but, to his
surprise, he was stern but not unfair, and when he saw they were too tired to continue he let
them go without pushing too hard.
"Scared that I might waste your girl?" He heard him acidly snap at him when they were left
alone.
"She's not my fucking girl!"
Leon scoffed. "Then why are you so defensive?" He inquired.
"Because I don't like inferences about me and my subordinates, is that clear?"
"Whatever. Do you also do knife training?"
Chris crinkled his eyes. Dealing with him was so tiring. "No. Or rather, not specifically. We
also do that but more generally in hand-to-hand. We don't have any specialist in the discipline
and, personally, I don't see the point of focusing only on the knife since it would be
ineffective on many B.O.W.s."
"I see," Leon muttered laconically, pinning it down.
"Is that so wrong?"
"No, and anyway not everything I write is negative."
"Easy for you to say. For me it's just lines and lines of u," he admitted and his heart hopped
when Leon chuckled, albeit briefly.
"It seemed that way to me at first, too," he heard him admit. "Let's go back in. After
breakfast, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to see them shoot."
Chris merely nodded. In truth, he too had scheduled the session at the range that morning so
he had no objections. He had questions, mostly. Why the Russian language if Zinoviev wasn't
involved? Did he have something to do with it or not? What had happened in those six years?
What had happened two years earlier on that mission gone so wrong? What had happened on
February 17, 2003? Was that Wesker's last sighting? He also wanted to ask Leon how he was
doing and to know everything about him, but he was afraid to anger him again and to see him
get dark as he had done when he had asked him about Zinoviev.
"What?" Leon questioned him. "One more thought and your head will explode."
"Yeah, you're probably right," was his laconic reply and this time it was Chris who dumped
him there alone first.
Leon was taken aback and was also a little annoyed at not being able to make his usual grand
exit, but he shrugged his shoulders. He did not feel like giving too much weight to all the
drama of that asshole. The truth was, if for a while he had enjoyed the gratification of
mistreating him, now it was already becoming tiresome to him. He had no doubt that there
was sincerity in Redfield's guilt and also in his concern. He remembered well how thoughtful
he had been once things had settled down a bit, between them, in Raccoon. The problem was
that Redfield was also unstable, and one of his triggers was the same as always: Albert
Wesker. Leon's willingness to find him was not merely professional. He had a question for
him. A very personal one but he didn't want to think about it.
He sighed, exhausted, and rolled his eyes as his cell phone began to ring and he saw that it
was Carlos.
"What's up?" He asked him, accepting the call.
"Oh, you finally bothered to answer!" He blurted out, standing in the middle of his walk-in
closet, where everything was precisely ordered in color scale. Utter madness. "You
mentioned you want the blue jacket, you have at least half a dozen of them and they all look
the same to me! What fucking blue jacket?"
He heard Leon sigh. I didn't write blue. I wrote navy blue. Navy, like the bloody- forget it!
The darkest one.
"Was dark blue too hard?"
It's not my fault you're color blind.
"I'm not color blind, at most color ignorant, you jerk!"
You took off your shoes and left them on the rack at the entrance, didn't you?
Carlos lowered his gaze to his worn-out sneakers that had once been white and now had an
indefinite grayish tint.
"Sure, totally!" He giggled, mischievous as a child.

I'm gonna kill you. I swear.
"Go easy on the threats, I still have all your stuff here," he gloated, returning, victorious with
the blue jacket, to the room where he had thrown all the stuff on the bed. "So to recap,
underwear, various jeans and pants, shirts, vests, gray jackets, black jackets, leather jackets,
and the damn blue one. Hoodies, sweatpants. All the shit you use to wash yourself-
Says the guy who showers with dish soap. Remarked Leon.
"Cut it out, that was a one-time thing! I was out of everything else and I smelled like shit! I
had a date!"
Jesus Christ…
"How's thing going? You know, with Chris," Carlos asked, starting to fold all that stuff up
and pack it in the suitcase.
Leon sighed. I really don't know. He confessed, before giving him a recap of what had
happened, omitting the incident with the car because the last thing he wanted was an
interrogation of whether or not he was hurt. He seems... Fine. I mean, his team is a mess and
there is no discipline-
"Discipline is overrated," Carlos interrupted him. "We were also screw-ups and a bunch of
clowns in camp, back at home, but it didn't mean that on the battlefield we didn't know how
to be efficient. I'll never understand this whole fixation on being serious and having a broom
up the ass at all times. Life sucks enough without having to be sourpusses even behind closed
doors. As for Chris, have you considered that maybe he seems fine because he is fine? Six
years is a lot of time, 'mano."
Perhaps. The problem with him is not so much whether he is well or not but for how long.
"So what do you want to do? Poke him with a stick until he explodes?"
Pretty much.
"Why?" Carlos investigated since Leon seemed particularly talkative at that moment and he
wanted to take advantage of it.
I already told you. I can't let-
"Duh-duh-duh! Why don't you try to be honest, first and foremost with yourself, and tell me
the real reason?"
You tell me since you are so clever.
"Only if you promise to listen until the end even if you don't like it."
Whatever.
"Deal?" Carlos insisted.

Deal… Just make it quick, I don't have all day.
"I think you're disappointed. You set out with guns blazing in the hope of finding somebody
you could kick the shit out of but now that you've seen him, calm, cool, and reasonable you
can't find the resolve to really take it out on him. This frustrates you big time since you were
born without an ounce of patience and with very little inclination for understanding. Chris did
horrible things to you in Raccoon, no one wants to deny that, not even he, but now you have
the experience to understand that, in the lives of people like us, these things happen all the
time." He paused because, although he wanted to talk about what had happened to him after
Nicholai's death, he knew full well that Leon would end the call right away, promise or no
promise. "What I mean is, if Chris really worked on himself and got out of that abyss, what
right do you have to throw him back in?"
The same one he had to try to kill Nicholai! Leon thundered, getting upset. Who the fuck are
you? His public defender? You would have been able to see good even in that son of a bitch
Vladimir!
"Way to go!" Carlos exclaimed, triumphant. "This is exactly the point! They are not the same,
they are not even close! The colonel was a sadist who enjoyed torturing and killing people.
He had to be stopped. Chris is just a poor guy who was traumatized and did what he did out
of desperation because his brain had gone to mush! I know you're aware of the difference but
you insist on not wanting to see it on a whim. Stubborn and pig-headed!"
There was a long silence, followed by a sigh from Leon. I'll think about it. Anything else?
It was Carlos' turn to be quiet. Part of him didn't want to ask that question that was lingering
in his mind because he knew it was stupid and counterproductive; the rest was desperately
trying to delude him that, once he did, absolutely nothing would change because he was fine,
he had his life, a girlfriend, and, of course, Sherry who was gorgeous and Leon, his brother
who was a bit of a jerk but whom he dearly cherished. He really couldn't complain but he
would be lying if he claimed he had not continually thought about her since Leon told him
about Redfield.
You there?
"Yeah, sorry," he replied awkwardly.
Are you okay? Leon immediately noticed that something shifted and guessed why, but he
wanted him to say it out loud.
"It's nothing," Carlos clammed up. "Should I put the laptop in your suitcase too? Are you
sure? What if it breaks?"
I'll buy another one. Carlos-
"Next Friday I want you to phone Sherry. It's her birthday, you're not here and you owe her,"
he ordered him.
Leon sighed. Carlos was doing just like him, diverting attention from a problem by attacking.
He allowed it because the Poodle was not like him. He didn't keep everything inside. He just
wasn't good at it. When he would be ready, he would talk to him about it.
Yeah-yeah, maybe tell her to answer me for a change.
Carlos closed the suitcase. "Well, not to defend her-
You always defend her. The other immediately interrupted him. Yes, I'm the asshole. I know.
Noted. I hope she'll enjoy my present.
"You know it's not about the presents. Why don't you take her somewhere, just you and her?
She would love it."
She hardly looks at me when I come by! Carlos, you see things that are not there. She doesn't
give a damn about me and I'm more than okay with that-
"Bullshit. She just doesn't want you to start busting her balls again about grades and college.
You make her anxious."
Well, someone has to, right? Leon retorted quite reproachfully. And since you're a goddamn
wimp who concedes everything to her every time she pouts, it's my job to play the bad cop.
You think I care that she has all A's? No! I'm just saying that for her future!
Carlos became irritated. "Sure for being so smart you really are a jerk!" He dryly replied to
him without getting around it. "Do you remember that Christmas three years ago? The one
you promised to come to-
No, you promised her that I would come! You do it every fucking time! It's not my fault if-
"She had the report card ready and couldn't wait to show it to you! They were all A's, for
fuck's sake. She had worked her ass off just to make you proud and you didn't even bother to
show up!" He yelled at him because as much as he loved him and tried to be patient with him
when he made his little girl suffer like that it infuriated him. "Now she turns eighteen, she
becomes a woman, and you're still not here!"
Leon was silent for a while. This is precisely the reason I let her grow up with you. He
blurted out with flashes of his mother coming back to his memory, as when she had torn up in
front of him the first and only report card he had brought her following his father's death. I'm
not up for this.
"You don't even try!"
I DON'T WANT TO TRY! Leon shouted back.
Carlos blinked and shook his head, deeply saddened and disappointed. "All right," he gave
up, "I've lost all hope by now, too. Don't call her. Don't do shit. I'll take care of it. I'm going to
go mail your shit now and then go to sleep, since I didn't even come by the house after my
shift. Bye."
Leon put his cell phone back in his pocket and wrinkled his face with his hands, exhausted
and hurt. It was not his fault that Carlos had false expectations, much less that he projected
them onto Sherry. He had always known he was like his mother, maybe even worse. That was
precisely why he had kept his distance. The only thing he blamed himself for was not being
able to do it completely.
What-fucking-ever…
The weather, if possible, had gotten even worse, and he ran toward the main building, only
achieving the result of his ankle being even more sore, in addition to being soaked. He shook
off the water as best he could and when he stepped inside the canteen, he saw that everyone
was gathered at one table, all laughing and joking like a group of friends.
A group in which, for the umpteenth time in his life, he was just the outsider. Maybe it had
been the phone call with Carlos, maybe a distant echo from the past but he felt really
miserable and the sensation worsened when, noticing him, everyone became, suddenly, silent
and gloomy
He turned around into the hallway and was almost back at the entrance when he heard
himself called with a hasty 'sir!'
He looked back in time to be joined by Quint who stopped, startled, a couple of steps away
from him. He saw him lower his gaze, clearly uncomfortable. "So- I wanted to apologize for,
uh, for yesterday. I was only talking sh- I mean, I didn't want to be disrespectful or insulting,
Agent Kennedy."
Leon sighed. "Was it your captain who ordered you to apologize?" He inquired.
Quint lifted his gaze, surprised and even a little shocked. "No. I know I didn't make a good
impression on you but I can tell for myself if I fucked up," he retorted. "Sir." He managed to
keep quiet for just a few seconds. "I mean, I don't know how you can not appreciate pussy
but to each his own, I guess."
Leon just couldn't hold back an amused snort. "Indeed but... tentacles? Really?"
Quint did not even blush but sneered, shrugging his shoulders. "Actually, it's Keith who likes
that stuff, I was just checking what it was. Out of... scientific concern," he explained,
shrugging his shoulders, and Leon couldn't tell if it was the truth or if he was lying to prick
his friend by throwing him under the bus.
"No porn on lunch breaks," he merely reiterated trying to keep his stern composure.
"Oh, come on!"
"I might withdraw the directive if you learn to counter one of my kicks," Leon proposed,
softening.
"And I might as well chop my dick off right now, and save ourselves the trouble. You're so
damn brutal, I don't stand a chance. How would you prefer it? Thinly sliced or one thick
chunk? Well, thick. Not really. Let's say rather average. Or... below."
Chris, who as soon as he realized that Quint was not at the table got up to look for him,
winced when he saw them together in the hallway and feared the worst, namely that the jerk
was disturbing him, but jolted when he saw Leon burst into an uncontrolled and somewhat
incredulous laugh. He stood dumbfounded looking at him. He was so lovely when he laughed
sincerely. His face lit up and with it everything around him.
Only he was not the one who had made him laugh, and that hurt him more than he would
have expected. Just as in Raccoon, where he had longed to see him smile again, he felt as if
he had been deprived of a gift. No, not deprived. It was he who had lost it, but the result did
not change.
Leon froze when he saw him and his eyes went dead, along with his chuckles. Chris found
himself at a loss for words and diverted his gaze to Quint with sternness and perhaps even a
hint of jealousy.
"Go back inside," he ordered in a tone so hostile it made him wince.
"I swear I didn't do anything wrong. We were just-
"I said inside. How many times do I have to repeat myself with you?"
Quint shot him a puzzled look as he passed him to re-enter the canteen. Chris was behaving
so oddly since Kennedy had arrived. He had every intention to ask him why but first he had a
victory to celebrate.
"You all owe me twenty pounds each, I made him laugh!" He exclaimed, slamming his hands
on the table, triumphant, reminding them of the bet they had made the night before.
"Details or it never happened," Jessica retorted, bringing the glass closer to her mouth.
"Short version: I just told him I have a tiny-tiny little weenie."
She snorted and the water went sideways up her nose.
"See?" Quint sneered. "It works every time."
The rest of the day passed without any surprises in a rather ordinary way. Chris kept his
distance from Leon to watch him interact with his boys. They were taking steps to adjust to
the new situation and had come to a mute compromise. They were trying to be less of a
clusterfuck than usual, and he was trying to be more patient. Leon was incredibly attentive
and he had seen him bounce from recruit to recruit, basically doing his job for him. And to
say, that, in theory, his job was supposed to be to observe and report, not improvise as a
second instructor. They had basically switched roles, but Chris didn't mind. In fact, it pleased
him because he saw in it a glimpse of the enthusiasm that had always characterized him and
that, fortunately, seemed not to be entirely faded.
The result was that, by the end of the day, Leon was limping much more conspicuously than
he did in the morning.
"Did you at least bandage it?" He asked him, once he had dismissed the others.
"Huh?"
"The ankle."
"Oh, no. I don't have anything to do that but never mind," Leon minimized.
"We have an infirmary. You can get what you need. I'd have our doctor examine you but we
can't afford to keep him here all the time. We have him come in as a precautionary measure if
a team is returning from a mission. You know, quarantine and stuff. I can take a look at it,
though, if you want. The principles of first aid are the basis of our training."
Leon huffed. "Mine too, and I've already told you it's nothing."
"So it's totally okay if I make you walk back home, right?" He taunted him with a
mischievous smirk that turned into a full-fledged grin when he saw him turn pale and then
pout.
"None at all," Leon hissed, spinning to leave, all offended and with his aviator jacket folded
under his arm.
"Come on, I was just kidding!" He called him back. "Leon!"
"Agent Kennedy!"
"Whatever, his Lordship Agent Leon Scott Kennedy first of his name," he continued to tease
him and chuckled at receiving his death stare. "Five minutes and that's it, then we don't talk
about it anymore, okay?"
"Don't treat me like a child!"
Chris sustained his scowl. "Then don't act like one. If you want to put it professionally, it's
imperative not to underestimate an injury lest it become disabling. Didn't they teach you
that?"
"What a pain in the ass you are," Leon puffed, annoyed. "Where is this infirmary, so at least
you give me a break?"
He led him, not daring to try to support him because he knew full well that if he even thought
of extending an arm in his direction Leon would bite it right off. Once inside, as he sat on the
crib and unlaced his boots, Chris began searching the lockers for what was needed to
medicate him.
When he turned around he almost dropped everything, though. Leon was back on his feet and
unbuckling his belt. The sound of the zipper being lowered echoed in his ears as loud as an
air-raid siren, and his mouth went dry when he saw him lower his pants in one fluid motion.
Underneath he had only a pair of black boxer shorts so tight they left little to the imagination.
Chris felt himself catch fire at the sight of his powerful, well-rounded thighs and then freeze
immediately in the claws of panic as his gaze fell on his groin, where his manhood lay at rest
under a mere flap of cloth. He was overwhelmed by a whirlwind of different sensations, all
unpleasant, ranging from arousal to sheer terror to nausea.
"Don't make that face," Leon snapped resentfully, misreading his reaction, I wouldn't jump on
you even if you were the last man left on earth, Redfield. These jeans are too tight at the
bottom to pull them up. I had to take them off."
Chris paled even more. "I-I didn't mean - I wasn't thinking anything," he stammered.
"Whatever," Leon rolled his eyes. "Give me that stuff."
"N-no, lay down. I'll do it." He waited for him to comply, determined not to give it up to his
nonsense, and only when Leon finally hoisted himself back onto the crib did he decide to
move. Keeping his gaze down he moved to the short side. "Slide toward me," he muttered
uneasily, and Leon obeyed with yet another frustrated snort. Chris winced when his foot
bumped his hip gently and his head went light for a brief moment.
Keep your shit together! He imposed himself, deciding to slip off his sock and focus on his
ankle to distract himself. It was swollen and red but Leon was right. It was nothing serious.
A pained groan escaped his unsufferable patient when he touched it, and his gaze shot
upward in regret. Despite all his efforts, when he focused on Leon, half lying in front of him
in only his underwear and a T-shirt, his mind raced wild and uncontrolled. He wondered what
it would be like to shower the inside of one of those thighs with kisses and then work his way
up to strip off those ordinary boxers that seemed so obscene to him and take a taste of him.
He had gone down on Jill more times than he remembered, essentially to pleasure her but not
really feeling much, yet just the thought of doing the same with Leon made his usually oh-so-
dead cock have a very lively twitch in his pants.
It made him so self-conscious that his arousal died down pretty much immediately, which
allowed him to wrap him up as quickly as possible.
"All done," he whispered, abruptly pulling away.
Leon dressed himself annoyed and hostile. "You won't catch anything if you touch me. Being
a fag is not contagious," he hissed, leaving the infirmary with an "asshole," through gritted
teeth.
Chris looked at the locked door with a mix of despair, shame, and helplessness. He felt so
mortified. He wasn't being an asshole, and Leon didn't gross him out. It was the bloody
fucking opposite.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, thank you to all of you readers, subscribers, bookmarkers, kudoers, and the
dear commenters <3!
I hope you all had a merry Christmas with your loved ones!
Small service announcement: for New Year's Eve I will be gone for a couple of days. I
still have to start writing the new chapter but I trust I will be able to finish it in time. I
may, however, respond to comments in advance or on the day of publication itself,
January 2. Forgive me!
That said, this chapter is very long but I decided not to break it into two parts because I
wanted to conclude this initial part between Chris and Leon. I am not going to recount
their bickering day by day, otherwise it would take me a lifetime. There will be some
time jumps also because I am keeping the other characters still just to align these two
morons.
Coming now to some commentary. Although it was only one day, a lot of things
happened and I really threw in a lot of details that will only be clearer later on.
Colonel Vladimir is gone and Leon is looking for Wesker. Fear not, we will know how
Sergei died, in due time, and also what Leon wants to ask our dear Albert. For now, just
make a mental note of these little details. Leon, of course, writes in Russian cursive and,
just like Alex, he speaks it perfectly this is because he actively hunted the colonel until
he found him.
There are also references to Operation Javier and, again, this will have a bearing not
only in the RE4 part.
We also got some more details about his relationship with Sherry, which was not only
compromised by Irons' actions but also by Leon's perception of himself because of his
childhood. Poor Carlos! He just wants to see his new family happy and together since he
had to leave his birth family behind but things are not easy at all. Moreover, Jill is in his
head. He still doesn't dare ask about her but sooner or later he will. Or maybe he won't.
In any case, fate will bring them together again.
In this chapter, however, Chris is the best boy and has, at least temporarily, stolen the
crown from Carlos. Yes, he stiffened when they talked about Wesker, and the fact that
Leon was acting like an arrogant blowhard almost caused him to lose his temper, but he
managed to contain himself.
Here we are finally seeing Chris in his prime. A sweet, caring, patient guy, all qualities
that had been stifled in the Raccoon arc but now, after all the painful journey he has
gone through, shine in a new light. He doesn't even deny his sexual orientation anymore;
he mostly suffers it, since he still hasn't embraced it, but he has really made great strides
since the beginning of this story. However he still feels so lost, ashamed, and mortified, I
would love to hug him and tell him it will be okay (which would be a lie, since I know
how a lot of things will go and they will be rather tragic, but whatever XD). He even got
a boner on seeing Leon in his underwear and that opened Pandora's box of his repressed
urges.
Thank you all so much, as always, I wish you a happy new year!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 85
Chapter Notes
Hello, my dears!
My apologies for my presence here but I described a nightmare in this chapter that got a
little out of hand.
TRIGGER WARNING
There will be a rape scene even if it is quite brief. Those who don't feel like reading it
can stop at: "Don't touch me!" and resume reading at "The sound of the ringing cell
phone."
As usual, there will be a brief summary in the notes at the end.
See you downstairs in hell where I belong.

Kiss-kisses!
A week had passed and training had gone on rather inconsistently. The boys were all quite
good at something, each in his own specialty, but they were mediocre if not lacking in
everything else. Moreover, although they were friends and very close they still had no unity
as a team. They spent more time poking and prodding each other than paying attention to
moving together in a structured way. This was a problem, he knew it and Chris knew it too,
but he didn't seem at all willing to set them straight. Leon really didn't understand what his
method was, or if he had one. Not that they had really talked about it. The big jerk had kept
his expansiveness to a minimum since that night when he had medicated him, and Leon had
told him that he did not need him to pick him up; he had reduced their conversations to
monosyllables. Leon knew that he was ashamed of how he had reacted and that there was
nothing that scared a fragile heterosexual male more than being confronted by a gay man who
was not hiding. Yet he had expected him, at least on that matter, to be better. He wasn't
hostile, and he certainly wasn't among those who would crucify him in the public square to
make him atone for his sins or whatever bullshit was at the root of their discrimination, but it
was clear that he felt threatened.
Whatever.
He cast a glance at his file, positioned exactly in the center of the coffee table in the living
room for days now. He had not yet coaxed himself to read it and had left it out of place
precisely to be forced to do so, sooner or later.
He didn't feel like it and had other things to do at that time anyway. He sat down on the couch
and pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through the phonebook.
"Hey, kiddo," he murmured, smiling faintly when Sherry answered him. "Happy birthday."
She hesitated for a long moment. Yeah, right. Thanks for the car. Carlos gave me the keys this
morning. Her voice did not match the meaning of her words and it almost sounded like she
was straining.
"Glad you liked it," Leon continued. "Did you drive it to school?"
No. A friend picked me up.
He sighed, closing his eyes. "How are things going? It's been a while since we've been in
touch."
The usual.
"I'm sorry I won't be there this evening-
Look, I have to go.
Leon winced, hurt. "Sure. Have fun ton-
She hung up even before he could finish saying it. He sighed again, shaking his head, and
dropped the phone on the small table. "Fuck it," he mumbled, grabbing Redfield's file. His
mood already sucked, so he might as well finish the job and then drink until he passed out.
He began at the start with the account of the events in Spencer Manor, then those in Raccoon
City even though he roughly knew everything already. When, however, he finally got to the
part that might interest him he found it overly reductive. Basically it said that Chris had been
captured by Lord Alfred Ashford and held on Rockfort Island until Wesker attacked it. It also
gave no answers as to what had happened to the second head of Umbrella and none as to why
he had decided to divulge all the information that had sunk the company before disappearing
into thin air. Ashford was on his radar just as much as Spencer and Wesker, but unlike the
latter, the other two had been much more cautious about covering their tracks. There was no
reason to ask Chris for access to his reports since the account compiled by the F.B.C. was
drawn from them, so he went on to read a terse description of Wesker's mutation that was no
more and no less than what he already knew: red eyes, superhuman strength, speed, above-
average intelligence, extensive military and laboratory experience and a powerful healing
factor. The man was also a ghost who seemed to want to show himself only when he wanted
to. He had been trying to track him down for more than a year, unsuccessfully, and just as he
predicted, that stuff had not helped him at all.
"Holy shit..." He commented in a half-voice when he opened Chris medical file. It was an
absolute miracle that he was still alive and, despite everything, he felt sorry for him. It could
not have been easy to recover from such serious injuries, and it was clear that Wesker was
triggering him not only because of Villa Spencer. He recognized that he had been an asshole
about it.
He cast a glance at his wristwatch. It was late but not that late, so he didn't even try to fight
the urge to leave the house, and before he knew it, he was riding his bike.
Chris was in the kitchen. He had taken a shower, then called Jill as he did every night and
was looking inside the refrigerator to decide what to prepare, since it was late, almost ten
o'clock, and he was hungry but had little desire to cook. When the doorbell rang
unexpectedly, he winced, surprised, and walked out of the kitchen to the front door. He did
not often receive visitors; the boys, given the current situation were on 'probation,' as they
called it, and he was obviously not expecting anyone. Maybe it was a neighbor who needed
something. Undaunted, he pulled the door wide open and almost had a stroke when he found
himself facing Leon, wearing the same leather jacket from that morning that enhanced his
figure like a second skin.
"We need to talk," Leon broke the silence. "May I come in?"
Chris shook off his shock. "Yeah," he nodded only to reconsider. "Wait, no!" He exclaimed,
pressing a hand to his chest to restrain him.
Leon gave him a confused look. "If you have company we can do this another time. It's not
urgent."
"N-no, I'm alone but - Hey!" He protested, when the other slipped out of his grasp and,
sneaking under his arm, passed him.
"What the catastrophic fuck?!" He heard him exclaim, dismayed, at the sight of the mess that
reigned supreme in the hallway.
"That was the reason..." Chris sighed. "I just moved in," he tried to justify himself. Why had
he said 'I' and not 'we'? It had come out that way, strangely enough and he didn't feel the urge
to correct himself.
"Like yesterday?" Leon questioned him with eyes blazing with reproach.
He blushed, scratching the back of his head. "Make it about five months ago," he confessed.
"FIVE MONTHS?!"
"Maybe even six."
Leon was beyond abhorrence; there was no word to describe exactly how much that hallway
disgusted him. It almost made his skin itch. "Pig!" He exclaimed. "Unspeakable, hopeless,
unredeemable boar! What is this mess?!"
Chris burst out laughing at his cheeks flushed with outrage. Leon was so adorable when he
got all heated for bullshit like that.
"It's not funny, you utter disgrace!"
"Are you done with synonyms?"

"NO! You should be ashamed! How can you live like this?!" Leon clutched his temples in
frustration. "Never mind, let's go inside."
"What are you doing?" Chris asked him as he saw him bending over.
"I'm taking off my shoes like civilized people, even though your house is worse than a barn."
"I-it's really not necessary," he tried to stop him but clamped his mouth shut when he received
a growl in response.
He led him into the kitchen. "I know. It's messy. Don't start that again. Have a seat."
"Next time I'll see you at my place before I have a nervous breakdown."
Chris crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his back against the sink and admiring him for
a few moments. He was such a hurricane every time he showed up. "You have a problem."
"No doubt but yours is worse."
"Have you eaten?" Chris asked him.
"No..." He huffed, sitting down at the table.
"I was going to cook me something, if you want I'll do it for you too."
"With what since the pans are all stacked behind you, filthy?"
"Okay, as you wish. Offer withdrawn."
"Hey, I didn't- Leon stopped, realizing that that conversation had taken, from the beginning, a
too informal and playful turn. "You'd end up food poisoning me anyway, so no thanks."
Stubborn little liar, thought Chris, turning to start washing the things he needed and only
those. When they weren't fighting and when he could keep his urges in check, it was nice to
spend time with him. "So? What did you want to talk about?"
"I read your file."
"I see," Chris sighed, putting some water on to boil and throwing in a handful of salt.
Leon took a deep breath, setting his notebook down on the table. "I'm sorry for what I said
about you and Wesker. I didn't know he got you so bad. I was indelicate."
"My-my, Agent Kennedy apologizing! An event to mark on the calendar," Chris gloomily
ironized as he thinly sliced zucchini into rounds. "So I guess you want to know more now. Do
you mind if we do it after dinner? I don't want to lose my appetite."
"Only if you also feed me."
"Have you gotten over your fear of ending up poisoned already?" Chris snorted.
"I'll take my chances..."
"I was already preparing for you, too, jerk." Silence. "Aren't you curious about what?"
"No. I'm not picky," Leon retorted lightly. "It smells good, tho."
"Well, bacon hardly doesn't." Chris opened the fridge to grab a bottle but paused,
remembering yet another detail from their past conversations. "Is it okay if I simmer it with
this?" He asked, showing him some white wine. "I mean, the alcohol evaporates, so it
wouldn't be alcoholic anyway but if you really don't want to I won't."
Leon frowned, confused, then recalled as well. "Oh!" He exclaimed with an awkward
expression. "Do you still remember that shit?" He uttered, a little incredulous and surprised.
"Go ahead and use it. No problem."
"I don't have to," insisted the other. "I mean-
"Chris," Leon interrupted him. "When it's good I chug at least half a bottle of vodka or
whiskey just to get myself to sleep. I'd say that rule has long since lapsed."
Chris looked at him, saddened because he had seemed so determined, six years earlier, so
afraid of the prospect that he might end up like his mother.
"I told you, didn't I? That Leon is dead and buried."
Chris didn't think that. Buried perhaps, but alive and suffocating as he had been before
Alfred dragged him out of his misery and hatred. Leon was less visceral than he was, much
more subtle in manifesting his anger and pain but they were there, clear as day, only he knew
the nature of them only in part. Sure, Raccoon City had devastated him as it had all of them,
but there was more hidden behind those sky-blue eyes. Could he help him regain some of his
light? Who was he trying to fool? He was not like Alfred. He did not have his insight, nor his
calm, nor his patience. He did not know where to begin, however, he could not give up
without even trying. Not to receive his forgiveness but because it was the right thing to do
after he had done so many wrong.
He drained the pasta and tipped it into the pan to sauté for a few moments before setting the
plates. "Well, I hope this new Leon, sorry, Agent Kennedy, likes Italian," he told him. "Pasta
with bacon, zucchini, onion and cherry tomatoes. I don't have parmesan because it's too
expensive, and also the bacon is not quite like what Parker made me taste. He is Italian
American but has lived a lot of years in Italy and-
He paused, embarrassed, when he saw him wince impatiently. "I'm fidgeting again, sorry," he
mumbled, blushing and noisily moving his chair to sit down.
Leon scoffed, shaking his head. He was so dumb and for a moment he found him just as
tender as when he had made breakfast for him and Sherry. "I just don't understand all the
fuss. You know you're good at cooking. You should strut your stuff, not chicken out every
time. Look at me, I only manage to survive because someone invented the microwave."
Chris smiled. There he was, the old Leon, escaping the control of the new one like the little
pest he was.
"You should also not stare at the poor assholes you offer your food to. I don't mind, but a 6.1
for 200-whatever pounds guy glaring at you like a top dog can be intimidating."
Chris flinched and immediately lowered his eyes. "S-sorry. You're right." And, barely
peeking, he finally saw that tiny smile, a little exasperated and not yet full but things were
getting better.
Leon finally tasted the pasta and frowned. "Isn't it a little raw?"
Chris chuckled. "No, apparently this is the right cooking. Parker taught me this by telling me
that every time an American overcooks pasta the souls of all Italian grandmothers leave their
bodies and scream in agony."
"Sounds a little extreme..."
"Anyway, this is not a complicated recipe. If you want I can-
"Nope," Leon rejected him decisively. "I have no time, inclination or even desire."
"How do you feed yourself, for fuck's sake?" Chris inquired.
"Well, in D.C. mostly takeout. Here I make do with stuff I can heat up. No big deal. I only
have to put something in my stomach, after all."
"I've noticed that you always skip lunch. You can sit with us, you know? We don't bite."
"Nah, they don't like me and I want to give 'em some space where they could freely say how
much of a cunt I am."
Chris shook his head. "They're a little wary because you kicked their asses as soon as you
arrived, and, yes, they think you’re a cunt but they're a lot more welcoming than you think.
You should give them a chance. Of course, you can't expect them to eat in silence without
being douchebags. Otherwise, yes, they will dislike you for real."
Leon hesitated, "I'll think about it."
They continued to eat in silence, which made Chris's discomfort grow. The more they didn't
talk, the more he was in danger of starting to fantasize.
"So… Do you have a boyfriend?" He asked him.
Leon's eyes snapped up from the now nearly empty plate, and he huffed. "You don't have to
talk about this, since it clearly makes you uncomfortable."
"Okay, let's set things stra…ight," Chris winced, blushing. "S-sorry, bad choice of words.
Clear. Things clear."
"Jesus Christ, you're something else!" Leon laughed at him, wickedly.
"It doesn't!" Chris snarled at him to shut him up because he was trying, for fuck's sake, could
he just let him do it without being an asshole?! "Bother me," he added, lowering his voice. "I
have absolutely no problem with the fact that you are gay, and..." He hesitated for a moment.
"Nor with the fact that you liked me, in Raccoon-
"We don't talk about Raccoon, and besides, a lot of water under the bridge since then," or
rather blood, alcohol, and sex with complete strangers, but he kept that to himself because he
actually appreciated Chris' attempt to address the subject. It wasn't something he would have
expected. The best he had always managed to get was total indifference about it from his
superiors and most of his colleagues. Only Carlos was openly embracing and playful about it.
"I have no interest in you beyond my work as a supervisor," he reassured him. Or, at least, so
he thought.
Chris managed to keep his composure but that statement utterly devastated him. "And the
desire to destroy me," he said to conceal whatever turmoil had leaked from his expression.
Leon swallowed the last bite and abandoned himself limply against the backrest. "Haven't
you realized yet that if I really wanted to cut you off you wouldn't have seen me coming?"
"Well, I didn't. I expected an old bureaucrat who hadn't seen the light of day in forty years.
Black suit, stern eyes, office rat, you know the type."
"A guy like that would have shut you down in the first ten minutes. All in all, you got lucky."
He had his fair share of experience with guys like that, but the worst of all were the generals
who tried to give orders from behind a monitor as if they really knew their stuff. He had
never been happier than when he had put his foot down and demanded total free rein in his
missions. "But seriously, what are you doing with your team? I don't see the direction, nor the
finish line."
"You will," Chris retorted with a small smile.
Leon was on the verge of reminding him that he still expected him to screw up but held back.
Redfield was clearly adjusting to his attitude so keeping him on his toes all the time would
not bring back genuine results. Perhaps it was best to let him do as he wanted not out of trust
but to see when he would show himself for what he really was. At that point and only then
would he cut him off.
He followed him with his gaze as he stood up. "I'm going to have coffee, do you want tea?"
"Did you buy it for me?" Leon became curious, seeing him unpacking a new box.
"I might," he confessed, putting some water to heat in a small pot as he started the electric
coffee kettle.
"Aww, how sweet!" Leon ironized, teasing him but actually appreciating the gesture.
"Still unable to say 'thank you', I see,'" huffed the other.

"I've already apologized tonight, don't be demanding. What are you doing?"
"Checking the temperature of the water," Chris said, sticking the thermometer in the pot.
"And, for the life of me, why?"
Chris turned to shoot him a look. "Really? You who are so precise don't know? Black tea
wants a temperature just below boiling, around 205°, or about 90° Celsius. Other teas, even
lower. Otherwise, the heat will corrupt the leaves and the fragrance."
Leon chuckled. "I heat it in the microwave, too."
It was Chris' time to be outraged. "One of these days I'm going to break into your house and
throw the damn thing out the window."
"And on the same day, I will set fire to this place since it'll be faster than tidying up the
dunghill you call home," Leon replied with a sneer worthy of the devil himself.
"Here's your tea." Chris slid the cup in his direction. "Watch out you don't choke, order-
freak."
"Can I have some sugar, assuming you can find it?"
"Here," Chris huffed, extending the jar to him but winced when Leon grabbed his wrist
gently but firmly.
"Nice tattoo, not exactly what I expected on a guy like you. What is it? A dragonfly? A
fairy?"
"The first one you said," Chris answered, flatly, retreating abruptly. Although, knowing
Alfred, a fairy wouldn't have been an entirely wrong reading either.
"May I ask-
"No," Chris immediately shut him down, defensive. "What do you want to know about
Wesker?" He deflected the conversation, lighting a cigarette but before he could even take a
drag, the other snapped to his feet and snatched it from his fingers. "Jeez, I forgot how
annoying you are!" He scolded him upon seeing him stick it in his mouth with a triumphant
smirk, but really that was the nicest thing Leon could do in his eyes. Go back to being that
mischievous little brat that had so bewitched him six years earlier.
He lit another cigarette and placed the ashtray between them before sitting back down.
"All of it," Leon resumed. "It doesn't do me any good to know that he's stronger and faster.
As I said, so is a Tyrant or a hunter but each in a different way. I also know it's a sensitive
topic for you so if you don't want to talk about it point blank, that's fine."
Chris shook his head, sipping his coffee. "I have no problem talking about him. Not
anymore."
"You heated big time the other day."
"That's because I worry about you being an idiot," Chris snapped at him sternly. Leon did not
comment, and he recapped to him in as much detail as he could remember how things had
gone, how Wesker himself had seemed surprised that he had broken his arm so easily, how he
had been utterly helpless despite his efforts to fight back. He also admitted that he had run, in
panic, to try to get to safety but that it had been futile. He just kept to himself everything
involving his sexuality.
"The most dangerous aspect is his intelligence and his cruelty, which is, at the same time, his
main weakness. Albert thinks he is so damn smart. He likes to play cat and mouse and his
arrogance leads him to be reckless, which allowed me to deprive him of Birkin's blood. I
don't know what he wanted to do with it but certainly nothing good."
"I guess that pissed him off," Leon commented, leaning over to take notes.
"You have no idea... And I admit, at that moment, even though I thought I was going to die, it
felt so damn good."
"How come he didn't kill you?"
Chris stiffened. "I was rescued and this is where the conversation ends."
Leon put out his cigarette and took a sip of his tea. "Okay, but I also have questions about
Rockfort Island, if you don't mind. I read that you were a prisoner there for months. Any idea
what happened to Lord Ashford? The man seems to have disappeared into thin air after
sinking the Umbrella."
"I said the conversation is over." Chris stood up, beginning to clear the table now much more
gloomy.
Leon was faced with a choice, take him by storm, or be patient. He needed that information,
but it was clear that by going toe-to-toe he was not going to accomplish anything. He
watched him rudely put the dishes in the sink without even hinting at turning on the water. So
he stood up and took off his jacket and then unbuttoned his shirt sleeves to fold them up.
"Step aside," he told him, pushing him away from the sink.
"Leave them. I'll take care of it."
"When? Next century?"
Chris lifted his hands in surrender and let him do as he pleased, sitting back down at the
table. Taking advantage of his back to him, he allowed himself to look at him. "Since when
do you dress like a dandy?" He inquired even though he wasn't complaining about it. He
looked great in that light gray shirt, black vest, and jeans that somewhat eased his look, along
with the lack of a tie.
"Since I can afford it."

"Did you also buy the famous silk curtains?" He poked him. He still couldn't believe he
recognized Birkin's house from the damn curtains.
"Don't play with fire, especially when I have a knife in my hands."
It wasn't really an intended threat, so Chris snorted a smile. There were also good, fun things
about their time together in Raccoon, and maybe reminding him of them would help loosen
him up.
Leon seemed to hesitate. "I don't want to hear about Rockfort Island just for professional
reasons," he began. "Clearly, what happened to you in those months must have been horrible,
more than Wesker apparently, but I need that information."
Chris was about to retort sharply that it was none of his damn business but held back because
something had changed in Leon's tone. He really meant what he was saying, it wasn't just a
tantrum, so he decided to let him finish.
"I have been informed that a file with all my personal information had been found on the
island and there is more," Leon sighed, watching the water run over that tall stack of dishes.
"Two of Lord Ashford's men tried to kidnap me, six years ago. I've been looking for him ever
since to ask what the fuck he wanted from me. I was nobody back then."
Since Leon wasn't looking at him, Chris covered his face with his hands, planting his elbows
on the table. What a fucking mess... He didn't want to talk about it, but at least he had to tell
them something.
"You won't find him."
"Why? Is he too clever for me, too?" Leon huffed.
Despite everything Chris let out a sad chuckle. "Oh, he would have been, but he's dead."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw it happen with my own eyes," Chris confirmed.
"More answers I'll never get..." Leon commented, grimly, mostly to himself. "But, looking on
the bright side, one less monster to worry about."
Chris was shaken by a quiver of fury at hearing him insult his dear friend and was tempted to
harshly silence him but managed to restrain himself. It was not Leon's fault; he did not know
anything. No one knew anything. Such a violent reaction would force him to explain himself
and he really did not feel like opening that box. He knew Alfred would disapprove of his
choice, not so much because he was not defending his memory but because he was
voluntarily building a wall between him and the person he so desperately wanted to have
close. After all, how could he explain the truth to Leon? How could he tell him that that file
was there because of him and that that attempted kidnapping had only happened because
Alfred wanted to see him happy? That was new for him too, by the way.
What the fuck, Alfie, you and your crazy ass... He thought, despondent. Leon was not going
to react well to that revelation. No one would, so he had to keep it well hidden if he wanted
things to work out between them.
He lit another cigarette as he watched him wash his dishes as if it were a normal thing. It
wasn't. It was nuts, yet it also had such a homely air about it that led him to wonder how
things would have turned out if, instead of pushing him away, he had kissed him back, in
Raccoon. Perhaps this would have stopped him from becoming too paranoid. Would they
have gotten together? Would he have heard him daily bitching about the mess he always left
behind? Would he have to pacify him by preparing his favorite dishes for him three times a
day? It wouldn't have been a bad scenario. In another life, perhaps, certainly not in this one.
He had his life with Jill and he was going to stick with it. Although there and then hearing
from Leon that he no longer had any interest in him had hurt him, it was somewhat reassuring
to know that that was a closed chapter. He wanted it to be closed. It was easier that way. He
could almost see Alfred roll his beautiful violet eyes at such a mental statement but he and
Leon were not two dolls with whom he could play romance, much less from the grave.
"Finally done," Leon sighed, drying the last plate and setting it in its proper place.
Chris lifted his gaze. His cupboard had never been so tidy and it was admiring that the fool
had even managed to fit everything in it. It was a superpower. Useless, as he saw it, but
impressive.
"I don't know whether I should thank you or call an ambulance to give you the mental help
you most certainly need," Chris teased him. "That is sick."
"You're welcome," Leon huffed, rearranging his sleeves and slipping on his leather jacket.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Redfield."
"You're welcome for the dinner too," he retorted, ushering him to the front door.
With that, he was gone and Chris felt an emptiness inside as he watched him speed away on
that damn bike. He hated the bloody thing, especially since Leon was driving it.
Chris made a stop in the bathroom to get ready for bed, then got between the blankets,
finding it even more difficult than usual to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he had
his image in front of him. His blond bangs, his light eyes, his naked thighs, his full, soft
lips… He was obsessed with him to the point that he was frightened by it. He had never felt
this way in his entire life, not even with Alfred for whom he had fallen without almost
realizing it. He was becoming a fixed thought that he did not know how to get out of his
head, and he was terrified that Leon or anyone else might notice it. There were times when
his distress was so obvious that he felt as if he had a big flashing light on him. At the same
time, however, keeping his distance from him as he had done that week had been
tremendously difficult because he desperately wanted to be close to him, to set things right,
and to have him at least as a friend. When he found him at the door, past the initial shock, he
had felt as happy as he had been only a few times in recent years, and, all things considered,
the dinner had not gone badly. Leon seemed to be slowly calming down since he managed to
be civil most of the time. So why did he feel like he had a noose around his neck that was
slowly tightening?
Restless, he tossed and turned in the sheets for a while before giving up altogether and sitting
up. He reached for his pants abandoned on the desk chair and pulled Leon's iPod from his
pocket. He had asked Quint and Keith to fix it but had not yet found the courage to give it
back to him. He turned it on, slipping on his earphones, and even that made him feel dirty
because he had no right to pry into his business like that, just as, for that matter, he had had
no right to read his file, back on the island. He was reminded of a lazy, uneventful afternoon
he had spent with Alfred when, he was not ashamed to admit, he had smashed his balls with
tons of classical music.
I'm sorry you're getting bored. His algid friend had told him, for once, a little awkward. I was
just trying to make myself better known to you. I've always believed that much can be
discovered about a person from the music they listen to.
"Well, I guess I'm about to find out, Alfie," he sighed, pressing play.
He was immediately assaulted by an aggressive sound that made his eardrums ache. Only
when he had turned the volume down a bit was he able to concentrate on the lyrics.
And they broke his heart.
They were a concentration of anger, pain, and self-loathing. The horrifying picture of a man
who deeply despised himself and who was waiting for nothing more than to die once he had
served his purpose. Somehow this resonated within him and he was overwhelmed by all that
suffering. They were just songs, of course. Yet, at the same time, they were so much more:
pieces of a puzzle that presented a picture of abysmal agony. Alfred was right again, but
having seen with such clarity a fragment of Leon's shattered psyche had given Chris no relief.
On the contrary, he had to do his best not to be carried away by all that pain. He was better
off now, but it did not mean that his past did not still torment him and he was always very
careful to keep himself in check.
He tore the earphones from his ears as if they had become glowing and turned the damn thing
off. He lay back, still restless, and sought to recapitulate all the scant information he had
gathered about Leon in those days. He did not even try to stop thinking about him and when,
finally exhausted, he sank into sleep then the nightmares began.
He dreamed that he was walking through an underpass. Not a specific one, it could have been
anywhere. It was dark, filthy, and smelly. Although he could not see them, he could hear the
loud wails of the undead echoing loudly in the silence of the night. His hand snapped to
clutch his gun and he climbed the stairs with circumspection, ready to shoot at anything that
moved. Nothing attacked him, and this only added to the suffocating sense of anxiety that
was gripping him. He knew something horrible was about to happen, he could feel it, but he
did not know how or when. He kicked open a rusty metal door and was dismayed to find
himself in the Raccoon City subway control room. Leon was not there but he knew he was
looking for him.
"Leon?" he called out to him. approaching the small door on the left with the words
'emergency exit' above it.
He opened it wide, eager to find him, and found two red eyes glowing in total obscurity. As if
he were made of dark liquidity, Wesker emerged from over the threshold, dressed in black but
without his shades. On his face a satisfied grin.
"Oh, Chris, Chris, Chris..." He sneered, grabbing his jaw with one hand, lifting his face, and
tilting his own toward him like a predator. "Did you think you could talk about me as if I am
nothing and that I won't even pay you a visit?" He blew on his face, tightening his fingers
enough to make his bones creak.
"I am not afraid of you!" Chris growled, managing to push him back, and backing away.
"Is that so?" Albert chuckled. "Have you finally become a big boy? My God, if that were true
I would almost be proud," he mocked him, before becoming, suddenly, tremendously serious.
"But we both know it's not and this time there are no fiery fairies to help you out."
"Don't you dare mention him!" Chris surged forward like a fury, even managing to swing at
him a few times but Albert was not even defending himself. He was allowing him to punch
him and did not seem to be affected in any way.
"Are you done?" He asked him condescendingly, when, exhausted by fatigue, Chris was
forced to stagger back. "You should know by now that it's all useless but, after all, you've
never been particularly bright."
"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Really? Interesting," Wesker commented. "But how are you going to do it if I break you
from the inside, I wonder."
Chris barely saw his kick coming and before he could even think of dodging it he was
already flying back. He crashed into the side of the control console, where Leon had fallen
after he had pushed him, six years earlier, and distinctly felt the vertebrae of his spine shatter
into pieces. The pain was intense but lasted only an instant, then he stopped feeling anything.
He could hardly breathe, could not move nor speak just as he had in the first months when he
woke up in the hospital with his body almost entirely in plaster and a respirator down his
throat. The most horrible and painful time of his life.
Wesker looked at him with indifference and contempt as thunder began to echo in the
distance. "And you are supposed to be my nemesis? You can't even manage it in your dreams.
What do you think you can achieve while awake, you pathetic excuse of a human being?"
Suddenly a voice burst out from outside, hurried but thoughtful. "Chris? Chris, are you in
there?"
Albert's neutral expression turned wicked again. "Oh, you've brought me a new friend. Thank
you, you shouldn't have."
Chris wanted to yell at Leon to run away, and not to be caught by that monster but all that
came out of his throat was a faint unintelligible wheezing.
"Looks like I've unlocked a brand new fear for you," Albert smugly remarked, moving to the
side of the door so as not to be immediately visible.
Please! Please don't come in! Please! Chris begged in his mind but Leon did anyway and
crossed the threshold, handsome and magnificent like a knight coming to rescue him. He was
wearing his police uniform, just like six years earlier and that moved him so deeply. He was
his rookie again. The one he had let slip away from his fingers. The beautiful kid he was so
desperately searching among the shadows of his adult self.
As soon as he saw him Leon rushed forward, so sweetly worried and frightened. "Jeez..." He
whispered, kneeling in front of him and caressing his cheek. "What happened? I... It will be
all right! Now I'll think of something to get you out of here."
Under Chris's helpless and horrified gaze, Albert pounced on him like a hawk, and, although
Leon did his best to resist him, after a brief dance of kicks and punches, he ended up on the
ground face-first. Wesker, behind him, stomped on his left leg and Leon cried out in pain
before crumpling in shock.
"My- my! I can see the appeal," Albert commented, kneeling beside him and grabbing him by
his blond hair to pull his head up and take a good look at him. When Leon, like the fighter he
was, tried to break free, he also broke his arm. "And he's also a screamer, as well as
gorgeous," he continued his analysis, then returned his attention to Chris. "I bet he made you
fall head over heels in love, didn't he?" He asked him, licking one of Leon's cheeks, wiping
away the blood and tears with a slow lavish stroke. Chris, filled with fury and despair, tried to
move to pry the swine off him but could not move or speak. He was just a useless, powerless
spectator just as he had been when Alfred had died.
"Don't touch me!" Leon shrieked. "No! Get your hands off me!"
He continued to struggle, only getting more of his blood spilled and ending up with other
broken bones, and Chris could do nothing but watch him suffer because of him!
Within moments, Leon was gasping, exhausted, and aching on the filthy floor of that control
station, completely helpless and, like him, at the mercy of Wesker's perverse games. A new
unexpected level of horror began when Albert pulled Leon's pants down with a yank,
scratching his slim hips bloody.
No! Please! I beg you, don't! Please! Chris thought, so torn that he felt choked up. Leave him
alone! Take me! Let go of him! FUCKING TAKE ME!
Albert laughed, sensing his thoughts. "Are you enjoying the show?" He asked him wickedly.
"The past and the present about to come together as one body. Quite poetic, don't you think?"
Leon had also begun to shout, hysterical, but Wesker didn't seem to mind. Chris knew he
didn't care about Leon at all. He just wanted to torment him like the sickening fiend he was.
Yet, if he could have spoken, he would have thrown all his pride to the wind to beg him to
leave Leon alone. To break his bones, to rape him, to humiliate him in any fucking way he
wanted just to keep Leon safe.
But he couldn't.
With his heart bleeding, he watched Albert lower himself onto Leon as he unzipped the fly of
his pants to pull out his cock and orient it between his buttocks, after a couple of firm strokes.
"PLEASE NO!" Leon yelped, frantic, trying to crawl away as best he could with his broken
body.
This too was in vain, and Leon was shaken by a snarl of disgust and pain as Wesker began to
sink into him.
"Good boy," Albert praised him, "we're halfway there." With a ruthless plunge of his hips, he
took him completely and grunted in perverse pleasure as his victim's body began to be shaken
by tremors and desperate sobs.
"Oh, no, no," Wesker scolded him, grabbing Leon by the hair again. "Don't be shy. Look at
him. Look right at that son of a bitch," he ordered, forcing him to lift his head. "Yes, that's
right," he continued, as his breathing became more labored while he fucked him savagely.
"He feels so good, Chris, you really should try him."
Chris was no longer listening to him, though. He didn't care what he was babbling about.
Leon was at the center of his thoughts, and his sky-blue eyes were tearing at his soul. They
seemed to tell him:
You made this happen! You did not protect me! Liar!
The sound of the ringing cell phone shattered the walls of that nightmare, and Chris jerked
awake, drenched in sweat and terrified. He gasped when violent thunder broke the silence
and, still half asleep, he searched through the sheets until he found the phone.
"R-Redfield!" He stammered, answering without even looking at the screen.
Hey. Leon's voice. The weather's a bitch-
"Oh my God, are you okay?!" Chris exclaimed, still hearing his desperate sobs and pained,
deafening moans in his ears.
On the other side, there was an instant of confused silence. Yeah. I guess. Are you okay? Are
you drunk?
Chris blushed, deeply uncomfortable, and woke up completely. "No... Sorry. I… I was having
a nightmare when you called. Sometimes it happens when there is a storm."
I remember. Villa Spencer. No need to apologize. Leon retorted sympathetically. Wanna talk
about it?
"N-no, not really."
Leon huffed, not appreciating that blatant rejection. I was saying: the vault of heaven is
falling down on this very shithole. Take your sorry fat-ass and come and get me, big guy.
"S-sure. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be there."
Chapter End Notes
Hello again, my dears!

As usual, my most humble thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers,
bookmarks, and commenters for the patience you have with me and this delirium of
mine!
I hope the new year has started in the best way for all of you!
Let me start with the summary, it will be very short: in Chris's nightmare, Wesker abuses
Leon in front of his helpless eyes. Chris is deeply traumatized and feels guilt and
responsibility.
Now for the rest of the commentary, starting with something lighter. As you know I am
Italian, and although I am not particularly obsessed with food like many of my
compatriots, it is true that we all suffer when we see the glue that some foreigners call
pasta. So please, do it for me, don't overcook the damn pasta! I won't start with
pineapple, you already know where you have to stick it, right XD? Spoiler: not on a
pizza.
Jokes aside, eat whatever you want as long as you like it but know that for certain
choices I might disapprove of you a bit (and the souls of Italian grandmothers will really
scream at your guts) XD! The one unforgivable thing you could do, I tell you as an
Italian from Tuscany even if I live further north than Florence, is to go to a restaurant
there and ask for a well-done Florentine steak. Don't. They will stab you and you will
become the next steak they serve. Just don't. For your own sake. If you end up eaten by
the next customer, don't say I didn't warn you XD.
Now cutting through the bullshit and coming to the story. Leon and Chris are slowly
getting closer or, rather, Leon seems to be letting his guard down a little bit and also
beginning to be more sympathetic to our big dummy.
In case anyone is interested in hearing the kind of songs I've come up with for Leon's
iPod, here are a few titles:
"Freak on a leash" and "Alon I break" by Korn;
"The bitter end" and "Without you, I'm nothing" by Placebo;
"Chop suey" by SOAD;
"Duality" and "Everything Ends" by Slipknot;
"Down with the Sickness" by Disturbed;
"I'm looking forward to joining you, finally" by NIN;
"Believe in Nothing" by Nevermore;
"Disarm" by Smashing Pumpkins.
These are just the titles I was able to select, checking, of course, that they were released
before 2004. Small specific: I don't think there's anything wrong with these songs, I like
almost all of them very much myself, especially Placebo and Slipknot but in Leon's case
they are, of course, my device to show his tragic mental state. I also like this goofy,
almost teenish, way Chris has to try to know him better.
Chris is such a contradictory mess. He tries to convince himself that having a chance
with Leon is not what he wants, but he is hurt when he tells him that he no longer has
any interest in him. He says he wants to continue his life with Jill but then fantasizes
about what a relationship with Leon by his side would be like. Poor thing...
His nightmare is the culmination of his confusion. He has convinced himself that he no
longer fears Wesker, but his personal mental Wesker is well ready to set him straight on
the matter. Also, perhaps Chris's subconscious is beginning to realize that something
horrible happened to Leon in Raccoon but make no mistake about it. Chris will not
know about Irons until I say so. That is a firmly fixed point in the timeline that will have
a lot of consequences, so, for once, I know perfectly well when it will occur. I really
think it's needed to give further explanations about the meaning of this dream but I'd be
really curious to read your personal interpretation of it, should you feel like writing it to
me.
What Chris is completely stuck on is talking about Alfred. He thinks about him all the
time and, to this day, he is his comfort figure whenever he needs help but the pain of his
death is still too vivid for him to talk about it. Not least because, to open up in this way,
he would also have to admit that he had fallen in love with him and this is something
Chris is not ready to tell anyone at all.
Thank you so much for everything, as usual!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 86
Chapter Notes
Leon ran like lightning into the car, and Chris could not help but breathe a sigh of relief to see
that he was all right. He watched him lower the sun visor and then fix his hair, somewhat
obsessively, thanks to the small mirror.
"Do you want to go back and get a comb?" He poked him, but, in truth, he was beginning to
adore these little quirks of his more and more.
"I'm sure if I dig in the mountain of crap on the back seats I'll find one. Along with the Holy
Grail and some other ancient relics," blurted out the other as he continued to adjust his bangs.
Chris chuckled. Leon always had the answer ready. He wondered if, vain as he was, he did
everything he could to stay tidy even during missions. Probably not, but it would have been
fun to see him try.
"So what? Are you going to stare at me all morning?" Leon asked him, snapping the sun
visor shut and shooting him an annoyed look.
"I just find you weird. Not in a bad way."
"Yeah-yeah," Leon huffed, before crinkling his eyes. "God, I fucking hate mornings - why
can't the world start spinning at noon? You look like shit anyway."
"Jeez, thanks..." Chris sighed, driving away. He couldn't deny it. His hair was still wet from
the shower he had taken as quickly as possible and he was wearing his B.S.A.A. uniform that
certainly did not meet the fashionable standards of his demanding supervisor. When he was
in plain clothes the situation was even worse. All the stuff he had was five or six years old,
and he didn't have any older ones only because all his belongings had blown up with Raccoon
City. He was not picky. His look often consisted of a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a sweatshirt.
As a jacket he always used the one from the organization but only if it was particularly
freezing because cold didn't bother him. Leon, in contrast, was much more sophisticated.
Even the gear he used when he went to the base was branded and carefully chosen while he
only made the effort to sniff his shirts to make sure they weren't stinking too much. Even in
looks, they were profoundly different, he still wore his old military haircut and his ever-
present unkempt beard, while Leon had his perfect hair and was always clean-shaven,
assuming he had a beard to grow. Chris wouldn't bet on it.
"No, I mean," Leon slightly adjusted his pitch, thinking he had offended him when, at least in
that regard, Chris really didn't give a shit. "It's clear you've had little and bad sleep. If it was
because of last night's talk, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. I told you, it happens. Especially with this shitty weather," Chris
downplayed, and it wasn't a lie. Nightmares were a fairly common occurrence not just for
him, but for Jill as well. Over time he had learned to let them slide by when he woke up even
though it had been particularly difficult that morning. He was relieved, however, the fact that
he had him beside him relaxed him and he was glad Leon had called for him to pick him up.
"Can I ask you something?" He ventured.
"Shoot..."
"If you ever get a lead on Wesker could you let me know?" Chris was aware that it would not
make a difference, that one, two, or ten men would all die against his former captain. What he
wanted was to keep Leon from ending up in his orbit. Especially after the nightmare he had
just had.
"No," was the other's flat reply. "And for more than one reason. The first and most trivial:
everything I do is strictly confidential, and even assuming the B.S.A.A. gets the U.S.
endorsement, there is no guarantee that such an operation will be shared with you; second, if
Wesker is so lethal, it's better that only one person dies and not two, much less an entire team;
third, I don't want to work with you."
Chris took the blow badly. "Aren't we already working together?"
"It's different and anyway the reason is less personal than you think. Here we are in a safe
environment and you are at ease but I can't trust you on the battlefield. If you freak out and I
have to restrain you, everyone dies."
"So you will never give me a chance again?" Chris inquired, hurt, certainly, but also a little
resentful.
"If you're demanding me to do it with the most dangerous target around, fuck no! You've got
a lot of nerve to even ask!" Leon exclaimed sternly. "Try to put yourself in my shoes, would
you send someone with your history along with your team on a potentially lethal mission
right off the bat?"
"I don't want you to die, Leon, or worse-
He scoffed. "Not to insult you, but I doubt anything worse could happen than what's already
being done to me."
"Why the fuck do you always have to react like this!?" Chris snapped at him. "Can't you see
that I worry about you?"
"You don't know shit about me!" Leon shouted back. "What the fuck makes you think you
have the right to have your say? How dare you! Wesker wasn't even in Raccoon City and you
screwed up anyway!"
"I am not the man you met in Raccoon!"
"YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!" Leon thundered.
"So did you," Chris hissed in response.

Leon gasped, outraged. "Just because you had blown the one chance I had to save an innocent
man-
"I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS INNOCENT BECAUSE, AS THEN AS NOW, YOU NEVER
TELL ME SHIT!" Chris exploded in return, feeling a lump grow in his throat. "I didn't
know," he repeated, trying to calm himself. "Fuck it." Abruptly he pulled over and got out of
the car, walking away under the cloudburst, abandoning that pointless conflict.
Leon hit the dashboard, enraged. That was exactly why he had put in the rule about not
talking about Raccoon. They could not find common ground on the matter and, assuming the
possibility existed, he didn't want to.
He watched the imbecile walk past the roadside and away across the fields that surrounded
that godforsaken place and got even more pissed that he had left as if he was the one on the
side of reason! He threw the door wide open, slamming it shut and sprinting toward him.
"You want to talk about Raccoon, asshole?!" He lashed out at him, pushing him to make him
turn around. "All right, let's talk about fucking Raccoon, or rather, about you, you utter piece
of shit! From the first moment you saw me, you did nothing but suspect me even though I
had done nothing to you! Nothing! You didn't even know me and you already hated me! You
hunted me down, lied to me, made me think I was safe with you, and then you beat me up
and almost killed me! I didn't tell you anything about Nicholai because I was scared shitless
of how you could react!" He shouted in his face, finally unleashing all that anger inside him.
"I trusted you, over and over and over again, each time repeating myself like the fucking idiot
I was that you were in pain, that you were a good guy, that I had to be patient and
understanding and everything would be all right! I took the Nemesis sting for you, and,
afterward, I still pulled you out of that basin and killed your goddamn monster for you
because I wanted to believe in you so fucking much! All that effort and for what? To see you
beat the crap out of Nicholai right after! I tried so hard with you! To the very last! You failed
every damn time and you still ask for chances, I can't believe your nerve! Fuck you, Chris!
You abandoned me in that hell, and, not satisfied, you even almost killed the one person who
was helping me! Assuming I'm still stupid enough to believe your crap and your sad eyes
when you repeat your empty apologies - trust me, I'm not - there's no going back from what
you did to him! You feel guilty? Congratulations, it’s about fucking time! I hope you rot in
it!" He concluded, labored, with his chest shaken by rage and sorrow.
Chris was taken aback by his violent outburst, and what hurt him above all else was that the
Leon in front of him, soaking wet from the rain, was exactly that kid of yesteryear who had
finally resurfaced in all his fury. The same wren who had knocked him down and nearly slit
his throat. Yet although for a long time that very Leon had dominated his nightmares on a par
with Wesker, now he was no longer afraid of him either. He also felt surprisingly calm, the
excess of anger that had led him to leave the car already dormant, and speaking of rot, Alfred
had thoroughly shown him how no wound could truly heal without first purging it all out. At
last, Leon was showing him his own, and even though his words meant to hurt him and were
venomous, in reality, that was a gift and he had to accept it as such. It was their new starting
point and he was not to waste it.
"You're right," he admitted, rubbing his eyes to ward off the rain, to no avail, given how hard
it was pouring. "I should rot in it but you shouldn't." He could almost see that brilliant brain
of his set in motion for that answer he clearly did not expect but Chris didn't linger in his
staring. He didn't want to provoke him, not even unintentionally. He lifted his gaze to the sky,
letting the drops crash down on his face, and thought of Alfred again as he could see him up
there, one step away from catching fire. "I haven't miraculously changed, Leon," he sighed.
"Someone opened my eyes, making me realize that there was much more beyond the fog of
my hatred but back then I really believed Zinoviev was a danger to you, that he was using
you as Wesker had used me, and that he was ready to sacrifice you for his personal gain,
whatever it was. I know I was wrong. I still don't like him, and I don't think I ever will, but
Jill told me everything he did for her, for Carlos, and especially for the child after we left the
city. I only beat him because..." His voice cracked but he managed to maintain control.
"Because I wanted to know where you were. In the basin, I had imagined that it was you who
came to my rescue, even though you didn't answer me..." He sighed, looking back at him
with infinite sadness. "Then I heard a shot and feared that Zinoviev had killed you because
you had disregarded one of his orders or because he no longer needed you. I-I tried to reach
you but I found him first." He swallowed bitterly, bowing his head. "I should have realized
that in the condition he was in, he could hardly move, so he certainly wasn't the shooter but I
was so out of it. I couldn't think straight. I-I just wanted to find you, t-to know you were
okay. In the subway, the same thing happened. That Umbrella soldier, the other Russian guy-
"Mikhail."
"Yes. He had told me Zinoviev was dangerous and that he was on that train, so close to us
only because he was keeping us under observation to collect data on our performance. After
the derailment, I woke up, in the dark and thought that, for the umpteenth, fucking time I was
the only survivor. When I saw that it just so happened that you and Zinoviev were the only
ones still breathing, at least as far as I knew, I lost it. You said Wesker was not in Raccoon.
You're right but he was there for me in every step I took, in every decision I made and I
fucking know that doesn't excuse me. I should have been stronger, I should have been there
for you like I promised I would, and in a twisted, fucked-up way I still tried."
"So you want a fucking medal?" Leon hissed, still hostile but calmer. For once he was
listening to him.
Chris shook his head. "I know I can't change the past and I know you don't want to hear me
say I'm sorry, so I won't," he continued, before looking up to point his eyes into his with
determination. "But know that I will do anything to stop Wesker from hurting you. That's
what my nightmare was about. Him torturing you. I cared about you then, I care about you
now, and that has nothing to do with how you feel about me. You can hate me until my last
breath, that's fine, I deserve it but there's nothing you can say or do to change the state of
things."
Leon was still so mad, he could see it by the way he was frowning and kept his gaze fixed on
him, rigid in posture, as if he felt threatened and was ready to defend himself or attack. So
Chris tried to show as little hostility as possible, relaxed his shoulders, and softened his
expression. "Thank you for letting me tell my side of the story."
"It doesn't change anything."
Chris nodded, "I know. Come on, let's go back to the car," he gently nudged him. He was
walking on slippery ground, one wrong look, one misplaced word and all the progress he had
made would be wiped out. He breathed a sigh of relief when Leon, finally, flinched away,
recoiling toward the roadside. He followed, feeling that, in spite of everything, a weight had
been lifted off his chest. He had no idea what Leon was thinking but of one thing he was
certain, he hadn't asked him for any chance at all. He would never have dared. Leon had been
the one to give it to him, appearing like that out of nowhere, back into his life.
He closed the door and gave him yet another look. Leon kept his face turned toward the
window but he saw him shiver, soaked as he was, so he turned on the heat for him.
"The merchant fell to his knees. I beg you, my lord, I was only picking a rose for my
youngest daughter! I meant no offense to you! He pleaded, unable to take his eyes off the
monstrous creature towering above him." Nicholai was reading, pacing back and forth slowly
between the classroom desks. "Don't call me Lord, replied the latter with a menacing roar that
echoed in the absolute silence of that frozen garden. I-
"I am the Beast."
Nicholai lifted his gaze from the book to the open door, where Alex now stood with a smile
somewhere between mocking and softened. "Glad you know the story," he smiled back at her.
"Quiet," he ordered the class, as her appearance had raised a cloud of excited murmurs.
"How may I help you, Dr. Wesker?" He asked her, seeing her studying the room as if it were
a bizarre and unfamiliar place.
"She looks more like the Beauty to me," whispered a child at the first desk.
Alex chuckled, laying a caress on his little head. "No, pup, I'm most definitely the Beast," she
corrected him, amused.
"You know? I think they're dating," Nadezhda murmured, leaning toward his classmate. "I
see them together all the-
"I said quiet!" Nicholai reiterated way more sternly. "My apologies, Dr. Wesker, pay no
attention to this nonsense. Brats love gossip and don't understand when it's not appropriate,"
he added, shooting a fiery glance at little Nadezhda, who giggled, not at all frightened.
Alex laughed more entertained by his awkwardness than by the inference itself. She quickly
recomposed herself, however. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your class, but I need your
assistance."
Nicholai nodded, then returned to his desk. "Let's end here today. For next time, finish
reading the chapter and bring me a summary. You may go."
The children put their things away with a cheerful hubbub, happy to be able to go play earlier
than planned.
"You made their day, we should have had a grammar test afterward," Nicholai sighed with a
smirk, watching them swarm out like excited little bees. He looked out the door. "Nadezhda,
you too. Out," he intimated to her, seeing a flap of her skirt peek out from around the corner
of the hallway.
"Yikes! How does he catch me every time!!! He's a magician!" He heard her exclaim in
frustration, a little shrilly, before she ran off with the others.
"Little bugger," he commented.
"Stop it, you adore her," Alex reprimanded him.
"It doesn't change that she's a feisty pain in the ass," he sighed. "And, well, sorry about that."
"Since when are these rumors about us around?" She inquired, curious.
"Oh, ages!" He huffed. "And it's not just the kids. Adults too think we have… Something
going on. I have tried to make them stop but with little success, I'm afraid."
Alex shrugged her shoulders. "We do have something going on," she confirmed. "It's just not
what they think. Let them gossip, it will keep them busy and prevent them from prying into
affairs that really don't concern them," she concluded, disinterested. "If it doesn't bother you,
of course," she hastened to add.
"No, I have been accused of far greater faults," he smirked.
"With the difference being that you were guilty in those cases," she pointed out, snatching a
chuckle from him. "Let's go, I didn't interrupt your beloved work just to make small talk. A
new shipment is coming in."
"In broad daylight?"
Alex huffed. "Leave it alone, I'm already annoyed enough without you starting complaining
about it. If it can make you feel better, you can take in the sailors, too. That's all they deserve
for being unable to keep a bloody schedule."
"That seems a bit excessive," he teased her.
"You're too soft."
He frowned, amused. "And here's something I haven't heard often."
She sideglanced him. "Am I or am I not the scary Beast?"
"I don't know," he scoffed, "but I'm certainly not the Beauty," he stated, opening the door for
her.
"You drive," Alex ordered him, tossing him the car keys.
"Do you know we could walk if you wore decent shoes? The weather is nice."
"The birds are singing and the sun is shining, yeah," she rolled her eyes. "Close the damn
door and let's get moving."
"Yes, ma'am," he sighed.
"It is p ossible, indeed, certain that I will be absent for a while," Alex informed him, and it
was clear that there was something bothering her. "I'll leave in a couple of weeks and I'm
counting on you to run this place."
Nicholai flinched and looked away from the road to give her a questioning glance. "For
long?" He tried to investigate tactfully.
She did not return his gaze. "I don't know yet, but more yes than no."
He was silent for a few moments. "Is there something wrong? You can tell me about it if you
want."
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Alex replied, distractedly.
It was not a lie but it was an 'ordinary' that caused her troubles and that he knew nothing
about because she had never shared it with him. This did not bother him because she had
every right to keep whatever she wanted to herself. However, he would have liked to help her
if he could.
"You, rather," she resumed speaking, "were sullen and sulky all evening yesterday, why?"
Nicholai sighed. "So you noticed…"
"Hard not to when your snout is so long that your chin digs a hole in the floor. Were you
thinking about your lost boy?" She smiled at seeing him all tense up. "Easy, fur down, Silver
Wolf. I didn't mean anything by it. I just… I never could quite explain myself how you
manage to keep your curiosity at bay. Why haven't you ever asked me to make you peer into
a magic mirror to see how he and your other proteges are doing?"
“Because my life is not a fairy tale, it’s a fucking horror story and they're safer this way.” He
accelerated past the prison gates, parked quickly, and got out of the car without adding
anything more.
"God, you're so touchy..." She sighed, watching him enter the compound. She really didn't
mean anything by it. She trusted him but had the distinct feeling that he was not
reciprocating. There was still something so feral about him and she could not help but
wonder when he would try to break through the bars of the cage she had locked him in,
despite how comfortable it was. In truth, it was a concern that Albert had instilled in her.
Whenever they talked he never failed to remark how, sooner or later, that dog would turn on
her and try to bite her throat. Alex did not know why Albert had been hostile to her decision
to hire Nicholai from the very first moment but since time had proven that she was right and
he was in the wrong, he was probably just trying to stir things up on a whim.
She continued inside to the inner courtyard, where twelve men were lined up in the center, all
with their hands cuffed behind their backs. They all wore different prison uniforms, and Alex
guessed that a good number of them were rapists. Nicholai had a real passion for punishing
those kinds of criminals. He was very thorough in selecting them, and she had nothing
against it as long as they served their purpose. She decided that she did not feel like waiting
for him to join her and proceeded in front of the prisoners, watching them one by one as if
they were animals sold at auction.
To all of them, she was quite a sight since they had not seen a woman in years, perhaps even
decades, but she paid no mind to their dirty looks directed at her breasts, barely visible from
the neckline of her blouse under her white suit jacket.
"Are you the bitch who's going to fuck us now?" One of them asked, his voice filled with
derision and contempt. He was a large man, easily twice her size, but she didn't back down
from him. Instead, she leaned closer until their faces were only inches apart.
"Oh, yes," she whispered softly, sneering. "I'm going to fuck you up really, really hard, my
dear."
He licked his lips. "You won't be able to walk straight after I finish pounding your juicy little
ass, you filthy whore."
"And I guarantee you'll die screaming." Without giving him further attention she turned to go
back and examine the others as well.
"You start screaming!" Growled the man. With a yank he freed himself of the handcuffs that
clearly had not been closed tightly when he was landed, and grabbed her by her short blonde
hair, yanking her back, clutching her in his arms in a vice grip.
"Hold still, or I'll break her neck!" He barked at the soldiers on guard, who obeyed when Dr.
Wesker motioned them to do so. She was not frightened, more annoyed by the inconvenience
than anything else but groaned in disgust when that brute slipped a hand between her legs,
groping her from above her white pants.
"I bet you're getting all wet already," he grunted, rubbing his crotch against her ass. "You
smell so good," he added, squeezing her neck with his sturdy forearm. "I like the sound you
make as I choke you. Now, be a good girl, and tell these assholes to get a car ready for us, so
we can leave together and you can give me a well-deserved blowjob while I drive away.
What do you say, can you do it, bitch?" He asked her, licking her neck.
Alex rolled her eyes, but before she could even reach into her pocket to grab her fountain pen
and stab that asshole's cock, a violent tug pulled them both back. The ground slipped out
from under her stiletto shoes but she did not crash on the hard concrete of the courtyard
because as soon as her neck was free from that pig's grip, other arms wrapped around her,
gently escorting her down. She heard Nicholai let a groan escape when the kick directed at
her caught him in the middle of the back, and that made her unexpectedly furious.
Before she could tell him anything, Nicholai turned abruptly, blocking the punch that was
directed at his neck, and twisted his wrist, breaking it. The prisoner yelped in pain and,
staggering backward, fell to his back. He could not even think of sitting up when he found
Nicholai upon him. He screamed as the first fist impacted against his face; from the third on,
however, his sounds were only fainter and fainter gasps that then became a silence filled only
by the cracks of his bones shattering under that riddling of blows.
Everyone looked at the scene astonished, and one of the other prisoners even vomited in front
of their comrade's completely smashed face. Alex was also somewhat disturbed by such
ferocity. She knew Nicholai; she had seen him kill many times and he had always been
precise, clean, and quick, almost conservative, regardless of whether the target was a man or
a creature.
That was different.
"Enough," she told him but he ignored her, continuing to keep that gaze fixed on his more-
than-deceased victim as he hit him. This unlocked a memory in her, from many, many years
earlier. Confusing, for the most part like almost everything else from that time. She was tied
to a bed in an operating room and Albert at her side trying so hard to tug those chains away
that his fingers were bleeding. They must have been no more than six years old.
"Go, or they'll do it to you too!" She had shouted at him. "They will catch you and hurt you!
Go away, you stupid!"
"I'm not leaving you here!"
"I said enough, you're hurting yourself!" She repeated, raising her voice, and this finally
reached him.
Nicholai rose to his feet. The gear he had put on just moments before was soaked in blood
and his face was stained with it as well.
"Take the others to their cells," Alex ordered. "You with me to the infirmary," she added to
Nicholai.
He followed her and only when they were alone did he voice his anger.
"I told you a thousand times to wait for me before going to the prisoners!" He yelled at her,
oblivious to his role and place. "Why couldn't you wait two more damn minutes for me to
finish changing?! What the fuck were you thinking?!"
She looked at him shocked and outraged that he would dare to address her like that. "I
suggest you stop being hysterical very quickly," she admonished him. "I am not a patient
person and you just wasted a specimen that could have been useful to me! Do you even have
any idea of the hassle it is to go through the whole bureaucratic process with the jails for each
of them?"
"I don't give a shit about your paperwork!" He thundered, punching the cabinet next to him,
smashing the metal door from side to side to vent all the adrenaline in his body. "He got his
hands on you and could have done much worse!"
Alex laughed, covering her face with her hands in disbelief. "So, let me get this straight, you
flushed hours and hours of my work and several tens of thousands of my dollars down the
drain just because that primate gave me a grope? Are you serious?!" She asked him, shocked.
"You are out of your mind! Besides, I had the situation perfectly under control! There were
five guards ready to shoot him at my slightest nod, it was clear I was trying to resolve it
without harming him!"
"That's the problem with the likes of you!" Nicholai barked back at her, his injured right hand
shaking and bleeding profusely. "You are born with money and think you are so rich and
powerful that nothing bad can ever happen to you! You think you are, oh, so invincible on
your fucking pedestals, but I have lived in the real world every second of my shitty life and
reacted accordingly!" And it was absolutely the truth because when he had seen that pig grab
her, from his office window, upstairs, he had immediately remembered how he had felt in
finding his mother beaten to death. Yes, he had lost his bloody mind and, yes, maybe he had
overreacted but he was so hurt by her lack of sensitivity. He did not want a thank you but that
she did not even understand why he had done what he had done was insulting. She surely
didn't know about his mother, but of course, she knew about his time in jail because Sergei
had surely told her.
Alex's blue eyes lost their cruel hilarity to remain only resentful.
"Did I make you lose money?" Nicholai continued. "Take it out of my pay, and if you need a
twelfth lab rat that badly, lock me up. Scum for scum shouldn't make that much difference to
you."
She shook her head, annoyed by that nonsense. "The only prejudiced asshole in this room is
you," she retorted, then took a deep breath. "Let me have a look at that hand."
"I can take care of it myself," he flinched back.
"It was an order," she insisted, sitting down at the desk.
He grabbed a chair with his healthy hand and almost threw it to the other side of the table and
then sat down heavily, showing it to her. Even just setting it down on the top sent a twinge of
pain running up his arm until his teeth clenched.
"Look at the mess you made.." Alex sighed, examining it without touching it. His right hand
was already swollen, purplish, and still bleeding because with the locker he had managed to
open a gash that went all the way to his wrist. "Can you close your fingers?"
He tried and hissed. "No," he was forced to admit.
"You utter idiot... You broke it."
"Tell me something I don't already know, ouch, shit!" He imprecated when she, having
soaked some gauze with disinfectant, grabbed his wrist firmly and began to clean the back of
his hand off.
"I can see your knuckles, dammit," Alex commented, displeased. "Can I at least know why
you reacted so foolishly? That's not like you."
"No-FUCK!" He shouted when she rubbed more fervently and hit the top of the desk in
frustration.
"Attaboy, smash the other one too while you're at it!"
He lifted his green eyes, glowering at her.
Alex huffed. "You remind me of my brother. He, too, is totally unable to handle anger
rationally."
"Is?" Nicholai asked her, finally recoiling to divert his attention from what had just happened.
"Is he alive?"
"Of course he is. I thought I told you. It's not a secret to anyone anymore. What no one
knows is that we have always kept in touch since Villa Spencer. Six years ago you were even
a room apart, for a time. Both sullen and enraged, a real treat."
"Why are you telling me this?" Nicholai inquired. "Because you trust me or because you are
going to kill me?"
She chuckled, starting to sew his cut. "If it was the latter, I wouldn't be bothering to patch you
up, silly."
"With you, one never knows." He grimaced in pain. "My mother," he confessed, "was raped,
beaten and strangled. I found her dead, naked on the bed, one day coming back from school,
and for what it's worth I don't think I overreacted one bit. I would do it again."
"Maybe try using your brain first," she scolded him. "We have to go to the clinic to get you
an X-ray. It's your own damn business how you justify the accident with the totally unaware
town doctor. I'll accompany you."
"I need to change my clothes, first…" He huffed, standing up.
He entered his office alone and undressing, although painful, was easy for him. The problems
occurred when it came time to fasten his shirt and pants.
"Fuck..." He sighed.
"Did you pass out in there?" Alex called to him from outside.
"No, give me one more second!"
She was not patient, indeed, so she marched in after a handful of seconds and laughed to see
him trying to button his shirt with one hand, struggling to hold it still as he could with the
wounded one.
"What a depressing sight," she teased him.

"Well, fuck you!"
Alex kept on giggling, approaching him. "Mind if I give you the hand you lack?"
"Very much," he snarled, stepping back.
She sneered. "You'll have to be a big boy and suck it up, then. It was an order, too." She
stopped in front of him, beginning to fasten his buttons from the top.
"The pants, too," he sighed, surrendering.
She burst out laughing, even more wickedly. "Imagine what the good people of the island
would say if you arrived at the clinic with your pants down and one hand mangled after
walking away with me!"
He sighed, averting his gaze. "I won't comment because, unlike you, I have dignity."
"Oh, yes, you're full of it! Especially now! Come on, the jacket too!" She prodded him,
helping him put it on.
"Sadistic asshole," he huffed when she knelt down to tie his boots.
"You're finding that out now? I thought you were more observant." She smirked and Nicholai
softened.
He lowered his left hand, brushing her face. "Are you okay?" He asked her, making her lift
her chin a little.
She scoffed. "We lost the whole day, a specimen, you'll be less efficient for at least a month,
I'll have to trash my suit because it's soaked in your blood and I hate delays but, yes, I'm
okay." She took a deep breath, getting up. "However," she said, patting him on his broad
chest, "even though it was completely unnecessary and you did it in the stupidest way
possible, it was nice of you to rush to my defense like a novel knight.
Nicholai smiled. "You're welcome. On your part, it was nice of you to worry that I was
getting hurt. I wasn't expecting you to care."
They lingered for a moment looking at each other in an almost tender way until Alex stepped
back. "Let's go get that hand splinted, you moron."
When they were back in the car, Nicholai sighed. "I wasn't thinking about Leon yesterday but
about Sherry," he confessed.
"Will's spawn? Why?"
"Daughter, for fuck's sake. He was her father. She just turned eighteen."
"Eighteen?!" She widened her eyes. "Thank you, now I also feel old."
"You are an old hag, Miss Wesker," he joked.

She glared at him. "You really want to die today," she hissed but felt warm when he bursted
out laughing. She enjoyed his company, was fond of him, and was glad that he was gay. This
allowed them to work together in harmony, to be accomplices and even friends without
unforeseen complications.
Even though he had just called her a hag.
"You are no younger than I am," she pointed out to him.
"True, but they say men get better with age," he continued to poke at her, amused.
"You are a rude asshole, I should have let you rot in that cave."
Nicholai smiled, shaking his head. "For what it's worth, I think you're a very beautiful
woman."
"Says the old creep who has blond boys half his age as his type!" She dismissed him,
annoyed.
"Guilty, I suppose."
"You still miss him, don't you?"
Nicholai shook his head again, and she was not to blame. "He's a closed chapter. As I said, I'd
rather know he's safe."
Safe was an exaggeration. Kennedy was alive but had become a rather troublesome agent. He
and Albert had already crossed paths once and her brother had been impressed by his
performance. That wasn't good. At all. She had managed to turn him off that time, but if the
lion cub kept going after him there would be no deal or promise worthwhile. Eventually,
Albert would stop to wait for him, and little Leon would get far more than he was looking for.
Albert was not easily impressed, and she knew him well enough to say with absolute
certainty that if anyone or anything succeeded in such a formidable feat, he would satisfy his
curiosity like the capricious brat he had always been. Of course, Alex had said nothing to
Nicholai about it. Unlike Albert, she cared about sticking to the commitments she had made.
She found it childish and totally unprofessional to do otherwise, so she would work to keep
her brother on the bridle as long as she could. Discreetly because repeating to him 'I don't
want you to touch Leon Kennedy' would only have the diametrically opposite effect. She
looked at Nicholai, intent on staring at his injured hand as if he could magically heal it, and
realized that, as much as it cost her to admit it, there was another reason she had not told him
about Albert's interest in Leon. She did not want to lose him. Nicholai was only bound to her
because of the agreement they had made six years earlier. He would not have stayed by her
side if he even suspected that his lost boy was in danger. At that point, she would have to kill
him because he knew too much to let him go his own way, and the idea filled her with
emptiness. Especially at that moment. She had always envied the relationship Albert was able
to establish with William, although they had their ups and very catastrophic downs. She,
apart from her brother, had never had anyone. She had never been able to find someone with
whom she felt comfortable enough to cultivate a lasting friendship. She had not even sought
it out, in truth. With Nicholai, it had simply happened and she did not want to deprive herself
of it, even if it meant keeping him in a cage.
"Look at the road and not at me," he scolded her gently, unaware of her thoughts.
She rolled her eyes, "Were you thinking of little Birkin, so?" She resumed the topic.
He sighed. "I was just wondering if she had enough money to go to college. Did her father
leave her anything?"
Alex shook her head. "No, Will had many qualities but being long-sighted about everyday
things was not one of them."
"I see," Nicholai was silent for a few moments. "Could you set up a fund for her with an
anonymous donor?" He decided to ask her.
"I suppose. What amount were you thinking of?"
"All the money you've given me over the years."
She winced, taken aback. "All of it? Seriously? You'll be left with nothing."
Nicholai shrugged his shoulders. "What would be the news? I've started over with nothing so
many times now. At least now I'm giving what I have, not losing it in blood and broken
bones. Besides, I don't need money here. I have everything I need." He was smiling but he
was melancholic.
"All right then, it will take some time, though," she agreed.
"No problem. Just please be careful. I really don't want anyone to be able to track me down."
"I'm always careful," Alex huffed.
Nicholai smiled more sincerely. "Thank you. It means a lot to me."
Sherry descended the stairs as quietly as possible. She did not want to risk waking Carlos,
especially after the mess she had made the night before.
She winced, however, when she found Allison already waiting for her in the kitchen. She was
a bland blonde in her mid-twenties. She vaguely reminded her of her mother and that was one
of the reasons why, at first glance, she did not like her. Then she had gotten to know her and
had been certain that she did indeed dislike her. Ever since she had come into their lives she
had tried to exert control over everything, and Sherry would have really liked to set that
shitty house on fire since she had wanted to change all the furnishings and fill every room
with her unwieldy presence. Carlos was too good to realize what an unparalleled bitch he had
put in their house, but Sherry had stopped letting herself be fooled long before.
"Oh, no, you're not leaving, young lady!" Allison yelled at her when she turned around to run
out of the house.
Allison was the reason she had flipped out the night before. She had begged Carlos to have a
dinner out just the two of them, like in the old days, and not to include Allison but he was so
hardheaded that she had to like her, too that he had not listened to her. Fortunately, she would
celebrate her birthday at the movies with her friends that afternoon and perhaps she would be
able to forget that bad night.
She approached the door and had just taken the keys to her new car from the hook when
Allison snatched them from her hand.
"You are just an ungrateful brat, it's time someone disciplines you!" She attacked her while
maintaining, however, a fairly low tone of voice. "Do you know how long it took me to
prepare that dinner? The least you can do is show me the respect I deserve!"
"Give them back!" Sherry shouted. "It's my car, Leon gifted it to me!"
"I need a new car more than you do, we're family!"
"No, we're not!" Thundered the girl. "You're just a leech and a fucking bitch!"
Allison slapped her, hard enough to hurt her but not to leave a mark. "I can't wait to kick you
out of this house, you ungrateful fuck," she hissed at her.
Sherry charged at her with the sole intention of taking back her keys and leaving.
Incidentally, she pushed her, causing her to stumble and fall on the stairs just as Carlos
appeared at the top, awakened by all the commotion. He cast a confused and alarmed look
from one to the other and that Allison bitch burst into tears. "I just asked her if I could borrow
her car because mine gives me a lot of trouble!" She sobbed. "And she attacked me!"
"That's not what happened!" Sherry tried to defend herself, outraged. "She is a liar! A filthy
lying bitch!" She already knew how things would end from the stern, disappointed look
Carlos gave her and the way he rushed to cuddle his whore of a girlfriend. She had made the
mistake of lying to him a few times before and, well, in the old school she had laid hands on
the bully who tormented her by cracking her face open. If Leon hadn't been there to clean up
that mess for her she probably would have ended up in juvenile hall.
"Of course, you can borrow her car," she heard him say and Sherry felt like crying but held
back her instincts furiously. She hated to cry. Tears made her look like a weak pussy which
she no longer wanted to be. Without saying anything, she took the door and went out into the
landing.
"Where do you think you're going?" Carlos restrained her, grabbing her by the arm.
"To my friends!"
"Oh, no. Not after you pushed Allison. Can you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?" He
was clearly hurt by her behavior, and if he had let it slide the night before, he had no intention
of doing so now. He also felt guilty about it because he was the one who had raised her and
clearly had not done a good job.
"You've already chosen your side anyway, and it's not mine!" She replied, just as hurt.
"How am I supposed to take yours if you act like this? Come on, estrellita, we've been
through this before you know that violence-
"Don't start the bullshit again," she silenced him, resentful and angry. "You're so blinded by
that bitch's cunt that you don't even see what's going on!"
"Okay," he stiffened. "You're grounded."
Sherry scoffed. "I'm an adult now and you're not even my fucking father!" She screamed,
immediately regretting it when she read in his expression how much it had hurt him.
"You're still under my roof until proven otherwise. So now you go to your room and woe
betide you if you try to stick your nose out!"
"Carlos-
"Give me your phone, too. RIGHT NOW!"
She took it out of her pocket and threw it at him, before walking back into the house and
hurling herself up the stairs like a fury.
He re-entered with his head bowed and one step away from crying. "I don't know what I'm
doing wrong..." He sighed, looking at her pink cell phone with a sticker of a small lion
attached to the back of the cover.
Allison rushed to hug him. "Nothing, my darling. Sometimes kids are like that, even my
sister was a hothead until my parents kicked her out. it was more than generous of you to take
care of her all these years. Evidently what happened to her in Raccoon City scarred her
deeper than you could do to help her," she consoled him sugary sweet, stroking his thick dark
ringlets.
"I'm so sorry she hurt you," he sobbed, covering his face. "I swear she's not like that. I don't
know what's going on with her lately… Leon not coming has pissed her off."
"Maybe he's the one who's a bad influence on her," Allison said, sowing that seed of doubt.
"No. He… He adores her. Yes, he's a bit of a jerk but-
"He is a violent man who does a violent job. I'm not saying he did it on purpose but, come on,
why do you think she wants a gun so badly? To be just like him," she explained to him,
tapping the lion on Sherry's phone with her red-glazed fingernail.
Leon got out of the car again without waiting for it to stop. The rest of the trip had been
heavily silent. Chris was too afraid to press too hard to start a conversation, and Leon had
locked himself in his stubborn muteness. In truth, he had gone over, without reaching a real
conclusion, everything Chris had told him about Raccoon City, and although the more
stubborn part of him still wanted to just hate him, he could not ignore the fact that, perhaps,
in some small part he too bore some responsibility for how things had fallen apart. Perhaps if
he had told him about Nicholai from the beginning, Chris would have been suspicious but
would not have lost his mind entirely. If he tried to put himself in his shoes and took into
consideration the house of cards of secrets in which Wesker had trapped him to lead him and
his entire team to Villa Spencer, his lies and omissions in Raccoon gained another weight. He
had no intention of forgiving him, least of all for what he had done to Nicholai but at least he
understood a little better the reason behind his madness.
Not that this changed anything. His doubts about his ability to command a team during a
mission were still there, and he had every intention of pushing him to his limits to see if he
would actually crack like he expected him to.
"No, wait, let's go this way," Chris's voice startled him. It sounded so gentle and mild.
He gave him a questioning look.
"We're soaking wet, we need something dry," the big idiot explained to him.
It was a totally unnecessary thing, but Leon followed him anyway to a small storeroom next
to the locker rooms.
"Um..." Chris uttered. "What size do you wear?"
He huffed. "Let me see." He pushed him aside and rummaged a little through those new
uniforms still bagged until he found what he needed. "Shall I go or will you go in the other
room?" He asked him.
"Huh?"
Leon looked away, sighing. "Some guys don't like to undress if I'm in the room. It makes
them feel uncomfortable. They're afraid I'll do who knows what to them."
"Well, they're jerks," was Chris's prompt reply. To prove his point, he took off both his
sweatshirt and T-shirt in one motion, letting them fall to the floor.
"They're not trash, damn it!" Leon scolded him, bending down to pick them up and laying
them out, as he could, on the desk to dry. When he turned back, Chris had remained in his
underwear and was drying his chest and arms with a towel.
Well, he certainly looked good, even better than in Raccoon. His shoulders had broadened
further, and although he was tank-sized he was not ungainly, far from it. What struck him,
however, were his scars. He had many on his arms and legs where the doctors had driven
nails in to allow his bones to heal properly and also a couple on his ribs.
"Oh, this one?" Chris said, noticing that he was looking at it. "Two rib fragments came out
when, you know, Wesker. Another one punctured my lung."
"Yeah. I read your medical file, too," Leon sighed. "I'm not going to run blindly against him
when the time comes. I'm not as reckless as I used to be."
"Knowing you, you are even more so, you bouncing ball of chaos."
"Bold of you to talk about chaos," Leon huffed, also picking up his pants flattened on the
floor and putting them in place. Only then did he undress in turn.
Chris felt exactly the same as when he had treated his ankle, so he hurried to put on his pants
to avoid too obvious manifestations. He was not shy about staring, however, and winced,
suddenly torn from his fantasies, when he noticed a large scar starting at his right shoulder
and running diagonally across his back to his side.
"Colonel Sergei Vladimir," Leon told him, feeling his gaze on him. "Shit, this was classified,
too."
"You put down Vladimir?" Chris was astonished. They had also tried to track him down, but
always to no avail. The Colonel, as much as he had always worked behind the scenes, had
remained Spencer's strong arm for a couple of years after the collapse of Umbrella, and, from
the data Alfred had divulged, it had also emerged that he was the Tyrant model.
"I spent about a year and a half in Russia, but yes, I found him and killed him," Leon
answered him, turning to get a towel, and there was such a coldness in his voice that Chris
was disturbed. Zinoviev was Vladimir's man, and Leon had spent a year and a half chasing
him. Could it be..? He dared not ask aloud, but it was clear that Nicholai was long dead,
probably killed by Vladimir. Although he disliked Zinoviev, he felt an emptiness inside
because that was what had finished breaking Leon. It was rather clear and heartbreaking.
"I... I'm so sorry," he told him, and from the way Leon looked up sharply it was clear he
understood what he was referring to, and Chris was certain he had hit the nail on the head.
"Are you?" The other replied to him, hostile.
Chris nodded with a look so sad and sincere that it was impossible to question it.
"That was a long time ago," Leon closed the conversation, opening the film of his new
uniform.
"And I'm sorry about that, too," Chris added, reaching closer to graze the scar the Nemesis
stinger had left near his collarbone.
Leon did not escape his touch, and his heart gave a surprised little jump in his chest. He
shook his head. "It wasn't your fault, it was my choice," he contradicted him. "Besides, of all
the ones I have, this one is almost pretty. It looks like a sun or a strange flower."
Chris frowned, examining the capillaries, which, necrotized and whitish, had created like a
crown around the stinger's scarred hole. He winced when Leon grabbed his wrist. His fingers
were cold.
"I'm serious," insisted the other. "It makes you ungrateful, perhaps, but of all the things
you've done to me, this one is not your fault."
"I am not ungrateful," Chris hastened to say, looking him straight in the eye, touched. "I think
it was a very stupid choice on your part and that I deserved that sting but... You saved my life
and I would give anything to go back and treat you better." How he wished he could
extinguish the distance that separated them and kiss him. To hold him in his arms and never
let him go away again because he truly would have wanted nothing more than to change
everything he had done to him just to see him smile again with the same lightheartedness as
back then.
Leon hesitated and scorned himself for it. How many more times was he going to let that
asshole fool him? Yet that warm hand on his bare skin was so comforting and those dark blue
eyes of his so sincerely regretful. Nonetheless, he flinched back.
"Treat the guys under you better," he said, flatly, dressing brusquely. "Leave me alone."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, kudoers, bookmakers, and
commenters!
This is a very long chapter, forgive me, but I really wanted to get the other characters
going as well, after focusing so much on Leon and Chris. Starting next week they will
go back to being shorter because I am back at work and already collapsing with fatigue.
Now to the commentary: Leon and Chris had to have this conversation. I hadn't planned
for them to have it right now but they decided and I let them have it. A big wall has
come down between them and Leon's resolve is creaking a bit.
Nicholai and Alex are awfully cute. Yes, he killed a man by smashing his face and she
tortures men daily but you know what I mean XD.
I know I made Alex react totally superficially to the unpleasant assault she received but
don't get me wrong. You know very well that I do not tend to minimize the subject, it is
just that she has been used as a lab rat since she was a child. She has suffered worse than
that so her perception of it is distorted by much more painful experiences than that
asshole.
I will not dwell on the fact that they could end up in a romance but rather I would point
to the fact that not only did Leon notice Albert but Albert noticed Leon back (and this is
bad) even though Leon seems to have no inkling of it. How and when will emerge later,
but keep this mental note because, just as in the other arcs, I am beginning to weave my
spider web.
Carlos is an idiot. A good idiot but still an idiot. He desires so much to make his family
work that he does not realize who he has put in his home. In his defense, I can say that
Allison holds two completely different attitudes with him and with Sherry, and because
Sherry, stubborn and closed off as only teenagers can be, does not talk, he has no idea
what is really going on and, at some point, everything will blow up in his face.
To be clear, it was never my intention to make you like Allison. She exists to be hated
and she is just a narcissistic asshole.
One last thought: Chris, Chris, Chris... (to be read in a Wesker tone) What would your
bride-to-be think if she saw you fooling around with Leon? Keep those hands to
yourself, hon, before things get out of your control.

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 87
Chapter Notes
Etienne ran to open the door.
"Jill, ma chère!" He exclaimed, hugging her tightly. They had been in touch regularly but
now that she was on the other side of the world, they saw very little of each other, and this
saddened them both a little.
She let him hold her and reciprocated with affection. She had missed him very much. During
those years their relationship had not only completely healed but had become even closer. It
was Etienne who had been responsible for all of Chris's medical expenses, even going so far
as to mortgage his house. All while in the courtroom he was fighting the battle she had
begged him to carry out against Umbrella. The same government agents who had taken the
files sent to him by Ashford, brought them back purged of any U.S. involvement in the
company's projects, just as he had expected, and then tasked him with prosecuting the case.
This had really turned his already excellent career around, and now he and his partner had
already moved to Washington, D.C., years ago, setting up a new firm.
"Sorry I didn't come sooner," she apologized, stepping back, "but those assholes on the
committee kept me locked inside an office with Clive for two weeks going over every single
sheet of paper in our files. So far we've barely covered the first year. At this rate, we'll die of
old age before they give us the green light. Speaking of which, this goatee is getting whiter
and whiter!" She giggled, pinching him under the chin.
"It just gives me more charm," he retorted, coquettishly. "Come inside, come on."
"Wow, what luxury!" She exclaimed with a whistle, observing the wide entrance.
"You know I'm not the type for modesty," he shrugged.
They walked into the kitchen and he quickly grabbed one of her favorite smoothies from the
fridge, making her smile tenderly.
"Can I help you with this madness in any way?" He asked.
Jill shook her head and took a long sip from the straw. "I don't want them to suspect that you
reported to us the contents of the files you used for the trial. You wouldn't do well behind
bars. Don't worry, we were more than cautious not to include anything about it in our
records."
"I'm not worried, I trust you. It is still likely that they will open an investigation into me since
I am one of the funders of your organization but I have nothing to fear about that either. I am
one of the most respected lawyers in the city and, if that is not enough, I also know a lot of
dirty little secrets of a large group of politicians. I don't plan to use them but they are a good
nuclear deterrent."
"Did you find out anything about Morgan Lansdale? He's been up to quite a trick lately to try
to get us out of the game. He's even managed to pull Leon Kennedy out of his fucking hat."
"The rookie you told me about? The Russian's friend who broke into my house?"
"Just the guy..." She sighed.
"Well, he was with you in Raccoon, he surely knows that your intentions are good and that
you are competent."
"Things are more complicated than that. Chris was in a bad place during the Raccoon
outbreak and Kennedy, to my understanding because he and I barely crossed paths, was a
little liar who certainly didn't deserve what Chris unleashed on him but he also didn't make
his life easy. As far as I can tell from my experience with him, I don't like him. He is
irrational, vindictive, and foolish. I was this close to shooting him because he was threatening
to kill Chris and after that, he continued to refuse our help even though he could not get
Nicholai to safety by himself. Carlos," she jerked, she had not thought about him for a really
long time. "He saved the day by being able to calm Leon down and let him take care of
Nicholai."
"Sometimes I wonder what became of them, especially the little one. To this day I'm not sure
that making her leave with that guy was a good call."
"It was the only one and the best. Nicholai has many edges and is a bit of an asshole, like you
after all, assertive, stubborn, arbitrary, know-it-all... He really got on my nerves on more than
one occasion but he is always ready to go to hell and back for the people he cares about and
has saved my life more than once. I'm sure he's keeping all of them safe."
"I can dig into this Kennedy too, if you want. Did he bother you?"
"No, also because Lansdale sent him to supervise Chris's work and he has been under stress
ever since. This worries me. It took him so long to get back on his feet, the last thing he
needs is that asshole ready to dredge up the past just to destroy him. There is little I can do
about it also because the first one to row against me is Chris himself. He is almost obsessed
with Kennedy. When we're on the phone all he does is talk about him, how determined he is
to make things right, and how he doesn't know how to do it. At first, I encouraged him but
now I would rather he just do his job and leave Kennedy no opening. I don't know, he's so
stubborn..."
Etienne sat across from her, extending a hand for her to squeeze, which Jill quickly did.
"Work aside, how are things going between you?" He asked her.
She avoided his gaze. "I don't know... Before I left, we had yet another argument, and I have
the feeling that he's not into me anymore. There's this other girl, in the new team he's
training, Jessica, a combat slut."
"Hey, that's not nice," he rebuked her.
"She's lucky I haven't already kicked her ass for the way she rubs up against him every
chance she gets and the way she flirts when she talks to him. She's all 'Look at me, captain!
Am I doing the exercise right?" flashing her ass right in his face! She has no idea what
dignity is!"
"Do you think Chris cheated on you?"
Jill shook her head. "No, he's not the type, and maybe I'm the one who's being absurdly
paranoid. We've got - well, I don't know how to get around it - problems in bed. Maybe some
of his injuries have caused him issues down there but he doesn't seem interested in solving
them and I don't know what to do anymore. I look like a bitch interested only in that but I
don't feel desired and I can't help it."
Etienne sighed. "Men tend to be very reserved about their problems in that department, and
Chris has always seemed very shy to me. Maybe you just need to be patient. I think he cares
a lot about you and he's a good guy."
"I know and that's why I feel so guilty when I point it out to him but I don't know how to help
him anymore. Other than that, things are good. He is very sweet and treats me like a queen,
it's just… he doesn't even seem to care if I dress like a fucking plumber or get all dressed up
for him. Is the problem mine? Am I aging poorly? Do I look bad with long hair? Should I
change something?"
Etienne scoffed, amused. "You're beautiful but you're giving me anxiety and I'm your father,
imagine how the poor guy feels."
"Hey, do we want to talk about who I inherited my splendid temper from?" She hissed,
narrowing her eyes. "Maybe I too will become a decent human being when I'm fifty years old
and have a midlife crisis!"
He laughed more openly, getting up from the table. "Try to get over the youthful age crisis
first, mon coeur." he teased her, leaning over to peck her forehead.
She huffed, sulking. "Is there a time, I don't know, around fall or winter when your schedule
is freer?"
"You know I can always make time for you. What do you need?"
Jill blushed, a little embarrassed and cowed. "I didn't tell you when Chris proposed because, I
mean, things were still messed up a few months ago. We didn't even have a house but since
he's finally decided to talk seriously about it I'd like you to... Well, you to walk me down the
aisle if you want to and if you can. I know it's pretty much a formality since Chris and I have
been together for a while, so if you're busy it's okay. I'm not gonna be upset about it."
"Of course, I'll be there!" Etienne exclaimed, moved. "And I'll tell you more, choose what
you want, the venue, the decorations, the menu all the guests you want, I'll pay for
everything!"
Jill snapped to her feet. "Oh, no, no, no! We already owe you a lot of money for Chris's
medical bills, forget it!" She rushed to say.
He took her face in his hands with his eyes shining. "Ne dis pas de bêtises, petite sotte," he
scolded her gently. "You are my only child, I'll pay for everything or never show up at my
door again!"
Jill hugged him tightly. "Merci, papa!"
"De rien, ma chérie," he whispered, affectionate. "It seems just yesterday you were driving
your mother crazy because you wanted to play with toy guns and not dolls, and now you're
getting married! Thank you for wanting me there with you."
"I have no intention of inviting mother."
He sighed, taking a step back. "I have no objection if you do. We are adults-
"It has nothing to do with you. I'm the one who doesn't want her there."
"Fair enough, then," Etienne nodded. "This puts another very important task on me, which is
to accompany you to choose the right dress. Unless you want to get married in a muddy
uniform like the little savage you are."
Jill sneered. "Tempting but no," she chuckled. "I think I'll opt for something a little more
traditional this time. Be prepared to have to deal with Chris, too, though. I don't think he's
ever seen a suit and a tie in his entire existence."
"Consider it done," he agreed matching her enthusiasm.
She took him by the hand. "Let's go to the PC, I'll show you the venues Chris sent me, a
couple of them are lovely!"
They were both truly overjoyed and he was so proud of his baby-girl. She and Chris deserved
some peace, especially after all the horrible times they had been through. Sure, they had their
little problems like any couple but he was also very fond of Chris and was sure he would find
a way to set things right. For now, however, he would limit himself to pampering and
spoiling his beautiful girl.
Chris could not take his eyes off Leon who, excited as a child, watched the team tackle the
obstacle course. He looked like a cat whose favorite toy was being waved in front of him and
he did his best not to move, his beady eyes darting from side to side.
He giggled, flanking him. "Go for it, dynamite, before detonating like a short fuse," he told
him, tremendously amused.
Leon turned sharply, almost jumping on the spot. "May I?" He asked, thrilled, and forgetful
of the fact that he didn't need Chris' permission to do anything.
"Yeah, show those slackers how it's done."
Leon turned one of his adorable smirks on him, as delighted as if he had just given him a
present, before trotting off to the starting line. They hadn't returned to the subject of Raccoon
City, and Chris had had to put up with his foul moods and squabbles for a couple of days
before Leon managed to quiet down enough to become fully civilized again.
"Hey, I want you to take my time! Is that stopwatch in your hand just for show?" He heard
him protest.
This attracted the attention of the others who were all comparing their results together.
"Does he do it too?" Parker marveled. Chris had given them a full demonstration, but he had
not expected the little prince himself to come down among the commoners. He had been
watching the two of them for a month or so now and although he didn't share Jessica's
opinion that they were fucking, or had fucked in the past, he couldn't deny that there was
something going on.
"Oh, I so hope he falls flat on his face!" Jessica commented, sadistically.
"We're allowed to laugh if he does, aren't we?" Quint inquired.
"No, you're not," huffed Parker.
"He laughed when I did, though!"
"You tripped over your own feet just two steps away from the starting line, everyone would
have laughed! What a great moment!" Jessica commented, chuckling. Apart from Chris', who
didn't count because he was their captain, and despite the fact she was a girl, hers was the
best time of the whole team and she was keen to keep her crown.
"You know you've already lost, right?" Parker pointed out to her. "You can compete with
these idiots but not with someone like him."
"Hey, you hurt our feelings! We all managed to finish the track within the maximum limit
including you, heavy ass," Keith pointed out to him. "And I'm faster than you, by the way."
Parker sneered. "I bet Agent Pret-Kennedy-
"Hey, I heard you let it slip!"
"Fuck you, Jessica. I was saying, I bet Kennedy will take less than half as long as Chris to
complete everything."
"Um, I don't know..." Quint analyzed the situation. "Chris is fast for someone his size, so
Codename Pretty is definitely faster but less than half? That seems a bit of a stretch to me.
How short would that be? A minute fifty?"
"'One seventeen. Chris completes it in two thirty-five, solidly," Parker specified.

"When did he get down to two thirty-five?!" Keith marveled.
"Chris trains a lot more than you think. Especially while you guys are fucking around in the
evenings. Sometimes he asks me to be his partner or check his times."
"So you two do the nasty stuff without my knowledge?" Protested Jessica. "Call me next
time. You and Chris rolling around in the mud all over each other is a scene I don't want to
miss."
"Good thinking," Quint intervened, "you could do it with Jill, Jess! If you do it naked we
solve all the funding problems of this fucking place - ouch!" He groaned when Parker
slapped the back of his head. "Okay, party pooper, it's on. He will definitely exceed one and
seventeen. How much?"
"Fifty. Keith?"
"I'm with Quint."
"I'm out. Now shut up all of you!" Jessica shushed them, keeping her eyes fixed on Leon.
"Three, two, one, go!" Counted Chris, starting the stopwatch.
Leon shot off like a bullet, immediately picking up speed like the sprinter he was. Chris
already knew it but apparently, the little fucker was even faster than in Raccoon. He was
wasted as an agent, he should have been competing in the Olympics, as he probably wanted
to do ever since he was that sad little boy holding a cup ignored by everyone. That, however,
was not a 100-meter sports competition, so Chris was very curious to find out how he would
fare with the obstacles and the rest of the course. He picked up a new sheet to mark his
technique and possibly score some penalties. Not that he was making any mistakes. In the
blink of an eye, he had already passed the network of wires, by slipping in so as not to lose
momentum and was back on his feet.
"He's a fucking cheetah!" He heard Quint comment. "Cheater, you knew it!"
"I swear I did not," Parker defended himself. "I just figured it out."
Chris huffed, them and their fucking bets…
Leon, meanwhile, overtook the ford with just two jumps, using only one spot to give himself
forward thrust, instead of zigzagging from support to support. He overtook the balance beam
smoothly and without slowing down, and from there made another jump that landed him
almost on top of the sloping wall. Chris glimpsed him shake his little blond head before
launching himself over the other side, clearly unhappy with the result, no matter how bloody
exceptional it was. He saw him crawl out of the tube, jump from one beam to the next with
feline grace, and then run back in his direction after curving.
"He's not slowing down," he heard Quint say and it worried him too.
"Hey, Agent Kennedy, the pit!" Parker shouted.

Leon did not flinch, in fact, he accelerated even more.
"No!" Chris exclaimed, running towards him, sensing his plan. "Leon, I fucking said no!" He
reiterated.
The other reached the edge of the pit and jumped, hovering forward in the air, completely
focused on the target, and landed safely on the other side, perhaps even a meter beyond the
end of the pit. What he saw only at the last second and had not foreseen, however, was Chris
but he was too launched to brake or veer off. He crashed into him and the experience was like
running into a brick wall. He knocked him down and rolled with him to the ground with his
breath cut off.
"What the fuck?!" He screamed, gasping, when they finally stopped and he found himself on
top of him.
Chris who had suffered a nasty backbreaker grunted in pain, rolling onto his side and pushing
him off. "I told you to stop!" He protested, sore.
"I heard you and so what? Because I hadn't listened to you you thought it best to make us
crash?"
"No! I was there to catch you if you missed the landing, you moron!"
Leon widened his eyes, outraged and insulted. "I wouldn't have missed the bloody landing,
you hysterical, overprotective asshole!"
Before their discussion could continue, Jessica jumped in between them like a thunderbolt,
kneeling down next to Chris with an overdramatic: "Oh my God, are you hurt?!"
He tried to shrug her off as best he could to resume talking to Leon, but however he moved,
she came back to face him.
"It's nothing, Jess, I'm fine," he groaned, uncomfortable.
"So much for not screwing her," Leon grimaced, storming away.
"Look at this asshole!" She hissed, leaping to her feet. "Yes, I'm talking to you, Mr.
Perfection! We are a team, we care about each other! Sorry, we're not blowhards like you
who only think about showing off! By getting on the other side of the pit Chris was showing
you that he was there if you fell, as a good leader!"
Leon scoffed, hostile, shooting her a look through his blond bangs. "A good leader teaches
you the hard way that you must not fall because out there you are always alone and others
can't afford to babysit you."
"That's enough, nothing happened," Chris decided to intervene, pulling Jessica back. "I'm
sorry, you're right. I shouldn't have interfered," he apologized because, invariably, what had
started as a game to see him happy had turned into another fight. He had not asked Jessica to
be his advocate and would greatly prefer that she had not opened her mouth. In sum, she was
not even wrong because the core of his training method was to make sure that the members
of each team not only knew each other like the back of their hands but also that the whole
group knew how to move as one man. On a mission, if one fell behind, the whole team had to
stop or go back and rescue them. Clearly, Leon had been trained differently. He wondered if
his previous superior officer had praised him as he deserved because he was extraordinary
but judging by his reaction it was probably not the case. Chris also felt guilty for rushing to
his rescue like an idiot. Even if he had done so with the best of intentions, he should have
guessed that Leon would have much rather slammed face-first into the hard concrete than see
his abilities questioned for the umpteenth time. He remembered, belatedly, how pissed Leon
had been, once he got off the subway, that Mikhail and his men had treated him like a sissy.
He had just done the same thing and had not even realized it, blinded as he had been by
concern that he might get hurt. He had to make up for it.
"Okay, everybody go back in, get cleaned up, and then go to lunch."
Jessica held back. "Just because you've mistreated him in the past doesn't mean you have to
be his doormat every fucking time," she told him sternly.
Chris stiffened. "How I deal with him is my business and mine alone," he retorted. "Now go."
"Ay, sir!" She snorted, rolling her eyes.
Chris wasted no time, he stopped by the car to take the lunch box and trotted along the side of
the building. Leon was just over the corner, sitting on a step, and he was struck by how
absurdly handsome he looked with the sun beating down on him, making his hair shine gold.
Regardless of the fact that the offer had not been on the table for a long time, how had
someone so far out of his league like Leon felt even the slightest interest in him? He really
couldn't explain it, but he would never have had the courage to ask him least of all at that
moment. He lit a cigarette and, sitting down next to him, handed him the pack and lighter. He
watched him take one with his long, soft fingers. His hands looked a little like Alfred's and
did not resemble at all like a fighter's.
"That jump was incredible," he complimented him, "before I screwed it up."
"It was passable," Leon replied, puffing out the smoke. "Now don't make a big deal out of it.
I had made mistakes before, too."
"When? I watched you and-
"I jumped badly on the sliding platform because I slowed down on the bar," Leon interrupted
him.
"If I hadn't gotten in the way you would have finished in half my time and Parker would have
won the bet, because, yes, the guys were betting. They do that on a lot of things."
"What's your time?" Leon asked, taking another drag.
"Two thirty-five."
"Good for a guy your size, my training officer would have done it in two, so you still have
room to improve. Being big doesn't have to correspond to poor agility. You really should do
something about the noise you make when you move, though. I heard you coming an eternity
before you arrived."
"What was it that you had written? 'Their captain's stealth skills suck'?"
"Something like that..." Leon shrugged his shoulders.
"I wasn't trying to be quiet, anyway."
"Why? Would it have made a difference?"
Chris chuckled, lowering his gaze. "No, I guess not. I haven't seen the notebook in a while,
tired of taking notes?"
"There's not much new to put down. I even argued with Lansdale about it. If I were to listen
to him, I would spend every single moment writing reports with which to update him every
hour. I had to get it into his head that this is not how I work. I can take notes but I never
deliver anything before the work is done. Did he want me? Now he's up to my rules."
"How bossy..." Chris commented, and hot, he mentally added. He liked the authoritarian turn
Leon had taken. His mind went off on a tangent and he imagined what it would be like to be
ordered around in bed, too. Would he have liked to be bossed like that? Who was he trying to
fool? It would have been an absolute miracle if he could even get hard. He cleared his throat,
chasing away those inappropriate, though harmless, fantasies.
"Here," he said, placing the box on his lap. "Your lunch, since you still insist on not wanting
to sit with us as if we were plague victims," he told him with a bit of reproach in his voice.
"You know, I'm not comfortable with new people."
"You've been here for over a month!"
"Don't remind me, there are times when I die of boredom!" Leon blurted out, frustrated.
"Don't misunderstand me. I'm not talking about the job. Being here is much more relaxing
than being on a mission among all kinds of monsters and lunatics. It's just, well, everything
else. Forget it, you wouldn't understand."
"No, come on, I'm listening."
Leon rolled his eyes but then decided to indulge his curiosity. "It's practically impossible to
find ways to entertain myself, let's say."
Chris frowned. "The movie theater is cozy and they make a lot of good movies. Not only new
ones. I also attended the weekly film forum for a while. Now it's on hiatus because Mr.
Davies, the organizer, is in the hospital. You know, he's quite old."
Leon scoffed. "Are you one of those guys who watches old Russian movies with Polish
subtitles?"
"No, because I'm too stupid to learn any of the two. You could though."
"No thanks. I like movies but a little more modern. Anyway, that's not what I was referring
to."
"Well, there's also a camp where they play skittles, a kind of bowling that-
"Jesus Christ, you're practically ready for retirement!"
"Otherwise there's-
"Fuck, I was talking about someone to fuck, Chris," Leon exclaimed and then burst out
laughing. "Ah! Ah! Your face! I knew you would react like that!" He teased him. "But it's a
real problem, for God's sake! I've tried going to the pub a few times, but if there are any gays
in this wreck community, they're so locked in their closet that they've furnished it by now!"
Chris had really made a strange face but, again, for the opposite reason of what Leon thought.
Even the idea that someone might approach Leon had made his blood boil in his veins. He
knew, of course, that he had no right to get annoyed but it had been a gut reaction, completely
uncontrollable.
"I'm afraid I can't help you in that regard," he resolved to say only to stop being silent like the
poor asshole he felt he was.
It could have been you in that bed with him! That little inner voice that resembled Alfred's
sadistically remarked to him. He almost seemed to hear him snicker.
"Chris?"
"Huh?"
"I said we can share lunch if you'd like, but if you'd rather go inside with the others, that's
okay," Leon repeated, a little confused. There were times when Chris completely abstracted
himself from reality, and this was worrying since he did it in Raccoon as well.
"Of course I'll stay, thank you."
"Of what? You're the one who made lunch."
"It's just sandwiches, no big deal. One is with tuna sauce, tomatoes, and eggs; the other is
with turkey, mayonnaise, bacon, and salad. Oh, a little bit of butter, too."
"Yeah, because you love to butter me up..." Leon mumbled in a half-voice with a malevolent
chuckle.
"What?"
"What?" Leon retorted with fake innocence, and when Chris finally connected the dots
blushing conspicuously, he burst out laughing again.
Chris looked at him, stunned, and felt his chest heat up for finally being able to bring out that
side of him as well. Still, that joke about buttering him up had almost killed him.
"I meant professionally, you idiot," Leon clarified. "You're really going out of your way to try
to keep me quiet. Don't think I haven't noticed." He tore the first sandwich in half and offered
him one.
"I'm not doing it for that," Chris blurted out, accepting it. "But, yes, feeding your grumpy ass
is a means to an end. I really like having you around. Both professionally and personally. You
are the rookie I lost, after all."
Leon winced, remembering how happy he'd felt when, in Raccoon, Chris had told him he
would have liked to have him as a subordinate if he had become the new captain of the
S.T.A.R.S. unit. That was another dream that had crashed before it had even had a chance to
fly but it had been nice to hope so.
"Don't take it the wrong way," that goofy ball continued. "You're amazing and I don't think
there's anything I can teach you now but, I mean, I have a feeling that no one has ever
esteemed you for what you really are: a thoroughbred asshole, but a thoroughbred
nonetheless. And that jump was incredible. Not whatever bullshit you said. Period."
"Thanks, I guess," Leon retorted, hiding his awkwardness behind a sneer.
"My-my, you finally said it, I'm moved! Look, now I'm crying!"
"Cut it out, you clown!" The other scolded him, elbowing him. "Anyway, it's unfair that you
can make such good sandwiches!"
"You could do it too if you applied yourself."
"Again with this? I said no!"
They resumed eating in silence.
"What kind of guys do you fancy?" Chris asked, out of the blue, without clearly thinking
about it too much because as soon as he had finished the question he felt that spotlight on him
again.
"Why? Do you want to take a door-to-door census to find me someone to bed now?" Leon
chuckled, licking some of the sauce off his fingers.
Chris followed his gesture almost greedily. "No, I'm just trying to understand you better."
Leon shrugged and squared him from head to toe, determined to torment him a little. "Well,
that's a stupid question since you already know the answer."
Chris, who was swallowing the last piece of sandwich coughed, almost choking as Leon
laughed at him again.
"Easy, big guy, easy!" He exclaimed, sadistically amused, tapping his back a little to get him
breathing again. "I already got your 'no-homo' loud and clear when you threw me against that
console." He lowered his gaze, retracting his hand and taking another of his cigarettes. "I've
never apologized for jumping on you like that," he muttered, picking up a drag and growing
sad. "I was in a bad place. I had just broken up with my boyfriend and the situation was what
it was. I desperately needed to cling to someone, and you're really good-looking. I've never
been shy and I'm, usually, pretty straightforward when I like someone but that was almost an
assault so, well, I'm sorry and I promise not to do that again no matter how abstinent I am in
this shithole." At the end, Leon had concluded in a joking tone but there was so much
insecurity in his blue eyes and also in that pale little smile that was a perfect replica of the
one he had addressed to him when they had first seen each other outside that motel.
Chris felt himself dying inside. Literally dying inside.
He would not have expected their lunch together to take that turn, nor would he have
expected Leon to bring up the kiss he stole from him some six years earlier. He was mortified
because Alfred had been right when he had told him that he and Leon had seduced each other
and that he had given him ambiguous messages. He had been so stupid to react that way, and
if it was true that he had regretted it immediately back then, he regretted it much, much more
now. It was so painful that Leon felt so insecure and shy in front of him, and fuck, Alfred was
right about that, too. It had been his reaction that had driven them apart in Raccoon, and now,
Leon ... Leon had moved on, and it was breaking his heart. He longed to ask him for another
chance and, had he been single, he might even have been able to grow the balls to actually do
it but this way he could only suffer in silence. It was so heartbreaking.
Leon, further intimidated by his silence, stood up. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I
didn't mean to, I just wanted to... Nevermind. Thanks for the lunch, see you in a while."
"No, wait..." It was no use, Leon had already walked away and Chris could not find the
strength to hold him back He got up and entered the building, where he took refuge in the
bathrooms. He threw the empty lunch box against the wall and hid his face with his hands,
bursting into a cry of misery and frustration. He had never felt such an excruciating desire to
have someone in his entire life, and knowing that he couldn't in any way have him suffocated
him and made him hate himself because he couldn't be happy with what he had, and he had
screwed up years earlier without even realizing what he really would have wanted. He had
never pursued happiness but at that moment he felt as if he had lost it forever.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, subscribers, kudoers, commenters,
and bookmarkers!
I apologize for the abrupt closing of the chapter but yesterday I had a horrible day at
work, a very long doctor's visit for my hives, had to take Leon (my cat) to the vet, and
practically spent half a paycheck to make him better (nothing serious just a
gastroenteritis). All while limping because my meniscus decided that yesterday was the
day to remind me that I probably fractured it years ago. I had to call my mother for her
to put me back on my feet, literally. Not with a kiss on my sore knee, my mother is a
physical therapist XD. I couldn't get anything done yesterday and I apologize again to
the commenters for only responding to them today.
Let's just say that 2024 is off to a decidedly bad start, and I'm a bit dejected.
No more whining but sorry again.
Coming to the commentary: I feel so bad for Jill. She is not always on her best behavior
and has a brusque and combative personality but she is so happy that she can finally
plan the wedding, think about the dress, the venue, the decorations and in this her father
is really very supportive and excited as much as she is. She is living a dream that is
bound to end very badly and I am really sad for her. Not only is Chris into someone else,
but a man no less and he has never told her that he is gay. I can't tell you how but you
know too that this is going to fall apart ruinously.
Chris is a broken man. In part, he got what he wanted because Leon is much more open
and friendly toward him but this implies, precisely, Leon putting less filter and treating
him as a friend, venting a little to him about his frustration of not finding any partners,
or making jokes like the butter one. Each of these things is like a stab to Chris who feels
so bad and so stupid for missing his chance six years earlier. He is jealous and frustrated.
He doesn't know what to do and is so horribly miserable. I think it's now safe to say that
Chris doesn't just have a crush on Leon, he's really in love and probably has been from
the first moment outside that motel.
Leon, for his part, is careful not to even speculate that Chris might be into guys, or, more
specifically, into him again because the rejection he received has mortified him to such
an extent that he now considers any odd reaction from Chris to be his generic discomfort
with homosexuality. He does not even consider him as a possible partner but even if he
did, he would be careful not to show it openly.
What a mess, poor puppies... Especially you, Chris, do you think you are miserable
now? Wait until you know what I've got in store for you for the future! You don't know
anything about misery yet, my dear XD!
Thank you all very much, as always! And sorry again, I will try to do better next week!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 88
Chapter Notes
Nicholai was preparing tea when the sound of the door opening made him smile.
"What are you doing here?" He asked jokingly and well rhetorically.
Alex, having left her shoes at the doorway gave him a mock annoyed look. "Like I haven't
come every morning for three weeks to bring you breakfast."
"And you never knock."
"Why? Have you found yourself a boyfriend among these rubes?" She investigated,
approaching him with her bare feet. "The slippers."
"You have your own," he objected.
"Now."
He chuckled, stepping out of them, and pushing them toward her with a light kick. "No
boyfriend, by the way."
"So even if I walk in and find you naked, there's nothing I haven't already seen when I
patched you up, six years ago," she stated, shrugging her shoulders and laying the paper bag
she was carrying on the table.
"You really don't need to bring me breakfast every morning. I've adapted, I can do everything
even if this thing is uncomfortable," he told her, alluding to the splint still blocking his right
hand.
"Can we stop repeating this déjà vu every damn morning, this is the 21st time you've said that
to me. Give it a rest. I know you're a self-made, self-sufficient man who doesn't need help. I
like having breakfast with you, is that a crime? Besides, you were expecting me, otherwise,
you wouldn't have made two cups of tea, so stop these theatrics and sit down."
He obeyed, always with a sweet smile on his lips. "I'm not used to being cared for and
pampered, that's all. Probably the last person who did that was my mother."
"You are not allowed to call me 'mom,'" she admonished him, pointing the knife with which
she was about to cut the still-warm bread from the baker's oven where she had just bought it.
Nicholai laughed. "It would never have occurred to me and, anyway, you don't even look
alike. My mother had long black hair and green eyes, the only things I inherited from her. For
everything else, I look like my father, whoever he was. What?" He asked her, seeing that she
was staring at him.
"Nothing, I was trying to imagine you with black hair. I like silver better," she concluded,
beginning to cut bread.
"I've been silver for a long time..." He sighed. "I wouldn't even recognize myself in the
mirror with black hair."
"They make you really unique."
He smiled more bitterly, lowering his gaze. "There's nothing special about being unique. I
would trade my uniqueness for an ordinary life in a heartbeat."
"Are you unhappy here?" She inquired, setting the table.
Nicholai shook his head again, lifting his eyes. "Here is the most normal thing I have ever
experienced, and for that I am deeply grateful, Alex. This place, this community, you, has
started to feel like home for quite some time now. I've always been an outsider, never
belonged anywhere, never had any roots. Too soft to be in jail, too romantic to be a
revolutionary, too smart to be a henchman… Here I found my footing. I can't say I expected
it. In truth, I thought you would get tired of me very quickly and hand me over to Sergei with
a nice gift bow around my neck in two months' time."
"Vladimir is dead," she informed him, resuming cutting bread. "During an operation
conducted by American intelligence. He will never hurt you again."
Nicholai blinked, taken aback. "When?"
"About a year ago. Sorry I didn't tell you," she whispered, avoiding his gaze. "I was afraid
that if you knew, you would want to leave."
"I don't want to leave," he reassured her, laying a hand on hers that had been trembling,
clasped around the knife. "We're a team."
She nodded, casting him a strange glance. "I will set you free. This research of mine is not a
foolish drive toward progress, nor a project to get weapons or money. It has a goal, and I
promise you that when we reach it, or we completely fail it, you can do whatever you want.
Stay to be a full-time professor on our little island, or go find your lost boy. I will not stop
you and you will have my blessing whatever you choose."
He remained silent, surprised. Freedom was what he had always sought and yet it no longer
seemed so important to him. "I don't feel trapped and, yes, I may not particularly enjoy
torturing people but I don't mind if I do. What do you really want to tell me, Alex?" He took
a closer look at her and realized that, in those three weeks since he had broken his hand, she
had sort of faded. She had deep dark circles under her eyes and looked thinner.
She winced and her already porcelain face became even paler. She tried hard to smile but
succeeded miserably. "Nothing. That's all."
It wasn't. Clearly. He didn't want to pressure her but, whatever it was, it worried her and,
consequently, worried him.
"Alex," he grabbed her hand again, preventing her from pulling away.
She laughed a somewhat sad and mysterious laugh. "Look at you, all apprehensive. It's okay,"
she reassured him, dissolving that tender contact to go to the stove to brown the slices of
bread. "It's always so cold here!" She protested.
Nicholai frowned. It was not cold. He had already been awake for a couple of hours and had
not only loaded the stove with wood so that it would not go out during the night but had also
refilled it.
"I'll get you something," he said, standing up immediately. "Are you sure you feel alright?"
He asked her, his back to her to fetch his sweatshirt, abandoned on the edge of the bed. He
had almost reached his goal when he heard the loud crash of cups smashing on the floor. He
turned around with already a playful rebuke on the tip of his tongue for her clumsiness,
which, however, was immediately smothered with concern when he saw her sprawled on the
floor.
"Alex!" He exclaimed, running back. She was unconscious. "Alex!" He called her again.
He slipped his splinted arm under her knees and passed the other behind her back, lifting her
almost effortlessly to lay her on the couch. She blinked after a few moments and the first
thing she saw was his distressed face. "Damn it," she sighed, dejectedly, "I shouldn't have
spent the night at the lab..."
"You didn't sleep at all?" He asked her reproachfully.
"Don't start. Hey!" She protested when he pressed his left hand on her forehead. "You have a
fever. I'll go get the doctor, I'll be right back."
"Don't be a fool! I am a doctor," Alex reminded him with a tired chuckle. "There's a bottle
with pills in my coat, will you get them for me?"
Nicholai moved quickly and also brought her a glass of water.
"Let's go have breakfast," she said, after swallowing a couple.
He pushed her down before she could sit up. "No, you rest now."
"Are you giving me orders?" She asked him, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes, and I'm also going to start insulting you in a while. You'll punish me later," Nicholai
retorted, pulling the blanket off the bed and spreading it over her. Alex gave up and settled
down better.
"I should be the one to call you 'mom,'" she joked. "And really, I'm fine. I've just been
working too hard. You don't need to unleash your Russian death stare to make me realize
what a bad child I've been."
"You should have gone to sleep instead of coming here."

"Mind you, no one ever had the nerve to tell me what to do."
"Did you even eat dinner before locking yourself in the lab?" He questioned her, remaining
crouched at her side with that stern, grumpy expression.
Alex rolled her eyes. "Stop it, a little work never killed anyone!" She teased him.
"No, it only made you faint in my kitchen!"
She laughed a little cruelly again. "You poor thing, you almost had a heart attack!" She teased
him, giving him a gentle pat on the cheek. "Oh, come on! Stop pouting at me!"
"Have you overworked yourself so that I can do less with this hand?" He worried, feeling
guilty.
"No, you sweet idiot. I overworked because I need results." Alex knew she had to tell him
something or he would continue to torment her. She decided on a compromise. "My father is
ill and his condition is deteriorating rapidly. According to my projections, he may have a few
more years to live. Three, maybe five. I know that may seem like a very long time, but
consider that it took decades to arrive at the synthesis of the T-virus. Not to mention the G.
Will was probably already thinking about it even before my father found him."
"I understand, but-
Alex shushed him by laying a finger on his lips. "No buts. I'm better now, let's go have
breakfast." Elegantly she stood up, keeping the blanket wrapped around her. It smelled like
him which made it even warmer and cozy. "Sorry, I made a mess..." She sighed, seeing that
puddle of tea on the floor.
"Don't worry about it," he shrugged, wiping everything off quickly with a rag, before putting
more water back into the samovar to heat and throwing away the slices of bread that had now
burned.
"I'm leaving tonight," Alex informed him. She was supposed to do this already about ten days
earlier but had held back because... Well, because she had not wanted to leave her poor little
wolf with an injured paw. Now, however, she had to, whether she wanted to or not.
"Oh, I see," he replied, throwing her a look. It was clear that he was as upset as she was about
it. "Do you want me to go with you?"
She smiled but shook her head. It was silly, she would have liked to but she certainly didn't
want to. She watched him finish preparing their breakfast with his precision, his tactical
pants, and that T-shirt that was now frayed from wear. Nicholai was so different from all the
men she had to deal with. He was unsophisticated and was always so incredibly down-to-
earth.
"What?" He asked her, setting a steaming cup down in front of her.
"Clearly I'm not paying you enough if you wear that thing, it's all pierced behind the collar
and falling apart. Leave it, I'll do it," she restrained him, seeing that he was having serious
difficulties spreading butter and jam on slices of bread with one hand.
"The shirt still serves its purpose. I won't throw it away just because it has a couple of holes
in it," he mumbled. "Speaking of money, did you happen to manage to-
"Almost," Alex interrupted him. "In order to keep the transaction as secret as possible, as you
requested, I decided to commit a little more. No one will be suspicious if there is a name
behind the donation and backdating. You see, little Alfie was very close friends with Will
before... Before my brother had a jealous outburst against a 12-year-old boy. Jeez, Will lost
his bloody mind on him, after they were kicked out from Rockfort Island. Never saw him so
enraged."
"I don't follow you. Little Alfie?"
"Ashford, the fan you snubbed."
"Oh. I didn't snub him, simply Sergei would never let me go to him."
"You should have just gone there," Alex retorted. "That was really a miscalculation on your
part. Alfie was very interested in you, you were practically already in his good graces without
him even knowing you personally. He would have given you Vladimir's head on a silver
platter just to see you smile, along with a lot of other things. He was like that. Do you like
books? He would have given you his entire library. Besides, he would have been your type.
Young, blond, and pretty. Yes, he also had an incestuous relationship with his sister but who
is perfect in this world?"
"Jesus Christ," Nicholai chuckled.
"Just so you know what type he was, just because he befriended Redfield he leaked all the
information he had to a lawyer, Jill Valentine's father, to be precise. No fucks given, half a
century of secrecy thrown in the public square in the blink of an eye! Little prick."
"You liked him, though, I hear appreciation," Nicholai pointed out, surprised and even a little
annoyed. Jealous, perhaps.
Alex laughed, wickedly, without noticing. "Oh, sure I did, the puppy was capable of pissing
off my brother like few others in the world. Alfie even set him on fire into submission,
causing him to flee the island with his tail between his legs. Don't get me wrong, I love my
brother but it is incredibly entertaining to see him fall from grace, from time to time. In any
case, Alfred will be the one to make the donation in your name from the grave. Of course, to
make it believable I had to raise the amount. He wouldn't have given so little pocket change."
"What amount are we talking about?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, about a dozen million dollars."
Nicholai choked on his tea. "What?!" He coughed, shocked.
She sneered. "Well, if we want to be Alfred, we have to do it all the way. Actually, he
probably would have given at least three times as much but I didn't want my father to notice
the shortfall. We still have a lot of money but less than before the demise of the company.
Don't make that face, I didn't want to embarrass you."
"N-no, it's just that it's really a lot of money and I won't live long enough to pay you back!"
Alex stood up after finishing her slice of bread with jam. "You don't have to pay me back,
silly," she retorted, giving him a gentle slap on the back of the head. "Just keep helping me
like you're doing, okay? The girl will have the money in a few weeks. The time for the
bureaucratic process. She will have to pay taxes on it, but she will still have enough money
left to do whatever she wants. I really have to go now."
Nicholai got up and walked her to the door and helped her put on her coat. "Do you want me
to accompany you?"
"No need, and besides, the professor can't be late for school," she teased him, turning around.
They were very close and she had to lift her chin to look him in the face. "I would have liked
to stay until Thursday when they take that thing off you but I can't delay any longer."
He smirked. "It's okay. This poor invalid will manage on his own for a few days," he joked,
"and wait for you to come back." Why was it so hard to see her go now? Perhaps it was
because she had stayed longer than usual and they had really spent a great deal of time
together. There was tension between them, and he didn't quite know how to handle it.
Hugging her would have been inappropriate, so he opted for something else. He grabbed her
stiletto shoes from the rack and knelt in front of her. "Can I help you climb into these things?"
Alex winced, feeling a chill run down her shoulders. Pleasant and inconvenient. She smiled.
"You must." The sensation intensified when he grabbed her ankle to help her put on her shoe.
His grip was firm, his fingers warm, and his green eyes pointed into hers were really
shameless. It was a bit destabilizing. She felt dizzy and confused.
"Thank you," she said when they had finally put the other one on, too, and he stood up,
breaking the intimacy of that moment.
"Promise me you won't overwork yourself," Nicholai told her, not hinting at retreating and
staying there, an inch away from her. Her breasts almost brushed against his chest.
"I do," Alex answered him with a sneer on her red lips, lifting her chin like a wayward child.
He chuckled, bowing his face a little as his hand ran to grasp her chin, caressing her jaw
frame with his forefinger. "Liar."
"I... I have to go now," she uttered in a voice so uncertain she hardly recognized herself.
Nicholai's smile grew sad. "Of course," he nodded, backing off and looking away. "Alex," he
called back to her when she was now across the threshold. "Take care of yourself, please."
"I'll see you when I get back," she replied with an equally sad smile, before walking away at
a brisk pace. When she was hidden inside the closed elevator car, she abandoned her
shoulders against the wall and took a deep breath, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.
The ringing of the satellite phone made her jolt.
"Hello?" She asked, trying to hide her turmoil. It was useless, given who was calling her.
My-my, This is not a tone of voice I have often heard. Albert commented and she almost
seemed to see him sneering, somewhere in the darkness of the hole where he had retreated
into. Did you quarrel with dear father? He asked her, emphasizing the last two words with
rooted disgust.
"No. I'm on the island," she answered him abruptly, hoping to change the subject quickly.
Why? Is there any news about your research? You know it's not wise to do your therapy when
you feel like it. You should know better and stick to your schedule.
"What do you want, Albert?" She huffed.
You didn't answer me.
"My God, you are smart!"
I'm just showing some brotherly concern.
"No, yours is just a desire to lecture me. I had things to do here. It doesn't concern you."
And I am the one who is always in a bad mood. He mocked her. Have you considered my
proposal to inject you with Progenitor?
"Yes," she replied. "I'm not interested. It's not a solution, it's a life sentence, and I have no
desire to become an addict like you. How often do you have to get a dose of Will's compound
now? Every two weeks? In a few years you'll have to do it every few hours and then it won't
be enough."
It is always a better solution than the fairy tale you call research, Alex. Transferring
consciousness is junk science fiction material. You have to get over it. It will never work.
She scoffed. "You'd rather see me croak and be right than to be proven wrong."
Don't be silly now. He sighed. I may have found something that might help your delusional
work but I expect something back. On loan, in truth.
"What do you mean?"
Not now, we'll talk again.
"Albert!" It was useless. He had hung up on her. She didn't like that situation, she didn't like
it at all but until her brother decided to be clearer, she couldn't take countermeasures. Not that
she had the strength at that moment. Albert was right. She had waited too long and for what?
To be next to Nicholai. A really stupid decision.
Leon listened intently to the lesson Chris was giving on the various B.O.W.s, inside a tiny
room on uncomfortable chairs and with a projector that made the slides blurry. Despite the
meager technical facilities, the explanation was very precise and accurate. He had never
heard Chris make such a long speech before but it was clear that, for once, the big guy was
comfortable in what he was doing. He had a radiant confidence that really made him look like
the captain he was.
"Agent Kennedy, do you have anything to add?"
Suddenly being addressed made him flinch and he felt a little uncomfortable about being
caught staring at him. He nodded, standing up, and bridged the short distance between them
by passing between the chairs occupied by team members, and then to the other side of the
desk.
"I know that this lesson is intended for team or pair work and that, ideally, those will be the
formations you will use, however, it is very likely that even for a limited period of time you
may find yourself alone. This completely changes the rules of the game, not necessarily for
the worse. I am a loner and I work much worse in teams so it is a matter of temperament. In
any case, this is the time to be conservative because you will not know when or if you will
find your fellow soldiers or other ammo. Shooting wildly is the first way to run out of bullets,
panic, and die. You have to be in control, silent, and fast in analyzing a situation. Let's start
with a common one." He turned to Chris. "Be my zombie."
The other scoffed. "Do I have to drool, too?"
"Depends on how realistic you want to make it," Leon played along. "Just try to grab me by
moving like one, I'll take care of the rest. Start at the bottom there."
Chris looked at him with some disbelief but Leon seemed so convinced.
"Okay, he's my zombie," the other resumed, pointing at him, "and this is a narrow corridor.
He's the size of a van, so he's blocking my way with his fat ass."
"Hey!" Chris argued, offended.
"Shut up. Zombies don't talk," Leon shushed him, making the others laugh. "I can pull out my
gun and shoot, taking two risks: first, of not taking him down with one shot and second, of
being heard by other B.O.W.s. Zombies are not very susceptible to noise but other creatures
are and they could come at me from the front, behind, and above, so it's a no-no. Come on,
Chris, you're the slowest zombie I've ever seen and they're not fast by definition!"
Fine! Chris thought, charging him with his whole weight. Leon dodged his outstretched arms
with a step to the side and deflected them with a flick, sliding to his right with the grace and
speed of a dancer. He thought he wanted to avoid him and continue down the imaginary
hallway but winced when he felt him grab him by the neck from behind and found his
forearm tight against his windpipe. By instinct, he raised his hands to grasp it.
"Stop," Leon instructed him. "A zombie doesn't do that; he doesn't have that kind of reflex.
The most he can do is try to bite, but if you hook your arm well under his chin he can't. Also,
he has bad balance but you don't want him to fall because he would drag you down which is a
very disadvantageous position. Blocking him like this gives you time to draw your knife out
and, by letting him go, hit him here." He executed what he had described very quickly and
Chris found himself with the tip of his knife gently pressed between the base of his occipital
bone and his first cervical vertebra which was very disturbing.
"Can you not poke me with sharp, pointy things, please?" He asked, turning around and
pushing his hand away. "You know, considering our history."
Leon greeted that rebuke with a slightly guilty, slightly naughty smirk that made his heart
melt. "Sorry, captain," he replied not at all convincingly. He wasn't sorry at all; he was the
mischievous little shit he had always been and he was so adorable.
Jessica shot an allusive look at Parker as if silently asking him 'Are you seeing what I'm
seeing?' to which he replied only by rolling his eyes.
"Another way to handle the situation," Leon resumed to explain, "is right from the front.
Block," he instructed Chris, before taking some momentum to deliver a high kick directed at
his neck that impacted against his raised forearm. "Either way you will break your zombie's
neck, preventing him from moving but beware, the head can still bite." He went on with an
explanation of how the T-virus and its known variants controlled both the motor cortex,
premotor cortex, and hypothalamus of the infected but Chris was not really listening to him.
He shrugged his arm, sore though it was clear Leon had held back with that kick. How strong
were his legs? He didn't know for sure but he hoped he would never be a real target because
he had no doubt he could break bones. No wonder he could jump so high and so far. This
discovery had unlocked a new fear in him, yes, but inexplicably it also made him feel a thrill
of arousal, like when Leon had choked him from behind. He was so hungry for his touch that
even being used as a training dummy was better than nothing. Great, now he also felt
pathetic…
"How do you know all these things?" Quint inquired, referring to the scientific data so
incredibly accurate.
"Well..." Leon scratched the back of his head. "All I can say about it is that some specimens
had been captured and scientific teams conducted experiments to analyze how zombies work,
over these six years."
"Who is the nutcase who captured them?"
"Classified."
"It was you, wasn't it?" Quint continued to investigate.
"Classified."
"You're no fun!"
That exchange caught Chris's attention, but he managed to curb his desire to investigate. This
was not the time.
"Never underestimate zombies," Leon was still explaining. "It's true that they are slow and
stupid but it's a matter of a second to turn a corner and find one on you, plus, in groups they
can be absolutely deadly. Rather than face them in large numbers, better to look for an
alternative route. All clear?" Everyone nodded. "Then let's move on to the next beauty." He
slid the slides forward. "Oh, this is an interesting motherfucker, can anyone tell me what it
is?"
"Clearly Quint's mom," Keith commented.
"More like your sister," was the other's prompt reply.
"Nah, my sister's fatter!" And they both giggled.
"Children..." Chris growled under his breath, glowering at them.
"It's a licker,'" Jessica huffed, tremendously bored. "Parker and I have already done the whole
bestiary, can we leave?" Chris's stern face was enough for her to back off. "Never mind."
Leon wasted no time and began to describe what they were with extreme accuracy. "Unless
you have a grenade launcher, it is generally best to leave them alone and pass them in
absolute silence. They are very fast and can jump great distances. In extreme cases, their
weak point is always their brains, which are exposed; a point-blank shot with a large-caliber
weapon can kill them, or a stab wound."
"You really like to get in these things' faces!" Keith exclaimed, shuddering. "I'd try my luck
shooting them. They're gross!"
"The knife is faster," Leon replied, shrugging.
"More than a bullet?" Jessica ironized.
"More than the time it would take you to aim and fire," he explained in a flatter tone. He
couldn't stand that jerk, even though she was a good operative.
"The last of the day are the Tyrants," Chris resumed to nip in the bud an unnecessary
argument. "It's unlikely you'll ever see one because they've been produced in minimal
quantities, but in the unfortunate event that it happens, avoid it, retreat, and wait for
reinforcements."
"Oh, come on!" Leon snorted, amused. "I didn't expect this much caution from someone who
killed one with his bare hands!"
Chris winced, remembering how he had thrown himself at that monster, ready to do anything
to defend Leon. He had not reasoned much, nor had he deployed a strategy. His only goal had
been to give him enough time to get up and sprint away from that broken-down carriage.
"You didn't tell them?" Leon questioned him, surprised.

"Not in detail. It was dumb luck."
"You ripped his heart out of his chest. I was there. Come on, it's your time to shine," he
prodded him with that damn shy little smile of his and those big sky-blue eyes.
Chris sighed, lowering his gaze, uncomfortable. "I'll start by saying that under no
circumstances should what I'm about to tell you be taken as an example. My official
position..." He paused when Leon's cell phone began to ring. He watched him pull it out of
his pocket and huff. "I have to take it, you go ahead. Kennedy," he said, leaving the room.
"... It's just that you have to withdraw and wait for backup..." It was the last thing he heard
Chris repeat before he passed the hallway. On the phone, of course, was Lansdale who was
even more persistent with his calls than Carlos. For that matter, he had not heard from him in
a while. He really must have been upset about the matter of Sherry's birthday.
"If you're calling me about the daily checkup, sir, we're still in session," he told him coldly.
Oh, not at all. Was Lansdale's calm response. He was satisfied and seemed content.
Considering that he was generally pissed off and passive-aggressive, this made Leon
suspicious. Do you remember, some time ago, you referred me to the conversation you had
with Captain Redfield regarding training with live specimens, so to speak?
"Yes, what of it?"
I was able to pull a few strings and concede what you thought was so necessary.
Leon scowled. "I didn't ask you to do anything, sir. It was only a preliminary consideration."
Don't be modest, I care about keeping my men satisfied and that is what you are now, Agent
Kennedy. Inform Captain Redfield that they will leave tomorrow and you will accompany
them as an observer.
"With all due respect, I don't think they are ready for that yet, therefore-
Too bad, I will tell the committee to cancel their application. After all, this team has been in
training since January, and it's almost June. How much longer does it take?
"Sir-
Don't interrupt me, agent. I sent you there with a specific purpose, and I expect you to do
your job. Take them there and follow orders, otherwise, I will find someone who will do it
without so much discussion!
Leon felt anger pervade him but clenched his fist, keeping it under control. "Yes, sir," he
replied. "What site are we talking about?"
It is not relevant that you know in advance. I expect you to take this opportunity to test
Captain Redfield's stability, after all, the idea was yours and it is brilliant. Be creative I
expect relevant results. I have already emailed you the specifications. With that, he ended the
call in his face without giving him a chance to respond. Not that it would have made any
difference.
"Asshole..." Leon hissed through clenched teeth, putting the phone back in his pocket. There
was a kernel of truth to it though, this was his chance to really test Chris, so why did it all
seem so wrong to him?
He retraced his steps slowly and stopped before entering when he heard Chris was still
talking about Raccoon.
"The Tyrants were my nightmare," he was saying. "Because at Spencer Manor I had seen one
of them pierce my captain and kill him, or so I thought, but that is not relevant now. The first
time I saw another one after that, even though he wasn't exactly a Tyrant, I froze. If Leon
hadn't been there to get that monster's attention, like the little psycho he was, shooting at him
with his gun to get him to chase him, I wouldn't be here telling this story. I know he seems
obnoxious, know-it-all, and stern as well as vain but he is one of the most gifted fighters you
will ever meet. Moreover, he is always ready to do the right thing and put himself on the front
lines to protect anyone. As you know, I have made many mistakes with him and yet until
almost the end, which was until I threatened another person's life, he has always been one
step ahead of me paving the way. Treasure his advice, he has more courage than anyone I
know, and now that he is no longer just a wild rookie fresh out of the academy, he also has all
the technique needed to make each of us better."
Leon winced, taken aback. There was such sweet melancholy in Chris's voice in the way he
spoke of him but also sincere affection and admiration.
"After our confrontation, even though he had almost killed me, I was aware in some remote
corner of my mind that he was right and I was wrong, and when I realized that the absolute
idiot was again acting as a decoy to allow us to get to the roof and the helicopter to leave
town, I..." Chris's voice trembled a little. "I knew that was it, that no matter how brilliant and
versatile Leon was, he would die down there. Ripped apart by a Tyrant in front of my eyes
because I couldn't move, again. I don't know what gave me the strength to go down there, hit
that monster, and cling to his heart. Everything happened so quickly and I... My mind wasn't
really there."
Leon, outside the room, took a step back, deeply troubled because, unlike Chris, he
remembered everything and remembered it very well. He had sensed that Chris was not
himself, lost in his nightmare, but if he had been too furious to care at the time, now that he
knew precisely everything that had happened at Villa Spencer, the memory of the
heartbreaking cry Chris had let out almost deafened him. It reminded him of his own when he
had woken up after the avalanche, so out of it that he had nearly made the helicopter crash. It
was why he was there. To make sure Chris was stable enough and not in danger of dragging
countless lives with him. Only, if until a month before he still loathed him, he now felt
compassion for him. It made no difference, however. He had to go through with it, and if
Chris broke again, he would have to cut him off. At the end of the day, better to sooner rather
than later.
He reentered the room with his head held high, and Chris's panicked, shy look at the fear that
he had heard his sweet confession made his heart skip a beat. He chased the feeling away like
the annoying distraction it was and passed his gaze over everyone firmly.
"We're leaving tomorrow," he informed them. "The committee has requested that you do a
field exercise with living B.O.W.s as a requirement for the ongoing examination."
"What?" Chris exclaimed, immediately stiffening.
"Everybody out," Leon ordered, addressing the guys.
They did not move until it was Chris who nodded to them to do so.
"They're not ready!" He then growled, slamming the door shut. "What the fuck were you
thinking?"
Leon shook his head, leaning his back against the table that separated them. "It was not my
call and I made my reservations known. I was answered that either you do it or the
negotiation ends here. I was also admonished to keep my mouth shut and obey or I will be
replaced."
Chris crossed his arms over his chest, frustrated and annoyed. "Was it Lansdale?"
"Does it make a difference?"
"Yes!"
"How so?"
Chris lit a cigarette nervously. "He wants to destroy us!"
Leon scowled. "Are you starting to get paranoid again?"
The other gave him a hurt look and then shut himself up. "Never mind. Where are we going?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know or you're not telling me?" Chris bluntly accused him.
Leon made a strange wince, annoyed but also disappointed. "How quickly we fall back into
old habits, don't we?" He commented. "You getting pissed off because you think I'm lying to
you. Are you really sure you want to dance this tango one more time? It didn't end well the
first one."
"This is not about me!" Chris growled. "It's about them, and I don't want them to get hurt
over whatever sick game Lansdale and O'Brian have been playing since Terragrigia!"
"Don't change the subject."
"I'm not!" Chris defended himself but then huffed, defeated and dispirited. "It's no use
anyway, what you think about me is clear and it doesn't change. Despite how hard I try."
"How you're acting now certainly doesn't help, and besides, I told you it's not personal. You
can't convince me of anything unless I see you on the battlefield," Leon protested.
"So this was your idea?"
"No," he shook his head, swaying his blond locks. "Kinda, actually. I expressed with
Lansdale the need for you to do it but I certainly didn't mean right away."
"Well, thanks for nothing!" Chris snapped at him. "I thought we were frien- at least on the
same side!"
"We are and that's exactly why this kind of training is necessary!"
"I have to call O'Brian. Alone." He specified, glowering at him.
Leon shook his head but approached the door anyway. "I'm still trying to do the right thing,
Chris, even when it's not pretty. Let me know what you and your Chief decide," he said,
before disappearing over the threshold.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, my heartfelt thanks to all readers, kudoers, subscribers, bookmakers, and
commenters <3 ! I'm posting the chapter earlier because it is ready and because later on
the site will be under maintenance for ninety minutes.
This week has been a little better. Leon-the-cat is better but he is pissed as hell because,
under the vet's instructions, I had to change his food. As for me, I got a fever this
morning while I was at school. By now my life seems like such a joke but at least maybe
I will be able to stop for a couple of days to relax. I feel like it's my body telling me I
need to slow down.
Coming to us, Nicholai, go easy on poor Alex she is fragile of health and moreover she
is convinced that you are gay. I had hinted this even in their previous scenes but these
two like each other, a lot, only the situation, again, is more complex than it seems. That
Alex has an unspecified degenerative disease is canonical however nothing is known
beyond the fact that, presumably, it is the reason for her research on T-Phobos. I couldn't
pass up the opportunity to create this other angst castle with the two of them slowly
falling in love with each other but she is sick. I know, I know, it's a bit of a cliché but it's
one of those clichés that is always very successful in tearing the souls apart.
Alex, for now, seems to have every intention of keeping her condition a secret. Albert,
of course, and Spencer are aware of it. She does not tell Nicholai for more reasons than
one, but he is beginning to notice the oddities of her behavior, and we all know that he is
a smart guy and an extraordinary caregiver, as well as incredibly unlucky in love.
As for Leon and Chris, they take one step forward and three steps back, and now that the
temperature is rising a bit, they have fallen back into old habits. The only difference is
that Leon, too, has his doubts about Lansdale, while Chris, in this case, is not paranoid
but is genuinely concerned about putting his boys through a challenge that may be
beyond their capabilities.
What more is there to say? They have started headbutting each other again like the
stubborn goats they are. In the next chapter, we will see what happens.
One last thing: I hope my fever doesn't rise further in the next few days but if I get so
sick that I can't write, don't worry I will still do my best not to postpone next week's
chapter but if that happens, I apologize in advance!
I am going to bed now because I desperately need it.
Thank you so much for everything, my dears!

A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 89
Chapter Notes
At 5:00 a.m., the CH-47F landed at the helipad of the B.S.A.A. training center. Eventually,
cornered even by Clive, Chris had to surrender and prepare his team for that unsolicited
outing. He had, however, managed to keep it to the minimum possible, taking with him those
who were a step ahead of everyone else, Parker and Jessica, of course, and Quint and Keith
who, yes, were a couple of jerks but their chaos had structure. Moreover, he had received the
go-ahead from Clive to lead them, so a team of five was more than acceptable.
He watched the helicopter finish its maneuver. Leon was not there. Would he join them at a
later time? Was he getting ahead of them? What exactly was his role? Watching or
maneuvering the strings as a master of puppets? He didn't know what to think. He knew Leon
wasn't mean enough to take his boys into too dangerous a scenario, but Lansdale didn't give a
shit. The more soundly they would fail, the more he could scuttle the B.S.A.A. For that very
reason, Chris had no intention of failing. The organization had gotten him back on his feet,
given him a purpose, it was his baby, he wasn't going to let that snooty asshole compromise
it.
"Oh, there he is, with his cinematic entrance," he heard Jessica mumble. Chris turned,
following the direction of her gaze, and indeed, Leon had a fondness for grand entrances. He
saw him whizzing in their direction on that damn motorcycle, and although he moved it
elegantly as if it were an extension of his body, Chris could clearly imagine him doing
reckless action movie shit on the bloody thing, like launching himself from rooftop to rooftop
or over bridges, and it made him nauseous. Leon stopped, skidding to a halt, a few steps
away from them and, after taking off his helmet, shook out his blond hair, still a little damp
from the shower he had just taken.
"'Morning. Sorry, I'm late," he mumbled, hooking his helmet to the handlebars. Chris noticed
that he was moving a little slower than usual and wondered if he was okay.
He couldn't know because Leon had no intention of getting close enough for him to notice,
but he was still half-drunk. Besides, it was not even the first time it had occurred since he had
arrived there. The night of their discussion about Raccoon City he had drunk so much that it
was a miracle he had opened his eyes again the next morning. It had been a bad one, as it had
been the night before. He was not in the habit of questioning too much about his reasons for
sticking to the bottle. He was an alcoholic, like his bitch mother, so, in the end, any excuse
was good to undo what little self-control he still exercised over himself. It had been the way
he and Chris had ended the conversation, though, after Lansdale's phone call, that had given
him the push in that direction. In the time he had spent there at the base, he had let his guard
down, allowed himself to be softened and pampered by all the attention with which Chris
lavished him. Suddenly finding himself confronted by the very man he had known in
Raccoon City, a paranoid asshole ready to see an enemy at every corner, had been a nasty
surprise. Not entirely unexpected, tho. Shit, he knew Chris, he knew what he was like, and
instead he'd managed to get screwed over by his perfect act one more time and even being
hurt by it. He felt like a poor sucker.
The fact that he was still drunk, however, was not a problem, net of the mission. Whatever
site Lansdale had chosen, he would have plenty of time to sober up. They were facing hours
if not entire days of travel. He simply did not want Chris to see him like this. Only him. The
whole D.S.O. knew he had a serious problem with booze. It was no secret, and no one gave a
shit as long as he continued to get the job done as expected of him. Yet the idea that Chris of
all people would see him and, consequently, judge him for it made him feel ashamed. A
feeling he did not think he knew how to feel again. To be precise, he was ashamed that Chris
still had such a strong hold on him that it made him feel like shit. He did not even glance at
him and proceeded resolutely to the helicopter door, where a soldier was waiting for him with
a clipboard in his hand.
Chris noticed this elusiveness of his and felt his heart sink in his chest. He knew he had
reacted too abruptly the previous day or, to put it the way Alfred would have, he had barked
instead of explaining his reasons, but he just couldn't help it. For the umpteenth time he had
allowed himself to be carried away by his emotions and lost his clarity, and wasn't that
exactly what Leon was blaming him for? He had to hold his shit together and prove to him
that he was capable of being not only a good captain but also a decent human being. He
wanted to make him comfortable, maybe even proud. He wanted to show him that he had
grown and improved. Perhaps, at that point, Leon would stop being so suspicious and shy in
his presence and finally let go completely. That was really all he wanted. He watched him put
on the headphones and exchange a few words he could not hear with the guy who had gotten
off and handed him the clipboard. Leon marked the boxes of those attending, then his gaze
fell to the bottom of the sheet and immediately sprang to Chris with an expression
somewhere between shock and anger.
"What have I done now?" He groaned, defeated, at the sight of him gesturing them to
advance and board. "Let's go, guys."
By helicopter, they were taken to a military airport near Newcastle and boarded a plane.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" Asked Chris, who had gotten up as soon as he was free to move
after takeoff and ascent, and approached Leon, strategically sitting in the back, alone.
"You've got a whole plane but if you insist," huffed the other, tossing his jacket onto the seat
in front of him. He didn't even raise his head and resumed scribbling in his notebook all his
cute, perfect, little u-s absolutely identical and equally unintelligible.
"Don't you think a Lockheed C-17 Globemaster III is a bit much for just us?"
"Не знаю - fuck, sorry. Ask Lansdale. I'm not paying for it. Make a disclosure to the U.S.
taxpayers, if you care. And, no, don't start with your 'sorry-s shit and stuff'. Spare me. We just
left and it's going to be a long trip."
Chris sighed, sitting down next to him. "Given the plane that's for sure."
"So you too, if you put your mind to it, can make deductions. Congratulations."
"Very funny. I don't start apologizing but you try to keep the poison in check, da, tovarish?"
He mocked his slip-up in Russian with two of the few words he knew.
Leon flinched but continued to scribble, after a moment of confusion because writing in one
language and holding a conversation in another was proving tiring since he still had to work
off all he had drunk. "You're the one who came to me. Not the other way around."
"Yes, and I come in peace. Cookies?" He offered, taking the small bag from his pocket and
tossing it on the notebook.
"You think you can solve everything by feeding me?"
Chris smirked. "Yeah, pretty much. You have a sweet tooth, and that's the only advantage I
have on your grumpy ass. Not really, actually. Let's play another game, shall we?"
"I guess," Leon replied, somewhat intrigued, closing his notebook.
"This behemoth can cover 2400 nm empty. There are six of us, plus two pilots and a couple
of crew guys. No additional cargo, so I'd say our possible intermediate destinations are two."
"You know that-
"Oh, but I don't need confirmation."
Leon scoffed. "This thing doesn't even have windows. Don't play wizard. Uh, fucking good!"
He mumbled, tasting a cookie. By now he knew Chris cooked like a god but he couldn't help
but be surprised each time he came up with something new even better than the previous
dish.
"True but 2400 nm is a pretty defined range. So, North America? Asia? Your beloved Russia?
Africa? Honestly, I would tend to rule out Asia and Russia. I seriously doubt that the various
countries in those regions would willingly accept American bases full of monsters within
their borders. In Europe, they tend to be more conservative and cautious, plus if there was
such a center in the European Union, MI5 would have reported it to us. It's part of our
agreements, so Europe is also out. That leaves us with two possibilities: the Canary Islands,
should our destination be somewhere in North Africa; or, more likely, Bermuda. I would tend
to rule out the Canary Islands and, consequently, Africa because if it became known that the
United States put such a base in a third-world country-
"Rude. It's called developing countries, now."
"Yeah, whatever, either way, we wouldn't make a big impression. I'm going all in on
Bermuda followed by two more intermediate stops that could get us, probably, to Alaska.
Why Alaska? U.S. territory, large uninhabited areas, little likelihood of widespread contagion
in the event of an accident, and the possibility of carpet bombing without collateral damage.
What do you think?"
Leon looked away because his playfulness was making him feel deeply uncomfortable. He
rested the bag of cookies in his lap. "Last night I wasn't lying. I didn't know where they
wanted to send us."
"Now you do, tho. You read it in the boarding pass. I could tell by the way you looked at me.
It must be a pretty shitty place and you're worried or mad, or both."
"Both but I still can't tell you anything."
Chris shrugged his shoulders. "That's okay, I wasn't trying to extort information from you. I
really just wanted to play."
"And you said something right," Leon murmured. "Very good."
"Well, as much as you tend to think of me as a complete jackass about everything, there are
aspects where I'm not so bad. I was in the Air Force-
"We shouldn't be chatting so much, anyway." Leon shushed him abruptly, still avoiding
meeting his gaze.
"Oh, come on," Chris huffed, giving him a gentle nudge. "I suck at mind games, I just want
us to make up. Nothing else."
"That's not the point. Simply, when the shit hits the fan and, believe me, it will hit it hard, you
will resent me," Leon blurted out. "So just cut it out."
Chris abandoned himself against the backrest and took a deep breath. "I'll only be resentful
with you if one of them gets hurt and you do nothing to prevent it, but you would never allow
that. The S in Leon S. Kennedy stands for 'screw orders'. Don't think I have forgotten the
absolute hothead you are. You are not telling me everything you know just because you are
convinced that testing me is necessary and, you know? You're probably right. Maybe I really
do need a test and once I overcome it, we can start from scratch. Will you give me that
chance? And I don't mean professionally… I… for you and me."
"I will if you will," was Leon's cryptic reply.
Chris smiled, a little worried but also hopeful. "Great, we have a deal. Can I have a cookie? I
haven't even had time to taste one."
"Absolutely not!" Leon hissed, clawing the bag away with a feline snap and clutching it
against his chest.
"You greedy, ungrateful jerk!" Chris gasped.
"Just one."
"Thank you. Yuck, too much butter."
"See, you didn't even like it. I knew it. A wasted cookie."
Chris burst out laughing and Leon finally decided to turn his beautiful sky-blue eyes on him.
He sighed, blinking. "Know that I'm rooting for you. Don't let me down. I don't like losing."
"What are we betting?" Chris continued to keep the talk on a light tone even though Leon's
gloominess disturbed him.
"Well, we still have a drink pending from the Raccoon days. Loser pays for it."
"Deal.
"Now try to sleep, you'll need to be strong and well rested." With that said, Leon reopened his
damn notebook and Chris took the hint. He did not feel like talking and it was clear that he
felt conflicted about the whole situation.
"Can we resume the Lansdale topic?" He tried to prod him a little.
"No. You're on your best behavior this morning and I appreciate it, don't screw it up with
your paranoia and ungrounded accusations, Captain Redfield," Leon replied to him with
unexpected sternness as he scribbled a note in English and then handed him the notebook.
U'r sooo dumb! His plane. His crew. His pilots. Not here. Not now. Idiot!!!
Chris leaned in a little more. "You didn't have to write it twice, you know." He whispered in
his ear. The heat radiating from his skin and the scent of his aftershave, or shampoo, or
whatever he had used made him dizzy but not enough not to notice a back odor almost
completely vanished. Liquor? Had Leon been drinking? Before a mission? This shocked him
but mostly worried him. Why? Why in the world? Was it a coincidence or a habit? He moved
back calmly, playing dumb as Leon reiterated what an idiot he was by underlining the word
in his notebook with a childish giggle.
It was none of his business. Leon was an adult and an agent with an impeccable career, plus
he had just proved to him that he was lucid enough to write in two languages, foil that they
were being spied on, and that he could follow his assumptions about routes accurately. There
was nothing wrong with him having a drink, except that he had driven all the way to the base
on that fucking bike. He thought about reprimanding him for that but bit his tongue. He didn't
want to mortify him. Not after he had just managed to put some balance back between them
but he couldn't help but wonder what scared him so much about that mission. Yes, okay, there
were living B.O.W.s but most likely it was zombies, maybe some dogs, a few lickers… It
couldn't be anything more dangerous than that.
When the shit hits the fan, you will resent me. What did he mean by that? Was he afraid that
he would lose his mind or that he would be furious with him? The former was something
Leon took for granted because he had every reason to harbor prejudices about his
performance, so it couldn't be; the latter opened up unexpected new scenarios that almost
made his heart explode in his chest.
Leon cared.
Could..? Could it be that he was starting to like him again? The thought filled him with
irrepressible bliss, so strong and disruptive that it erased all the anguish he felt relative to that
situation. He knew full well that he could not take that thing in any direction, but even the
mere fact that Leon could be his friend, really his friend, made his life so much brighter.
Besides, fantasizing a little did no harm. Taking care not to be too obvious he continued to
glance at him. Leon was so cute when he was all focused. He kept his eyebrows slightly
furrowed, when a thought crossed his mind he sometimes bit his lower lip or drummed it
with the back of his pen, and then spent a good part of his time trying, futilely, to get his hair
behind his ears but it would come back in front of his eyes at the slightest movement of his
head, in an unequal fight lost at the start.
"How did you get this one?" He could not hold back his curiosity when he saw the almost
imperceptible mark of a tiny scar under his eye.
"Huh?" Leon turned his head, confused.
"This one," he repeated, brushing the spot with the tip of his index finger.
"Oh. Vladimir," he replied, flatly. "The first time we met. He was giving me a lesson in the
art of torture, trying to break me. It didn't work. I talked him out of poking my eye out,
challenging him." He was hostile again but clearly toward the topic.
"Sorry, I didn't think it was such a sensitive question," Chris backtracked. "Well, since you're
busy and the others are screwing around, I think I'll get some sleep," he sighed. He actually
needed it badly. After Leon had left the base, he had been on the phone with Clive for quite a
while, then instructed the team members until late, returned home, and, too nervous to rest,
took a shower and then set about making cookies. He had basically not slept a wink. He tried
to get as comfortable as he could, which was complex for someone his size in an airplane
seat, and closed his eyes.
Only when he was sure he was sound asleep did Leon finally give him his full attention. He
tilted his head a little and curled his lips into what could have been either a smile or a
grimace. What exactly, even he could not say. He was so conflicted. Why was it proving so
difficult to accomplish the goal he had set for himself from day one? The problem was that
the best version of Chris in front of his eyes was irresistible. He was handsome, he was
awkward, he was playful and outgoing. He was the guy he had looked up to in Raccoon City
and had a crush on, and he was a hundred times more so. Leon was scared of the possibility
that it might just be an illusion, just like then, and that once at their destination, the monster
would come back out, destroying everything and he would have to put him down. He did not
want to lose that new connection that had somehow been created between them. It had taken
so long since he had let anyone into his life, not that he had ever wanted Chris to do that but
it had happened and now, one way or another, it was going to end. He was really rooting for
him because it was clear how hard that big dummy had committed himself to healing,
working on himself, and getting back to being the beautiful person Leon didn't doubt he had
been, before Villa Spencer.
"For what it's worth," he sighed, taking his aviator jacket from the seat where he had thrown
it and laying it on him, "I'm sorry, Chris."
The other did not wake up but in his sleep clutched it to him like a child in need of warmth.
When Chris awoke, they had already made their first refueling stop and Leon was no longer
in the passenger section with them. He had locked the safety belt around his waist and left his
jacket on him, though, and Chris could not stop from sniffing his scent deeply before
deciding to pull himself up. Jessica and Parker were asleep, lying hugging each other on the
floor. Quint and Keith, on the other hand, had set about disassembling and reassembling
something unspecified they had brought with them. He approached them, stretching.
"Guys," he greeted them with a nod.
"Finally. We thought Agent Pretty had drugged you. You slept like a rock," Keith snickered.
"I was very tired. Where is he now?" Chris asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Up front in the cockpit for a while. No clue where we are. They didn't let us disembark.
Jeez, I'm bored out of my mind, what a drag! I'm off to take a piss."
"Ah, Chris," Quint caught his eye, now that they were alone. "With all this mess I forgot," he
justified himself, "the password to the iPod's iTunes that you totally 'found' and made us fix is
Sherry," he told him, giving him an eloquent look.
Chris huffed out a puff of smoke and sat down next to him. "Fine, it's his. I broke it when I
ran him over with the car. I wanted the password because I'd like to give it back to him a little
messed up, just as a joke."
Quint smiled. "You and Pretty are so funny. You're always trying to set a tone, to be the
professional ones, him especially when really you're just as much of a fuck-up as the rest of
us. Anyway, if we don't all die on this mission, we're planning a big barbecue with the other
colleagues back at the base, too. We don't want to hear reason or we will mutiny en bloc. You
haven't even given us ten minutes of free time since the cunt arrived. We deserve it, aye,
Cap?"
Chris chuckled, nodding. "Agreed but please try not to blow anything up. That place is
standing by a miracle."
Keith overhead and Quint cast him a complicit glance. "He said yes!" He exclaimed, excited.
His friend smiled, beaming, and threw himself at Chris, snapping a kiss on his cheek.
"Thanks, Dad!"
"Get off me, you idiot!" Puffed the other, laughing and pushing him away.
Leon, who had opened the door at that very moment, was shot through with a rush of deep
annoyance at the sight of that innocent peck, and this was clearly obvious by the fiery look
with which he pierced Keith.
"Come on, man, we're still far from the battlefield, get that stick out of your ass! It's a bloody
miracle you can sit down!" Quint scolded him, rolling his eyes.
Maybe it was just an illusion, a feeble hope that thinned more and more the thread that held
his sanity but Chris saw jealousy in Leon's sudden, gut reaction, and it made him gasp and
cough at the cigarette drag he had just taken.
"You can't smoke on the plane," Leon scolded him, taking it off his fingers but he took a drag
himself before putting it out. He moved to return to his seat at the back.
"We're going to Raccoon, aren't we?" Quint questioned him.
That was enough to make him stop and turn around sharply. "What?!"
"Cut the crap!" Snarled Chris, equally stung to the quick.
Quint did not blink. "That would explain why he's as nice as a pain in the ass today, and it's
consistent with what you said earlier about the itinerary. Let's not beat around the bush, we all
know the city was bombed but a perimeter was erected around it because it's not completely
destroyed. Yeah, this is one of the reasons why many people want to send me to jail. I know
things. It also makes sense with what he has to do, which is to throw you in hell and see if
you come out of it. If I'm right, that would make you a real son of a bitch, Agent Kennedy."
A heavy silence fell, and Chris could not help but shoot an alarmed, questioning look in
Leon's direction. It was a mistake because he saw him harden even more and then march
back toward the cockpit without uttering a single word.
"God, you are such a master at killing the mood..." Keith sighed to Quint reproachfully.
"I was just pointing out that we know he's an asshole and we're not going to be taken lightly."
Chris stood up abruptly. "Give it a rest. Right away," he blurted, returning to his seat in the
back. Things could not be like that. It would have been insane and beyond cruel, as well as
too dangerous for such a small team formed, except for him and Leon, only by recruits. The
mere chance alone, however, was enough to bedevil the rest of that journey, which became
increasingly difficult to bear. They laded to refuel without getting off one more time, and
when, after hours, they finally landed, Chris was the first to rush out as soon as the crew gave
the go. The bitter cold of the night he was hit by made him breathe a sigh of relief. At that
height of the year, it would have been warm at the Raccoon coordinates, so Alaska was still
his best bet, and he was almost glad to find himself in that sharp drizzle. The air was crisp
and the smell of brackish was a mellow reassurance. They were located well away from
Racoon. Thank God…
"With me, "Leon hastily instructed, leading them at a brisk pace to a building nearby. He
seated them in a small room while he stood at the desk with a hard, stern expression on his
angelic face.
"Now I will give you a preliminary briefing on the incipient mission. Don't call it a drill
because there is no difference between this and the real deal. The team has been assigned to a
data recovery mission. In short, get in, take what you need, get out. You will be isolated so
you will have to find a way to notify headquarters where to arrange the extraction but only
when you are in possession of the data. The location of the above must be reclaimed and
secure, which means no B.O.W. must be present in that perimeter when the recovery
transport arrives. Let me stress that alone means alone. There will be no other teams, no
backup of any kind, no other living people. As for me, I am an observer and will move about
the site as I see fit. My job is not to save your asses but to evaluate your performance. I will
not give you directions, orders, or any last-second advice on how to put down a B.O.W. In
truth, you probably won't see me again until we get back-
"Oh, just when I was beginning to enjoy your company!" Ironized Jessica, hostile.
Leon did not react but cast a scowl at Chris, since there were other soldiers in the room, too,
and he clearly had not yet managed to teach that jerk when to keep her mouth shut. "How you
decide to move and carry out the mission is your business. Your captain will be the one to
coordinate everything and he has complete free rein. Questions?"
Parker raised his hand. "What threats should we reasonably expect, sir?" He asked.
Leon nodded. "I have been instructed to give you as little information as possible on this
matter because the goal is also to test your effectiveness in a, shall we say, improvised to see
your adaptiveness. Of course, it is highly likely that you will face common threats but always
be prepared for the unexpected. This means-
He stopped when a soldier behind him cleared his throat, reminding him to be silent. Leon
thinned his eyes, annoyed but obeyed because the last thing he wanted was to be left behind
and replaced. "That's it," he concluded. "Anything else?"
"Can we have a map, a direction, something? Or should we just go straight until we stumble
on what we're looking for?" Keith asked.
"We'll talk about that later. Now let's get moving."
They were escorted to a small harbor where they boarded a craft. The sky was still dark and
overcast and Chris still had no idea where the heck they were. This constant feeling of
uncertainty was making him nervous and, while sitting in the cabin with the others, he kept
his gaze fixed on Leon who did not reciprocate. In fact, he seemed to be blatantly avoiding
him. Exhausted by anxiety he got up and went out onto the small deck where he lit a
cigarette. At least it had stopped raining but it was still very cold. He looked up at the sky,
which was taking on a pinkish hue on the horizon, and his heart missed a beat when he
recognized the stars that had finally emerged from the clouds.
They were not near Alaska or anywhere up north.
That was the Southern Cross.
His breath tightened in his throat in a horrified reenactment of how he had felt with a
punctured lung, and as he turned sharply in the direction in which the craft was proceeding he
saw it, Rockfort Island, emerging from the fog and icy ocean waters in all its ghostly
grandeur.
Images of his past began to swirl through his mind, sharp as crystal, making him feel trapped
and unjustly tortured. He flinched back, going crashing into Leon who, silent, had followed
him out.
Chris jerked away from him as if burned.
"You told Lansdale about this?!" He attacked him, hurt and betrayed. "After I… I made you
understand that I didn't even want to talk about it?!"
Leon avoided his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't think that-
"That talk was between you and me! You told me you wanted to know about Wesker! That
you needed it! You lied to me! I was helping you and you were looking for a weakness! This,
Leon?! THIS?! How fucking dare you!?" He groaned, pointing at the island and making an
inhuman effort not to start freaking out. "You know what happened to me there and you
still… FUCK!"
Leon inhaled deeply. He felt a lot of guilt but still believed that all this was necessary, so he
decided to lift his gaze, and what he saw hurt him. Chris had retreated against the railing and
was looking at him as if he was something disgusting and inhuman. This cut off in his throat
the rebuke he wanted to give him about not losing his temper so as not to screw it up. "I-
Chris scoffed, cutting him off like an animal in pain. "Don't talk to me. Just fuck off," he
hissed, moving past him and back inside.
Leon remained on the deck, pulling up the collar of his aviator jacket. He was not to be
distracted by Chris's bad mood. It was expected. He did not belong comforting him. So why
would he so desperately want to do it? He had no clear picture of everything that had
happened to Chris on that island, only what Wesker had done to him, but whatever it was, he
would have to get through it or fail miserably and change his life. Leon was doing it for his
own good, and that made him even more determined to push till the very end. Even if it
sucked. He had been there himself, after all, toward the end of his first year of training. Major
Krauser had found him passed out drunk on the dormitory floor in a puddle of puke. It was
almost Christmas, just days before the anniversary of Nicholai's death. All his comrades were
on liberty, some had even gone home to reunite with their loved ones. He was just hurting
and had no intention of going to Carlos and Sherry's in his hometown. He did not remember
very clearly how events had unfolded that night, but it was clear that in his drunkenness he
had told his training officer everything. He must have made a real fool of himself crying his
pain out like a little girl, and Jack had taken the opportunity to teach him a lesson he would
never forget.
Harsh, ruthless but righteous.
When he had awakened not only from the hangover but also from whatever the major had
injected him with to keep him out so long, he had done so right at the top of the fucking ridge
where Nicholai had placed the charges of the avalanche that had killed him. It was
excruciatingly cold and all he had on him was a thermal blanket, a pair of boots, his
underwear, gloves, an ice pick, and a note that said: Special training, rookie! Live and fight
or die and let him win. The choice is yours.
To get off the mountain he had first had to find food, water, and equipment that the major had
conveniently scattered throughout the valley to force him, step by step, to revisit all those
places. The ridge where Nicholai's body had already been resting for a year under feet and
feet of snow, the lakeshore, the forest, and the burned remains of their house, almost
completely buried at that point, too... Doing so had torn his soul and body to the very limit,
and when he found himself back at the cabin he had considered letting himself die there and
screw everything else. But he hadn't been able to. Not with the monster who had caused all
that pain still alive and ready to destroy other lives as he had shattered theirs. So he had
descended that fucking mountain on foot, alone, and with only the strength of his hatred and
determination he had devoured his demons, transforming them into new lifeblood. When he
had arrived at the foot slopes, where the major was waiting for him with the chopper, after
five days of marching in the frost, he had almost died of hypothermia and had taken two
weeks in bed to recover but that brutal kick in the ass had redirected him. It had made him
strong. It had made him determined. It had made him more lucid than he had ever been by
giving him absolute clarity of purpose. Yes, at the time he had hated Major Krauser with all
his heart but now he recognized the merits of his brutal methods. His drill instructor had
saved his very life by putting it at risk and giving him full power over it. He had made him
prove, first and foremost to himself, that he really did not want to die, that he was alive for a
reason, and that reason was to fight. He wondered where Jack was and if he was okay. He had
disappeared into thin air after the Javier operation. They had never been friends but he
respected him and he would have liked to return the favor and help him back someday.
Not at that time, though.
Now it was Chris's turn and, whether Leon liked it or not, he was ready to be ruthless. For
him, not for himself because getting revenge for the way Chris had treated him in Raccoon
made no sense anymore. He no longer hated him. Maybe he never had. He liked him now as
he had once liked him, and for that very reason, he could not allow him to destroy himself
and others foolishly. There would be no place for him in that war if he failed his test. He
didn't really want to hurt him but Wesker and others sure did, including that son of a bitch
Lansdale who had sent them to that very fucking island.
He turned to look at him from beyond the glass. His boys, now equally aware of the situation,
had surrounded him and were showering him with attention and comfort. This forced him to
remark on how alone he was in that shitty world, and for a moment he still felt like that
desperate kid that hoped so fiercely to find friends and love in Raccoon City. What an idiot...
He caressed Chris's profile with his gaze and, despite everything, smiled faintly. He was so
lucky to have his boys. and he hoped with all his heart they would give him the strength he
needed to prove him wrong.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always, thank you so much to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers
and bookmarkers!
Small update on my health: I'm slightly improving, the flu is gone but let's just say that
the hives and the side effects of the medications I'm on are really taking a toll on me. I
have to go back to work on Friday, whether I'm well or not, because I've been absent far
too much already and I'd be lying if I said this doesn't get me down but it is what it is.
In any case, there is one good thing: I managed to write and finish this chapter on time. I
apologize if some passages are a bit all over the place and if it is not the best chapter in
this story but I had a high fever for many days and later I tried to amalgamate everything
as best as I could.
Coming now to the commentary. I realize that this is a bit of a filler chapter but I didn't
have the mental strength to throw the characters directly into the action as I had planned
if I hadn't gotten sick. So we had some more of Chris and Leon waltzing around each
other. Leon is starting, finally, to give in mainly because he feels guilty about the whole
situation but is still determined to see it through. We also got a little insight into his
training with Krauser, which really shaped his personality, making him much more
mature and oriented than he was in the Raccoon arc. In contrast to Nicholai who was far
too protective of him because they were lovers, Jack threw him on top of a mountain
and basically told him: 'either get off or drop dead. Fuck it. Stop whining.' This is
precisely what Leon did. From a professional point of view Krauser is a bit of an anti-
Chris. Where the former wants soldiers who are self-sufficient and stifle their emotions,
Chris is much more nurturing and wants everyone to deal with their emotions so they
can process and overcome them. I couldn't say which of the two methods is the more
effective on the battlefield but they will certainly clash here and Leon is scared of that
because, although he is still reticent to admit it, he gets along well with Chris but knows
that this drill mission could completely obliterate their fledgling bond.
Chris is a sweet big potato. He is really trying hard to win Leon over with kindness and
patience. He's always working around his edges to make things go well, and this
perseverance is paying off because Leon is finally starting to send some pretty
unmistakable messages, like when he got pissed off because Keith gave him that
innocent little kiss on a cheek. Now, however, things have changed a bit and poor Chris
is really quite alarmed and shaken. The fact that they tricked him back to Rockfort
Island was a particularly low blow, and the fact that it came from Leon himself hurt him
tremendously. A small question, if I may: did you expect us to return to the island?
I hope nothing taints the writing of the next chapter and that this one, in some way, has
entertained you!
Thank you so much for everything, as always and in this case also for your endless
patience!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 90
Chapter Notes
They disembarked at the marina, the same one on which Chris had jumped back and almost
ended up in the water dragging his dream guitar with him. He was the last one off the
gangplank and it was clear from his expression that he was deeply saddened. The place was
an absolute mess and in complete disrepair. There were weeds and debris everywhere and it
was not even the shadow of the island it was when Alfred was still alive. Chris would have
loved to see Mr. Harman's beautiful vintage car coming from beyond the closed gate but he
knew that even that was impossible. He, too, was dead. All of them were.
He felt Leon's gaze on him but did not even feel like looking at him. He was angry, sure, but
mostly he was hurt. Contrary to what that asshole would have expected, he had no desire to
mess around or fight. He just felt empty and unmotivated because that was not a fair test. It
was just a display of cruelty. Leon had been good at making him believe that they had cleared
up their differences about what had happened in Raccoon but the truth was that from the first
moment, he had been scheming to put him on the spot. He felt so deeply betrayed because he
liked him so fucking much and he had hoped with all his might that they could fix things and
be close. Yes, on the plane Leon had been odd but, in truth, he was the same Academy
Awards winner actor he had always been.
"With me, please," he heard him mutter, so he followed him and the others without looking
up all the way into a shack on the left.
"Here you can find everything you need in the way of weapons and equipment," Leon
instructed. "Whatever you like is yours to take. In your backpacks, you have standard
supplies, a knife, ropes, a flashlight, a map of the island, and, of course, a radio. I'll take one
too but I may not necessarily answer."
"I think we'll do just fine without your shit face, thank you very much," Jessica hissed as she
went in front of him without any fear. "You suck, has anyone ever told you that? Because in
such case I'm happy to be the first, asshole."
"Enough," Chris sighed wearily. "We're here now and there's nothing that can change that.
Proceed, Agent Kennedy."
Leon sighed and took off his aviator jacket to put on a white military parka. He looked so
good in white, it made his skin shine and it gave him such an innocent allure. "Come to the
table," he ordered, unfolding his map on the surface. "The data you need to collect are in
three different locations: one in the commanding center of the base, here. Another is in the
prison and yet another is in the main lab. How you decide to move is up to you. The same
goes for finding a way to communicate with headquarters. There are several. The palace is
off-limits. Do not go there."
Chris's resentful "Why?" made him wince.

Leon lifted his gaze and tried hard not to flinch at his furious look. "There are many valuable
things in there and people have started taking souvenirs. For that reason, you will be searched
at the end of the operation in any case."
"So it was you who set up this fucking circus?" Quint asked him without skirting around it.
Leon approached him holding his head high. "I did it after seeing an entire team of trained
soldiers get wiped out by common B.O.W.s. Have some respect. Putting rookies in front of
real monsters during training is crucial… Fuck off, I don't have to justify myself to you."
"Bold of you to talk about respect,' interjected Parker, who, although was the one with the
better manners, shared the same disdain as the others for that mean shot thrown at Chris.
"This is not a drill, this is pure shit because you're a petty little prick."
"I said enough!" Thundered Chris, raising his voice. "I appreciate your concern and affection
but we're here to do a job no matter what he does."
Leon looked him straight in the eye, starting the show. "I like this answer," he told him,
moving toward him to reach the door. "And I expect nothing less from you, my little piggy,"
he murmured softly and with a hint of cruelty, as Wesker would have done. He saw Chris
stiffen abruptly and his cheeks flush with fury.
"What?" Leon asked, derisively. "The whole time in Raccoon all you did was believe I was
setting some kind of trap for you. Now I'm really doing it. A dream come true, right? Have
fun, Chris!" He patted him on the shoulder before leaving them alone.
"I swear I'll shoot him!" Keith blurted out.
"Yeah, and from a good distance because if he comes near you he'll kick your very sorry ass,"
sighed Quint. "So what do we do?" He asked. "Cap?"
"Let's kick his to the fucking curb," Chris growled with determination.
"Fuck yes! Now we're talking!" Jessica rejoiced.
"Get equipped. We're leaving right away." He commanded, taking from the rack an assault
rifle, a tactical vest, and other weapons.
When they got back outside they noticed that the craft was gone and was now a small dot on
the horizon. They were not surprised. Leon, for his part, had vanished into thin air and the
gate closing the harbor was still shut.
"Where did he go?" Parker wondered.
"Pff! I wouldn't be surprised if the bitch could fly," Quint snickered.
"ENOUGH!" Chris's shout jolted them all and they turned to look at him, alarmed.
"You really should stop defending him like he's your little sweetheart," Jessica didn't hold
back. "How much more are you going to let him walk all over you, huh? You wronged him in
Raccoon, fine, but you didn't do it on purpose. He planned this down to the slightest detail!
You're not his bloody doormat, Chris!"
"Are you done?" He questioned her sternly. "All of you are playing his game," he scolded
them. "Being here is shit, yes, thank you very much but you are letting Leon get under your
skin which is precisely what he seeks. If you want to be supportive of me, act like this is any
other mission. He is an asshole and his methods are questionable but there is some undoubted
sense in his reasoning that neither you nor I should ignore. In dozens or hundreds of
missions, there will always be at least one that touches one of us personally. If we lose our
compass before we even start we might as well sit here, light a fire, and wait for them to kick
us out of the arrangement while we sing kumbaya. I am moved by your ardor but the goal is
something else. The future of the entire organization depends on this operation, and I
guarantee I will not let that piece of shit jeopardize it, but I need you. Remember we are a
team, he is alone and alone he will lose."
"Well said!" Keith exclaimed, raising a middle finger to the camera that was filming them
from above the boundary wall.
"We will move together, and if we should get separated, we will regroup before proceeding.
All clear?" Chris concluded, finally approaching the gate.
On the other side Leon, who had stopped to listen, smiled. "Nice speech, big guy, now put it
into practice," he muttered to himself, trotting away into the shadows as a small group of
zombies already approached his position.
Chris opened the latch with a firm tug almost ripping it clean off. The subdued bellowing of
the undead made the hairs on his arms stand on end. It didn't matter how many he had faced.
At the beginning of each mission, they gave him the same deeply unsettled feeling as when
he had seen his first zombie feeding from Kenneth's mangled throat in that hallway at Villa
Spencer. There was something completely wrong with that sound, nothing more than air
passing through dead vocal cords. He saw the zombies immediately, as soon as he opened the
gate and fired. Alfred would have hated all that filth around his beloved island. He would
have gone mad.
"I'll take care of it," he muttered half-heartedly to himself, felling those five monsters with a
short burst. "Don't worry."
Nonetheless, his friend would have loved that situation and would have watched them play
that deadly game with the enthusiastic excitement of a child. Chris was not completely
brainwashed as to who his beloved friend had been, and although Alfred had been invaluable
and pivotal to him, he knew that he had done horrible things for Umbrella, for progress, and,
most importantly, for his sister. Absurdly, Alfred had also finally managed to get him and
Leon there, right where he wanted them, in his home, and Chris did not know what to think
about that. He signaled to the others to stop, undecided about which direction to take. He
didn't need a map. He remembered well how the buildings were arranged on the island;
Alfred had given him a whole tour except for the labs, where Chris had not even wanted to
go in, and, of course, he had never been inside the prison either.
"They look pretty beat up," Parker said, examining more closely one of the zombies their
captain had shot down.
"It happens when they've been like this for a while," Chris explained. "The T slows down the
process of muscle and tissue decomposition but it doesn't make them eternal. They stink
more but that's a good thing. They're a lot less tough."
One of them wheezed and with a snap turned over on its stomach, crawling with difficulty in
Jessica's direction.
"No," Chris ordered, intimating her to back away. "Keith," he instructed. "Don't waste
bullets."
He swallowed but nodded. "I was hoping the augmented reality of a video game would be
less gross," he commented but had no particular hesitation in smashing that zombie's head
with a stomp.
"Are you two okay?" Chris hastened to ask.
Both Quint and Keith were a little pale and shaken but hid their more than understandable
nervousness behind two swaggering smiles. "Don't worry, Cap, I've met his sister. She's no
worse than that."
Chris rolled his eyes. "Then let's go. Prison first."
They passed under the guard turret and, instead of turning for the training center, moved to
the right.
"Do you think Kennedy will attack us personally?" Parker worried, keeping his attention high
to spot him.
Chris shook his head. "I have no idea. He certainly won't help us out." However, Leon wasn't
even openly thwarting them, yet, and, all things considered, it was pretty clear that this was a
training center. The zombies they were confronted with were always in small groups and not
very dangerous, almost as if they were there to be shot down like in a fucked up coordinated
choreography. "Let's not worry about him for now."
He kicked through the gate and immediately deafening howls erupted all around. "Dogs!" He
warned, snapping to the side to give his team a clear line of fire and act, at the same time, as
the main decoy. He shot down the first one that tried to pounce on him while the others
riddled the remaining three very cleanly, under the circumstances. Parker was particularly
effective, even managing to kill two of them alone.
"Good job, everyone," Chris complimented, addressing them with a strained smile. Being in a
group was a most valuable asset. A lone soldier in the same situation would have had a very
bad time. They quickly passed the area without going inside the barracks, as it did not seem
to be necessary, and reached the courtyard.
"Wait, is that a fucking guillotine?" Quint exclaimed in disbelief.

Chris winced, following his gaze and indeed that thing in the middle of the clearing was
eerie. The bright steel of the blade looked as if it had not aged a day since the last time it had
been used and shined menacingly in the morning sun. "The master of this island had peculiar
tastes," he sighed.
"Did you know him well?" Jessica asked him.
Chris blinked wistfully. "I barely scratched his surface. I don't think anyone really knew him,
not even he himself," he replied, laconically. Maybe only Scott who had raised and protected
him as long as he could. The pain of that broken promise pierced his chest. He had sworn to
Scott that he would have protected Alfred with his life but that had not been the case. He had
failed then, how could he succeed now? Was he about to condemn the B.S.A.A. to ruin?
"The building with the first data to be retrieved should be that one there," Parker said after
glancing at the map.
"Then let's not waste any more time," Chris hurried up.
He was doing his best not to fall victim to ghosts and bad thoughts but it was clear that the
more time he spent there, the faster things would get worse. In bad luck, at least he would not
have to set foot in the palace again. That was where most of his memories were concentrated
and it was off limits.
Inside the building, all seemed quiet except for the mournful murmur of zombies, locked
somewhere nearby. They did a quick ammunition recount and were still pretty loaded, so
there was no reason to worry. Jessica advanced down the corridor in front of her, paying no
particular attention, and immediately an alarm began to blare and a bulkhead came down
suddenly, barring her way. She immediately backed up, plugging her ears, annoyed.
"What the fuck?" She mumbled.
"It's a metal detector," Keith clarified, glancing at the flashing monitor that had lit up on the
left above a security box and pressing the button to stop the siren. "We can't go on unless we
leave everything here."
Jessica turned back to Quint. "Can you turn it off?"
He looked around. "No, I need a terminal that's probably on the other side if not actually in
another building."
"Fuck..." Chris huffed. "You guys keep an eye on the door. If anything comes in, shoot it." He
tried to run but the metal bulkhead came down too fast, so he turned back and slammed his
hand over the button before taking the floor. "I'll go, you stay here," he decided, taking off his
equipment and weapons.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Parker objected. "What if it's a way for him to split us up?"
"If it is, we'll meet back at the crossroads where we came from. Don't proceed without me.
You're in charge, Parker."
Chris tried again to enter the hallway and the alarm rang for the umpteenth time. "I hate this
fucking thing!" He growled, patting his pockets. He pulled out the lighter Alfred had given
him and stroked his thumb over the Ashford family crest engraved on the silver. "Jessie?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you hold this for me? Don't lose it, please. I cherish it," he sighed, handing it to her. She
winced impressed and taken aback a little by his puppy-dog eyes. It was a side of Chris she
was unfamiliar with, and it made her tender and aroused at the same time.
"Consider it done," she smiled charmingly at him, putting it in her pocket.
"Aww!" Quint teased her, "If Jill were here she'd weld your sordid pussy with a soldering
iron!"
Chris ignored them both, uninterested, unperturbed, and perhaps even unaware of Jessica's
obvious crush on him. "If this shit rings one more time I swear I'm going to punch the wall
down and we're going through like that," he growled. He advanced slowly, his hands already
up to plug his ears, but this time there was only stillness and the bulkhead remained up. The
camera in front of him followed his movement, rotating with a small squeak as he turned the
corner. Chris winced as he was confronted by stained glass windows along the wall behind
which stood numerous zombies, the same ones they had heard when they had entered. There
were many of them, at least a dozen, but, fortunately, they did not seem to have noticed his
presence yet. He took a step back, intimating to the others to be absolutely silent, then, taking
care not to make any noise, he stretched out on the ground and crawled all the way to the
other side so as not to be seen. He was inoculated against the T, they all were by now, but that
did not mean he wanted to face them with his bare hands at the risk of ending up
dismembered. He arrived in a room with a strange machine he could not identify and left it
alone to proceed to the adjoining one with circumspection. He did not have time to look
toward the blind corner when a kick as strong as a horse's struck him in the hip. Off balance,
he crashed against the opposite wall and barely managed to parry a punch that would have
caught him right in the face but not a second kick that sent him sprawling across the
threshold.
He looked up to find himself facing Leon who, with a snicker, waved the disk with the data
he was supposed to retrieve in front of his eyes.
"Bye!" Chris heard him chuckle in a tone so insufferable that it made him see red. In a second
he jumped to his feet and sprinted in pursuit past another metal door that closed behind him.
He saw the bitch at the end of the hallway hurl himself out of the window, smashing through
the glass, and, without thinking, he followed him down into another inner courtyard.
Nimble as the cat he was, Leon ran up against the wall and gave himself momentum with his
foot which made him climb to the top effortlessly. Chris couldn't do it in a million years, and
they both knew it, to the point that Leon sat there at the top and looked at him with amused
mockery.
"Did you really think it was just going to be a guided tour?" He asked him. "You walking
around with your kids and explaining the sights to them on this beautiful fall morning?"
Chris gave him a hostile look and did not even try to soften it. He was so pissed at him that
despite how handsome Leon was, at that moment, up there, kissed by the sun like a
mischievous Greek god in his candid white parka, he just wanted to kick his ass. Plain and
simple. Besides, the asshole hadn't gone easy on him; he was going to get bruises.
Leon softened his expression, dangling his leg down the wall a little. "How do you feel?" He
asked him.
Chris stiffened his posture. "You want to know so you can throw it in my ass with a better
angle?"
Leon chuckled. "I'd prefer the opposite, in all honesty, and from more than just one angle but
I'm a versatile guy so if that's what you fancy I will oblige. You're really handsome when
you're all heated up."
"You're a dickhead," Chris hissed, too nervous to let that playful flirting drag him along.
"Yes, I'm afraid I am," Leon sighed. "Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit."
"After calling me your little piggy? In front of my men!" Chris barked at him.
Leon blinked and shrugged his shoulders. "I told you you would resent me, didn't I? I'm not
your ally here, get over it."
"Why? Outside, you are? Ours was a private conversation, I wouldn't have told you shit if I
even imagined that-
"Let it serve as a lesson to you, then," Leon interrupted him. It really was. Both he and Chris
were idealistic fools, but Leon, by now, had enough experience to know perfectly well that
the world did not turn that way. Too many times he had found himself out on his ass as a
result of HQ decisions, and he could not count in how many ways the information he had
provided had been used to his disadvantage. If Chris wanted to be in charge of an
organization, he had to wake up and realize that the sharks would prey on his naiveté, and
protect himself accordingly.
Chris scoffed. "You truly are a masterpiece of hypocrisy!" He accused him. "You crucified
me for being paranoid and mistrustful and just when I let myself go you do this to me! I... I
thought we were both committing to make things right but it's clear you just want to torment
me. You know what? Fuck it! You were a liar six years ago and you're the same fucking prick
now! You haven't changed, you never even tried!"
Leon's playful air went out and his handsome face darkened. He had not been the one to
decide Rockfort Island as their destination. He thought it was clear but, in any case, it made
no difference. If he had told him, Chris wouldn't have believed him anyway and he didn't care
about the drama.
"Well, look on the bright side. However this mission goes, it will likely be one of the last
times we will see each other. Yes, Langsdale might ask me to stay a little longer, but I
promise you, if it's not necessary, you won't have to see my face again."
Chris stiffened even more. That prospect terrified him but he was too angry at that moment to
fully realize it. "At least one piece of good news," he hissed, hostile and offended.
"Glad to have cheered you up," Leon shrugged. "Come and find me if you want this data."
With that said, he dropped to the other side of the wall, so quiet that Chris did not even hear
him land. Jessica was right. He had allowed Leon to step on by him for far too long because
of what had happened in Raccoon City. No more. He was tired of putting up with his shit. He
and his team would complete that mission and then each would go his own way. It was a
compromise he could accept as long as he could get some peace of mind back. At the end of
the day, Chris had done his best, and he felt he had nothing to reproach himself with.
I will if you will. Leon's somewhat dejected sigh on the plane made his heart ache. Chris was
so confused by his behavior. At times it seemed like he was as interested as he was in getting
along and being... friends. But then he would act like that.
It didn't matter. Least of all at that moment. Leon was a distraction for him, so Chris retraced
his steps, climbing back into the building. However, when he reached the metal door he had
passed through when he had set out in pursuit, he found it sealed and unopenable.
"Son of a bitch..." He growled, slamming his palm against the surface. He had to go around
and find a way to rejoin his boys. He heard shots in the distance but they were single. A gun.
He went back outside to the small courtyard where he had chased Leon and reached the small
door on the boundary wall. It was locked but the wood was rotten, so it was easy for him to
break through and continue. The back of the prison was a bare, barren field. There were no
buildings there and the slope rose slightly toward the top of the island. Chris remembered the
time he had suggested to Alfred that they go for a nice walk there at the top to see the view,
and his spoiled little friend had looked at him as if he were completely nuts. Many of his
memories there were beautiful and yet the ending invariably ruined them all.
His attention was drawn to more gunfire, in this case bursts. Alarmed, he ran back, skirting
the back of the prison, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the large gate of the
building behind the guard tower was slightly ajar. He slipped inside. It was a hangar of some
kind where some vehicles were parked and then, in the center, a small submarine was
positioned in the water in a circular housing. Everything had long been abandoned and the
place smelled closed and damp. It was also very dark.
Shit! He thought when he heard a familiar sound, like several whips cracking in the air.
Lickers. More than one.
Better to me than the others... He sighed mentally, slowing his pace and also the rhythm of
his breathing. He sharpened his eyesight and saw one clinging to metal tubes suspended in
the center of the hangar. Another was on the ladder to the control room; the rest he did not
know. He was not to panic or get too distressed by the fact that he was unarmed. The
weapons would not have served him in any case; in fact, they would probably have gotten in
his way. He moved slowly, distributing his weight and making no sudden movements. A
licker turned its head toward him with a shrill croak and leaped down onto the floor, making
its long claws tick on the crumbling concrete and bouncing his long tongue up and down,
sensing the air. Sharp motherfucker. Had Leon lured him there to make him finally learn how
to be stealthy? It was a possibility. Leon probably had a set list to follow and a number of
situations for them to cope with, which could make his plans predictable. That was just a
simulation, and although Leon was one of the best agents on the scene, perhaps even the best
ever, Chris was not a rookie either and was beginning to see the pattern. Or maybe he just
wanted to justify him because he had a damn crush on him and that was incredibly stupid.
Still, it could not have been a coincidence that he had brought him and him alone into the
lickers' nest. One thing was clear: although Leon was submitting to Lansdale, he was not
happy with the situation and had pointed this out repeatedly. Chris knew more than well that
whenever Leon didn't like something, he always did whatever the fuck he wanted. It was a
constant in his character. He had spent a lot of time with them since he arrived so Leon knew
exactly everyone's strengths and weaknesses. Was it possible that he was helping them in the
only way he could, which was to get each of them in front of the most congenial task?
Without being too obvious since, clearly, those cameras were monitoring him as well. Chris
had no idea but was beginning to feel really pathetic in his want to make excuses for him.
Oh, yes, Alfie, you would have loved every single second of this circus… He considered,
bitterly, picking up a rock from the ground and throwing it across the hangar. The lickers
swooped in that direction, leaving him much more room to maneuver. He wasn't scared, he
wasn't even tense, and he didn't know if this was a good thing. It certainly wasn't normal, but
that was his life now, and he was no longer rejecting it. He was only sorry he had to leave the
grenades behind. One would have been enough to take out that group of creeps, now all
agitated between a couple of abandoned jeeps. He continued toward the broken window
through which a beam of lukewarm sunlight entered. It was cold because it was never warm
on that cursed island, but the fact that it was daytime made it less scary and just bleak.
More shots, again from a gun, about a hundred yards away.
What the fuck was Leon shooting at? He was pretty sure it was him, the sound was from a
nine millimeter while they had taken larger calibers. He was crossed by an unpleasant
memory, namely when, after that damned kiss in Raccoon, he had chased the gunshots only
to find Leon in the arms of Zinoviev, that bloody asshole. He knew the situation was very
different but he could not help but feel the same anguish he had felt then. Was Leon in
trouble? His resentment led him to believe not and that it was just another one of his tricks
but the sentiment he undoubtedly felt for him required him to at least check. He could never
forgive himself if anything happened to him, least of all there, no matter how angry he was
with him. He went out through the broken window as quietly as possible and held back a
curse when his jacket tangled with the glass. He wriggled free and let himself fall into the tall
grass, just in time to avoid a claw from a licker that had leaped in pursuit of him with a high-
pitched, hissing cry. He watched it finish smashing through the window frame and shake its
horrid flayed head in a jerky, repulsive manner. He did not doubt that Leon was right in
saying that those filthy things could be killed by a knife as well - Jill had actually done it -
but, personally, he agreed with Keith. He too would try his luck by shooting. He waited until
the licker let his guard down and went back inside after a frustrated and annoyed hiss. Chris
found himself wondering if they were sensitive to the sun. Probably, since they no longer had
a skin but he had no intention of stopping there to vivisect lickers, so he got up and walked
away from the building. The watchtower loomed to his left behind another high wall, and
although he had told the boys they would meet there, he had to check that Leon was all right
first. He ignored a group of lazy, confused zombies staggering across the courtyard and
moved to the left to jump into the gutter. At the bottom of the wall was a conduit with
smashed bars that made his blood run cold in his veins. He stiffened to notice that snagged on
one of the torn bars was a piece of cloth, white like the one on the parka Leon had put on
earlier.
"Hey!" He shouted, leaning down. "Are you in there? Is everything okay?"
He got no response except the echo of his voice booming in the empty room.
"Leon, this is not fucking funny!"
Still nothing.
"Damn it!" He hissed through his teeth, stretching out in that rivulet of water to crawl inside.
It was a stupid idea. He had no weapons, no radio, and now he was also soaking wet.
Rationally, as a captain, he knew that what he should do was rejoin his men and then,
eventually, investigate but it was also equally true that, under those circumstances, speed was
a very critical factor. He jumped off the drop, landing on a metal platform with a great thud
that echoed all around. It was very dark down there but at least it seemed that nothing else
was there with him, neither zombies nor lickers. On the other hand, he had water almost up to
his knees.
"Leon?" He called again with genuine concern. He moved forward because, on the other side,
he seemed to see a light, perhaps a flashlight peeking out from beyond the ajar door. Almost
completely in the dark and distracted as he was, he did not realize that the platform ended and
a descending ladder had begun, so he stumbled and fell forward, sinking into the putrid, icy
water. He resurfaced gasping and coughing. "I swear, if this is a trick I'll choke you with my
own hands!" He growled, hoping that Leon would finally burst out laughing at seeing the
extent to which he had ridiculed him but even this did not happen and he felt himself dying of
anguish. "Come on, man, isn't it enough?"
With a couple of strokes, he reached the other side and hoisted himself onto the platform. He
opened the door with a shove and the blood froze in his veins when he saw that there was
indeed a lighted flashlight on the floor. Not only that, but also another flap of Leon's white
jacket stained with fresh red blood. Definitely human. He grabbed the flashlight with his
heart that seemed to want to explode in his chest and lit the fabric and then the floor. There
were drag marks in the damp slush consistent with a body and more blood. He ran forward.
Why had Leon only shot and not screamed or called for help in any way? Had something
happened to him? Was this part of the drill?
Chris felt like he was going crazy.
He found himself in another half-flooded room where, on the surface of the water, floated the
plastic bag with his cookies that Leon had put in one of the pockets of his tactical pants
before he got off the plane, and some torn pages of his notebook on which was prominent the
sentence he had written to him only a few hours earlier with that 'idiot' underlined
affectionately and the ink already expanding on the soggy paper. Chris lit the water around
him frantically praying to all the gods and all the devils willing to listen to him not to find
Leon's dead body floating beneath the surface before his eyes but there was no sign of him,
which filled him with hope and dread.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As every time, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, commenters,
subscribers, and bookmakers <3 <3 <3 !
Chris makes my heart clench because he is being mistreated by his crush and suffers not
only from the mistreatment but also because Leon is the one doing it. I am the author of
this story but when that shameless asshole called him 'little piggy' evoking Wesker, I
personally wanted to go into the story to slap him. If Chris had wanted to kick his ass
there at that moment he would have had my blessing.
Returning to Rockfort Island is bittersweet for me as well, although I can now use a
whole host of elements that I couldn't fit in while Chris was Alfred's guest. Like the
damn metal detector room, I hate that shithole with a passion, so I thought it best to
inflict it on poor Chris and his team as well.
The mission starts off calm and is almost a walk in the park but now the temperature
starts to rise. The team is without its captain; Chris is dying of heartbreak and worry;
and Leon seems to be in trouble. What do you think, has something really caught our
little cat, or is this another of his wicked tricks? If so what is his goal? Let me know if
you like, I'd love to read your guesses!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 91
Chapter Notes
Chris continued through those narrow, damp corridors having the feeling that he was going in
circles in a fucking maze. That building reminded him of the drills Wesker made the
S.T.A.R.S. team do at least once every three months which didn't help his already gloomy
and distressed mood. He had never understood where Wesker found permits to take them to
old crumbling places, some well outside the jurisdiction of the R.P.D.
Now that he knew he had been a member of Umbrella from the very beginning, he was no
longer so surprised. It all made sense. Since his first day in the department, Wesker had done
nothing but prepare them for when he would use them as lab rats against the company's
B.O.W.s.
Chris picked up an iron pipe from the ground; it was solid and still better than having nothing
to defend himself with. Part of him kept getting the distinct feeling that Leon was just
messing with him to torment him, and he just couldn't explain how he could be so cruel. Was
this his revenge for what had happened in Raccoon? If it was, why had he seemed so sad on
the plane at the idea that he might resent him? Exactly like the first day, Leon continued to be
an inexplicable mystery to him. He climbed a ladder, and, when he lifted his gaze, his heart
stopped painfully in his chest. Above the door frame, in fresh paint, had been written DIVIDE
ET IMPERA in perfect cursive. A handwriting he knew more than well. He would have
recognized that little circle on the D in a million others; it was the way his captain did it.
Chris was shaken by a tremor of fury because that sham was reaching grotesque levels then,
however, he rationalized. It was possible that Leon had managed to get his hands on
something written by Wesker himself and replicate his handwriting but that he had used that
very Latin locution, one of Albert's favorites, was too specific. There was no way he could
have known that their captain used to leave such messages to them, especially to him. He had
not told Leon and certainly neither had Jill or Barry, as for Rebecca, she was on Marino's
team so she had never done that kind of training.
However, Wesker's presence there would have made no sense. Whatever he wanted on the
island, he had already taken it six years earlier except for Birkin's blood, and his captain
never did anything by accident; he always had motives and goals. Unless he wanted revenge
on him as he had promised.
His head began to spin in a desperate attempt to make sense of everything that had happened
in the previous hours. If things were as he feared, then there had to be a mole in the F.B.C. or
whoever was behind the organization of that exercise mission. Could Lansdale have
contacted Wesker in order to wipe their organization off the face of the earth? That would
have been high treason, and although Lansdale was a son of a bitch, he was still on the right
side. Was he really, though? Chris grabbed his temples with one hand, squeezing them tightly.
Was he falling victim to paranoia again? Was this all a magic trick Leon was pulling out of
his sleeve like a cheap conjurer?
He did not know.
He could not know but he could not move or make a decision. The only thing he could think
about was Wesker shattering his bones. He was not ready to face him again if he really was
there, none of them were.
So what? Alfred's voice with his sardonic snide resurfaced from the depths of his memory.
Do you want to stay in this putrid place and feel sorry for yourself while everyone else is out
fighting?
Yes, that was something his beloved friend could have really said to him. He had always been
so fearless despite his being a helpless wren who could hardly shoot straight.
"I need you..." He sighed, weighed down by his absence as he lowered his gaze to the small
red dragonfly dancing in flames tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Alfred's death had left a
scar inside him no less than the one of his parents', which was why he could not talk about
him with anyone. It was too heartbreaking. Somehow that nutty aristocrat, proud head of
Umbrella, had managed to make him feel loved and accepted more than he had ever been.
Chris knew he had a responsibility in this regard. His sister would be supportive and would
never love him any less if she knew the truth; he was the one who had taken a different
direction in his life. A direction that Alfred would have disapproved of and for which he had
scolded him in advance as if he had already known he would end this way. Unhappy and
unfulfilled. Leon had brought him a lot of problems like the hurricane he was but Chris had
not felt so alive in a long time. He wondered if Alfred would have liked Leon. Something
made him think no because Alfred wanted exclusive affection, however, maybe he would
have taken a step back just to see him happy because he was also noble and selfless.
You certainly never will be if you let that sordid pig do what he did to you to him, too. His
ghost's remark made him shudder. So, to put it in your vocabulary, move that ass, my dear,
the game is getting boring!
Chris squeezed the iron pipe tighter and proceeded.
Meanwhile, his team had been waiting for him for a while at the appointed location and they
were all nervous. Parker looked at his watch and huffed, pacing back and forth in front of the
watchtower like a caged lion. He had sent Jessica to check where Chris was, across the
hallway with the metal detector but all she had found was a closed door. Kennedy had
managed to separate them and by now they had been waiting for their captain for almost an
hour, lying there like useless sitting ducks.
"You want my opinion?" Jessica took the floor and he looked at her. "We should just continue
the mission as planned," she continued. "If this were a real thing I would suggest we go look
for Chris but I doubt they want us dead. Pretty simply didn't want our captain to hold our
hands throughout the whole drill and found a way to lure him away. it's rather clear that this
part of the mission is just for us."
Parker sighed, looking around, but everywhere there was no movement partly because they
had already shot down everything they could in the immediate area and were alone. "I don't
like it, Jess, I have a bad feeling about this."
She got up with an elegant élan and slung her sniper rifle over her shoulder. "I've got it too,
and everything tells me that if we don't move out of here, we're really in danger of screwing
this whole thing up."
"They didn't give us time limits," he objected.
Jessica gave him a condescending look. "No one did in Terragrigia either, but we both know
how it works. At some point, someone always pulls the plug and the game is over," she said
in her usual languid, disinterested tone but her beautiful eyes darkened.
"Chris-
"Chris isn't here, he's probably playing grab-ass with that jerk having the time of his life,"
Jessica quickly interrupted him, advancing toward him and laying a hand on his massive
chest, "he's put you in charge and I think that's the best decision he could have made."
He gave her a look that was both annoyed and in love at the same time. "You're just saying
that because you're bored out of your mind, bitch," he told her, lowering his face a little to
hers.
She laughed heartily and turned back to the other two. "Well, if you really don't want to
decide, let's put it to a vote. You two waste of skin, what do you want to do?"
"Don't make me blush with all these compliments!" Quint ironized. "I, too, am sick and tired
of standing here and molting. Keith?"
"I go where you go."
"Aww, how cute are the two sweethearts!" Jessica teased them.
"Give me a chance and I'll show you." Quint snickered.
She walked in front of him, batting her long eyelashes. "Oh yeah, and what, pray tell?"
He did not blink. "How much I can humiliate myself in bed, of course. With you, I think I'd
last a very solid five-second record and I'm being generous with myself," he retorted with a
shrug, making her giggle again.
"Okay, that's enough," Parker called them to order after studying the map for a few moments.
"Now we move toward the training center to get to the lab. Just like before, we move
together. None of us is Chris, so let's try not to remain isolated," he ordered.
"Uuh, I like it when you act all bossy, you almost make me want to give you another chance,"
Jessica joked, winking at him while he merely huffed.
They moved quickly, meeting little resistance. The usual gaggle of very shabby zombies who
posed no real danger to anyone.
"An earthquake?" Quint asked, feeling a vibration under his feet as soon as they had passed
through the gate of the training center. "FUCK!" He screamed, flinging himself to the side as
the ground opened beneath him and a monstrous creature sprang out trying to swallow his
leg.
"What shit is that?!" Keith exclaimed, opening his eyes wide.
"Who gives a shit, SHOOT!" Parker yelled, opening fire. "Jessica, you go up there!" He
ordered, pointing her to the rung ladder with a nod.
"A big-ass cock, that's what it is!" Shrieked Quint.
It was actually a worm, perhaps an earthworm, clearly mutated by the T-virus but no one was
really interested in identifying it accurately.
"Everybody up!" Parker commanded as the giant monstrosity sank back into the ground.
"Move! Move! Move!"
He made Keith and Quint go first, staying behind to cover their backs and test a hunch. The
first sprang up from the ladder in the blink of an eye, and as Quint narrowly followed him,
the worm rose up from the ground, gaping its wide mouth and spilling out smaller worms that
coiled on its thigh. Jessica, already pointing, fired, and Keith rushed to pull his best friend up.
"Shitshitshit!" Hissed the latter, crawling onto the terrace and rubbing his leg, freaked out.
"You should be happy!" Laughed Jessica between shots. "You're living the live-action of one
of your favorite pornos!"
"Fuck you!" Rebutted Quint, pale and shaken but actually amused himself. A little bit.
The worm went back underground, leaving a greenish, slimy streak of blood on the ground.
"Yuck, gross!" Groaned Keith, leaning out. "Hey, Parker, you staying there?" He called their
acting captain.
Their improvised commanding officer instructed them to be absolutely silent and moved
slowly toward an abandoned jeep near the gate. He slipped a grenade from his belt and
stamped his feet hard, before removing the safety catch, laying it on the ground, and leaping
behind the car. The monster re-emerged, attracted by the vibrations, and in doing so
swallowed the bomb, which detonated inside it, blowing its head off. The giant worm keeled
over with an agonized hiss and Parker lunged out from behind his makeshift shelter.
"Well, that was some quick thinking!" Quint complimented him with a whistle of admiration.
"If I had a pussy to give I'd throw it at you, man!"
Despite himself, Parker scoffed, amused. They were indeed a team of wrecks but, for some
mysterious reason, they worked well together and this was thanks to Chris who had been able
to bring them together and harmonize them as if they were the instruments of an orchestra.
"Come down and let's go to that damn lab. I can't wait to get out of this shithole."
He preceded them inside where he cut down a zombie with his knife, following the lesson
Leon had given them. It worked, and he had to give him, credit, it was a quick, quiet, and
effective method.
"Hmm, power is off," commented Quint, noting that only the emergency lights were on.
"There has to be a control station, though. Assuming the unit is still working. Something tells
me it does, so we just have to find it."
"Let's think about the data first," Parker corrected him.
"I'll bet both my swollen testicles that it is behind that portcullis," retorted the other.
They inspected the floor silently and quickly and also found more ammunition in the locker
room area. Everything had been left exactly as when the island had fallen victim to the
outbreak. There were still all the objects of people of whom nothing remained now but a
dried blood print on the wall.
"I wonder who this little gift was for," Jessica murmured, picking up a box inside one of the
lockers. "To Sharon, the love of my life. I promise I'll be home soon," she read into the now-
faded card. "Well, too bad," she ironized.
Parker snatched it from her hand and put it back in its proper place. "Stop being a bitch."
"You're too emotional for this job," huffed Jessica.
"I'm not emotional, just respectful," he retorted.
She rolled her eyes. "You're starting to sound like Agent Pretty, all you need is blond bangs."
"Holy shit! They had a sauna!" They heard Quint yell from the next room, followed by a
slightly shrill "FUCK!" and a gunshot.
This alarmed them both and they moved hurriedly there. "You are a moron!" Thundered
Parker, seeing the dead zombie at the feet of a distraught Quint right on the threshold of the
sauna. "Did he bite you?"
"N-no but he definitely tried, motherfucker!" Exclaimed the other and then cast an
affectionate glance at Keith. "Thanks, pal, you saved my ass, you're my guardian angel. Not
the prettiest in heaven, but at least you shoot straight."
"We've told you a thousand times, Chris, me, even Kennedy: never open a fucking door not
on aim!"
Jessica ignored Parker's well-deserved rebuke of the jerk and continued to explore that large
room with no particular interest, but when she turned her gaze to the large bathtub she felt a
surge of envy. Although that place was in disrepair it was still in better condition than the
cesspool they called a training center. The materials were elegant and fine, and that tub
topped by a marble lion was breathtakingly beautiful. She imagined it all polished up and
fantasized about being in it sitting naked on top of Chris with the warm water caressing her
skin, a drink in one hand and his cock in the other. Ready to fuck him mercilessly. It was a
beautiful image. The best of the day, if only Chris hadn't been so busy chasing his favorite
little faggy. She wondered if Jill had an inkling that her very loyal boyfriend was swinging in
the other direction as well because, if not, the bitch was in for the surprise of a lifetime. Even
if the others teased her by telling her she was delusional, Jessica knew full well what a man
who could barely keep it in his pants looked like, and there were times, while Leon wasn't
looking when Chris would throw off his big dumb mask and undress him with his eyes, as if
he wanted to burn his clothes with his gaze, ready to pounce on him if only he could. Her
captain had never looked at her like that, despite how hard she had tried to be nice to him.
For what it was worth, he had never even looked at Jill with that intensity. Could it be that
dear Chris was-
"Earth to Jessica!" Keith exclaimed, jolting her.
"Fuck you!" She hissed, pushing him away, and in doing so, her flashlight illuminated
something that glowed in the lion's mouth.
"We'll leave if it's okay with you, princess," Parker ironized.
"No, wait. Keith, get in there," she ordered.
"What, no way! It's so gross! That water is probably contaminated by every disease in the
bloody book, you go in there!"
"I'm too pretty to cover myself in shit," she retorted with a sharp smile.
Parker huffed, impatient, and descended the short staircase to enter the tub.
"You're such a simp!" Quint mocked him, leaning against the balustrade.
He ignored him. "So, Jess?"
"In the lion's mouth," she answered him, pointing her flashlight in that direction. Parker
advanced into the putrid water. "A key! Control room," he read on the nameplate. "Good
shot, sweetheart!"
Jessica smiled much more sincerely than usual and even blushed a little. "I only do nice
shots, handsome," she pointed out. "I'm fucking perfect."
"We have to make a formal application for a sauna too!" Muttered Quint as they retraced their
steps. "Possibly without rotting freaks inside."
"You should have expected that," Keith told him.
"I'd sure like to know who's the asshole who put him there. I can't see Agent Pretty letting
zombies chase him around just to play tricks on us like a wacko Pied Piper. The man is so
damn serious and even when he laughs he never really does. I bet he's depressed as fuck and
alone as a dog."
"Well, with the temperament he has he deserves it," Jessica pointed out.
"Nah!" Quint shook his head. "Nobody does."
"He brought Chris back here, of all places," Parker interjected sternly.
"Yeah-yeah, but, you saw Pretty, he's a carrot and stick kind of guy."
"Except he sticks the carrot up your ass without buttering it," Keith snickered.
"He doesn't know any better," Quint concluded. "Most of the time I feel sorry for him. I think
we should invite him to the barbecue."
"Hell no!" Jessica exclaimed. "Because of him, we haven't had a second of free time in
months. I don't want him busting my balls there, too! I want to get drunk and be free to
embarrass myself without him taking notes to rat out everything to that motherfucker
Lansdale!"
"I'm with the missus on this one," Keith joined in.
"Whatever, you guys are kind of heartless assholes, though," Quint let it go, approaching the
door. "Parker, give me that key, let's see if it opens here."
It did so but the moment he turned the key, a sharp hissing sound broke the silence. Parker
surged forward, holding the handle with all his strength and weight just as on the other side
massive claws dug into the wood, vibrating shards into the air.
They stepped back silently and alarmed.
"I say we get the fuck out of here," Keith whimpered using virtually only his lips and very
little voice.
Parker shook his head and made to unhook a grenade from his vest but Quint grabbed his
wrist.
"No, you might damage the electrical panel or other stuff we need," he whispered in his ear.
Parker was about to answer him but his brain went blank when he saw Jessica take the sniper
rifle off her shoulder and lay it on the ground to slip the combat knife from her belt.
"Don't even think about it!" He hissed, barring her way.
"I'm the fastest and most agile of the group, and I'm no less than Jill," she retorted with stern
determination. She had kept thinking about the fact that the bitch had managed to kill one
like that ever since Chris had told them about it when they had returned to the subject the
night before they left for the mission. It was time to start pissing on the damn tree to mark her
territory. She was no rookie. Parker pushed her back, jumping between her and the door with
all his imposing size. "Chris left me in charge, so you do what I say," he growled in her face.
She huffed, "Do you want to be kicked in the balls? You know that's the best solution. Don't
let your feelings cloud your judgment. "This is what we're going to do: you open the door,
slowly, without making a fuss while I wait still on the opposite side. As soon as that thing
sticks its ugly mug out, I'll stab it. Easy peasy."
Keith, behind them, shook his head, pale, and Quint knew without his speaking that he didn't
like that plan one bit. Nevertheless, his brave friend stood on the opposite side of the
threshold with his rifle ready to fire without even needing Parker to order him to do so. Their
commander hardened his expression even more but then nodded. Jeez, Jessica could really
talk him into any bullshit. He intimated to Quint to stand down because, among them, he was
the only one who could get communications back up and running quickly and effectively, so
nothing should happen to him.
They got into position, all extremely tense, and Parker counted down with his hand before
lowering the handle as gently as he could. Fortunately, the licker had moved, which allowed
him to open the door fully without alerting him. It stood just beyond the threshold, its tongue
outstretched in the air and its head slightly bobbing to perceive even the smallest sound.
Jessica hinted to move but Parker motioned her to stay still, hinting to Keith that he had a
clear line of fire. He motioned for him to shoot and he did so without hesitation. He unloaded
a burst on the head of the licker who whistled in pain, deafening them, wounded but not dead.
In the blink of an eye, the beast leaped forward with a long, powerful leap, vibrating a claw in
the direction of Keith, who got out of its way just in time. Parker and Quint opened fire,
riddling it with bullets, and when the licker was left on the ground, stunned, Jessica pounced
on him, stabbing his brain brutally until it stopped moving.
"Congratulations to all for the shitty execution!" She hissed then, turning a disapproving
glance at Parker.
"It was the safest strategy and-
"Keith almost lost his head!" She interrupted him, wiping the putrid blood from the licker on
her uniform pants off her hands. "And you wasted a ton of ammunition!"
"That was my call to make," Parker resented.
"And you made a shitty choice! You wouldn't have stopped Chris from doing it, or Kennedy.
Just because I'm a woman-
"It's not because you're a woman!" He exclaimed, outraged. "Chris and Kennedy are better
than all of us put together! You're just a brat who wants to prove a point and that's going to
get us killed!"
"Guys, that's enough," Keith intervened, still very shaken by seeing death in the face. "Thank
you all for saving my ass, I owe you one. At the barbecue, your drinks are on me."
"I'll take your word on that!" Chuckled Quint, patting him on the back before stepping
through the door, this time with his finger on the trigger so he wouldn't be surprised as he had
been with the sauna.
Nothing else was inside, and he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the electrical panel.
"Finally something I can make myself useful in!" He rejoiced. Reactivating it was easy, and
immediately the lights returned to full power on the floor, also reactivating the central
computer and monitors. Quint, completely uninterested in the rest, pulled up a chair and sat
down at the console, pulling out a small metal box, the same one he and Keith had been
working on on the plane, and, with a cable, connected to the PC.
"What is that thing?" Parker questioned him.
"Never mind, tools of the trade. This system is pretty old and my little toy should be able to
give me access to everything this thing has to offer. Next to the portcullis was a panel for a
magnetic card that we don't have but if all goes as I think I should be able to bypass it easily,"
Quint explained to him, speaking at the speed he was typing with the keyboard, so very
quickly.
"Do you think you can also reactivate communications from here?" Jessica intervened.
"Maybe."
"Guys, he needs quiet. Let him work," Keith scolded them, and the two of them walked away,
glaring at each other, to return to the hallway, where they resumed arguing.
Quinti ignored them all, completely focused. "Uh, yeah, be good to daddy! Fuck, yes!" He
exclaimed when he managed to turn on the screens the real-time footage from the cameras.
He saw his friends in the hallway, the staircase beyond the portcullis full of zombies ready to
pounce on them but he could see not only the live shot of their building but all the others as
well. "Where did you go, Chris?" He mumbled scrolling through them. He scowled. "What
the - guys, get over here now! SHIT!" He thundered, frustrated, as an error message appeared
on the monitors, deactivating them.
The others rushed into the room.
"What happened?" Parker questioned him.
"We are not alone on the island!" Quint answered him, leaping up from his chair with
turmoil. "I-I saw someone but I hope I'm wrong because, otherwise, this is bad! Very bad!
Tons of shit - bad."
"Calm down and start over," Parker rebuked him.
Quint nodded, taking a deep breath. "I saw a guy, very briefly, he was dressed in black.
Elegant. Light hair pulled back and... sunglasses."
Parker paled as well. "Oh fuck," he gasped. "Chris? Where is he? Have you seen him?"
"No, and it all crashed before I could get a better understanding of what the hell was going
on, or maybe someone cut me off. Shit, I'll try to reactivate everything!" He grunted,
returning to his post.
"Why do you both look like you've seen the devil himself?" Keith investigated, alarmed.
Jessica sighed. "Because the description matches Albert Wesker, Chris's former captain, the
one who led him and his team to die at Villa Spencer."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always, thank you all so much for being here, readers, commenters, kudoers,
IMPORTANT: To the kind readers who commented today or last night on last week's
chapter, I apologize but will only be able to respond in the next few days. As some of
you already know, my mother has had surgery and cannot walk, so I am also taking care
of her, plus I have (finally) bought a car and spent the last few days between offices and
bureaucracy, as well as emptying my bank account. Forgive me, I like to respond fully
and give you all the attention you deserve. I could not do it tonight, so I am forced to
postpone it until tomorrow. Again my deepest apologies! For next week I will try to
organize myself better because I care so much about you commenters and all my
readers!
Coming to the commentary, well, there is really not much I can say this time because I
could not avoid spoilers about my plans if I did.
Let's just say that we finally got to see Chris' team working on their own, and, aside
from the mess they made of that licker, they're not doing too badly. That said, all of them
except Quint are kind of jerks to poor Leon. He deserves to be invited to the barbecue.
This has always been Leon's problem. He doesn't even know where to begin to socialize,
and although, as we all know, he is very pretty, his skittish, reserved, and somewhat
manipulative temperament has always led him to be an outsider, which is really very
sad. He never even sat at the table with them in the canteen, although Chris invited him
several times. Poor Leon.
If you would like, please let me know what you think about the current situation and the
cumbersome news that this chapter has brought, I am really curious about your reactions
and what you think.
Thank you very much for everything and again my apologies to the commenters to
whom I have not yet responded! Now I'm going to run off and take a desperately needed
shower, make dinner, and then probably die and rise again as a zombie when the alarm
goes off at 5:30 tomorrow morning.
A big hug, and, uh, happy Valentine's Day, sweeties! Lots of love to you all!
Lady S.
Chapter 92
Chapter Notes
Chris proceeded at a brisk pace, jolting at every noise and peering into every dark corner in
search of the man who had ruined his life and who, it was now evident, would not stop until
he completely destroyed him. He knew Wesker well and knew how methodical he was when
he set out to achieve a certain result. It was a defining characteristic of his and he had
expressed it on more than one occasion even in all the years he had pretended to be their
captain. He had been especially hard on him, and Chris hated that he had become so skilled
mainly thanks to or, rather, because of him. On a tactical level, it was certainly an advantage
but every time that fact crossed his mind he could not help but feel dirty, as if Albert had
branded him as a slaughter animal. No, not only that. Like his favorite pig to slaughter.
And Leon was a bloody imbecile! Why had he tried to confront him alone without even
trying to contact them? Had he not warned him enough about what that monster was capable
of doing?
You're always such a disappointment! He told you, didn't he? His personal Wesker returned
to laugh viciously in his head. H e would have gone after me alone so as not to endanger
everyone's lives. Your little crush is a far, far brighter student than you, and he's also so
pretty. Delightful. Indeed.
"Stay out of my fucking head!" He gritted between his teeth and his voice rumbled through
the dark, empty room. He could not stop himself from remembering the nightmare he had
right after the dinner that started that mission even though Chris at the time had no idea.
Leon's desperate screams as that monster crushed his bones and then, out of contempt, abused
him filled his ears to the point that he felt like he could actually hear them and it was driving
him crazy. In those six years, he had had no contact with Wesker and both Jill and O'Brian
had cut him off from any possible investigation that might concern him for more than
obvious reasons. He had deluded himself into thinking that he had time, that he could become
strong enough to confront him before Wesker made his move to enact his revenge. He should
have expected that he would reappear without warning, and now it was Leon who was paying
the price! It was all his fault!
He had to stop because he was hyperventilating so hard that he feared his lungs might
collapse as it had happened at their last encounter, and he almost fell against the wall. He had
to calm down and regain lucidity but it was so fucking hard with the Leon of his nightmare
who kept coming back in front of him with those eyes full of terror and hatred.
Wesker was a sadist but Leon was just a means to an end for him. He would incapacitate him
but not execute him, and that gave Chris a chance to succeed in saving him before he got
himself killed. It was a compromise he could accept and he was willing to give his all to get
it. Armed with this new determination, he was able to regain control and move forward.
When he found himself in a room with five zombies, he hardly noticed them, given the
brutality with which he slaughtered them all with that iron pipe and then continued on as if
nothing had happened. He was not the kid who had been in Spencer Manor, nor was he the
madman in Raccoon City; he could save one goddamn life.
It seemed an interminable time had passed when he got to the doors of an elevator. He didn't
know if that was the right direction but he might as well continue that way rather than turn
back and get lost in those dark tunnels again. He pressed the button and, after a few moments,
the doors opened with a melodious 'ding' on a rich, rococo interior that made a fist of the
bare, moldy concrete walls he had encountered up to that point. The walls were covered with
red velvet and there were rich floral decorations in gilded stucco in full Ashford style. There
was only one button for ascending, so he pressed it without hesitation, holding himself ready
for anything.
The doors opened into a medium-sized circular room shrouded in shadows. The only light
came from lit monitors, so Chris quickly retrieved his flashlight and moved in that direction.
"Oh, no!" He groaned as he saw his guys on the screens, and then other locations on the
island, including the palace. There was also a radio, though, and he hurried to enter their
frequency and pressed the button to speak.
"This is Chris, can you hear me? Over." He exclaimed in desperation.
He saw them wince from the monitor and then they all answered him together with an
ovation of joy like the adorable idiots they were.
Shut the fuck up! Thundered Parker, towering over them. We hear you. We are not alone on
this island! He explained to him, hurriedly but also with some hesitation. Before our monitors
went black, Quint saw someone who matched Wesker. What is your location? Over."
"I know, I found traces of him," he replied and had to use all his willpower to keep his voice
from shaking. If they had even seen him, he could no longer cling to the hope that it was all a
set-up. Leon was indeed in danger and so were they. "Now listen carefully, screw the drill.
Find a way to contact headquarters and request an immediate evacuation. If they don't listen
or you can't contact them, find a way to leave the island, even if it's to build a fucking raft, do
it, is that clear? Over."
Where are you? We are coming to fetch you. Over. Keith, who had snatched the radio from
Parker, insisted, stubbornly.
"This does not concern you. My orders are clear. Over and out." Chris concluded. "And now
let's find you, you son of a bitch," he hissed, looking at all the monitors for Wesker or Leon.
If he knew his captain well, he would soon show him something to continue his cat-and-
mouse game. He blinked and his heart leaped as he scrolled through the various shots and
saw that he was right there, behind him, mingled with the shadows. Just like in his nightmare.
"Get the communications and those fucking cameras back up," Parker ordered, tense as a
violin string.
"Yes, sir," Quint obeyed, "screw the drill and fuck the orders, anarchy reigns! Nobody leaves
this rotten place until we find Chris."
"In B.S.A.A. no one is left behind," Keith echoed him, nodding.
"You have nothing to say?" Parker asked Jessica.
She hesitated, clearly confused. "I'm with you," she decreed.
"Oh, come on, don't be such a worried damsel! I'll find your very engaged prince, don't
worry!" Quint teased her. "Anyway, it wasn't my fault, someone kicked me out and put
security systems in place to slow me down. If it was Wesker, he knows his stuff."
"Do you think you can work it out?" Parker inquired.
"Of course I do, who do you think you're talking to? He's good but I'm a god. One 'o' makes
all the difference. "
"What the fuck?!" Parker became agitated when the lights went out, turning on his flashlight.
Quint, sitting comfortably in his chair, did not flinch. "Easy, I just initiated an entire system
reboot. My little gizmo there will help me find a vulnerable portal for access and, this time, I
won't get caught."
"How long will it take?" Jessica investigated.
"A while. Everything is off on the whole island, now, doors, coms, lights… This shit is
outdated yet it was top-notch in 1998. In any case, once I'm in, I'll be able to do everything in
the blink of an eye," he said, cockily, cracking his knuckles and neck, holding himself ready
to get to work.
Suddenly everything went dark, leaving only his flashlight as the only source of light in the
entire room. Chris hissed in pain when a kick sent it flying out of his hand. He vibrated a
blow with the pipe hitting something, probably the chair, which crashed to the ground with a
great bang. He backed up to the console, trying to peer into complete darkness since Wesker
was keeping well away from the flashlight beam, now on the floor a few feet from him.
Why wasn't he talking to him? He always had something to say to torment him! All that
silence was destabilizing him.
"Show yourself, you piece of shit!" He yelled, clamping both hands on the pipe. He was well
aware that hitting him with all his might was unlikely to hurt him but that did not mean he
would not try. He was no longer as afraid as he had been six years earlier; he felt only hatred,
a hatred so visceral that it was able to extinguish everything else. He wanted blood.
"Where is Leo-
His question ended in a grunt of pain when he suddenly received a blow to the face but when
he tried to react he hit only the void. Wesker was playing with him, that was why he wasn't
speaking, he didn't want to make his position clear. From the recesses of his memory - since,
for his own sanity, Chris tried never to open the box of what had happened before Villa
Spencer and how happy he had been without being aware of it - recollections resurfaced. His
captain had given him a few training sessions on fighting in the dark. They had all been
failures from which Chris had always come out covered in bruises and humiliation, to the
point that Wesker had stopped trying to train him in it. It had been one of the biggest
disappointments he had given him.
No, you have the weekend off. He had told him in a flat tone, not even taking his eyes off the
file he was reading in his office. While anyone would have been happy with this concession,
Chris had felt disappointed in himself and mortified. On closer inspection, that had been the
constant undercurrent of their relationship. Now that he was a man, and thanks to Alfred's
intervention, he saw with clarity how the captain he had loved and admired so dearly had
done nothing but groom him, destroying, brick by brick, his self-esteem to keep him in his
grasp as the psychopathic narcissist he was. This threw even more fuel on the fire of his
anger but made him calmer, and more perceptive.
He received a slap that didn't even hurt. It was cruel teasing, and although Wesker didn't,
Chris almost thought he heard him laugh. What, instead, he perceived precisely was the smell
of his aftershave. The same as always and one he did not even know he had in his memory.
The slap had come from the right but now the scent trail, faint, guided him just a little to the
left. Close. He swung the pipe in that direction and hit the target. Only a glancing blow but he
succeeded. Absurdly, because Wesker had not let a single breath escape, Chris was filled with
a thrill of perverse satisfaction. He hoped it had hurt, at least a little. He tried as hard as he
could to normalize his breathing, which he heard rumbling in his ears, to try to better hear
what was happening in the room. There was a slight 'bump' and then something fell to the
floor. Chris sprinted in that direction, charging with all his weight and strength. He had to
drop the pipe but managed to tackle him. The piece of shit, though, spun on him just in time
to escape the grip of his arms and grab him by the throat. Odd. This was not something
Wesker used to do but he did not let the detail distract him. Before he could stabilize his grip,
Chris leaned forward, removing that arm from his neck with pure brute force and flinging
him forward. He heard him crash and then something snap with a great clatter, probably a
table. He managed to grab the leg with which he was about to be hit with a knee and knocked
him back to the ground. He threw himself down in turn, striking randomly with an elbow that
landed on his opponent's abdomen, and Chris did not stop. With momentum he threw both
hands at his neck and squeezed.
"C-Chris, stop!"
Bulging as he was with hatred and adrenaline, he did not immediately register the message,
nor that that voice did not belong to Wesker, but when the lights in the room came on,
suddenly reactivated what he found before his eyes devastated him.
Leon.
It was Leon. With his hair pulled back, dressed in a black shirt as Wesker would have and
with a pair of sunglasses that had slipped back on his forehead. They looked so fucking alike
and not at all at the same time.
It had all been a mockery. A cruel trick to make him suffer. If Chris had still been the man he
was in Raccoon, he probably would have snapped that neck, but he was different now, and as
furious as he was, he still managed to loosen his grip until he let go and then pulled back,
harried, keeping his feral gaze on him.
Leon avoided it because it was enough for him to have witnessed how Chris's heart had
broken when the lights had come on. He did not need further confirmation of how much he
had hurt him. He released the hilt of the knife, holstered on his thigh, which he had been
clutching in case things got ugly, and slipped off the shades altogether to set them on the
ground but before he could gather his thoughts to tell him what he had to, Chris stood up
abruptly and marched toward the door.
Leon jumped to his feet with a whimper because the pipe blow and the elbow he had taken in
the abdomen had left him really sore.
"Wait!" He exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm.
Chris spun around like an animal and pushed him back with all his strength sending him
flying against the console where Leon sagged to the ground. They exchanged a glance. Leon,
for once, sincerely regretful, Chris beyond disgusted. It was like at the train station, only, this
time, Leon was aware that he had done far worse than steal a kiss from him.
"Chris, please!" He groaned, getting up once again and chasing him out into the hallway.
"Just hear me out!"
Chris sprinted, gaining the door, and when he had gone through it he realized where they
were. At the palace, on one of the lower floors, near the kitchen. He entered it without
hesitation and paced toward the secret passage that would lead him to the dining hall. He cast
a glance back and closed it before Leon could reach him.
"Chris, for fuck's sake, open up!" He heard him shout and bang with his hands on the other
side. "I had my reasons!"
He didn't want to listen to him. He just wanted to get him out of the way because, otherwise,
he would beat the shit out of him. If before he had felt betrayed now he had no words to
describe how much his heart was bleeding. Leon had taken his nightmares and made him live
them, what kind of monster could do such a thing?
When he reached the dining hall, hit by daylight, now greyer than before, his sight blurred
because of the lump in his throat. Finding himself there after all that time gave the coup de
grace to his tried psyche. He was overwhelmed by memories of their dinner together, the one
he and Alfred had prepared playing like children. How they had laughed at forcing Scott to
pull the broom out of his ass and act like a normal human being for one evening... It had been
so joyful and beautiful but now all that remained was a huge room full of dust and broken
dreams. The silence tore at his soul because it had rarely ever been there. Alfred was always
playing, and when he wasn't, he was listening to music that echoed in the corridors of the
palace. At the time, Chris had never paid attention to how comforting this was. He could
almost hear Scott's measured footsteps, not too loud to be annoying but also not quiet enough
not to be heard and startle his guests by suddenly appearing. The Penguin would have arched
an eyebrow, annoyed to see him in that unacceptable condition, with his clothes soaked in
stinking water slowly drying on him. With a look that was a little fatherly and a little haughty,
he would have ordered him to run and make himself presentable because it was unacceptable
for him to appear like that in front of his young master. Alfred, for his part, would have let his
melodious laughter vibrate in the air and scrutinized him with genuine curiosity because he
had probably never once been allowed to play in the mud as a child.
They were not there but it was as if they were and it had a bittersweet taste. He caressed with
his fingertips the backrest of the chair at the head of the table where his beloved friend used
to sit, remembering how many times they had talked about the future and noting with pain
that none of it had come true. Why was fate always so cruel to him? Why did it always land
him in the coils of grief or betrayed by the people he trusted most?
He left the dining room because he desperately wanted a refuge, a place to hide for a while
and lick his wounds before returning to shoulder the burden of his responsibilities, lead his
team, and face whatever other cruelties Leon had up his sleeve for him. He walked through
those corridors as if not a day had passed since he had last done so, and it felt like home
again. It was not unlike how he had felt when he had returned to the house where he had
lived with his family, immediately after his parents died, before their landlord evicted them.
The place was the same but it was no longer a comforting nest because the people who had
given him love were no longer there. He felt a chill as he walked through the hall of mirrors.
"W-what?" He uttered, shocked, noticing in the half-light that Scott's remains were still there
where he had died. He approached him, covering his mouth. Those beasts who had done the
inspection had taken away the monster's carcass but had not even bothered to bury another
human being!
He approached poor Scott with a broken heart. The livery he had worn was dusty but still in
perfect condition, now filled with nothing more than bones. Seeing him like this was, if
possible, even more devastating than seeing him passing away. It made it all the more
excruciatingly real. Chris knelt down beside him and laid his hand on his skeletal one.
"I'm so sorry," he groaned, struggling to speak. "Don't worry. I-I just need to find something
to… to carry you so that you can rest in peace. I won't be long. I-
He did not tell him that he promised. He didn't dare. Not after he had disregarded the last
thing he swore to him. He got up abruptly and when he caught sight of his reflection in one of
the mirrors, he smashed it with his fist.
Leon, who had not taken long to track him down, watched him, silent, from the threshold,
hidden in the shadows. He had no idea who that body belonged to, but he knew exactly what
Chris was feeling; he had experienced it firsthand when Jack had catapulted him to the ridge
above the cabin. He knew how much it hurt. The problem was that he was not like the major,
he was softer and more emotional - a criticism that, for that matter, Jack had always voiced at
him - and even though he was absolutely convinced he was doing it for Chris' sake, he knew
he deserved a place in hell for all of it. Leon had believed he could be strong and resolute but
seeing him in such pain cut into his soul. He liked Chris, more than he wanted to admit. He
was a good guy and a great captain. He was patient and sweet... All qualities that Leon had
forgotten could exist in their line of work and, more generally, in his life since, from
Nicholai's death, he had never allowed anyone to take care of him, too frightened at the idea
of throwing himself into the void and shattering against harsh reality, until he had met again
that big idiot who, despite his clumsiness, had managed to tiptoe his way inside him,
unnoticed, leading him to become fond of and cherish him in return. Leon had no clear idea
how it happened but was aware that it was over. Pretending to be Wesker had been the last
straw but it had made Chris stronger, and more aware, so it had been worth it. He saw him
continue up that triumphant staircase and so followed him again, no longer to evaluate him.
No, he already had all the elements he needed, but because this way he deluded himself that
he was close to him.
"Okay, everything should be up and running again," rejoiced Quint but immediately seethed.
"Oh, no, no, no!" He growled. "Show me where you are, you son of a bitch!" He typed a line
of code in a small window and then paled. "What?!"
He was cut off again, but this time, the monitors did not go off and merely showed a single
frame. A lab room where a wide trapdoor was slowly opening on the floor. "What the fuck is
that!" He gasped, leaping to his feet, and then the hallway siren began to blare. "Shit! Shit!
Shit! Keith, we have a problem!" He shouted, running out in the hallway.
Chris continued to Alfred's bedroom door, where their deeper conversations had taken place.
There were a thousand places in the palace that had been important but none more so than
that. Yet he still hesitated. He wondered if he had the right to enter after he had let him
sacrifice his life for him.
Don't be silly, of course, you do! Alfred would have told him, peeping out from beyond the
door with his bright violet eyes.
So he got in, leaving the door slightly ajar in case he got overwhelmed by memories and felt
the urge to run away.
Nothing had changed, the bed was perfectly made, certainly by Scott's skilled hands, the
curtains were open but the glass, once so shiny, was dirty from the weather, and even inside
there was dust everywhere. Chris looked down, feeling more miserable than ever. Would
Alfred have punished Leon for the way he had treated him? Would he have put him in his
place? After all, his beloved friend had promised him severed heads for far less than the
torture that the asshole had subjected him to. Alfred had always been so curious about Leon,
and this forced Chris into an analysis he had yet to make. Why did he like Leon so much? He
had a detestable, stubborn, unreasonable temper and now he had discovered that he could
also be horribly cruel. Could it have been because he looked like Wesker? Now that he had
seen him step into his shoes the resemblance had been like a bolt from the blue. How could
he have failed to notice it until that moment when it had been so obvious from the beginning?
On a subconscious level that was precisely why he had not trusted him from the beginning,
back in Raccoon. Albert himself had laughed at him for that when he had asked him if blonds
or psychopaths were his type. He felt like crying and covered his face with both hands,
utterly broken. For the umpteenth time in his life, his certainties had shattered like a glass
castle and he felt like a complete idiot for having invested so much hope and energy in trying
to win back Leon. He had never had that chance, he should have realized that from the
beginning. He had idealized him, just as he had idealized Wesker before him, and he also had
no one to vent to because the only person who would listen and comfort him had died six
years earlier. He should have done more for Alfred, should have convinced him to leave the
island with him, instead of hiding behind his anger and not talking to him for days. Perhaps
his friend would have told him about Alexia, and together they would have found a solution,
a compromise, something to work on that would keep him off the island during Wesker's
attack. Instead, he had done nothing.
You believe that by doing nothing, you will be relieved of all responsibility. His captain had
once told him. The truth is that doing nothing is itself a choice that carries consequences.
Yes, and Chris hoped they had come to bite his sorry ass when Wesker had learned of Birkin's
death in Raccoon City, where he had left him alone, and of that, he would always be guilty.
Thunder broke the silence. Chris was not so surprised. It was quite usual for the weather to
change abruptly there. A moment later the storm began to roar against the grimy window
panes.
Play for me when it rains...
He slowly approached the piano and stroked the closed lid with his fingertips, leaving a
streak on the dust. Without ever telling her why, he had been getting lessons from Jill on a
cheap keyboard he had managed to buy. It was clearly not his instrument and, in truth, it had
seemed silly to him to do so because he would never be able to be heard by Alfred but now
he had nothing else and did not feel like singing. He opened the lid with reverential respect
and a heart swollen with melancholy. He tried to play a couple of notes. The piano was
slightly out of tune, which was half a miracle after so long of inactivity, and Chris interpreted
it as a sign of fate as he sat heavily on the bench. He thought everything was all so horribly
wrong and began to play, leaving his whole soul on those keys.
Outside, just across the threshold, Leon was incredibly affected and winced, touching his
cheeks, when he realized that he was moved to tears. To his recollection, the last time he had
cried had been on the mountain, then his heart had sort of dried up. He had never let go again,
drowning all his discomfort in alcohol before he could even express it. He leaned in a little to
look inside and wished he could sink for all the pain he had caused Chris. He felt the desire to
rush in and comfort him but knew he was the last person he wanted to see. In truth, Leon was
also feeling inappropriate because that was a private moment that Chris would never share
with him. He remembered well how he had shut himself away when he had tried to
investigate what had happened to him on that island. He could not help but wonder what his
relationship with Lord Ashford had been because the way Chris was playing was not filled
with hatred but with mourning and love.
"I'm sorry it was so bad, Alfie..." He heard him murmur with a broken voice once he finished
playing, so Leon drew back, fearful of being seen, and was about to move further away when
he was almost deafened by the earpiece he was wearing. Of course, all of their radios had a
bug that allowed him to hear all their conversations. He did not understand a damn thing at
all about what Quint had been babbling about, as his voice was covered by a siren and
gunfire. Fortunately, neither did Parker, who, in fact, asked him to repeat.
Turn back now! Shouted Quint. There's something here! It looks like a tyrant but not quite!
Big heart but has more arms than normal and FUCK, GIVE IT A MOVE WE'RE SHORT OF
AMMOS!
Leon winced. A tyrant? Nothing of that sort was part of the drill! He didn't even know there
was one on the island! He removed his earpiece and threw himself over the threshold.
"Chris, we have a problem!" He exclaimed, startling him, but past the first instant of upset,
his expression turned hostile.
"Fuck off, I'm not falling for your shitty little games anymore!" Growled Chris, clenching his
fists. He couldn't even tolerate the sight of him. "Get out!"
"No, this time is diff-
"GET OUT!"
Leon was just in time to close the door before the piano bench crashed against it. He had no
time to reason with him, he had to act and fast, so he ran away.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As usual, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers,
and bookmarkers!
Small note: my life sucks. As commenters already know, I got sick on Monday evening,
and spent the whole night in the bathroom and all day yesterday with a high fever
without being able to get out of bed. I don't know what's happening to me this year. I
don't usually get sick this often. Maybe it's the stress, the fact that I always get up too
early. I don't know. In any case, I'm not saying this to complain but because I want to
apologize. This chapter was supposed to end with the confrontation with the new threat
that emerged but, unfortunately, I couldn't write that part which, therefore, will end in
the next chapter. I hate not being able to keep my schedule but posting something is
always better than not posting at all.
Now to some commentary: Leon is a bitch. There was never any Wesker on the island. It
was just him pretending to be him, which is cruel but he was not lying when he begged
Chris to listen to him because there are reasons behind his behavior.
Chris, however, has no intention of listening to him because he is horribly hurt by his
behavior. He feels, rightly, betrayed and does not even want to have him in front of him,
which is quite a problem now that Leon has finally realized that he cares about him too.
Hello, Leon!
We will see what happens in the next chapter also about that "tyrant" that even our bad
cat does not seem to be aware of.
Thank you very much for everything, as always, and be patient with me!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 93
Chapter Notes
"Clear, clear, clear! Let's go outside!" Keith shouted, after shooting all the zombies that had
tumbled down the stairs once the bulkhead had opened, blocking their only escape route.
"No, wait, I want a better look at it!" Protested Quint, trying to peer up the ramp from which
a great noise was coming.
"No, you don't, you crazy lunatic, we're completely empty!" Shouted the other, yanking him
away just in time to prevent a long deformed arm from piercing him.
"You're right! RUN!"
They rushed out the door, running over Parker and Jessica who were trying to get in just as
fast. It was by sheer miracle that they all managed to stay on their feet.
"GO! GO! GO!" Quint ordered, after ripping a grenade from Parker's jacket, cocking it, and
throwing it over his shoulder.
It exploded shortly after, beyond the door, giving them time to move away, and, for a few
moments, there was only silence.
"That's it?" Jessica asked, annoyed. "You turned us around to-
As if to disprove her, the heavy metal doors were torn off their hinges and flew in their
direction. Parker threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground before one hit her, while
Quint and Keith snapped to the side.
Astonished, they looked toward the now completely open threshold, where a foul creature
advanced with a clank of chains. It was a gigantic man with skin as white as a specter. His
original two arms were still bound behind his back with a straitjacket but he had three more,
horribly long and clawed. Two stuck out from behind his shoulder blades and one from his
left hip. His eyes were covered by a filthy, worn-out blindfold, his legs were locked by other
chains that seemed about to break, and in the center of his chest was a huge, obscene, beating
heart. He smelled terribly, more than the common stench of putrefaction of zombies and the
other creatures they had encountered. It was truly foul.
Parker was the first to recover from his dismay and got up on his knees, leveling the assault
rifle.
"Jessica, find a vantage point from which to fire. You two, as soon as I distract him, go back
inside and get those fucking comms back on." He did not wait for them to agree, partly
because they would most likely start arguing, and he opened fire. Quint and Keith moved into
position, after taking some ammos that Parker tossed at them, to outflank the monster, while
Jessica paused to kiss her own big guy on the cheek, murmuring a "Don't get yourself killed,"
before running back to find a way up onto the roof of the firing range.
Under Parker's fire, the monster collapsed to the ground with a gasp of pain, curling in on
himself to keep his exposed heart sheltered.
"Back inside, NOW!" Parker ordered, and Quint and Keith obeyed, not entirely sure it was a
good idea.
The creature shuddered to the ground, those hideous deformed limbs twitching, planting itself
in the concrete as if it were butter. Then, suddenly, it lifted its chin and opened its mouth wide
in a breathy roar, hovering a fetid green cloud in the air that enveloped Parker.
The poor man, taken aback, began to cough and his eyes started to water, while his chest
burned as if he had inhaled acid. He collapsed back and barely managed to crawl away and
inhale some clean air before his vision blurred. Dizzy, he confusedly heard the chains snap
and Jessica, with her sniper rifle, began firing as she yelled at him to get the hell out of there
right away.
She had been quick to mount it, and from the way she had shouted, it was clear she cared. At
least he would die knowing it. It was a very meager consolation but it was the only one he
could hold on to, especially when he heard her fire the fifth shot, after which she would have
to reload. Jess could do it in fifteen seconds, but even though the monster was only an
indistinct silhouette, he was now very close. He had no chance. He was coughing too hard to
reload his assault rifle and, in any case, it would do him little good, so he had only one choice
left. He had just tightened his grip on the last grenade he had when a peremptory 'STOP'
made him halt.
Kennedy. Somewhere up high.
Jessica, who had reloaded, saw Leon come running over the roof of the training center after
he had parkoured his way up to it from the palace.
"Son of a bitch!" She exclaimed denoting that he was dressed just like Wesker but did her
best to ignore the detail and fired another shot to cover Parker who had managed to get up
and was trying to take cover behind the same abandoned car he had used against the giant
worm.
Leon, meanwhile, jumped off the roof and, in a free fall, picked the grappling hook from the
belt, shooting the cable to hook it to the monster's back, and pressing the button to rewind it.
He landed right on his shoulder blades, unbalancing him forward and sending him crashing
face-first into the car, which crumpled from the impact. Leon grabbed onto one of those arms
to stay in place and loosened the cable just enough to twist it around the horrid limb like a
noose, before throwing himself off the opposite side with all his weight and strength, holding
the grappling hook handle tightly with both hands. A horrible crack filled the air, the monster
grunted in pain, leaped back a few feet, and slumped to the ground, finishing shattering the
bone. Leon cast a glance at Parker while Jessica joined them.
"Have everyone retreat inside," he ordered, "and a word of advice off the book: don't play
hero, nobody gives a shit." Having said this he turned his attention to the monster. He was not
a Tyrant but it didn't matter. He was going down anyway. He saw him raise his bald head
again and swing it around, in pain. Leon had seen that it was capable of puffing venom, so he
kept his distance.
"AAAAlfrEED!" The creature growled, glimpsing the silhouette of a blond man through the
frayed mesh of the blindfold and that filled him with fury.
Back at the palace, Chris, who had been brutally torn from his shelter by Leon's arrival, was
still in Alfred's room. He had to find something in which to transport Scott's remains because
he had no intention of leaving him in that condition for even a moment longer. It was not
such a challenging goal, but at least he was able to get him moving again. He looked around,
feeling awkward at the idea of getting his hands on Alfred's things but he knew that his
beloved friend would never have wanted his real father to meet that ungrateful end, alone and
forgotten in a filthy hall.
He cleaned the glass ball with the two blond children playing in the snow from the dust and
waved it wistfully, glad that, at least, it was still intact since Alfred cared so much about it.
Perhaps because, in a way, it represented his entire existence: two children born from a test
tube and raised there, on that isolated island, never being able to see the world. Chris didn't
know much about Alexia, nor did he care, but Alfred was a curious, little creature, he would
have loved to leave but hadn't been able to, and that was the most terrible of injustices.
Umbrella was long gone and Chris had not thought about the company for a while but what
Alexander Ashford had done to his own children was something abominable. He had even
forced his son to kill him when he was still a young boy. No wonder Alfred had gone mad.
He saw, as if he still had it in front of his eyes, the horrible wound that the former Lord
Ashford had inflicted on his child and hoped that the son of a sow had at least suffered the
pains of hell.
He shifted and noticed that opposite the window was an easel with a large leather-bound
sketchbook resting on it. He remembered that Alfred could also paint. He was a true master
of the arts, a genius who would have made the world a more beautiful place if only he had
been given the chance. Who knows what he would have become if he had grown up in a
loving family that could recognize and encourage all his incredible talents, instead of
relegating him into a corner because his genius was not devoted to science. Chris knew that if
Scott could have, he would have taken his little master away, but he had been just a poor
butler surrounded by rich and powerful beasts. He had done what he could, and while at the
time Chris would have judged him poorly for not taking action, now that he was older and
wiser, he understood and had compassion for him as well.
He lifted the drawing pad deferentially and placed it on the coda of the grand piano. The
early drawings were clearly childish although even then Alfred was drawing better than he
would ever be able to do in his entire life, and, for that matter, it had taken very little for his
drawings not to disfigure when compared with a Renaissance master.
"So you were young too, you damned penguin..." He joked with a sad heart as he saw a
sketchy portrait of Mr. Harman, with more hair than he had known him and fewer wrinkles
on his bony face. He had a jovial smile and his eyes were filled with affection. Then there
were several from the dining room, all packed with guests dressed in their finest. The
observation point was always from one corner, one that Chris knew, since he had used it
himself shortly before, namely that of the secret passageway leading to the kitchen. Those
lines were so vibrant that it almost seemed to him that he could see his little Alfred, hidden
away drawing the lives of others when he had been brought up not to be seen too much
because he was only a failure in the eyes of all those people who were perfect only in
appearance but rotten to the core. He quickly glanced at them and put them aside because
they put too much bitterness in his mind and did the same with Alexia's countless portraits.
He could not stand her even though, in truth, he had never met her. He had only had the
displeasure of encountering the version that Alfred, in his madness, had enacted, and that had
been enough for him.
"So this is your shit face," he commented, stiffening as he found in his hands the face of a
man he had seen before in portraits around the palace but to whom he had never given proper
attention. Lord Alexander Ashford. He looked only vaguely like Alfred and appeared drab
and gregarious just as his friend had always described him. He felt the urge to tear that face
from there and from wherever it was hung within those walls but restrained himself. If Alfred
had not done so, then he had no right to.
From that point on, the drawings became more disturbing.
"Oh, God..." Chris groaned as he saw a misshapen monster strapped to machinery on that
sheet of paper. Alfred had drawn it in great detail muscles, veins, the bald head, the horribly
mutated limbs, and that three-fingered claw that had almost killed him. Then, with feverish,
maddening strokes he had etched it with his pencil, piercing the paper in several spots:
DEAR FATHER.
How had two children trapped such a monstrosity on their own but, more importantly, was he
still on the island? Was it part of the test?
A thunderclap louder than the others made him wince, filling him with a feeling of
irrepressible anguish. He left the papers where they were and rushed out of the room. Was
this what Leon had tried to tell him? That he had put his boys up against the damn thing and
now they were in danger?! If that was the case, he would have killed him with his own hands
because he could tolerate the cruelties done to him but not those done to his poor rookies!
"Another one who can talk, great..." Leon huffed but became much more alert when,
writhing, the monster managed to break the chains that locked his legs and charged at him
much faster.
Leon checked that the others were safe and when he saw Parker and Jessica enter the
building, he decided the time had come to stop being a target. He took off fast, passing the
fuel-filled barrels placed there, ideally, to kill the giant worm, even though the team had
found its own way to do so, and when he was within a relatively safe distance, he fired. The
explosion hit the creature, who was still trying to regain the use of his legs after decades of
imprisonment, and was thrown against the wall of the firing range, smashing it.
Leon did not relax but stopped. He had faced enough horrors to know that it would not be
that easy. He did not have the proper equipment, but even that was not exactly new. The only
thing he really would have preferred would have been to still have his boots instead of the
fucking loafers he had put on to impersonate Wesker. They were uncomfortable and the slick
soles were likely to make him slip, especially now that it was pouring. Another cloud of
greenish venom rose up outside the hole in the wall, and Leon had to throw himself to the
side to avoid a large piece of debris thrown by the monster.
"I'm so damn good at pissing everyone off," he sighed, getting to his feet and then running off
to get chased again.
His main goal was to get that monster away from Chris's boys because he would never let
anything happen to them and that opponent was way too far out of their league. So he ran up
the slope that would take him over the hill behind the training center while the monster was
on his heels, destroying everything in its path.
Why had he not been informed of the presence of a B.O.W. of that caliber on the island? Why
had they been sent there if HQ knew about it? Those were all good questions. For another
moment. He grabbed onto the gate's bars and climbed over it, landing on the other side but
his shoes, as he had feared, betrayed him on landing and he tumbled into the tall grass and
mud, losing his advantage. The monster unhinged the gate with a claw and Leon had to
deflect another of his blows with the knife. With his free hand, he shot his heart and noticed
something he had already seen. As the bullets passed the membrane, raising gushes of blood,
they caught fire on contact with the air, which made him think of another strategy. Exploiting
his temporary daze he tried to pounce on his back but the monster shrugged him off, sending
him flying feet away.
Leon crashed and rolled painfully to the ground.
"Fuck..." He grunted, scrambling back to his feet and staggering to the side to avoid another
puff of venom.
"VERMIN TRAITOR! FAILURE!" The monster growled, using one of his arms to shield
his chest from his gunfire.
Leon couldn't help but scoff. "Yeah, got it, now cut it out!" He retorted, rolling under one of
his attacks. "You're starting to get on my nerves." He was about to try to jump on his back
again when two assault rifle bursts caused him to desist, along with a loud yell: "The cavalry
is coming, Pretty!"
Taken aback, Leon turned to look and this was a huge mistake. The monster struck him with
the back of his arm, flinging him far away as he mindlessly charged those two idiots, Keith
and Quint, who as soon as they had managed to send the radio message had rushed out to
help Leon, against Jessica's advice and Parker's orders and their best judgment.
"I'm out, reload!" Keith gasped.

"I've got you covered!" Quint reassured him.
"Not the head! At the heart! You must aim at the fucking heart!!!" His friend rebuked him.
"It's big and red and," he broke off when the other finished the ammos as well, "FUCK
RUN!"
They tried but the creature pounced on them in an instant, knocking them over. Quint
clutched Keith tightly and closed his eyes as that giant claw was about to rip them apart.
Only, it didn’t.
Half of the arm fell and bounced off them before catching fire from the severed end, sizzling
in the stormy rain. Keith held Quint tightly and had the quickness to drag him away.
Fortunately, they were both soaked, otherwise they too would have been enveloped in flames.
Only after a few moments of uncertain footing did they have the promptness to look at what
the fuck had just happened.
"I-is that a fucking sword?" Quint stammered, shocked, at seeing Chris wield one.
It was, indeed. Their captain had taken it from the armor aisle, whose real name was, the
defenders' aisle, so as not to be completely unarmed. He knew they were still sharp because
Scott had told him so once they had passed by, and they had all belonged to distinguished
knights who had fought for House Ashford in the past. The monster, Alexander, also seemed
to notice the sword, screamed in outrage, and tried to sweep it away with his one remaining
monstrous arm. Although it was a blow that would have flung anyone else away, Chris held
his ground without even falling, parrying it with the flat side of his sword. Even Leon, who in
the meantime had gotten up, was stunned by his strength.
"You're not so tough when you're not picking on your poor little boy, are you, swine?" Chris
hissed, vibrating a blow with his sword that opened a wide gash in his abdomen and made
him recoil.
"Alexia? Where... Alexia?" Grunted Alexander with his body shaken by spasms. He was
about to blow out venom, Leon realized, and that shit had managed to knock Parker out from
feet away while Chris was right in front of him. He wasted no time in warning him and ran
forward, leaping as high as he could, and once he grabbed onto the creature’s neck, he
plunged the knife into his eye, yanking him back and to the side opposite to Chris with all his
might, managing to move him away. Off balance, the monster fell backward, crushing Leon
under his weight, opened his rotten mouth wide in a scream and the poison cloud dispersed
above them, soon swept away by the violent wind that raged. The fall, however, had ripped
the threadbare straitjacket off, and with one last tug, he managed to free his now-massive
human arms. With one hand he grabbed Leon, crashing him to the ground so he would not
run away, and smashed his face into the mud to drown him, still believing he was facing his
traitorous son.
"DIE, FAILURE!" He roared, feeling him gasp under his fingers and tasting his long-
desired gratification.
Chris flipped him onto his back with a kick. "Alexia is dead, you son of a bitch!" He hissed,
plunging the sword into his heart with all his might until he stopped moving. When he
removed it, a flicker of blood soared through the air, catching fire, just as it had happened to
Alfred, and his body crumbled into glowing ashes. In an instant, Chris was back on the beach
with his body broken in pieces watching helplessly as the man he had fallen in love with
disappeared in spirals of flames. It hurt. It hurt terribly.
Don't be sad. The wind seemed to whisper to him. You are still loved, my dearest enemy and I
thank you from the bottom of my heart.
A gentle squeeze on his wrist brought him back to reality but he flinched away when he
noticed it was Leon, still kneeling at his feet.
Filled with rage and convinced that the asshole had endangered his boys for his fucking test,
he grabbed the sword and held the tip to his throat, trembling with rage. He stared at him in
disgust, hating him. Leon no longer looked like Wesker, he barely resembled himself, soaked
and covered in mud as he was but those damn blue eyes of his were unmistakable. His breath
was short, his blond hair was glued, plain, and grimy, to his face covered in wet dirt, and yet,
even so ragged, he looked so excruciatingly beautiful.
"Hey, hey, guys," Quint intervened in a strained voice, trying to tone it down. "Why don't we
all just calm the fuck down?"
"Get the hell out of here," hissed their captain. "NOW!" He yelled, and a clap of thunder
jolted everyone along with his voice.
"Not until you put that thing down," Quint insisted, advancing. "It's not worth it. Come on,
let's go to the others, you don't want to worry Jessy."
Leon, himself, did nothing. If Chris wanted to slit his throat, it would be just another way to
go. All things considered, not even the worst possible. He just would have liked a chance to
explain his reasons but, at the end of the day, if Chris was going to kill him, then simply he
would fail the test. But if it was just work, then why did that hateful look hurt him so much?
"At least tell me you're sorry, snake!" Chris blurted at him, desperate.
Leon blinked. "I'm not," he stated in a flat tone and that made him snap.
Chris threw the sword away and charged toward him, dragging along his boys who had
grabbed him in a vain attempt to hold him back.
Leon somersaulted back, rising swiftly and elegantly, and in the blink of an eye drew his gun
to point it at him with a flash of fear in his blue eyes. There he was, the Raccoon monster,
finally back on the surface in all his fury.
"I'll explain why but now back the fuck down!" He ordered him in a firm tone and, to his
surprise, Chris did but not because he was afraid of being shot. He had regained control.
"I've done all I could for you!" He shouted, hurt. "I welcomed you as a friend, I confided in
you, I apologized, and you used all that to hurt me! You even put my men against that thing,
alone, driving me away from them!"
Leon shook his head abruptly. "I didn't know about-
"LIAR!"
Leon shut up, and looked away, putting his weapon back in the holster under his armpit.
Chris turned his gaze from him in turn. "Let's go back to the others," he ordered. "Not you,"
he barked at Leon when he saw him move a step. "You're not one of us."
"Roger that," Leon sighed, watching them walk away. He felt an emptiness fill him inside but
shrugged it off.
He returned to the shack at the marina where he had left his aviator jacket and, after putting it
on, took the satellite phone from his pocket, immediately calling headquarters.
"What the fuck was that?!" He attacked the poor man who answered him with a stammered
and confused " I don't know, sir."
"I want to talk to Lansdale NOW!"
I-I'm sorry, Agent Kennedy, but the chief is not available at the moment. I can report you
called so that he can get back to you as soon as possible."
Leon hissed in frustration. "Send someone right away to pick us up with medical equipment
and oxygen. I don't want to hear any arguments or bullshit, am I clear enough, you bunch of
idiots?!"
Y-yes, sir, the cruiser is already on its way. It will approach the island as soon as weather
conditions make it feasible. Do you need-
Leon closed the call in his face, fuming, and got back to the training center, climbing the
stairs for the upper floor. He slipped into the laboratory and realized that that was where that
monster had jumped out from. The case in which he had been trapped for who knows how
long had come up several floors, starting from the depths of the cliff. Leon knew that fucking
island was full of secret passages and that not all of them had been mapped but the fact that
exactly that one had opened just as they were there was too fortuitous a coincidence. He
examined the smashed glass case, looking for a mechanism that might allow him to descend
but did not find it. From downstairs he heard the voices of the others, including Parker's, so
he hurried to join them. When he entered the control room, Quint flinched back from the
console, a gloomy, dismal silence fell and Leon felt all their judgmental eyes on him.
"How are you?" he asked the injured man.
"Like you give a shit!" Jessica attacked him.
"Better," Parker replied, calmer.

"Do you have any symptoms? Fever? Chills? Hunger?" Leon investigated.
Parker shook his head. "No, I can breathe, and the burning is easing."
Leon nodded without comment. "You should quarantine him, anyway," he turned to their
captain. "We don't know if the poison of that thing is infectious."
"Cut the crap, we're staying together!" Keith protested,
"Quint, accompany Parker to the next room and lock him in," was Chris's dry order.
"Are you fucking kidding?!" Jessica thundered.
"No, he's right," Parker intervened, slowly getting to his feet. "You don't need to escort me, I
can go by myself."
His exit was accompanied by more silence until Leon suddenly drew his gun and shot the
camera in the corner, jolting them. "I need your help," he said to Chris.
The other did not even look at him, acting as if he did not even exist.
"I didn't know about that thing and I want to figure out where he surfaced from," Leon
continued determinedly. "You have shown me that you know the island and its secret
passages well. Point me in the right direction. The case upstairs comes from below the cliff,
there must be another access. Where is it? Chris, fucking talk to me, I have time until the
storm passes!" He urged him.
The other turned around, clenching his fists, mistrustful and hostile. "You stay here," he told
the others, leaving the room at a brisk pace, closely followed by Leon.
"So you're taking me there?" He tried to insist.
"No. I have a friend to bury," was his icy reply.
"Don't be an idiot, something is going on, and this is the only chance we got to figure out
what!" Leon blurted out when they got under the storm again. "FUCK!" He cursed, letting
him walk away.
Chris did not turn around and hurried back to the palace. He had the answers Leon wanted
but he didn't trust him nearly enough to give them to him. There were at least two passages
leading down there, one via the beach, which was impossible to climb with the sea so rough,
and the other from the terrace from which Wesker had thrown him below, and even that was,
in all likelihood, closed. In any case, it was useless to go there; they would find nothing. He
already knew that it was Lansdale, or someone for him, who had freed Alexander Ashford
from his captivity. Quint, before he was disconnected a second time, had traced the I.P. of the
other hacker and it came right from headquarters. At the moment, Chris did not know what to
do with that information. He had to talk to O'Brian about it and hope that Quint could get
what he needed from the console for hard evidence. He had no idea whose side Leon was on,
theirs or Lansdale's. If forty-eight hours earlier Chris would have put his life in his hands,
now he did not even want to look him in the face. He was only tolerating being followed -
because he knew Leon was close even if he couldn't see nor hear him - so that Quint could
work undisturbed. He returned to Alfred's room where he retrieved a rich wooden box with
the family insignia emblazoned on the lid. He emptied it of the junk inside but he clutched
the perfume bottle in his hands, spraying the little that remained and inhaling deeply. Lily of
the Valley. Alfred's scent. It was like a stab in the heart. He missed him so much and needed
him desperately. His beloved friend would know how to comfort him but, even more, he
would know how to explain why. Why Leon was so cruel to him after all he had done to win
him back? Why he enjoyed tormenting him, tearing at his soul. Alfred would advise him
what to do because he had no idea. Right now, just the idea of listening to what Leon had to
say filled him with dismay, anger, and loss. Perhaps the guy he liked so much had never
existed and was a figment of his imagination, just as had happened with Wesker.
Surrendered and exhausted, he looked at the box. It was not much of a coffin but it was the
best he could do and at least it still had the scent of Alfred and Scott would have been happy
about it.
Leon, indeed, had not stopped following him in the hope that Chris would want to follow his
lead independently but it soon became clear that this was not the case. He left him alone as he
saw him begin to place the bones in the box and slipped into the room from which Chris had
taken it. Leon was confused. He had expected that Lord Ashford had subjected Chris to
terrible imprisonment but it did not correspond to the truth. He looked around with wistful
curiosity, eager to learn more but aware that the other would never again trust him enough to
tell him what had really happened. His gaze fell on the abandoned drawings on the grand
piano and he began to flip through them.
"Oh..." He uttered as he saw a portrait of Chris emerge from that mountain of papers,
brooding and uncomfortable wearing a shirt he had left unbuttoned almost to his chest. There
were several sketches of him, one more beautiful than the last. He frowned as he saw one that
depicted him asleep wrapped in a soft comforter but bare-chested underneath. He blinked,
confused, in recognizing that the bedhead decorations in the drawing were the same as those
in that room. Why had Chris slept there?
The last sheet of the folder slipped to the floor and he bent down to pick it up. When he
turned it over to take a look at it his heart stopped. It was a delicate watercolor of a lush
garden and, in the center of the drawing, Chris and a blond guy, Alfred Ashford, no less, were
kissing, surrounded by a cloud of dragonflies of a thousand colors but only one resting on
Chris's shoulder, was red like the one he had tattooed on his wrist.
It devastated Leon who felt the ground crumble under his feet. He leaned on the piano with
one arm, stunned and sick to his stomach but before he could even start to understand why he
was feeling like that, a siren began to rage across the island.
"W-what?" He gasped, and, nervous, sprinted toward the door only to stop, turn back, stuff
that last drawing into the folder, and tuck it under his shirt and jacket, behind his back to keep
it as sheltered as possible. He activated the radio.
"What the fuck is going on now?" He yelled to whoever was listening.
I…I was trying to do something on the terminal and-

"Get to the fucking point, Quint!"
The self-destruct activated! We've got five fucking minutes!
"Go out and up the cliff right now! I'll take care of Chris!" He ordered, rushing down the
hallway and then down the stairs. He found him in the hall of mirrors, alarmed and confused
still kneeling beside the body he had almost completely placed in the box.
"We have to go! It's all about to blow up!" Leon shouted, grabbing him by the arm and
yanking him, but the other did not move.
"One second, I'm almost done," he blurted, hurrying to set the bones.
"We don't have a fucking second!"
"Go, nobody's holding you back!"
Leon scoffed. "Does this look like the time to argue?!" He snapped at him, dropping to the
ground beside him and giving him a hand in retrieving Scott's remains. As soon as the last
bone was in place, he grabbed him by the hand and sprinted away.
"No, not that way!" Chris held him back. "Follow me!"
"I hope you know where the fuck we're going!" Leon shouted, following him into another
secret passage and then down some spiral stairs that took them downstairs to another hall.
Chris smashed through a French window and continued to squeeze his hand as they shot out
onto the terrace. His heart skipped a beat at seeing the smashed balustrade where he had
fallen but he did not let it distract him.
"The stairs are that way!" Leon pointed out to him, braking abruptly to change direction.
"We're taking the elevator!" He barked at him, overcoming his resistance with brute force and
throwing him into the cabin. He immediately followed and lowered the lever as the first
explosions already began to shake the island's buildings.
"This thing will fall!" Leon protested.
"No, it won't!
"You crazy-ass! Of course it-
"I SAID IT WON'T!" Thundered Chris and they were almost halfway down when everything
began to shake and the cabin abruptly plunged down several feet as the staircase on the cliff
crumbled into pieces down into the ocean. The tug sent them tumbling, Leon slumped over
him, and Chris could not help but hold him close, despite how furious he was with him. He
felt his arms tighten around his neck and one of his hands claw at his back, scared or just
clingy as Leon has always been.
The cabin began to sway violently, now and again falling and stopping with violent clanks.
"I know I have caused you pain," Leon gasped, closing his eyes and breathing against his
neck. "But I swear I didn't do it out of spite, I-.
His voice choked in his throat as he was thrown back and slipped out of Chris's arms,
smashing through the elevator door and plummeting into the void.
"LEON!" He heard him scream before crashing onto the rocky beach, fortunately from a
modest height that left him only stunned.
Chris jumped off soon after, landing heavily on the sandstone. "Leon!" He called him again,
and there was so much concern in his voice. "Are you okay?!"
"Yeah, nothing's broken. Let's move away from the wall." He tried to get to his feet, but a
twinge in his spine caused him to grind his teeth in pain, and before he could even try again,
Chris wrapped an arm around him and pulled him up as if he weighed nothing.
When they got near the water, Leon saw him look up at the palace of which nothing remained
but a cloud of smoke, debris, and flames. Chris was pale as a ghost and clearly on the verge
of a nervous breakdown.
"The others..." He uttered, petrified.
Leon turned the radio back on. "Kennedy to the team," he said. "D-does anyone read me?"
There was a horrible silence and he saw Chris cover his face with his hands, trembling, ready,
probably, to pour out all his fury on him.
We are alive! Quint shouted, almost deafening him, and Leon took a deep breath, realizing
that up to that moment he had been holding it.
"Thank fucking God!" He gasped and the relief was so intense that it almost hurt.
"Give me that thing," Chris ordered him, snatching the earpiece from his ear and putting it
on.
"Is everyone all right? Are there any injuries?" On receiving complete reassurance, he
collapsed to his knees, his body wracked by the tension he had accumulated up to that
moment. "Okay, hold your position," he continued, "Yes, I'm okay too. We are... Never mind,
you can't reach us. If something happens, contact us."
Chris returned his earpiece without looking at him and walked away to retrieve the box with
Scott's remains to bury him there, where Alfred had died.
Leon would have wanted to talk to him but did not have the courage, nor he had the slightest
idea how to do it. He had closed his heart for so long that he no longer knew how to open it
and be honest. Just himself, for once. After all, he had never been good at it before either. In
any case, it was not the right moment and, perhaps it was for the best for each of them to go
their separate ways. At least now he had the assurance that Chris was, no doubt, strong
enough to bear the burden of that life. It was bittersweet but it was still a victory. His only
concern was Wesker and the selfless attitude Chris had about wanting to protect everyone
else from him, but in any case, Leon intended to find him first and kill him. So he watched
him dig that grave in silence, respecting his pain, as the storm subsided and the darkness of
night fell.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, subscribers, commenters,
and bookmarkers!
So, a lot of things happened in this chapter. Alexander Ashford tried to kill them but he
finally, met the end he deserved. I had considered using Alexia as the 'boss' of this part
but she would have been really too powerful for the conditions the team was in and also
the two veterans. She would have required a lot more resources and it was unlikely that
everyone would have come out unscathed.
Chris managed to put aside his frailties and maintain control like a champ, even saving
Leon's pretty ass in the process but he is very confused and hurt by all that has
happened.
Our pestiferous cat made good on his promise to keep the team safe, realized that there
was something rotten in that operation, and now has every intention of getting to the
bottom of the mystery because they almost died on that damn island and this is not the
way that training is organized. Also, he got a nice drawing of Chris kissing Alfred in the
winter garden in front of his eyes, and that hit him like a truck launched at 300 mph.
There are really a lot of things that these two idiots will have to clear up, including why
Leon decided to subject poor Chris to this horrible psychological torture but, first, they
have to leave Rockfort Island, which will happen soon.
I hope the longer-than-usual chapter has not annoyed you and I thank you, as always, for
being here to support me!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 94
Chapter Notes
After a terrible night in the cold, the rescue team retrieved both the boys on the island and
Chris and Leon on the beach and led them to the base camp from which they had left only the
day before, although it seemed to everyone that much more had passed.
They were all examined, given blood draws, and quarantined for forty-eight hours in single
rooms that looked like cells, although at least they had a small bathroom with a shower. Leon
had tried to sleep but had managed little, and that little had been plagued by nightmares. He
desperately needed to stick to the bottle and send his mind blank but, of course, he had not
been given any, nor he had asked. The small grate opened.
"Dinner!" A soldier informed him, pushing in the tray.
"How long has it been?" He asked, wobbling off the bed and picking up the damn thing.
"Thirty-six hours, sir. Hopefully, you can go tomorrow morning at six."
"How are the others?"
"Stable. I'll continue the tour, enjoy your meal, sir."
Leon looked despondently at the slop in front of him. He wasn't picky but the stuff really
sucked. He threw the tray on the bedside table. Not hungry anyway, and he was about to go
take yet another shower just to pass the time when he heard Chris' voice exchanging words
with the soldier. It was coming from the room across from his and it was the first time he had
heard it. He had probably slept like a rock until that moment. Lucky him. They had waited
hours on the beach together but had not exchanged a single word.
Leon waited patiently for the soldier to move away before sitting down in front of the grate
and uttering a shy, "Hey, Chris!"
Silence.
"The fuck do you want?" The other asked him, still hostile.
Leon lowered his gaze, not quite knowing what to answer. He didn't want anything specific,
just to talk to him. "Right now I really wish I hadn't wasted your cookies," he tried to banter
but all he got was to hear Chris's grate being slammed shut. He closed his eyes, dejected.
What was he hoping to accomplish with that idiotic joke? He got back up and downed a
couple of painkillers with some water, trying to find something to distract himself with but, in
truth, he had already had plenty of time to think about his next moves. If Langsdale had
really tried to sabotage the mission to the point of attempting to kill them all, he had to pay,
and Leon was determined to make him regret being born. In addition, he had to resolve the
issue of the B.S.A.A. evaluation board, and, for that, he needed to make a call that he
absolutely could not have there among that asshole's men. He felt like a caged beast and
although he had done many quarantines in his career that one weighed especially heavy on
him. He felt so torn. He kept going back and forth between deciding to let Chris go or trying
to win him back. In all the time that they had spent together, Leon had never wanted to dwell
on how much the constant presence of that clumsy idiot had warmed him inside by grazing
heartstrings that he believed had been snapped forever with Nicholai's death. Now, all he
could think about was that he didn't want it to end. Fuck, he had done so much to convince
himself that he didn't need anybody, and now there he was, pining for a guy who didn't want
him. The drawing he had taken away from the palace didn't prove anything. It could very
well have been just a fantasy of that nutcase Lord Ashford but then why would Chris have
tattooed that dragonfly? He moved to the table, where he had placed the folder, and looked at
the drawing again. He was no expert but it was strikingly beautiful. He had managed,
miraculously, not to let it get too damaged and he wanted to give it to Chris somehow but
even that was complicated. He imagined the conversation: Here, Chris, I saved the drawing
of your homo swing whom you clearly never wanted to tell me about, please, let's be friends
again! Yes, that would have gone great… Chris would have knocked him into a very well
deserved coma with a punch at the very least.
He gazed down at Chris' hands, one clasped firmly behind the drab little blond's back, the
other cupping his face, and closed his eyes, trying to imagine how he would feel if he did it to
him. A tremor shook him and he extinguished it with a sigh.
Don't fall for it again, you idiot! He told himself. Assuming and not conceding that that
drawing represented something that really happened, Chris had already made it clear since
Raccoon City that he wanted no involvement with him. Perhaps he was not his type, and,
after all, how could he be? Leon was aware that he was handsome, but he also knew that,
beneath his appearance, there was absolutely nothing. He was just a cruel lying creep, a
whiny brat, a waste of space as his mother had taken care to remark to him until her last
breath. His mother. In the end, he had become just like her, the proverbial apple never falling
far from the tree. How disgusting...
He sat on the bed, covering his face with his hands. He so desperately needed a drink. No.
Not a drink, the whole bloody bottle. He was going crazy inside those four fucking walls.
But at least he owed Chris an explanation. Only the other didn't want to listen to him. He
retrieved his notebook from his pocket and began to write. He did this for quite a while but
then shook his head again and, frustrated, tore out the pages and threw them in the trash.
Furious he sagged under the blankets and turned off the light, letting the nightmares come
back to devour him.
Twelve hours later, Chris came out of his room in a foul mood. He had slept most of the time
but still felt exhausted and drained. The room where Leon had been was open and he could
not fight the urge to approach the threshold. Everything had been left in complete order. He
had even made the bed with painstaking precision.
"Freak," he commented through gritted teeth. He was about to walk away when he saw the
papers balled up in the basket and curiosity won out over anger. He bent down, picked them
up, and put them in his pocket, alarmed by Jessica, screaming like an eagle beyond the door
at the end of the hall. He hurried in that direction and once on the other side, Jessica gave him
a mortified look.
"He took the lighter from me!" She protested, pointing at the soldier in front of her. "I tried to
explain that you had it from before you came back to the island but this jerk is deaf!"
Chris felt his heart sink in his chest but did not want to make an already bad situation worse.
"It's okay, the important thing is that we're all safe."
"It's not okay," the soldier objected sternly, "taking items away from a training site is a
serious violation of the-
"Give it back," Leon intervened, appearing from outside.
"Sir, with all due respect-
"I said give it back," the other hissed, stepping in front of him, "or it ends badly for you."
"Are you threatening me, Agent Kennedy? Shall I remind you that you have no authority
here?"
Leon thinned his eyes and scoffed. "God, you truly are the smartest of the bunch! I could start
listing all the violations you've done but it would take too long, so either do as I say or I'll
kick your ass so hard you'll regret even trying to disregard my orders."
The soldier took a step back and passed his gaze over everyone present, before relenting and
extending the lighter toward him. "This is not over," he protested.
"Yeah, report me for a fucking lighter and hear how loud they'll laugh in your face!" Leon
accompanied his exit. "Fucking soldiers," he half-voicedly commented and then winced,
since Chris was one too. He turned back to him with much less confidence. "This is yours,"
he mumbled, avoiding his gaze and tossing it to him.
He did not receive a thank you but neither did he expect one, so he moved away. "Have some
breakfast, the plane will be ready in about half an hour," he took his leave.
The return trip was interminable and uneventful except for the fact that the team spent the
whole time cheering Chris up by joking and showering him with attention just like a real
family, and, to some extent, they succeeded. Leon was not included in any of this; in fact,
everyone acted as if he was not even there and he did not try to interact in any way. He sat the
whole time looking out the window, occasionally falling asleep and jolting awake almost
right after, which Chris did not miss to notice.
When they finally reached the B.S.A.A. base camp it was dawn and it was invariably raining.
It was definitely much warmer than in Rockfort Island, but Leon shivered anyway and kept
his aviator jacket on even though it was well out of season. He was hungry and could barely
stand upright because of how tired he was. Usually, when it
rained like this, Chris always gave him a lift home, so he instinctively looked at him with
hope only to see him wave goodbye to his boys, pull away past the airstrip, get into his car,
and take off.
"Poor thing," giggled Jessica, as she and the others were already about to enter the dormitory.
"He looks like a puppy abandoned on the side of the road."
"Serves him right," Keith shrugged. "God, I can't wait to throw myself on my bed!"
Quint sighed because he was a little sorry to see Pretty so dejected but winced when Leon
turned his gaze in their direction.
"Parker, may I have a word?"
"Tell him to go fuck himself," Jessica hissed between her teeth.
"Sure," he replied, stopping under the parapet. "You guys go inside."
Leon quickly caught up with him. "I want you to tell me about Terragrigia."
Parker stiffened. "Why? You said it wasn't your circus."
"I changed my mind. Look, I went hard on Chris, I know, and it's okay for you to resent me
but what happened later on the island… That thing, the self-destruction, I swear I had nothing
to do with it."
"So you think Lansdale tried to kill us?" Parker scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his
arms.
"You said it, not me."
The other huffed and walked to the door.
"Yes, I do!" Leon blurted out, making him stop. "I need to know everything you can tell me
about him and that giant mess. I can help you."
"Or you can stick it up our ass," Parker retorted sternly. "Double-crosser."
Leon grimaced but restrained his annoyance. "I am many things, Parker. An agent, a spy, a
double agent, an asshole. Yeah, I'm the king of all assholes, all right? But if Lansdale is
responsible, on any level, for the massacre of civilians carried out there, I will personally take
him to hell. I don't work for him. I never fucking did! I only came here for Chris!"
"To torment him."
"No!" Leon bowed his head. "At first maybe but not anymore. I-
"In Terragrigia the rescue operation was mishandled from the very beginning. It was as if
Lansdale didn't want us to intervene, and when he finally got us on the ground, it was too
late."
"Why did he delay?" Leon interrupted him, leaning his notebook against the wall to take
some notes.
"He certainly didn't tell me, but after digging a little bit, it seems that agents had been sent
out to do some scouting and kill off the last VELTRO terrorists still on the island, riffraffs
like you, you know? Whether that's true or not, I can't say."
"Riffraffs like me generally save the asses of people like you, preventing you from landing
with shit up to your neck," was Leon's dry reply accompanied by an annoyed look.
"Well, not that day and, in any case, I had never heard of special agents in the F.B.C. before
and, for what it's worth, not afterward either."
"They don't necessarily have to tell everybody."
"No, of course not but somewhere they have to turn out and they don't. Believe me."
Leon made an eloquent little smirk. "Did Quint stick his nose in?"
Parker shrugged. "Who knows?"
"Fair enough, go on."
"To say we had shit up to our necks is an understatement. There was panic, Hunters
everywhere, civilians running in all directions. If Lansdale hadn't deployed us three fucking
hours later maybe we could have built outposts and shelters where we could rally the
survivors and sensibly organize the evacuation. Instead, we had to make do. Each team was
left to itself to try to rescue those lucky enough to happen upon them. Other teams landed
right in the mouths of the Hunters and it was clear from the start that the battle, if you could
call it such, was lost. They named it the Terragrigia Panic not for nothing, in addition to a
huge number of civilians many soldiers died, not properly equipped for a mission of this
magnitude. Nevertheless, each of us was ready to stay longer and die over there if it meant
saving even one more life but even that was prevented. Suddenly Lansdale gave the order for
immediate withdrawal. You know the rest, the city was razed to the ground. It was a fucking
jewel and we-we- His voice was lost in thin air.
Leon continued writing while maintaining a neutral expression that was only in appearance.
He sighed and closed his eyes. "Once, the best man I ever met said to me: if you had the
faculties or the power to stop a nuke, I would be more than impressed, I'd shit myself where I
stand. You can't blame yourself for something so out of your control. It's plain stupid. The
same goes for you, you couldn't stop that bombing."
"I don't blame me but that son of a bitch," was Parker's defensive response.
"Really?" Leon merely asked without pressing further. "What about the B.S.A.A.?"
The other shook his head. "Their hands were tied, they were there as independent observers
but any intervention had to be under Lansdale's directives. Chief O'Brian tried hard to
persuade him but he blocked them too. They argued until the troops were withdrawn but
nothing could be done. After that, Lansdale found a way to come out clean. He said he
delayed sending troops to the island because the situation was already beyond containment
and lied about the B.S.A.A., writing a report in which he described the organization as a
group of enthusiastic amateurs who had no idea where to put their hands, effectively blocking
relations with the United States."
"Yeah, I read that one," Leon closed the topic quickly and put the notebook back in his
pocket. "Is it possible that O'Brian is holding something that Lansdale might consider a
threat?"
Parker became even more stiffened. "I have no idea, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Are
we done here, Agent Kennedy? I'm very tired and you look like crap, too. Go to sleep, this
shit will still be here when you wake up."
"Of course, thank you, and sorry to keep you."
The other gave him a shrug and entered the building without adding anything else.
Leon walked toward his motorcycle dragging his feet as he scrolled through his cell phone
book. He put in his earpiece and slipped on his helmet after initiating the call.
Leon? A sleepy, muddled voice answered. What's going on?
"Shit, the time difference, sorry, sir," he muttered, starting the bike.
Don't worry about it. I always have time for the best agent around. What do you need? I
know you're in the UK taking care of that organization... What are they called?
"B.S.A.A. Listen, I know you are now in the swamp of politics up to your neck but
something rotten is going on here and I need your help. I wouldn't ask for it if it wasn't
absolutely necessary."
Oh, I'm well aware of that. You are the man who never asks. I'm listening.
Leon spent the entire drive home explaining the situation to him, and Congressman Adam
Benford gave him his full attention.
He did WHAT?! Jill thundered when Chris told her that not only Leon had brought him back
to Rockfort Island but that he had even impersonated Wesker. I get on the first flight and
shoot him in the head!
"No," Chris sighed, wrinkling his face, "there's something worse. I've tried calling Clive but
he won't answer; he probably left his phone somewhere else before he went to sleep. A
monster, Alexander Ashford, was let loose on the island by HQ, I think with the intent to kill
us all, and then after we put him down, Quint tried to tamper with the training center console
and the self-destruct system activated. We are alive by a miracle."
Grill that son of a bitch, make him talk!
Chris shook his head. "Leon was not aware of this, or at least he said so."
And you believe him?
Chris paused for a long moment. "Yes. He resents me and only me. He would never endanger
someone else's life, and the boys told me that when Ashford attacked them, he ran to their
rescue immediately. As soon as he realized that HQ was playing dirty he got really furious.
He wanted to investigate, luckily I didn't listen to him and didn't tell him how to get to the lab
under the cliff. He would have died down there."
It would not have been a tragedy. Jill hissed then, however, softened her tone. How are you?
"I... I don't know. I expected it would be hard but this... This has left me… I don't know," he
repeated.
Do you want to talk about it? She worried even if she knew the answer already.
"No. I took a couple of sleeping pills and I'm already in bed."
You know you don't have to keep it all inside. You always told me so little about that place...
"I can't do it. I-I just need some time and calm. I'll be fine."
I wish I was beside you, I miss you so much.
Chris smiled wistfully. "I miss you too," he murmured, and it was not insincere. Jill was his
best friend as well as his partner, and although their romantic relationship had complicated
their bond, he really would have loved to fall asleep in her arms and feel reassured by her
affection. She always made him feel so safe while Leon had only succeeded at breaking his
heart. "What about you? Are you always at your dad's house?"
Yeah. Also, know that he is more excited about the wedding than we are. I don't know how
many appointments he has booked for me to try on dresses I feel sick just thinking about it!
And he's going with me to all of them! It's insane to spend thousands of dollars on something
I will only wear half a day but he's so bloody stubborn.
"I saw that you emailed me some venues to look at but I didn't have time, forgive me.
Anyway, I'm fine with having the ceremony there but I'd like the guys to be able to attend, so
we'll have to arrange a flight for them."
Oh, sure, I'll put a front-row seat for that slut, I can't wait to see her crack with envy!
Chris, now half asleep, chuckled weakly. "Leave Jessica alone."
I'll leave her alone when she leaves you alone. That bitch.
"You're the only woman in my life, silly," he told her softly. "Sorry, I'm dozing off."
No-no, you need rest. I'll warn Clive to call you and in the meantime, I'll tell him in advance
what you told me. Stay away from that cunt, ok?
"Jessy or Leon?"
Both.
He chuckled again. "Roger that."
I love you.
"Love you too."
Chris closed his eyes and the last image he saw before sinking into sleep was Leon, in the
rain, watching him drive away with his face full of dismay like an abandoned child's, and that
hurt too.
When he awoke it was late afternoon. He had given everyone the day off, so he stayed in bed
a little longer before calling Clive, taking a long shower, and eating something. He knew he
had those papers Leon had tossed away to read but couldn't find the strength. Probably, they
didn't contain anything important or maybe they were written in bloody Cyrillic and he
wouldn't have understood a damn thing about them anyway. He sighed and as the coffees
warmed in the kettle he retrieved the jacket he had thrown on the boxes stacked in the hall.
Leon wasn't wrong, that house was a fucking mess and sooner or later he would have to do
something about it but not right then. He picked up the papers and threw the jacket
haphazardly back behind him, returning to the kitchen where the coffee was already
bubbling. He poured himself a generous mug of it and lit a cigarette while he straightened the
papers a bit. At least the alphabet was theirs and that was good news but his heart leaped in
his chest when he read that 'Dear Chris' at the top of the paper with the 'dear' crossed out and
corrected with a more neutral 'hi'. Leon had tried to write to him and Chris did not know what
to think about it. His first instinct was to throw that letter in the trash where it belonged but
the truth was, as hurt as he was, he wanted answers. So he began to read Leon's precise
handwriting, which was also obsessively neat. Typical.
Dear Hi Chris,
I'm not good at this and, to my recollection, I've never written a letter to anyone so it's going
to suck but I'm afraid this is the only way I can explain myself. Verbally I would do even
worse so screw it, let's get started.
In order to be clear, I have to take several steps back. After - on that 'after' Leon had lingered
his pen at the end of the r, going to create a speck of ink, a clear signal of his indecision -
Nicholai's death I was forced to enlist. I will not go into detail. They're not needed, and
besides, it's not like I had any other plans. I was a wreck and, at first, it took a lot of effort. I
didn't have the will or the strength to get out of bed and I wouldn't have if I hadn't had my
major instructor kicking my ass every morning for weeks. He is the man I intend to talk to
you about. Major Jack Krauser. I know you are wondering what he has to do with you and
Rockfort Island, please let me get there. Jack was a ruthless instructor. He did not accept
whining, being sluggish, or lack of determination. Never a reassurance, never a praise, no
bullshit. Doing our best was the bare minimum. Some of his training methods would make
your skin crawl, of that I am sure since you are his very opposite but he was exactly what I
needed. He was able to take the broken child I was, put it back together, and turn it into a
weapon. Just reading these words makes your blood boil, I know you a little by now but,
whatever you think, I will always be grateful to Jack for not giving up on me and squeezing
me so hard that I was forced to react and focus my energies on what my real goals were. Too
bad he never saw me achieving them.
I think it's clear that I hold him in high esteem, maybe even affection, and, no before you
wonder, there was never anything between us. I don't think he even considered me a friend,
really, and that was fine, if we had been too close I doubt things would have gone so
smoothly. I tend to screw up a lot when I get too involved. You know something about that. He
did for me what I did for you. How funny life is sometimes, you have the sea and I have the
mountain ridges. Sorry, that was an unnecessary consideration. Jack took me back to the
places that broke my soul and abandoned me to face my demons. If I really have to be honest,
I'm quite convinced that he would have let me die there, whereas I wasn't able to be as aloof
with you. I held your hand from the very beginning and never let you out of my sight because
- another hesitation and another speck of ink on the e - I care for you.
Chris' heart made a full twist in his chest while his mind was a victim of the whirlwind of
feelings he was experiencing. He had often had the impression that Leon, indeed, cared for
him but he had never been so outspoken about it.
I think you're a great guy and, I'm sure it will surprise you, I always thought so. I may be an
asshole but I'm not an idiot. In Raccoon, things had gone south pretty quickly between us
and, even if I still believe you bear the most of it, I'm to blame too for how we drifted apart. I
should have trusted you more, I should have told you about Nicholai… I should have told you
a great lot of things that you will never know. It was hard for me, too, and I tried my best just
as you did. The problem was that I couldn't really understand you, back then. I never had
anything but you already know it, don't you? I bet your friend Lord Ashford had made you
peek into my file. It's ok, I'm not mad. I don't quite understand why, though. Maybe you were
looking for yet another proof that I was or was not Umbrella. Once and for all, jerk, I never
was . Nicholai was. Remember I told you about getting lost in the forest looking for what was
left of Villa Spencer for my investigation? That was true, I faced the dogs and everything.
What I kept from you was that it was there that I first met Nicholai, when a zombie bear tried
to tear me apart and he saved my life. He knocked that giant thing down like it was nothing
and even though I was half out cold, it is to this day the coolest thing I have ever seen
anybody do. Along with you ripping a Tyrant's heart out with your bare hands. The sword
was also cool, I have to give you credit, very chivalrous, too bad you didn't have a white
horse too!
"Go fuck yourself!" Chris uttered but a little smile appeared on his lips while he blushed.
Sorry, I'm digressing again but I think it's important. If you've never had anything, it's hard to
imagine what it's like to lose everything. When we met I just scratched your surface and I
didn't know any better. I began to understand only after I lost the one person who was my
everything. There and then I felt your anger and experienced your madness on my very skin.
It was only because of you that I was able, after an initial moment of total annihilation, to
take them and lock them up inside me so that they could not hurt anyone else. You gave me
the best example of all, and if I had known in Raccoon what I know today, perhaps I really
would have been able to help you. Here comes the first reason for what I did in Rockfort
Island, assuming you're still reading this load of nonsense.
Anger is the best fuel but only in an engine that can channel it and you, unfortunately,
showed me in Raccoon that you were not capable of it. Don't think I didn't recognize the
incredible efforts you have made over the years, I did but it wasn't enough. I had to test you,
Chris, and not for revenge or spite but for you! You are a great captain, in your own way, too
soft for my liking but it's your method and I respect it. I had to make sure you would not put
them in danger to follow some crazy crusade in your head! I didn't know what you would do
once you learned of 'Wesker's presence' on the island and I was ready to teach you the lesson
of a lifetime if you had rallied the team to hunt me down. Yes, you had already told me you
would never do that but you told me a lot of crap in Raccoon too. Words are just words, it's
actions that count. I'm glad. No, I'm proud that you didn't because I know what happens
when a commander pulls ahead without looking back and you don't have the heart to deal
with the consequences. No one does but especially you because you care so fucking much! I
couldn't stand the idea of you waking up, one day, from a new excess of madness amidst the
corpses of your boys, unable to make up for it, so I started my show ready to enact that
nightmare if you lost your way again. Was it cruel? Very. Would I do it again? In the blink of
an eye. It's much better that I destroy you piece by piece leaving everybody alive than Wesker
or somebody else leaving you again as the sole survivor, and being hated by you is a price
I'm quite happy to pay, so, no, I'm not fucking sorry for it and I'll never be.
That brings us back to Jack. I had already mentioned that disastrous mission in South
America but I didn't tell you the whole story. Some of the soldiers died devoured by B.O.W.s,
others, as you know, were infected, and Jack, who was in charge of the mission, ordered them
to wait back while he and I continued with our heads down toward the objective. Not a
second's pause. Not a breath wasted. Straight to the enemy.
Chris noticed that since Leon had started talking about that mission his handwriting had
become less precise and his hand had begun to shake. He almost seemed to see him, sitting
on the bed with the notebook on his lap as he struggled to find the right words.
There was also a young girl with us. Her name was Manuela. She was
He turned the page eager to learn more and realized only then that that was the last one and
that there was nothing behind it, only blank. This filled him with frustrated bewilderment
because line after line he had become so engaged by the jumble of thoughts and emotions
Leon had managed to put on paper. Clearly, that had been the moment when he had reached
the boiling point and torn it all off. Why? Why leave him so fucking halfway through? He
was driving him so crazy! Before he even realized it, he was in his car, and within minutes,
he was already parking in front of his house. The darn bike was stationary in front of the
patio so Leon had to be home, which made him scale back his boldness. Once out of the car,
he hesitated because going to him meant giving him a second chance and he wasn't sure he
wanted to do that. Yes, the half-justifications Leon had written were convincing if he made an
effort to put himself in his shoes, but they were not enough to make him get over all the pain
he had endured because of him. Then he noticed the door was slightly ajar, and that was odd.
Confused and worried he climbed the two patio steps. The lock was not picked nor smashed,
so he pushed open the door, peering inside. The hallway light was on and Leon's boots were
abandoned just over the threshold.
"Hey, is everything okay in there?" He asked but received no answer. "I'm coming in," he
hastened to warn him.
He advanced with circumspection and the stench of alcohol punched him in the face from his
very first steps, yet this did not prepare him at all for the scene he faced as soon as he reached
the living room. Leon was lying on the floor in a pool of vodka and broken glass. In falling
he had smashed through the small glass table and spilled everything on it. He was crouched
on his side with his blond hair covering his face and one arm abandoned among the broken
glass.
"Leon!" Chris immediately rushed to him and knelt beside him, lifting him up. He was
wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, had several cuts on his arm, and was stone
cold. "Leon, for fuck's sake!" Chris shook him a little, grabbing the back of his neck to
support his head.
The other grunted and slowly squinted his eyelids. He was still drunk off his ass and it took
him a few moments even to realize that he was no longer alone.
"W-what?" He uttered, confused, and then groaned, weakly lifting his injured arm and seeing
the blood. "Fuck..." He whined. He pushed Chris away and got on all fours, the fucking room
was swirling around him and he felt so sick. He tried to get up but Chris had to grab him on
the fly, clamping an arm around his waist to keep him from falling back through the broken
glass, and Leon yelped in pain so loudly that it scared the shit out of him. He immediately let
go and saw him crawl behind the side of the couch and there lay his back clutching his knees
to his chest with absolute terror in his clear blue eyes.
When Chris approached him, he tried to hit him with a punch that blatantly missed the target.
The other blocked his wrist firmly but without squeezing too tightly.
"It's me, it's Chris," he told him, releasing it.
Leon gulped and blinked, completely lost. "Don't hurt me… P-please…" He begged him in a
thin voice that broke his heart.
"Of course not," he reassured him, "I just want to help you. Can I help you?" He asked him as
if he were talking to a child.
Leon frowned some more but then nodded weakly.
"Can you manage to walk?"

"Huh?"
Chris sighed. "I'll take it as a no. I'll pull you up, okay?"
Leon answered nothing and abandoned the back of his head against the edge of the sofa,
closing his eyes, exhausted.
"Okay, let's go." Chris moved to his side and after putting one hand under his knees and one
behind his back, stood up, holding him. "You weigh more than you look, you know that?" He
remarked to him.
"...Fuck you..." Leon whispered as his head fell back.
"Hey, no! Stay with me, don't pass out," Chris ordered him, walking toward the bedroom, still
remembering where it was from the tour with the housing agent. "I have to check on you
first."
The other mumbled something unintelligible but with an effort that seemed superhuman to
him, he pulled his head up to rest it against his shoulder.
"Way to go," Chris sighed, opening the door with a shrug, and he laid him on the bed, before
turning on the bedside lamp. "I'll go get something to medicate your arm, where do you keep
the first aid kit?"
Leon sagged onto the pillow without a word, so Chris quickly headed for the bathroom. It
was the most rational place. He opened the cabinet and there he found practically a small,
perfectly organized pharmacy. There was everything, painkillers, anxiolytics, sedatives,
bandages, gauze, band-aids, suture material, and ointments for bruises. Thank God Leon was
neat, at home he would have taken forever to find what he needed. He grabbed a little bit of
everything but the drugs and returned to the room, dumping everything on the bedside table
before pushing Leon further toward the center of the bed so he could sit beside him.
"I need your arm," he told him, gently grabbing his left wrist to stretch it out. He examined
the cuts. Fortunately, they were only superficial and free of glass fragments. "I'm afraid is
going to hurt a bit. Don't freak out, I'll do it in a jiffy."
As he wiped them clean and disinfected them, Leon did not let out a peep. He did not even
seem to realize it, and this alarmed Chris. How much it must have hurt when he had grabbed
him to make him scream like that? He hurried to put Band-Aids on him and then cleared his
throat, uncomfortable. "Can I...? I mean... Can I lift up your shirt?"
Leon raised his head from the pillow, thinning his eyes, confused. "What?"
"Your-the shirt. I have to look at your belly, you might have something there too, and it's also
soaked, you can't keep it on."
The other nodded and did his best to pull himself up but Chris still had to help him pull it off
his head. That done, Leon slumped back down flat on the mattress.
"Holy shit," Chris paled at seeing his livid abdomen and recognizing, on his skin, the
unmistakable bulge mark of the pipe he had used to defend himself when they had fought in
the dark. An inch higher and he would have smashed his ribs. He did not think he had hurt
him that much also because Leon had disguised it without pointing it out to him. Or, rather,
without burdening him with it. He felt so guilty even though it was not his fault. He
nervously searched through the boxes he had thrown on the nightstand until he found the
ointment. He didn't even know why he had taken it; in his rush, he had mistaken it for a
cicatrizer. He put some on his hands and then placed them on his belly.
"S-sorry!" He apologized when he heard him gasp.
"No," Leon uttered. "Cold."
Chris rubbed it on him gently, massaging his bruised skin with his fingertips, trying not to
think about how uncomfortable he was in doing so. Having his hands on Leon's body took his
breath away. His skin which had previously seemed cold to him was now so warm, and Chris
realized with anguish that, despite how messed up the situation was between them or how
confused he was about whether or not to give him another chance, he could in no way hold
back how much he physically craved him. It was like a terminal disease eating at him from
within that he could not escape. Frightened, he made the mistake of looking at his face, and
what he found in Leon's drunken eyes was pure, shameless lust. His cheeks had regained
some color and his full, rosy lips were half-closed in a slightly labored breath.
"W-we're almost done," Chris stammered and winced when the other grabbed his right wrist
forcing him to press his palm on his lower abdomen and then drag it down to the edge of his
sweatpants, which lowered, slack, going to show the first soft blond hairs of his groin, since
he had nothing else underneath.
"L-Leo- Chris gasped but the words died in his throat when the other grabbed hold of his
shirt to lift himself up and tried to kiss him. He barely managed to turn his face away and
found himself with his mouth pressed under his chin, hot and wet.
Leon did not flinch at all and accompanied the line of his jaw with a slow lapping, continuing
all the way under his ear.
"Fuck me," he whispered before nipping at his earlobe and sprinkling hungry kisses on his
neck as he lowered Chris' hand even further inside his sweatpants until it was between his
thighs, right over his boner.
Chris was paralyzed and had never felt so weak and dizzy in his entire life. His whole body
was on fire, his heart was exploding in his chest, and he was so hard it was painful. He felt
Leon's hand leave his shirt and go up to grope his chest as his mouth made its way under his
chin in an excruciatingly slow trail to his lips. It was at once torture and a dream come true,
and Chris wished with all his might to let go and surrender to oblivion.
But he couldn't and for more than one reason. The first: he was with Jill, he loved her, and
then Leon was so drunk he probably wasn't even aware of what he was doing. With the last
ounce of willpower, he got back up, causing him to fall down on the mattress and, panting,
shouted a desperate "Stop!"
Leon looked at him stunned for a moment, as if he didn't really understand, but then his
clouded mind gained enough clarity to realize what he had just done and that he had been
rejected. Again. Suddenly he felt so stupid and foul in front of what he interpreted as disdain
on Chris's face, and the drunkenness amplified his discomfort.
"I-I thought-I'm sorry!" He groaned, mortified, snuggling in on himself, hiding with his arms.
"I'm so fucking sorry..."
Chris wheezed but seeing him like this dulled his arousal and made him feel horrible because,
by rejecting him, he was making him believe something that wasn't true.
"It's okay," he forced himself to say, trying to comfort him by stroking his hair. "I'm not mad
at you," actually maybe he still was. Not about what had just happened, about everything else
but he certainly could not expect Leon to be able to tell the difference in the state he was in.
"Go away…" He heard him sigh. "Just go away."
Chris did so without question, and when he was in the hallway, he let himself slide to the
floor with his back against the wall right next to the door and burst into silent tears.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As with every chapter, my heartfelt thanks to all of you readers, kudoers, commentators,
SMALL SERVICE COMMUNICATION: next week I'm messed up, I have an exam
(which I won't pass because I literally haven't opened book) for which I'll have to travel
to the bottom of Tuscany (I live in the north), so next Wednesday I'll be leaving in the
afternoon and returning, probably more dead than alive, on Thursday evening
(hopefully). So, I will try to get the chapter to you on Tuesday but if I really don't
manage to finish writing something decent I may be forced to delay it until Friday. I'm
very sorry but I was only informed of the date of this exam this week so I couldn't
organize myself (nor bloody study but I must try it anyway, wish me luck XD) in time
and I didn't even want to halve the current chapter precisely because I wanted to get to
the point where I finished it.
Coming now to the commentary. What a mess! These two will drive me crazy, they are
so smitten with each other it's ridiculous! Yet, they manage to make disaster upon
disaster. Or rather, Leon does them, Chris is doing great all the time (except with Jill,
you shouldn't lie to her, you big dummy!).
In this chapter, we started to see, with that incomplete letter, how Leon reasons, and if
you think that's fucked up, know that I totally agree. In a sense, he has a point since he's
been the main victim of Chris's paranoia throughout the entire Raccoon City arc and it
stands to reason that he doesn't want others to suffer the same fate. Yet, it was very cruel
indeed.
There's another important reason that relates to what happened in South America, Jack
Krauser and Manuela, but Leon didn't want to go there because, unlike the rest, that's
still too fresh a trauma. We will discover more, as soon as these two idiots are able to
talk like two normal people.
Chris also got a foretaste of how fragile Leon really is, because the first thing our poor
cat did as soon as he got home was to drink himself into unconsciousness. Obviously,
this is his (wrong) way of coping with everything that happened in Rockfort Island.
Leon does not have a cruel disposition by nature, so hurting Chris, even with all the
justifications in the world, breaks him just as much as the consequences: being looked at
with suspicion by the whole team and losing Chris leaving him alone in the rain. I think
that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Since the first chapter of this story Leon
has been longing not to be alone, to have friends and a companion beside him but he has
reached a point where he doesn't even know how to reach out anymore and this is very
sad. He has reached a point where he is surviving but not really living. Drinking so
much is not exactly new for him, nor is using sex as another way to take his mind off
things, so it is not surprising that he hit heavily on poor Chris who, once again, received
the scare of a lifetime. As the never-too-much lamented Alfred wisely analyzed, one of
the problems between the two of them is that Leon is always too direct, almost brutal in
his approaches, and Chris is never ready and always comes out traumatized.
In any case, the noose is tightening around them and Chris will not be able to escape
forever even though he would never take advantage of Leon's drunkenness. Our big
dummy has many flaws but he is a gentleman in his own way.
I am really curious what you think about the current situation, so let me know if you
like!
Now I have to rush out because this bloody day is not over yet (I also had a two-hour
meeting at work this afternoon - how long until June???).
Thank you very much for everything as always!
A very big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 95
Chapter Notes
Leon was awakened by a ray of sunlight shining straight into his eyes from the ajar curtains.
He rolled onto his side, covering his face. His head hurt so much that it seemed as if he had a
jackhammer drilling inside his skull. He had never been good at keeping himself on a leash
when it came to drinking and, for that matter, he was not surprised that he felt like shit. What
stunned him greatly was that he had managed to make it all the way to the bed, since he had
stuck to the bottle in the living room and imagined he would collapse there. He noticed the
patches on his arm and complimented his drunken self as he was becoming more and more
self-sufficient.
He couldn't remember shit and it wasn't the first time. He had dozens if not hundreds of
evenings of which he could remember nothing, not even how many he had slept with. He had
often woken up in strangers' beds in the company of a guy or several guys he didn't even
know he had ever seen, let alone the rest. Not that in the shithole where he was now, there
was any risk that he had fucked anyone. Well, looking on the bright side, at least he would be
spared the self-loathing and grossness since he hated sleeping with strangers after getting
laid. Staying the night with someone was something intimate while sex was just a basic urge
and the latter was what he always searched for from his one-night stands. Nothing else.
"What a fucking mess..." He mumbled, seeing the medication boxes scattered on the bedside
table and the floor.
He picked them up and walked out into the hallway, past the living room, and into the
bathroom without looking around.
Chris, half dozing on the couch, almost had a heart attack when he saw him pass by like that
but before it could occur to him to make his presence known, Leon had already closed the
door behind him.
During the night, after an initial moment when he had had the instinct only to run as far away
as possible, Chris had stayed because it would have been irresponsible to leave the other
alone in that condition. No, the truth was that his choice had not been dictated by common
sense but by the gripping, irrepressible dread that something might happen to him. After
Leon had fallen asleep, he had checked on him obsessively to ensure he was okay, and when
his breathing had become regular, he had cleaned the entire living room for him.
He was fine now, though. He could walk away and avoid a confrontation he had no idea how
to deal with. Go where, though? He certainly could not avoid Leon forever, and if they really
had to talk about what had happened, it was better to do it there, in private, than at the base,
where someone might hear them.
So he waited, listening to the water running in the shower.

Leon took fucking forever to get out of the bathroom and did so with only a towel around his
waist and his hair still dripping.
Chris cleared his throat and he jumped back, lifting his head up sharply. The towel slipped,
getting in his way, and, by some miracle, he did not end up sprawled on the floor. He pulled it
up, covering his groin, and looked at him with wide eyes.
"You scared the living shit out of me! What the fuck?!" He yelled with flushed cheeks
fumbling with the towel to put it back on his waist.
Chris indulged in a defeated smile because Leon was so fucking funny at that moment.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to but since you didn't notice me before I had to let you know I was here
somehow."
"Why! How did you even get in?"
"You left the door open."
He saw Leon's face indulge in a panicked wince that he managed to bring back under control
almost immediately. It was impressive how good he was at dissimulation, little bloody liar.
"I found you passed out on the floor, remember?" Chris helped him.
Leon slowly shook his head, paralyzed like a deer in the headlights. "I'm going to put some
clothes on."
He rushed to his room and slammed the door behind him. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" He
hissed in full panic mode, throwing the towel away. He was well aware that he was unreliable
while drunk. What did he say to him? What did he do?! What if he had hit on him? Fuckin
hell, who did he want to fool? He was a filthy slut and Chris was the embodiment of
everything he had always dreamed of in a guy, of course, he had hit on him! He wanted to
sink into the floor and bloody die there!
He furiously opened the wardrobe, and put some pants on, a pair of jeans, and a white T-shirt
but once dressed he froze. He didn't want to leave the room and he considered jumping out of
the window and just running.
"Are you dead in there?" Chris' voice from the living room made him wince.
"Coming!" He yelled back, surrendering to the almost certain humiliation he was about to
face. He put the rolled-up towel around his neck and came back to him, avoiding looking in
his direction.
"Where's the coffee table?" He frowned.
Chris sighed. "You smashed it by falling on it. The glass is gone and the stand is broken in
two. Pretty much ready to be thrown away."
"Shit, it was the owner's grandmother's.... I'll take what's left to a carpenter to salvage it,
somehow. Did you clean up?"
Chris nodded but even he was doing his best not to meet his gaze. There was a heavy air,
cloaked in awkwardness.
"Look," Leon took courage, clearing his throat, "if I've done anything... inappropriate, I'm so
sorry."
The other shuddered a little. "No. No, don't worry, you haven't!" He hastened to say in a
slightly choked voice.
Leon scoffed and for the first time looked him straight in the face. "You are such a terrible
liar," he teased him at the sight of his vermilion cheeks. "What have I done?"
"You tried to kiss me."
"And what else?" Leon investigated. "Come on, I know me."
"You stuck my hand down your trousers but who cares? You were drunk, it's okay."
He shook his head, making a few drops fall from his blond hair. "It's not. As absurd as it may
sound to you I value consent."
"What about your consent? You were drunk off your ass, I could have been anyone and done
anything to you!" Chris became annoyed.
Leon reached over to pick up the packet of cigarettes he had abandoned on the armrest of the
sofa and lit one. "My consent is always granted," he replied, a little scornful and a little self-
loathing.
"Well, that's bullshit!" Chris objected, horrified at even the idea. "As well as being extremely
irresponsible for so many different reasons!"
Leon chuckled bleakly, snuggling into the armchair. "You're such a boy scout," he
commented, rolling his eyes.
"And you're a fucking-
"Slut, I know,'" the other concluded for him.
Chris scowled. "I would never have said that, nor do I think so, you dickhead!" He growled at
him.
"But it's the truth," Leon shrugged, inhaling a drag from his cigarette. "Oh, you poor thing,
you think last night's was an extraordinary occurrence? No, Chris, it was a normal day off
with the only difference being that in this shithole I have nowhere to go. Not that it's any of
your business anyway."
"Why do you always have to be like this, uh?!" Chris attacked him. "Why can't you just
throw down the fake mask you wear and stop being an asshole?!"
Leon laughed wickedly. "But I am an asshole!" He replied, venomous. "And as for being
fake, you can write a bloody book, you fucking coward!" He realized a moment too late that
he had said too much.
"Coward?! What is that supposed to mean?!" Chris yelled.
Leon stood up, of course he was referring to his little secret about his swing with Lord
Ashford but he didn't actually want to address that topic in such a way, so he stood up and
moved to the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and took a bottle of bourbon but before he could
even uncork it, Chris snatched it from his hands.
Leon glared at him. "I need a drink!"
"The hell you do!" The other thundered, holding it tightly.
"Who the fuck do you think you are to judge me?!"
"I'm not judging you, I'm trying to help you!"
"Until yesterday you wouldn't even look me straight in the face!"
Chris took a step back, outraged. "I beg your pardon?! I came here to give you another
fucking chance after everything you did to me and THIS is the treatment I get?! You are
unbelievable! A true masterpiece! I can make an effort to understand your side of the story
about everything else, but I'm certainly not going to praise you if I find you one step away
from an alcoholic coma and you tell me you're getting fucked while drunk by who knows
who on a daily basis! For fuck's sake, do you hear yourself?! I can't believe that even now
you think you're right, you deluded, deranged brat!"
"Oh, are you playing father to me, now? Fuck off!" Leon snorted.
"Well, someone should because you're a loose cannon and I feel like an idiot for realizing it
so late! You are not well! You are so far from it that you have lost all sense of proportion!
You're fucked up from head to toe!"
"So what? It's not your place to deal with it. One more month, two, three? What difference
does it make? In a short while you can forget about me as you did for the past six years!"
"But I do care, you idiot! You wrote it! I care so fucking much!"
Leon winced, baring his eyes in realization, and anger pervaded him. "You read... Who the
fuck gave you the right?!"
"It was directed at me, wasn't it?" Chris objected, confronting him with a hard face. "Unless
I'm missing some other Chris around here."
"I had thrown it away!" Screamed the other, and there was again that spark of panic in his
eyes that allowed Chris to realize that Leon was not angry. He was hurt and attacking was the
only strategy he had to get himself out of a situation that made him feel uncomfortable. It was
why he had been so brutal and direct in confessing his crazy nights; Leon wanted to shock
him, disgust him, and make him leave. All the pieces were falling into place. Neither he nor
that Major Krauser he so idolized had fixed nor transformed anything. Leon was not a
weapon. He was lethal, yes, but he was still that kid who had ended up in the emergency
room because his own mother had broken his arm, the same one his schoolmates bullied
mercilessly, the very same who had been beaten up by his ex-boyfriend and his friends as
soon as he returned home from Raccoon City, and Chris had never been more grateful to
Alfred for killing them all than in that moment.
He grabbed him by the wrist before Leon could escape through the French doors that
overlooked the back patio right by the beach.
"Let me go!"
"No." Chris held him firmly but not too tightly. "Calm down. The first thing you asked me
last night was not to hurt you, I told you I just wanted to help and you accepted that, why
don't you take it now?"
Leon gave him a look that, although still fully hostile, was also hesitant, and this gave Chris
time to push a little more.
"You wanted to tell me your side of the story," he continued while keeping his tone as calm as
possible, "and I'm more than willing to listen and talk about it together."
"Your phone is ringing," was the dry reply Leon gave him, breaking free from his grip.
Chris looked at who the caller was. "I have to pick it up. Don't run away."
Leon watched him step out onto the patio as he put the phone to his ear with a, "Yes, Clive,
tell me."
He left him alone and slipped into the bathroom, where he combed his hair and dried it,
putting it perfectly in place. Shit, he knew writing that letter had been a mistake ever since he
had put the first word on paper! Why was Chris so doggedly insistent? Why wouldn't he just
leave? What did he have to do to get him out of his sight? Treat him with a puppy and kill it?
He couldn't take it anymore but it was all his fault. He had put himself in that situation when
he had taken the job from that asshole Lansdale and now he didn't know what to do anymore
because, for the second time, he was letting himself get carried away with a crush on the very
same guy who wanted nothing to do with him but still stuck to him like a mussel to a rock!
He returned to the living room although he had neither the desire nor the strength. Chris's
mood had changed, he was very tense again, he could tell by his posture, the way he was
pacing back and forth like a caged lion, and the way he was breathing.
"Shit, what the fuck did I do now?" He asked him, in surrender.

This seemed, again, to placate Chris, who looked at him displeased. "Nothing. It's not always
your fault. You really should stop thinking so."
Leon chuckled, shaking his head, and took the opportunity to take a sip of bourbon, since he
had abandoned the bottle on the couch.
"Put it down, I need you." Chris glared at him.
Leon huffed but obeyed, throwing it back between the cushions. "So?"
"Clive read me some passages from the report on our island drill. They wrote that we failed
and blamed us for everything."
"What?!" Leon moved to his laptop, abandoned on the desk, and opened it to check the
emails. The report had been forwarded to him as well, of course, and as he read his outrage
grew exponentially. It basically said that not only was the F.B.C. unaware of the presence of
such a dangerous B.O.W. at the training site but blamed the B.S.A.A. for releasing it when
their hacker, namely Quint, had tampered with the island's security systems to reactivate
communications and, subsequently, had also activated the self-destruct system. The F.B.C.
relieved itself, therefore, of all responsibility for what had happened and added that if the
team had followed the path set by the session they would not only have succeeded in
completing the mission in an acceptable time but also would not have caused the destruction
of a nerve center for the training and defense of the United States of America, so they asked
the committee not only to cease all relations with the B.S.A.A. but to indict every single
member of it for espionage and sabotage.
"I'm going to burn this son of a bitch," Leon growled, closing the laptop violently. He turned
to Chris with living fire in his eyes. "Did Quint manage to get what he was searching for
from the console? Don't look at me like that, I saw him when I entered the room, even a blind
man would have guessed it! Why do you think I shot the camera?"
Chris shook his head, dejected and distressed. "He didn't make it in time. We have no
evidence, we're screwed."
"No, you're not," Leon blurted out. He pondered what to do for a few moments as he
searched for his cell phone. "Tell O'Brian to stand down, or have him start looking for a
lawyer. Distract him, waste his time. I don't care how but don't make him act for any reason,"
he ordered him.
"Why? We have to defend ourselves!" Chris objected. "That's not how things happened, you
can testify to that!"
Leon shook his head. "This is not a trial, yet, it's an evaluation committee, it's politics, a
playground you know shit about. Let me handle it," he told him but his firmness faltered in
the face of his suspicious gaze. "Chris, I'm your best shot."
"Tell me what you plan to do, then."

Leon shook his head again, sulking. "I can't. I really can't. Shit, Chris... You have no idea
how fucked up this system is. I know someone who might have the power to help you but I
can't talk to you about him until he authorizes me to do so."
Chris looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why is it always like this with you?"
He groaned. "Why do I always have to have fucking faith in you?!"
"Why don't you ever trust me?" Leon answered him curtly.
"Really? Maybe it's because the one time I did you made me think you were Wesker and I
almost killed you?!"
"You didn't almost kill me!" He fought back, annoyed.
"Oh no?' I saw your belly last night! It's a miracle I didn't break through your rib cage!" Chris
snarled.
Leon wrinkled his face with his hands, beyond exhausted. "It doesn't matter now!" He
whined, only to shrug it off. "All right, I'll tell you what: you sit tight doing what I say, and
since you want to try to listen to me, I'll tell you everything you want to know. About
Krauser, about South America, whatever, deal?" He proposed, stretching his hand in his
direction.
Chris frowned at it for a very long moment before inhaling gravely. "Start now," he hissed at
him, squeezing it harder than he had to.
Leon waved his hand, sore. "I can't now, I have to make phone calls, do some digging and
figure out how much shit we're in but I will, I swear. Now go and for fuck's sake don't say
anything to your team. We both know Quint would try to do something stupid and the F.B.C.
systems will be on high alert more than ever. We can't afford any bullshit, all clear? One
misstep and it's over, I'm serious."
Chris didn't like that answer and it showed clearly on his face but he nodded. "Don't fuck
with me again or I swear I'll kill you this time," he threatened him and he wasn't kidding
either.
Days went by and Leon did not deign to contact him again or respond to his text messages or
phone calls. Chris had even passed by his house a couple of times but the only one he tried to
ring the doorbell, the other did not open. He was getting worried not only about the fate of
the organization but also about the well-being of that idiot. Nothing could guarantee him that
he had not drunk himself to death and was now rotting on the living room floor.
"Do you want more ribs?!" Parker shouted at him to overpower the deafening volume of
music that Keith was blaring across the courtyard of the base where they had finally
organized the longed-for barbecue.
Chris shook his head and answered him.

"What?!"
"I'm not hungry!" He repeated, yelling back, and it was true, he had just touched his portion,
which by now had gone cold on his plastic plate. He stood up, abandoning it on the table, and
looked around. "Jesus..." He commented in a half-voice upon noticing that there were so
many people. Too many. Not only members of other teams but also from the village,
especially pretty girls that he hoped were of age. Thank God Clive was overseas or he would
have slaughtered Quint, Keith, and even him for giving them carte blanche for that party. He
marched menacingly toward the first of the two imbeciles and grabbed him by the arm,
dragging him all the way to the training track.
"What the fuck is this?!" He snarled in his face, pointing at the chaos.
Quint made an innocent face and shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno!" He replied, half tipsy.
"Keith made the invitations." It was a lie, he had, but he was always ready to throw his best
friend under the bus when it suited him. Then he passed an arm around his shoulders. "Come
on, man! It's just a bit of healthy fun, stop being a sourpuss!"
"Yeah, tell me again when the cops come! If Clive finds out, he'll impale us!"
Quint laughed. "Don't tell him!" He exclaimed, patting him on the back. "Just enjoy the
evening, we deserve it. You do too." He moved to throw himself back into the hubbub but
stopped after a few steps. "Not to make your lousy mood even worse but do you know
anything about Pretty?" He asked him, genuinely interested. "The others don't know, but,
well, I texted him to invite him, this morning. He wrote 'No, thanks,' so, at least he's alive,
but, I mean, we haven't seen him in days and-
"Wait a second, he texted you back?" Chris snapped at him. "This morning?"
Quint raised an eyebrow, taken aback. "Yeah, he's always nice to me. Maybe because I've
treated him well. It's like that with him, the more you make him uncomfortable, the more he
puffs up and becomes a jerk. You just have to stroke him the right way and he purrs like a
kitten. I'm kinda worried for him at this point."
"Whatever!" Chris hissed, jealous, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Look at that! My favorite captain!" Jessica exclaimed, storming over. "You get the fuck out
of here," she growled, pushing poor Quint away. She was wearing a short black dress so tight
that it left little to the imagination. It fit her like a second skin and had openings that exposed
her hips and décolleté, closed only by a strand of purple netting. Her hair was tied in a high
ponytail and she had impeccable makeup. She was not very elegant, but she was beautiful in
a breathtaking way nonetheless. Not that Chris cared much.
Quint beat a retreat when she stuck a very eloquent heel on his boot and left his captain to his
fate, which, all things considered, was not even that bad. On the contrary! He would try his
luck between Jessica's thighs anytime, and whatever if, in the end, he would die decapitated
as with a mantis. It would have been worth it.
"You looked so sad, I thought I'd cheer you up a little," she mewed, approaching Chris.
"Here, this is for you. Sex on the Beach, I made it with my own little hands." She winked,
handing him one of the two glasses she was carrying.
Chris couldn't help but hear Jill's voice calling Jessica a slut in his mind. It almost made him
laugh in her face but he managed to keep himself polite. "Thank you," he replied, accepting
the offer and taking a sip. It sucked, it was pretty much all vodka, which he definitely didn't
like, with maybe two drops of fruit juice, but he kept it to himself.
Jessica took him by the arm. "Why don't we get away from this mess, you can't hear anything
and I want to talk to you," she urged him, starting to walk, and he, though feeling strongly
uncomfortable, followed. They sat on the wall at the end of the training track, and when he
pulled out his cell phone, which had started vibrating in his pocket, Jessica snatched it out of
his hand and threw it into the grass before he could even see who was calling.
"Didn't Mommy ever tell you it's rude not to pay attention to a lady?" She scolded him,
hugging his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder.
"Jess, this could be important," Chris protested.
"No. This is a night of celebration for everyone, we're alive. Screw the rest!"
He sighed, aware that he would not be able to shake her off until he gave her all the attention
she demanded. "So? What did you want to talk to me about?"
Jessica looked skyward at the full moon that was illuminating them. "It's a little chilly, don't
you think?"
He took advantage of that externalization to pull her a little away from himself and took off
the khaki shirt he wore over his short-sleeved T-shirt. "Here, take it. I'm fine."
Jessica put it on with a strange little smile and then went back to hugging his arm anyway.
"You're such a nice guy," she told him, stroking his exposed bicep with her hands.
"Jess, what is it?" He insisted, nervous. On the phone, it was probably Jill but it could also be
Leon. He wanted to pick it up and check on it so badly.
"I've noticed that there are things bothering you, the last few days, even though you haven't
told us anything," she resumed. "I don't like to see you worried. It's because of Kennedy, isn't
it?"
He stiffened. "I appreciate your concern but-
"Forget that asshole," she advised him, reaching out a hand to his chest. "There are many,
many more fish in the sea, you know that, right?" Her tone had become lower and hotter.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bite her lip as her hand almost clawed at his
breastplate. "Okay, Jess, listen-
In a second, she jumped on his lap and covered his mouth with a finger. "Shh! I know, I
know, all these months all alone must have been really-really hard, for you but I have the
solution," she whispered, languidly.
Chris was completely frozen and panicked. He desperately wanted to get out of that situation
but, at the same time, he did not know how because he did not want to hurt her or her feelings
as he had done with Leon. He felt revulsion when she threw her arms around his neck and
pressed herself even more onto him, and if with Jill he had always managed to at least
pretend to be interested, at that moment he just felt like throwing up.
"Jessica-
"Don't worry, handsome, I can keep a secret, let it go," she insisted, blind and deaf to his
discomfort. "I want to reveal one to you, though," she brought her lips close to his ear even if
she wasn't whispering at all. "I'm not wearing any panties and I want my strict captain to
punish me for being suuuch a nasty rookie!"
"A-hem!" A few steps away from them, Leon cleared his throat and Chris felt his heart stop
in his chest. It was him on the fucking phone!
Jessica jumped up like a fury. "Get the fuck out of here! You weren't invited!" She attacked
him, confronting him.
Leon didn't even give her a glance and walked past her. "I need to talk to you," he blurted
toward Chris, cold as an open icebox.
"J-Jessica, leave us," Chris ordered in a choked voice, and when she did, he gave the other a
miserable look. "I swear it's not as it-
"Didn't ask, don't give a fuck," Leon hissed. "I need you to go home and pack. We're leaving
for a few days."
"Huh?"
"I didn't stutter and I won't repeat myself. Just pick me up when you're done. There are no
flights before the day after tomorrow, so we drive. Ah, put in a suit too. I'll see you later. Get
a move on, you'll punish your nasty rookie when we get back." With that said, he turned on
his heel and went back the way he came.
"But I wasn't... And I don't have a suit! What the hell?! Leon, wait!" Chris tried to chase after
him but in the time it took him to retrieve the phone, Leon slipped into the dancing crowd,
disappearing from his sight and when he reached the parking lot he was already through the
gates on his bloody motorcycle. Chris could do nothing but get into the car and do as he told
him. He went into the house and threw everything he might need into a duffel bag, even
managing to find a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts that were less wasted than others.
They weren't a suit but they were still decent.
In less than twenty minutes he was already on the porch of Leon's house and, once again,
found the door ajar.
"I'm coming in!" He informed him.
"Take off your fucking shoes!" Leon yelled to him from the bedroom, and he, although he
found it ridiculous, obeyed.
"Holy shit..." He uttered when he entered the living room and saw that every surface starting
from the floor, except for a small passageway leading to the other rooms, was covered with
papers perfectly organized in a concentric fashion. In the center stood a stack with a picture
of Lansdale on top, on which Leon had plunged a knife.
"Don't touch anything or I'll cut your hands off! I'm coming, give me a minute!"
Chris had heard the threat loud and clear but could not resist the urge to pry. He bent down
and examined the stack of papers in front of him. They were all information about VELTRO,
all perfectly cataloged. In the ones next to them, all available data on the various known
members of the terrorist organization were collected. It was an incredible job.
"This is what you have been doing for the past three days? All by yourself?" He asked,
amazed and admiring when Leon appeared on the threshold with a suitcase that seemed to
weigh a ton.
"I told you not to touch anything," Leon hissed, still pissed about catching him with Jessica.
"I didn't mess them up, I was just looking."
"Take this," Leon ordered him, leaving the suitcase down beside him and then zigzagging
through the papers to retrieve a book on the desk.
"What the fuck did you put in here, bricks?"
Leon passed him and took a garment bag in which he had placed his suit so that it would not
crumple, from the bathroom. "You're a big boy, don't complain. Let's go."
"Can I at least know what the fuck is going on?" Chris exclaimed, following him outside.
"We have the whole trip," huffed the other, opening the trunk. He wrinkled his nose at the
mess inside but decided to gloss over it. "Where's your suit?"
"I told you before: I don't have one."
"Another fucking problem to solve. Whatever, we'll see about that when we get there."" Leon
preceded him inside.
"There-where, if you don't mind?"
"London."
"It's almost a six-hour drive!" Chris protested.

"If you're tired we can switch halfway," Leon proposed, opening the book he had taken
inside.
Chris paled, remembering their last drive together. "No fucking way! Over my dead and
rotten body!"
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my darlings!
As always my deep thanks to all of you amazing readers, kudoers, subscribers,
commenters, and bookmarkers <3!
So, as I announced to you, this week's chapter is coming a day early, I hope you don't
mind too much. Tomorrow afternoon I leave to go take that test that I will not pass and I
have hours of train time ahead of me, so I could not have posted also because I will not
have my PC with me.
Next week is also a mess because, at work, they have placed a meeting for me just on
Wednesday afternoon. Again, I will try my best not to delay but I will have very little
time to write in the next few days, so if the chapter slips to next Thursday or Friday I
apologize in advance.
Another thing I forgot to mention in the past few because - I'm shit-headed- is that I
completely retconned Terragrigia's solar laser. Those who have played RE Revelations
know exactly what I'm talking about, but for everyone else: basically, the solar laser is a
satellite attack system that allows the F.B.C. to burn dozens and dozens of square miles
from space. In my humble opinion, it's crap because, even assuming it is possible to
build one, it would be too powerful a weapon that could be used to solve any possible
future outbreak. Wekser in Africa? Solar laser! Outbreak in China? Solar laser! I think
you get my point, so, yes, even in my story Terragrigia was destroyed but by an ordinary
bombing.
Coming now to the chapter commentary: Leon and Chris are now in the 'we argue
constantly because there is so much sexual tension that it is impossible to think straight'
stage. Joking aside, Chris is right about a lot of things in this chapter, especially those
concerning Leon's unhealthy habits. It is not that the latter is unaware that he is self-
destructing but the reality is that he does not care. As came out of an exchange with a
kind reader, Leon is completely messed up. Except for his time with Nicholai, he has
known only abusive and violent situations and although he is not openly suicidal, he is
always putting himself in situations where he can get very hurt or risk his life. He deeply
despises himself and desperately needs someone to love and care for him (as well as a
whole range of specialized care that, alas, he will never get).
On a lighter note, both idiots are extremely jealous of each other. Chris is pissed that
Leon responds to Quint's messages and not his own, while Leon's blood went to his
brain when he saw Chris with Jessica. Speaking of which, poor Chris, the people around
him just can't keep their hands off him, and he is too dumb to defend himself or to
realize that he is getting himself into an unpleasant situation. However, this also allowed
us to see how gay he is. If with Jill, with whom he has a deep connection, he manages
(badly) to engage in sexual intercourse, with Jessica he felt like throwing up, while with
Leon he was so hard he felt like crying. Chris, how much more proof do you need, my
boy? Come on!
Now these two are going to take a nice little trip to London (a city I really love) and who
knows if the spark there will finally ignite them!
A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 96
Chapter Notes
Hello, my dears,
small communication up here because I feel like shit! I apologize to all my beloved
commenters because I haven't been able to respond to you yet and I won't be able to
today either. I'm still at work, on a break between meetings (and I truly hope they can't
see what I'm doing with the school wi-fi, but I'm using my personal laptop, so it should
be okay XD), and yesterday I barely managed to finish the chapter. I promise I will put
an end to this rude mistake tomorrow!
More info down below and so sorry again!

Lady S.
"Are you so uncomfortable with me that you felt the need to bring a book to read?" Chris
asked after almost an hour of traveling in complete silence.
"I am uncomfortable with you. It's not a reading book. It's work," Leon answered him briefly
without taking his eyes off the page.
"Really? You're looking for a way to frame Lansdale in a book?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know yet. Just a hunch."
Chris's attention lit up. "Meaning? You're damn good at it."
"Don't try to butter me up."
"I'm not!" Chris protested. "Whatever I did to you, I'm sorry, okay? Can we move on?" He
asked him only to remember that he was actually the one who should still be pissed off, not
the damn opposite! In any case, Leon remained silent, focused on his reading.
Chris huffed.
"Can you not?" The other snapped. "You're loud and distracting!"
"If you don't cut it out, in thirty seconds you'll have all the silence you want on the side of the
road!"
Leon lifted his head in a motion of annoyance and rolled his eyes, before turning to look at
him. "What?"
Chris counted to ten so as not to lose patience. "I wasn't making fun of you, I really think
you're good. I even told you in Raccoon that you would make an incredible detective."
"No, you didn't."
Chris winced, taken aback. "Shit, I was sure I did. Well, I certainly thought so, and I had
proof. Remember when you gave me your impressions of that poem we found at Birkin's
house? Aside from recognizing it was Alfred's, you nailed it. Everything in it: the
personification of the seasons, the relationships between the people mentioned, so you'll
excuse me if when you tell me you have a hunch I want to listen to you."
"That is the worst compliment anyone has ever paid me, well done!" Leon ironized but
although he did not want to show it, he softened a little. "I would have liked to be a
detective..." He admitted wistfully. "Instead, I won to deal with this shit until I croak, lucky
me! Anyway, I noticed from reading and listening to Lansdale's statements that he tends to
use a lot of figurative speech. Metaphors, similes, that stuff, you know?"
"Not at all but if you say so I trust you."
"For once," Leon hissed, not missing an opportunity to be venomous.
Chris averted his eyes from the road to shoot him a look between exasperated and pleading.
He did not feel like arguing least of all for another five hours.
Leon sighed. "At first I thought they were simple biblical references but that's not quite right,
they come from here." He closed the book, keeping a finger inside so as not to miss the point
he had arrived at, and showed him the title. "The Divine Comedy."
"Oh, yes, I saw that O'Brian had started reading it too, after Terragrigia. What's it about, is it
funny?"
"Jesus Christ..." Leon covered his face with his free hand.
"Hey, I don't even know our authors let alone the Italian ones, give me a break!"
"I'm surprised you can read, to begin with," Leon huffed.
Chris became irritated and clenched his hands on the steering wheel. "You know, you're
really good at impersonating Wesker! You come off great even when you're not trying!"
"Touchy."
"Fuck you! In fact, no, can you tell me how the hell you knew he had trained me to fight in
the dark and that he used to leave messages around to mock me and the others in sessions?"
Leon inhaled deeply. "I'd rather dodge this one."
"Forget it, you said you'd respond, so start or I really will leave you in the middle of this
fucking nothing."
"Going to London is an attempt to save your ass and that of your entire organization. You're
not driving me there to do me a favor!"
"Just answer!"
"Fine! At Birkin's house, I found a bundle of letters. They were all from Wesker. There,
among other things, he talked a lot about his days, his work at S.T.A.R.S., your training, and
some of the cases you had taken on. Very meticulous and precise, I have to give him credit."
"Why didn't you tell me then?"
"I really don't remember."
"Liar!"
Leon furrowed his brow. "Whatever," he closed the conversation, reopening the book.
Chris snatched it from his hands and flung it onto the back seats.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"Be thankful I didn't throw it straight out the damn window! Why didn't you tell me?" Chris
insisted.
"I don't know!"
"You remember everything!"
"My ass!" Leon objected, hurt. "I only remember what's important or what affected me in
some way! We dug in that room for hours! Maybe you had gone to take a dump! Maybe I
did! I.DO.NOT.REMEMBER. Should I spell it out for you?" He mumbled for a few
moments, crossing his arms over his chest and sulking. "And anyway, I didn't find out they
were Wesker's until much later. Years. When... It doesn't matter. You don't believe me
anyway. Before you ask, yes, Wesker was also talking about you and no, you don't want to
know what he wrote."
"I can imagine," Chris muttered.
No, you can't. Leon merely thought it because he did not want to be forced to tell him.
Whenever Wesker mentioned him it was almost always to denigrate him but there had been a
letter that had made his skin crawl in which Wesker probably answered some question that
Birkin had asked since he had started it with a sardonic 'My dear Jealous', and said that Chris
was nothing more than a handsome puppet and that, yes, maybe sooner or later he would fuck
him, even rape him, just to get it off his chest because, after all, he could do anything to him
and his stupid toy would not only say 'Yes, sir!' but would also thank him afterward. He had
also written that he was getting bored of abusing only his mind and someday he would force
him into submission, especially if Chris continued to dare to open his stupid mouth to
question him. It had been such an unfiltered sequence of cruelty and sadism that Leon had
been deeply shaken by it and even now, at the mere recollection of it, he felt sick to his
stomach.
Despite how much Chris infuriated him, he was a good guy, capable, sweet, and smart. He
didn't deserve what Wesker had done to him, much less what he wanted to do to him. That
was another good reason to deal with that piece of shit alone.
"I'm nothing like Wesker," he declared, annoyed. "I'm not perfect, and yes, I have more flaws
than anything else, but he is what I most abhor in humanity. So knock it off with the
comparisons."
"And you've never even met him," Chris decided to joke to ease the tension.
"I don't need to."
"Let's go back to Lansdale, shall we?"
Leon nodded without softening his expression much. "The Divine Comedy is not a comedy
as you understand it but let's not get lost in that. As I think you know, although you were not
directly involved in the mission to Terragrigia-
"I wasn't because Clive knows me and he also knew he couldn't bring a hothead like me as a
mere observer."
"A good call on his part indeed. Anyway, if it is rational that Lansdale might have started
using phrases and quotes taken from Dante's Commedia-
"Do you speak Italian now, too?"
"No. Will you ever let me finish a sentence without interrupting? God, I'm beginning to
understand why you were doing poorly in school-you have the attention span of a three-year-
old. Give me a cigarette."
"Sorry, teacher!" Chris retorted, taking one for himself and throwing the pack in his face
playfully.
Leon shook his head, amused and slightly exasperated, and waited for the other to give him
the lighter. "I was saying that there would be nothing suspicious if Lansdale started quoting
the Divine Comedy after he started studying it in order to better understand the VELTRO
organization but then why, in an old speech in '99 given at the University, does he seem to
know entire passages of it by heart? At that time VELTRO did not even exist!"
"What are you implying?" Chris became, suddenly, much more attentive and serious.
Leon, more cautious, shook his head. "Nothing, it's too little to speculate and, in any case, it
would be the kind of speculation capable of landing us in federal prison or having a bomb put
under the car. I'm just saying it's odd, just as it's odd that Jack Norman, the head of VELTRO,
was also a senior lecturer at that very university from which he was kicked out roughly three
months after the conference Lansdale held." He rolled down his window to shake off the ash.
"Why has no one ever noticed this connection?"

"Because it is not such. Being heard by a terrorist is not a crime, and I couldn't find anything
to prove even remotely that Lansdale and Norman knew each other. Smoke does not always
indicate a fire. Mine could be bullshit or self-suggestion and it may well be that it was
Norman who misrepresented and was carried away by Lansdale's verbose speech, taking a
book that is almost seven hundred years old as a moral model to be inspired by. No, more
than that, in identifying with the very savior quoted in it as the nutty megalomaniac crazy-ass
he was. On a probabilistic level, it is much more plausible to take this second hypothesis,
however... I don't know, it's like I have an itch. Something is not right."
"So, translating, part of you suspects that Lansdale not only tried to kill us on the island but
was behind VELTRO from the beginning? This is a really long shot."
"Like I said, bullshit," Leon shrugged, throwing the butt away. "So Alfred Ashford was
Autumn?" he changed the subject. "As for my detective skills, I've taken a real beating about
you two. I thought he had done unspeakable things to you but in truth you were, shall we say,
quite close. Oh, sorry, maybe he indeed did unspeakable things but more of the pleasant
kind."
Chris shuddered. Did he know? Of course not! How could he know that he had grown
infatuated with Alfred? It's not like they had put up billboards on the island! Then why had
he felt that very clear note of annoyance and resentment in his voice?
"Yes, and Alexia, his sister, was Spring."
"My-my, incestuous love? Twisted! Perhaps he was more interesting than his drab appearance
suggests," Leon continued to provoke him.
And Chris reacted immediately. "Give it a rest, okay?" He barked at him, keeping his eyes
fixed on the road. "He was a very troubled soul, but he was still a bright one."
Leon snickered cruelly, feeling fire coursing through his veins. "Of all the things I thought I
could see in my lousy life, you defending a member of Umbrella is the most fucking
shocking! What was so wrong with Nicholai, huh? The Russian accent? Was he too old?
Wasn't he cute enough?"
"Leon-
"Don't 'Leon' me, asshole!" He shut him up harshly. "In Raccoon you crucified me for taking
a chance on the man who had saved my life just because of a logo on his T-shirt, and now I
find out you've become buddies with the second head of Umbrella? Fuck you, Chris!"
"Didn't we extinguish the 'Raccoon' topic already?" Chris sighed, rhetorically. "Besides, it's
not like I trusted him at first glance, for fuck's sake! It took time!"
"Time?! It's a bloody miracle you gave him a chance!"
"I did just because I fucked up so badly with you before! Jesus Christ, you think that you
were the only one affected by what happened in Raccoon? You have no idea how long I felt
like shit for what I had done to you! And no, I didn't forget you for six years! I wanted to
look for you but first I was on the island then it took me years just to get back on my feet!
Years, Leon, fucking years! I had no idea where you were and, even if I had, I wouldn't have
had the guts to reach out after all that time! Besides, you didn't want an apology from me and
it took weeks to touch the subject when you arrived! Why, for the sake of communication,
don't you make peace with your brain and tell me what the hell you want from me?! It's
always a fucking riddle with you! You tell me you don't want me to do something and then
you get pissed off because I didn't do it! It's nuts and infuriating! Maybe, until now, you've
always dealt with fortunetellers, I don't know, but I don't have a crystal ball where I can read
your messed-up mind! And, for the umpteenth time, you've turned the tables and put me in
the dock when you should be the one to start bringing up all the shit you've been hiding from
me!"
Leon did not respond and turned his face toward the open window, sullen like a scolded
child.
"The man we will meet in London-
"Fuck you and him," Chris cut him short. It wasn't that it didn't interest him, but he didn't
want to let him get away with yet another attempt to slip away from an uncomfortable
conversation. If Leon didn't want to talk, it was fine, but Chris wasn't going to allow him to
play him like a fool again, so he switched on the stereo and turned up the volume.
Leon was clearly disturbed by this but did not complain about it and simply retrieved the
Divine Comedy from where it had been brutally thrown.
The journey continued in silence as if a wall had been erected between the two front seats of
the car, and a couple of hours later Chris slowed down and pulled into a highway rest stop.
"I need at least half an hour's sleep," he told him, turning off the music.
"I told you I can drive."
"Don't even think about it," was Chris's abrupt reply as he took the key out of the ignition and
put it in the back pocket of his jeans, sitting on it before lowering the seat and stretching out.
"Whatever... Does the light bother you?"
"No."
When Chris opened his eyes again it was already daylight and he was alone in the cockpit but
Leon had laid one of his light leather jackets on him. He crinkled his eyes and then looked
around, spotting the jerk over the guard rail near a sheep pen inside which a ram was
watching him curiously.
He lit a cigarette and joined him, calmer than when he had fallen asleep.
"Found a new pal as stubborn as you?" He asked him.

Leon chuckled sadly. "Maybe. I'm not good at making friends. Give him enough time and
he'll want to break through to horn my ass, won't you, buddy?" He asked him, tearing off a
tuft of grass and offering it to him through the fence.
The ram welcomed it with a happy bleat and began to eat.
"I saved a deer once in Raccoon, you know," Leon whispered, thoughtful.
"A deer?"
"Yeah, a young one, in the woods, before I met the dogs and the bear. It had been bitten and
was in danger of bleeding out. I swabbed his wound and made a lace with my shirt. What an
idiot, he probably died anyway."
"Well, at least you tried," Chris comforted him.
"What's the point of trying if you fail every time?" Rebutted Leon, offering another tuft of
grass to his horned friend. "What is it if you lose even when you win? Or if you are always so
powerless? "In South America Major Krauser and I won, at the cost of the lives of many
others, including the girl I mentioned in the letter. She reminded me so much of..." Sherry, the
name he had kept to himself was Sherry. He had always been more than lousy at showing it
but he loved her deeply, as if she was a little bit his daughter too but while he had felt guilty
several times for keeping her at arm's length, that feeling had faded when Manuela had died.
Having Sherry away meant knowing she was safe not only from the pain that he, a cruel and
unreliable alcoholic, might cause her but also from all the horrors of the world in which he
walked every day. Leon knew that sooner or later he would die and that it was possible that
he would become the target of the madman on duty. Sherry deserved a normal life. It was the
least he could offer her after what she had been through in Raccoon. He would have died for
her in a heartbeat if it had been necessary. "It doesn't matter. I failed to protect her. We both
did. There are times when I can still hear her singing that lullaby. She had such a beautiful
voice. Sleep my love, close your eyes and when you awaken the new day will bring to you a
bright new world. Always so gently I walk. So go to sleep, my love. "He recited the parts he
remembered that still populated his nightmares. "It was the song sung to her by her mother
who, by the time of the mission, was nothing more than a horrible tentacled monster. Her
daughter's chant was the only thing that could placate her and make her harmless. Sorry, I'm
bombarding you with information without a logical connection."
"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it," Chris replied to him, sweetly. He didn't know if it was
his rebuke or the agreement they had made that led Leon to open up but he certainly wasn't
going to pressure him at that moment. So he continued to watch him feed the ram and even
smiled when he saw Leon reach out a hand to stroke his muzzle.
"Manuela was the daughter of an arms and drug dealer who started doing business with
Umbrella when he found out his beloved child was sick. For years and years, he inoculated
viruses onto poor little girls, after kidnapping them from all over the region, and then
transplanted their functioning organs into his daughter to keep the T-Veronica in her system
stable. The one created by your pal."
"Alfred did not make viruses," Chris corrected him.

"Oh, sure, I bet he was definitely a saint..."
"No, very far from it but he was a victim just as much. He, like his sister, was created in a test
tube by his father with DNA and the one of Veronica, the ancestor of the Ashford family, the
very bitch who gave luster and success to the lineage. When that monster realized that Alfred
had none of the qualities he sought, he isolated and neglected him, giving all his attention to
Alexia and instilling in him a servile love for her. She created the T-Veronica. If I have to find
a silver lining in the fact that you dragged me back there, well, killing that son of a bitch with
my own hands certainly qualifies. He deserved all of it."
Leon dropped the Ashford topic because he realized that he was being irrational about it. Of
all the reasons why he should hate the asshole, the only one that kept resurfacing was that,
allegedly, there had been something between him and Chris, while he had already been
rejected twice. The fact that he had been so drunk that he could not remember the second
time did not matter. It had happened and it was a fact that shamed him. It never occurred to
him to be turned down but, just as in Raccoon, Chris had succeeded drastically in
undermining his self-esteem. Perhaps it was even worse because then he had thought he was
simply straight while now it was clear that he did not like him. He had to get over it, he
would soon be gone and he would never see him again. Yet even that made him feel bad, like
the fact that they could never communicate without ending up fighting furiously. He knew he
was largely responsible for this but he didn't know how to do otherwise.
"When Manuela found out the truth, she ran away, horrified, and her father, in a frenzy,
opened the dams at his base, dumping tons and tons of infected water into the river, infecting
the villages in the region, and his own wife. Major Krauser and I found Manuela inside a
church where we saw her succeed in appeasing the monster her mother had become. Until
she couldn't anymore. She led us inside the base to stop her father and, in response, he
unleashed what was left of his wife on us. He wanted to give our deaths meaning. Have you
ever heard a little girl wish she was dead because she felt responsible for everything her
parents did?"
Yeah... Chris thought. In a way, he had one right in front of his eyes One who had been lucky
enough to become a man but still did not have the courage or perhaps even the ability to
reach out to others, too afraid of ending up hurt and neglected again. He himself had also
long wished to be dead instead of his parents in the accident. The only difference was that
Leon was not responsible for his mother's abuse, while Chris, although many years had
passed, still felt guilty. So, yes, he knew the feeling and it sucked. No one should ever have
felt it, least of all those who were as blameless as Leon. He felt the urge to hug him but
restrained himself because he did not know how he would react, but he approached anyway
with the excuse of petting the ram.
Leon followed with his eyes his large hand giving awkward pats to the animal, which,
fortunately, did not seem to mind.
"During the confrontation with Manuela's mother, Ja-Major Krauser ended up badly
wounded. It all happened so suddenly that he couldn't dodge, and I couldn't do anything to
help him."
"He died?"
Leon shook his head gravely but decided to avoid the subject for the time being. "Somehow
we managed to kill her. I suggested that he stay behind with Manuela but he furiously
refused. He said that the mission was not over and that a little scratch would not stop him.
Too bad the 'little scratch' was a deep gash that did not allow him to use his arm and he was
bleeding profusely. He startled me. He treated it himself by bandaging it tightly with a piece
of his uniform and ordered me to stop acting like a pussy and get my head back on the job. It
was his first mission against some B.O.W.s and he was so madly determined to make it a
success. Eventually, we reached Hid-the father... Javier Hidalgo, by now I have told you
everything, there is no point in keeping the names secret. Well, the son-of-a-bitch had
inoculated himself with T-Veronica and transformed into this giant fucking plant-thing. At
that point, I'm afraid he had gone completely out of his mind, and the transformation
certainly didn't make him any more sane. It was a horrible fight and we would never have
come out alive if Manuela had not fought by our side." Leon lowered his gaze, clenching his
fists. "I had never seen anything like that and I never saw it after that. Her blood, in contact
with the air, became liquid fire. What?" He asked, upon seeing Chris wince out of the corner
of his eye.
The other avoided his gaze, pale in the face. "Alfred died like that. He too had been infected.
He turned into this... this beautiful creature, a dragonfly of fire, and flew into the sky, letting
himself bleed to death before he could lose his mind and hurt me. He stopped Wesker from
finishing the job and put him on the run. He died for me and always for me divulged the
secrets of Umbrella. He was not cruel. No, actually he truly was but he was as a child who
never knew any better. Ok, enough, I'm not the smartest, but I get that you don't want to hear
me defend him."
Leon, however, was not there with him because, suddenly, he had heard again the awful
rumbling of the avalanche roaring down from the top of the ridge. He chased away the
memory with an abrupt movement of his head. "I'm sorry," he said briefly and was absolutely
honest. Chris understood it but before he could ask for any explanation, Leon resumed his
tale as if nothing had happened.
"Manuela helped us kill her father, using her blood. Too much. As soon as we were in the
helicopter I-I saw her crumble into sparks in front of my eyes and I will never forgive myself
for allowing her to..." He didn't say it out loud. "The major simply commented with a
'collateral damage, rookie, get used to it.' He repeated the same thing when we were informed
that there would be no helicopter to extract the fellow soldiers we had left behind because the
risk of further contagion was too great. They all died under the bombardment, hoping to the
end that we would come back for them!" He was not crying but it was clear that he was
heartbroken and furious.
"Leon-
"No," he interrupted him immediately. "I want to finish and not talk about it anymore. I don't
know if the major was being tough to reassure himself or me but everything fell apart shortly
after we returned. The wound he had sustained was disabling and the outcome was that he
would never be able to use his arm again, consequently, not even to fight, and that broke him.
All the suffering and losses he had endured had been for nothing. He was thrown out of the
program as if he were garbage and blamed for the mishandling of the operation while I was
carried in triumph and promoted. They were all so unfair to him but that is none of your
business. The lesson to be learned is that no matter what keeps you going with your head
down ready to sacrifice everything to achieve whatever crap you set your mind to, it will
always end in tragedy. And I know, believe me, I know that you and Major Krauser couldn't
be more different!" He exclaimed, lifting his head to look at him with such intensity that
Chris felt his heart jump into his throat. "But you have the same madness for different
reasons! He wanted to be the best and he gave everything for it, his team, his autonomy, his
career; you, on the other hand, lose your wits when you think you're facing your enemy and
there's no explanation or evidence to spare, you drag everyone to hell with you! Has Lord
Ashford worked a miracle? Did he make you change? Yes, I see it now but I had to - what the
fuck, Chris if such a thing could break even one of the best and most ruthless men I have ever
known, what could it do to you? As I told you in the letter, you care too much, you have too
good a heart for this work! If you suddenly realized that you had led all your people to death,
that would devastate you even under normal conditions, where you did everything right! I
had to make sure you were stable! I had to - to be cruel ... and I - and even if you detest me,
that's okay. I-
Leon lowered his gaze, hiding behind his blond locks. His voice had begun to tremble and he
felt so emotionally drained that the words he wanted to say choked in his throat. He felt so
involved with Chris, more than he would have thought possible and more than he would have
allowed if he had expected it when he had first gotten the damn call from Lansdale. He
gasped, taken aback when he found himself drawn into his strong arms and then squeezed
between them. He remembered when he had been the one who had hugged him in the
bathroom of Birkin's house and found that it was so strange and so warm to receive such an
intimate but yet so pure physical contact.
But Chris didn't want him, so he moved back abruptly, extinguishing that tenderness he so
desperately needed.
"We have to get back on the road. My contact called me while you were sleeping and
postponed our meeting until tonight for dinner. Which is lucky because we have to buy you a
fucking suit and, no, there's no compromise on that. They won't even let us in without a suit
and tie. Period." Leon took a few steps toward the car but then turned back to give the ram
one last caress, whispering a 'Bye, pal."
Chris watched him with a heart that felt as if it had been pierced by a thousand needles. Ever
since Raccoon, Leon had always been more than happy to receive contact, especially from
him but that time he had even run away and he knew it was his fault. Leon probably felt
uncomfortable about what had happened the night he was drunk and so he was intimidated
and distant. Everything Chris did not want him to be. He realized, with incredible delay, that
his attraction to Leon was not merely sexual. Even though he was mad, spoiled, insufferable,
quarrelsome, and messed up, Chris wanted nothing more than to spend every moment he
could with him, cherish every little flaw he had, and love him as no one ever had. The mere
prospect that he might leave forever made him feel like the most miserable man on the planet
despite having lived through far worse tragedies.
He sat in the car beside him. "With Jessica there really is nothing," he told him, feeling the
need to justify himself. "She took me there saying she wanted to talk to me and then she
practically jumped on me. I didn't know how to get her off me. You basically saved me," he
explained briefly and was so awkward in doing so that his discomfort appeared more than
evident.
"You should have kicked her ass," was Leon's unexpectedly harsh response. His tone had also
changed, becoming darker.
"Now don't go too far. She-
"An assault is an assault. It doesn't matter who does it. Make things clear with her or the next
time she makes you uncomfortable, I will." The threat was clear, and although Jill had often
said similar things herself, Chris quickly realized that Leon was not joking at all. He
wondered why but did not have the courage to ask.
"Okay, let's make a deal: in the next three hours we'll only talk about bullshit, no heavy
topics, all right?" He proposed. "And let's not argue."
Leon made one of his adorable little smirks cocking the head in his direction. "I make no
promises."
"Asshole."
Chapter End Notes
Hello, again, to all of you my dears!

Thank you so much, as always, to all of you readers, kudoers, bookmarkers, subscribers
and commenters, to whom I apologize again.
On a personal note, against all expectations I passed my exam (after studying only 4
hours in total, but, whatever XD) but going all the way through Tuscany took me
practically half of last week so I didn't get to do all that I wanted to do, i.e., respond to
commenters as they deserve (which always gives me incredible pleasure, so don't be shy
- I simply delayed this week because of too many commitments all at once and I don't
like to give hasty or sloppy answers because each of you deserves my full attention), nor
to reach the point I wanted to reach, namely, to get the two idiots to London, have them
have the meeting and then deal with, or at least introduce, the aftermath. Sometimes I
hate my life. More than sometimes, in truth but I apologize to all of you because I
should have planned better. Next week I have a commitment on Wednesday (fucking
hell, why always on Wednesday, universe?) but I should still be able to write the new
chapter and reply to the new comments if you'll be so kind as to leave some, also
because thanks to today's overtime I should be able to get out of work early next week
and then the much-needed Easter vacations will begin.
As a very brief comment on the chapter before going back to the meeting: both Leon
and Chris have opened up to each other a little bit, although both are still hesitant to do
so completely. Leon finally brought up what happened in South America, and Chris
made some mention of Alfred (of whom Leon is dead jealous). Yet even though they
would like nothing more than to be close, Leon is convinced that Chris is disgusted with
him; and Chris is the usual mess on cambe.
Now I really must run, again my deepest apologies!

A big hug,
Lady S.
Chapter 97
Chapter Notes
Leon and Chris arrived in London mid-morning and the latter was again losing his temper
because that was the fifth hotel they passed and Leon still shook his head.
"If you already have a destination in mind why don't you give me an address so I can ask
someone for directions and we can go there?" He pointed out, annoyed.
"You wanted to drive, didn't you? So drive!" Leon replied with a mischievous smirk. "The
place where my contact is staying is fully booked, but that doesn't mean I want to sleep in
one of the shitholes you suggested!"
Chris sighed. "They were very normal places that are already, probably, going to run me
broke."
Leon rolled his eyes. "I'm paying."
"The hell you are, I didn't say that to make you feel obligated! No, no, put it away, that thing
scares me!"
"My notebook?"
"Yeah, it's full of... Of awful tricks written in Russian!"
Leon chuckled and dialed a phone number he had jotted down the night before. Chris listened
to him talking to a receptionist, booking two rooms and asking for directions on how to get
there from where they were, and then repeating them back to him once his call was over. He
obeyed reluctantly, especially after hearing him book a parking space as well. He did not
want to go into details but his bank account was practically in the red. They had decided with
Jill that only she would take the full salary. It had never been a problem since he could afford
what he needed, groceries, and cigarettes. He was fine while she took care of the rent and
bills which were the most burdensome expenses.
"Now don't freak out," Leon told him, amused, seeing the valet already waiting for them
under the red tents at the hotel entrance. "Pull over, get the luggage out, give the boy the
keys, and behave yourself."
"I'll fucking kill you," Chris snarled at him, almost slamming on the brakes. Just from the
look of the facade of that place, a room probably cost more than all his six-monthly spending.
"I wasn't joking, I can't affo-
Leon got out of the car flapping his hand as if to tell him to stop being a pain in the ass, and
greeted the valet cordially, before opening the trunk and pulling out their stuff, which a porter
immediately took care to put on a cart.
"May I have your keys, please, sir?" The valet asked him, and Chris desired nothing else than
to climb back in and speed away. He did not, gave them to him, and then pulled alongside
Leon.
"The car is a mess and it's filthy as hell, I'm ashamed!" He whispered to him, flustered.
The other shot him a sadistic look. "Serves you well, let it be a lesson to you, you filthy pig!"
He laughed, promptly dodging the slap that was about to land in the middle of his back. Chris
was so adorable at that moment, red with embarrassment but Leon decided to let him be and
preceded him inside to the front desk.
"Good morning," greeted back the attendant, "I'm Kennedy, we spoke on the phone. Instead
of rooms, I would like two suites on the same floor for me and my friend if there are any
available. I'll pay for both, here's my credit card and passport. Chris, I need yours too, and get
away from the door, you're blocking the passage."
The other gave him a fiery look and moved forward, laying his ID on the counter with a
'Morning' between his teeth.
The girl entered their data into the system. "We have just the perfect two! It would be 850
pounds for the Splendor and 900 for the Royal, is that all right, sir?"
"Yeah, whatever!" Leon shrugged his shoulders as Chris, behind him, had a very obvious
stroke. "Can we have lunch here? Is there a dress code?"
"Most certainly you can," the receptionist smiled and then cast an odd glance at Chris, his
frayed jeans and faded logo T-shirt. "And no, no special attire is required inside our hotel.
Lunch is served starting at 12 noon in the restaurant but our options include 24-hour room
service, the bar is open from 4 p.m. to 3 a.m., clothes ironing, use of the gym, guided tours,
and more depending on your needs. You will find a brochure with all our offerings in your
rooms. The suites are on the fifth floor, our porter is already bringing up your luggage for
you. Feel free to use the elevator here on the right. Please enjoy your stay," she concluded,
handing Leon the keys.
Chris grabbed his arm and almost dragged him into the elevator. "One thousand seven
hundred and fifty pounds?!" He attacked him. "Are you out of your bloody mind?! That's
almost four thousand five hundred dollars at the current exchange rate! For two fucking
rooms where we just have to sleep?!"
Leon hadn't thought about it but didn't flinch anyway. His basic income was pretty high, plus
he was also receiving a bonus from the F.B.C. for his stay in the U.K., and he had spent
virtually nothing in the last few months anyway. "So?"
"SO?! What the-
Leon silenced him with a look as the elevator doors opened and an elderly couple entered.
"Don't make a scene," he replied to him in a lower tone. "It's okay. Yes, it's a bit expensive
and I couldn't afford it on a daily basis but I like to spoil myself from time to time. You've
known since Raccoon that I like nice things."
"Right, the fucking curtains..."
"Language," Leon chuckled as he saw the old lady flinch and shoot them an annoyed glance.
They reached their floor and walked out into the hallway.
"So, which one do you want? Royal or Splendor?" Leon teased him by shaking the keys in
front of his eyes. "Come on! Why are you acting like this?"
"Because it's a pointless waste of money!" Chris reprimanded him.
Leon lost his patience and tossed him one of the keys, which bumped on his broad chest and
fell on the rich moquette. "Cut it out! It's my money, okay? I was trying to be nice! The room
is paid, you don't want it? Go sleep in a fucking hostel with cockroaches or under a bridge,
whatever rocks your boat!" He hissed moving towards his door.
"Leon, wait-
"No. Look, I've spent all my bloody childhood having nothing, I won't let you or anybody
else patronize me on how I use what I earn doing my fucking nightmare of a job, is that clear
enough? See you at the restaurant in an hour, or not. I don't care but in the afternoon we'll
find something appropriate for you to wear and I don't want to hear a bloody protest from
you!" With that said, he left him alone there and Chris felt like an asshole.
He picked up the key from the ground and moved to the right until he found his room, the
Royal one.
The interior of the suite struck him like a punch in the face. It was huge, roughly half the
square footage of his house. The floor was dark parquet so polished that he could mirror
himself on it. There was an antique black leather sofa fronted by an imposing LCD television
that must have cost a real arm and a leg, a desk on which, probably, some ancient ruler had
declared war on France over the centuries because it was gigantic, chairs upholstered in green
velvet, curtains of the same color, decorations on the antique furniture, and a luxury that
would not have disfigured in Alfred's palace.
The only thing missing was the bed but there was another door so he awkwardly passed it to
enter an equally giant bedroom with a bed that could accommodate a small town with two
long things, armchairs perhaps, although the seating was really huge, placed at the feet.
Including the bathroom, the suite managed to beat his house, and he didn't know what to do
with all that space. He didn't even glance at the brochure, scared of the idea that they might
charge him some additional expense just for taking a quick look at it, and after retrieving his
luggage from the porter, he took a shower. He was so exhausted. Yes, in the second part of
the trip he and Leon had managed not to fight but there was always this tension between the
two of them that popped up at the smallest bullshit. Even just before, he didn't want to sound
ungrateful let alone tell Leon what he should do with his salary, it just seemed absurd to him
to spend that amount of money when both of them would have been more than comfortable
with much less. Okay, Leon was more sophisticated than him and certainly had better taste, it
was evident by the way he dressed and how he took care of himself but he was no Alfred. He
was not a little prince, so why choose such a pompous place? He didn't understand it and was
tired of even trying. In any case, he acknowledged that he had been very rude to him and it
made him feel guilty. He finished getting ready in twenty minutes and made a quick phone
call to Jill and O'Brian only to say that he still had no idea who the guy that Leon wanted him
to meet was but omitting that it was he who had not let him tell him, and then found himself
with absolutely nothing to do but the pressing anguish of wanting to apologize. Indecisively
he went out into the hallway and stood for a few moments in front of his door before
plucking up the courage to knock. He got no answer because Leon's suite was probably also
so large that it ended on another bloody continent, so he tried again.
"Come in!" He heard him say from quite a distance, which made his agitation skyrocket. He
had never felt so insecure and totally lost in his life; he didn't even know why, so suddenly, he
had heart palpitations. He hesitated a little too much and Leon opened the door for him.
"Oh, it's you. What do you want?" He asked, growing gloomy.
Chris was taken aback because Leon had summarily put his shirt back on and left it half
unbuttoned, and he was also a little disheveled. Absolutely breathtaking. He looked away
quickly and cleared his throat. "N-nothing. I was ready and wanted to check if you - I mean, I
wanted to apologize."
"Well, do it inside, I still have to start." Leon pulled away from the threshold and Chris stood
there at the door like an idiot for a couple of seconds before deciding to follow him.
The suite was very similar to his but in shades of blue instead of green. He barely looked at
it. He couldn't care less, especially after Leon took off his shirt again before continuing into
the bedroom.
A chorus of warning sirens began to echo in Chris's head as he realized that going looking for
him so early had been a mistake but he was there now and could not back down.
"So? This apology? Shit, do you see my pouch bag?"
Chris looked around and spotted it resting on the cabinet next to the door.
"Yes, it's here."
"Duh! Bring it to me!" Leon ordered him.
The other sighed, picked it up, and peered into it. "What is this stuff?" He asked, seeing tubes
and jars as he moved inside the bedroom. Any excuse was good not to look up at him.
"A mountain of other expensive and unnecessary stuff," Leon hissed, snatching it from his
hands and tipping it onto the bed. He slipped off his pants and underwear in a fluid motion
and then folded everything together with his shirt to place them in a special bag for dirty
clothes.
Chris froze, unable to look away from his bare back and the roundness of his butt. Leon was
so gloriously perfect. His mouth went dry and his hearing muffled as all the blood in his
system began to be pumped in the wrong direction. Mortified, he turned away, pretending to
be interested in the knick-knacks on the desk.
"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Money is tight at B.S.A.A. and I only take
a percentage of my salary to devote as much funds as possible to the organization. I-I didn't
mean to offend you but I was a jerk anyway. That's all."
He heard Leon's bare feet switch direction and stop a few steps away from him.
"That will change if we can get the States to sponsor you but other things will change too.
For the worse." He said.
Chris made an inhuman effort to turn around and maintain as neutral an expression as
possible. That was certainly an interesting talk but why the fuck did Leon have to do it
completely naked?! He also seemed totally comfortable with it, as if it was a normal thing to
do! He followed the movement of his fingers bringing a strand of blond hair behind his ear
and felt himself dying inside. He was struggling so hard not to let himself indulge in the
wildest fantasies and the fucker just stood there as if nothing was wrong. As the days had
passed, the large bruise on his abdomen had reabsorbed and turned a pale greenish hue.
"Does it still hurt?" He asked, finally managing to find something capable of distracting him
from the desire to pounce on him. He would have made a fool of himself anyway. He was
awful in bed. He had a bloody history of unsatisfied partners. All women but he had no hopes
he could be better with men.
"Nah, it didn't hurt before either," Leon downplayed, absent-mindedly brushing his abs.
"Liar," Chris stated. "You screamed like an eagle when I grabbed you."
Leon scowled. "Remind me why did you grab me again?"
"Because you were about to fall face-first into the broken glass."
"I see... Anyway, it's going to get worse because you're about to enter a meat grinder of
regulations, power plays, deception, espionage, blackmail, everything in the damn book. It's
always a deal with the devil, maybe not the worst, but you'll have to deal with the
consequences. I hope your boss is smart enough to handle it. Especially if you want to keep
yourself as independent as possible with your operations. We'll talk later, now I really need
my shower. You can wait for me here if you want."
"N-no!" Chris cleared his throat. "I mean, after sitting for hours I want to stretch my legs a
bit. See you at the restaurant in half an hour?"
Leon scoffed. "Make it an hour and add at least another twenty minutes of you already sitting
at the table waiting for me and hating my very guts. I'm terrible with timing," he sneered,
stopping in the bathroom doorway. "See you later."
They exchanged a long glance and, for the first time since he had entered, Chris noticed a veil
of sadness fall over Leon's blue eyes. He did not know what thought had crossed his crazy
mind all of a sudden but it was clear that he was so miserable, assuming he had ever been
happy. Chris would have wanted nothing more than to come clean with him. He so
desperately needed to tell him that since he had reappeared in his life everything else had
vanished from his thoughts, that there was no moment when he was not the center of his
entire universe because he was beautiful, smart, funny and he liked him so very much. When
he was around, Chris did everything in his power to spend every moment he could with him,
when he wasn't he missed him so much that he felt choked up, even though they had fought
in the most brutal of ways, and at night he dreamed of him constantly. He felt as if he was
swimming upstream in a rushing river and every drop of water that overwhelmed him wanted
nothing else than to sweep him into his arms.
"Alligator," he replied, remembering that childish little game he had miserably failed back in
Raccoon.
Leon's eyes lit up in sudden surprise and he smiled with the purity of a kid, then became
aware of it and blushed, biting his lip in embarrassment. "In a while, crocodile," he retorted,
disappearing into the bathroom.
It took Chris two whole laps around the neighborhood to regain some mental equilibrium,
and at the restaurant, he had been waiting for almost forty minutes when Leon finally made
his appearance but he still didn't hate him and when he saw him coming in from the
monumental entrance of that place, his heart jumped in his throat.
"Sorry," Leon mumbled, joining him at the table and sitting across from him, bringing with
him a fragrant cloud of whatever he had put on.
Chris rolled his eyes without commenting even though he was actually curious as to what the
fuck had taken him so long to get ready. Skincare? Hair care? Both? Surely it couldn't be
shaving off those three hairs he had for a beard. Had he taken a nap? Indeed, Chris had not
seen him sleep since they left the night before. They ordered food, and Leon insisted on
having a bottle of red wine as well.
"Are you going to bust my balls every time you see me drinking?" He asked, then, when the
waiter had moved away. "Don't worry about it. I have rules. No alcohol during field missions,
as little as possible during espionage missions but a lot depends on the cover I have to keep-
"Wait a second, espionage?" Chris interrupted him.
"Yeah, you have no idea how much of Umbrella's shit has gone on the black market. There
are auctions, secret business meetings, gala dinners… Most of the time they include being
pretty, playing dumb, occasionally screwing someone, and things like that to plant bugs,
gather intel, and then personally go into action or get ops. to intervene. Believe me, it is way
less intriguing in reality than in the movies. Don't make that face, it's just work. It will never
happen to you. You're not cut for it."
That wasn't the point but Chris decided not to start another fight. "Who's the guy we're
supposed to meet? The head of the CIA?"
Leon poured himself a glass of wine before answering. "Something like that but I'm not
authorized to give details until you meet him. He might change his mind at the last second for
a million different reasons. Do you want some?"
"No."
"Look, I know you don't like all this secrecy but swallow it and be a good boy. Take it as a
test case for all the shit you'll have to shove down your throat if this thing goes through."
Chris inhaled deeply, beginning to eat the tiny gourmet dish that had been brought to him. "I
want a pizza afterward. What the fuck..."
Leon laughed. "Agreed."
"Why does this guy want to meet me? Why not O'Brian? I'm not good at public relations and
you know it too."
The other sighed. "I'm afraid this is my fault. I can't go into too much detail but when I was
enlisted, I had to tell what happened in Raccoon City and I talked in great detail about you
too. I think my superior wants to get his own idea about what kind of guy you are. Besides,
without you and Agent Valentine, this organization would be short-lived. How is she, by the
way? Are you still together?"
Chris almost choked on the sip of water he was drinking.
Yes. It would only take one syllable and yet he could not pronounce it.
"From your face, I would say no and that she dumped your sorry ass. My bad, I didn't mean
to reopen old wounds."
Things were not like that, in fact, it was the exact opposite, and yet Chris felt that if he
revealed to him that he and Jill were getting married, Leon would become even more
avoidant than he already was and that was the last thing he wanted. So he let the talk turn to
more casual topics and they finished their tasty but totally unsatisfying lunch, at least from
Chris' point of view.
When they went out into the street he was still complaining about it.
"Come on, what's the point of making such good risotto if they're going to serve you only one
damn grain?"
"It was at least two forkfuls," Leon joked.
"I don't even want to know how much you paid because, otherwise, I'm going to go inside
and set the kitchen on fire."
Leon chuckled. "Let's go get you a proper meal, I'm sorry I left you hungry! You poor thing!"
"Fuck you, I'm dead serious! That was robbery!"
"Chris, I get it, stop," Leon insisted, taking him by the arm and dragging him away. "We'll
surely find something along the way that will fill your stomach and quench your desire for
revenge, come on. Jeez..."
With some reluctance, Chris followed him and he wasn't kidding, he actually got himself a
pizza and fries at the first place they found.
"Hey!" He protested when Leon stole a few from his wrapper.
"What?" Rebutted the other with an angelic grin. "Anyway, a little advice for tonight: just be
yourself. Point one, it's the best way to make a good impression on him; secondly, you suck
at lyi- OUCH!" He whined, shocked when Chris slapped his hand away from his fries. "You
greedy pig!" He pouted.
"I offered to buy you some!" He retorted.
"Yours taste better!"
Chris huffed. "I bet they do… Okay, brat, serve yourself." He surrendered, pushing the
wrapper in his direction, and smiled, dreamy, when he saw that ungrateful jerk snatch it
whole with a satisfied smirk. Besides his stubbornness and his self-destructive personality,
Chris loved everything about him but that bratty behavior was the most adorable of all. He
would have showered him with fries if that meant seeing it emerge more often. Hell, he
would have given him whatever he wanted. He continued to watch him eat his loot and lit a
cigarette.
"So we're having dinner at another fucking place like that tonight?" He asked, pointing his
thumb over his own shoulder in the direction of the hotel. "Because if that's the case, I'll eat
beforehand."
"I don't know. I've never been to the Ritz before but it's close enough to walk there and avoid
making a fool of yourself in your clunker of a car."
"Leave it alone I remember very well what happened to the other one!"
Leon chuckled and, shrugging his shoulders, rolled up the wrapper and launched it into the
outside basket of the pizzeria. "Speaking of which, let's go. The street they pointed out to me
at the front desk should be close by. We'll find something for you there."
Chris sighed, crinkling his eyes. "Is this really necessary or is this just another one of your
ways of torturing me?"
Leon sneered. "Oh, you know me. Both but not only. I want to get me something, too. New
clothes at last!" He rejoiced, trotting off. "Will you get a move on?" He added, annoyed,
turning to give him a glare.
"I'm going to regret this so much..." Said the other to himself but it was good to see him so
excited. He wasn't a great dating expert, he hadn't been on many and they had almost all been
pretty disastrous but even if theirs wasn't one and they had been fighting half the time, he
would always remember it as the best date of his entire life. So once again, he followed Leon
all the way into a giant men's clothing store that made him tremble. In fact, he had only worn
a shirt his first few days in Rockfort Island and had hated the experience.
There, they were greeted by an impeccably dressed middle-aged gentleman. Although he did
not look like him, in bearing Chris was reminded of Scott and his heart clenched.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome to our store, what can I do for you today?" He greeted
them.
Leon took the floor. "Tonight we have dinner at the Ritz and my friend here desperately
needs something to wear. Can you help him while I look around a bit?"
"Certainly, sir, please follow me," replied the owner.
"Wait, don't leave me alone!" Chris protested but Leon had already moved away.
"Would you tell me what your preferences are, please?" His companion asked him.
"I-I really have no idea."
The other smiled, patiently. "Don't worry, we will find something that will satisfy you."
Leon had been examining the coats for about ten minutes when he felt himself being watched
but pretended not to.
"That size is way too big for you, "he heard a voice say in a slightly allusive tone.
"Oh, I know," he replied with an amused little smile. "It's not for me but for a friend."
The guy flanked him and Leon looked at him for the first time. He was in his mid-thirties,
athletic, brunette, not breathtaking but not tragic either. He had seen worse.
"A very special one since you want to give him a coat worth over two thousand pounds."
Leon batted his eyelashes, playing his game. "Just a friend, I'm afraid." And yet this
statement came out more wistfully than he would have liked.
"Then he's a real idiot and you should save your money. May I have the impudence to ask if
you are free for a drink tonight?"
Leon laughed, considering his options. "Unfortunately I have to work but I have some time
now if you are bold enough," he replied, languidly, cocking his head in the direction of the
dressing rooms.
The guy paled and looked around. The store was practically deserted at that hour but it was
still a big risk.
"It's this or nothing," Leon purred with no real plans in mind. If it went well it would be a
decent distraction after months of complete abstinence, otherwise, he would survive, the dude
wasn't that great anyway. He walked toward the dressing room and smiled when he heard his
footsteps following him.
"No, no, no! Absolutely no bow tie!" Chris protested heartily. He had always found them
ridiculous, and rather than wear one he would rather appear before the queen herself naked as
a worm.
The owner looked at him condescendingly. "Then we'll go for a tie, no trouble at all, sir."
"Does the shirt have to be white? I'm afraid I'd look like a f- sorry, like a bodyguard or a
bouncer. What about that one?" He asked, pointing to a display dummy.
The other made a strange expression. "An eccentric choice but not inappropriate for the
occasion. I'll go right away and check for your size. Just a minute, please."
Chris hated every moment but they were almost done, so he waited patiently.
"I took the liberty of matching a tie of the same black as the suit. You can go over there to try
them on," the owner invited him, pointing to the back of the store.
"Thank you very much."
Chris walked briskly toward the dressing rooms, and when he was in the vicinity he heard
noises that he interpreted as distress.
"Is everything okay in there?" He asked, approaching the closed curtain.
Inside there were other commotion noises that alerted him even more and with a tug he
pulled it open, finding Leon already shirtless with a guy on his knees in front of the open flap
of his pants.
The stranger, pale as a ghost, lifted his panic-filled gaze in Chris' direction, finding himself
confronted by the most jealous and terrifying death stare he had ever seen in his life. He
stammered something unintelligible, abruptly backing away as if Leon's groin had become
burning hot. "I-I didn't know he was with you!" He tried to justify himself. "H-he didn't tell
me, sorry!" He rushed out of the dressing room and then out of the store, leaving them alone.
Leon lowered the hands he had put in his hair and huffed. "Fuckin hell, really, Chris?!" He
asked him, annoyed. "I finally found someone after months in that shithole and you scare the
hell out of him?!"
Chris was silent for a moment, trying to pacify his brain from the spike of blind fury that had
pervaded it. "Who the fuck was that guy?!"
"I don't know and I don't care! That's not the point!" Leon objected, putting his clothes back
on.
"I thought someone was in distress!"
"Only you in the bloody world can mistake two guys who are about to screw with someone in
distress, for fuck's sake!" Leon took a deep breath. "Never mind, but know you owe me a
blowjob," he ended the conversation with a hiss, nudging him aside to leave the dressing
room. "Get a move on."
Chris closed his eyes with a snarl and clenched his fists so hard he shoved his nails into his
palms. He tried on the clothes in another stall and when he returned to the counter, Leon was
already there waiting for him with a couple of bags in his left hand. They did not even look at
each other, and Chris only turned to the owner, telling him that everything was perfect while
he put his stuff on the counter.
"Use my card but don't tell him the amount," Leon interjected. "Chris, you take it, I'll wait for
you outside. I need some air."
The walk back was awkward and silent. Leon was still annoyed and embarrassed, while Chris
was mad and rottenly jealous. When they entered the hotel, Chris noticed that Leon was no
longer walking by his side.
"Aren't you coming?" He asked him.
"No, I'm going to drop by the bar. I'll meet you at a quarter to seven here. Try not to wrinkle
your suit." Leon answered him without even glancing at him and turned to the left.
The bar had just opened and was still empty, which gave him relief. He had no desire to talk
to anyone except the bare minimum to order himself a drink, which he did as quickly as he
could.
What the fuck was Chris's problem, huh? He wondered, looking intently at his glass as if he
could find the answer in the clear vodka the bartender had just poured him. Whether or not he
had fucked Lord Ashford, he had made it clear over and over again how uninterested he was
in him, so why did he always have to put his mouth on matters that didn't concern him? It
wasn't fair, and besides, it was adding to the contempt Leon already had for himself, making
him feel even more like crap. He emptied his glass in one gulp and motioned the bartender to
refill it for him.
"One more after this and then don't give me any more, understand? I have a meeting later that
I can't screw up," he told him, guzzling the second one.
"Yes, sir. May I assist you with anything else? Something to eat, perhaps?"
"No, pal, you can't but thank you," Leon sighed. "I'll probably empty your bar tonight, save
me a couple of bottles on the side." He drank his third and final glass, beginning to feel the
familiar and pleasant lightheadedness of alcohol relax his nerves. What the fuck. Of all the
reasons, there he was drinking in the middle of the afternoon to forget about Chris fucking
Redfield. He really never learned but, at the end of the day, Nicholai had told him: he had a
bad judgment when it came to men.
Nicholai... Another one he was better off not thinking about because the mere brush of his
memory was able to shake his resolve to stop at the third drink. Kolya would have been so
fucking disappointed by what he had become, assuming…
Assuming nothing.
He left a generous tip on the counter and went back up to his room where he tried to distract
himself by resuming reading the Divine Comedy. He was still at the part about Inferno, and,
Christ Almighty, Dante would have had a hell of a headache deciding which circle to send
him to if he had been one of his characters. He was practically doing en-plein and not only
because he was a fag, he was also violent, haughty, blasphemous, greedy, a liar... When he
got to the 13th Canto, however, he had a quiver because of all the punishments he had seen
inflicted on the damned among those pages that one in particular disturbed him. Without
realizing it he dozed off and dreamed that he was catapulted into that dark, horrible forest,
unable to move because he too had become one of those gnarled, lumpy shrubs. In the almost
complete darkness, he could see nothing and all he heard were wails of pain, the howls of
hellhounds, and the shrill cries of harpies flying through the air.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. But he could not because his legs had become
hideous roots that kept him chained where he was. Suddenly a flapping of wings came at him
and the harpy's claws dug into his bark, wounding him without his being able to defend
himself, and his terror grew when he recognized in the harpy the face of his mother.
"Please! Please, mom, no! It hurts!" He yelped. His voice had been released and was now
hissing out of his wounds along with purulent spurts of blood. Yet no matter how much he
screamed, his mother would not stop. With her claws she continued to slaughter him with
increasing ferocity, enjoying his suffering as she had done all his life while she repeated to
him that he deserved such punishment and no one would ever love him nor save him.
"STOP! PLEASE STOP! I BEG YOU! I'M SORRY, MOM! I'M SO SORRY!"
"Leon!"
He opened his eyes wide and relieved of the paralysis that had seized him in his sleep, he
leaped to the side, tumbling off the couch. Gasping he curled in on himself, covering his head
with his arms as if he still wanted to shield himself from those merciless claws.
"Leon," Chris repeated, moving in front of him and crouching down. "It's okay, it's me." He
reached out a hand to caress the back of his head but the other recoiled, raising his fear-filled
blue eyes, ready to attack.
"It was just a nightmare, it's all right," he repeated, without trying to touch him again.
Leon blinked, regaining clarity. He sat up more composedly and wrinkled his face. "What are
you doing here?" He asked him coldly, getting up as if absolutely nothing had happened.
The truth was that Chris had heard him screaming from the next room but did not want to tell
him, so he played a less serious but equally truthful card.
"I haven't the faintest idea how to knot this damn thing," he told him, waving his tie in front
of him.
Leon finally put him in focus and was taken aback as if a train had just run him over.
"I know," Chris mumbled, uncomfortable. "I'm ridiculous. You can laugh if you want. It'll
make you feel better right away," he joked.
But he was wrong because Leon thought he was anything but ridiculous in that black suit that
looked tailor-made from how well it fit him and that dark burgundy shirt that he honestly
would not have expected from him.
"You look stunning," he told him without skirting around it.
Chris blushed, lowering his gaze. "Yeah, and you're a stunning liar." He'd chosen the
burgundy shirt because he'd remembered how good Alfred looked in red but hadn't been
brave enough to pick such a blatant hue, and he'd done well because that wine color really
suited him.
"It wasn't a lie. Come here." Leon took the tie from his hand and wrapped it around his neck,
taking his time to knot it. When he lifted his gaze he had so much lust in his eyes that Chris
felt his legs go limp but still found the strength to move back with an awkward, "Thank you."
"You're welcome..." Leon. sighed, bitter and frustrated, "I'll get changed too. I'll just be a
moment, wait here."
Left alone, Chris found nothing better to do than take a look at the damn book.
"What the fuck?" He uttered when he opened the page Leon had signed and was faced with
an illustration depicting two distraught men in front of a bleeding shrub with large female-
faced eagles mauling it with their talons. "No wonder you had a nightmare reading this shit!"
He exclaimed.
"It's not shit!" Leon answered him from the other room. "In fact, maybe so far that's my
favorite part."
"Because your brain is fucked up," Chris mumbled half-heartedly, starting to read. He knew
absolutely nothing about the Divine Comedy but, from what he understood from the chapter
introduction and the notes to the text, the forest in it was a place where people who
committed suicide were punished. Turned into shrubs they would be tortured for eternity by
the harpies and hellhounds, and, at the time of judgment day, they would get their mortal
bodies back only to see them hanged from one of their branches. It made his skin crawl but
even more made him worry about Leon. When he had heard him cry, he was begging his
mother to stop hurting him and it broke his heart.
"Are you okay?" He asked, almost hesitantly.
The other left the bedroom, magnificent as always, wearing a beautiful suit of deep blue
cornflower.
"Yes, why?"
"You know why."
Leon huffed. "It was just a nightmare, Chris. I have so many of them and with so many
different protagonists! If I let each one crush me, I would have shot myself dead a long time
ago."
"Don't even joke about it!" The other reacted with a snarl. "And this shit is confiscated." He
added, closing the book and keeping it with him.
"You are aware that this is not the only copy in the world, right?" Leon chuckled a little
tenderhearted and a little exasperated. "Let's go. I want to experience the thrill of arriving
early for once in my life."
The Ritz Hotel was not far away, and they reached it after a walk of about ten minutes.
"Wait here," Leon said to Chris, as soon as they had passed through the entrance. He walked
up to the reception desk and spoke briefly with the attendant. "Come on, this way."
They entered an elevator that, if possible, was even more opulent than the one in their hotel.
"Come on, big guy, don't panic now," Leon smiled at him, squeezing his arm a little.
"Easy for you to say. I'm out of my element. In every sense of the word, and this thing is
suffocating me!" He protested, running a finger under his collar to loosen his tie.
"Leave it alone. It's going to be great. I'm with you, aren't I?"
"Is it supposed to reassure me?” Chris ironized and, for once, Leon did not take it personally
and gave him one of his adorable little smirks, then he turned to face him and lowered his
hands to close his jacket. "This stays open only when you sit, ok?" He instructed him, patting
his broad chest. "Come on, ease up! We're gorgeous, we're strong, we're smart - well, I'm
smart-
"Ah-ah, very funny!" Chris complained, grabbing his wrist and surrendering to the urge of
caressing it with his thumb.
Leon didn't back down and moved even closer, raising his chin to sustain the slight difference
in height they had. "You really should stop toying with me, or I'll call your bluff, and then I'll
kick your sorry ass for trying to take me for a fool," he hissed, making his low voice vibrate
in the empty elevator, hostile, yes, but also so damn hot.
Chris didn't reply because he didn't know what to say. The cheerful 'ding' of the elevator
reaching the floor saved him. Leon slipped away from his grasp and went out to greet two
security men. Clearly, they knew each other, and the fact that those two were so friendly with
Leon annoyed him terribly. He stood beside him as if to mark his territory but his attention
was diverted when one of the two men invited them in saying that the congressman was
ready to receive them. He felt the panic return to take hold of him. What do they mean by a
congressman? He could hardly talk to his guys! He cast a terrified glance at Leon, who
elbowed him before knocking on the door.
"Come in!"
On the other side, an imposing man in his 50s with an aquiline nose and smart blue eyes
behind glasses moved from the window next to the table set to greet them.
"Leon, long time no see!" He smiled, walking over to shake his hand.
"Always a pleasure, sir."
"You know you can call me Adam," the other smiled and then shifted his gaze. "You must be
Captain Redfield."
Chris, who had remained just beyond the door, looked up uncomfortably. "Y-yes, sir. Pleased
to meet you." He had not kept up with U.S. politics much, but he was not ignorant to the
point of not recognizing Adam Benford, a member of the House Armed Services Committee,
one of the few who was capable of promoting sensible interventions.
Leon chuckled melodiously. "He's a little shy."
"There's no reason for that," Adam smiled. "You've already succeeded in one of the most
difficult feats: having this disrespectful, ill-mannered donkey show up on time."
The joke managed to ease some of the tension, and Chris energetically returned his
handshake.
They sat down at the table and discreetly a waiter served them hors d'oeuvres and then
retired.
"Leon has described to me a very accurate picture of the situation, and I must confess that the
matter is tricky. The director of the F.B.C. has a lot of support in the Armed Forces and a
motion has already been filed to take legal action against the B.S.A.A. I have made sure to
slow it down by demanding a rigorous investigation of the Rockfort Island incident and
access to all documentation pertaining to the site prior to it, putting the slowest and most
idiotic of my men to work on it."
Chris frowned in confusion and looked toward Leon for clarification but it was Adam who
continued.
"All this is just to stall for time. I don't have the numbers to openly challenge my opponents
in a conventional way."
"Which means you don't intend to play fair," Leon finally took the floor to reassure Chris.
"Actually what I intend to do depends on the outcome of this meeting," Benford corrected
him and then returned his focus to Chris. "I'm not sure you're a horse worth betting on."
"Sir," Leon tried to interject.
"Go take a walk," Adam ordered him. "It will be a while before they serve the first course."
"Come on, sir, that's not necessary."
"Leave us, Leon."
"Yes, sir." Reluctantly he got up and obeyed.
"I'm not going to devour you, don't worry," Adam said, glancing almost paternally at Chris
who was staring anxiously at the closed door. "I just want to talk to you face to face without
him constantly interrupting us to hold your hand. You are not a child, you don't need dad to
protect you. Otherwise, there would be no point in having this conversation. So for what
reasons does the B.S.A.A. seek the support of the United States?"
"Isn't that clear enough?" Chris retorted nervously.
"Don't answer a question with another question. It's not polite."
"Excuse me, I am a soldier, not a diplomat."
Adam smiled amusedly. "He warned me you were confrontational. I'm not your enemy,
captain."
Chris sustained his gaze. "We have the experience and skills to make a difference in the fight
against bioterrorism, we lack the means. Money, equipment, and influence. If we had the
authority to intervene in Terragrigia, things would have been different."
"A bold statement from a man who was described to me as totally untrustworthy and thirsty
for revenge back in the Raccoon City days."
Chris huffed; he was so tired of hearing the same accusations over and over again. "I made
mistakes. I was young, traumatized, and inexperienced. It's been six years since then. Six
years in which I did everything I could to work on myself so that nothing like that could
happen again, sir," he defended himself. "In any case, if it is only my presence that makes
you doubt I am ready to step back and leave the organization taking full responsibility for
what happened in Rockfort Island if it means saving my team from an unfair trial. This is
what a leader does, he takes responsibility even when he is not at fault."
Adam sighed. "You are, indeed, naive. No one in your organization would want to be part of
the deal anymore if you were to leave, so Lansdale would win anyway. Leon described you
as the heart of the B.S.A.A. What I wonder is whether there is a mind behind it and blind
idealism."
"My chief-
"I'm not talking to Clive O'Brian. I'm talking to you." Adam was silent for a few moments,
waiting for an answer that did not come. "Six years ago I was the one who enlisted Leon, did
he tell you that?"
"No."
"He promised me that he would become the best agent in the world, and although I was
skeptical, he never let me down. What do you bring to the table?"
Chris stiffened and could not hold back an annoyed wince. "Why are wars fought, sir?"
"To win them, of course."
"To win, what exactly? Power, money, honor?"
Adam tilted his head, interested. "Why don't you tell me why you fight them?"
Chris lowered his gaze. "I never wanted to be a soldier, and everyone who loved me always
advised me to change my life, to take another path. I can't. What would be the point of my
strength and abilities if I turn the other way while innocent people are tortured, killed, or
turned into monsters just to be pawns on a horrible and grotesque chessboard as we speak?
You, Leon, everyone tells me I am naive, and maybe that is true. I am not smart, I am not
cultured but I am stubborn and determined to wipe this filth off the face of the earth. That is
why I and my close friends have created our own organization rather than join the army of
this or that country. The system is rotten at the root. Look at Lansdale! We are independent
and we want to remain such because, let's not kid ourselves, Umbrella could never have done
all that it did without governments turning the other way or worse, giving funds. So, yes, I
have flaws and I've made mistakes but don't talk to me like you're a saint, sir."
Benford's lips bent in a faint smile but Chris grew alarmed when he saw him get up. Had he
been right to speak like that? Leon had advised him to be himself however Clive had urged
him to be diplomatic.
"Get back."
Leon, outside the door immediately cast a glance at Chris and when he saw that uncertain,
guilty look on his face he feared the worst.
"I like your friend," Adam reassured them both. "As long as he never steps into politics."
The waiter returned to serve the main course, and everyone waited for him to leave before
resuming the conversation.
"So you will help us?" Leon pushed.
Adam nodded.
"Really?" Chris marveled, immediately receiving a kick under the table and a scowl from his
companion.
"So what should I do?" Leon continued immediately afterward as if he hadn't almost cracked
his shin.
"Nothing, you are burned because instead of reacting with your brain you thought it best to
tell Lansdale to fuck off. You will stay here in the U.K. and prepare a complete dossier on the
B.S.A.A. to hand over to me when the time comes. Of course, if you discover any
wrongdoing you will have to inform me immediately. Also, your assessment will be crucial
and you will be called upon to discuss it personally in committee. Let me take care of the
rest."
"Which is?" Chris inquired, suspicious.
Leon growled in frustration. "If he wanted to bring you up to speed, he would have done so.
You and your trust issues!" He scolded him.
Adam chuckled. He knew Leon had a more protective side but he had never seen him show it
so openly and that was probably a problem. "For the time being, it's best that you two
hotheads stay in the dark," he said in a fatherly tone. "Just know that as soon as I can I will
contact Chief O'Brian. In the meantime, keep doing what you usually do. Excuse me." He
turned away as his cell phone began to ring, and after answering it he made a gesture that
Leon caught loud and clear. The time had come to take off. He grabbed Chris by the arm and
ordered him to get up and they had almost left the room when Adam called Leon back.
"You go ahead and wait for him downstairs, captain, he'll be there in a moment."
Once alone Adam gave his protegé an eloquent look. "You know I never put my nose in your
private life, however, it would be appropriate for things between you and Redfield to remain
strictly professional at least until the end of the operation. I don't need to be the one to tell
you that, if word got out, it would be a conflict of interest and your testimony waste paper,
right?"
"We're barely friends," Leon mumbled, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus. Go and if it's already too late, at least be discreet."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't. It's not just a favor to you. I really think we need an organization like theirs if they
can keep it up."
Leon gave him one last parting nod before joining Chris in front of the hotel entrance. He
was nervous as hell and was already smoking.
"What did he tell you?"
"Not to fuck you," Leon blurted out.
Chris choked on the smoke and coughed. "What?!"
"Precisely," Leon dismissed the topic, walking off. "Do you mind if I don't accompany you to
your second dinner? I want to go back and change and go out tonight. Distract myself a bit
without you scaring everyone away from me."
Chris stiffened. "Do as you please."
"I'll see you in the morning." Leon left without even looking back at him and actually went
back to the hotel but once he was in front of the closet where he had neatly stored all the
unnecessary clothes he had brought with him, he was seized with despondency.
"Fuck..." He huffed, nervous, picking up a pair of sweatpants. He realized that he really didn't
feel like going out or even getting laid, even though he knew that once back in that shithole
he would regret it. Depressed he had room service bring him some ice cream - another
decision he would regret - and curled up on the couch to eat it. He didn't even have his book
anymore because that goddamn asshole had taken it away from him! He hated him and he
hated not being able to stop thinking about him like a fucking little girl on her first crush!
In the meantime, Chris had returned as well, forgoing dinner because his stomach had
clenched from nervousness. The mere idea that an unknown son of a bitch like the one in the
store would soon be touching, kissing, and spending the night with Leon made his blood boil
in his veins. He tore his tie from his neck and threw off his jacket as soon as he crossed the
threshold of his room feeling hot and furious as he had never been in his life over such a
thing. That thought was like a drill piercing his brain; he could not get it out of his head. He
could almost see them between the sheets fucking. He drank some water but even that failed
to calm his nerves. He could not think! He could not breathe! He could not bear it!
Animated by pure fury, he marched out of the room as he was, barefoot but still wearing his
shirt and suit pants, and slammed his fist against his door.
Perhaps Leon had not yet left.
Maybe he could still stop him. His heart was bursting in his chest with desperation and
longing. When the object of his desperate desire gave him a confused look from the slightly
ajar door, Chris shoved it open with all his strength, overwhelming him. Abruptly grabbed
him on the back of the neck, clenching his fingers on that damned blond hair, and crashed his
mouth on his almost violently.
Chapter End Notes
Hello, my dears!
As always my thanks to all of you readers, commenters, kudoers, subscribers, and
bookmarkers!
I am late tonight and I apologize but I really wanted to get to the kiss this time. I confess
to you that I have been tempted many times to have them kiss in the past but I always
pulled the brake because for several reasons that will be more evident later, I needed it
to happen right in the way it happened and, of course, it was Chris' turn to take the
plunge this time.
WE DID IT, AT THE DAWN OF CHAPTER 97 AND ALMOST TWO YEARS SINCE
THE BEGINNING OF THE PUBLICATION OF THIS STORY!!! I'M GETTING
FUCKING EMOTIONAL!!!
Sorry, I lost my composure but FUCK YES!!! Not only were you more than frustrated at
this point but so was I!
Of course, this is all happening in the most wrong way possible, isn't it Chris since you
and Jill 'broke up'? But you know me, I'm a bitch and that 'cheating' in the tags was in no
way put in by accident.
In any case, some smut is coming!
My best wishes to those celebrating Easter and the usual big hug to all of you!
Lady S.
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Dulce et decorum est

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39031656.

Hello everyone and thank you for opening my story!

Love you all,

September 24th, 1998 - Raccoon City

The motel room.

The fucking motel room.

"Shit!" He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.

The hotelier handed him the incoming call.

"It's Brad. Any news?"

"No," Chirs answered. "You?"

"Copy that. I'll keep digging at the station."

"Keep it fucking together..."

September 24th, 1998 - Elsewhere

"Is something wrong?" Leon inquired.

"And I want you to be my best man."

"Okay," he agreed, "I was going to leave anyway."

"You're not the one to leave me, asshole!"

He didn't want to be alone.

He just didn't want to be alone.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

September 24th, 1998 - Raccoon City

Chris hadn't spoken to him since the mansion.

"I'm here," he promptly answered. "Brad, do you copy?" He insisted.

"Hmm. Send me a copy."

"Are you serious? He's a kid!" Brad objected, incredulous.

"Yeah, I got it, just send me the damn file anyway."

He shrugged his shoulders and opened the car door.

No. It was not a fucking coincidence.

"Fuck!" He shouted, kicking the balustrade.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell!" He gritted through his teeth.

Christ, he should have stayed home!

Michael was right, he'd always been a fucking pussy.

Why wait until the morning, though?

He cleared his throat before beginning to speak.

Chapter End Notes

September 25th, 1998 - Raccoon City

"Leon Kennedy..." Chris began to explain.

"No, wait a second!"

Brad gasped. "Listen..."

"Me," said a female voice behind him, "he's hiding me."

"Come here, you bitch!"

"So where is he?"

"Fuck you," Chris blurted out.

"Go ahead, shoot to kill," he prodded her.

"Were you drunk?"

A heavy silence fell between them for a few moments.

"Brad doesn't want you smoking inside," she pointed out.

She laughed without joy. "Or what?"

"He's not just some guy he's-

"And he doesn't deserve you," he interrupted her again.

"What would you have done, huh?"

"I said he didn't!"

"I got this."

"Barry's," she replied with a smile. "See you later."

Chris shook his head. "We don't have time for-

"It's okay," she whispered, almost motherly.

He winced, shaken by a sob he couldn't hold back.

"No. It's pointless, it doesn't solve anything," he snapped.

"Look at me. Chris, I said look at me."

"Go on," he murmured.

"Richard, Joseph, Henry, Kenneth, Enrico-

"Huh?" Jill interrupted him.

That seemed to affect him, so he nodded, defeated. "Okay..."